by Vivien Brown
path, pulling his headphones back over his ears. I stood at the gate and watched until he went
around the corner and disappeared from view. He didn’t look back.
***
Josh was very quiet. He sat sideways on our second-hand sofa with his feet up and stared at the
TV. There was a quiz show on, but I could see he wasn’t watching it.
I worked around him, picking up discarded newspapers, running a duster over the coffee
table, steering the hoover around the room. Normally he would have complained that he
couldn’t hear the questions, insisted that the room was clean enough already, and couldn’t I
find a better time to do all this stuff? Today he just sat there and said nothing at all.
It was a Friday evening in November, already dark outside, and we had eaten early,
Janey perched between us at the dining table, smearing ketchup over everything, herself
included. Now, face and fingers wiped, she was settled in an armchair, playing with her dolls,
waiting for Josh to put her in the bath and tuck her up in bed.
‘Do you ever wonder where we would be now, if we hadn’t got married?’
Where had that come from all of a sudden? I was in the kitchen, putting the cleaning
things away in the cupboard under the sink, but there was a small open hatch in the wall linking the two rooms and I could hear him through it, even though, at this angle, I couldn’t see him.
Did he even realise I wasn’t there in the room with him anymore?
I closed the cupboard door and went back into the living room. Josh was still staring
sightlessly at the TV. The quiz had finished and there was a wildlife programme on in its place.
A pack of wolves roamed across the screen, in search of prey.
‘Sorry. What did you say?’
He turned towards me. ‘You heard. If we hadn’t got married, if you hadn’t been
pregnant, what would have happened to us, do you think?’
‘ Us? Us, as in us together, do you mean?’
‘Well, no. I don’t think we would have been together, would we?’
I sat down at the other end of the sofa. ‘No, I guess not.’
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‘I mean us, separately, Sarah. What would you be doing now? What would I be doing?
With no pregnancy, no wedding, would you have gone back to school, do you think? Got a
proper job? Or would you have latched on to some other bloke by now, got married anyway?’
‘Latched on?’
‘Okay, that was a bad choice of word. But, being married, staying at home, doing all
this domestic stuff, it’s what you would probably have chosen, isn’t it? With or without me?’
‘Look, whatever this is all about, let’s not talk in front of Janey, okay?’ I picked her up
and made for the stairs. ‘Time for bed, sweetheart.’
‘Want Daddy to take me.’ Janey squirmed in my grasp and stretched out her arms
towards Josh, almost knocking me off balance.
‘You sit down. I’ll do it.’
He was gone a long time, probably dreading the conversation to come, but he had started
it and I knew it had to be finished. When he came downstairs, he sat back in the same place on
the sofa and gazed straight ahead at the TV again, even though I had turned it off.
‘What’s this all about, Josh?’ I had made us both a cup of tea and put a couple of biscuits
on the saucers. ‘Are you trying to tell me you regret our marriage? Our life? Because it’s a bit late now. We made a mistake, yes, but we made our choice, and, like it or not, we are married.
And we have Janey . . . There’s no going back.’
‘I know that. It’s just that sometimes . . . sometimes it’s hard not to feel trapped, you
know. Hemmed in. I’m going to be thirty next week. Thirty! Can you believe it? Where did the
years go? Don’t you feel that we should be out there, doing other things, exciting things?
Thirty’s still young, isn’t it? But it feels like we’ve been married forever. Short of money,
sitting on someone else’s castoff furniture, tied down by a mortgage, eating bloody custard
creams like a pair of pensioners. Never going anywhere . . .’
‘Going anywhere? Where do you want to go? Out for dinner? A day at the seaside? We
can do those things. If we’re careful with our money we might be able to manage a week away
next summer. Spain or—’
‘Spain? Crammed around some noisy, smelly pool, surrounded by other families with
screaming kids, necking pints of cheap lager and eating the same crap we get at home?’
‘What then? What is it you want? Where is it you want to go? Tell me, and we’ll try to
do it. Because don’t you think I need a break too? A change from all this? It’s not always easy for me either you know, stuck here every day, washing and shopping, with nobody to talk to,
and dealing with Janey’s mess and her tantrums.’
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‘Tantrums? Janey doesn’t have tantrums. She’s a good kid.’
‘She is for you, yes. Not always so good for me. Not when I’m trying to hurry her up
so we’re not late for nursery, or trying to get her to eat her carrots, or to tidy up her toys. You come home in the evenings and you get the good bit, the fun stuff. And you only have to cope
with any of it for . . . what? An hour at the most. And then there are your trips away, the late meetings. I feel like a single parent sometimes. Like you can do what you like, when you like,
and I’m the one who doesn’t have any choice, any time, any life of my own.’
‘I came home early tonight, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘And as for work, I do it for us, Sarah. For the family. To earn us the money we need
to survive. Not for fun. God, when did we last have any bloody fun?’
We sat in silence. Josh rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He looked
like one of those old white thinking statues, as if he was pondering something hugely important, carrying the weight of the world. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, eventually.
