by Roxie Cooper
‘They should vet people before allowing them to stay here,’ he says, sounding bitter and ungracious. ‘I’m sure people don’t pay a fortune to eat here only to be surrounded by people like that.’
‘People like what?’ I challenge him. ‘People having fun?’
‘Rowdy. Probably got a cheap deal off the internet and thought they could mingle with people who could afford to actually be here.’
I’m taken aback by his blatant, shameless snobbery.
‘Do you hear yourself?’
‘What?’ he asks, shocked I’m even questioning it as he shoves a piece of overpriced steak into his mouth.
‘Why does it matter how anyone came to be here?’
‘Oh, come on, Steph,’ he scoffs. ‘Don’t be so worthy. Look at them.’
I discreetly look over at them to see what he’s on about. Yes, she’s in a very skimpy dress. It’s white, tight and nothing I would wear – especially in my current state. She’s brunette, it looks like she’s wearing extensions and her face is slapped with make-up. But, so what? The guy she’s with looks tickled pink to be with her. He’s gone out of his way to look smart, choosing a blazer jacket, white shirt and his dark hair has been groomed within an inch of its life. I don’t really get this current trend of styled men. I prefer the more rugged look, but that’s just me.
‘So, what? They’re having a good time. We were like that once, you know,’ I say, reaching for my water and taking a drink.
‘I was never all over you like that!’
‘No,’ I say, looking over at them, ‘I suppose you weren’t. We were different, back then, though.’
‘Of course we were. We didn’t have a kid, you were a completely different person …’
‘Yes, I was,’ I say, guardedly. ‘But that’s not a bad thing. People and relationships have to grow, evolve and change. You can’t stay the same. Nothing can stay the same or it dies.’
Having this kind of conversation is always frustrating because Matt simply doesn’t believe in concepts like these. He finds them difficult to grasp. Everything is black or white to him. He calls this kind of stuff my ‘hippy shit’. I call it a basic understanding of life and human beings.
I watch him contemplate what I’ve just said. Surely he can get it? It’s not difficult.
‘Nah, I don’t think I’ve changed at all,’ he says, matter-of-fact.
‘In ten years since we’ve been together, having a child, growing older, being married to me, you don’t think you’ve changed, or grown? At all?’
He shrugs. ‘No, not really. This is where you and me differ, Stephanie. You’re obsessed with all the growing and changing,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘But you don’t see that you were great to start with. Yeah, you had some issues but you sorted them. You were fun, carefree, wild, didn’t give a shit when I met you. That’s who you need to get back to. You do too much thinking these days.’
I sit opposite him – this man – and I don’t think I’ve despised anyone more.
‘If I’m being honest, I’m not sure all this therapy is more of a hindrance than a help,’ he says, almost as a throwaway comment.
Jane immediately flashes into my head. I see her doing one of her ‘unimpressed’ faces, the ones that don’t require any words. They’re usually accompanied by a delicate but pronounced intake of breath.
Why are you content only being happy one weekend a year?
One question. Eleven words.
That blew my world apart. Why don’t I search for happiness the other three hundred and sixty-three days of the year? It must exist somewhere. But, where? Why don’t I leave him and go looking for it? Well, the huge bump in front of me prevents me from doing it now. We didn’t plan it but I’m so glad it happened, even though it’s double-edged.
On the one hand, it’s a sister for Evie, something which will bring immense joy into our lives and a reason to be utterly thankful for every single day I wake up.
On the other, it’s part of the iron cage I made for myself with this marriage and this baby is the lock turning.
I can’t leave now.
Sleep escapes me when we eventually head back upstairs. I toss and turn for hours, thinking.
Sliding out of bed, I pop the fluffy hotel dressing gown on and the Ugg boots I arrived in and head downstairs. Thank God Matt is asleep: he’d have kittens if he knew I was lowering the tone.
There’s something calming about being up in the dead of night. Being in the middle of nowhere, nobody is up, except the night porter and receptionist. Dim lighting illuminates the rooms as I make my way to reception.
