The Astonishing Return of Norah Wells (13 page)

Adam stands on Willoughby Street, Fay on one side of him, Norah on the other. They watch the police walk back to their car.

From that first night in London all those years ago, it had always been the three of them.

Fay got there first. Walking home through the park after a late shift at the hospital, she'd found Norah lying on a playground roundabout, spinning and staring up at the stars. Norah had been sleepwalking; she'd twisted her ankle and had sat down on the roundabout for rest.

Adam had turned up a few minutes after Fay, his shirt hanging out, stumbling along the path that skirted the river after a long night at the pub.

Adam and Fay had fallen out within a few minutes of meeting.

I can manage on my own,
Fay had said.

I want him to come with us,
Norah had burst out.

He'd felt that was a victory: Norah wanted him.

Already on that first night, he and Fay had felt Norah's pull – and had started competing for her affections.

Looks like I'm coming,
Adam had said, tucking his shirt in and brushing his fingers through his hair.

They'd each taken one of Norah's arms and carried her weight as she limped between them through the dark streets.

Mummy and Daddy must be loaded,
he'd joked as they stood in the marble hallway of Fay's flat.

You can go now
, Fay had said.

Norah had touched her arm.
Come on, Fay,
she'd said, her tone already familiar.
We should offer Adam a coffee
.
It's the least we can do.

And so he'd stayed.

And six weeks later he'd proposed.

It was a summer's day, Norah's twenty-first birthday. Adam was meant to be working late, helping his dad in the photography shop – that's what he told Norah. But he'd planned it all: the trek up Primrose Hill, the picnic, cheap champagne, the Tesco's Finest chocolates, an old, battery-operated CD player with Louis Armstrong playing ‘What a Wonderful World', the song they would have at their wedding. Tourists had clapped and whooped as Adam got down on one knee.

And she'd said yes. Against all the incredible odds, she'd accepted him.

The night of the proposal, Fay and Norah were meant to have a girly evening. When he walked through her front door behind Norah, he saw the disappointment on Fay's face. She'd spent all day preparing: champagne and chocolates and smoked salmon from Harrods, scented candles and a box of cosmetics from Jo Malone. And Norah's birthday present: a late-summer jazz weekend in New York, just the two of them. She'd placed the plane tickets in an envelope, tied a blue ribbon round it and propped it up on Norah's plate.

Norah had rushed in, flushed and out of breath, her hair hanging loose over her skinny shoulder blades, desperate to tell her new best friend about the proposal.
Sorry I'm late
…
she'd gasped, kicking off her shoes. She collapsed on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her.
I have to tell you something,
she'd said.

He'd stood by the door, watching.

Fay's eyes fell on the pinprick of a diamond glinting on Norah's finger.

Fay had locked on her smile and opened the champagne.

And then Norah had blurted out:
I can't
. She'd looked from Fay to Adam and then she'd smoothed her T-shirt over her stomach.
I mean
– I'm not meant to, am I?
She'd smiled shyly.

He'd asked her before he knew about the baby. He was glad of that: that he'd proposed because he loved her – loved her more than anything in the world. Loved her so much that, when Ella came along and Norah's attention was divided, he'd turned in on himself. Started drinking. And, for the next six years, until Willa was born, he'd lurched between obsessive love and childish jealousy, and a complete denial that he was a father. It had taken Fay to wake him up to life.

Later that night, he'd heard Fay and Norah talking on the balcony.

Do you think I'm doing the right thing?
Norah had asked Fay.

Fay had paused and then said:
Sure.
And then she'd paused again.
He's crazy about you, Norah. Of course it's the right thing.

 

The three of them watch the police car disappear round the corner of Willoughby Street.

Fay turns to Adam. ‘What did you tell the officers?'

‘I explained that Ella made a mistake.'

Adam notices that Norah's looking across the road. The Miss Peggs are sitting on a white wooden bench in front of their bungalow, drinking Earl Grey out of a Thermos, as they do every morning.
It's our Neighbourhood Watch duty,
they say.
We like to see the world waking up.

‘Anyone for tea?' Rose calls over the street, holding up her plastic beaker.

It's as though there's nothing strange at all about police cars and Ella shouting so loud the whole street must have heard and Norah, a woman they last saw six years ago, standing out here on the doorstep. Maybe the twins are psychic.

‘We're fine, thank you,' Adam calls back.

‘We're looking forward to tomorrow,' says Lily.

‘Yes, can't wait,' adds Rose.

They smile and go back to fussing over their Chihuahuas.

Tomorrow? Adam hasn't got a clue what they twins are going on about, but then that's not unusual.

‘Why didn't you just explain to Ella,' Norah says suddenly. ‘Why did you let her believe I was missing?' Her voice is cold.

