Chapter 12

Mike woke her mid-afternoon as he was leaving to pick up the children. She told him where the house keys were, and he took them with him, though he assumed Siobhán would be in before he got back.

Claire had come downstairs when he returned and Siobhán was at home, sitting with her. The two children ran to her for hugs and she talked with them about their day, though she still sounded weak. In the meantime he prepared dinner. Claire came to the table and ate with them, crowded round the table, though she was already showing signs of tiredness. In spite of that she watched TV, the children having gone off to their rooms. He washed up and cleaned the kitchen; being Friday there was no need to set out breakfast for the next day.

Then he sat with Claire and tried to seem interested in the TV programme. She was obviously too tired to talk, so he exercised patience. The time would come the next day, Saturday.

By ten, it was clear that Claire was ready for bed.

"Time for bed," she said.

She stood and began to make her way to the stairs. Then she stopped, "Mike, where did you sleep last night?"

"On the sofa," he replied, half expecting an invitation to share her bed.

"Oh, it's so uncomfortable," she said. "Look, I'm feeling much better. Why don't you go home and sleep in your bed?"

"OK," he said with a certain feeling of disappointment, "I'll be back early tomorrow before the children are up."

"There's no need to come back," she said. "I feel much better. I can cope."

He stood up and walked to the front door.

"I see," he said irritably. "I'm no longer of any use, so I'm better out of your way. Back to where we were, no contact. Wednesday night you were desperate to talk. Not any more it seems. By the way, your boyfriend Bob was here while you were asleep. The one you've been having the affair with, he tells me. You'll need me out of the way, won't you?"

At that he stalked out. He heard her behind him.

"Mike, please," she cried. "Don't–"

But he was already outside and getting into the car. He was half way home when his mobile rang. He let it ring as he was driving. It rang twice more before he got home. Once indoors he pressed voicemail. The first call was from Claire she was crying.

"Mike," she cried. "I didn't mean it like that. I don't want you to keep away. I do want to talk. Please come back tomorrow."

The next was from Siobhán. "Dad, why are you being so horrid to Mum? I've put her to bed. She's very upset. She was only trying to get you to rest. Ring or come round tomorrow."

The third was again from Claire, but she said nothing, just hung up.

Damn! he thought. I over-reacted again. What's wrong with me?

He dialled Claire's landline. Siobhán answered.

"Siobhán," he said quickly, "Is Mum all right? She's not relapsed?"

"No," she replied angrily. "No thanks to you!"

"Enough of that, Siobhán!" he snapped. "Your mother insulted me. If she's still awake tell her I'll be round tomorrow. I've had enough of being messed around. Tell her that as well. Good night!"

He disconnected.

He got out the whisky, an Islay Malt - he needed the strong peaty flavour to batter him into a better frame of mind. By the time he'd finished he had been battered rather into numbness, and staggered off to his bed. As he sank into its softness he was grateful that Claire had sent him home. The gratitude did not last long: he was asleep in seconds.

He woke late. Yes, he had a headache, yes, he felt nauseous. Consequences are a bitch! No one to blame but himself. How much louder the phone is at such times! He groaned and lifted the receiver.

"Mike?" said Claire.

"Hello," he said.

"Are you all right? You sound hoarse."

"I've just woken up," he said, somewhat lacking in enthusiasm.

"Mike," she said and she sounded worried, "It's Saturday–"

"Yes, I know."

"No listen, I'd forgotten. The children are at home."

"So you want to put off our talk yet again?" he said, his anger rising despite the fact he felt that the last thing he wanted to do was talk to anyone at that moment.

"No," she said. She was getting testy. "This house is so small there's nowhere quiet here; could I bring them over to you?"

"Are you well enough to drive?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"Yes. All that sleeping seems to have helped. How about this afternoon, about three?"

He calculated that it gave him three hours to sober up.

"OK."

They arrived, and the children had clearly been told to make themselves scarce. This was easy for them, since they still had plenty of their own things in the house to keep them occupied. He led Claire to the study, where they sat in two leather armchairs with a coffee table in between them.

"Tea?" he asked.

"No thanks, Mike," she said seriously. "Let's not delay any further."

