by Roxie Cooper
‘I’m an art teacher at a school. Am I wasting away there? Helen thinks I am …’
‘It’s an amazing thing that you do,’ he says. ‘Kids get an unbelievable art education because of you. Imagine having a teacher like you when you were sixteen … eighteen. You’d have your mind blown. Not to mention all the teenage crushes you’re fulfilling.’
I laugh, shaking my head.
‘Helen thinks I should leave. That I should stop arsing about there and get a proper career.’
‘Like what?’ he frowns.
‘A job with her, at the ad company.’
‘Fuck that for a laugh!’ he spits out, pulling a face. ‘You’d drown there. I don’t think that’s the answer. If you go there, you really won’t escape. Look, if you’re happy at the school, then stay there. But you can’t hide there forever. Don’t keep your talent locked up, Jamie.’
‘Well, it’s not going to happen anytime soon. Not with a new baby,’ I tell him.
‘Doesn’t have to happen immediately,’ he says optimistically. ‘Trust me, you’ll know when the time is right. But just have faith it will happen and be open to it.’
‘Here they are, H!’ Vicky announces, strutting in holding my wife’s hand in that way girls do.
‘Think we’d better be heading off, babe,’ Helen says.
‘Yes, last train back, I’m afraid. Been so great to see you both,’ I tell them, diving into the hugfest which inevitably begins between the four of us.
As we head towards the door, Cal shouts out to me, ‘Jamie, don’t forget what I said, mate. I’ll be in touch soon.’
‘Yeah, appreciate it. Have a great night.’
‘What was that about?’ Helen asks as we walk outside into the freezing cold December night.
‘Oh, nothing. Just something about a piece he’s working on.’
I don’t know why I don’t tell her what Cal said. Maybe it’s because I know she would rather I abandoned all those ‘daft dreams’ and go to work with her. But, tonight, for now, I’m keeping the dream alive and thinking that, one day, that could be me in there.
‘It’s been lovely to get you on your own, baby,’ Helen whispers into my ear, resting her head on my shoulder as the train leaves the station. She’s a bit tipsy.
‘I know,’ I tell her, kissing the top of her head and gently moving her long hair out of her face. She’s exhausted at the moment, doing her best. I put my arm around her and she snuggles into me.
‘I know we don’t do it enough and it’s hard without any help …’
‘We do our best. We’ll get through.’
‘Jamie, maybe you were right?’ she says, lazily, drifting off to sleep.
‘About what?’ I frown.
‘Maybe it was too much, coming down here on our own. No help. Me working full-time. It’s just too much, isn’t it? We’re just so knackered all the fucking time. I’m sorry.’
‘Nothing to be sorry about. We’ll cope. We always do,’ I tell her, pulling her towards me.
She’s asleep within seconds. Rummaging about in my inside coat pocket, I get my iPod out. Predicting this exact scenario would happen, I knew I’d need something to keep me awake. We’re usually asleep by 9 p.m. these days, so this is an exceptionally late night for both of us.
Inspired by seeing Cal tonight, I transport back to my Britpop days and ignite the nostalgia from the ’90s. Back when we had no worries, New Labour was going to save us all, election fever gripped the nation, we read FHM and watched The Big Breakfast.
Just hearing the guitar intro, followed by symphonic strings makes me smile and gives me unexpected shivers down my back. My God! Was it really that long ago?! The distinctive, whiny but utterly genius voice kicks in. It was always them over Blur for me. No competition.
‘Whatever’ by Oasis.
CHAPTER 15
Wednesday 1 June 2011
Stephanie
It’s funny how you spend the first three or four months after finding out, scrutinising yourself in the mirror every single day. You spend hours looking at yourself from different angles, pushing your pelvis out, convinced your jeans are getting tighter. You feel a little self-conscious the first time you step out in maternity wear, declaring to the world, ‘I am pregnant’, worrying that your bump isn’t quite big enough to wear it. Will other pregnant women much further down the line judge you and laugh?