‘You
were
missing, Norah,' Adam says. ‘You disappeared from our lives. We tried to explain that you'd chosen to walk out on us, but Ella wouldn't buy it.'

Fay moves a few steps closer to Adam; her arm brushes his.
You can stand up to her,
he feels her telling him.

Fay had chosen him. Now he has to do the same.

He takes Fay's hand. For a moment, as Adam feels her fingers resting in his, he thinks that that they're going to get through this, that maybe it's all going to turn out okay.

Norah looks down at Adam and Fay's hands and then lifts her head until her eyes are level with Fay's.

‘And what about you, Fay? You didn't think it might be worth telling Ella what happened? You're her godmother, aren't you? You're
meant
to tell her the truth.'

Adam tightens his grip on Fay's hand.

‘Ella didn't want to know the truth,' Fay says.

‘That's convenient,' Norah snaps back.

She goes on, her cheeks flushed. ‘It's too much for Ella to handle all in one go like this. You should have told her, and you should have told Willa too. God, what were you two playing at?'

‘Why?' asks Fay.

‘What do you mean,
why
?'

‘Why should we have told the girls anything?'

‘Ella's upset. She thinks I've been lying to her all this time. And Willa's confused. What's she going to do when she works out that I'm her mum? That this little act you've got going —' She waves her hand between Adam and Fay.

An act? She doesn't have a clue, does she? Doesn't she see that he's changed? That they've all changed.

Fay clenches her jaw. ‘This is your fault, Norah. We just picked up the pieces.'

‘Not very well, from the looks of it —'

‘Hey —' Adam starts.

‘It's been a long time.' Fay takes a breath to steady her voice. ‘We didn't think you were coming back.'

‘That's not the point.'

‘You know, Norah,' Fay says, ‘it really is the point. If you were interested in any of this – in us – you'd have come home.'

‘There's no
us
,' shouts Norah. ‘You're nothing to do with this.'

A silence hangs between the three of them.

Then Adam steps forward. ‘Fay's right, Norah. It's been years; as far as we were concerned, you were never coming back.'

He remembers the first time he told Fay about the note. He'd read it through so many times he knew it by heart.
Please don't try to find me,
he'd recited. And he'd respected her wishes – thought that maybe, if he got this instruction right, she'd come home. He'd spent hours looking up the road, waiting for her to appear, staring at his phone, thinking that maybe she'd call. But it
had
been years – six whole years. Who stays away that long and then just shows up out of the blue?

He notices Fay's fingers fluttering at her side. He'd never noticed this tremor, not until they got close. And then she'd confided how hard she worked to keep it under control, how, when she was training to be a surgeon, she'd had to prove that she could keep it in check, that it wouldn't get in the way of her operating.

He takes her hand and holds it tight.

How do you see me?
Fay had asked him once, a few years into their relationship.
Is it just that you're grateful? Because I'm the one who stayed?
He'd waited for her to finish and he'd paused, then looked her in the eye and said:
You're the girls' real mother now. You're my real wife. And I love you.

And he'd meant it, hadn't he?

‘Let's see how it goes, Norah,' Adam says.

Norah shakes her head. ‘No, we won't see how it goes.'

Adam looks up at her. Fay's hand starts shaking again.

Norah looks from Adam to Fay.

‘I've come home for good.'

Ella leaves Willa watching
Fantastic Mr Fox
and goes into the kitchen to get a Coke. Through the window, she sees Dad sitting alone in the car.

‘I'll be back in a minute, Willa,' she calls through the lounge door as she crosses the hall.

Ella crosses the street and knocks on the windscreen.

‘Dad!'

He jumps.

She walks round the car and he leans over and opens the passenger door for her.

‘Thanks,' she says as she sits down beside him.

He winds the window right down and hangs his arm over the side to get rid of his cigarette.

‘It's okay, Dad, I'm not Fay.'

He blows a curl of smoke out of the window and then lifts the cigarette back into the car.

‘Can I have one?'

He laughs. ‘No.'

‘Fay doesn't want you to smoke and you don't want me to smoke – that makes us even, doesn't it?'

‘I'm not giving you one.'

‘Didn't you smoke at fourteen?'

‘I didn't know any better.'

He means he didn't have parents like Dad and Fay, who give warnings and threaten to cancel mobile phone contracts and impose curfews.

Ella stares at the blossom drifting across the windscreen.

‘The blossom always comes out for Willa's birthday, doesn't it?'

Dad looks out of the windscreen and nods.

‘Remember my sixth birthday, Dad?'

‘The one when we nearly got sued?'

Ella laughs. ‘Yeah.'

Mum had taken Ella and her friends sledging with kitchen trays on the frozen lake in Holdingwell Park. The ice had cracked, and Sarah Keep had fallen in. Her mum was a lawyer. Obviously.

