Sara Foster - Come Back to Me

‘Chloe, Chloe…’ As she grew quieter, David pushed her back so he could see her face. She didn’t want to look up, the first trickles of embarrassment now finding a route through her emotions, and kept her eyes on the buttons of his shirt.

‘Chloe, you must talk to us. Of course we would be concerned, perhaps annoyed, and yes, we do have the business very much at heart as well, but we are just like you at the end of the day – just as capable as you are of screwing up every damn thing.’ She looked up and he gave her a smile and raised an eyebrow, and appeared pleased when she couldn’t help but give a small smile back.

‘Besides,’ David’s jaw clenched, ‘Mark is just as accountable for this as you are, and, from what I can see, he’s not giving you much support.’

‘No, no,’ Chloe said immediately. ‘It’s not that.’ All at once she wanted to laugh. ‘Thank god it’s not that! My husband is, in fact, the father of my child!’

David looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, that was most presumptuous -’

Chloe cut him off, waving his apology away. ‘Don’t worry about it. But as for Mark, did Neil not tell you about Henry?’ she asked.

David sat back and sighed. ‘Oh, so that’s it, is it? Do you know what’s going on with Henry?’ He sounded weary.

Chloe shrugged. ‘No, and I’m not even sure that Mark does.’

David nodded and looked at his watch. ‘I might try to find Mark, then, when I head back, and see what’s what. I seem to be spending the day ensconced in the mysterious subterranean world of my staff, so I may as well carry on.

‘Now,’ he continued, looking at Chloe. ‘I’m going to have to go, but I don’t want you to be on your own. I want you to call someone.’

‘I will,’ she said, with no such intention.

‘Now, Chloe, while I’m here.’

‘I’ll call someone, I promise.’ She looked up at him indignantly. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

‘No,’ David replied. She waited for a smile to appear, but he just stared at her expectantly. She could already feel his role changing from that of her confidant back to her superior, and she got up and went to the side table, where both the phone and her address book lay.

She paused over the address book, mentally riffling through lists of names without even opening it. Who could she call? She discounted friends with small babies, friends with work commitments, friends who lived too far away. She didn’t want to go to someone else’s house; she wanted to stay right here and rest among her own things.

In the back of her mind, despite everything, there was just one name. She picked up the phone and dialled. A voice answered after only a couple of rings.

‘Mum?’ Chloe said.

By the time Mark got onto the train, it had already been a long day – the court session had dragged on interminably with convoluted legal argument, then as the barrister had summed up the jury had looked at him like he’d just stepped out of a shiny silver spaceship and tried to talk to them in Martian. They had screw-all chance of winning this one. The only consolation was that, deep down, Mark knew his client was a wanker, and deserved what was coming; still, he hated defeat.

His mother was waiting in her car at the station.

‘Ready?’ she asked as he got in and leaned across to kiss her cheek.

‘Yep. What about you?’

‘I don’t know why I let your sister talk me into this,’ she said, pulling out into the heavy traffic.

They undertook most of the hour’s journey in silence. It was after seven when they finally pulled up, and Mark thought his mother looked as tired as he felt. He wasn’t sure exhaustion was the ideal prerequisite for a family showdown, but there was not a lot they could do about that.

No sooner had the engine gone silent than Di’s front door flew open, as though she’d been watching for them. She rushed out and hugged her mother, then Mark, though less enthusiastically.

Di looked nervous. Her face turned from one to the other as she said, ‘He doesn’t know you’re coming.’

Mark couldn’t hide his frustration at such pettiness. ‘Jesus, Di,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

‘Well, I didn’t think he’d hang around if I told him,’ Di shot back, annoyed.

Their mother looked at them both. ‘Stop bickering, you two. Come on, let’s go and get this over with.’

They trooped inside, following Diane down a narrow corridor to the sitting room. Mark briefly glanced at the magnolia walls and the worn beige carpet – he hadn’t been here for over eighteen months, but nothing had changed. It was still as drab and depressing as ever.

They all rounded the doorway to see Henry, dressed casually in cord slacks and a jumper over a buttoned-up checked shirt, watching the news on TV, with Diane’s husband, Sol.

‘What the -?’ Henry said, half-rising out of his chair upon seeing them.

‘We’re here to talk to you,’ Mark’s mother said snippily.

Henry sank back into his chair with a noticeable thump and a muttered ‘Christ’, defeated now he was cornered. Meanwhile, Sol took his cue and left the room without a word.

Diane strolled over to the remote and flicked the TV onto standby. The silence suddenly became apparent, like a fifth person in the room.

Mark and his mother were still standing in the doorway, neither of them making a move. Diane looked at them, shook her head, went over to sit on the sofa near to her dad’s chair and took his hand.

‘Dad, please don’t feel got at,’ she said, trying to look him in the eyes, though he couldn’t hold her gaze. ‘We’re really worried about you. What’s going on?’

Mark watched as Henry struggled between his soft spot for his daughter, which Mark had always found contemptible, and his rage at being outmanoeuvred like this. Diane was looking at Mark and her mother, her eyes imploring them to do their bit. His mother seemed frozen to the spot, so, reluctantly, Mark went and sat down on the sofa next to his sister, noticing the lack of support in it as he was swallowed up by the sagging cushions.

‘We just want to help, Dad,’ he said quietly.

Emily was still statue-like by the door, everyone watching her now. She had folded her arms and pursed her lips, and Mark was trying to quell his rising irritation. They’d driven all this way; she could at least try.

Then Emily began talking and Mark wished she hadn’t. ‘Look at you, Henry, your children fawning over you like you’re an infant. What’s all this nonsense about? Is it retirement, is that the problem? Because no one asked you to retire, you can head back to work if that’s what’s making you behave like a fool.’

Now Henry was riled. He sprang to his feet. ‘I didn’t ask you to come. You can sod off if this is how much you care.’

‘Dad!’ Di interjected, shocked, but now their father was on a roll.

‘So you want to know what’s wrong, eh?’ he said, marching across to his wife and spitting the words right into her face. ‘Well, all right then, I’ll tell you. I’ve got bloody Parkinson’s, that’s what’s wrong. Instead of living a full life of retirement on the golf courses and with my friends, I’m going to be turning into a stuttering, shaking fool. That’s what’s bloody wrong,’ he roared. ‘That and the fact that I’m married to a woman with not a scrap of compassion in her body.’

Emily stood her ground, their faces only inches apart. ‘The compassion drained out of me somewhat after you went out whoring,’ she replied.

Henry threw his hands up. ‘One time, woman,’ he barked, ‘one little dalliance, years ago, and you can’t bloody let it go.’

‘One time I actually caught you with your trousers down, don’t you mean,’ Emily retorted, arms folded, lips pursed.