Then, out of nowhere, you’re nine months pregnant, with a bump so big you can barely walk.
I want to sit down and cry with the amount of energy it requires to do anything now. That, or just be carried everywhere. I haven’t gained much weight, despite Ebony’s stark warning years ago.
Sitting in Jane’s waiting room, I pick up a leaflet and fan myself with it. I’ve nervous for this session. I don’t know why – Jane has heard far worse from me. But saying things out loud makes them real, and I’m not sure I’m even ready to confront this.
My right hand rests on my bump, which is swathed in a black tent-like jersey dress. My hair is up in a bun and I’m wearing flip-flops. Everything about me is screaming: ‘Please God make me less hot and more comfortable.’
The door clicks and Jane appears, as put-together as ever, wearing a red and white gingham summer dress.
‘Well, look at you! Come on through,’ she smiles.
As far as results go, there was no ambiguity. I have to admit, I felt a bit cheated out of the experience. When it comes to revelations such as these, I feel like you ought to see your fate being revealed in a slow, easy-to-process way, giving your brain the chance to get used to the idea. I much prefer the idea of seeing two pink lines racing up a piece of litmus paper as opposed to the new-fangled digital tests, which give you no warning before flashing up the brutal ‘PREGNANT 4–6 WEEKS’ declaration. They could at least put a countdown on before showing the result.
I did the test the day after my London trip to see Jamie. How had I not realised before then? Having felt a constant excitement and nausea at the very thought of seeing him again, I’d naturally presumed that was the reason for it. I’d been trying (and failing) to get pregnant for so long, I’d stopped attributing possible symptoms to that. But there it was. A little digital test telling me I was carrying Matt’s child and I quickly worked out I’d be due around June. I am so happy that I’m going to become a mum. I’d love to know what my own mum would make of it. She’d have made a lovely grandma and I’m so sad I can’t share this with her. I immediately called Ebony, who screeched at me down the phone and drove round with both kids within ten minutes.
‘I’m so happy for you, Steph,’ she said, getting all glassy-eyed. ‘You’ll make a brilliant mum. And ours would be proud of you.’
‘So, how have you been? Jane asks now, watching my woeful attempt to get comfortable on her rock-hard sofa.
‘Not great, to be honest,’ I say, diving straight in.
‘OK …’
‘Look, there’s something I want to tell you which has been on my mind and I need to talk to you about it and I should have told you before now but I didn’t so I’m telling you now OK?’ I mumble, without pausing for any kind of breath.
‘OK,’ she replies, again, calmly.
‘I’ve had an affair. Kind of. Well, not really.’ I wince, as tears well up in my eyes. ‘Oh, Jane, I don’t know. Everything is a mess.’
‘Take a deep breath,’ she says, handing me a tissue from the box on her desk. ‘And let’s unpack this …’
I start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out. I don’t know why I’m surprised when her response is ‘I suspected something had happened with someone. Your presence changed.’
Midway through this revelation, she stands up to turn the fan on in the corner of the room which starts whirling cool air into my face. It’s constantly warm in here at the best of times; it’s one of those rooms which always feels stuffy and claustrophobic no matter how many windows you open. It’s south-facing so the blinds are necessary, which means that it’
s stifling in the summer.
‘I knew something significant had happened in your life – something positive – and something to do with a man. Yes.’ Jane says, very matter-of-fact.
‘But why didn’t you say anything? Or ask about it?’
‘You know the answer to that, Stephanie! I had to let you tell me yourself. The question is, why are you telling me now?’
I instinctively place my right hand on my baby bump, which has undergone a huge growth spurt in the last few weeks.
‘I guess pregnancy forces you to reassess things …’
‘It absolutely does do that,’ she says. ‘It puts your relationship under a magnifying glass.’ I can’t quite work out if Jane knows this from experience, or whether she read it in a textbook.
