Cathy Glass - Run, Mummy, Run

‘Mark! Wait for me,’ she called. He was walking fast, too fast, she was having to run to keep up and nearly tripped. ‘Mark!’ she called again. ‘Wait for me!’ But he didn’t; he didn’t stop or turn, but kept on walking, gaining distance: through the undergrowth, then out of the thicket and down the hill towards the bridge at the bottom. ‘Mark! Stop! I can’t keep up!’ she cried and ran after him, the bag of cones banging awkwardly against her leg. ‘Mark? Wait! What’s the matter?’

There was no reply. Fear gripped her. He strode on as she slipped and slid down the grassy bank, frantically trying to catch up with him. She went to grab hold of the passing twigs and brambles to steady herself, but the grass was wet and her feet kept slithering from under her. ‘Mark! Please wait!’ she shouted louder, but he ignored her.

Down to the bottom of the hill, his back was towards her, receding, moving further away as he continued, putting more distance between them. The bridge came into sight and he marched straight onto it with no concern for the rotting planks. He stalked across and off the other side. Aisha’s heart pounded as she arrived at the bottom of the hill and ran onto the bridge, trying to keep him in sight. Off the other side of the bridge the gap between them widened as he began along the track that led to the stile.

‘Mark, stop!’ she yelled, out of breath and consumed by panic. ‘For goodness’ sake stop! Tell me what I’ve done!’

She heard the hysteria in her voice and perhaps he heard it too, because he cleared the stile with a leap, then took another step and stopped. His back was towards her, his head was held stiff and erect. She ran to the stile, her breath catching in her throat, and clambered over, scratching her leg as she went. Mark was standing just in front of her now, still turned away, but not moving. She went round to face him. His face was deathly white and the fine lines of his forehead were furrowed deep. He looked past her; focusing on some distant point straight ahead.

‘Mark,’ she said again. ‘Mark, please. What is it? Tell me. What have I done?’

He shrugged, a silent gesture of despair, then slowly brought his gaze to meet hers; his expression saying it was impossible, futile even to begin.

‘Mark?’ she implored. But no, he stepped round her and continued at a slower pace towards the field.

She followed him along the edge of the ploughed field and then into the wood where they had previously sauntered hand in hand, enjoying the peace and tranquillity. And whereas before the isolation had added to her pleasure – just the two of them alone in the countryside – it now made her nervous and afraid. As she followed him, her mind frantically searched for an explanation, something that would give her a clue, a handle on what had happened. A small voice from her past said that it was her fault and she was to blame, that she had thrown herself at a man like some cheap hussy as her mother had warned against, and he had rejected her. Aisha felt bitterly ashamed.

The sky ahead burst fiery orange as the winter sun began its descent. Aisha saw its beauty and felt it bittersweet. Mark would have normally stopped and commented on it – he loved the perfection in nature as much as she. But now they continued separate and in silence, the artwork overhead an unacknowledged witness to their isolation.

A few minutes later, the car came into view and Mark quickened his pace again, delving into his coat pocket for the key fob. She heard the click, and watched as he opened the passenger door and stood aside to let her in. Her stomach tightened as she brushed passed him, his little act of chivalry now seeming ludicrous.

She watched him cross in front of the bonnet, his face set and expressionless as she’d never seen it before. She continued to look straight ahead as he climbed in and slammed the door. She could feel her pulse beating wildly in her chest and could hear his breath, fast and shallow. He threw the car keys onto the dashboard, jammed his hands into this coat pockets and, lowering his head, stared into his lap.

‘Well?’ she said at last, still not looking at him and only just managing to fight back the tears. ‘What have I done, Mark? What could I have possibly done to make you behave like that?’ Again her conscience said it must have been her fault, and fear rose up and engulfed her – if this was the end of their relationship, then she only had herself to blame.

He was silent for what seemed an eternity; a silence that seemed to condemn her; then slowly he took his hands out of his pockets and gripped the steering wheel. She saw his knuckles, clenched and white.

‘You haven’t done anything,’ he said tightly. ‘It’s me. I should have told you sooner. Now it’s too late.’

She turned to look at him, even more confused. ‘Told me what? What do you mean?’

He paused and drew a muted breath. ‘About me. My past. Choosing the wrong partner. I should have told you, but I knew you wouldn’t understand.’

She stared at him and found no comfort in his words. Clearly whatever had happened, she hadn’t understood. ‘You did tell me – about Angela?’ she said at last.

He paused again, then clenched and unclenched his hands on the wheel. ‘But I haven’t told you all of it. There was someone else before you.’

She stared at him. ‘So, you went out with someone else, before me. That’s not so awful. It doesn’t explain—’

‘No,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘It was more than that. I lived with someone – for five years. I wanted to tell you, but I never found the right moment and then it was too late. I knew that if I did tell you there was a chance I would lose you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that.’ A muscle twitched nervously at the corner of his mouth. Aisha heard the words individually before understanding their full implication.

‘You lived with someone?’ she said slowly. ‘For five years? So you were married really, only without the piece of paper.’

He laughed, cynical and biting. ‘There! I knew you wouldn’t understand. How could you, with your upbringing?’

She was quiet, feeling the accusation, the condemnation of her culture and naivety. ‘I don’t think I have ever judged you, Mark,’ she said quietly.

‘Until now!’

She turned away and looked through the windscreen, concentrating on the darkening skyline as the sun continued its descent. ‘So what’s changed?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Why tell me now?’

He sighed. ‘Your passion. It made me realize how far our relationship had come. I knew I couldn’t continue without you knowing. I’m sorry, I don’t expect you to understand. I’ll take you home.’

‘No!’ she cried, panicking at the finality of what he’d said. ‘If you try talking to me instead of shutting me out, I might. I can’t possibly understand anything unless you tell me, Mark.’

He flexed his shoulders and looked around as though scouring the air for the right words. Releasing the wheel, he sat back and took a deep breath. Aisha looked ahead and tried to calm the nausea rising in her throat.

‘When my marriage to Angela ended I moved out, as you know,’ he said in a dead-beat voice. ‘I lived alone in a rented bedsit. It was squalid, but it was all I could afford what with having to pay maintenance. I was alone, with nothing to think about but the children and what I’d lost. I became very depressed. I couldn’t see any point in anything anymore. I know that must seem strange to you, seeing the person I am now. I really had reached rock bottom. Then I met Christine. She was younger than me and full of energy and fun. She picked me up and brushed me down, gave me a new lease of life. I didn’t stop to consider what I was doing, I was just grateful for her company. Within a few months, we had set up home together, and it was only then I found out.’