The split, p.14
The Split, page 14
‘You are not to waste a moment of worry on me, is what I am trying to say. Just concentrate on having a wonderful holiday. Everything will get sorted, I promise.’
She had stopped at once, and looked at him, her eyes soft and solemn. ‘I know that is what you want, Lucas. But it is hard, no, just to forget what is going on? Though of course I shall do my best.’ She smiled properly, and he was so glad to have dared to speak out. But then, as if the moment had released some much-needed pressure inside her too, she suddenly launched into a diatribe about Dylan, how she hoped Lucas didn’t mind her saying so, but his son was selfish as well as crazy. ‘You were trying so hard, Lucas, like you always do with him, and this is how he repays you. I would never do that to my own parents, and neither would Stefan… but we know it is because Esther has spoiled him,’ she had ended quickly, perhaps reading the tension in his expression and reaching for a conclusion they could both agree on.
She had resumed her packing, leaving Lucas to grapple with a peculiar blend of reassurance and discomfort. That the conversation hadn’t triggered one of the forensic what had – and hadn’t – happened between him and Moira interrogations felt like a step forward; and yet the outburst about Dylan had been hard to hear. His fiancée had every right to voice opinions on anything she chose, Lucas had reminded himself – their lives were shared territory now. And yet such remarks also made him feel very distant from her, coming as they did from a person, no matter how loved, without any comprehension of the complicating animal anxiety of loving a child, even one that behaved liked an irredeemable pillock.
The stint in the library that morning had been Heidi’s idea, to kick-start his faltering progress on the symbolism paper, she had declared in her bold way. His work should not be allowed to stop, she had counselled gravely; it mattered too much. While she was in Germany, he was to throw himself back into it. Lucas had eagerly agreed and set out his laptop and notes on his section of the big table with high hopes and real purpose. This particular library was a favourite of his, and Heidi knew that too, it being the work-space where the first draft of his Gawain book had poured into being. Yet that morning, within minutes, he had sensed that no such magic would be within reach. Re-reading his notes and opening paragraphs, he could see only lines of writing and not their meaning. His once formidable powers of concentration – Esther used to complain at the efficiency with which he shut out the world, and her – felt like a memory of someone else. Instead, his brain flip-flopped, spending nanoseconds on each of myriad subjects, none of them productive. At one point he even caught himself starting a Dylan doodle in the margin of his notebook until a flicker of attention from across the table had him flinging his fingers back to the keys.
What is a symbol?
Lucas typed as the hopelessness continued to spread, a palpable weight in his limbs. Writing something was better than writing nothing. Something could be improved on. Nothing was a blank screen. Lucas stared at the words, telling himself to get a grip. There were no longer any excuses for being so hamstrung. Heidi was proving a stalwart about every damn thing, and the previous afternoon he had finally sent his statement to the Master, a lucid, concise, unambiguous account of Moira’s visit to his rooms of which he was proud. Not ‘his’ truth but ‘the’ truth, Lucas had mused darkly during the days of working on it, crafting and recrafting the testimony into a shape that could brook no misinterpretation. The next step now, if Moira played ball, would be a further meeting, and he felt hopeful about that too. Time had passed. Dust had settled. The new academic year was just a few weeks away. Resolution was in everybody’s interests.
And on the Dylan front too, the last twenty-four hours had presented a promising development, in the form of two postcards, both of the Eiffel Tower, one for Esther and one for Lily. Esther’s had contained some typewritten daft sentence about how good the crêpes were, and Lily’s a small capital D initial beside a kiss. They had shown them off on a FaceTime call the previous afternoon, and Lucas, between reiterating frustration and anger at the situation, had shared the rejoicing at this proof that Dylan still lived and breathed.
Lucas switched tabs to check his email. There was nothing from the Master or the Chaplain, only various administrative matters he couldn’t face, along with a note from Ralph saying he and the family were back from Rhodes and what about a pint before the imminent mayhem of pre-term preparations?
