Kathleen McGurl - The Forgotten Secret

I felt a tear form in the corner of my eye. ‘Can’t help but wonder what your grandparents would have thought, if they’d still been here. Marriage is supposed to be for life.’

Matt smiled. ‘They’d feel the same way Jon and I do, I’m sure. They’d want what’s best for you, and it’s been obvious for ages that staying with Dad isn’t doing you any good. You know, Grandma used to pull me to one side and ask me on the quiet if I thought you were happy with Dad. I used to say yes of course you were, as I didn’t want to worry her, not when she was so ill at the end.’

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ I had to wipe away another tear at that. Mum had been in such pain in her final days as the cancer ate away at her. She’d been in a hospice, in a private room, with Dad at her bedside and the boys and me visiting as often as we could. I went every day at the end. Paul only came once, stayed five minutes then announced he had too much to do. I’d told myself it wasn’t his mum, and he was feeling uncomfortable not being part of her direct family. But the truth was he had never really wanted much to do with my parents. Dad had died only a year after Mum. But before he’d gone, he’d gifted me his car – a three-year-old Ford Mondeo that Paul had immediately appropriated as his own, trading in our elderly BMW. Until Uncle Pádraig’s legacy, the car was the only thing I owned outright, under my own name.

‘So, you going to do it, Mum?’ Matt said, dragging me back into the present.

‘I don’t know yet. I’m going to have a good long think about it.’

‘You do that.’ He was thoughtful for a moment, then looked at me with a smile. ‘Do you remember that poem Grandma used to quote? I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree. That’s what you should do.’

‘Go to Innisfree?’ I said.

‘Or whatever the farm in Ireland is called. Arise and go now. That’s my point.’ He pulled out his wallet to pay for our coffees. ‘This one’s on me. And don’t forget you can ring me any time if you want to discuss it more. Jon and I will do all we can to help you.’

‘Not if it puts your dad against you. I don’t want you to ruin your relationship with him on account of me.’

‘Mum, I don’t have much of a relationship with him anyway. Don’t think Jon does either. It was always you, when we were kids. You were the one who walked us to school, took us to swimming lessons, helped us with homework, played endless games of Monopoly with us on rainy days and all the rest of it. A proper parent. Dad was just a shadowy figure in the background.’

‘On holidays though, he played with you then?’

‘Did he? I don’t remember. When I think of family holidays, I picture you digging sandcastles or helping us fly kites. I suppose Dad was there, but he just doesn’t figure in my memories.’

Matt got up to pay our bill. Those last words had made me kind of sad and lost in my reminiscences again. I’d always thought that our family holidays were the best times, when Paul had been a proper dad for once.

We hadn’t been married long when I became pregnant with Matt. Paul was delighted when I showed him the blue line on the pregnancy test, and immediately took me out to a swanky restaurant for dinner. Bit wasted on me though, as I had developed an odd metallic taste in my mouth (which continued for the whole first trimester) and nothing tasted right. But I was happy that he was happy, and excited about the prospect of motherhood.

Paul insisted I gave up working in the shoe shop when I was six months gone. ‘You can’t be bending down over people’s feet with that huge bump,’ he’d reasoned.

‘But what about maternity pay?’ I’d said. ‘I need to work a bit longer to qualify.’

‘You won’t be going back to work after the baby’s born, Clare,’ he’d said. ‘You wouldn’t want someone else bringing up our child, would you? Anyway, a decent nanny would cost us more than you earn anyway.’

There’d been no arguing with him, and while I was sad to give up having my own little bit of income, he was right about the cost of childcare. I could always find something part-time later on, when our child or children reached school age.

It was an easy pregnancy. I spent the last three months getting a nursery ready for the baby, decorating the room in palest yellow with a stencilled frieze of farm animals around the walls, painting an old chest of drawers and adding more animals to it, making curtains and a matching floor cushion, and re-covering a fireside chair that would be my seat for night-time feeds. That was the first chair I re-covered, and I enjoyed it so much I vowed to learn how to do upholstery properly.

When Matt was born, Paul showered me with gifts. Flowers, chocolates, champagne, pretty white shawls to wrap the baby in, a gorgeous bracelet with a baby charm. No expense spared. I felt like a queen. I felt loved and cherished.

Paul proved to be a hands-off dad. I don’t think he changed a single nappy. I told myself he worked hard all day and deserved a break in the evenings and at weekends, and baby-minding was my job, but to tell the truth, I would have appreciated a bit of help now and again, and maybe a few lie-ins. It would have helped Paul bond with Matt.

I tried to encourage him to do more. But he’d just sigh and say some things were best left to women. I told myself that once we were out of the baby stage, he’d be more interested. When he could take Matt to the park, kick a football, ride bikes – that’s when Paul would come into his own as a father.

Little Jon came along when Matt was nearly three, and here, I thought, was the opportunity for Paul to do more with Matt, leaving me free to look after Jon. Matt was potty trained and a very biddable child, easy to handle. But there was no change. Paul kept a distance from both boys. He’d occasionally accompany us on a trip to the park or the swimming pool, to the boys’ delight. Family holidays were fun too, when Paul would act like a real dad for once, being relaxed and playful, the way I remember my own dad being all the time. I always put it down to Paul’s stressful job in telecom sales, and assumed he could only properly relax when he was away from it all on holiday. At least that’s how I remembered it, but Matt seemed to have different recollections.

It was probably the holidays and the way the boys worshipped him when he did spend time with them, that kept me with Paul all those years. Looking back, I’d probably fallen out of love with him by the time Jon was a year old. I just told myself everyone found the baby and toddler years hard. And he still bought me surprise gifts and treats every now and again. I knew he must love me. I was just being ungrateful and somehow dissatisfied with life. I had a husband who from the outside appeared to dote on me, two gorgeous little boys, a lovely house. What more did I want?

Now, as I left the café with Matt, I realised that after so many years I was at last beginning to work out what I wanted. A little bit of independence and the freedom to make my own decisions, such as whether I wanted cake with my cuppa or not.

I had a phone call that night from Jon. He rang at eight p.m. – the time when Paul goes out to his regular twice-a-week gym class. Whenever the boys ring at this time it’s because they know they can talk to me without their dad listening in.

‘Hey, Mum. I had a call from Matt. He told me what you and he were talking about today. Just wanted to let you know that if you decide to go for it, and leave Dad, that’s all right by me. Actually, more than all right. I think it’d be great for you.’

‘Aw, Jon.’ I felt tears well up again. Maybe it was the menopause coming on, or maybe just the stresses of making such a big decision, but I seemed to be constantly weepy.