Page 125 of Into the Dark
This time it isn’t morning sickness. This time it’s the realization I’m about to do something Jake won’t like. Something he’ll hate, in fact. But something I know he’ll forgive me for. I wonder, shamefully, if I could tell him about the baby just after telling him about this, throwing it in to divert his attention.
I haven’t been here since I lived in London. We lived in Islington, but we’d often come here for a run or extended walk on Sunday afternoons. We’d park the car near Childs Hill and follow the footpath around and up onto Parliament Hill to enjoy the view. Those days seem like a lifetime ago now, like chapters of a story I read or a scene from a movie I watched once a long time ago. In fact, everything right up until the moment I met Jake is slightly blurred and out-of-focus, like he’s given definition and proportion to my life in a way I can’t quite explain.
Now, I take the same route as Ben and I used to, climbing the incline that slowly reveals the gray sprawl of the city for miles on all sides. London looks better from up here. It always looks better from afar. On TV and in movies, it holds a kind of abstract allure that it lacks in real life. Down there among it, it’s just rushing bodies, careless drivers, and choking on transport fumes. People who live in London feel differently.
The green tea I bought from the vendor by the gate starts to cool as I near the meeting point, so I don’t need to blow on it as I lift it to my mouth this time. It occurs to me then that I should have brought two. I scan the people of varying shapes and sizes for one who looks familiar, but no one stands out.
As I fish in my bag for my phone to check for an instruction or cancellation, there’s a text from Jake to say he’s just picked up Caleb and to ask if I’m sure I don’t want to join them for burger night. I declined when he asked me because I have so much work to get through this week. We’re still in the process of hiring a new GP to replace Sam, and so I have about ten applications to review before Thursday. Wednesday night is out because we’re having dinner with Fred, though Jake has been trying to think of a way to cancel it since Sunday. I reply to say I wish I could make burger night and ask him to hug Caleb for me, promising to call him later. I’m about to dial the number to see if I’ve been stood up when I sense someone approach.
She’s about ten feet or so away, wrapped in a light coat belted at her slight waist. She offers me a small, tight wave that echoes in her smile and hurries over to the bench I’m sitting on. It’s occupied at the far end by an older gentleman with a small collie breed of dog on a leash, but there’s still enough space for her to sit.
“You found it okay?” I ask, lifting my tea to my mouth.
“Fine, yeah. A bit of a walk up ’ere, though, isn’t it?” Her breaths sound a little labored with the effort.
“It can be, yes,” I laugh. “I should have brought you one—sorry.” I lift the brown paper cup guiltily, but she just waves her hand in dismissal.
“Must admit, I was hoping you’d manage to get ’im to come with you. Last-minute change of heart or something.” She sighs, a dejected look on her face.
I offer her an apologetic smile. “He doesn’t know I’m here. Also, he isn’t really one for last-minute changes of heart.” He isn’t. He’s strong and decisive and knows exactly what he wants. And by the same token, what he doesn’t want.
She nods sadly.
I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure how to tell him about this, honestly. I know he’ll be angry and upset, but I felt like it was something I had to do. For him.”
When I look at Susan she’s nodding, eyes studying me carefully. “I understand.”
“But I don’t think he’ll see it that way,” I say hopelessly.
Susan lets out a loud sigh. “I don’t blame him for being angry with me.” She turns her head to look out over the city view. I study her profile, looking for any sign she’s not being genuine. But I don’t know her well enough to decipher if this is all an act. If Jake was right and she’s here for money or something similar. “I didn’t treat those boys good. I wasn’t…yeah, well. I’m not proud of who I was then.”
The man to our left shifts slightly in his seat, causing the bench to creak. I’m not sure if it’s just my imagination or if he just leaned in a little closer. When I shoot him a curious look he just smiles and turns his head back toward the view.
Susan bites the inside of her lip, her pale blonde hair tickling the side of her face as a faint breeze skips past. She seems not to notice it for a moment or two, but then she scoops it away behind her ear and clasps her hands tight together again. I’m not sure how to get her talking. Not sure how much to reveal that I already know without being impolite.
“He told me they took him into care when he was eleven. Him and Jon.”
She nods, mouth tight. “I thought they’d do better without me. I wasn’t much good to anyone back then. I liked the drink too much—more than I liked myself. And I didn’t know how to be a mum. I didn’t know how to put them first, I s’pose. Couldn’t find it in myself to act like I knew mums was supposed to. Mine was a hard, cold bitch, so maybe she handed that down to me.” Her face hardens as she says it, giving the words more of an emphasis. “She never wanted me, saw me as a burden and a nuisance from the second I popped out of her body, and I…I just passed that down onto them two.” She squeezes her eyes shut then, and when she opens them she’s crying. She wipes her cheeks with her fist and tucks her hair behind her ear.
It breaks my heart to think of Jake devoid of any kind words or loving embraces in those young years. The years where we learn who we are and what we can become, what our capabilities are. Those years where we wither or bloom. I run a hand over my stomach. Susan doesn’t notice.
Suddenly, as if he’s just experienced the surprising growth of a conscience, the elderly gentleman occupying the other end of our bench stands and makes a clicking noise to his black-and-white dog before they begin toddling off down the hill. Susan takes this as the opportunity to stake her claim on the vacant end of the bench, shifting herself along it to where the man previously saw. I move inward too, plopping my bag between us and laying my jacket over it.
“He told me that you drank a lot,” I say evenly the moment the man is gone.
She takes a deep breath and nods. “I’m an alcoholic, Alex. Have been since I was sixteen. It took me as long a time to admit that.” She knots her hands together—something she did back at the flat too. It’s a genuine gesture of anxiety. This can’t be an act.
I notice she’s wearing a thin gold wedding band on her ring finger. Which means unless it’s some token of lingering devotion to Jake’s absent father, she’s remarried. Which means Jake has a stepfather.
“Do you still…?” I hesitate, still marginally distracted by the sight of the wedding band. “I mean, have you stopped drinking?”
“Yes. I don’t touch the stuff. Not since five years last Sunday,” she says. There’s no pride in her voice; it’s just a non-emotive statement.
“That can’t have been easy.”
“Looking at myself in the mirror every day without a drink in me system is hard, that’s for sure.”
I nod empathetically. “And what about Jake’s brother? Have you had any contact with him? Jake said he wrote to him a few years back but the letters stopped coming.”