I’m actually up against it at the moment.
Lucas typed back feebly, his innards convulsing at the memory of the Master saying the Senior Tutor would have to be involved if the mediation route was pursued. Mediation. Good God.
Give me a week and I’ll get back to you.
He finished, quickly pressing send and hating the oddness of not wanting to meet with someone whose company he usually enjoyed. A few moments later a text notification popped up on his phone.
If you’re up against it you def need a pint. What about tonight? R.
* * *
Heidi is off to Germany tomorrow so no can do – sorry.
Lucas composed the text slowly, picturing Ralph’s jovial rotund face and quick, brown eyes, the energy and intelligence flying like sparks. A decade younger than him, and a historian who had traded in his academic path for the more practical one of helping to run the college, he managed a complicated, thankless job with boundless efficiency and warmth, as well as a healthy irreverence for nonsense. He was exactly the friend he needed, Lucas reflected bleakly, if only the circumstances were different.
Saturday then? The Swan at 6? Catherine has a concert so it will be a quickie.
* * *
Okay. Thanks. Btw Heidi and I are engaged.
* * *
Hurrah! And huge congrats. Pints on me in that case. R
Noticing that Heidi was also on her phone, Lucas messaged her too, watching across the table as it landed.
Think I’ll head off.
* * *
Ok. Because of lunch with Lily?
* * *
That’s tomorrow. Just need a break.
* * *
Ok. I have yoga, and then drinks with Etienne and Iris. You coming?
* * *
No, if that’s ok.
* * *
Super-ok. I won’t be late.
* * *
I love you.
* * *
Und ich dich, Liebchen.
Back home twenty minutes later, Lucas rummaged in his iced-up bottom freezer drawer for some frozen peas to hold against his throbbing calf, pitched into some new gear of distress by the walk home. Strapping the bag in place with his dressing gown cord resulted in scores of peas shooting across the kitchen floor. In no mood to mess around with a dustpan and brush, Lucas steered them into a rough pile with the inside of his foot and hobbled along the passage towards the sitting room.
On the way, he stopped for a glance into Dylan’s room. It was echoingly empty; his son, such a master of mess, having left nothing except the ring stains on the bedside table and the pitiful note, which Lucas had thrown in the bin in a fit of rage and then retrieved to show Esther and Lily.
Need time-out. Gone travelling. Sorry.
The ‘sorry’ was something, Lucas conceded now. Before closing the door, he sniffed the air, noting with a twist that even the off-smell had gone. Back in his sitting room, he fell into an armchair, lifting the foot of his injured leg onto a low, spindly-legged coffee table, which Esther had rescued from a skip and then never liked much.
To miss his son’s slovenly habits made no sense. Indeed, it felt like a cruel trick, Lucas brooded, recalling his eagerness to reach the moment when Dylan would be properly off his hands. Now that day had presented itself, and all he could feel was anguish. Dylan was such a dolt, that was the trouble. A misguided, optimistic, rebellious dolt. Picturing how he was going to manage navigating a uni curriculum and campus had been a big stretch, let alone this new, imbecilic, underfunded attempt to explore the entire bloody world.
When his phone vibrated, Lucas swooped on it with relief. ‘Lily!’ She was clearly calling from her and Matteo’s kitchen, perched on the little stool they kept parked by the back door. Her shining blue eyes, lighter and bigger than Esther’s, seemed to fill the screen.
‘Hey, Dad, how’s it going?’
‘Not too bad. Has Dylan been in touch again?’
‘Nope. Has anything arrived for you?’
‘Not yet.’ Lucas found he had to force a smile. To be left out shouldn’t matter. ‘I don’t need a postcard,’ he went on quickly. ‘I just want him to come to his senses and get himself home.’
‘Same here… er… look, Dad, I’m sorry but I won’t be able to make our lunch tomorrow.’
