Page 4 of Things We Never Said
‘Look, I know you must be feeling awful. I can’t even imagine how awful you must be feeling, to be honest,’ Maggie says. ‘But if you let everything go to pot ... well, it won’t help.’
‘Maggie,’ Sean pleads.
Maggie pauses and straightens, a dirty mug in one hand. ‘I know. You want me to leave. I know that. I’m not stupid.’
Sean nods gently. ‘This is very kind of you,’ he says, ‘but yes, I just want to be on my own right now.’
Maggie presses her free hand to her hip and twists her mouth sideways. ‘I’ll do a deal with you,’ she says, gesticulating with the mug. ‘You go have a shower and change. And in the time it takes you to do that, I’ll tidy up a little bit down here.’
‘But Mags, I—’
‘By the time you’ve finished, I’ll be gone. I promise.’
Sean nods and swallows, with difficulty. Her kindness makes him want to cry but he reckons he has cried enough these last few days. ‘OK,’ he says, turning to leave. ‘OK. Whatever.’ He walks to the base of the stairs, then pauses and looks back. ‘Thanks, Mags,’ he says, his voice croaky. ‘I, um ... I do appreciate it, you know.’
Maggie, who has just pulled on Catherine’s rubber Marigolds, says, ‘I know. Now go wash yourself. Because that’s the bit I can’t do and frankly you’re a bit smelly.’
By the time Sean has showered, shaved and dressed in fresh jeans and a sweatshirt, Maggie, true to her word, has gone.
The kitchen surfaces are clean, the room smells of bleach, the dishwasher is chugging away and the table, previously covered in a seemingly insurmountable mixture of cups, wrappers, unopened post and random computer cables, is now clear. Only a mug of fresh tea and the wrapped box remain. The box has been carefully set in the exact middle of the table. Sean can imagine Maggie, her head tipped to one side, adjusting it until it was perfectly centred.
Though grateful for the gift, whatever it turns out to be, he finds himself unable to summon the energy required to investigate the box’s contents. Or perhaps, more precisely, he finds himself unable to risk the energy that might be required if Maggie’s gift turns out to be touching or moving or emotional in any way. He feels too fragile to take that chance.
He reaches for the fresh mug of tea, stares at the carefully wrapped box for one second longer and then moves instead to the lounge, where he hurls himself lengthways onto the sofa. As he reaches for the remote, he notes that Maggie has hoovered in here, too.
Jeremy Kyle’s face fills the TV screen. ‘So how could you not know that your lover was your brother?’ Kyle asks, smug, mocking laughter in his voice. ‘Please. Do tell us.’
The next morning, Sean has barely reached the kitchen when the landline rings. He switches on the kettle, turns the heating thermostat up a notch (it’s cold and raining outside) and swipes the phone from its base.April – Mobile, the screen says.
‘Hi, honey,’ Sean answers. ‘I’m barely up here.’
‘Yeah, same here,’ April replies, the sound of a warm bed somehow present in her voice. ‘I’m not up at all, actually.’
‘It’s Sunday. It’s allowed.’
‘So they tell me. How are you holding up, Dad?’
‘Well, I’m still here,’ Sean says. ‘And you?’
‘The same, really. I keep bursting into tears, but I suppose that’s normal.’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s totally normal.’
‘Do you want me to drive back up?’ April asks. ‘I’m free all day. I could be there in an hour.’
‘There’s no need,’ Sean replies. ‘I’m ... you know ... I’m just slouching around watching rubbish television really.’
‘It’s hard,’ April says. ‘I feel like I should have been readier. Is that a word? Readier?’
‘I think it is.’
‘Anyway, I feel like I should have been readier – more ready, or whatever. I mean, we knew, didn’t we? But it’s still ... I don’t know. It’s hard to get my head around it.’
‘It’s a shock, isn’t it? But I think that’s normal. It’s a big thing. You only lose your m—’ Sean has to clear his throat before continuing. ‘It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, thank God.’
‘...’
‘April?’
