“Not tonight.” He was firm. “I’m exhausted, I’m going to bed.”
“When then?” Hanna was persistent and his cool façade disappeared.
“On my schedule Hanna, not yours.” He was angry, and she shrunk away. “It’s been a hell of a day and I’ve got a lot to think about. Good night.”
“Good night.” Her words were faint and tremulous. It took everything he had to walk away.
But he did it, and he knew why. This wasn’t about them anymore. It wasn’t about a girl and a boy who were foolish enough to let love slip through their hands. It was about their son, a beautiful child who only deserved to know a life full of happiness and joy.
Matty was Richard’s life now, and nothing else was going to get in the way.
Twenty Four
May 18th 2012
The rain was beating down on the tiled roof, drumming like the hooves of a thousand horses. Hanna sighed loudly, watching as Matty ran from room to room, desperate in his need to expend some energy. The summer storm had started suddenly. The yellow-blue of the morning sky was quickly painted over by grey, the heaviness increasing until the clouds could no longer contain the rain. There was no gentle patter of raindrops against the window; the storm started as it meant to go on: hard and harsh.
Matty wasn’t an indoor child. He needed fresh air and grass and sand. He loved to explore, picking flowers and running after scurrying animals, squealing with frustration when they eluded his grasp. Being stuck inside was mere containment. The pressure of his unexpended energy seemed to grow until Hanna felt it could burst the roof off the house.
He was banging on the door to the orangery. Richard was inside, working on his laptop. He had muttered something about a video conference during another of their strained exchanges. Hanna pulled at Matty’s arm, hushing him as she tried to drag him away.
“No!” Matty’s face compressed with anger. Hanna swallowed hard and mustered up her mother-courage.
“Come away from the door, Matty.” Her voice was firm. It was something she had learned; firmness meant you were listened to.
“Not.” Matty shook his head and turned away again, hammering his fist against the wood. Hanna sighed and scooped him up, lifting him away from the door. For a moment Matty stared at her, his mouth agape as if he was surprised she had actually defied him. His lips trembled and his eyes shut tightly, a wail escaping his throat.
She tried to walk away as fast as she could, but Matty had surprisingly strong lungs. Only a moment later, Richard opened the door, walking out into the hall and gazing at her and Matty with a questioning look.
“Is he okay?” His voice was soft as he stared at his son.
“I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you. He’s going stir crazy.”
It was killing her in small, measured stages. A glance here, a tightly polite word there. Every interaction with Richard was torture, from the mornings at the kitchen table feeding Matty, to the evenings when he brushed past her and went straight to his room.
Hanna was desperate to talk. She was dying to listen. She didn’t care if he wanted to vent, to tell her how much he hated her—he could shout and scream all he wanted to. She could take it, far better than she could take his intense, innate politeness.
He had been here for five days. Five days of walking on eggshells and tiptoeing around their future. It was like he knew this would be greater torture than shouting at her and berating her.
It was.
Matty started to struggle in her arms, wanting to be put down, and desperate to run over to his father. Richard advanced toward them, a smile tugging at his lips, and when he was only a few feet away Matty reached his chubby arms out, wriggling harder in Hanna’s grasp.
“Dad.” He was almost shouting. “Daddy.”
Hanna froze.
Her chest swelled, pressuring her ribs until she thought she was going to explode. She looked at Richard, noticing his watery eyes. She wanted to wipe the tears away before they formed.
“He said my name.”
Hanna nodded, her own tears escaping. Richard lifted Matty from her arms, pulling him tightly against his chest, cradling his son’s head in his large palm.
“Can you say it again, Matty?” He whispered. “Say ‘daddy.’”
Matty looked up at his father, his eyes sparkling as he realized it was another game. He was good at these.
“Daddy.” His words were rewarded with a squeal from Hanna and a kiss from Richard. They looked at each other again, and Hanna noticed a softness she hadn’t seen before. She wanted to wrap it around her body and snuggle within it.