Lucas dug inside himself to smile again. When had life got so damned hard? he wondered as another wave of hopelessness washed through him, arriving from nowhere as they all seemed to; tides with their own rhythms. ‘Oh, that’s a shame, but… never mind. Next time, eh?’ Back in the day, during her early undergrad phase, they had lunched every week, at a veggie place Lily liked. Such easy, happy times, they seemed now, for all the difficulties behind the scenes.
‘Cool, Dad, thanks. Sorry – a lot on – and yeah, we’ll fix something soon.’ Lily leant closer to the screen suddenly, squinting. ‘Are you in bed or something? You look sort of… are you okay, Dad?’
‘Yes. I’m super-fine, I…’ Lucas broke off, aware he had used one of Heidi’s superlatives. ‘Just putting my feet up a bit. Literally.’ He waggled his phone to show his foot resting on the spindly table. ‘I managed to tweak a muscle this morning and I’m icing it. Nothing serious. Just bloody annoying. I was going to drive Heidi to the airport tomorrow – she’s off on a visit home – but I’m not sure I shall manage it.’
‘Poor you.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ Lily’s eyes were darting upwards, to a message from another quarter, Lucas guessed. ‘I’ll let you go, sweetheart, but could I just ask… I mean, did Dylan mind about the whole Heidi thing? Do you?’
Lily’s gaze froze for an instant, her saucer eyes growing wider still. ‘No, Dad, we are both cool with it.’
‘Because we talked it through over brunch that day, didn’t we?’ Lucas continued doggedly. ‘We talked it through and you both were fine.’
‘Yes, Dad, we talked it through and it’s fine. All we want is…’ she paused, releasing the rest of the sentence on a rush of air ‘…is for you – and Mum – to be happy.’
‘And you are sure your brother would echo those sentiments?’ Lucas knew he was pressing Lily too hard, and probably unfairly, but he couldn’t shake the new suspicion that had taken root in his mind. Was Dylan punishing him? Was it that simple?
‘Look, Dad, I really can’t speak for Dylan, can I?’ Lily was sounding faintly exasperated. As she spoke the door behind her burst open and Matteo appeared.
‘Hey, Lucas, how’s it going?’
‘Great, thanks, Matteo. And how’s the world of chemical engineering?’
‘Busy. Glad Dylan is on the radar.’
‘Yes, that is tremendous news. We’re all very relieved.’
‘Matteo’s auditioning for a second singer,’ Lily pitched in eagerly, play-wrestling Matteo out of the way. ‘Loads have applied. It’s mad. Including a couple of girls from school. Katya the goth, remember her? And Jane Jessop. They were both in the choir. We’ve got the first ten coming to try out this afternoon.’
‘That sounds fun. Let me know the next gig date. Maybe I’ll come.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure,’ Lucas lied, his mind flying back to the days when Esther had played groupie, while he’d marvelled at her commitment to a cause that really didn’t warrant it. If Lily had been in the band, yes, but not Matteo, bellowing into a mic fizzing with static while he and two mates raked at guitars, and another clashed around with some drums.
After the call, Lucas sank back into his chair. His eyelids wanted to close. He fought it. Defeated old men slept during the day, and he wasn’t one of those.
18
The garden centre, driven past so many times, proved a revelation. There was a spacious car park, an airy café, its tables spilling out onto an attractive patio in the hanging-plant section, and wide concrete aisles that made the manoeuvring of her trolley a breeze.
That morning, she had resolved to clean Dylan’s room, but then hovered at the door, unable to go in. He was okay – or at least, he had been, at the moment of sending the card of Paris’s most famous landmark, with the printed handwritten message that managed to seem distant and close all at the same time. But since then who knew? Esther had frozen with her fingers clasping the door handle. To embark on the task of changing the rumpled bedding, to plunge her hands into the piles of paper and gadgets ranged around the shelves, had grown impossible in the same instant. It was too close to an admission that Dylan would not be home any time soon; that they were all still at the beginning of what had to be gone through.
