Is For Life: Chapter Nineteen: She's Gone to Glastonbury

Chapter Nineteen

The weeks had flown by quickly and Shelly was looking out over the stretching expanse of the six week Summer Holiday. Two weeks at Easter had been bad enough, but John had left since then and as much as she hated to admit it, things were actually easier without him there. Routines were easier to maintain and sometimes, even adapting them was calmer without John around.

It saddened her to think that life was easier and better for Sammy without his dad there, but it was true. John had booked a week off work halfway through the holidays. He’d said that he would probably be going away for a few days, thank God he hadn’t mentioned taking Sammy, but after that he wanted more access to his son. He’d come in, mess the routines all to hell, breeze out again and leave Shelly to sort out the aftermath. That was her price to pay for her husband running out on her.

Shelly was sending some papers concerning their divorce to her solicitor by recorded delivery. Sammy didn’t queue well. While he understood the logic behind it, and agreed with it in principal, Shelly felt that Sammy believed that other people should queue while he should have a golden ticket to take them straight to the head of any queue that they joined.

He was agitated: eyes top, hands fluttering, he attempted to block out the noises with his continual cow-like moan, it grated on Shelly’s nerves today because she was tense over the divorce, normally, just as Sammy tuned out the white-noise, so she could tune out Sammy.

He had his helmet on and Shelly always associated that with the stares. It was ridiculous, they would stare with or without the helmet but because he always wore it when they were out in public, Shelly felt that ignorance was divined through the power of an epilepsy helmet. She hated it and often thought about burning it and leaving Sammy to take his chances with the fits. After all, he didn’t wear it in the house and had several seizures a week.

The lady behind them pulled her out of her thoughts. ‘I ‘ates queuing, I do.’ Shelly smiled at her politely. ‘Your little man doesn’t seem too keen on it, neither,’ the woman continued.

‘Oh, he’s all right, aren’t you, Sambo?’

Shelly gave Sammy a nudge and felt him stiffen.

‘If you don’t mind my asking, what’s wrong with him, like?’

I don’t mind at all love, I’d rather people asked than just stared,’ she said pointedly. Several people lowered their heads to examine their footwear. ‘He’s autistic.’

‘Well I never. That’s that new disease, isn’t it? We didn’t have nobody Otistic in my day, they was either spastics or mongrels, no such things as otistic. I’ve never met anybody otistic before. Can he hear me?’

Shelly bit back a smile, ‘Yes, of course he can hear you.’

The old lady raised her voice to a shout anyway, ‘How…are…you…today…little…man?’ she flapped her hands in front of her as though she was attempting some form of sign language.

‘Sammy,’ Shelly cajoled, the lady’s speaking to you.’

‘Are…You…All…Right? What… Are…You…Going…To…Do…Today?’ Shelly caught the eye of a young lad, three people back in the queue who was trying very hard not to laugh. She could see his shoulders jerking with the effort of containment. Shelly was amused that the old lady was more entertaining than Sammy.

On another day, she might have been rude to the lady. What business was it of hers what was wrong with him? She might have yelled, ‘What the hell are you laughing at,’ to the teenager. Her moods could be as erratic as Sammy’s. Today she was just amused.

‘Are… you…going…to… have…some …nice…dinner?’

‘I ‘ates queuing, I do.’ Sammy said, perfectly imitating the voice of the old lady. He resumed his moan, but now it was much quieter. He was listening. The old lady smiled like a loon, it was as if she had made initial contact with primitive man.

‘Are... you… going… to… be… a… good… boy?’

‘Samuel May is going to be a veterinarian.’ This was the first Shelly had heard of it.’

‘Really?...And …oo… is …Samuel…May…When…ees… at…`ome?’ She was still shouting and enunciating and wherever possible doing the actions, When she got to the ‘`ome’ word she steepled her hands together over her head. The lady was oblivious to everything around her, after all, thought Shelly, this is important stuff, she was having her first conversation with a real live otistic person. She couldn’t wait to tell Joan all about this.

‘Samuel May is Samuel May.’

At a loss, she looked to Shelly for help. ‘What’s ee sayin`. I can’t understand `im.’

‘He was just saying that he wants to be a vet.’

‘Oh, that’s so sad, the poor little mite wantin` to be a vet. What a shame.’

Shelly wasn’t laughing now. The woman was right. It was a shame. Of course Sammy was never likely to be able to function as a vet. Her ignorance had amused Shelly. Her pity angered her. She felt the need to poke the woman. ‘Oh really, why is it a shame?’ She kept her voice pleasant, but the tiniest edge of ice had snaked in around the edges.

‘Well love, no offence intended, like, but cos of his poor little mind, like,’ she tapped her forehead and Shelly wanted to take hold of her finger and snap it.

‘My son can be anything he chooses to be. He has an exceptionally high IQ. In fact, it’s probably the highest of anybody in this town.’

‘Samuel May Intelligence Quotient one hundred and twenty-eight, last accurate recording.’

‘Yes, but, that’s only because the last one you had couldn’t be recorded accurately as it went off the scale. Your consultant thinks it may well have been two-hundred or more.’ Why did she feel the need to say that? She didn’t have to account to this line of no-hopers.

The lady shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Go on dear, your turn,’ she said. She sounded relieved that the awkward conversation had come to an end. Shelly moved to the open serving station and heard the lady say to the person behind her. ‘Well, I didn’t mean to cause no offence, I didn’t. I was only making conversation. Some people is just too sensitive if you ask me. I was sayin` to my Bert just the other…’

When her business was complete, Shelly turned away from the counter and Sammy stopped at one of the rotating displays. ‘Come on Sammy, you’re holding up the aisle,’ said Shelly, gently trying to move him along.