‘What for?’
‘For not being what you want. What you need. I’ve tried to make a family here. To be
what you wanted me to be, but I’m not sure it’s really worked, has it? It’s just so hard.’
‘It doesn’t have to be.’
‘Really? You don’t think so? We’re ticking along, Sarah. And that’s not what either of
us wanted, is it? Not what we deserve, just to tick along. I thought having Janey would fix
things, but it hasn’t. It’s changed things, in lots of ways. Given us a purpose. And I love her.
You know I do, but . . .’
‘But you don’t love me.’
‘Don’t put words into my mouth. Of course I love you. I love you like a sister, like a
best friend, like the good, kind person you are, but let’s face it, Sarah, we’re not love’s young dream, are we? We don’t set the world alight. Truth is we’ve made a real mess of things,
haven’t we? A lot of the time I know we’d be better off apart, and I’m sure you do too, but we
can’t . . . Look, we’re stuck with it, aren’t we? This life. For better or worse, we’re stuck with it.’
‘So, you’re not leaving me?’ My hands were shaking now, the thing I had feared the
most suddenly voiced out loud, out in the open. ‘That’s not what this whole conversation has
been about? You asking for a divorce?’
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He lifted his head and looked into my eyes, took both my hands and held them tightly until the shaking stopped. ‘No. I don’t really know what this conversation is about. Some sort
>
of mid-life crisis, I suppose, even if thirty’s not quite the middle. A “what-if” kind of a question.
Life passing us by. Oh, I’m just trying to put what I feel into words that make some sort of
sense, trying to be honest with you, so we know where we stand, so neither of us has to live
with a lie. But, no, I’m not leaving. How can I? The thought of our little Janey growing up
without me, or how my life would be without seeing her every day. No, that’s never going to
happen. Unless you want me to leave . . . ?’
‘No!’ I moved closer, felt his arms close around me. ‘And we can try, can’t we? To
make things better? We’ll go somewhere nice next week, live it up a bit, for your special
birthday. And then we’ll make more effort to do some of those other things you want to do –
travel, go zip-wiring, learn to ski. Whatever. You’re right, we are still young, and we mustn’t waste that. No more ticking along. And no more custard creams, I promise.’
And no Colin, I thought. I hadn’t called him, and I wouldn’t. Not now. It just wouldn’t
be fair. Not if I meant it about trying. From now on, hanging on to my marriage had to come
first. But I didn’t delete his number. He stayed right where he was, hiding behind the fictional Carol in my contacts list. Just in case.
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CHAPTER 17
EVE
I think having a lover suited me. Not for me the washing of smelly socks or the humdrum day-
to-day existence so many marriages seemed to slip into. We relished all the good bits and never had to deal with the bad. Josh and I didn’t see each other often enough, admittedly, but when
we did it always felt new and exciting and electric.
The miles that separated our life together, such as it was, and Josh’s other life with
Sarah meant it was unlikely we would get spotted by a neighbour or one of Sarah’s school-gate
mum friends when we ate in a restaurant or sat in a pub somewhere. There was something
liberating, yet comfortingly safe, about the time we spent together, openly pretending to be a
couple. Nobody knew, nobody cared, nobody disapproved. Except Simon.
‘Just don’t get pregnant,’ Josh had said, soon after we started out. As if the whole onus
was on me. As if, like my sister, I might have some devious plan to trap him and lure him away
from her, our whole lives led by what happened, or didn’t happen, inside my uterus.
‘I wasn’t planning to.’ I took my newly acquired packet of pills out of the bedside
drawer and waved them at him in evidence.
‘Good. One child is enough. Believe me, if it wasn’t for Janey, I’d be here, with you.
All the time. But bringing another baby into the mix . . . well, I have no idea what I’d do then.
I can’t be in two places at once, don’t want to have to deal with all the broken-home stuff and how it would affect our Janey, having to split her time between us and see me playing dad to
some other child. And then there’d be the finances to get to grips with. And as for the fallout in the family, can you imagine it? What our parents would say? I think I’d probably be
excommunicated!’ He’d laughed, although it wasn’t remotely funny. Especially the bit about
playing dad. As if he couldn’t possibly imagine feeling proper fatherly love for any accidental child we might produce together.
Sarah had his home, his name, his beloved daughter. We both knew that, and none of
those things were going to change. They’d talked about their problems, about the possibility of breaking up, but the crisis moment had passed. Decisions had been made, even though Sarah
had not been given all the facts. So she had her marriage intact, on the face of it anyway, and I had what was left. The real unshackled Josh, the passionate Josh, who arrived out of the blue,
bringing flowers and laughter, and threw me onto the bed within minutes, every single time.
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I knew it wasn’t ideal. I should have wanted more, should have been angry that he couldn’t commit to me, but strangely it worked. For far longer than we could ever have
imagined, our part-time love affair actually worked. When he was there, for that one afternoon, that one night, that one weekend, nothing else mattered. And when he wasn’t, I had a job I
adored, a home of my own, and Simon.