Trembling a little, she had quietly retreated downstairs, latching onto the idea of tackling the garden instead as she’d caught a glimpse of it through the landing window. Equipment would be required, and even that had been a pleasing distraction. She had made a list, using a page in Viv’s now thoroughly violated journal, always to hand on the kitchen table, and then, typically, forgotten to take the list with her. Nonetheless, ten minutes in, and Esther was in danger of finding the shopping enjoyable. Her trolley had grown so laden it was getting difficult to push and contained several major items that had not made it onto the list, including a giant pair of shears, gloves the size of gauntlets, a small wheelbarrow, and an electric lawnmower, neatly packaged in a big green box. That she hadn’t held back was partly thanks to an unexpected proposal from her healthcare company’s HR department in her inbox that morning, offering a monthly retainer on top of the big rebranding project she was already signed up for. The luxury of having a little money was not having to expend as much energy thinking about it, Esther decided, recklessly tossing a hefty pair of secateurs onto her pile.
Nine days on, and with September looming, the brief sojourn in France felt a world away, but Brian and Viv had only got back the night before. Having deliberately been leaving them in peace, apart from updates about Dylan, Esther had seized the chance to phone that morning in order to reiterate her thanks and apologies.
‘Esther.’
‘Viv, so you’re back? Did you get my messages?’
‘Yes, and yes. Thanks. Lots to get on top of here, as you can imagine…’
‘Of course. Just checking you are all okay and wanting to say another massive thank-you for—’
‘No need, Esther – honestly. And great news about Dylan being in touch. He’ll come home soon enough, walking taller, maybe even fluent in French.’
‘Oh, thank you, Viv – that’s just what Brian said when—’
‘Did he? Oh good. And Paris is pretty close, isn’t it? Which sort of helps. I should imagine.’ The old warm readiness to offer advice still wasn’t quite there, and she was a fool for phoning at such an inopportune time, Esther scolded herself. The first morning back after a long holiday – who had time to chat then? She switched quickly instead to suggesting a date when she might express her thanks by having them both over to dinner. Her own diary was virtually empty, apart from her September spa treat with Lily, but it took until the last Saturday in October – Halloween – before Viv conceded that this was a date that might work.
‘But, Vivvie, that’s ages away…’
‘I know, I’m sorry, Esther. But the autumn is already mad-busy workwise for both of us – not to mention four new terms starting at four different educational institutions to get on top of. The weekends have all been gobbled up.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And by the way, how’s that sick neighbour of yours?’ she added, sounding a bit more like the old Viv.
‘No word as yet. The bloody cat appeared and then vanished again.’
‘Annoying. But remember, it was a favour asked of you, and nothing you should beat yourself up about.’
‘I shall. Thanks, Viv. Sorry to have disturbed your morning, and see you soon.’
Feeling slightly abandoned, Esther had been left recalling her homecoming and the thwarted hopes of herding Carmela’s pet in through her front door. At the final moment, intuiting her intentions, the animal had scrambled sideways, hurdling the low fence into Dimitri and Sue’s front garden and then disappearing through the tangle of gnarled and sprawling rhododendrons separating them from the next house along.
‘Well, at least we know he is around,’ Sue had declared cheerfully, knocking on Esther’s door a little later, having been alerted to the situation by text. ‘Which is something good to report to Marcus – when he gets in touch. There’s not been a peep all week. But how was your holiday?’ she had urged. ‘I must have got it wrong, because I thought you weren’t back till the weekend.’
Esther had said she hadn’t got it wrong and did she have time for a cup of tea? The Dylan trauma had started tumbling out of her before the kettle boiled. Apart from getting up to fetch Esther’s kitchen roll, placing it near Esther when she sat down at the table with their mugs, Sue had stayed quietly in her chair. Sipping her tea, she’d let Esther talk herself out, offering no attempt at comforting sound-bites except, ‘He’s your boy and he loves you,’ which she’d said several times over, between tearing off sheets of the kitchen paper to blow her own nose.