I remember being weirdly nervous about telling Matt about the baby, God only knows why, considering he’s wanted this for so long. It was as if I felt immediate pressure to do it in the right way, to make it super-special for him. I considered all kinds of original ways of doing it, but in the end I blurted it out the second he walked through the door.
‘I’m pregnant!’ I screamed, waving the pregnancy test in his face.
He looked at me like he’d misheard what I’d just said, or dared not believe it.
‘What?’
‘It’s true! We’re having a baby! Look!’ And I laughed, nervously.
Dropping his kitbag on the hall floor, he grabbed the test out of my hand and looked at it for a few seconds. A massive grin spread across his face and he swept me up in the biggest hug.
‘It finally happened!’ he yelled into my ear. ‘Brilliant news! I can’t wait to tell everyone! When can we tell everyone? Who have you told?’ he quizzed, standing back, putting his hands over his mouth in disbelief.
‘Erm, I did tell Ebony. But I think it’s normal to wait three months …’
‘Well, we can tell close family, obviously! Oh, Steph, I’m thrilled, I’m going to be a dad! You are happy, aren’t you?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Of course!’
He came to all of my scans, never complained more than a tiny bit when I dragged him shopping for yet more baby stuff we didn’t really need and agreed, in theory, to change half the dirty nappies.
‘I suppose I had this idea that pregnancy – a baby – would bring us closer together,’ I say to Jane. ‘Everything would suddenly click into place. We’d have that family unit and everything would be perfect.’
‘And …?’
I pause for a second, staring at the plant in the corner of the room.
‘And all I can think about is him.’
I looked up Jamie’s wife on Facebook and saw pictures of them on their holiday to Majorca with Sebastian. I know I shouldn’t look. I know. But I can’t help it.
The perfect family.
Except they’re not.
There they sit, in a Spanish restaurant on an evening, all done up, sunburnt from playing on the beach all day. Laughing, smiling, living a happy life. Their friends don’t know that he’s got feelings for another woman.
For me.
I’ve found myself doing it more often in recent months. As soon as I type in ‘H’ on the search function she’s the first person who comes up because I’ve searched her so frequently.
Her profile picture is currently a photo of her smiling, her long dark hair cascading over both shoulders. She’s wearing a pretty, floral, floaty dress, obviously at a wedding or something. It’s like nothing I would wear and she couldn’t look more different to me. Jamie is next to her with his arm around her shoulder, wearing a suit and tie. He looks smart and handsome, smiling at the camera. She looks thrilled, and why wouldn’t she? If he were mine, I’d be showing him off too. I’d be as happy as that.
Every time I look at it, it’s like a car crash. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t look away.
‘How does Jamie make you feel?’ Jane asks, propping her chin up on her hand.
I involuntarily smile. Well, that … for starters.
‘Happy, alive, electric, like I can do anything, vibrant, appreciated, wanted … loved,’ I reel off.
‘And how does Matt make you feel?’
I pause for a second before answering. I don’t want to do him a disservice, because as much as he might not be perfect, he’s still my husband and I have to respect that. I gaze at the blinds for a few seconds, which are tilted, shutting out the hot June sun. The gaze of Jane, and heat in the room, burns down upon me.
‘Not like that.’
‘OK,’ she says, nodding. ‘Put it another way. If you could have anything now – any life – what would it be? Who would you be with?’
She’s put me completely on the spot. But, there’s no point in lying to her.
‘Jamie,’ I say quickly, as if that makes the betrayal to my husband somehow less treacherous.
‘Now is that because Jamie is so special or because Matt isn’t actually right for you?’
God, she has a way of wording things and slamming things home.
‘Both,’ I say, surprising myself.
‘Do you think you and Matt will be together forever?’
‘I don’t think I will ever be the partner Matt wants me to be …’
‘And who is that?’
‘He wants the girl he fell in love with.’
‘And who is she?’
‘She’s not there any more. I didn’t like her and I don’t really want her back.’
