When We Are Old (If We Were... Book 2)

by Anna Bloom

  He leaned closer, across the desk, his fingers clasping in a plump loop. “How are you? Hannah’s teacher has reported she seems less, how shall I put it, frustrated.”

  I shot him my tightest smile. “Things are good.”

  “And please, don’t forget our social events. It would be good for Hannah to know you were committed to her education.”

  “I am committed to her education.” I just don’t need to eat warm cheese and drink shit wine.

  “You could join the PTA? We are always looking for mothers to be involved with fundraising.”

  “Oh, no thank you.”

  His face clouded and I knew how he saw me. I was one of those mothers. The ones who didn’t want to be involved or gave a fuck.

  Unexpectedly, words blurted out of my mouth. “It’s not that I’m trying to be rude. It’s actually I, uh, I suffer from anxiety. I find social situations challenging.”

  He nodded, his expression contemplative. “Thank you for your honesty.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t need a badge, I’m just trying to be honest, you know, for Hannah’s sake.”

  “It must have been hard to call around all those parents at the weekend.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Yes.” I nodded stiffly.

  “Here.” He reached into his drawer and pulled out a small white rectangular card. Please don’t let him be giving me his number. I’d officially die of mortification.

  “This is the number of my wife. She’s a counsellor.” He shrugged. “You never know, maybe getting some help will make this better for both you and Hannah.”

  He got up from his desk as I stared at the card, my cheeks as hot as the sun. Of course, he wasn’t giving you his number, Ronnie, you bloody idiot.

  “Hannah seems better,” I said, standing by the door, clutching my handbag.

  He smiled, and it seemed genuine. “Is that because you're better?”

  I snorted. “I doubt that. My mother is selling our family home and I need to find somewhere new to live.”

  His face clouded with a passing rain shower of doom. “Be careful, Mrs Childs. You don’t want to undo any progress you are making.”

  I gave him a thumbs up and then tripped out of his door.

  Excellent. I was thumbs-upping the head now. Life really was on the up.

  Back at my desk in the office, I stared at the card. If I were being one hundred percent honest with myself then I would admit that even as an adult I hadn’t sought help.

  Edging the card with my index finger until it was straight and aligned with my keyboard, I considered what speaking to someone would actually entail. Would I have to go deep down and nitty gritty into the recesses of my childhood? Would they make me verbalise my fears and doubts? Those thoughts that could steal into my head when I least expected them?

  Would they expect me to be able to quantify my marriage to explain how it felt? Absentmindedly, I glanced over the desk at a framed photograph of Paul, Hannah, and me. I waited for a slash of guilt to sting across my chest, waited for the empty chasm of silence to spread through me, numbing me from the tips of my fingers to my heart, but it didn’t come.

  Matthew on Saturday. The way he’d stepped in, stepped up, been there. Those big girl panties I wore hadn’t felt halfway as constrictive as they had before.

  Hannah smiled back at me from under the pane of glass on my desk. She had not been smiling Sunday morning. Green and toilet hugging, most definitely.

  On an impulse, I reached across the desk and slapped the picture face down, then I took the card from Jewson and slid it under the frame.

  I turned on my computer, logged into my emails and then opened up a new browser, bringing up Rightmove and plugging in Surbiton into the search bar with a bang of two fingers. Better to get as close to the school as possible, even if meant an extra commute for me.

  Right then. New homes…. Here we go.

  “Coffee, Boss Lady?” Fred leant against my office door.

  “Sure. If you’re making one.”

  “I thought we could go out.” Fred slipped his hand into his jeans and pulled out a debit card. “My treat.”

  I pushed back in my chair and analysed how he stood at the door, then I let out a solid and long groan.

  “You’re handing in your notice, aren’t you?”

  His cheeks coloured. “No, I’m offering you a latte—”

  “Because you want to hand in your notice. You are softening me up so I don’t cry.”

  “Would you cry?” He raised a blonde eyebrow.

