by Roxie Cooper
‘What do you think your mum would say about that if she was here?’ she asks, completely out of the blue.
‘I’d prefer to keep my mum out of this, if you don’t mind!’
‘Well, yes, I do mind. Because she’s the key to all of this – your marriage, for example,’ she says, very matter-of-fact.
‘What?’
‘You haven’t worked this out yet?’
I look at her with a blank expression. She’s completely lost me now.
‘What the hell has my mum got to do with my relationship with Matt?’
‘Not just Matt, Jamie too,’ she says in a way which suggests it’s so obvious even a toddler could work this out.
‘Jane, I know you’re good at what you do, but I really think you’re clutching at straws with this one.’
‘It’s classic textbook, actually. More common than you think. Even Matt worked it out.’
‘What?’
‘He’s absolutely right in what he said.’
‘You’re agreeing with Matt now?’
Either Jane is on crack or she’s about to sort my entire life out, because my head is spinning.
‘Stephanie,’ she says, very calmly. ‘When your mum died you were a toddler and it ripped away the core of unconditional love you had experienced in your life up until that point. Your dad was badly grief-stricken and he disconnected from you. So, throughout your teenage, formative years, and beyond, you had a huge emotional void that wasn’t being filled.’
‘So?’ I ask, raising my eyebrows.
‘You don’t think you’re worthy of real love.’
My God, it’s raw to hear the words out loud, coming from someone else.
‘You don’t know how to be loved,’ she goes on. ‘And even if you did, you wouldn’t allow it because the thought of allowing yourself to be emotionally intimate with someone is too terrifying for you to contemplate.’
‘Why is it terrifying?’ I ask her, folding my arms tightly round myself. My eyes feel heavy and the stinging sensation swells at the front. I do everything I can to try and hold the tears back.
‘Because they might see the real you, and that terrifies you,’ she says softly, as if it will lessen the blow. ‘Matt never saw the real you and he was with you for fourteen years. You never let him.’
Nausea rises up into my throat. My breathing becomes deeper. This woman is running around my mind and saying all of my thoughts out loud and I don’t like it one little bit.
‘Well, that’s not right, because how do you explain my relationship with Jamie if that’s the case?’ I ask, defensively, even though I know she’ll have an answer for it.
‘Jamie is married,’ she says and smiles. ‘Unavailable. He is safe – you can be intimate with him but not give yourself to him fully – because that would be far too scary. To a large extent, Jamie provides you with the kind of nurturing, unconditional love you’re missing from your mum. There’s no doubt you have a deep, incredible connection and love for him but you allowed yourself to be loved by him because you felt safe.’
This is far too much to take in.
‘So where does Matt come into it?’ I ask. I can’t wait to hear this bit.
‘Matt is, psychologically speaking, a stand-in for your dad. We’ve been through this.’
Jesus Christ.
‘Right! So Jamie is my mum and Matt is my dad!’ I laugh, putting my head in my hands. ‘Jane, this is not a bloody Greek tragedy!’
‘Why is it so difficult to comprehend? It’s quite simple when you think about it. I see it all the time,’ she says. ‘It was obvious from the outset you wouldn’t be emotionally intimate with Matt. But he displayed similar traits to your dad – he was emotionally closed and distant, cold to some extent. In marrying Matt, you sought to mirror the relationship with your dad by making him love you, but you’d never become close to him because you never made yourself emotionally available to him. It was doomed to failure before it even got going.’
I don’t even know what to say. There’s far too much to take in.
And the freakiest part is that I know she’s right. About all of it.
All of it.
I don’t think I’ve consciously been holding myself back from people, but I guess the prospect of revealing who I am, with all my flaws, is just too scary. Because the one person who loved me despite all of them died. And the other one is married to someone else.
‘So, what do I do?’ I ask her, the tears in my eyes now teetering on the edge of spilling over on to my face. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
Jane sighs and smiles.
