Page 39 of A Miracle on Hope Street
‘Funny old word, isn’t it?’ I say to him. ‘We all need somewhere to live, a roof over our heads, but here I am with the finest of bricks and mortar to shelter me and I’m not sure that it feels like home any more. Does that sound selfish? I realise now that it’s up to me to make it home if I choose to. The house doesn’t owe me anything.’
‘Yes, I get exactly what you mean,’ he tells me. ‘But you have been grieving for a year now, Ruth, and you have to allow yourself time to heal from the loss and the changes you’ve gone through. Maybe one day that big house will feel like home again and maybe it never will and you’ll make that big decision to let it go. It all takes time. That’s my mantra, anyhow. I refuse to put pressure on myself any more to make things happen any faster than this universe allows. I’ll do what I can and, after that, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.’
I want to ask him so much more about his past, but I don’t dare.
‘I think I’ll adapt your attitude and just try and go with the flow then,’ I say to him. ‘Chill a bit more and not worry so much. I’m a terrible worrier lately, you know. Maybe I’m in the wrong job if I’m starting to take all the problems I hear home with me, quite literally?’
Michael can’t help but laugh at my honesty.
‘Well, I think you’re the only person who will ever know that, Ruth,’ he says to me gently. ‘A lot of people would be sorry to see you go fromToday, not to mention your weekly radio programme. You’re a big asset to this town. Everyone adores you.’
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
‘Yes, but who reallyknowsme?’ I ask him. ‘It’s very easy to be adored from afar. It’s when you close the door at night and hear the ticking of the clock with no one to share your day with, or when you see families out for dinner, laughing and sharing jokes and stories, or groups of friends having fun or even a couple sharing a romantic moment, or when you walk past a house at this time of year and glance in the window and see a family so cosy inside together.’
‘Are you telling me that you’re lonely here?’
He looks shocked. Flabbergasted, really. Imagine, me, Ruth Ryans, the superstar agony aunt being lonely in real life.
‘If that’s what it’s called, then yes,’ I admit to him. ‘My social life is a big, fake, empty shell where people kiss ass and stab you in the back moments later and I sometimes think my whole life is just pretend. You and your story from that night on Hope Street, pardon the pun, but it gave me hope that I can do something that makes a real difference.’
Michael takes a break from his food and rests in his chair.
‘I messed up my whole life, Ruth, so my loneliness is well-deserved,’ he tells me. ‘Karma, if you believe in that sort of thing. I don’t feel like I deserve happiness and I’ve accepted that.’
‘Ah, come on,’ I reply. ‘We all mess up in life. We all make mistakes. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’
He doesn’t look convinced. ‘I made a very big mistake, that’s why I’m so hard on myself,’ he replies. ‘I’m trying to forgive myself, just as you are trying to forgive your mother, so I know that it’s not easy.’
He picks up his cutlery and plays with his food.
‘Forgiveness is about letting go,’ I say to him. ‘Believe me, I’ve done a lot of research on it as I’ve tried to figure out how to heal from the hurt my mother caused, so maybe just try and look at it that way? You can’t beat yourself up forever, Michael. You’re a good person, I just know you are and so does Gloria. She believes in you.’
He raises a smile when I mention Gloria’s name and we finish our meal in silence, my mind racing with what on earth Michael could have done that was so bad. A million ideas go through my head but none of them will fit.
‘I have a young son,’ he says to me as he puts down his cutlery, waking me up from my rollercoaster imagination and breaking the lengthy silence.
‘Oh,’ I manage to reply. ‘How lovely! I had no idea. What’s his name?’
‘You weren’t to know,’ he says, not matching my joy. ‘His name is Liam, he is eight years old now and I haven’t seen him since the day after his sixth birthday.’
My stomach goes into a twisted knot.
‘Oh . . .’ I repeat, in a deeper tone than the first time I said it.
‘Yes,’ he agrees. ‘Oh . . . Not such a great man now, am I?’
I can feel my blood bubbling as I imagine his little boy, just eight years old wondering where his father is.
‘What do you mean you haven’t seen him since then?’ I ask him, trying to stay calm and to not be judgemental. ‘That’s two years? How Michael? Why?’
‘I have no idea what he has been doing since the day I left him,’ he continues, almost robotically now ‘and I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to be in his world again. It’s killing me, Ruth. It’s absolutely killing me that I’ve lost touch for so long but I’ve accepted that I made my bed and I have to lie on it.’
I look at him, trying to find some emotion in that ‘closed book’ face but there is none. It is like he is reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script; a script that he has convinced himself is the way to manage this whole sorry situation. Surely it’s a matter of choice and he is choosing not to see Liam? Unless he is a danger to his son and I’d very much doubt that he is?
‘Are you saying you don’t stay in touch at all?’ I ask him, pushing my plate to the side as my stomach goes sick. ‘How on earth could you abandon your own child, Michael? Is there some big reason why youcan’tbe in his life?’
He takes a long deep breath.
