The Hypnotist's Love Story - Page 105


A wave had broken farther in than the others and white, foamy water rushed toward them. Patrick used one arm to lift Ellen briefly in the air, saving her shoes, before depositing her back onto the dry sand. The sudden unexpected warmth of his body filled Ellen with a strange yearning for him, as if they weren’t in a relationship, as if she was taking a walk with a nonavailable man who was just a friend.

“Saskia took on so much of the parenting,” said Patrick. “I blame Colleen for that.”

“Pardon?” said Ellen, confused, but somewhat happy to hear poor Colleen blamed for anything.

“Colleen was a great mother, but she was very much, This is my territory. She was so condescending whenever I tried to help with Jack, as if I was an adorable buffoon, as if he wasn’t really completely safe with me. So when she died, I was terrified, thinking, I can’t bring up this kid on my own! I’ll dress him the wrong way, he’ll be too cold or too hot, and I won’t feed him right or buy the right nappy cream or whatever. I had no idea, and my mother and Colleen’s mother were over all the time, taking care of him, and of course they were even worse than Colleen, as if no man was capable of changing a nappy. And then I met Saskia, and she seemed so happy to step right into Colleen’s place, to take on the Mummy role, and I let her do that. I just sat back and let it happen. Jack loved her, and she loved him. I shouldn’t have done that.” He glanced over at Ellen. “Although, I don’t know, maybe I’m doing it again with you, letting you make Jack’s lunches.”

“I like making his lunches,” said Ellen carefully. She could feel the presence of all those other women in Jack’s life—the grandmothers, Colleen, Saskia—gathered around her, shaking their heads at Patrick and tutting, all thinking the same thing: You’d feed him white bread sandwiches!

“Well,” said Patrick. “I guess I’m trying to find a better balance this time. Not just handing over my son and saying, Here, you look after him. And when our new little baby is born, I want to be involved, right? From the beginning.”

“You’ve got more experience with babies than me,” said Ellen.

Patrick shot her a grateful smile. “That’s right. I’ll be the expert. I’ll train you up, darlin’, tell you what’s what.”

“So, you stopped being a robot?” said Ellen. “Is that why you broke up with Saskia?” And are you still a robot? Am I just another Saskia?

“One day, I started crying,” said Patrick. “In the car. It was the strangest thing. I cried all the way from Gordon to Mascot. And it kept happening. Each time I was alone in the car, I started crying. Sometimes I caught people staring at me at traffic lights. This grown man sobbing away at the steering wheel. It went on for weeks. And then one morning I woke up and I felt different. Like when you’ve been really sick and you wake up and you realize you’re better. It wasn’t that I felt happy so much, I just felt as if maybe happiness was possible. And I looked at Saskia lying next to me, and I knew that I had to break up with her, that it was absolutely the right thing to do, that it needed to be just Jack and me for a while. It was just so blindingly clear to me. But she’d only just found out that her mother was sick, so I kept putting it off.”

“And then her mother died.”

“Yes,” said Patrick. “And then I finally told her. I think I had this stupid idea that she wouldn’t be that upset, that I was almost doing her a favor, because she could find someone who loved her properly. I was shocked by her reaction, and I guess I didn’t take it seriously. It was like I thought, But you can’t really have loved me because I haven’t even been here. You know what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Ellen. She was a bit breathless. The more Patrick had talked, the faster he had walked, and she’d been struggling to keep up with him.

“Sorry,” said Patrick. “Let’s sit down for a few moments.”

They walked up to the softer sand and sat down together facing the sea, their shoulders touching.

“I think that’s why I kept putting off taking out the restraining order,” said Patrick. “Because, deep down, I knew I’d treated her badly, even though I didn’t admit it, even to myself. I’d start driving toward the police station and I’d think, Geez, the woman toilet trained my kid. She put her career on hold so she could take care of him. I’m in debt to her. And then I’d think, Oh, she has to stop eventually. I should have taken her more seriously. I should have done something straight after Noosa, as soon as I knew you were involved. When I think what could have happened last night, to you, or Jack, or the baby.” He shuddered.

“It might not have made any difference,” said Ellen. “Even if you had been to the police.”

Patrick lifted one shoulder in a “Who knows?” gesture.

“Anyway,” he said. “Enough of Saskia.” He lifted his chin and looked at the starry sky. “Please God, enough of Saskia.”

“Yes,” said Ellen, thinking of Saskia’s white face and wondering what she was doing right at the moment, if she had friends or family visiting her at the hospital, and what was going on in her strange, mixed-up mind.

Patrick took a deep breath. “Anyway, the reason I suggested a walk was so I could talk to you about last night and that, ah, thing that I said. About Colleen.” His tone had changed completely. He spoke stiffly and formally, as if he was taking part in unfamiliar legal proceedings.

“All right,” said Ellen. Her stomach knotted, and she found that she actually didn’t want him to speak about it. Words would just tangle things up further and make them feel worse. How strange. She had always thought words were the answer to everything; after all, she treated people with nothing but words.

Keep those lines of communication open! That’s what she always told her clients experiencing relationship difficulties. And now she couldn’t think of anything worse than talking. This must be what it was like to be a man, his heart sinking each time a woman said, “We need to talk,” thinking, Just shut up, woman! as she revealed her soul in all its naked glory when he really wanted her to keep it covered up.

“The thing is—” began Patrick.

Ellen said, “Is that your mother?”

She could just make out the figure of Maureen picking her way carefully across the sand as if watching out for land mines.

Tags: Liane Moriarty Romance
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