time to think how that feels, I march off down the corridor like I should have done thirty years ago.
JULIA
Nadine and Ed Hallet’s house is neat and tidy and lies on the edge of Cambridge. They like it like this. They like the perfect crescent of their street and the way the birch trees are spaced evenly along the pavement. They like the milk float and the corner shop and the newspaper delivery boy. Nadine once said their neighbourhood reminded her of a perfect heartbeat on a patient’s trace; the perfect life. The life that she and Ed had set out to achieve. They’ve got it all, too, except there’s a hole the size of a planet in their lives.
Alex and Flora go some way to filling the gap, and that is why I am determined that my break from Murray will not separate my kids from their adoring uncle and aunt. It would crumple Ed and Nadine if contact wasn’t regularly maintained – although perhaps not so much when Flora draws a pencil line around the fresh white paintwork of their semi-detached so that she doesn’t lose her way.
‘Oh, Flora!’ Nadine scolds, when she sees the wobbly line going all the way from the telephone table in the hallway into the dining room, through the kitchen and back to the hallway. A map of intent, a dose of good sense, Flora is a survivor and would never set forth on an adventure without leaving a trail to find her way home.
‘What’s she done?’ I say, emerging from Nadine’s living room to find her rubbing a wet cloth on the paintwork.
‘Look at this!’
‘Oh dear,’ I say, amazed at how incredibly straight Flora got the line.
‘Silly girl,’ Nadine pouts, hiding a smile, as Flora trails past with a Lego creation.
‘Nadine,’ I say, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do it this way.’ And I show her the ballet of hand gestures she will need to use if she is to tell my daughter off.
‘I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.’ Nadine stands up. Is it that she suddenly realises my daughter’s deafness is more important, more tragic than the pencil line on her wall?
‘The final results came yesterday. I’m just a bit tetchy.’
I fold her body against mine. It is conclusive. Nadine and Ed will never be able to have children.
Nadine was my first friend. As Murray’s little sister, she took a fair few knocks and grew up chasing footballs, riding bikes and playing tricks on Murray. Five years younger than her brother, we took delight in letting down Murray’s bicycle tyres, hiding his house key so he got into trouble and putting jelly in his pyjamas. It was all very happy; all very childish – a collage of delicious memories of hanging out with the big boys.
So what I’m saying is that Nadine grew up tough and spunky. She was raised with a coat of varnish, and honestly, with all the tests and trials she’s suffered recently, it was a good job.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I tell her. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She turns her nose up at the tea I made her. ‘Not enough sugar?’ I ask.
‘Too much,’ she says, and watches intently as Flora pulls apart her Lego model. Alex harvests all the pieces for himself. A frantic signing battle then ensues, but Alex turns his head so he can’t see what she’s saying.
‘How’s Mary?’ Nadine asks.
‘Not so good. I’m taking her for the MRI scan results tomorrow. A friend from the village is keeping her company at the moment.’ I sigh. ‘I can’t rely on other people to help with my problems for ever, though.’ I wonder if life will ever return to normal. ‘It’s a relief that Brenna and Gradin are going to school now. It would be hard to cope otherwise.’
I look at my watch. I’d only called in briefly to see Nadine after I’d picked up Alex and Flora from school. The bus would be dropping the teenagers back at Northmire shortly. Besides, I know Nadine’s going to mention Murray soon. She’ll bring him up in conversation any way she can and squeeze glue on to the pair of us. She does it every time I see
JULIA
Nadine and Ed Hallet’s house is neat and tidy and lies on the edge of Cambridge. They like it like this. They like the perfect crescent of their street and the way the birch trees are spaced evenly along the pavement. They like the milk float and the corner shop and the newspaper delivery boy. Nadine once said their neighbourhood reminded her of a perfect heartbeat on a patient’s trace; the perfect life. The life that she and Ed had set out to achieve. They’ve got it all, too, except there’s a hole the size of a planet in their lives.
Alex and Flora go some way to filling the gap, and that is why I am determined that my break from Murray will not separate my kids from their adoring uncle and aunt. It would crumple Ed and Nadine if contact wasn’t regularly maintained – although perhaps not so much when Flora draws a pencil line around the fresh white paintwork of their semi-detached so that she doesn’t lose her way.
‘Oh, Flora!’ Nadine scolds, when she sees the wobbly line going all the way from the telephone table in the hallway into the dining room, through the kitchen and back to the hallway. A map of intent, a dose of good sense, Flora is a survivor and would never set forth on an adventure without leaving a trail to find her way home.
‘What’s she done?’ I say, emerging from Nadine’s living room to find her rubbing a wet cloth on the paintwork.
‘Look at this!’
‘Oh dear,’ I say, amazed at how incredibly straight Flora got the line.
‘Silly girl,’ Nadine pouts, hiding a smile, as Flora trails past with a Lego creation.
‘Nadine,’ I say, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do it this way.’ And I show her the ballet of hand gestures she will need to use if she is to tell my daughter off.
‘I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.’ Nadine stands up. Is it that she suddenly realises my daughter’s deafness is more important, more tragic than the pencil line on her wall?
‘The final results came yesterday. I’m just a bit tetchy.’
I fold her body against mine. It is conclusive. Nadine and Ed will never be able to have children.
Nadine was my first friend. As Murray’s little sister, she took a fair few knocks and grew up chasing footballs, riding bikes and playing tricks on Murray. Five years younger than her brother, we took delight in letting down Murray’s bicycle tyres, hiding his house key so he got into trouble and putting jelly in his pyjamas. It was all very happy; all very childish – a collage of delicious memories of hanging out with the big boys.
So what I’m saying is that Nadine grew up tough and spunky. She was raised with a coat of varnish, and honestly, with all the tests and trials she’s suffered recently, it was a good job.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I tell her. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She turns her nose up at the tea I made her. ‘Not enough sugar?’ I ask.
‘Too much,’ she says, and watches intently as Flora pulls apart her Lego model. Alex harvests all the pieces for himself. A frantic signing battle then ensues, but Alex turns his head so he can’t see what she’s saying.
‘How’s Mary?’ Nadine asks.
‘Not so good. I’m taking her for the MRI scan results tomorrow. A friend from the village is keeping her company at the moment.’ I sigh. ‘I can’t rely on other people to help with my problems for ever, though.’ I wonder if life will ever return to normal. ‘It’s a relief that Brenna and Gradin are going to school now. It would be hard to cope otherwise.’
I look at my watch. I’d only called in briefly to see Nadine after I’d picked up Alex and Flora from school. The bus would be dropping the teenagers back at Northmire shortly. Besides, I know Nadine’s going to mention Murray soon. She’ll bring him up in conversation any way she can and squeeze glue on to the pair of us. She does it every time I see
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