Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [71]
“I don’t know.”
“Because it seems to me, unless they’re blind and dumb, they must already know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s pretty obvious to me that the two of you are having your problems.”
“It is?” Jennifer’s voice rose with incredulity.
Kathleen smiled sympathetically. “Of course it is. Do you think the rest of us are blind? You can cut the air with a knife around here when the two of you are together. I didn’t see you touch each other once when you were here before Christmas. I was ashamed of him, when he let his dad lay into you like that, at the table, without standing up for you.”
“You never said anything.”
“What could I say? People don’t want you sticking your nose in it. You wait until people come to you.”
“Has Stephen come to you?”
“No. Stephen hasn’t said a word. Stupid boy. But you have.”
Jennifer thought she might cry again.
“I don’t know what to do. We’re just not getting on at all.”
She explained then, to her mother-in-law, as best as she could, what had been happening. The deterioration, the distance. A couple of times she was afraid she’d said too much—Stephen was Kathleen’s son—but she held her hand up and told her she knew he could be a swine. “I’m not blind to his faults, any more than I am to his father’s,” she said. The more Jennifer talked, the more hopeless she felt. There were so many things, so many instances. They added up to a bleak picture. When she’d finished, she sat at the table, ashamed, and waited for Kathleen’s verdict. Waited for help. Or rescue.
“I don’t have answers, my love. I can’t tell you what to do. Sounds to me like you’ve got yourselves into a real mess.”
She stood up and put the kettle on again. Jennifer knew she was buying herself time, thinking of the right thing to say. She stared out of the window and hoped that Brian wouldn’t come home early. It was bad enough that she’d broken down this way in front of Kathleen. She couldn’t bear Brian seeing her like this.
When Kathleen sat down again, with fresh mugs of tea, she seemed to have decided. She lay both her hands on the table, and spread the fingers wide apart, and then looked at them while she talked.
“I can only think of three things to tell you, Jennifer. The first is that I love you. Like you were my own daughter. That’s by the by, but I wanted to let you know that. You can come to me, now or at any time in the future, whatever happens, and I will still feel that way. Okay?” Jennifer smiled gratefully.
“The second thing is that I really truly believe that my son loves you. I remember the day he came home from that wedding, the one where he met you. He came in through the door, whistling like a madman, and he looked so bloody pleased with himself. And he said, ‘I’ve met the girl I’m going to marry.’ I don’t know what you wore, or what you said, or how you did it, but you cast a spell on him that first time the two of you met, and I don’t think it’s worn off. He loves you. I never saw him half so keen on anyone else, and I can’t imagine him being again. Why in God’s name he’s let himself reach the point where he won’t tell you, or show you, or make you feel it, I haven’t a clue. I’d like to shake him, believe me I would.
“But the third thing is this. I’m not being disloyal saying this. It is what I truly believe. I settled for his dad. I settled for him the day I married him, and I’ve been settling for him all these years since. My marriage has been at best satisfactory, and at worst, a sentence. I can count the days of pure happiness we’ve had together on the fingers of one hand. I haven’t been unhappy so much as just not very happy. And allowing that to happen has been the biggest mistake and is the greatest regret of my life.
“Your mum got out of a bad marriage. I’ve stayed in mine, because it wasn’t bad enough. And look what she got! She got Mark, and your sister. She got a new life. And, from everything I ever saw of her, it was a bloody marvelous one. Look at me—I’ve got Brian. It’s too late for me. I’ve built a life around him. It largely excludes