Least Said (79 page)

‘What
a
mess
I’ve
made
of
things,’
I
said
aloud,
‘what
an
absolute
bloody
mess.’

Trying
to
maintain
a
semblance
of
normality
for
William’s
sake,
I
returned
to
London,
enjoying
the
preferred
sights
that
still
remained
on
our
list
with
him
until
Sunday
arrived.
We
caught
the
train
home
after
an
early
lunch.

‘Have
you
had
a
lovely
time?’
I
asked,
ruffling
Will’s
hair
as
he
settled
in
a
window
seat
with
a
table.

‘It
was
brilliant,’
he
smiled
up
at
me.
‘Thank
you
for
taking
me
to
all
the
places
I
really
wanted
to
go.
I
can
write
about
it
in
my
school
diary
tomorrow.
Will
Daddy
be
there
when
we
get
home?’

I
wasn’t
expecting
the
question,
and
yet
I
knew
that
I
should
have
been
and
could
have
kicked
myself
for
not
being
prepared.

‘Erm,’
I
played
for
time,
and
then
admitted,
‘I
don’t
actually
know.’

‘Why..?’
he
began,
and
just
then, to
my
relief,
 
an
elderly
couple
came
and
asked
if
we
minded
them
taking
the
seats
on
the
other
side
of
the
centre
table.
As
there
were
plenty
of
other
table-less
seats
I
guessed
that
William
was
the
attraction.
I
was
proved
right
and
in
no
time
they
had
engaged
Will
in
a
conversation
about
where
he
had
been
and
everything
he
had
seen.
It
took
up
most
of
their
journey
home.

‘They
were
like
a
grandma
and
granddad
weren’t
they?’
he
asked,
when
they
left
the
train
at
Southampton
Central,
and
I
agreed
that
they
were.
‘Why
don’t
I
have
any
grannies
or
granddads?’

This
time
the
question
was
one
that
I
was
more
prepared
for,
having
lived
for
most
of
my
adult
life
without
my
Mum
and
Dad.
‘I’m
sure
I’ve
told
you
before,’
I
said
gently,
‘that
my
parents
and
your
dad’s
died
in
the
same
coach
crash
when
they
were
on
holiday
in
Scotland.
Your
Dad
and
I
met
when
we
went
up
there
to
find
out
what
happened.’
I
didn’t
add
that
we
went
up
there
to
identify
their
bodies,
feeling
that
was
a
bit
too
much
information
for
a
six
year
old
boy.
‘But
remember
I
told
you
that
accidents
like
that
hardly
ever
happen,
so
it’s
not
something
you
have
to
worry
about.’

We
talked
for
a
while
about
what
they
had
been
like
and
I
told
Will
how
much
they
would
have
loved
him.
While
I
was
talking
I
was
reminding
myself
that
we
–
Jon
and
I
–
were
all
that
Will
really
had
when
it
came
to
blood
relations.
We
hadn’t
come
from
big
families.
I
was
an
only
child
and
Jon
had
one
much
older
brother
living
in
Australia.
They
weren’t
at
all
close
and
contact
was
confined
to
the
exchange
of
Christmas
cards.
That
being
the
case,
did
we
really
have
the
right
to
break
up
the
only
real
family
that
he
would
ever
know?

The
grief
of
suddenly
losing
our
parents
all
those
years
ago
had
brought
us
together
but,
unfortunately,
we
had
let
the
difficulties
we
faced
trying
to
start
a
family
of
our
own
tear
us
apart.
We
had
been
so
happy
at
the
start
of
our
marriage
and
I’d
have
sworn
we
could
have
weathered
any
storm.
Other
couples
faced
infertility
and
survived
–
with
or
without
the
eventual
arrival
of
children
–
why
couldn’t
we?

The
half-formed
thought
never
reached
completion
because
the
train
unexpectedly
lurched
to
a
halt
with
a
squeal
of
brakes.
There
were
few
passengers
left
in
the
carriage
by
then,
with
it
being
Sunday
afternoon,
but
we
all
stared
at
one
another,
puzzled
by
what
was
obviously
an
unscheduled
stop.
It
was
no
use
looking
out
of
the
window
because
we
were
in
the
middle
of
the
one
longish
tunnel
on
the
journey
home.

I
expected
William
to
be
scared
–
as
he
might
well
have
been
if
the
lights
had
failed,
which
thankfully,
they
didn’t.
As
it
was
he
was
bouncing
with
excitement
and
wondering
aloud
whether
the
train
might
have
run
out
of
petrol.
The
childish
comment, said
loud
enough
for
the
whole
carriage
to
hear,
made
everyone
smile
and
we
waited
in
relatively
good
humour
for
an
explanation
of
some
sort
to
come
though
the
tannoy
system.