Simon had met someone. A tall, dark-haired vet called Gregory. Gregory had a thin
pointed face, and a nose so beak-like that somehow we had started to make ‘Gregory Peck,
peck, peck’ jokes, which we both found hilarious, behind the poor man’s back. I liked Gregory
though. Not that it would have made much difference to anything if I hadn’t. Simon no longer
talked nostalgically about Anthony, his lost love. He had regained a certain sparkle that I had always known was missing, and I was happy for him. I just wished he could have felt the same
way about Josh and me. ‘You’re better than this, Eve,’ he would say, shaking his head. ‘You
shouldn’t be the mistress, the bit on the side. Married men who cheat are . . . well, they’re bad news. You deserve a man of your own. A chance to have children.’
As far as I was concerned, I had a man of my own and, as for children, I had class-loads of them all day, every day, to satisfy any little lurking shreds of maternal instinct. I could live without having any of my own. For now, anyway. But one day, when Janey was older, maybe
Josh and I would be together, properly, openly, and both of us still young enough for a baby.
It was me he loved, after all. It’s what he told me and what I chose to believe. Without that it would have felt wrong, sordid, but I didn’t let it. The life he had at home was a sham, a front, and if he still had any kind of sex life with my sister at all, I would rather not know. As the years passed by so frighteningly quickly, I chose not to think about that, not to torture myself with it, and certainly never to ask.
***
It was one evening early in September when I got a call from Dad, just as I was coming in
through the front door after work. There was no preamble, no ‘How are you?’, no warning. He
just came right out with it. ‘Your mum’s not too good, Eve.’ There was a short silence and
then, his voice cracking, he went on, ‘We’ve had a bit of bad news.’
I felt a chill run through me. ‘What kind of bad news?’
‘She found a . . . Oh, God, Eve, there’s no easy way to say this. She found a lump. Only
small, so small she was convinced it was nothing, so she didn’t do anything about it for a while.
A few weeks, you know. She didn’t even mention it to me at first.’
‘Dad, you’re scaring me now. Are you talking about a lump in her breast?’
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‘Yes. Like a pea. So small. You’d never think it could . . . Anyway, we’ve been up to the hospital a couple of times now. You know, for tests and scans. One of those biopsy things.’
‘And . . . ? What are you telling me? That she has cancer?’
‘I’m sorry, Love, but yes. They say they’ve caught it early, but yes. It’s cancer.’
I sat down on the bottom step in the hall and dropped my bag down beside me, waiting
for my blood to stop pumping so violently through me, waiting for the sudden panic to die
down. ‘And? What happens next? Does she need drugs? An operation? Please tell me she isn’t
going to have to have a breast removed . . .’
‘Slow down, Love. It’s early days. They’re still hoping to remove just the lump part
without taking the whole breast, but they can never be sure about these things. It depends if it spreads. Lymph nodes, and all that. She’s going in next Tuesday.’
I want
ed to be there, to get on a train or borrow a car and go straight home, but the new
term had only just started and asking for time off and getting it agreed was going to be almost impossible.
‘Oh, Dad. I don’t know what to say. Is she there? Mum? Can I speak to her?’
‘She’s having a bit of a rest, Love. A little lie down. It’s been very stressful. It’s taken
it out of her, put her off her food, made her tired, a bit weepy, you know . . . ?’
‘Of course it has!’
‘So I thought this might be a good time to call you, to tell you what’s been happening,
get you up to speed, you know, while she’s not sitting here listening. Not that there’s ever a
good time exactly, but you know what I mean.’
‘Thanks, Dad. For telling me. Does Sarah know?’ I usually tried not to think too much
about Sarah, and on the odd occasions when we met we managed to rub along the best we
could, but suddenly I felt worried for her. For what this news might do to her. She was still my little sister.
‘Not yet, Love. I thought you first, being the oldest and the more . . . well, capable, I
suppose. Our Sarah’s more likely to take it badly, I think, and you know I don’t find it easy
when there are tears. It’s hard enough stopping myself from crying at the moment, soft old
bugger that I am, but I’m determined to stay strong for your mum. Last thing she needs is me
falling to pieces.’
‘I’d like to talk to Mum though. When she’s awake, feeling up to it.’
‘Of course, Love. I’ll get her to ring you. But we’ll be all right, don’t you worry. No
need for you to rush down here or anything like that. We both know how busy you are. I’ll
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keep you posted. Chin up, eh? For your mum’s sake.’ He gave a little laugh, one that wasn’t fooling either of us. ‘I’m going to leave ringing your sister until a bit later. After she’s put our Janey to bed. Not looking forward to it though, I can tell you. Wish me luck!’
I didn’t feel like doing much after a call like that. The thought of cooking, and even
eating, had suddenly lost its appeal. A pile of homework in need of marking lurked in my bag.