Page 16

“ Y ou said it got worse?” he asked as he handed me the tea he’d made.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, unloading paperwork out of a box.

Southwark Council planning guidance. It was years old, and I sighed as I discarded it.

It was probably all online these days, and I should have kept up, made sure Jean had them all bookmarked on my laptop. Perhaps she did. What did I know?

What I did know was that I didn’t want to talk about it. I’d already cried once today—perhaps even twice— hoping Gun Larsen hadn’t noticed. Like I could hide anything from her. The woman had a gaze that would make die-hard dictators quiver in their leather boots. Or something like that.

“Dylan?” he repeated as I took a sip of tea.

“Shall we move this table?” I suggested, getting up and pretending to be incredibly interested in the wood grain on the surface while I gauged the weight with my hands.

“Don’t change the subject. You mentioned it. I think maybe it’s time you told me the truth. The real truth, because to me, something doesn’t add up here.”

Stern. Concerned. I hated it. The look on his face made me feel weak.

“Nothing,” I whispered.

“Stop.” He walked around and pulled my hands off the goddamn table, then gently grasped them in his.

I tried to breathe. Tried not to panic. Swallowed spit as small puffs of breath left my lips.

“Dylan, you’re frightened. I get that. This is big. But it’s the only way forward. And…you could crash and burn. But you could also win. This fear is understandable but also irrational, ju st like…”

He took a breath. Squeezed my hands. “You lost custody of your three children overnight. You lost everything around you. Watched it crumble. And I’m expected to believe your lawyer wife somehow convinced the courts you were an unfit father due to enjoying a single glass of wine on a beach? Just like that?”

No. I didn’t expect him to believe that at all.

“My father worked in family law. Veronica worked in family law. I grew up with it all around me. I chose to go into building law on purpose.” I was deflecting, trying to buy time. Time I didn’t have.

“Not relevant,” he said softly. “We’re not talking about your career here.”

I said nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“You and I,” he continued softly. “We’ve known each other for a while now. We’ve spent night after night talking. I enjoy your company. But I’ve also started to understand you, and I think…” He stopped to gather himself up, probably to gain some courage.

I wasn’t completely off my rocker. I was still someone who could read people. And he wasn’t wrong .

“I appreciate that,” I said quietly, squeezing his fingers. He eased his hands out of mine and moved them up my arms, holding on to me. I felt like I was drowning again.

“You don’t drink, take drugs or have any obvious vices. You take antidepressants. You do look after yourself to some extent. I don’t for a minute believe any of that would impact your ability to care for your children.”

“It’s not that simple.” Excuses again. Even I was starting to see how my whingeing was destroying everything.

Enough.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I…wasn’t a very good husband. I didn’t listen. I didn’t see the cracks forming, and I didn’t put Veronica first. I just—”

“Truth. All of it.”

He knew. I was tired of lying. Tired of hiding. Tired of trying to plaster up the cracks in my life with nothing but fear. Shame. Tears.

“I’ve lived with depression…all my life. Struggled with expectations and goals and exams.”

“We all struggle. And you’ve dealt with that, haven’t you? The antidepressants? You mentioned therapy? ”

It wasn’t that easy.

“I…” This wasn’t either. Something hidden so deep down that I couldn’t even assemble the words.

“Stewart, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Because I’m right here. And we all make mistakes. Awful mistakes.”

“I used to think that’s all I was. A massive mistake.”

Where had that come from? And here were those bloody tears again.

“We were done with the crying, remember?” He tilted my face up with his fingers, somehow moving me to where he wanted me, my back now flush against the kitchen wall, trapped between the chair and him. Nowhere to escape.

“Constance had no concerns about seeing you. She hugged you and clung to you. You should have seen her face when she saw you.”

The things he said that made me well up.

“But I can’t help you—I can’t be here for you—if I don’t understand what you’re going through. And believe me, I want to be here for you. ”

“Why?” It was a legitimate question, I felt. I didn’t understand why he took such an interest.

“Because…we’re on this journey together. Trying to be happy. I told you earlier.”

I had to laugh because I suddenly saw it, clearer than anything else.

“You’re as bad as me. At lying.”

“I’m not lying,” he claimed, but he took a defensive step back. I put my hands on his arms, held him in place, like he held me.

Balance. It was a delicate one, but one I needed. I smiled.

“You’re lying. Your eye twitches when you do.”

I loved how he laughed. A little embarrassed, combined with that look of being uncomfortable again.

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be truthful, but you have to be as well. We’re not going to get anywhere here if we’re not.”

“Agreed.” I nodded vigorously. Was I a child?

Probably. But I was, strangely, regaining my composure, emerging from this weird state I’d found myself in.

