A Difficult Man
Dear Diary,
Oh, William, youre impossible! Why must everything be so difficult with you? Cant you, just for once, do things the way I ask?
Every time I hear Eleanors voice rise with exasperation, I find myself studying her. Shes beautiful, absolutely stunning in that English way that turns heads long legs, sapphire blue eyes and a figure that men and women alike admire as she strolls along the paths in Hyde Park, by our hotel. Its as if she commands the world to look her way.
And then, theres me. Short, not particularly handsome, my hair desperately trying to escape my scalp, a stocky build with a tendency to look like a small barrel with arms, and yet, the only thing anyone ever comments on are my eyes. They say I have the kind of clear, observant gaze that sees straight through people. Its funny how some things never seem to match.
The two of us seem an unlikely pair: the temperamental beauty and me, the man who quietly adores her and knows her every whim.
Sometimes, I find myself comparing us to Hephaestus and Aphroditeif youll allow me a mythological flightbut instead of a hammer, I always have our daughter in my arms.
Little Catherine is five and the very image of me, to the point theres never been a doubt. From her mother, she inherited her dazzling blue eyes and a glorious crown of ginger curls, impossible to tame and all her own. Eleanor long ago stopped trying to control them, so our daughter spends her days as a blur of ginger lightning dashing through the hotel corridors, glancing behind for her pudgy father.
If you really want to go on that tour, Eleanor, then go. But Cathys just too young for it. Its far, and its too hot. Shell get tired and ruin your day. You know what shes like.
And where do I come into all this then, William? I came here with my husband! Its not as if I can walk a step in this hotel without being accosted by someone. Do you care at all, or have you stopped bothering?
Eleanors frustration made Cathy cling tight to my neck. Of course I care! I care so much I could burst, I said with a smile, stroking Cathys hair. Why dont we do something else? A boat on the Thames? Or perhaps the aquarium, something more your style?
I want to see the castles, Eleanor replied frostily, turning away. If you dont want to come, Ill go on my own.
Her little outburst felt all too familiar. I could only shrug and watch as she marched off towards the pool without a backward glance, leaving me and Cathy in her wake. That was just our way. Like every other couple we know. Mealways busy and reliable. Herbreathtaking, young, living for herself.
How I became a fashionable husband, I have no idea. I never thought I was much good with women, whatever I looked like didnt seem to matter. In business, I could charm and negotiate, be courteous and even funny when it suited me. But at the faintest hint of romance, I was at a lossawkward, tongue-tied, never daring. It became so painful that I gave up on love altogether, pouring my energy into work, my mothers visits in Surrey, and a quiet life. I assumed I was meant to remain a bachelor.
Mother called my rare dalliances for the sake of your health not your heart, darling. That about sums it up.
And yet, my life would have stayed that way if it werent for my mother, Ines Parker, who firmly decided that her only son wasnt getting any younger and ought to produce an heir.
William! Ive had enough of admiring you from afar. Youre never going to marry on your own. We need a matchmaker!
A what? I spluttered my tea across the veranda of her country house.
She sighed, dabbing at my jacket. Ruined a good coat Listen, love, youre a brilliant man, kind, well-educated, but all for what? No one benefits but me. Its wrong. Youve got everything most men your age could only hope forand yet, you’re not happy. I see the way you look at Marinas children. Lord knows, my cousins as dull as they come, but shes a wonderful mother. I dream of the day I can rock my own grandchild in my arms. Theres nothing in this world more important, William. This house? All of its just dust and ashes in the end. Only whats alive is everlastingmemories, emotion, love Thats the real thing!
I understand, Mother, but why a matchmaker?
Because, darling, youll never do it yourself. Apologies, but I must call you out. Youre hopeless with women: my fault, and for that Im truly sorry. But now, Im fixing it. And as I havent a clue about matchmaking, were getting help. Write me a list! Everything you want in your future wife.
Thats nonsense, Mum.