I see the faintest, tiniest smile flash on Jane’s face. It was there for a second, then vanishes.
‘Why is that?’
‘She’s grown since then,’ I tell her. ‘She was …’ I look around the room, searching for the right word. ‘Lost, weak, vulnerable, scared.’
‘And who is she now?’
‘Still all of those things, I guess.’ I laugh, gently. ‘But less so. She’s grown up.’
‘Is she growing on her own, or is she growing with Matt?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For a relationship to thrive, both people grow and evolve together – as well as independently.’
Coming into Jane’s therapy room is like walking into a truth vortex. She forces you to look at your life through a prism, stripping everything back, and lays everything bare in front of you.
‘We are not growing together,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘OK.’ She changes tack. ‘How do you feel about what you’re doing with Jamie?’
‘It brings out a side of me I really don’t like,’ I say, unable to look her in the face. I pick at the red nail varnish which I really ought to take off, it’s so chipped.
‘Which side is that?’
‘Well, would you believe me if I said I really wasn’t prepared for the jealousy when this started? Or the guilt?’ I tell her, laughing at my own naivety as I say it.
‘Yes, I would. Very much so.’
‘It was much easier to compartmentalise all that in the beginning. Then that all goes out the window the deeper in you get. Before you know it, you’re on Instagram, seeing what Helen made Jamie for dinner on their “hashtag date night” and what an amazing husband he is because he bought her a fancy handbag for Christmas. And I’m getting irrationally angry and jealous about it because he’s with her and not me.’
‘It’s a complex situation, Stephanie.’
‘But I hate feeling like this, Jane!’ I raise my voice at her. ‘And the next minute I feel crushing guilt over it all. Because she has no idea I even exist. I’ve completely screwed her over and my own husband, and I deserve to feel like shit. We are both awful people. But I can’t switch it off. It’s ugly and destructive and I hate feeling like this.’
I throw my head in my hands, wailing and crying as Jane hands me more tissues. It’s a relief to get it out.
‘Bloody baby hormones,’ I whimper, reaching for the tissues.
‘Look, Stephanie,’ Jane says, getting back into business mode. ‘If there’s one thing I can tell y
ou about the human psyche, it is that we are a very complicated breed. Wouldn’t it be so easy to pitch all issues as being black and white? When, actually, there’s a whole load of grey in the middle.’
I dab at my eyes with a tissue, staining it with black mascara in the process. I probably look a right mess now.
‘And I’ll tell you something else, 99 per cent of people exist in that grey area, no matter what they say or like to believe. Emotions are complicated and complex. There are no right or wrong decisions, because they’re wildly subjective. Ultimately, you can’t help how you feel – but you can control how you deal with it.’
‘But how?’ I plead. ‘I don’t know how to deal with it. Look at me. I’m pregnant with my husband’s child. I’m in love with another man, who’s also married and I’m pretty sure he feels the same. We can’t ever be together. How does anyone deal with that? Tell me, how?’
It’s terrifying saying the words out loud.
I wipe the tissue across my eyes again – the floodgates are intent on staying open today. Jane waits until I’ve composed myself before speaking. The room is silent, but for the whirring of the fan.
‘Why can’t you be together?’ she asks.
I look at her as if she’s mad. Has she not heard anything I’ve just said? What the hell am I paying her for?
‘What?’
‘You said you can’t be together,’ she repeats, shrugging. ‘Why not, exactly?’
‘Well,’ I burst out, ‘for starters, it would be so messy for both of us.’
‘Love is a messy business, I’m afraid. It’s not a Disney film.’
‘We’re both married …’
‘You could both get divorced.’
‘We’d both end up hurting so many people …’
‘It would be painful for all four of you, there’s no question about it, but is that a reason to miss out on a lifetime of happiness if you’re meant to be together?’
‘But there are kids involved …’
‘Stephanie, the point is, if you truly are meant to be together, you will find a way to be together and you’ll find a way to make it work.’