‘She wanted you to have the best birthday,' Dad says.

‘It was – even with the suing thing.'

‘Mum was good at parties. Even if they were a little alternative.'

‘One of the girls threw up in the front garden.'

Mum hadn't planned for any sensible savoury stuff so they spent the day eating cake and sweets and drinking Coke and lemonade until their heads felt like they were going to explode from the sugar high.

‘I don't remember you being there, Dad.'

‘No.' He pauses. ‘I was at the pub – couldn't face the mayhem.'

She likes that he's honest about that now. Facing the truth is part of his AA thing.

‘It's a shame you weren't there to take photos.'

‘There are lots of things I failed to do, Ella.'

Ella takes his hand. She doesn't want him to feel guilty any more; he's spent years trying to make it up to them.

‘Fay saved the day – with the suing thing,' Ella says.

‘Fay was there? I don't remember that.'

‘I called her on the way back from the park.' Ella had borrowed Sarah Keep's mobile because Mum didn't have one.

Calling Fay was something Ella had done instinctively whenever Mum was in over her head.

‘Calling the pediatric surgeon – a good way to avoid being sued. Well done, Ella,' Dad says.

‘She stayed that night, when all the other girls were gone. The three of us, Mum, Fay and me, sat in Mum's studio opening my presents.'

Ella holds Dad's hand tight. ‘Dad, why did Mum leave? I mean, why did she decide, on that particular day, to walk out on us?'

‘I think it was what people call the last straw.'

‘What was the last straw?'

‘I was.'

‘I know you were a bit messed up, Dad, but loads of dads are messed up and mums don't just walk out.'

‘I was more than messed up, Ella. The night before she left, I was meant to look after you…'

‘And you didn't?'

‘I forgot.'

‘You forgot about us?'

‘Pretty bad, hey?'

Ella leans into Dad's shoulder. ‘Tell me about it.'

He smiles, but she can tell that he's still sad about it. ‘Do I have to?'

‘I need to understand,' Ella says.

‘Well, you know how your mum was really good at the trumpet?'

Ella nods her head against Dad's shoulder. Through the windscreen she can see heavy rainclouds gathering in the sky.

Dad goes on: ‘She hadn't played in years. I mean properly, professionally. Not since you and Willa were born. There was too much to do – and I didn't help.'

Ella sits up. ‘So it was my fault?'

‘No, Ella. Nothing was your fault, you were just a kid. But it got her down that she couldn't play. She missed it. It was part of who she was.'

I
was part of who she was, thinks Ella. And she left me.

Dad goes on. ‘So, Fay sent a recording to one of her musician friends in London. He was looking for someone to play the trumpet in his band.'

‘Fay told you this?'

Dad nods.

‘I thought Mum was a solo trumpeter.'

‘It would have been a start. A way of her getting back into the industry.'

‘So, what happened?'

‘Your mum asked me to look after you so she could go and do an audition, play a gig with them, just for one night. She asked the Miss Peggs to watch you until I came home from work.'

‘And you never came home?'

‘Oh, I came home. I waited for the Miss Peggs to leave and then you helped me get Willa ready for bed – you warmed her bottle and you helped me bathe her and change her…'

‘And then?'

‘When you were asleep, I left.'

‘You went to the pub?'

The vein in Dad's forehead pushes up against his skin. ‘Yeah, I went to the pub. I knew you'd get the Miss Peggs if something was wrong. I was angry that she was out doing something she loved without me. Just like when she was with you and Willa.'

‘You were jealous?'

‘I felt like there wasn't any room left for me. Guys can be like big kids sometimes. You'll learn that.'

She knows he means Sai – except Sai's the most grown-up person she's ever met. She wishes Dad could see that.

‘So, you left us home alone and went to the Three Feathers to drown your sorrows?'

‘I thought you'd be okay.'

‘How long were you out for?'

‘I got back after your mum.'

‘She found us alone?'

‘Yes, she did.'

‘What did she say when you came home?'

‘Nothing. She wasn't there. Neither were you. She'd taken you and Willa to Fay's.'

‘In the middle of the night?'

‘Yeah.' Dad looks through the windscreen down Willoughby Street. ‘I should have seen it as warning, but I was blind back then. And angry that she didn't understand.'

Ella notices raindrops on the windscreen.

‘What did you do?'

‘I called Fay. She shouted at me and then hung up.'

‘And then next day Mum left?'

‘Yes, while I was at work. While you were at school.'

Ella feels a knot tightening in her stomach. She knows that there are kids out there who have it much worse than her, kids who are starving or dying of diseases, who have parents who beat them up. But still, life sure gave her a screwed-up set of parents.

‘I don't think it was a reason to leave,' Ella says.

