‘Oh, God,’ I say. ‘I had no idea.’
‘No reason you should.’ There’s silence. A beat. ‘The end wasn’t unexpected, but it was still awful. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through.’
We sit for a few moments.
‘How’s Connor?’ he says.
I sigh. There’s nothing to say, yet still I’m glad he’s bothered to ask. ‘He’s all right, I think. He’s not really talked about it. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, though…’
‘He will, I guess. When he’s ready.’
‘I suppose so. I just wish I knew what he was thinking. What was going on in his mind. He spends hours in his room, though that’s nothing new, I suppose. It’s as if he’s avoiding me.’
‘He’s at that age, I suppose. Plus, he’s a boy.’
I look at him, at his profile, silhouetted against the light in the house. Is it as simple as that? I lost my mother when I was young; I have no idea what’s normal. Maybe he’s right, it’s just the fact that he’s a boy, and I’m a woman, and that’s why he’s slipping away from me. I find the thought curiously reassuring. Maybe it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m not his birth mother.
‘Have you and Maria ever thought about children?’
He looks over at his wife, visible in the kitchen, helping my husband to prepare the dessert. Connor has joined them, they’re laughing at something.
‘Not really,’ says Paddy, looking back to me. ‘Maria’s career… you know? And I’m not that bothered. I’m from a big family. We have a lot of nieces and nephews…’
He sounds disappointed, but I don’t know him well enough to probe further. Not really.
‘That’s good,’ I say. I grind my cigarette out.
‘Shall we go back in?’
‘Sure!’ He wipes his hands on his jeans, then stands up and holds out his hand for me to take. ‘Are you going to Carla’s party?’
I’d completely forgotten. Another colleague of Hugh’s, with a big house in Surrey, a large garden, a gas-fired barbecue. She throws a party every July and invites everyone. Last year had been fun, but now I’m not looking forward to it at all. I’m trapped, though; she sends the invites out in April. There’s no way we can get out of going.
‘I guess,’ I say, standing up. He smiles, and says he’s glad. It’s a fraction of a second before he lets go of my hand, not long enough to be sure it means anything at all. I’m not certain whether I’m holding on to him, or him to me.
They leave. Hugh goes into the kitchen, without saying a word. I follow him. He begins to tidy up, scraping each plate before rinsing it and putting it in the sink. He doesn’t smile, or even look at me as I speak.
‘What’s up with you?’
Still no eye contact. A plate clunks into the sink. Is this because I went outside to sit with Paddy?
‘It’s Connor,’ he says.
‘Connor?’ I pick up a cloth and begin to wipe down the worktop. ‘What about him? Are we still arguing because I said he could eat in his room?’
‘Among other things.’
I choose to ignore him. If he wants to bring anything else into this, then he’ll have to talk about it rather than make me guess.
‘He’s been really upset recently,’ I say instead. ‘I don’t think we should force him to do something he doesn’t want to do. I think we need to cut him some slack.’
He puts down the plate he’s holding and turns to face me. ‘Yes, well, I think we’ve been cutting him far too much slack lately. We shouldn’t indulge him. It’s really important we keep things normal, Julia.’
‘Meaning?’
He turns his palms upwards. ‘The grief counsellor said we mustn’t make too many allowances. He has to realize that life goes on.’
Life goes on? My anger ratchets up another notch. Life didn’t go on for Kate, did it? I take a deep breath. ‘I’m just worried about him.’
‘And I’m not? He comes in, smelling of cigarettes—’
‘Cigarettes?’
‘Hadn’t you noticed? On his clothes…’
I shake my head. I haven’t noticed any such thing. Either I’ve become neglectful, or Hugh is imagining things, and I suspect it’s the latter. ‘Maybe his friends smoke? Have you thought about that?’
His eyes narrow in accusation.
‘What next? Drinking?’
‘Hugh—’
‘Fighting at school—’
‘What?’
‘He told me. He got involved in some scrap.’
‘He told you?’
‘Yes. He was upset. He wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but it’s not like him, Julia. He’s never fought at school before.’
He’s never lost his mother before, I think, but I don’t say it.
‘Maybe we need to let him make his own mistakes? He has to grow up. He has to let off steam, especially given what’s happened.’
‘I just think we need to keep a closer eye on him.’
‘Me, you mean. You think I should be keeping a closer eye on him. You know, it seems to me that you’re a perfect father whenever it just involves playing chess or ordering takeaways when I go away. Yet whenever he needs some kind of discipline that’s suddenly my job?’ He ignores me. ‘Well?’
‘I don’t mean that. Look, I’m just not sure you’re—’
‘I’m what?’
I know exactly what he means. Setting a good example. This is about what happened in Paris.
‘I’m not sure you’re there for Connor at the moment like he might need you to be.’
I can’t help but laugh, but it’s a reflex. At some level he might be right.
‘Meaning what, exactly?’
He lowers his voice. ‘Julia, please calm down. Be reasonable.’
I go back to the table, to finish clearing it, to turn my back on him. It’s then that it happens. In front of me is the glass I’d been drinking from and as I pick it up a sudden and almost irresistible urge bubbles up from nowhere. I imagine filling it from the bottle of red wine they hadn’t quite finished, drinking it down. I can feel it, heavy in my mouth. I can taste it, peppery and warm. I want it, more than anything.
I hold the glass in my hand. I tell myself this is the first time since Paris, the first time I’ve even been tempted. It isn’t a relapse. It only means what I let it mean.
‘Julia?’
I ignore him. Ride it out, I tell myself. Ride it out. The desire will crest like an ocean wave and then subside. I just have to wait. Hugh is here, anyway, and whatever happens I won’t drink in front of him.
Yet I managed to drink in Paris, and that was weeks ago. I haven’t even been tempted since. Even if I were to drink now it wouldn’t have to signify the beginning of the end.
I think back to the programme. The first step. This isn’t something I can control; the fact I’ve gone for weeks without being tempted again doesn’t mean I’m over it. All control is an illusion.
I think of my sponsor, Rachel. ‘Addiction is a patient disease,’ she said to me, once. ‘It’ll wait for your whole life, if it has to. Never forget that.’
I haven’t, I tell myself. I won’t.
‘Julia?’ says Hugh. He sounds annoyed. I’ve missed something; he’s been talking to me.
I turn round. ‘Yes?’
‘I know he’s upset about his mother’s death—’
His choice of words stings, but my anger forces the desire to drink to slip down another notch.
‘He’s never thought of Kate as his mother.’
‘You know what I mean. Kate’s death is bound to bother him, but—’
‘But what?’
‘But he’s still not really talking about it, and I find that worrying. He should be, by now.’