Honesty, I hadn’t played that game for a long time, but I wanted to.

I wanted to get all this out in the open.

I wanted to move on. I wanted so desperately to stop whining and start living.

Fighting. Being happy. I had no idea how to, but I wanted it.

“So I asked you, and I’ll ask it again. What made the courts take away custody?”

Deep breath.

“I failed at my first suicide attempt when I was sixteen.”

I was surprised by how easily the words came out—and the lack of shock on his face.

It took a few breaths for him to say anything, but he stayed there, looking me straight in the eyes. Kindness. Something else that scared the life out of me.

“I gathered it was something like that.”

“I took a load of pills. My mother found me and had me carted off to hospital. We never told my father.”

He nodded. I wasn’t proud.

“Second time, at university. I was lucky. I was too drunk to stop myself from throwing up and just slept it off in a haze. I never told anyone.”

I had no idea why I was telling him now. But there was this urge in me, my body was reacting, like I wanted to retch, throw up the rest of the truth before I chickened out.

“Third time?” he asked, like he was asking for test results. Goals in a final.

“When I was served papers in a hotel room in Miami. I bought enough pills to do a good job of it, alongside two bottles of bourbon. I’d been hanging around for days, trying to get Veronica to pick up the phone.

Constance’s phone was switched off. They’d called the police on me every time I tried to visit.

I was losing my mind. I was already in a state, having to fly out for a week to spend time with my children and then being denied access after one day.

I couldn’t cope. I wasn’t rational. And I… ”

I took a deep breath. He squeezed my biceps, strong hands holding me together as my body trembled.

“I get it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Then tell me.”

“I took all the tablets, downed them with the entire contents of the first bottle, smashed up the room in the process…then threw myself over the balcony.”

“Okay. ”

How the fuck was he so calm?

“I was on the first floor.” Deep breath.

“I landed on the awning below and did my shoulder in. I didn’t even have a concussion, but I had to have my stomach pumped and all that.

It didn’t look too good in front of the judge.

I agreed with him and signed everything that was put in front of me, without even reading it.

I wasn’t fit to care for my children, so I gave in.

Agreed to everything Veronica wanted. I flew home a week later with a pending criminal case and a massive fine, paid for the damage to the hotel and for the room clean-up. And that was it.”

“Dylan.”

“I had a spousal visa, which got revoked, due to those charges. If I try to return to the States?” I shrugged.

“I see. Go on.”

Brave. He made me brave. And it was suddenly so easy.

“I…have thought about ending it. Many, many times. But I can’t even do it right.

I’m not a good person. I’m weak, and I’m frightened of the end.

I have nowhere to run anymore and so little hope left.

Because I destroyed everything, and the little courage I had left—I think Gun Larsen beat that out of me this morning.

She was right. I made some incredibly bad decisions.

And most of all, I trusted my wife when I knew full well she was fucking me over from every angle. Gun’s words, not mine.”

“We all put trust in the people we love.”

“I loved her for a very long time. Even when I signed the divorce papers and she laughed at me in court. And then she got remarried to that Brandon, and—”

“You didn’t try to kill yourself.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“No,” I confirmed. “I was too numb by then. I don’t think I even took it in at the time.”

“I can understand that.”

I felt detached, like my body was no longer my own, just a continuous wave of emotions surging through me. Nausea. Relief. Anger. Pain.

Needy. That was what Veronica used to call me. Needy. Co-dependent. Unable to function without her holding my hand.

Perhaps she’d been right. I’d just…

“Dylan. Whatever you felt you needed to do at the time doesn’t matter anymore.

Because you’re still here. You’re right here, living, breathing and fighting.

That is what matters. If you even get the right to phone Constance once a week, that would be a massive improvement, wouldn’t it?

An achievable first compromise. I mean, I know nothing about family law, but she obviously wants you to be a part of her life, and at sixteen, perhaps her voice can be heard. ”

I almost let my mouth get the better of me, wanting to blurt out excuses about it not being that simple, but I managed to swallow down the words, hoping I was turning a corner. I wanted to do better, be a different person, start over with all that gusto and bravery Stewart seemed to have. Guts.

“I want my children back, and I just want to live.”

Gun had taught me well. Vocalising my needs and wants was something I’d never been good at.

“Then let’s start over. Let’s try to be happy?”

Was it a question? An answer? I didn’t know, but he wrapped me up in a hug, and I found my face pressed into his chest. He smelled like home, the soft scent of tea and laundry mixed with a whiff of his deodorant.

I didn’t mind. I needed it. Wanted it. All of this. Just to feel safe and cared for and most of all…

“I don’t want to be on my own.”

“You’re not,” he whispered into my hair. Then he pressed his lips to my head, and for the umpteenth time today, I burst into tears.