My inner pendulum has stilled. I’m gazing speechlessly at the screen. Everything has fallen away to the sides of my brain, leaving only the headline news: my father died and we’ll never get him back. Everything else is irrelevant.
EIGHT
Next morning, my pendulum is haywire again. In fact, everything’s bloody haywire. I can’t possibly contemplate being married to Dan for another sixty-eight years. The last sixty-eight minutes have been bad enough.
I don’t know what got under his skin at Mummy’s place yesterday. Ever since, he’s been morose and broody and picky and just … argh. Last night in the car, on the way home, he started on a thing about how my family harks back to the past too much and it’s not good for the girls to keep dwelling. He even said did I have to mention my imaginary friend? What the hell is wrong with me mentioning my imaginary friend?
I know what Dan worries about, even though he won’t admit it. He worries that I’m unstable. Or potentially unstable. Just because I went and stood outside Gary Butler’s house that one time. And put one tiny little letter through his letter box. (Which, OK, I’ll admit I shouldn’t have done.) But the point is, that was a special case. I was in the throes of grief when I had my ‘episode’ or whatever we call it.
Whereas my invention of Lynn was long ago, when I was a child, and it was normal and healthy, because I’ve googled it, as he well knows, and what is his bloody problem?
Which is a basic summary of how I put it to him. Only I was hissing under my breath so that the girls wouldn’t hear, and I’m not sure he heard all my nuanced arguments.
Then I woke up this morning, thinking: Never mind, new day, new start, and determined to be cheerful. I even said hello to the snake, over my shoulder, with my eyes shut. But Dan seemed even more mired in gloom. He sat silently at breakfast, scrolling through his phone and then suddenly said, ‘You know, we’ve had an offer to expand into Europe.’
‘Really?’ I glanced up from the girls’ spelling test words. ‘Took.’
‘Tuh – oh – oh – kuh,’ Anna began intoning.
‘There are these guys based out of Copenhagen, who do similar stuff to us. They have a load of projects they want us to team up on, all in Northern Europe. We could end up trebling our turnover.’
‘Right. And would that be a good thing?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. It would be a bit of a punt.’ Dan had a knotted, unhappy look that set warning bells off in my brain. ‘But we’ve got to do something.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The business won’t grow unless we—’
He broke off and sipped his coffee and I gazed at him, feeling troubled. As I’ve mentioned, I know Dan pretty well. I know when his brain is cantering along happily with new, do-able ideas, and I know when it’s got stuck. Right then, it seemed stuck. He didn’t look pleased about expanding. He looked beleaguered.
‘Look,’ I said to Tessa, and she started sounding out:
‘Luh – oh – oh – kuh.’
‘When you say “grow”,’ I began, over the sound of her chanting, ‘what exactly—’
‘We should be five times the size we are.’
‘Five?’ I echoed, in astonishment. ‘Says who? You’re doing really well! You have lots of projects, a great income …’
‘Oh, come on, Sylvie,’ he almost growled. ‘The girls’ room is tiny. We’ll want to move to a new house before long.’
‘Says who? Dan, what’s brought all this on?’
‘It’s simply about looking forward,’ said Dan, not meeting my eye. ‘It’s simply about making a plan.’
‘Right, and what would this plan entail?’ I shot back, feeling more and more scratchy. ‘Would you have to travel?’
‘Of course,’ he said tetchily. ‘It would be a whole new level of commitment, of investment …’
‘“Investment”.’ I seized on the word. ‘So you’d have to borrow money?’
He shrugged. ‘We’d need more leverage.’
‘Leverage’. I hate that word. It’s a weasel word. It sounds so simple. You picture a lever and think: Oh, that makes sense. It took me ages to realize what it actually means is ‘borrowing stacks of money at a scary interest rate’.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It seems like a risky thing. When did these Copenhagen guys approach you?’
‘Two months ago,’ said Dan. ‘We turned them down. But I’m reconsidering.’
And something furious immediately erupted inside me. Why is he reconsidering now? Because we went to my mother’s yesterday and she talked about holidays on yachts in Greece?
‘Dan.’ I fixed his eyes with mine. ‘We have a great life. We have a great work–leisure balance. Your business doesn’t need to be five times bigger. The girls like having you around. We don’t want you in Copenhagen. And I love this house! We’ve made it our home! We don’t need to move, we don’t need more money …’
I was on quite a roll. I could probably have talked for twenty minutes, except that Anna’s little voice piped up, saying, ‘Seven fifty-two.’ She was reading the clock on the oven, which is her new hobby. I broke off mid-stream and exclaimed, ‘What time? Sh-ugar!’ and it was a total scramble to get the girls ready for school.
I never finished testing the girls’ spellings either. Great. They’ll probably get three out of ten in the test. And when the teacher asks, ‘What happened this week?’ Tessa will say in that clear little voice of hers, ‘We couldn’t learn our words because Mummy and Daddy were arguing about money.’ And the teachers will bitch about us in the staff room.
Sigh.
Double sigh.
‘Sylvie!’ exclaims Tilda as she joins me at her gate. ‘What’s wrong? I’ve said hello three times. You’re miles away!’
‘Sorry.’ I greet her with a kiss and we start on our usual walk.
‘What’s up, honey?’ she says, studying her Fitbit. ‘Just the Monday morning blues?’
‘You know.’ I heave another sigh. ‘Marriage.’
‘Oh, marriage.’ She makes a snorting sound. ‘Did you not read the disclaimers? “May cause headache, anxiety, mood swings, sleep disturbance or general feelings of wanting to stab something?”’ Her expression is so comical, I can’t help laughing. ‘Or hives,’ Tilda adds. ‘Brought me out in hives.’
‘I don’t have hives,’ I allow. ‘That’s a plus.’
‘And another plus, I’m assuming, would be your lovely new cashmere cardigan …?’ Tilda prompts, her eyes twinkling. ‘Did everything go to plan?’
‘Oh God.’ I clap a hand to my forehead. ‘That feels ages ago now. To be honest, nothing went to plan. Dan found out I tried the cardigan on. And we double-booked lunch. And we’ve ended up with a snake.’
‘A snake?’ She stares at me. ‘Did not see that one coming.’
I regale Tilda with all the events of Saturday, and we both get fits of the giggles, and I feel really quite cheerful again. But then I remember Dan’s scratchiness, and my mood sinks once more.
‘So, why the blues this morning?’ enquires Tilda, who is one of those friends who likes to know for sure you’re OK and can’t be brushed off and never gets offended. The best kind of friend, in fact. ‘Is it the snake?’
‘No, it’s not the snake,’ I say fairly. ‘I might get used to the snake. It’s just …’ I spread my arms and let them fall.
‘Dan?’
I walk a few paces, marshalling my thoughts. Tilda is wise and loyal. We’ve both shared some sensitive stuff, along the way. She might see the situation a different way.
‘I’ve told you before about Dan and my father,’ I say at last. ‘And that whole …’