Not at all. Give it hereIll ask and you answer. Lets start simple. Eye colour?
That night, we stayed up till it was too dark to write. I answered her questions, not really believing anything would come, but watching as she coaxed out all my private wishes and secret fears. On paper, it seemed a fairytale, and I told her, She doesnt exist.
Well see! she retorted, gathering up her masterpiece.
Mother, in fact, did find my bride. Eleanor matched the list perfectly on the outside. But the rest, well, thats never as easy.
Reality hit that our marriage was more like a well-negotiated contract. Eleanor had no interest in staying home cooking shepherds pie. Her life was devoted to herselfher style, her adventures. In our lovely house in Richmond, she insisted on separate bedrooms, claiming that my snoring was intolerable. Truthfully, I dont even know if I snore. It doesnt matter. For the woman who was everything to me, nothing was too much.
Having a child wasnt part of her plan but she agreed, as it was written in the unspoken terms.
Im young, William! I need to see the world first. Youll arrange it, wont you, darling?
So we did: travelling, meeting friends, carving out lives that bumped along as tolerably as could be.
Then came Catherine. For a time, her arrival brought us together again. Id race home from the office eager for an hour with her. My only regret was that Eleanor didnt have much interest in parenting.
Im not breastfeeding! Im not going under the knife to repair my figure at my age, not a chance! Find a nurse or get her formula. Plenty of children grow up fine on bottlesyou did, your mother told me. See what a fine chap you turned out to be!
Neither her mother nor I could change her mind. Catherine latched cheerfully onto her bottle, while I searched for a nanny.
Ill lose my mind! Trapped at home 24 hours a day with a screaming babyits hell. You go to work and forget. Youve your colleagues and meetings. Im bored out of my skull. Do you want me depressed? Eleanor would complain.
Her mother, Natalie, having learnt I was seeking help, objected.
Why a nanny, Will? I know your mums busy, teaching and all, but I can be granny. Why bring a stranger in?
I agreed, grateful, and that was the first real row Eleanor and I had.
Why do I need my mother here, William? To boss me around? I thought you wanted to help, butoh, you make everything so hard! Do you even love me?
I do. But I love Catherine as well! You hardly bother with her. She needs at least one other person who truly cares.
Eleanors care stopped at ensuring Cathy had the best toys and the prettiest clothes. Her nursery became a showplace for Eleanors friends, but in truth, Catherine had always slept in my rooma cot beside my bed, her dresser, her box of favourite books.
I love my child the way I know how! Eleanor cried once, tears fresh, a rare display of raw feeling. But I was firm.
Your mothers staying. Shell look after Catherine whilst Im out. If ever you want to take over, just say so. Until then, things will be as I decide.
Eleanor chose cold peace over war, and her mother moved in. For Catherine, Granny Natalie became the worldafter me, of course. Eleanor was merely the one she endured for protocol, for ten minutes at a time, before dashing off to find us. With us, she was certain she was loved.
So it went. Catherine grewoff to ballet school, then to a private nursery, and mornings with Natalie. By age five, shed seen much of Europe with us, always comfortable because I was there.
Our latest trip should have been ordinary, but then Catherine spiked a fever and began complaining of headaches.
Oh, brilliant! Thats the holiday ruined! Eleanor paced the hotel room in a huff while I waited for the GP.
What are you talking about, Eleanor? Cathys unwell.
Its a normal cold! You shouldnt have bought her ice-cream, but you always give in. Now look! She sniffed. Father of the Year!”
We wait for the doctor.
When hed finished, saying it was just fatigue, I told Eleanor without discussion: Pack. Were going home.
But why, William? The doctor said shell be fine!
Hes not infallible. Somethings wrong. Children dont get headaches for nothing. And Cathys old enough to know how she feels. Thats itno more arguments. Were leaving.
She grumbled, but I held firm. Back in London at a private clinic, my fears were justified. It wasnt nothing.