  “Yes! This place would be even shittier without you.”

  “Come on, Ronnie. Let’s get a coffee and talk.”

  This couldn’t be happening surely? Things were finally going right. Liam Carling was bringing us in lots of prospective clients, and Fred, my star, was ready to walk.

  Matthew was waiting for me at home. I couldn't think about the fact I’d left him unattended with Ma… or the fact that this morning he’d made breakfast for everyone.

  Never had Ma’s kitchen seemed so bright.

  Actually. Yes, it did sound right, very right and very typical for my life.

  I pushed back and grabbed my bag, following him out of the office. Natalie watched us, bashing her keyboard to look busy.

  If Fred went. Natalie would go.

  Largely silent as we went down in the glass lift, when we hit the spring sunshine lit street, we fell into step alongside one another.

  The coffee shop heaved with customers, all who like us started peeling layers off as soon as we were through the door. Spring joked with us: brisk mornings, warm afternoons, heating still on making us all sweat. I made a mental note to remember to turn the heating off in the office.

  “Come on, lay it on the table.” We managed to sandwich ourselves between two young women with children dribbling pastry and an older man with his laptop open, but his phone had the bright green sign of a popular betting app open.

  “Ronnie, I’m not leaving, I swear.”

  I analysed him, switching my shit detector to its highest setting. “No?”

  “No. I just want to know where we are heading, what we are doing.”

  “The same as always, we’ve got these new clients who we will be meeting soon.”

  “And you?” He eyed me from under fair brows, his lips pulling down.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you moving to Scotland to be with the oaf?”

  “Fred! Matthew is not an oaf.” My cheeks warmed and I had to duck my face down to look at the sticky table.

  “Well, he’s rude.”

  “He’s not rude! He’s lovely.” Did I just say lovely? He’s not a bloody puppy. “And he had reasons for being less than friendly.”

  “Hm.”

  My shit detector beeped. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.”

  He hesitated and then met my gaze. “I’ve been offered a partnership at another firm.”

  “A partnership? Jesus, we aren’t lawyers.” I tried not to scoff—tried and failed.

  “It’s an investment in my future. You know, I want to settle down. Having a stake in my own company would help that. Right now, I can’t even get a mortgage.”

  My lips bunched up and my nose wrinkled. “I know. It’s not easy to be young these days.”

  “Young! Ronnie, why do you always make yourself sound so old? I’m a handful of years younger than you.”

  He reached across the table and grasped my hand. “I want to stay, I do. I can’t imagine working anywhere else apart from with you, but I need to know there’s a commitment. I mean you could go to Scotland and not come back.”

  “Not going to happen. Hannah has her school here. I can’t move her; she’s got friends.”

  “I hope you know you’ve got friends too. All these years I thought you were mourning your husband.” He inched closer. “If I’d known you were on the market…”

  “Fred! Please, don’t say anything. This is making me feel awkward.”


  He hesitated, his hand still on mine and then he sighed, falling back in his chair. “So, what do I do, Ronnie? Do I stay, or do I go?”

  Ugh. It’s one of those questions where no matter what I say, it will never be right. How many times had I heard questions like this over the years; the first one on a doorstep? My answer caught in my throat—did people not realise I had issues talking?

  “You. Ugh, you have to do what’s right for you.”

  He nodded, slowly. He really was pretty, with his olive skin and pale hair. Why hadn’t someone snapped him up yet?

  “That’s not you telling me you want me to stay.”

  A cough broke the tension and I darted my attention to the side finding six foot four of beautiful thunder glowering at Fred’s hand being a hairsbreadth from mine.

  “Matthew.” My chest thudded. I’d done nothing wrong, but my skin tingled with moisture straightaway.

  His face wore a murderous mask. “My apologies, Ronnie, for interrupting.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” I cleared my throat. “Fred and I were just discussing the future of the company.”

  “Yes, I see.” The eyes of heaven and slate closed, no dancing stars in their depths.