‘If you want to be happy – truly happy – you need to be emotionally intimate with people. You have to let them in. Show them who you really are. And it’s scary, but you’re human … we all are.’
I’m entranced by what she’s saying, and she knows it. She’s hit a nerve.
‘Allow yourself to be vulnerable, Stephanie,’ she goes on. ‘Allow yourself to love, and to be loved back … fully. Only then can you be truly happy.’
CHAPTER 28
Saturday 26 November 2016
Jamie
If anyone is going to tell me some hard truths I need to hear, it’s Cal. Sensing something was up on the phone, he agreed to meet for drinks in Camden on the Saturday before the art final.
‘You all right, mate?’ he quizzed.
‘Yeah, just thought it would be good to catch up.’ We’re both so busy – me with work and Seb, him with his business – he knows I wouldn’t usually ask. We see each other a few times a year at most. I had something to say and he knew it. I felt bad even asking, knowing how busy he is, but I really need to talk to him.
‘No worries, mate. Be good to see you,’ he said, suggesting this weekend.
We meet in a pub we used to go in all the time when we lived here. It’s a proper dive but radiates charm and character. It hasn’t changed in all these years, nor have the customers. I still recognise some of the faces. They’ve aged significantly, but there they are, still sitting at the weathered bar, ordering the same drinks. There’s a comfort to that.
Cal’s already there when I arrive, looking as stylish as ever in a garish shirt he probably got from a charity shop. A cold pint waits for me next to his, so I sit opposite him and start drinking it immediately. Think I’ll need to down it before I get into why I’m here.
We chat about some art he’s recently sold to a huge popstar and I’m thrilled (but not surprised) to hear how well he’s doing. Vicky’s been promoted to partner at her work and I can see how proud he is. He beams the whole time he speaks of her.
‘That’s great news! Bet she’s chuffed to bits.’
‘She is. And she deserves it, too. You know?’
‘Yeah, course she does.’ I pick up my pint and take a drink. ‘How long have you two been married now?’
He does a quick mental tally in his head before answering, ‘Nine years, why?’
‘Do you think Vicky has, you know … changed since you’ve been together?’ I ask, awkwardly.
Cal looks at me like I’m mad, screwing his face up and folding his arms as he leans forward on the table.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, like … I suppose people change as they get older. Their interests, ambitions and all that. Has that affected your relationship?’
His confused face of moments ago softens and it’s obvious he’s sensed where I’m going.
‘Only in a positive way. I think we still bring out the best in each other. We’ve both progressed in our careers at different rates and in very different ways – art and law are at completely opposite ends of the spectrum. But we’ve always had each other’s backs, sacrificed what we needed to, to help each other along. If anything, we’re probably more of a team now than ever before. If that’s what you mean?’
I don’t know what to say.
‘What’s going on, Jamie?’
‘I’m not sure Helen and I should be together any m
ore,’ I say, bluntly.
He raises his eyebrows and exhales, slowly.
‘It’s just feels like we’ve completely grown apart in the last few years,’ I go on.
‘Have you spoken to her about it?’ he asks after a long pause.
‘Many times,’ I tell him. ‘We’ve had so many discussions about how things have changed, especially since having Seb. Not that it’s his fault, obviously. But even though we’ve tried to make it work, we just don’t seem to enjoy each other any more.’
‘Are you possibly just in a rut?’ he suggests. ‘We’ve all been mates for, what? Nearly twenty years. I don’t want to see either of you unhappy and I know Vicky would feel the same.’
‘I think I’ve been feeling like this for quite a while,’ I admit. ‘There comes a point where you just have to accept you’re different people now. We don’t make each other happy any more. I don’t know what to do, Cal.’
‘It kills me to think of the pair of you going through this. But if you’re not happy, then you can’t stay. If you’ve both tried to make it work and it still doesn’t, then you’ll have to call it a day. I’m so sorry, mate.’
