Page 52 of Embracing Us

Chapter twenty-two

Max

“Hi,” the familiar voice says from behind me. I turn to face Marina who is standing on the opposite side of the bar. “Is my mum around?”

“She’s upstairs.” I keep my tone level, not wanting to convey any emotion. Positive or negative. Just laying eyes on my wife’s adult daughter causes my hackles to rise.

Marina has been staying in a hostel in Malaga since we arrived back from Gibraltar, but today her two weeks are up, and she’s going back to London. I’ve not seen her until now. Linda has been meeting with her away from the hotel on her own as they try to repair their relationship. I’m trying to be supportive, but I can’t forgive the woman in front of me for all the hassle she has caused us. Her actions have gone beyond those of a spoiled brat; they’ve been deliberately nasty.

“Am I all right to go up?” she asks. She runs a nervous hand through long dark curls, identical to her mother's. The sassy stubborn edge in her voice, which used to be a permanent feature, has all but disappeared. She appears to have mellowed and be less argumentative. The twisted look on her face, which I became accustomed to, is nowhere to be seen.

“Sure, go on up,” I say, then turn back to stacking the bar.

“I owe you an apology too.” Her words take me by surprise, and I twist to face her. “I’m sorry, Max, for everything. I see what you have with my mother is real. I always knew it was. I’m embarrassed to say that I was jealous to not have a relationship similar.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to accept that.” Hazel-brown eyes widen as they look at me. The expression on her face appears genuine but with Marina, there has always been a catch. That makes me nervous to take what she says at face value. “Marina, I’m glad you and Linda are sorting things out. That you are working on your relationship. However, it will take a lot more than a few apologies to repair the damage you caused.”

“I understand,” she says, meekly. “Thank you for letting me try.” Without another word, she turns in the direction of the stairs and walks off. I watch her go, almost believing her.

***

Linda

A soft knock on our room door signals we have a visitor. I wander over and pull the door open wide. “Marina,” I say, startled by her appearance. We had discussed meeting up later today, somewhere on neutral territory again. She is dressed in leggings and a cropped t-shirt. A large black holdall slung over her shoulder. “Is. everything okay?”

“Yes, I wanted to see you,” she replies, smiling shyly. Her mouth opens, as if to say something more, then closes again. I say nothing, leaving space for her to speak when she’s ready. “And I knew I had to face Max again if this is all going to work out between us. He’s your husband, and my brother’s father. I need to have a civil relationship with him.”

“Have you seen him?” She nods. Her lips turned down in sadness. Max is dependable, genuine and gives everyone a chance. But Marina has pushed so many boundaries. I’m unsure if he would entertain having direct contact with her. With what she’s done, I’m not sure I can ask him to. “Did he speak to you?” I ask her.

“Briefly. I apologised. He told me a few apologies won’t fix this. It will take time.” She sighs, her shoulders lifting and falling. Her deflation evident.

“He’s right,” I tell her. “What you did in London was a deal breaker for him. He doesn’t trust you. He’s angry at you for hurting me. He’s furious you risked our relationship to get even.”

“What I did was disgusting. I have no justification for it other than I was jealous. There’s no way I can defend my behaviour. I am sorry, Mum.” I take a step to the side and signal with my hand for her to come into our room. She moves forward, her gaze scanning the bedroom. “Where’s Jackson?” she asks, as her eyes land on his crib.

“Asleep.”

She walks over to the simple travel cot that has become his bed in recent weeks. With delicate fingers balanced on the edge, she peers inside. I wander over and stand on the opposite side, looking down. My focus moves from my baby boy to my adult daughter. Both are beautiful in their own way, two children who have been born into very different families. Their starts in life will mean their lives will bear no resemblance to one another other than having me as their mother.

“He’s beautiful, mum,” she says, quietly. “He’s grown so much. I can’t believe how big he is.” With a single finger, she reaches down and strokes the skin on his arm lightly. He stirs. “Sorry,” she whispers, her body tensing as if she’s done something wrong. Marina has always appeared overly confident. The woman before me is a very different person. The bluster is gone, replaced by what I think is uncertainty.

“It’s all right if he wakes up. He’s due a bottle soon anyway,” I reassure her. Wide eyes identical to Max’s blink open. Jackson looks up at us, and his face splits with a smile. He gurgles, then flails his arms and legs around, vying for attention. “Definitely hungry,” I advise. “Can you lift him out whilst I make his bottle?”

Marina gives me a wary look. She’s held him before, but only a handful of times. Her arms reach into the crib and pluck out the small body of her little brother. She snuggles him in the crook of her arm like a woman who has done it a million times before. As I prepare his feed in the ancient bottle maker sitting on the sideboard, she rocks him gently in her arms. I glance over, trying not to be caught snooping. The expression on my daughter’s face, for the first time in a long time, is one of pure joy as she looks at her younger sibling. He giggles back up at her, and she speaks to him quietly under her breath. I can’t make out every word, but I hear her telling him how cute he is.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely, returning to them with the filled bottle. I hold out my hands to take my son.

“Can I feed him?” she asks.

“If you want to,” I reply, surprised by the request. “Come sit on this chair so you can be comfortable.” I tap the back of an old armchair in the corner of the room that I use for this purpose. As Jackson gets heavier, it’s becoming harder to hold him for long periods. She does as I ask, lowering herself down carefully. “Are you comfortable?” I ask, and she nods. I pass her the bottle, and she pops the nipple into his mouth. Ferocious little jaws lock on and suck determinedly.

“Woah,” she exclaims. “You’re strong, little man. It’s okay. No need to rush your lunch. I’ll sit here until you finish.”

I move to sit on the bed, nearby in case I’m needed, but not in their immediate space. The door opens again, and Max steps into the room. His eyes find me, then look to Marina. I gesture for him to sit beside me. He hesitates as he looks between me and his son being fed by his older sister. I pat the bed again. He relents, coming over and sitting down.

“Everything okay?” he whispers, leaning in and placing his lips at my ear.

“All fine. We are making progress,” I tell him. He grunts under his breath. “Marina is spending a little time with her brother.”

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