He stares at me for a long moment. Upstairs, I hear Milly call Alice softly, and I wonder – I hope – she is going to come downstairs. That I’ll get a chance to see her. But then I hear a bedroom door click softly shut, and I realise I should have known better. They are never going to let me see her.
Then, when I am half-expecting Matt to order me out of the house for a second time, his face crumples. I watch in shock as his lips tremble and his eyes start to stream and he shakes his head, turning away from me to hide his emotion.
‘Matt…’
‘It’s my fault.’ The words are barely audible; I hear them, just, but I still can’t make sense of them. ‘My fault,’
he repeats, his voice choking. ‘I shouldn’t have left Alice with you.’ I reel back, shocked. What is he saying about me…? ‘I shouldn’t have failed Alice like that. Failed Milly.’
Realisation sharpens into focus. ‘You didn’t fail anyone—’
‘I was happy enough to let you take all the night-time wake-ups, all the feeds, everything. I checked out, because it was easier. It’s always easier.’
I have the uneasy sense that he is not talking about then, but now. ‘You didn’t check out, Matt, and in any case you had a lot to deal with. You still do.’ I shrug helplessly. ‘It was an impossible situation, just as it is now.’
‘Still…’ He draws a quick, ragged breath. ‘I should have been a better husband. A better father.’
I stare at him, unsure where to go from here. Has he been angry at me for five years because he hasn’t wanted to admit how angry he is with himself?
‘That’s all in the past,’ I say finally. ‘It all happened a long time ago, and I’m sure you’ve been a wonderful father and husband in the years since then. What matters is now, Matt—’
‘Yeah, and you know what happens now?’ Matt swings around to face me, angry again. His moods are changing so quickly it makes my head spin, and yet I understand it. The grief is too overwhelming to make sense of. ‘What happens now,’ he continues in a low growl, ‘is that my daughter declines and dies. That’s what happens now.’ His lips tremble and he presses them together. ‘And I’m failing her now just as I failed her then.’
‘Matt, please let me help. I want to help you and Milly.’ My voice trembles. ‘Please.’
He shakes his head, but the gesture seems aimed more at himself than at me.
‘How is Alice doing?’ I brace myself for his rebuff, but he deflates, that spark of anger already snuffed out.
‘She’s still in school, but she can’t hold a pencil easily or even drink from a cup,’ he states flatly. I recall her beaker by the sink. ‘She can’t bring a spoon to her mouth, at least not without getting food everywhere, and she keeps forgetting simple words. She’s also got 20/40 vision, which is only going to get worse, and the consultant thinks she’ll need crutches within the next few months. She’s had eight seizures since the diagnosis, and that’s on medication. That’s how she’s doing.’
He turns away, and I blink slowly, taking in each detail with dawning horror. Even after all the research I’d done online, I hadn’t expected her to deteriorate quite so quickly. It’s been less than three months.
‘Matt, I’m so sorry…’ The words are painfully inadequate. ‘Please, let me help you. What can I do?’
He shakes his head, his back to me. ‘I don’t know what we need.’ Which at least isn’t no.
‘I can bring food, do the washing. Whatever…’ I trail off, because I realise Matt isn’t in a place to brainstorm with me about ways to help, and coming here at all was, in some way, selfish. I wanted to see Alice. That’s what motivated me, at a base level. Will was right. I swallow hard as I let go of that deeply held desire, for the first time. ‘The soup is in the fridge,’ I say. ‘I’ll bring another meal round in a few days, if you think it helps. I don’t have to come in. I can leave it on the front step.’
Matt doesn’t reply and after another few seconds I turn around and leave, closing the door quietly behind me. It isn’t until I’m in the car that I see the silhouettes behind the drapes, and I realise Milly has come downstairs. She must have been waiting for me to leave.
Thirty-Three
Milly
I hear Anna close the front door as I wait at the top of the stairs. It might make me a coward, but I wasn’t strong enough for a confrontation with her tonight, not on top of everything else. It’s been two weeks since Matt walked out of the house, and although he came back after a couple of hours, things have changed between us. A tension exists between us that wasn’t there before, but after overhearing his conversation with Anna, the honesty in it, I feel the tiniest bit hopeful that things might change.
As I come downstairs, I see him sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. He looks up as I approach, his expression so very weary.
‘She’s gone.’
‘I know.’
‘How much of that did you hear?’
‘Most of it,’ I admit.
Matt lets out a heavy sigh and drops his head into his hands once more. ‘I’m sorry, Milly. I’m doing so badly with all of this and making it even worse for you.’