Chapter Twenty-Three
The Starving Artist
The reviews are in, so glowing they’re “practically radioactive” (Gloria’s words). Susan’s so relieved she almost cries when she reads them, the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks threatening to drench the chef’s office.
“Hey, now, come on! You had more faith in us than that, didn’t you?” Gloria asks, noticing Susan tearing up, even as she smiles, paging through the newspapers and printouts of online content. “You knew we’d get there in the end, right?”
No, actually, she hadn’t. It’s not that she didn’t have faith in her staff, but with all their setbacks she’d started to feel like it would take a miracle for everything to come together.
Dan’s place, on the other hand, has met with a collective shrug from the few critics who tried it. “About what you’d expect from a restaurant in a touristy area,” one wrote, rather damningly. “Trying to be everything to everyone, but hitting the mark for no one.”
Elliot’s is fully booked for the next two months, and everyone is working flat out. They’re serving lunch and dinner six days a week, and it’s almost time to start planning and testing recipes for the autumn menu. In the back of her mind, Susan knows she should really step up the recruitment for a pastry chef—they’ve had some applicants, but none she was really excited about. And she has to admit, she’s reluctant to hand over the pastry reins. She uses Rab’s ongoing training as an excuse. She can’t just pass him along to a whole other person, now, can she?
He’s coming along beautifully: his puff pastry is a marvel now, and he’s beginning to invent new dishes of his own. He and Susan are tweaking a cranberry linzer torte one afternoon a few days post-relaunch when her phone rings.
“Suze,” Julia says from the other end, “I think you’d better come home. Meg’s here, and I think I could use some backup.”
“Why? Is she holding you hostage?”
“Just come home, okay? She needs something, and I don’t think I’m the best person to give it.”
The cryptic nature of the message sends Susan into a panic, so she reels off instructions to Rab while tearing off her apron, then leaps into the first cab she can flag down, and races home as fast as the traffic and crowds will allow.
“What’s happened?” she shouts as soon as she’s through the door at Moray Place.
Julia appears in the doorway of the sitting room. “For God’s sake, Susan, calm down. No one’s died.”
“Well, what was I supposed to think? Where’s Meg? What’s wrong?”
Julia steps aside and gestures into the sitting room. “See for yourself.”
Meg is lying prone on one of the sofas, face red and puffy, tears and snot streaming continuously.
“Oh, Meg,” Susan murmurs, sinking onto the sofa beside her. “Sweetie, what happened?”
“I’ve abandoned my children!” Meg wails.
Taken aback, Susan asks, “Excuse me?”
“I just left! I just walked out of the house! I just left and came here!”
“Jesus, Meg, the kids are home alone?”
“No, of course not. They’re with their dad!”
“Oh God, Meg, then what the hell are you talking about, you abandoned them? They’re perfectly fine!”
“Are they? Are they really? William never notices when one of them has a fever. He doesn’t know what to do when they get sick or need something. He doesn’t know what Ayden likes to eat.”
“I think he’ll figure it out,” Julia comments. “I mean, that kid eats dirt and dog food; it’s not like he’s picky. And Meg, can you use a tissue or something? The upholstery …”
“Can you make some tea or something?” Susan suggests sharply, glaring at Julia. Julia looks relieved to have something else to do.
“Okay, let’s reel this back a little,” Susan suggests, stroking Meg’s hair and reaching for a box of tissues. “Did something happen this morning?”
“There was a fight,” Meg sniffled, mopping at her face. “A bad one. I’d been talking to the GP about postponing some of Ayden’s immunizations, or spacing them out a bit, because I heard that’s better for them, and William’s been so difficult about it, and he told me I’m just an idiot, and I’ll end up killing our children or making them crazy, just like I make him crazy. And he said that I’m crazy, that I’m sick and I need help and everyone thinks I’m just a stupid mess.”
“That was a terrible thing for him to say,” Susan tells her. “And it’s not true. We don’t think you’re crazy or a stupid mess. I certainly don’t. You’re just … well, you worry a lot, Meg. And that worries me. And I think it worries William too, and that’s why he’s saying these things. I’m not saying he’s right,” she adds hastily as Meg’s face crumples anew. “I just think he’s expressing his fear very, very poorly.”
There’s a long silence as Meg snuffles and sniffles.
“He doesn’t understand,” she hiccups. “He doesn’t know just how easily a simple thing can become a complete disaster, does he? We understand, but he doesn’t. And I’m—Susan, I’m so tired. I’m tired all the time because I’m on constant high alert, and I can’t seem to stop it. Every time one of the boys gets a cough or I get a pain, I think, ‘Jesus, this is it! All over again!’ And when Andrew fell …”
She shifts onto her side, curling up in a fetal position, and renews her tears. “I felt like the worst mother. I try so hard to keep them safe and healthy, and then that had to happen! On my watch! And they all blamed me for it; you should have seen some of the looks Helen gave me afterward! It just kicked me into overdrive—I’ve had Ali at Sick Kids four times in the last month because he keeps telling me his tummy hurts, and they’ve run all sorts of tests and can’t find anything, and they’ve started to say he might just be saying that because that’s what he thinks he should be saying. So, either I’m making my own child crazy, or there really is something wrong with him and they just can’t find it, and I don’t know which one is worse!” She bursts into wracking sobs.
“Oh, love.” Susan wraps her arms around her sister, squeezing as hard as she can, feeling guilty for getting so wrapped up in other things lately that she’s barely had time for Meg.
“I-I feel like I’ve been trying to cope with all of this on my own for ages,” Meg continues. “I mean, no one was there for me when Mum died. You had Aunt Kay, and Julia had Dad, and who was left for me? Just William, but he doesn’t even want me!”
“Megs, honey, of course he does!”
“No, he doesn’t! I heard him with you that one Christmas. I’m just the sister he settled for!”
Susan feels another guilty pang. “William was drunk when he said that; he didn’t mean it. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t be a better sister to you when Mum died. We kind of failed as a family back then, didn’t we?”
Julia is hovering in the hallway, a tray of mugs in her hands, peeking into the room as if she’s not sure she’ll be welcome. Susan gestures for her to join them, and Julia sets mugs down on the table in front of both her and Meg.