and said carefully, ‘I know you’re upset, Ian, but that’s really not fair. They’re doing their best.’
His shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt desperately tired. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘I feel as though I’ve let her down.’
‘You haven’t,’ she said softly. ‘It wasn’t really practical to have her come and live with you, was it? Not with you and Raquel out at work all day.’
He attempted a smile of gratitude for the kind words, though they did little to assuage his guilt. He ran his hand across the top of his head and thought for a few long moments.
‘Right, we need a plan.’ If he could inject some order into what was happening, maybe he could control things, maybe he could get his mother well again. ‘I think someone should go in and see her at least once a day now until this crisis is over,’ he said, the words that had been swimming around in his head all afternoon tumbling out too fast, one on top of the other. ‘Keep on top of the staff. I can do most days, except Tuesdays. Probably best not to take the kids too often – we don’t want to freak them out, seeing her unwell.’ He focused on the swirly pattern on the oilcloth in an attempt to slow down his thoughts. ‘Maybe we could both take them at the weekend and you could take them away after a few minutes. I think it’d do her good to see them, don’t you? And we could take turns to visit on the days when the other one’s got the kids. And –’
‘Ian,’ said Sarah gently and when he looked up her cheeks were red. ‘You know how much I love Evelyn and I’d do anything for her.’ She paused, stared at the table, and then went on, twisting the stem of the glass between her finger and thumb. ‘I’ll do whatever’s required. But don’t you think you should be having this conversation with Raquel?’
She was right, of course. A cold chill settled in his stomach. He had no right to be here, no right to ask this of her. And yet, who else could he ask? He had no siblings to call on. And Raquel, well, she would visit if he asked her, but it would be done out of a sense of duty, not of love. And there would be little compassion.
He cleared his throat and said disloyally, his cheeks flushing, ‘But there’s no bond, no connection, between Raquel and my mother. No … affection. They’ve never clicked. Whereas you two, well, you’re like mother and daughter. At least that’s how it’s always appeared to me.’ He would’ve married Sarah without his mother’s approval – but it had always pleased him that both his parents liked her so much.
Sarah lifted her eyes, held his gaze and said solemnly, ‘You’re right, that’s how it is. I love your mother as if she were my own. That’s why I’ll do whatever it takes to make what’s left of her life as happy and comfortable as possible.’
‘I knew that I could rely on you, Sarah,’ he said, relief and gratitude flooding through him. ‘Thank you.’ Instinctively, he reached his hand out towards hers, lying on the table, then snatched it back when he saw the look of puzzlement on her face.
‘I’m doing this for Evelyn, Ian,’ she said quietly as her hand slid off the table onto her lap.
‘Yes, of course. And I’ll never forget that, Sarah. I’ll never forget that you make time to visit her, no matter how busy you are.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘After all she’s done for me … for them, it’s nothing. And the divorce didn’t change anything between us. She treated me just the same. Do you know she paid for the kids’ childcare so that I could go back to work?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know. But it doesn’t surprise me.’
Suddenly, Sarah put her hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. ‘She’s always been so good to me,’ she choked. ‘To all of us.’
He let the comment settle between them like a feather drifting slowly to the floor. The silence between them was comfortable, a blanket round their shared grief. And it seemed like the right moment all of a sudden to say what had been on his mind lately. He took a deep breath. ‘I know I’ve said it before, Sarah, but I am sorry for walking out on you and the kids. I’m sorry that I hurt you.’
Her hand fell from her mouth but she said nothing for a few moments. She took a sip of wine, high colour in her cheeks, and said, ‘I appreciate you saying that, Ian, really I do.’
‘I just want you to know, that’s all. Sometimes I feel like a real heel. I just wish … well.’ He looked at the palms of his hands, white and smooth, and left the sentence unfinished. He wondered if he’d stayed, would the marriage have survived?
‘I don’t blame you,’ she said and his head snapped up. She cocked her head to one side the way she did when she had something difficult to say.
He’d walked out before Lewis could even walk and Molly was still in nappies. He’d hated himself for it. But he couldn’t stay. The Sarah he’d loved had simply disappeared, consumed entirely by motherhood. At least that was what he thought had happened. It wasn’t until after Lewis’ birth that he’d realised Sarah did not love him the way he loved her. If she loved him at all.
Her love for him had always been an elusive thing, rarely voiced. She’d maintained that words were cheap and that she preferred to show love rather than constantly declare it. As a new bride she’d been kind and attentive but her interest had waned over the years and towards the end of their marriage, he’d felt nothing but loathing emanating from her like heat from a fire.
‘If you’d been happy you never would’ve left,’ she went on. ‘And I was largely responsible for that unhappiness.’
For some reason he shook his head, though what she said was true.
‘No, I wasn’t a good wife. I pushed you away. I built barriers between us and then I couldn’t seem to pull them down.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked away and he felt, as he had often done in their marriage, that she wasn’t being entirely straight with him.
‘Once Molly was born, I felt that you lost interest in me, Sarah. And it only got worse when Lewis came along. I couldn’t see a future for us. I couldn’t see how we would ever be happy again. I gave you so much and got so little back in return.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about the past, Ian,’ she said, rubbing the back of her neck. ‘We both made mistakes and it doesn’t change where we are now.’
‘Yes, let’s look to the future.’ He smiled at her then, resisting the urge to reach out and touch a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. ‘And let’s not be too hard on ourselves. I mean, there aren’t many divorced couples who can sit down and talk to each other like this.’
She smiled weakly. ‘I guess that’s true. I’m glad we’ve remained friends. In spite of everything.’
He stared into her silvery eyes, the pupils wide and black as night. From somewhere deep inside, courage and hope rose in his breast like twin flames, and he blurted out, ‘I loved you the first moment I set eyes on you. All those years ago in Sunday school.’
She looked at him with wide eyes and her mouth opened slightly. Her face paled.
He blushed and smiled. Now that he’d broached the subject of his feelings for her, there was no going back. Nor did he want to. ‘I deeply regret our divorce, Sarah. I wish I’d
