He looked down slowly, clasping his hands when he didn’t know what else to do with them. “We . . . drifted apart. And she struggled with it.”
“Struggled with what?”
He looked down. “Motherhood.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He glanced toward the girls’ bedroom, where laughs and chatter could be heard. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t . . . I don’t talk about it very much.”
“I know.”
He lifted his eyes to mine and sighed. He was reluctant to talk about it but did all the same. “Cassie was two. Jane just left. No note, no warning. She’d taken a suitcase, so I knew she’d not been kidnapped or anything. We didn’t hear from her for about a year. And then I heard through the grapevine that she’d got married and was living in Brighton.”
“That must have hurt.”
He nodded and chewed his cheek, his eyes on the floor. “She had problems with depression. I didn’t realize how bad it was. When she found out she was pregnant, I was over the moon. It was an accident but I was thrilled. Looking back, I can see she was devastated.” He looked up, gave a sad smile. “I think she only went through with it because I was making such a big fuss. I should have given her space to . . . speak up about her feelings.”
He spoke hesitantly, as though these were words he’d never said aloud, maybe not even permitted himself to think. I felt moved by how honest he was in sharing this with me, laying himself bare.
“When Cassie was born, I tried not to work too much,” he said. “You know, to be supportive. Night feeds, and so on. But it was easier said than done. And I could see Jane was sliding back into that dark place she’d been in before. I just kept thinking she’d get through it.”
I nodded. “And how is Cassie about it?”
“For years she asked if I was leaving her. Every single day, I couldn’t leave her at nursery or school without her worrying that I’d not be coming back.”
“Does she ask about her mother now?”
“Now and then. I think it would have been a lot easier if Jane had left before Cassie was old enough to talk. If she’d left when Cassie was an infant, she’d likely have no memory of her mother. But she does. She remembers what Jane looks like, things they did together. It’s scary, actually, how much she remembers. I sometimes wish I could put a spell on her, take away her memories of Jane.” He looked up at me and cleared his throat, righting himself. “Anyway. It is what it is.”
“Luna and Clover’s dad died five years ago,” I said. “He’d been a father to Saffy, too. They were all destroyed by it. So yes, I wish I could erase their memories, too. It would certainly take a lot of pain away, wouldn’t it?”
“A lot of good, too, I suppose,” he said. “Cassie’s asked more than once if Mummy left because of something she did.” His voice shook, and I reached out to touch his arm.
“It must be heartbreaking to hear a child ask if she made her mum abandon her.”
He nodded, dabbing his eyes.
“What about when Cassie got sick?” I said. “Didn’t her mother want to see her then?”
“I passed on a message through Jane’s brother. We got a teddy bear through the post. I don’t even know if it was from her.”
“I’m sorry.”
He cleared his throat loudly. “So, then,” he said, rallying. “Now that I’ve revealed that I’m really a big softie underneath my extremely muscular exterior, what do you think of all that?”
“What do I think?”