  “Matthew.” I pushed from my chair, my legs working too slow.

  “No, please.” His palm lifted as a stop sign. “I came to tell you I have to go back to Scotland.” How could he make his voice that curt and distanced? I met Fred’s stare; a smile curled his lips.

  “Stop smirking.” I snapped, knowing too late that it made us sound informal, too close. Fred shrugged and settled back in his chair and I shot him a ferocious glare, deflecting the one Matthew shot at me.

  Matthew turned without another word and strode for the door. After a beat, I chased after him.

  “Matthew! Please?” I caught his arm, my fingers on the wool of his overcoat.

  “It’s fine, Ronnie. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  My fingers wove into his jumper, trying to hold him still. My chest heaved with a tightening band. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

  He paused, his shoulders dropping. “It’s fine. I need to go back to Scotland. I’ll be out of touch for a few days.”

  “What? Why? I thought you were here until tomorrow?”

  Matthew’s gaze flickered to the window of the coffee shop. “Something’s come up. I just need some time to sort it out. I need to focus.”

  “On what? Matthew, for goodness' sake. Is this because of Fred?”

  A frown chased across his face. “I have to say, I’m not keen to see you holding hands with your designer.” He opened his mouth to say more, but then snapped it shut again. “I’ll speak to you soon, okay?”

  It didn’t matter what I thought. He turned, his back ramrod straight and stepped away.

  It crushed down in my soul. It flattened the new shoot of hope that had worked its way out of the frozen landscape of my heart. “Matthew. Please.”

  The past echoed back at me. Bitter and vengeful, the laughing taunt of the past rang its tune in my head: I told you so.

  I swallowed hard and waited for him to stop.

  He didn’t.

  Not knowing what else to do, I turned back for the coffee shop where Fred waited, building a wall out of sachets of sugar.

  “Everything okay?” He asked, eyebrows raised in innocence.

  “Fine,” I lied. “Please stop holding my hand though. Seriously, Fred, we’ve got to be professional if we're going to survive.”

  “I can’t help it if I’ve been in love with you since I met you.”

  “What?” My legs trembled.

  “Come on, Ronnie. You must have realised?”

  “What? No!”

  “I think I’ve made it pretty obvious. I guess you just never saw.”

  I blinked at him, seeing him in a new light. My heart thudded unevenly. “No, I never have. You see I’ve always been blinded to everyone else.”

  “Because of him.” Fred nodded to where Matthew had stormed a path through steam and chatter.

  “Yes.”

  “And your husband knew?”

  Fred looked genuinely perplexed, his lips tilted down, a line between his brows.

  “I tried to hide it.”

  He nodded slowly. “I think you might have failed.”

  The terrible truth came back to haunt me, teasing and chasing. Leaning down, I caught up my coat and bag. “I know Fred. And I live with that guilt every day.”

  I turned to walk away. I couldn't really see anything. Numbness spread over me. Had Matthew just walked away from me?

  Why?

  What had happened?

  It had to be my mother. What had she said this time?

  Fred called me back. “So, you’re going to give me a senior role?”

  I nodded my head. He could have it all for all I cared.

  Hannah laid on the sofa, her legs tucked up, fluffy pyjamas in place. “You okay?” I lifted her legs and slid underneath.

  She shrugged.

  “Rough day at school?”

  Another shrug.

  We sat in silence for a long pause. “Where’s Matthew?” She didn’t turn from the TV.

  “I don’t know. He said he had to go back.” I didn’t add that I’d tried to ring him a million and one times since I’d left Fred at Starbucks. I didn’t add that his phone didn’t seem to be switched on.

  “I thought he would be here.”

  I rubbed her leg. “You like him?”

  Another shrug. “S’kay, I s’pose.”

  I’d take that as high praise indeed.