Clinic after clinic, still no answers but time. I handed over the business to my partner, staying with Catherine every minute. Eleanor sat by her, but soon enough, doctors directed every question to me. She was a fixtureall surface, no substance.
In truth, Eleanor felt little for Catherine. She knew the doctors were doing all they could, and nothing was in her hands. She missed her freedom, resented the hospital smells, even in the best clinics.
Her patience snapped when she learnt Id put the house on the market.
Why, William? Have you run out of money?
Yes.
The answer came so simply she was stunned.
But how? What about
I had a lot, did you stay with me for that? I did. Once. Now I don’t. Catherines treatment costs thousands, Eleanor. She needs surgery abroad. That means everything goeshouse, business, whatever I can sell. Ill do whatever it takes for our daughter to get well!
And me? What about my life? Eleanor wept, already knowing the next step.
You? I know youre miserable. Thats why Im giving you your freedom. Youll have the car, a flat in the city, money enough to live on. All I ask is that you visit the hospital twice a week, and when we leave for the surgery, you come with us, because youre still her mother. She needs you, selfish as you can be. Pretend you care, for Cathys sake, if you can’t do it for yourself. Try, at least.
For the first time, I let gomy words sharp, unkind, but honest. Fear was strangling me. Everything I had left was in that hospital room, clutching a teddy, her little arm threaded with an IV, and the only thing binding Eleanor and me was Catherine.
Thats enough. Sort yourself out, Eleanor. Cathy mustnt know theres anything wrong. Do whatever you want, but youll do this much for her. Understood?
Something changed in me that day. Even Eleanor saw it. For the first time, she looked at menot down as she used tobut almost with awe. As if Id become something solid, immovable, a mountain in a storm.
She turned and left, missing the moment I finally slipped back into the hospital room as Catherine stirred on her pillow.
Dad
Natalie was there, folding her hands over the book shed been reading. She beckoned me outside.
If youll let me stay, William
Why would you even ask, Natalie? Youre family. I hugged her. Thank you. I dont know what Id do without you.
Oh, Im so embarrassed, William. I failed. I didnt raise her as I should. She was always clever and beautiful, but now its as if I dont know her. Did I miss something? Where did I go wrong?
Wed all lay cushions if we knew where wed fall And me, too. I should have seen it. Does she not love Cathy at all? You taught her what it meant to be a mother. Im lost. How do I not fail Catherine, too?
Prepare the road, William. We must keep going, said Natalie, wiping her wet eyes. Theres time. Let me handle her bath and supper. Cathys been asking for ice-cream. Please, fetch someits all shes eaten today. And don’t cut Eleanor out completely. Give her a chance. Id like to believe shell try.
Catherines surgery happened a few months later. My own mother, Ines, left her job to support us through the ordeal.
Months later, Cathy came home with both grandmothers and me. Eleanor chose to remain in Europe.
Two years of rehabmonths of flickering hope and despairand then, at last, the doctor smiled across his desk.
You did it, Mr. Parker.
Life paused, then set off again, determined, stronger, on a new path.
Fifteen years passed before Eleanor returned. Hardly changed, still striking and immaculate, she pecked Natalies cheek, nodded at me, and made for the throng of teenagers singing birthday songs for Catherine.
Darling
Her daughters eyes, the same blue as her own, narrowed ever so slightly.
Mum
Eleanor began to bluster some excuse, but Catherine cut her off.
Dont rush. Not now. Well talk later.
But I
I know. Later. Not now.
Please, Catherine
Fine. Come with me.
Catherine nodded to her friends, led Eleanor to my study, not the least self-conscious, and climbed onto the broad windowsill.
Im listening.
My God, you look just like your father
What, Mumjust as difficult?
Thats not what I meant.
Well, I am. But you know what? The one you thought wasnt good enough for you, the one you hurt and left behind, never spoke an ill word of you to me. Not once. He never brought another woman home because he didnt want to upset me. He never even divorced you. He always insisted I had a mother. But you werent here. And you know something else?