‘Like I said, Ella, it was the last straw for your mum.'

‘But still, Dad, you can't think that leaving was right?'

‘No, I don't think her leaving was right.'

Ella lets go of Dad's hand and for a minute or so they sit in the car in silence. Then Ella turns to him and says,

‘What are you doing out here, Dad?'

‘Thinking.'

She wonders whether Mum's at the police station and whether Fay opted to stay with her. That would be just like Fay. Thinking about Mum, the mum who's come home, gives Ella that horrible crushing feeling again, the one that started when she found out that Mum left because she wanted to, the one she keeps getting when she realises that none of the things she'd wished for are ever going to come true.

‘What are we going to do, Dad?'

He drops his cigarette in an old Coke can on the dashboard. Then he shifts round in his seat and looks right at her.

‘I'm going to fix this, Ella, I promise.'

‘But Willa —'

Willa's the one Ella can't stop worrying about. The rest of them will cope, they're grown-ups, they expect the world to be screwed up. But Willa's little. And she still believes in happy endings, like in that film she keeps watching.

‘We'll work it out,' Dad says.

By
we
, Dad means Fay. Fay will sit him down and they'll talk things through and she'll come up with a plan and they'll have a family meeting. Except, this time, Ella isn't sure that even the great Fay will be able to sort out the mess they're in.

‘Do you love her?'

He nods. ‘They don't disappear, the feelings you have for someone.'

‘I meant Fay.'

He tugs at his collar. His weekend shirt: light blue gingham, bought by Fay, like the rest of his wardrobe.

‘Dad?'

He'd never said the words, not out loud. Or not that Ella had heard. She knew that they'd got really close. That without Fay Dad wouldn't be in the sorted place he was now. But love was something different, wasn't it? Love was what she felt for Sai, that unexplainable feeling that surged through her whole body whenever she was in the same room as him, and the hollow ache when he wasn't there. Love was what she'd always thought Dad felt for Mum, no matter how long she was away.

‘I owe my life to Fay,' Dad says.

Ella shakes her head. ‘This is going to sound kind of corny, Dad, especially coming from me, but I reckon that when you love someone it's not because of the things they do, it's because of who they are in here.' She points to her heart. ‘You fall in love with their essence, or their soul, or whatever you want to call it. And you know what the test is, that tells you that you
really
love them? You think about taking away all the stuff they
do
, the stuff that makes you think they're amazing – and even then, the love you have for them, it stays.'

Not in a million years did she think she'd be sitting in a car giving Dad relationship advice.

‘The love stays?' he asks.

Ella nods. ‘It does.'

‘The police never looked for Mum, did they?'

She'd worked it out: it's why the man had acted so weird on the phone and said that there was no reason for the police to come out. That's when Ella had changed her story:
There's an intruder in the house,
she'd told him.
She's refusing to leave.
And when the man asked whether the intruder was posing a threat, Ella had said
yes
.

Ella remembers how the police officers had glanced at each other as they stood in the hallway – a
what-a-weird-fucking-family
look.

Dad shakes his head. ‘I'm sorry, Ella.'

‘So where are they? Mum and Fay?'

‘They're catching up.'

‘God, that must be fun.'

Dad doesn't answer.

‘You know you're going to have to choose, right? You're going to have to work out who you love – who you want to stay. That's what
fixing it
means.'

Dad stares out at the house.

‘Dad?'

‘I'm sorry, Ella.'

‘You keep saying that, Dad. But being sorry doesn't help, does it? Being sorry's not a decision.'

‘It wasn't meant to be like this.'

‘You mean… Mum coming home?'

He nods.

Ella and Dad hadn't got on for a while now, but she'd always felt that they had a special bond. Weren't they the only ones that remembered what it was like to be with Mum, and how amazing she was? And now he was sad and shocked – and disappointed, just like she was. Maybe he did still love her.

‘Why don't you come inside?'

He shakes his head. ‘Just give me a few more minutes.'

‘Dad?' She hasn't seen him like this since Mum left. Zoned out, his eyes bloodshot, lost-looking. ‘Dad?'

Dad takes Ella's head in his hands and kisses her forehead. ‘I promise I'll make it okay, Ella.'

It's what he'd said over and over in the months after Mum disappeared. And he'd tried, really hard, but it had taken ages – years – for things to feel a bit normal again. And now it was like they were back at square one. Worse than square one. Square one was Mum being here and Fay being Ella's godmother and Dad knowing who he loved and Willa knowing who her mum was, even if she was only a baby.

All Ella had ever wanted was for Mum to be home again.
Be careful what you wish for,
isn't that what people said? She'd never understood why you had to be careful about wishing for something good, like Mum coming back. But she gets it now: wishes should come with a health warning. Better still, wishes should be banned altogether.