‘Can I help you? Are you OK?’ the receptionist asks, alarmed, gazing straight at my baby bump.
‘Oh, I’m just having trouble sleeping. Would it be OK if I sat in the drawing room? I can’t get comfortable in bed.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she says. ‘I can get the porter to bring you a hot chocolate if you’d like? Marshmallows?’
‘That would be lovely – thank you.’
I park myself on the comfy sofa in the corner by the window and the receptionist comes in with the hot chocolate. I don’t feel guilty for thinking this is the best part of the trip away.
Tightening the knot of the dressing gown above my bump, I feel a tsunami of movement from the baby. She must have clocked the abnormal nocturnal activity.
‘Sorry, Adelaide,’ I whisper, ‘didn’t mean to wake you up.’
Reaching into the pocket of the dressing gown, I get my iPod out, pop the earbuds in and press shuffle.
The piano intro gives it away. It always makes me cry at the best of times, but given the current hormonal situation, I’ve got no chance of getting through it dry-eyed so I might as well just go with it.
As the melody and vocals swell – a song about letting go and everything turning out how it’s meant to be – I take a sip of my hot chocolate as something catches my eye in the corner of the room.
I’ve never seen it before, but there’s something familiar about the painting on the wall. It’s messy and chaotic in style, a palette of greys, whites and neutral colours. I’m surprised my eyes were drawn to it. It’s not bold in any way.
Pulling myself up, I walk towards it to get a better look.
As I edge closer, it becomes clear. I smile, and then cry.
Rodin’s The Kiss in spectacular art form, on the wall. The two lovers embrace, just like they did on that day in London at Tate Modern, when I saw it with Jamie.
Taking some deep breaths, I alternate between laughing and sobbing.
Let It Be.
Indeed.
CHAPTER 21
Saturday 2 August 2014
Jamie
Mum’s been down visiting all week, so on her final day with us we all head off to this funfair gala day at Rotherton House, one of those stately home type affairs I love, but this year, they’ve got an exhibition on, showing the photos of local photographer Richard Horlock which I quite fancy seeing.
It’s all the usual stuff: fair rides, helium balloons, and a huge bouncy castle. Seb insists on having his face painted as Spiderman. The weather has turned out lovely and it’s scorching hot. Naturally, Seb wants to go on absolutely everything so we spend the first hour there making our way around the fair.
‘Ah! Look at his little face!’ Mum says, watching Seb going crazy on the bouncy castle. She’s absolutely loved spending time with him this week, just hanging out, being granny. It’s also been nice for me to have some company. Since I moved down here I’ve found it hard to make new friends. There are some decent people at the school and we go out for the odd pint, but that’s as far as it goes. It can get quite lonely.
‘He’s a right little rascal,’ Helen replies, waving at him from the sidelines. He doesn’t seem at all troubled by the fact he’s surrounded by older kids. He can clearly hold his own.
‘Do you think you’ll have any more?’ Mum asks us, out of the blue.
Helen looks at me, clearly a bit startle
d by the bluntness of it.
‘I doubt it, Heather,’ she says, confidently. ‘Not now. I’m flying at work and I think we are both just getting over the exhaustion of Seb’s early years!’
‘I wish you’d had a sibling,’ Mum says to me. ‘I think you missed that growing up.’
‘Nah, I did all right, didn’t I?’
She smiles. ‘You did, love. I’m very proud of you.’
‘I’m glad you got a day off today, Helen,’ Mum says. ‘You’ve been working so hard, getting back late …’
‘I know. We’re just so busy at the moment. I’m sorry I’ve barely seen you this week.’
‘I was hoping I could have babysat for you both,’ Mum goes on. ‘Must be so hard for you and Jamie to get out on your own. Maybe next time.’
Helen waves at Sebby on the bouncy castle before turning back to Mum.
‘Yes, that would be lovely, Heather. Thank you, so lovely of you to come and see us. And Seb has adored it.’
Mum waits until Helen takes Seb on the huge ferris wheel to say something that’s clearly been on her mind all week. She’s no good at subtlety so she says it how it is.