"OK," he said. "Can I start by apologising for some of the things I said to you on Wednesday night? You finished with me and had every right to sleep with Bob. It is hard for me to see it, knowing what sort of a man he is, but you are not in any way responsible to me."

"But I don't understand? Sleep with Bob?"

"Don't play games, Claire," he said trying to control his rising ire. "Dylan knows you've been having sex with him. When Bob came to the house, he told me you'd been sleeping with him during the day."

She bridled at that, and he could see her anger starting to rise in her turn, "I don't care what anyone says, I've never had sex with that man."

"So what's all this kissing fondly at the front door when he's been leaving after your sessions with him? You were seen."

She looked puzzled. "Have you been spying on me? God, how low can you get!"

"I've more important things to do during the day, I run a business," he snapped. "I'm starting to see your true opinion of me. I'm the low life you had to put up with all those months and had to show gratitude to. I bet you were glad to get the opportunity to rid yourself of me. And you did that all right. You cut me right out of your life, No opportunity for me to talk to you.

"I left a message on your answer phone congratulating you on your Decree Absolute, but you wouldn't even answer that, would you? I sent you emails telling you how much I missed you and loved you. I'll bet you junked them without reading them. Even the letter I sent you detailing how much I loved you and setting out what I'd do for you even though you were dumping me, you didn't dignify with an answer.

"Anyone would think I was the one who'd nearly killed you. You certainly showed all the hatred for me that you could. Then, when I do see you for the first time, you're with Bob. Why should I believe you over him?"

He sat back after his tirade. She looked shocked.

"I didn't realise," she stammered.

"You've no idea how much your hatred of me destroyed me. You wouldn't let me talk to you."

"I never hated you!" her eyes flashed; her voice was raised. "I did it for your own good!"

"No," he retorted, "that can't be true. To say that insults me even more deeply. How dare you be so patronising? As if I were a small child!

"How could you think I am so shallow that all I care about is your appearance? You said I would only stay with you out of loyalty. What of your loyalty? Given the choice of believing me, or three people you didn't know, you chose them! It wasn't even a proper choice, I got no chance to plead my case."

"I didn't know they were setting me up!" she cried. She was becoming distressed.

"You didn't even give me a chance to prove them wrong, and I could have proved them wrong." He too was getting out of control,

"You could?" she was startled. "How?"

"Where did I go in the evenings while you were living here, twice a week?"

"You went out visiting friends."

"True," he replied. "You never asked who my friends were."

He got up and went to his photo cupboard, and extracted an album. He went round to her chair and sat on the arm.

"Here. These are my friends. Some have died."

He showed her a group photo taken the previous autumn. "These are some people with severe mental or physical disabilities. They are my friends. I visit them every week if I can."

He showed her one photo of Peter. He had incurable cancer as well as being paraplegic. The photo was taken two days before he died and showed how emaciated he was. He had been moved to a hospice and his family took the photo of Peter and Mike. Mike was holding him, and Peter was smiling up at him. He explained it.

"So I can't bear to see people with disabilities? I can't deal with disfigurement? I can't love you as you are? I love these people and they love me!"

Claire sat perfectly still. She turned the pages. When she had seen it all, many photos of Mike with friends who in the eyes of the world were ugly or even repulsive, as well as others who looked normal but had severely reduced mental ages, she closed the book. Mike moved back to his chair.

"Mike, I'm very sorry," she said quietly. "Looking back, I don't understand why I did it, why I was so eager to go along with what they said. I felt so ugly and they just harped on about how you couldn't stand ugliness in any form. Then Tracy and Bob both said you were practically back with Cheryl."

"But you didn't ask me!" he pointed out in exasperation. "You obviously thought I would lie to you. You see how low your opinion of my character is?"

"But it isn't! It isn't!" she cried. "I loved you, I wanted you to be happy. I didn't think you could be happy with me. You deserved better than me. Please believe me Mike!"

"You don't understand do you?" he said. "It's not a question of what I deserve, it's a question of how much you think I love you, or don't. I protested my love over and over, and you ignored me. You shut me out, Claire."

"And when I was ill on Thursday you came running!" she said reflectively. "You slept on the sofa. Why not in my bed with me?"

"You are with Bob," he said. "I have no right to share your bed."

