Reverb (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

BRYN

I expected Connor to be in hospital, sick and unconscious. I have no idea about the illness, or what he's been through. Cancer hasn't touched my life before. So, I'm surprised when Hannah picks me up from the hotel in Perth and drives me away from the city to the suburbs in her small red hatchback.

“He's at home,” she explains. “Until we find a donor, then he’ll go into hospital for chemo before the transplant.”

Hannah gives me a breakdown of Connor’s illness, past and present, and what’s going to happen to him. The day she told me this was a relapse, I lost my shit again. I don’t care that last time Connor had leukaemia Hannah was in denial that he was hers. Somebody should’ve told me. The thought I might never have met my son sickens me.

I nod, and give ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers but my anger simmers close to the surface. Eight years. Two years of chances for her to tell me. Bloody good thing I’m exhausted after the flight; otherwise, damaging words would be thrown at Hannah.

“Who does Connor think I am?” I ask as we arrive at her house, a quiet street in a new suburb, carefully planned and unusually clean compared to the London streets I’m used to. To my relief, they no longer live with her mum, although she lives nearby and fuck knows what will happen when we meet.

“I told him who you are and that you're coming to visit him.”

“And he didn't ask where I've been for eight years?”

Hannah pulls the keys from the ignition. “He has friends at school with no dad; it's not unusual. He's young, doesn't understand. I told him I found you and that as soon as you knew about him you decided to come.”

“Right.”

As Hannah climbs from the car into the blinding Australian summer, I don't move. What will I say? Do? Will he talk to me or hate me? I haven’t even brought him a gift. What's appropriate?

As Hannah reaches the house, a woman steps into the sunshine and glances at where I wait in the car. For a heart-stopping moment, I think it’s Hannah’s mum but she’s too young. They chat for a couple of minutes and the perspiration on my back grows with the stress and lack of air-con now the car engine if off.

The woman heads to a car parked on the street and Hannah stands under the porch outside the single storey pale-bricked house, waiting for me.

In her shorts and sleeveless tee, I’m shocked at how Hannah’s tall figure has been eaten into an unnatural skinniness by her son's cancer, and I ache as I look at her. Hannah’s pain is greater than mine, her fear stronger, and for the first time, I'm frustrated at blaming Hannah for all this. She lived with a secret that consumed her life for years. Hannah did wrong by us, but she was unwell. What’s the point in animosity? What’s done can’t be undone and there’s a future that hasn’t happened yet.

The house is cool, the whir of the air-con loud in the quiet space as I follow Hannah through. The hallway opens to a large open-plan space, with blue sofas and a pale tiled floor. Full-length glass doors lead to a small outdoor area and the kitchen counter borders the room, tucked away at the opposite end.

A TV dominates the room and a boy sits on the sofa, legs curled under as he holds the Xbox controller. I smile that we have something in common apart from DNA.

Connor is obscured by the cushions as he lies back against the sofa, but I spot the same curly hair as the boy in the photo I’ve looked at over and over since Hannah sent it.

I sit in the armchair opposite Connor and watch quietly for a few moments.

The boy in the picture is real.

This skinny boy with brown curls focused on his game is my son. I expected a tsunami of emotion but I’m numb, a part of my brain still not accepting what’s in front of me.

Connor glances at me briefly then refocuses on the game.

“Connor, this is Bryn. I told you he was coming to see you,” says Hannah from behind me.

The boy nods but doesn't look back.

“Hey, Connor,” I say.

“Hey.”

Still no eye contact. I give a desperate look to Hannah. “He's shy around strangers,” she says. “And with not being well...”

“Sure.” I tuck my hands between my knees and continue to watch the surreal situation playing out in front of me. The cheers and music from the game echo in the half-empty, quiet room.

“I'll get drinks.” Hannah heads to the kitchen.

I slump back, heart hammering. What do I do? Say? “Do you like playing
Call of Duty
?”

“I'm not allowed that game.”

“Oh.” I kick myself, why would an eight-year-old be allowed to play a violent game? My nephews aren’t.

Connor looks back at me as he finishes the level on the game, a chart appearing on screen. “Do you play
FIFA
?”

“No, is that what you're playing?” He nods. “Can you play with two-players?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Can I?”

He holds out a spare controller, this time studying me carefully and I smile as I take it. “Thanks.”

For ten minutes, we lose ourselves in the fantasy football game, Connor occasionally shouting out at his triumphs and turning to me with a grin. With numerous nieces and nephews, I'm used to children but with Connor I can't relax; my smiles are forced.

“You're my dad,” he says, eyes fixed on the game.

“Yes. I didn't know until recently.”

“Are you staying now? Mum was going to get married but he left. I think that's good because now my real dad is here.”

Shit.
“I'll stay for a little while. I live in England.”

“You could live in Australia. We have a spare bedroom.”

I smile at his childlike solution to the situation but guilt knots my stomach. I'm coming back only to leave him again.

Hannah returns with iced water and passes us both a glass. Connor places his on the coffee table in front of him and resumes his game. Hannah sits next to Connor and rubs his back, and I remain trapped behind a haze of confusion.