‘Jamie, is everything OK?’ she asks, leaning into me. Her dark brown hair brushes against my face.
‘Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? What do you mean?’
‘It’s just that the last week I’ve been with you, you don’t seem … right. You and Helen seem very distant with each other.’
I frown, acting as if I don’t know what she’s talking about.
‘I think we’re both just knackered, and she travels a lot with work and everything.’
‘Are you happy?’ she asks bluntly.
Am I happy? Well, that’s a very broad question. I suppose so. Kind of. I can’t complain. Well, I could. Could I be happier?
Yes. Best not to go there though.
‘Yes!’ I reply, completely over the top. ‘Of course I am. And I’ve loved having you here this week. You’ve probably just caught us on an over-the-top week, Mum.’
She looks at me thoughtfully. ‘You know you can talk to me whenever you want? I am only a phone call away.’
I hug her and she holds on tight. I think she misses me not being around the corner.
When Seb and Helen return, I take him off to do this treasure hunt paper trail thing around the grounds. You find clues and it takes you to the next point and at the end you get a prize. They wave me off, laughing. ‘Have fun, boys!’
It’s actually a right laugh. I love doing stuff with my boy. He copies little things I do, like turning his baseball cap around to be like me today. He’s adorable. It’s so busy, there must be thirty other families also doing this trail. I grip tightly to Seb’s hand so he doesn’t wander off – I get paranoid about that kind of thing. The next clue is a butterfly around the back of this mansion-like house, so off we go to find it. Looks like every other family is also on this step. The sun beats down on us, the grounds bustling with the noise of families, fed-up children and even more fed-up parents.
And that’s when I see her.
Standing in the middle of it all, with her husband and children.
Children, plural. There’s a beautiful little blonde girl next to her – that must be Evie. But she’s also pushing a pram with a baby in. It looks to be about eight months old and, going by the colour scheme, it’s another girl.
Seb attempts to drag me away but I can’t move. I can’t be more than twenty feet away from her. I feel like my stomach has been yanked out of me. My heart aches. She’s smiling and talking to Evie, looking at something she’s drawn on the treasure hunt map. Her long blonde hair contrasts against the red dress she’s wearing. That must be Matt, next to her, the blond guy on his phone. A stab of jealousy shoots through me just watching him. I want to stand and watch her. God, that sounds creepy.
‘Daddy! There it is!’ Sebby shouts, pointing to a big plastic butterfly atop the fountain a short walk away. Taking one last glance at her, I take my boy and walk away.
‘How was the trail?’ Helen asks.
‘See for yourself!’ I reply, pointing to Seb, who is devouring a huge chocolate lollipop. My mind is still doing somersaults over seeing Stephanie. Is she still here? Where is she?
‘Oooh!’ she congratulates him. ‘What a clever boy!’
‘Why don’t you two head inside and see that exhibition you wanted to take a look at? I’ll watch Seb,’ Mum volunteers.
‘You sure you don’t mind, Heather?’
‘Not at all! Nice for you both to get a bit of time together, that’s what I’m here for!’
It’s nice to jump into a bit of tranquillity. That’s what I love about galleries. The quietness. I like photography exhibitions, they’re different to art ones in so many ways; the arrangement, spacing, lighting. Going to these things with Helen takes us back to what we love, where we came from. We don’t have long but it’s nice to have time to breathe. Especially after just seeing Stephanie. I need a second to think on my own.
The photography is spread out over several rooms, each one fairly dark, with strategically placed lighting to show the photography off at its best.
We wander into the main room, walking past a gentle whispering of voices. Helen is drawn to a selection of photos next to the entrance, so I have a look around the other side of the partition in the middle of the room.
I catch my breath when I see Stephanie again, from the back this time. She’s standing in front of one of the photos. The red dress and hair give her away.
My beautiful girl. Except she’s not mine any more.
All I want to do is reach out and touch her. I have no idea if she’s alone. I can see she’s got her iPod earbuds in, which makes a small smile break out on to my face. I’d love to know what she’s listening to.
