A house on the seafront, much like a savannah plain, is the perfect spot to see when enemies are approaching. And anyone who tries to come between me and my son, I consider an enemy.
But despite the weather and the waves, I know the house is empty. And although I try to fill my days with mundane daily tasks, I too feel empty. I need to feel fulfilled again. I need my son back. Back where he belongs.
There’s no one downstairs humming a tuneless song whilst they make their breakfast. There are no dirty trainers in the hallway, or piles of washing in the laundry basket. There are no toast crumbs on the kitchen side, or butter streaks in the marmite. The house is so eerily quiet. I have never experienced this. Not since having Ben. I forced all the bad memories away from the time I lived here as a child and made it all about me and Ben. It’s our sanctuary; our hub. Our place away from the world.
Now he’s gone. He hardly texts or rings. She has him wrapped around her little finger. Calling all the shots no doubt.
It was a real shock when Ben told me he had met someone. It was more of a shock when he told me he had gone and got himself married. He had been spending a lot of time at her house, that I knew. But I had no idea things had evolved so quickly. And to have done it without telling me, his own mother, first. We used to be so close. I am not coping so well.
I did the right thing, of course. I invited them over for something to eat – mostly because I needed to get a good look at the woman who thinks she has replaced me.
But I know it’s only temporary. I can’t be replaced. My son can’t live without me.
The thought of her coming into my house tomorrow, the woman who I have never met who has taken my son away from me, was almost too much to bear. But I caught the despair before it developed into something more distressing and just felt thankful that Ben was coming home to see his mum.
I stood in the front spare room, letting the light from the morning sun heal me all over. The faint salty smell from the shore just a few feet away creeps through the open window. I could hear the gentle lap of the waves and I like the way a little of nature sneaks inside. Even on a bitter winter’s day like today this room brings with it a feeling of hope. A promise that today will be the day. It’s encouraging me to feel something. And I can. Just about. The sun edges around the house to my bedroom later in the day – at different hours depending on the season – and occasionally I take my time to lie down and bask in its glorious rays. I almost go into a state of meditation. I’m not a meditator. I wouldn’t even know if I was doing it right. But something about it feels so relaxing that it must be doing something to my soul.
I looked out of the window at the ocean at the way the morning light glitters across the tips of the waves. It still fills me with awe and a profound sense of invigorating peace. I couldn’t possibly be anywhere else but here. I chose well when I decided to raise a family here.
Ben and I made some glorious memories.
I like to get out at least two or three times a week. Since retiring from the pharmaceutical business a few years ago, I have endless units of the day to fill. Of course, when Ben was here I filled it with tending to his needs. Now it’s just me and the sudden spate of time before me every day.
I drove my little blue Fiat car into the village, found a space in one of the bays and took my basket into the small greengrocer’s. It’s so nice that certain things just stay the same. I’ve been going there for over twenty years and it is still owned by the same lady that owned it back then.
I walked into the grocer’s and heard the sound of the bell above the door let out its familiar ping. June looked up from behind the counter and beamed one of her smiles.
‘Hello, Annie.’
‘Hello, June.’ I walked over to the vegetables and started placing items into my basket all the while thinking about what I would cook tonight.
I have been so used to whipping up meals for the two of us that now I find cooking for one difficult. Ben has such an appetite that it was like cooking for a family of four. He would always go in for second and third helpings and finished up the leftovers without hesitation.
So I started to freeze meals, my intention being that every time Ben visits I can send him off with a batch of homemade food. But he hasn’t visited. Not for over a month. And I cannot conceal the contempt I feel, the anger that begins in the pit of my stomach and then consumes me so I feel the need to run out to the wall at the bottom of the garden and scream into the vast ocean.
I can’t imagine for a moment that Ben’s new wife has time to stand and cook a meal at the stove like I do. Of course, I couldn’t always cook. There was a time when cooking terrified me. But I had to do it. It was expected of me and once I began, I enjoyed it. Being able to create something from raw ingredients and watch it develop into something wholesome and magnificent is truly a satisfying experience.
‘Any tomatoes today?’ June hollered, wrenching me