  “What happened at school, Hannah?” I tried not to make it obvious, but I watched her carefully. I sensed a spiral. In fact, the door slam she’d come home with, followed by the elephant herd stomping had made me nearly call Jewson—nearly, not quite.

  “People laughed.”

  “Who?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Why?” I carefully made sure I didn’t look too eager for info.

  “Because I’m the girl who had the party fail.”

  “Because we came and broke it up?” Let’s layer that into my anxiety for the day. Sure, why not? I’ve got room for more.

  “No, because I let in people who I didn’t know.”

  “Oh.” I carried on rubbing her leg. “How did you feel when they turned up?”

  This stepped on dangerous ground; I’d used the word feel.

  She didn’t answer and we both stared blankly at the screen until I decided enough was enough.

  “Shall I tell you how I would have felt?”

  She lifted her chin the barest fraction.

  “I would have panicked. I wouldn’t have wanted to say no, but then I wouldn’t have wanted to say yes either.” I breathed in deep enough my lungs squeezed in protest. “So, I would have said nothing.”

  I had one eye on her so I saw her nod.

  “If I was being honest with you, Hannah, that’s exactly what I did today too. Matthew came marching up and said he had to leave, and I said… nothing.” Tears stung my eyes and I blinked to control them before they could turn into a world swallowing vortex. “I should have said something. I don’t know when it will end.”

  “When what will?” She turned her face to me, wet tracks on her cheeks.

  “When my silence won’t speak for me.”

  Hannah nodded. “Mum, can I ask a question?”

  “Sure.” I cringed though, questions could cover many subjects, many of which I didn’t want to talk about.

  “I don’t have that many memories of you and dad together.”

  I straightened my back. “It’s been five years.”

  “I know. And that’s what I’ve always thought. But in English today we had to write a piece about our earliest memories and how they appeared to us. How come I can remember things from when I was five, but I can’t remember you and dad ever being in the kitchen the way you and Matthew were today?”

  A cannonba
ll blasted into my chest, shot from the innocent question of my daughter dressed in Mickey Mouse pyjamas.

  I rubbed at my face and blew a breath of air into the palm of my hand. “Maybe it was different. I wasn’t going to work back then. Maybe things… were just different.”

  Hannah stared at me long and hard, then she rolled her eyes and flopped back on the cushions giving a sad little shake of her head.

  “Anyway.” I clawed to change the subject. “After Jewson ripped me a new one this morning.” This made her lips curve. “He gave me the number for his wife who’s a counsellor.”

  Hannah’s eyes flew wide open and I patted her leg. “Not for you; for me.”

  “Phew. Good, go, then that way you might stop keeping secrets from everyone.”

  “I’m not keeping secrets! Matthew left. I don’t know what I did wrong. Your dad and I were different. I don’t know what else you want me to say, and I’m really worried you’ve inherited all my shit personality traits.”

  She opened her mouth wide, her eyes narrowed. Then she closed it, opened it, closed it. Her laugh came from nowhere, a deep belly laugh that made me glow all over.

  “What're you doing to do about Matthew, Mum?”

  I shrugged. “Stalk him in all the usual places.” I picked up her legs and slid out. “I’ll go and call him again.”

  At the door I paused, “You going to be okay going to school tomorrow? You’ve got Annabelle and Jackson, right?”

  She shrugged and refocused on the telly.

  “Oh, Hannah.” I sighed.

  I left the room stabbing at Matthew’s number on my phone.

  If he thought he could walk away from me again, well he’d better be prepared. I’d let him do it once, twice, however many times it was… Not again.

  It’s a Carling Kind of Friday

  Matthew

  “You’ve had those boys all week.” Mam tutted down the line while I paced the kitchen like a caged lion, sporadically opening the fridge and staring at a bottle of beer on the shelf.

  “It’s fine, Ewan just needed some reassuring.”

  “Give me the phone,” Ruth, Liam’s wife, barked in the background. I waited, staring at the silver and red cap of the Bud while a tussle bashed the phone from the other end.