I’ve been sorting through my clothes all day today. One pile for the bin, another to give to charity. My arms ache from lugging stuff up and down the stairs, making the most of the time that Duncan’s out. He’s working late today, operating on the spine of a big dog. It could be a very late night, he’d said, don’t bother to cook for me. My head throbs. I’ve been fighting it all day, resisting the need for painkillers. I give in and head to the kitchen, rifling through a drawer for some pills.
I hear a bang. It’s a door upstairs. There’s the thunder of feet running down the stairs and Joe appears in the kitchen. He’s changed into jeans and a khaki-green jumper – the one his dad bought for his last birthday. The sleeves are already too short, but Joe still wears it, the sleeves rolled up irrespective of the cold so that no one will notice. He slams his body down on a chair, folding one leg over his knee so that he can put his trainers on.
‘Where are you going?’ I say. As if I didn’t know.
He lifts his head, defiance pulling his lips tight.
‘Out.’
He nods towards the metal detector leaning by the back door.
‘Please, Joe, not tonight. It’ll be dark soon. Why do you have to do this at night, for goodness’ sake?’
He stands up. My hand reaches across my chest for the soft spot in the hollow of my shoulder. I rub it as if it hurts. Joe balances on one foot and lifts his other leg, jamming the second trainer on, struggling to get his big fingers round the laces.
‘I told you – if the other guys see me, they’ll get there first, take whatever there is – we can’t let them do that.’
The ‘other guys’ – he means the metal detectorists. Treasure hunters. There’s a whole community of them, apparently; though I gather most of them are a lot older than Joe. It worries me, because it seems to me that my son doesn’t belong in such a group, not at this stage in his life. He should be out with people the same age as him, clubbing, drinking, meeting girls and boys and having fun. Not glued to online chat sites, poring over photographs of ancient treasure, participating in endless conversations about gold and silver coins, artefacts of the long dead, chasing stuff – stuff. It’s just a vain dream.
He stands upright and walks down the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors as he looks for food he can take with him.
‘No,’ I say, my voice firmer. ‘Not today, not tonight. I don’t want you going tonight.’
I stand with my legs apart, willing myself to look taller.
‘You listen to your mother, Joe. You’re not going out tonight.’
I swing round. It’s Duncan.
He’s come in from the hall and I stare at him in surprise. He’s home early. The operation either went really well or really badly. Or his latest girlfriend has blown him out and cancelled their plans for tonight. Our eyes meet briefly. It’s like this game between us – the texting and calls, all those late nights and excuses. He must realise I know he’s having a full-blown affair by now, even if I don’t know who. He’s been very careful about that.
He likes hurting me, letting me know in subtle ways how little he thinks of me, how meaningless our marriage has become. But never anything in public. He expects me to carry on, always has, because of Joe. He doesn’t know that I’m planning to leave, that I’ve been carefully saving, waiting, biding my time …
‘Joe! Did you hear me?’ repeats Duncan.
He’s in a foul mood. I can hear it in his voice. I flinch in spite of myself. He doesn’t care about Joe going out, he’s looking for another argument.
Joe acts as if he hasn’t heard either of us, still banging the cupboard doors like a drummer crashing on cymbals.
‘Joe! Stop that!’ Duncan’s voice fills the kitchen.
Joe stops and turns to face his father.
‘Why?’ he says. ‘Why shouldn’t I go out?’
‘You heard what your mother said. It’s almost night. It’s not sensible to go out in the fields at night. How can you possibly even see properly? Never mind this fantasy you’ve got of finding some kind of treasure hoard.’ Duncan stresses the word fantasy. ‘Enough’s enough, boy.’ Duncan’s voice deepens. ‘Your mother said no.’
Blaming me. As always, Duncan somehow makes me out to be the bad guy.
Joe riles at the word boy.
‘Fuck you!’ he shouts, stepping forwards to push past Duncan into the utility room.
‘Don’t you swear at me!’ says Duncan, bristling.
He moves to block Joe’s way, filling the door frame, holding one arm against the architrave. I see Joe’s eyes move to the metal detector propped up in the corner by the back door and my hand moves to my throat.
‘Please, Joe, let’s not do this tonight.’ I throw a warning look at Duncan. ‘Why … why don’t we go out for a meal instead? The three of us – pizza in Belston. You’d like that.’
He used to, when he was little. It’s been a long time since I went out for a meal with Duncan, let alone with Joe as well. Duncan looks at me, surprised at the suggestion, and Joe looks from one to the other of us, disbelieving.
‘What and watch the two of you fighting?’ he says.
I see the bitterness in his eyes. He bends down to duck under Duncan’s arm, but Duncan moves again, stepping forwards to meet him, one hand pushing against Joe’s chest. Suddenly, this whole thing has escalated to a physical confrontation. Joe bats his father’s arm away and I can see the indecision fly across Duncan’s face. Fight or let him go. There’s no winning that.
Instead, Duncan spins round and strides across the utility room to grab the metal detector before our son can get there. He snatches the battery pack that powers the thing.
‘I’ve had enough of all this. There’ll be no metal detecting for you tonight, Joe. It’s time you lived in the real world.’
Joe stands there, his face pale and stark. Like he can’t believe his father just said that, undermining the very thing that means so much to him.
Duncan marches into the hall. He exits the front door and it swings shut with a muted clunk. I hear the car door slam and the engine fire up. Joe is galvanised into action, growling almost like an animal.
‘Joe! He didn’t mean it!’
He ignores me. He takes the stairs two at a time. Moments later he comes down again, another battery pack in his hands. My eyes widen. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so upsetting.
‘Joe! You can’t!’
But it’s too late. He loops past me in the kitchen and grabs hold of the metal detector, fixing the new battery pack into place. He snatches at the back door. Arthur slips through the open gap to follow Joe. And this door slams with a proper satisfying thunk.
Joe has gone. Duncan, too. And I’m left standing on my own in the kitchen.
I’m done with my sorting for a while. It’s frustrating, because I can’t pack properly till the very last day. Dusk has fallen early, the way it does in winter, and there’s a chill to the Barn despite our expensive underfloor heating. I decide to have a long, warm bath.
I head for the master en suite – it’s my bathroom now. There’s a freestanding contemporary bathtub in Apollo Arctic White that