"How can I convince you I've never slept with Bob?" She was exasperated. "He came round, he didn't try anything. I know now he was feeding me a line. But every time he came round he just talked, said how much he liked me, how little appearances mattered. After a few visits he asked to kiss me good-bye and I let him. He never made a move on me until we were at the club."

"And you let him then?"

"Yes," she said resignedly, "but I would never have let him have me. You don't believe me, but I'll say it anyway, it's you I love. No one else. God! D'you think I'd be interested in dating men I don't really know after Gary? I love you because you are the best man I've ever met.

"Mike, I was misled. I was lied to. Please don't punish me for loving you. I was misguided. I'm sorry."

She stopped talking and sat still. She looked lost and forlorn. Then she suddenly sat forward.

"I'll prove to you that Bob never got anywhere," she became animated. "Be at the house on Monday when he comes. Hide. I'll get him to admit the truth. I need you there anyway, I don't know how he'll react to me dumping him."

"You don't need to prove it," he said. "I believe you, but I'll be there if you need me."

He paused, and then it hit him, the reason he was so puzzled, why he was puzzled even though everything else made sense. Something was wrong.

"What I can't understand is why you cut me off so completely. Why be so cruel to me after all the love I'd shown you?"

She did not need to think about it.

"I love you so much, I knew I'd weaken and let you back into my life. I was in agony about losing you, I wouldn't have been able to resist, and from what I thought I knew then, I wanted the best for you. I was sure from what they told me that you were getting back with Cheryl–"

"But–"

"Yes, I know, she was never coming back. But don't you see?

"If I'd let you argue with me, you would have convinced me to stay with you, and I thought that this would destroy everything. I wasn't cutting you out; I was cutting myself out. Do you understand? I was misguided, stupid if you like, but I did it all out of love for you."

Now it all made sense. A sense of intense relief swept over him. "You're telling me that you've loved me all along. You love me now?"

"Yes. More than ever. After what you said when you saw me with Bob, your disgust, I was astounded at your selflessness when you came and looked after me. You even undressed me and put me to bed. All the while thinking I was with someone else. I can see why your 'friends' at the Home love you."

"I put you on the loo as well!" he smiled. She coloured up. "You wiped your own bum." He grinned more broadly.

Then she smiled, but it was gone in a flash, replaced by a worried frown.

"Mike," she asked at length. "Where do we go from here?"

"Where do you want to go?" he asked. He knew how much he loved her. It came as a moment of supreme clarity. He understood why she had cut him off. He knew he wanted this woman more than his own life.

"After all," he added, "I didn't break us up."

"Can you ever forgive my stupidity?" she asked. "Can you ever forgive me for the hurt I caused you?"

"It was never a question of whether I forgave you," he responded. "It was a matter of understanding. I just couldn't understand why you rejected me so completely. I understand that now. It makes sense. So, where do you want to go from here?"

"Would you consider dating me again?" she looked uncertain, as well she might.

"I don't think so."

This confused her and her shoulders sagged.

"No," he said after a moment's thought. "I couldn't do that. If you want us to start again, you'll have to do a few things." He held back a smile: poker face.

"What?" she asked. "I'll do anything."

"One: you have to move back here with the children. Two: you'll have to move from your suite to mine. And," here he paused for effect. "Three: you have to agree to marry me."

He waited. There was silence. She looked puzzled as the conditions sank in. Then her face was lit by a radiant smile and she leapt to her feet and threw herself onto his knee, kissing his face all over, all the while making little sounds of pleasure.

"So?" he asked as sternly as he could muster. "I'm waiting for an answer."

She sat up, smiling.

"Would I move back? Yes! Would I move from my suite to yours? Wouldn't it be better for you to move into mine? Nearer the kids? We could use yours if we wanted to make some noise."

She paused. Then she said with a coquetish smile, "What was the last condition?"

"You know perfectly well what it was," he said, po-faced.

"I think you should ask me properly. Out there, in front of the children."

"OK."

At that moment he knew what the answer would be.

She kissed him intensely, her soft mouth opening and her agile tongue raping his mouth.

"I love you so much!" she said, coming up for air. "I never thought it would end this way today!"

"Neither did I," he said laughing, "and it isn't ending, it's beginning. Come on then, let's talk to the children."