‘I just feel like I’m holding on to things which aren’t there – my marriage, my art. Everything. I’ve failed as a husband and an artist. Jesus, how did it come to this?’
‘Woah! I’m not having that!’ he interrupts. ‘You haven’t failed at either. Sometimes, things just don’t work out, Jamie. I’ve been saying this for years. You don’t take enough risks, that’s your problem. Put everything you have out there. Your problem isn’t that you’ve failed … your problem is that you’re afraid to fail.’
He’s right. This has always been my problem.
‘Why did you marry Helen?’ he asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘There must have been a reason. What was it?’
I look at him, blankly. What an odd question. ‘Why does anyone get married? You just … do, don’t you?’ I tell him.
‘“You just do”? That was your reason?’
‘No, I loved her, obviously.’
‘You can love somebody without getting married. I want to know the reason.’
Christ! If I’d known I’d be cross-examined by my best mate I’d have stayed at home.
‘It seemed like the right thing to do,’ I confess.
‘Sounds like you’re doing your tax return,’ he says dryly. ‘Do you want to know why I married Vicky?’
‘No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.’
‘I couldn’t stand the thought of not spending every goddamn day with her. The thought of being without her, at any point for the rest of my life, terrified me. We have something so special, it’s like she switches me on. We’re so different, but so the same. I feel like I can do anything when I’m with her.’
‘It’s obvious you feel like that about her, everyone can see it,’ I tell him, thinking back to that trip to Vegas. Helen was right – I’ve never had that with her.
‘I’ve never seen that with you and Helen. Don’t get me wrong, I love you both to death, but I was surprised when you got together. Even more so when you got married.’
‘Really?’
‘Look, I’m not saying everyone has to have this amazing chemistry when they meet, and it always seemed really safe with you two. But I know this amazing electricity and happiness between two people exists because I have it. And I think you could have it too with someone. You just have to find it.’
An image of Stephanie flashes through my mind when he says it. I accidentally smile when it does.
‘There’s nobody else, is there?’ he asks, narrowing his eyes at me, clocking the smile on my face. ‘You’d tell me if there was, wouldn’t you?’
I hesitate before answering. I’ve always promised myself I wouldn’t tell a soul about Stephanie, but in the current circumstances I might have to. It still feels too big, too large to say out loud, though. Where do I start? How can I even describe our relationship?
‘No, nobody else,’ I tell him, soaking up my pint.
Being men, this level of emotional talk has drained us, so we move on swiftly. I can’t go home in a complete state so I say goodbye to Cal at the train station and we part ways. He gives me a hug, saying that if the shit hits the fan, I’m more than welcome to go stay with him and Vicky for a bit. I appreciate it. They’re obviously going to feel awkward in the event of a split.
I think about what Cal said all the way home. A split has so many implications in so many ways. Helen earns a decent salary but I don’t. How would I afford a place of my own where Seb could come and visit? Would he hate me? I’d like to think Helen wouldn’t turn nasty and turn Seb against me, but you just don’t know. All it takes is Mum to say a few bad things about Dad and that’s when the hate can set in. I don’t want Seb feeling tormented about coming from a broken family in the same way I was. What if he feels like I’ve abandoned him? Or that I never tried hard enough? Yet, surely, staying in an unhappy marriage is worse for him?
What I know is that there is a girl like Vicky out there for me – and I’ve already met her.
CHAPTER 29
Saturday 3 December 2016
Stephanie
I nudge the door open slowly, barely able to bring myself to face the reality of what’s in there. The spare room is stacked full of boxes. The bed is a sea of clothes on hangers, with nowhere to be hung. This kind of chaos reminds me of when I used to come home from university in the summer holidays, only I was nineteen then. I never dreamed my life would end up this way. Or, maybe I did. I was never really going to have one of these happy, perfect existences, so perhaps I’m not really surprised at all. But, at the age of thirty-six, I’m back at my dad’s house, living here with my two young children.
