Tree of Pearls

‘I have to apologize to you,’ she said. ‘Want to, sorry. Not have to. I did some terrible things and I have a list here and I want to apologize for each one.’

Each one?

‘Please, don’t,’ I said. ‘Please.’

‘Please,’ she said.

So we pleaded with each other a little. Then ‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Just let me do it then I’ll explain. Please?’

Don’t plead. Please.

I let her.

‘Angeline, this is Chrissie. I am apologizing to you. I am sorry for the letters. For the phone calls. For the scene at the funeral – I think. I’m not sure what happened but I think I probably should apologize. And for coming in on your bath and passing out on your bath mat and upsetting your friend. And for all the shouting and everything and for thinking what I did about you and Eddie. I want you to know that I am very very sorry.’

I was gobsmacked.

‘And I would like to apologize to your friend in the bathroom who got me the taxi.’ (That was Sarah.) ‘And if you know where Harry can be found now because I haven’t seen him since Eddie … passed away … since he went to gaol, actually, and nobody knows where he is now but I know you and he were friends and I have a lot to apologize to him for too.’

Whoa.

Of course she would think Eddie was dead. But going back suddenly to the days when Harry was Eddie’s employee, running his fancy garage for him … Chrissie doesn’t know Harry’s a cop. Of course not. Unless Eddie told her, when she visited him in prison. If Eddie knows, that is.

Does Eddie know? No, of course not. Eddie is the main man Harry was undercover from, for god’s sake.

Oh, fuck the lot of them. I only want a quiet life.

Not a helpful declaration. I am one of them. In my quiet way.

‘Why, Chrissie?’ I asked.

‘Oh!’ She has this slightly breathy squeak. She must be going on fifty but she still wears what Fergus the crime correspondent calls her heyday hairdo, which is sub-Bardot, and very high heels. ‘I can tell you. You know I was drunk – well I was. Now I’m not. My name is Chrissie and I’m an alcoholic. And I’m not a criminal’s wife any more. I’m – something else. I don’t know what yet.’

‘So?’ I said, not quite so unkindly.

‘Do you want to know? No, of course not. I’ll give you the short version. You probably know about it. It’s the twelve steps. One of the steps is that you apologize to everybody you did wrong to while you were drunk. You were quite high up my list actually. I had to go through people a lot because I kept thinking I should be apologizing for stuff which was Eddie’s. Couldn’t tell whose was whose, if you see what I mean. But with you it was quite clear, and recent, and so you were a good person to start with. I did my mother first. But I’m going to have to go back to her. Several times, actually, I should think. But I thought I could get you under my belt – sorry! I know that sounds rather … because of course you don’t want to have anything to do with me, and that’s absolutely fair and right. But you know it’s terribly embarrassing. Thank you for not, you know, laughing or anything.’

‘That’s OK,’ I found myself saying.

‘So that’s what I’m doing and thank you for listening and … if you wanted to talk about any of it I’m here. I know that might sound rather mad. But you see I’m trying to think of myself as a normal person now and that’s the kind of thing I would want to say if I was a normal person – you know, if Eddie hadn’t hijacked me and I hadn’t turned to the booze to protect myself from him. If I’d just met some nice man. Or if Eddie had been ugly or something, or poor, then I wouldn’t have fallen for him. Because I wouldn’t have, I don’t think. I was so stupid when I was young. But I’m not going to be any more. And it’s quite a challenge. Anyway I don’t want to go on and bore you. Well I do, but I don’t want you to be bored. I want you to forgive me, and if you do, you know, in your own time, I’d really like it if you could let me know, because it will just make all the difference. It will be like fuel for my redemption rocket, you know? And it would be awfully good karma for you. Not that I mean to try to bribe you or anything. But forgiveness is good, isn’t it? And I know my husband caused you grief, and while I know that’s not my fault, if I had been a different woman, not so weak, everything might have been different, even that, so I don’t feel responsible for you but I do feel for you. I’m sorry, they do feed us an awful lot of rubbish at this place but it’s terribly good. I do hope I’m not talking like a Californian. Oh look. I’m peeing in your ear and you’ve got better things to do – but I would like to talk to you. Any time. You’ve got my number, haven’t you. Here it is again. Or e-mail me – Chrissie@newchris.demon.com. Are you on e-mail? It is fabulous … sorry I’m going on. Look. Any time.’

‘Chrissie,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘A word.’

‘Yes?’

‘While reinventing yourself, it might be worth putting in the gene that lets other people get a word in edgeways.’

‘Nervous,’ she said. ‘Very nervous. Not a drop for six weeks. Sorry.’

‘OK. Listen. I am all for redemption. I wish you well. I hope you succeed but I don’t want to talk to you.’

‘It would be a wonderful bonus for me if you did, very good for my recovery,’ she said, ‘though of course I know that recovery is within the individual, you can’t look to anyone else to do it for you.’

‘I owe you no bonus,’ I said.

‘No, nor any £100,000!’ she cried. ‘I’m living off what he left me because I have to eat but I tell you, this is genuine. I’m going to be redeeming left right and centre. I won’t bother you. If you wish me luck that’s all I need. Thank you. But if you forgive me, let me know. God bless you.’

God bless me.

Blimey.

And that was it.

I sat back, rather exhausted, after she rang off. I didn’t know what to make of it so I left it lying on the side of my mind like an unanswered letter. At least Preston Oliver hadn’t rung me. Nor anybody else.

*

Harry came round that night to put Lily to bed. He’d rung during the day to say was it all right. And to say maybe I might like to go out, or something – should he babysit? I was pleased, but I didn’t want to go out. I watched the news, amazed to have the hours between six and eight to myself. There were TV programmes I’d never heard of that had presumably been going on all this time between six and eight, never watched by mothers of young children.

I must get a job. I don’t know anything about the real world any more. I just sit here and pretend things aren’t happening.

I could hear them giggling in Lily’s bedroom. He was telling her the wide-mouth frog joke. Doing voices. It squeezed my heart.

Lily dismissed Harry, and I went to read to her. Climbed into bed with her.

‘Does he stay forever?’ she asked.

‘Who, Paddington Bear?’ I asked, because that was who I was reading about.

‘No. Daddy.’

‘He’s your dad forever, yes,’ I said.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘When are you getting married?’

Blank. Help!

‘We’re not,’ I said. Have I led her to believe that we were?

‘Oh, all right,’ she said.

‘What?’