‘Shelly May, Samuel May needs Frank Sutcliffe-Photographs of Whitby. Samuel May needs Frank Sutcliffe-Photographs of Whitby right now, Shelly May.’

‘What do you want an old calendar for? We’re in July and the calendar started in January. They’ve got a damned cheek asking four ninety-nine for it. And I don’t know why Cumbria is stocking calendars about Whitby, anyway.’

‘Samuel May needs Frank Sutcliffe-Photographs of Whitby. Samuel May needs Frank Sutcliffe-Photographs of Whitby right now, Shelly May.’

‘Not now Sammy, do you really want to go to the back of the queue and have to stand there for twenty minutes again?’ She took him by the hand and virtually dragged him out of the Post Office while Sammy continued to plead for the calendar. When they got home he went straight to his computer.

****

There was a knock at the door. It was almost half past ten. Nobody would call at this time. Shelly went to answer it quickly because Carthenage had started barking and would wake Sammy up.

‘Hello? Oh, it’s you. What the hell do you want at this time of night?’ He’d been drinking—heavily by the look of him.

‘Can I come in? I need to talk to you.’ His voice was loud and his words slurred.

‘Shush, you’ll wake Sammy. What’s the matter, can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

‘No, I need to talk to you now. It’s important.’

Reluctantly, she opened the door and let him in. She automatically went into the kitchen and made coffee for them both, putting John’s cup down on the table in front of him. Neither of them had spoken. John was sitting with his head in his hands. She took her place opposite and subconsciously pulled her dressing gown around her neck to protect her modesty. ‘It’s late, John. What do you want?’

‘I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake Shelly. How can you ever forgive me?’

‘Look if you’ve been off shagging somebody behind Marian’s back, you’ve got confused, mate, and come to the wrong house. Go and tell your problems to Marian. I’ve got to be up with Sammy in the morning, and to be perfectly honest, John, I’m really not interested in your problems, whatever they may be.’

‘There is no Marian, not any more. We’re over, Shelly. I’ve been such a fool.’

‘Oh, you can’t do this. It’s not fair, John. You have an argument with her and come running to me to make it all better for you. What am I—your mother? I really haven’t got time for this. Go on, go home and sort it out with her. You’re nothing to do with me, anymore, remember?’

He rubbed his hands through his hair, ‘It’s not an argument. It really is over for good. I stayed in a hotel last night.’

‘Well you can toddle off and stay there tonight as well, for all I care. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m yesterday’s chip paper. It’s her you should be talking your drunken shite to, not me. Go and tell her you’re sorry, buy her a diamond or something. Sort it out ’

‘I don’t want to sort it out with Marian. I don’t want her back. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I belong here with you and Sammy. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if I have to, please, Shelly, please, let me come home. I want to come back to you.’

Are you mad? Our decree Nisi is due any day now. We’re getting a divorce John.’

‘It can be stopped. I’ll ring up and cancel it, first thing tomorrow. Please Shelly, we’ll go away for a few days, all three of us, somewhere nice. We can put all this behind us and start again. I’ll do anything. Just let me come home.’

‘She’s pregnant with your child? What about the baby?’

‘I don’t know. It’s all a big mess. I don’t know what to do. I need you. Please just let me come home and we’ll sort it out.’

‘Grow up John. I’m not going to take you back. You’ve had a tiff, go home and sort it with your woman. She’s having a baby and her hormones will be all over the place. Your responsibility lies with her now, not here.’

‘I can’t go back, she’s gone to Glastonbury.’

‘Glastonbury? How many months pregnant is she?’ asked Shelly, letting her disapproval drip from her tongue.

‘Oh it’s worse than that,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘She’s gone to Glastonbury in Prague.’

Despite herself Shelly couldn’t help laughing. She knew the drink was partly to blame, but he could be so thick sometimes, she often wondered how he’d managed to climb as high as he had in his company. ‘So she’s in Prague? Who’s she gone with?’

‘I don’t know, a man, probably some hippy wearing long hair and denim flares and saying, ‘yeah man,’ a lot. That doesn’t matter. Don’t you see I’m not bothered about her anymore? It’s made me realise what an idiot I’ve been. I had a mid-life crisis, I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s over and I’ve come back to beg you to forgive me.’

‘How straight do you have to think to make a baby, John?’

‘Please Shelly, let me show you how sorry, I am.’ He reached for her hand across the table and she moved it away from him.

‘You can’t just leave it like that. You need to go and sort it out with her for the baby’s sake.’

‘I’ll make it right about the baby. I’ll sort it; arrange everything so that I can have access. But I’m here to talk about us, not her. She’s probably in a nylon igloo shagging another man right now and I’m not even jealous. It’s a relief really; I just want to come home to you and Sammy. Please Shelly, I’m begging you.’ He slid from the table onto his knees. For a second Shelly thought that he was losing consciousness until he clasped his hands together in front of him.

‘Please take me back. I’ll never hurt you again.’

It would be so easy. They could just slip back into their marriage as though he’d never left it. She felt sorry for him. He was a fool, but he’d been a good husband up to that point. She looked at him, drunk, on his knees and she felt a great pity and sadness. He’d had his head turned by a pretty woman giving him attention. How would she have reacted if the tables had been turned? She finally felt ready to forgive him. They didn’t have to hurt each other anymore, it could all stop now. She held out her hand to him. He grabbed it with both of his and kissed her fingers, the back of her hand, her palm, all the while asking her to take him back.

She knew in that instant with clear, calm, rational evaluation that she would never take him back. She didn’t want him back. It was her turn to say, ‘It’s over.’