Noah was away from the table in a second. He grabbed his jacket on the way out, banging the front door shut behind him.
He listened to the dial tone, aware of a breathlessness that this time had more to do with anxiety than with his walk up the drive. Josie’s phone rang, and rang. His call went to voicemail. Damn, damn, damn, damn! It was only then that he thought to check the time. 8.51 p.m. He looked at the picture of Lily again. Time sent: 6.43 p.m. The fucking signal in the house! More than two hours late. Lily would be in bed, fast asleep by now. Josie would be fuming. He still had to try.
The ringtone echoed through the dark garden. Pick up. Please, just pick up the sodding phone!
Josie appeared in the screen, the image small. She was obviously holding her phone at arm’s length, keeping her distance. ‘Yes.’ One short, sharp word, standing in for a thousand longer repressed words. Josie on the sofa in their home, the lamp casting a warm halo around her. A cosy domestic scene that couldn’t have been staged any better – if the intention was to punch a hole in your heart. The night air around Noah seemed suddenly darker.
‘Josie. I’m sorry. I only just got your message. Just this minute. You know what the phone reception is like in Dad’s house.’ Silence. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you all day. You must have seen my missed calls.’
‘We’ve been out. Lily was tired. I wanted to get her settled before I spoke to you.’
‘Ah, yes. The competition.’ He gabbled, ‘She looked lovely. How did she get on? Did she remember her steps?’
‘She was fine.’
Come on, Josie, please.
Josie reached for her glass of wine and took a sip.
Noah heard the crash of glass on wood as she put it back down, clumsily, on the side. He wanted to keep the conversation on their daughter – the light spot in their relationship. ‘She wasn’t scared having to perform in front of an audience?’ He was desperate for Josie to relent and speak normally to him, about normal things, without this swirling undercurrent of resentment.
‘No. She enjoyed it.’ Long pause. He waited it out. ‘She is her father’s daughter – in some things.’
He swallowed the jibe, offered a compliment in return. ‘It looked like you did a good job with her hair. Almost Royal Ballet standards.’
Silence again. This one loaded with pressure on him – to stop using their daughter as a buffer.
‘Josie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we talk?’
‘We are talking.’
‘You know what I mean. Properly.’
‘Well, that’s quite difficult Noah, given that you’re not here.’ Her mouth looked tight.
‘You know I had to come this weekend. I didn’t have a choice.’ He didn’t add that she and Lily could have come as well, if she hadn’t been so pissed off with him.
‘The problem we have, Noah, is not this weekend – it’s that you’re never here. There’s always something more important or, let’s be honest, something more interesting or exciting you’d rather being doing than be with us.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Yes, it is. You just don’t want to admit it.’
‘I have to work.’ That provoked her.
‘And so do I, Noah, but when I’m here, I’m here. Committed. Switched on. Even when you do grace us with your presence, you’re not really with us. You’re always tired. Or off somewhere in your head. Or pissed.’
That was low – but true. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s been a bit of a rough patch lately. And now with Dad passing.’
‘Lately!’ It came out in a burst of frustration. ‘Sorry isn’t enough, Noah. Not any more. We’ve had this conversation before – hundreds of times. You promise to change. You do, for a day or two, and then we’re back in the same old pattern. Me looking after Lily, the house, life in general; and you dropping by, like some part-time father, wanting the good stuff with none of the responsibility.’
‘Josie. I love Lily. I love you. More than anything else in the world.’ He did.
‘Do you, Noah? Do you really? Well, you’ve got a very funny way of showing it.’ In her agitation she’d started leaning further and further forward – her face was so close to the camera that it blocked out the rest of the room.
How was it that every argument they had always descended into cliché, and yet it was those clichés that hurt the most. His general uselessness. Her all-round effort. His lack of staying power. Her stoicism. Perhaps because the clichés were true?
She stopped speaking, but Noah could still hear the anger in her breathing. He didn’t know what to say for the best – for them, or for him.
‘Has Lily missed me?’ he asked, out of cowardice.
Josie took a sharp, short breath. ‘No. She’s been perfectly happy, because she’s used to you not being here.’
‘Josie, please—’
She cut him off. ‘No, Noah. You need to stop with the “please” and the “sorry”, and the empty promises to change. It has to stop!’ She flopped back, forgetting about her phone, and dropped her head.
The image on the screen slid off-kilter and went dark. She must have dropped her phone in her lap. He was closer to Josie than he’d been in weeks. Noah waited, wishing he was there with her. When she finally picked up her phone again, her expression was more one of sadness than of anger.
‘I know this is a really bad time for you, Noah, losing your dad. I know you’re hurting. I know how much you loved him. I loved him, too. But shutting me out simply isn’t an option. I can’t live like this, not any more. It’s too lonely. I understand that you need some time to sort everything out at home with Liv and Chloe – that’s fine. But, Noah,’ she leant forward again, peering at the camera as if trying to really see him, ‘I need you to remember… we