What now?

****

Hannah tidies the plates and Connor eats ice cream as the strange domesticity I'm thrust into closes around me, trapping me in their world. She insisted I stay for dinner, as did Connor

Connor rubs his eyes sleepily as Hannah brings in a collection of medication and lines the different sized and shaped pills on the table in front of him.

Poor kid.

“I have to go to hospital soon,” he says between mouthfuls of ice cream. “Again.”

“I know.”

A cloud passes his face before he points at me with his spoon. “Mum said you're a rock star. Are you?”

“Yep.”

“Do you play guitar? I like Guitar Hero. We can play.”

“No, I'm a drummer.”

I laugh at the obvious conclusion on his face that I'm not that exciting after all. I can't imagine an eight-year-old listens to music much, and if he did, it wouldn't be mine.

“Is that why you have long hair?” he asks.

“I guess.”

“My hair will fall out again soon.”

“It will grow back, honey,” says Hannah and strokes his face.

“I could have long hair like my dad when it grows back.”

I exchange a glance with Hannah who busies herself passing medication to Connor.

Dad.

How is he easily accepting this? “Will you play Xbox with me again?” asks Connor.

“Sure.”

“Connor, you need to go to bed. We have a hospital appointment tomorrow.”

For the first time, I see fear in Connor's eyes and I'm overwhelmed by the urge to hug him, to tell him I want to stay with him and never leave again. We haven’t touched in the few hours I’ve been here, so it feels inappropriate somehow.

“Why don’t you get a shower?” Hannah asks.

Connor climbs off the chair. “Will you stay?” he asks me, the plea in his brown eyes wiping any thought of leaving soon.

“I’ll stay until you go to bed.”

Connor hesitates for a moment before launching himself at me and hugging me tightly. Without looking at Hannah, I awkwardly hug him back. As quickly as he took hold, Connor lets go.

“I like that you’re my dad.”

When he walks away, I hear Hannah’s breath catch in her throat and don’t look at her. Stiffly, I stand and gather up the empty bowls and head to the kitchen. I can’t share how this is affecting me. I have to be strong for them.

My head pounds against the thoughts growing louder since the day I discovered this fucked-up situation. I want to fix this, but I can't fix him. Maybe I could fix the situation with the three of us.

Chapter Thirty-Five

BRYN

Two weeks later, I unpack my rucksack in Hannah and Connor’s spare bedroom. I doubt my wisdom in doing this, but nights alone in a hotel room worrying about what to do is harder. I've missed eight years of my son's life and he wants me here; I can do this for a few weeks. Hannah needs support. She hides it well but she isn’t coping. A couple of days ago, she almost had a car accident. Hannah didn’t tell me, but Connor informed me of the incident and the accompanying road rage from the guy she almost hit.

Hannah can’t do this alone. Since I arrived, her mum has kept away if I’m with Hannah and Connor. We met a couple of times and awkward is understatement of the century. Jane looks no different to when I last saw her, the tall, graceful woman holding onto the looks her daughter inherited. What do I say? Thank her for taking care of my son? A part of me holds animosity to Jane, too. She could’ve overridden Hannah and let me know about Connor, but she didn’t. The polite façade between us holds each time we cross paths but we eye each other warily, both frightened of what the other may say.

Nobody in my family matched so there’s no donor for Connor yet. He's on the register and I'm helpless, all the money and influence I have yet I can't help. So, I decide to mend Connor’s unhappiness instead. He’s asked me to stay every day. I’ve stayed later each night and moving makes sense.

Connor welcomes me into his life. He accepts I never saw or spoke to him until recently, allows me into his world, into his house and doesn't ask why I was never here before.

He also doesn't ask how long I’m staying. Hannah avoids that question too, we both do.

The domesticity and normality of the world I'm in confuses me. I'm cut off from everybody and everything in my Blue Phoenix life, disconnected from the new life I was building with Avery. I don’t talk to anybody outside of Australia apart from Avery, and those conversations grow increasingly tense.

The struggle between doing what my heart tells me and my head advises continues, but it's not as simple as that anymore. I don't know where I belong.

****

AVERY

When Bryn moves into Hannah's house, the last hope I clung onto slips from my grasp.

This is over.

Bryn still calls daily but his distance increases, the banter tailing away as he talks about Connor and the life he's building around the three of them. I want to shout that he's living in a guilt-induced fantasy. That this isn't right for him, but I’m the one who lived in a fantasy.

When Bryn left, he assured me he'd be back in a few weeks. A few days later, he said he’s staying a month. After another week, he informed me he’d come back once Connor's treatment starts.

Now he doesn't give me a time frame at all.

Bryn has what he always wanted, the girl who held his heart in a vice-like grip. If Hannah can take his heart back this easily, Bryn never gave his heart to me, not really.

Stupidly, palpitations and excitement start when Bryn calls every day, early in the morning before I go to work. This morning, the call never came and the heavy sickness in my chest follows me around school for the rest of the day.