Aware Helen is around the corner and could quite literally come around at any second, I walk towards her. I don’t think. I just have to make her see me. Jesus, it’s a risk.
I stand just behind her right shoulder and my reflection in the photo frame she’s looking at slowly glides into view. She glances at my reflection once, and then twice. A double take, not quite believing it’s me. She quickly reaches up to take her earbuds out but I shake my head and she stops. We gaze at one another through the glass.
A few seconds pass. I’m inches away from her and I’d do anything to kiss this neck, the perfume from which floats in the air. But I don’t. I smile at her and she smiles back.
As I step away from her my reflection disappears, just as I hear Helen’s voice coming around the corner. I turn around to face it and I watch Stephanie leave the gallery out of the corner of my eye.
CHAPTER 22
Saturday 17 October 2015
Stephanie
The thick duvet weighs down on the pair of us like a million feathers; a kind of light, gentle, cosy hug. I can tell what time it is by the clanking of the radiator which has just sprung into action under the sash window at the bottom of the bed. It’s one of those enormous, heavy, period beds. The house has loads of them. Being in the countryside, there’s no glare from outside. Only stars illuminate the sky. The only light is that which sneaks in from Adelaide’s night lamp in her room.
It’s 5.30 a.m. A little blonde-haired angel sleeps beside me. It’s amazing how much space a two-year-old takes up. She starfishes every single night, pushing me to the edge of the bed, clutching on to her Belle princess soft toy, out for the count. She always gets too hot in my room, so I pull the duvet back and tuck her hair behind her ear. I can’t help but smile at her – my beautiful little Adelaide.
Seconds later I hear the other one skipping across the landing. A silhouette bounds towards the bed; she can’t possibly see where she is going, but she’s been doing it every night for the past year so has developed a sixth sense for it. Evie jumps up and I wrap her next to us. Their warm little bodies radiate love and snuggle into me.
Everyone tells me I shouldn’t do this. I’ve had all the lectures.
‘Co-sleeping is a terrible idea’, ‘They’re too old for this’ and ‘You’re making a rod for your own back’. The horrified faces I encounter when I dare to tell people I bring Adelaide into my bed in the early hours because I’m simply too tired to get into a battle of wills at 2 a.m. when I need to get up at 6.30 a.m. on the days I work. Or because I let Evie come in for an hour before we get up. You’d think I beat them.
It’s our time together and I treasure it. They love it.
But it also keeps Matt out. He couldn’t sleep when the girls were in, so he took it upon himself to sleep in the spare room. He’s been there ever since. It’s dysfunctional and odd and neither of us mention it even though we both know it’s not right. He sees it as me choosing them over him, which I suppose I am.
I’ve invited Ebony and the kids around for breakfast today. Jude and Jett are proper tinkers now. At seven and five they’re keeping Ebony busy and she’s not thinking about having more anytime soon. The kids play with each other as we have coffee and chat about all sorts of rubbish. Well, it’s mainly Ebony Topics, really. She’s a fully signed-up member of the yummy mummy set at the local private school now; officially a member of the cool gang.
‘I mean, you would not believe the scandal that goes on within that circle, Steph,’ she whispers, wide-eyed.
‘Oh, I can imagine,’ I reply.
‘No. Seriously. I’m talking all the drama,’ she says, leaning closer. I laugh at how into this she is. She’s loving it. And a bit of comic relief is exactly what I need right now.
We set the kids up in the living room to watch Beauty and the Beast for the umpty-first time. Ebony’s fed up to death of it, but I love this film. I insist on singing all the songs and always cry at the end.
I use this movie to explain to Evie that beauty isn’t everything. She was born with a little strawberry birthmark on the side of her face and she’s at the stage now where she asks why she’s different to other kids. We tell her that she was kissed by a fairy – that’s what Mum used to say happened to her. Mum had a few scars on her body and would tell us that’s how she got them; one on her eyebrow where the hair no longer grew, and a silvery one on her lower back. I never found out how she got them but it was probably doing something fun, knowing my mum.