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‘I met him at university,’ Gemma says. ‘Freshers Week. Can you believe that? We were both off our faces and he wheeled me across campus in a shopping trolley. That was my criteria for a future husband: can push me on wheels while pissed.’
‘Might be handy when you’re both eighty.’
Gemma snorts with laughter. She touches Joseph’s collar, smooths it. ‘How did you and Erin meet?’
‘A bereavement group,’ he replies.
‘Oh God, of course. I remember Greg telling me. You were married before, both of you.’ She hiccups. ‘Your first wife, she—’
‘Yes,’ Joseph says.
‘And Erin’s husband. I heard he—’
‘Took his own life over a gambling debt.’
‘S’really sad,’ Gemma continues, leaning into him again. ‘Horrible. But it’s good you found each other.’ She puffs out her lips, blowing alcohol breath all over him. ‘You know, there’s an upside to meeting later in life. Trouble with marrying young, if you ask me, is that your other half hasn’t stopped growing into the person they’re going to be.’
She waves a hand in the direction of the gazebo, where Greg Robinson is trying to extinguish a flaming sambuca that’s spilled down his shirt. ‘And what I never quite realized when I married Greg was that one day he’d grow into, well … that.’
Joseph nods, disentangles himself, casts his gaze over his guests. Across the garden, Max has joined Tilly and Drew. As Joseph studies his son’s interaction with his stepdaughterand her best friend, he realizes that Drew has noticed his interest. Quickly, he looks away – but over the next ten minutes they make eye contact again and again. Joseph can’t figure out if he keeps glancing over because he knows she’s looking at him or if it’s the other way round.
Just like at the coffee shop, he wonders if she can somehow read his thoughts – and knows what he plans to do once everyone else is asleep. Whatever the explanation, her scrutiny is deeply uncomfortable. Once or twice he catches Max frowning at him, and can’t decide if the boy feels threatened or if he’s simply anxious for his father to fulfil tonight’s task.
By two a.m., the core of twenty revellers has dropped to eight. Half an hour later, the Robinsons are the last guests to stagger home. Erin’s eyes are heavy. Tilly’s too. Joseph helps them both upstairs. When he returns to the kitchen, Max is waiting. The boy’s eyes are red-rimmed, from alcohol or tiredness or both.
‘Go to bed,’ Joseph says. ‘You look exhausted.’
‘I need to know what’s happening.’
‘No. You don’t.’
‘But I can’t just—’
‘We already had this conversation. I don’t want you any more involved. What Idowant is for you to go to bed and let me deal with the rest. Afterwards, we can talk all you like, but right now you’re holding me up – and I don’t have much of a window to get this done.’
Max’s shoulders slump, but at the kitchen door he hesitates, turns back. ‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think I’m a monster?’
The question stops Joseph dead.
It was a kindness, what I did.
‘No, of course not,’ he says. ‘I love you. More than anything else in this life.’
‘Loving someone and thinking they’re a monster aren’t mutually exclusive. At least, they don’t have to be.’
‘I don’t think you’re a monster. I do think you suffered a massively traumatic event at a really vulnerable age. And I think we’re still feeling the effects of that – the echoes of it – all these years later.
‘I know I’ve said it before, but I’d give everything to go back in time, to have handled everything differently.’
‘It probably sounds horrible,’ the boy says, ‘and I don’t mean it to be, at all, but I’m glad Mum’s not here to see this.’
There’s crushed glass, suddenly, in Joseph’s throat. In his eyes, too. He folds his son into a hug, hoping to hide his tears. ‘Don’t say that,’ he croaks. ‘Don’t say it. I love you. We’ll get through this. Don’t say it.’
‘I miss her somuch, Dad,’ Max moans. ‘I didn’t think it could still be this painful but it is. I miss her, I miss you. I missus– the way we used to be. But mainly I just miss Mum.’ He trembles once, like a tree struck by an axe, and then he’s shaking, sobbing.