What? Eleanors voice trembled.
Dad taught me to forgive. He said never let bitterness take root. Hes right. Might take me a while yetwell see. But Im his daughter, and that means I see things through. I hardly remember you, and dont really want to know you. I have Dad and my grandmothers. Theyve taught me all I need as a girl. I dont need you. But for Dads sake, Ill try. Ill give you a chance to be something more to be a real person, Mum.
And before?
Whatever you likea doll, a pretty wrapper, an automaton Is that harsh? Maybe. But even as a child, I remember falling asleep in hospital to Grandmothers lullabies, holding Dads hand, not yours. I remember being bald and Grandmother Natalie cried while Gran Ines brought me a dreadful pink sunhat. We wore it and laughed till I wet myself. You werent there. I remember starting school a year late, how I struggled, and how they took turns helping with homework because Dad worked late. I remember Grandmother Natalie sewing me a real tutu and buying a swans crown, knowing Id never dance on stagestill, I performed at home, and the ovation was better than the Royal Ballet. I remember Gran Ines bringing me paints and brushes, and we painted all night. Thats my picture on Dads wall; it won the school prize. But you you werent there.
But now I am Eleanor started.
Why? To be near?
And why dont I believe you? Catherine traced patterns on the window, gazing outside at me standing in the garden. She waved, turned back to Eleanor. Dont know, really. So I wont think about it for now. Try. If you convince me I need a mum, then perhaps Ill think about forgiveness. For now welcome. Settle in. Cakes in an hour. I need to get back to my party. Sorry.
She hopped off the sill, neatened the curtains, and at the door glanced back.
So, Mum, am I a difficult person?
Eleanor stared at her, afraid to frighten away this fragile hope.
Good. Then I really am like Dad. And theres no better compliment. Thanks. Maybe Im ready to start.
Catherines ginger blaze flashed out the door, and Eleanor pressed her hand to the window, where my daughters fingerprints were fading.
William ParkerOutside, I watched through the glass as she left her mother behind in a room washed in late-afternoon sun. I felt an old ache in my chest, but also something like reliefa thread untangling. Catherine, my Catherine, wholly herself, taking the measure of the world with those clear blue eyes.
Cathys friends called for her, laughter spilling out to the garden. I glanced up at two faces framed in the sitting room windowNatalie and Ines, both beaming, pride and exhaustion softening their features as they watched their granddaughter dart through life, unstoppable. The cakebadly iced, lopsided, and resplendent with candleswobbled in Grandmother Natalies hands as she made her way outside.
I stepped across the grass and met Catherine by the old swing, the ancient beech creaking in the breeze. I held out my hand; she took it, squeezing as she had when she was small.
Happy birthday, love, I whispered.
She looked at me, her hair catching fire in the sun. Thank you, Dad.
Some moments stretch forever. The scent of cut grass, the sound of teenagers singing, two women I owe everything to laughing on the patio, and a woman at an upstairs window, watching life continue without her at the center for the first time.
I didnt wave this time. It was enough to stand there, present and rooted. I was once the difficult man in the storytoo cautious, too dutiful, too willing to endure. But as the sun set behind our battered old house, I saw that difficulty for what it was: love, stubborn and undiminished by disappointment, the only anchor in a world always shifting.
Catherine pulled me toward the table, where her grandmothers fussed over plates and candles, and the first chord of Happy Birthday rang out sweet and off-key. I let myself be carried along, feelingjust this oncethat I was exactly where I was meant to be. Not a hero, not a martyr, not even a victim of love, but something better: Cathys father, standing firm. A man who had chosen, and would always choose, what mattered most.
The wishes, as the candles went out, were secret. But I think, watching the flames curl into smoke, we all wished for the same simple, difficult miracle: that this, finally, would be enough. And in that moment, it was.
