My heart stings.
‘Clodagh, put her on the phone, please!’
‘No, Charlie, this isnothelping.’
I clench my left hand into a fist and squeeze my eyes shut to try and release some tension.
‘She wants to talk to me. She’s upset.’
‘She’ll be even more upset if she sees that you’re upset,’ Clodagh tells me, her voice rising a few octaves. ‘Now, it’s better for us all to acknowledge that, yes, there’ll be good days and bad days while we settle into this new way of life. Rebecca knows that. She’s doing so well.’
‘Rebecca,’ I call out so my daughter can hear me. ‘Rebecca, darling! Daddy loves you and will see you very soon, OK? You stay brave. Send me lots of photos of everything you do, and I’ll send you some too. You can call me anytime you want. It doesn’t have to just be once a week. Do you hear me, Rebecca?’
I can’t help it. I’m staying as calm as I can, but if Clodagh won’t put the child on the phone then I’ll shout it out so she can hear me.
‘This isnothelping,’ Clodagh says firmly. ‘We agreed to stick to calls only once a week for now to avoid exactly this. You’re fussing, and fussing doesn’t help anyone.’
‘I’m not fussing! This arrangement isbloodyridiculous, Clodagh. Our child called me from your phone in distress!’ I say, doing my best to keep my voice level. ‘Christ, this is hard for me too, you know? Can you imagine how you’d feel if Rebecca was in a different country from you at this time of year – or any time of year for that matter? I asked you to wait until after Christmas. You should have let us have one last Christmas together. I told you this would happen. I knew it would happen.’
Then Clodagh hangs up. She fuckinghangs up, and I want to kick something so badly.
‘Fuck!’ I say as loud as I can, forgetting that Rose is probably in the vicinity. It takes all my willpower not to throw my phone away, so instead I march around the side of the cottage, down to the bottom of the back garden until I can go no further unless I go to the forest, and I stand there with my eyes closed, willing my heart rate to slow down.
I want to scream. My lip trembles. My eyes sting. I haven’t cried properly in years.
‘Charlie?’
I hear Rose’s voice from the kitchen door and I raise my hand to let her know I hear her.
‘It’s fine,’ I call back, hoping and praying she gives me some space like I did for her yesterday when she was upset. ‘All good. I’m fine.’
I thankfully hear the back door close, followed by George barking from inside the kitchen. I’m grateful that Rose didn’t push me for answers. After last night, when some sort of tension –attraction– seemed to build between us caused by too much alcohol, I’ve been staying out of her way deliberately. I’ve enough on my mind without getting to know or like a stranger I’m forced to spend Christmas with. I could easily find comfort in Rose. I’m sure I could probably fall for her too, especially last night when she looked so beautiful in her casual clothes and that smile that gets me every time. But I’m too raw right now, and so is she.
I take a few deep breaths and clutch my phone, almost squeezing it in my hand. Man, this hurts to my very bones. I feel so helpless. Maybe I should jump on a plane and just go to see Rebecca? But no, that wouldn’t help matters in the long term. Plus, Clodagh would go mental.
I try to think rationally and switch my mindset into a practical mode where I can see things as if I’m looking from the outside in. Yes, that’s helping.
I try to look at it from a bird’s eye view, even though I’m drowning in emotional agony right now.
Think practically, Charlie. You’re always in way too deep. Don’t absorb everything so much; you’re like a sponge, taking in everyone’s feelings and emotions to heart. Think for yourself. Think of the bigger picture and decide from there.
For once, Clodagh’s voice in my head is right on the money. As much as my ex drives me insane, she is all in all a very good mother. Yes, that’s a better way to look at it. She is usually calm and reasonable when it comes to parenting,which I am too, but I can also err towards the emotional and impulsive side, going into full protective mode if I think my child is hurting.
If she is in pain, I am in pain.
If she’s happy, then I’m happy.
But she isn’t happy. She wants to come home. I know it’s an inevitable bout of homesickness as Christmas creeps closer. Yet hearing her say it and seeing her tear-stained face when we’re so far from each other is incredibly hard to bear.
Max, as always when I’m in a bit of a spin, is right by my side. As I stand with my hands on my hips and my head tilted back, trying to focus on breathing this pain out, he jumps on to his hind legs and puts his front paws on my thigh, then tilts his head to the side and looks up at me in solidarity.
‘You miss her too, don’t you, pal?’ I let out a long sigh as I stroke his furry brown and white ears. ‘We both miss her so badly. It’s cruel.’
He slumps down onto the cold, wet grass. I squeeze my temples, breathing in some more fresh air as I wait for this crippling anxiety and frustration to subside. But minutes later it’s still not working. I feel like I need a drink to numb the pain – and I know a few whiskeys would soon make me forget the world – but I also know that would only make it worse. Been there, done that many times in the last few months. I’ll go and distract my mind by doing something practical, just like I would tell my clients to.
There’s nothing else Icando.
‘Sorry, Max, but I need to go. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise,’ I say to the dog. ‘I’m going to see what’s happeningat the village hall. I need to get away from reality before I totally lose my marbles.’
