So I dealt with it by not talking about my work, and they handled the shame of a daughter who’d sold her soul to capitalism by not asking. All of us were constantly busy, so it was easy to let weeks go by without talking, months without meeting up, and when they accepted a contract to replicate the prisoner rehabilitation project in Chicago, I made a vague promise to book a trip to visit them at some point, and got on without them.
I didn’t miss my family, if I was honest. I didn’t miss feeling inadequate, their impossible standards or the very idea that happiness was a frivolity, and how dare we waste an evening laughing our hearts out when other people were suffering?
After all, I had the ShayKi family now, who thought I was fabulous, and the feeling was mutual. Christmas, Easter, summer barbecues and other celebrations were mostly spent in the gorgeous house that Shay’s parents had bought, thanks to tiny investments near the beginning paying off.
Mum and Dad were also consistently lacklustre about my romantic life, which was far less exciting than my job. I had three semi-serious boyfriends in my twenties – an economics student, an engineer and a commercial solicitor – followed by a string of first dates, before accepting that most of the time I’d rather be at home with my friends, instead.
And then I met Leo.
18
BECKETT
Thursday morning, Beckett knew he shouldn’t be looking forward this much to browsing reams of fabric and sitting in a register office. He tried to play it down – of course he’d relish three free hours while Gramps was being happily entertained. He’d spent the last few days trying to chip away at the rubbish in the living room – fighting Gramps over every item, ranging from long-completed puzzle books to dusty cassette tapes and a bottle containing a finger of sherry (Gramps solved that argument by downing it). He’d managed to book Sonali for one more shift before she started with a new service user, and spent hours on the increasingly dismal search for a care provider.
The truth was, he couldn’t think of a single thing that would seem preferable to a day with Mary. What he was really looking forward to was watching her whole face grow animated as she teased him about something. Hearing more about her life, and sharing more of his. He couldn’t wait for Gramps to melt under her powers of persuasion yet again. He’d missed seeing her with Bob, how her confidence was slowly increasing as she felt more at ease with being a mum.
He was again a few minutes early, having allowed plenty of leeway for how stubborn Gramps might be feeling that morning, but Mary was already waiting for them.
‘Shall we go and finally make this boy an official human being?’ Beckett said as she wound a knitted scarf around her neck.
He waited for the glint of enthusiasm, but her only response was a tight nod.
‘Rough night?’ he asked, more quietly.
Mary shrugged. ‘No worse than all the others.’
‘What can I do to help?’
She glanced around, as if unsure. ‘Um, can you sort Bob while I check I’ve got everything?’
He ducked into the living room, where Bob was sleeping in his Moses basket, struck yet again by how dreary the cottage was. Even with the signs of new life – a stuffed toy and heap of tiny clothes on the sofa, baby-shower cards lining up on the bookcase, a bunch of flowers in the empty fireplace – it was still so lifeless. So un-Mary-like.
She’d run a fashion company. Surely that meant she valued things like art and beauty.
Beckett guessed that spending most of her time surrounded by cracked beige walls, tatty carpets and cheap, ugly furniture wouldn’t be great for her mindset. He made a quick mental note to maybe do something about that, and got on with helping her get through today.
‘Good morning,’ an older woman wearing a lilac trouser suit chirruped, her narrow face creasing up in an eager smile. ‘Ms Whittington?’
Mary nodded, offering a weak flick of her mouth in return. After she’d given a couple of monosyllabic replies to his questions on the drive over, and the briefest of hellos to Gramps, Beckett had taken the hint and kept quiet. She’d stayed in the car while he dropped Gramps at lunch club.
‘You’ve got an appointment to register this gorgeous little man!’ The registrar clasped her hands in delight, her tall frame swaying back and forth.
‘Yes.’
Bob currently appeared far from gorgeous. Since arriving in the register office waiting room, he’d been fretting and fussing. As Mary had increasingly struggled to remain calm, Beckett had picked him up, and Bob was now scrunching up his purple face as he whinged, batting himself in the eye with a dribbly fist, increasing his distress.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, and many congratulations on your son. I’m Delilah Bond, licensed to marry, but not kill.’ Delilah put her hands together and pointed them at the ceiling as if pretending they were a gun. ‘Shall we go on through?’
Mary looked at Beckett. ‘Are you okay with him for a bit?’
‘Oh, it’s fine for Daddy to bring him in. We’re used to noisy babies in here, I can promise you that.’ Delilah patted her silver pixie cut, expression thoughtful for a moment. ‘I did object to the parrot. Anyway, if you’re not married, then, Daddy, you’ll need to come in so we can pop you on the birth certificate. If you do have the joy of being espoused, then your presence is not required. Although, I can’t imagine why you’d choose to miss it!’
Mary, who had been listening to this, her face frozen, lips in a thin line, suddenly pressed both hands against her face and let out a cross between a wail and a groan that made Beckett’s heart crack in two.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, hunching over in the chair. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Delilah looked aghast as Beckett quickly sat beside Mary and put his hand on her shoulder, causing Bob to start noisily protesting at no longer being jigged about.
