Half the World Away

CHAPTER TEN

Emailing with Lori is sporadic. She usually replies a few days after receiving a message but rarely unprompted. We keep abreast of what she’s up to by following her blog. She posted a new one today, about parks. I showed it to the boys and we talked about the pictures.

Isaac kicks off at the tea table. ‘I hate macaroni cheese. It looks like sick.’

‘Yeuch! Gross!’ says Finn.

‘It’s that or toast,’ I say, my voice calm, not wanting a battle.

‘Don’t want toast.’

‘You’ll be hungry,’ Nick says.

Isaac sets his jaw, scowls, pushes at the pasta with his spoon, moving it to the very edge of his plate. A quick look at me to see if I’ll stop him. Another jab and the first of his food spills onto the table. I reach over and remove his plate.

‘Isaac,’ Nick shouts, ‘stop messing.’

Isaac jumps down, runs out and upstairs. I’m disappointed in Nick. If he hadn’t risen to the bait…

Nick shoves back his chair, the scrape on the laminate floor shredding my nerves. ‘Leave him,’ I say.

He hesitates.

‘We’ll finish tea. No point in him disrupting it for all of us.’

‘What’s for pudding?’ Finn says.

‘Apple pie,’ I say.

‘Yum. Is Isaac getting any?’

‘Don’t know.’ I jump in before Nick lays down any laws. ‘We’ll see. Are you going to feed Benji?’

Finn nods and starts to move, but I tell him to have his apple pie first.

Nick smiles at Finn but I can still feel the tension in him, almost hear the hum of impatience and irritation just below the surface. I’m getting so tired of his bad mood and resent the fact that I have to mediate between him and Isaac. We’ve always been good at parenting, well, good enough, presenting a united front. I’ll have to tackle him about it. Of course it’s the stress of redundancy that’s behind this but his refusal to talk to me about it makes it worse. Like he’s wallowing in it, savouring it. A martyr.

After another tantrum about toast tasting funny and a crying jag, Isaac is asleep at last. Finn is in bed with his book. He’ll drift off soon enough, and when one of us prises the book from his hands, he won’t wake.

Downstairs Nick is doing a shopping list, checking the fridge and the cupboards.

‘Can we talk?’ I say to him.

He makes a noise, noncommittal.

I sit down and pour myself a glass of wine, emptying the bottle. Nick opens another and refills his glass.

Sitting down, I say, ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘He needs clear boundaries,’ Nick says.

‘I’m not talking about Isaac,’ I say. ‘I’m talking about you. You’re shutting me out.’

‘I’m doing my best,’ he says.

‘Maybe you should talk to someone.’

‘Jo,’ he shakes his head, ‘come on.’

‘I think you’re depressed,’ I say.

‘This is my problem, I’ll deal with it how-’

‘But you’re not,’ I say, more loudly than I mean to. ‘You’re getting worse. Everything’s a problem. You shout at the kids, you freeze me out.’

He glares at me but I don’t look away.

‘Maybe we need a break, a weekend away. Or you have a get-together with the lads, go cycling, have a laugh. Go to that cottage in Cork.’

‘What – just spend the redundancy?’ he says.

‘Well, a couple of hundred quid isn’t going to make much difference.’

He snorts, like I said something stupid.

‘You suggest something, then.’

‘I suggest you just-’ He breaks off. I’m relieved: whatever he was about to say wasn’t going to be pleasant.

‘Nick?’

He turns away. ‘I just need some time.’

‘It’s been six weeks,’ I say. ‘It’s not your fault but you’re punishing yourself and the rest of us.’

‘Don’t talk crap,’ he says.

‘Everything is so miserable. The atmosphere-’

‘Yes,’ he says hotly, ‘it’s called real life. And having you on my back really isn’t helping.’

Stung and defeated, I pick up my wine and leave him to it. But I won’t give up because we can’t go on like this, not indefinitely. It’s bloody horrible.

Lori in the Ori-ent

Weather

Posted on 2 April 2014 by Lori

I’m used to rain, coming from Manchester (rainy city). Sometimes we get several seasons in a day. England has a north-south and east-west split in climate. For the north-west we have the weather coming in from the Atlantic rising up over the Pennines. It’s wet and cloudy while the other side of the hills to the east is drier and sunnier. The south is warmer than the north almost always, and that means Manchester (NW) and London (SE) never share the same forecast. So rain I can do. Changeability I can deal with.

But endless, interminable cloud. Chengdu is known as the city where the sun never shines. Great bumper sticker. Mugs, anyone? Tea towels? It’s in the Sichuan basin surrounded by mountains. This traps the cloud. Swampy best describes the summer I am told. Today it is just sticky. Sticky and airless. The cloud seals in the heat and the pollution. Imagine using a wallpaper steamer on a very old doormat in a confined space. That smell. What’s not to like? The humidity is about a million per cent. Perfect for mosquitoes. So I am sticky and itchy and STILL having an amazing time. Lxxx