I’m a few months into my training now, nearing the end of term and a Christmas that’s bound to remind me of the amazing man I met last Christmas. I’m teaching eight year olds, and I can’t help looking at the boys as constant reminders of Connor. The work is exhausting, physically and mentally; the constant supervision by other teachers undermines my confidence, but I push on. I can do this. Already, the class welcome me with smiles and I’m their Miss Paige. Some share drawings they made for me; and as each day passes, some of the anxiety at coming into work eases as I enjoy the time with my class.

I don’t have time in the day to worry about Bryn and me; that pleasure is saved for evenings alone in his apartment. Tonight, I debate whether to stay here any longer. I already moved out of our bedroom into the spare room because I can’t stand being reminded of the exhilaration of the time spent in bed with Bryn. If I want to torture myself, I imagine Bryn in Hannah’s bed. One night I dreamed I walked into his bedroom in London and saw them together.

I can afford to leave because my debts are gone. The day I discovered Bryn had paid them I was furious with him, but he shrugged, saying it was spare change to him. That annoyed me more. I insisted on applying for grants to see me through the unsalaried training year and Bryn didn’t interfere, learning his lesson from last time.

The fact I live with him and he pays for everything grates, but Bryn claims he’d pay whether I was here or not. Begrudgingly, I accept; but as the days pass, this feels wrong. With my grant money, I could find a place to live or share.

I settle in front of the TV with a glass of wine and a romance movie. Bad idea, I know, but I want to pretend my tears are over the couple struggling with their love in the movie and not my own. Exhausted after my week, I reject Ben’s offer of a night out with him and some old friends, but agree to catch up with them tomorrow. I need to reintegrate myself into reality, into life with twenty-somethings dipping their toes into adulthood, instead of clinging to my failed relationship with Bryn Hughes.

A few glasses of wine and a few too many tears later, my phone rings and pulls me out of the movie. I pick it up, expecting the call to be from Ben but Bryn’s name taunts me. Momentarily, I waver. He missed our call this morning, why should I answer?

Because I’m a grown woman and not a petulant child.

“It’s late, Bryn.”

“Sorry I missed calling you earlier.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. You’re pissed off.”

I sip my wine. “How’s Connor?”

“Still waiting. He’s going okay though, had a hospital appointment today and he can stay home.”

“How’s Hannah?” I fail at keeping the frostiness from my tone.

“She’s okay too.”

“Right.”

I watch the couple on TV, kissing in the rain and pick up the remote, switch the TV off. I can’t watch this.

“Avery?” he asks cautiously.

“What?”

“I love you.”

Tears well, the wine blurring my rationality. “Why aren’t you here, then?”

“I need to be with Connor.”

“And Hannah.”

“No! This is only about him.”

I slurp more wine.
Fuck it.
“You’re living in her house. The girl you told me you’d love forever. In her
house,
Bryn.”

“Because it’s easier than being an hour away in a city hotel!”

“Yeah, I bet it’s easier,” I mutter.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

The distance between us isn’t the thousands of miles across the world. A gulf has opened that physically closing the distance wouldn’t change.

“I thought you understood,” Bryn says quietly.

“I’m trying but…”

“But what?”

“I’m jealous. I understand about Connor and what a horrible, horrible situation this is; but I don’t understand why you’re living with your ex.”

“I’m not
with
her, Avery.”

Sure.
“How long for?”

“What?”

“How long are you staying with your son and his mother? You won’t say when you’re coming back.”

“Because I don’t know.”

The alcohol opens the floodgates in the wall of fear and upset of the last few weeks. Everything I’ve pulled back on saying, the selfish desire for Bryn to come home that colours my world is released. “Because you don’t know if you will. You want to be with her, not me.”

“What the fuck? Avery, are you drunk?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shouldn’t talk.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

A sound of derision heads down the line. “That’s not helpful.”

“Okay. Tell me when you’re coming home.”

“Soon.”

I snort. “
Soon
.”

“You’re being selfish,” he says in a low voice

“
I’m
being selfish? You’ve been in Australia six weeks. Understandable. Your son is sick. Totally understand you want to be there. But, you’re vague about us, about how long you’re staying, and now you’ve moved in with your ex!”

“I have moved into her house and I just told you why! Fuck, Avery, I’m not in her bed!”

“Yet,” I mutter.

Bryn’s tone changes from tired to angry. “Right! Stop there. You’re drunk and misreading this.”

“What? Like the pictures I’ve seen of Bryn Hughes, his son, and the beautiful mother; the Blue Phoenix good guy making amends after all these years. Happy fucking families!”

There’s a long pause. “I’m going to call you tomorrow, when you’re sober.”

“Fine! When you have some of your precious time for me, call back!”

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

Bryn hangs up and I stare at the phone, pain and frustration coursing through my body, until it spills out with my tears. Uselessly, I bury my head in a cushion on the sofa and sob. I’m holding onto something that no longer exists and the longer I do, the harder it hurts.

If he doesn’t call tomorrow, I’ll start planning my future without him.