Everyone says I should have kicked Matt out and stayed in our house, but I honestly didn’t want to stay there. It was a house with no happy memories and I wanted a fresh start.
But my girls deserve more than this. More than what I’ve given them. I’ve failed spectacularly on every level.
It’s twenty-three years today since my mum died. All I ever wanted was to be the kind of woman she would have been proud of – and look at me. Mother of two, mid-thirties, separated, in love with someone I can’t have, living with Dad, in a job which doesn’t challenge me.
What would she think?
Stepping over shoe boxes, bags and random lamps on the floor, I walk over to the box underneath the window titled ‘EVIE AND ADELAIDE BABY’. Sliding the lid off, I see what I came in for. I was explaining to them this morning about my mum, but they couldn’t quite grasp it.
‘Was she your mummy like you’re our mummy?’ Evie asked.
‘She was, darling. Yes,’ I said, smiling.
‘Where is she, then?’
Pausing for a second, not quite knowing how to answer it without scaring them, I answered, ‘She went to heaven. She was very poorly, you see,’
‘You’re not going to go to heaven, are you?’ she says, worry on her face.
‘Not for a very long time, my precious girl.’
‘Did you love her like we love you?’
My heart ached when she said it. My God, the love between a mother and child is just too immense for words sometimes.
‘I did, and she would have loved you, too. So much.’
Picking the memory books out of the box, I run the palm of my hand over the front of Evie’s; a beautifully ornate purple hardback book, embossed with gold swirls and intricate design. Flicking through, I see every black-and-white scan photo she ever had, all the little notes I wrote her when I was pregnant and little keepsakes I stuck in. Adelaide’s is the same.
Popping the lid back on the box, I leave the room and close the door. The girls will love looking at the books and now feels like the right day to do it. I’ll sort that room out at some point. Just not today.
By some strange twist of fate, Mum’s anniversary has also fallen on the same day as t
he art competition exhibition. Dad has had to cancel the conference in Portland, which is terrible given the current circumstances with the firm, because he’s reignited an old back injury chopping logs for the fire so has been instructed to lie down and not move and I’m running around after him all day. We really could have done with the potential deal from this trip, but there’s no way he could go. And he starts getting twitchy mid-morning and going on about attending the art final.
‘Can’t you just drive me down, Steph?’ he pleads, clutching his back in agony. ‘I’ll sit on a comfy chair and you can help me around.’
‘No, Dad. The doctor said you had to stay reclined. You’re not leaving this house,’ I say in my very best mum voice. Even if he was able to get out, I can’t go to the exhibition – I’d give Jamie a heart attack if I turned up.
It’s a very low-key day. We have a nice lunch with all the kids at the house. Ebony and I cook a gorgeous baked apple crumble and the house smells divine afterwards. Will plays outside with the children, wearing them all out by running around, pretending to be a monster.
When they come back in, I unwrap them from their snowsuits, hats, scarves and gloves. The earthy scent follows them, sticking to their skin. Picking Adelaide up, I kiss her freezing cold cheek.
‘I love you, Mama,’ she says, wrapping her little arms around my neck.
‘I love you too, baby girl,’ I reply, nestling my face into her hair.
Ebs and Will leave at about 3.30 p.m., just as it’s getting dark. We wave them off from the eggshell-blue, church-window-shaped porch door. I’ve always loved the entrance to this house: it’s like something out of a fairy tale. It was candyfloss pink when Mum was here and we used to peek over the lower windows of it, waiting for Daddy to come back from work and walk up the swirly path to the house.
It’s an arctic-cold December evening. Dad and I cuddle up on our favourite sofa in the lounge, which is next to the big window in the room that overlooks the back garden, to watch the snow fall outside. It’s twilight, a violet, inky darkness that blanks out the sky. The snowflakes look like drops of lace falling from a huge embroidery. Christmas tree lights are twinkling in the corner, and the fire is crackling. I pull the tartan blanket around my legs, clasping my hands around my cup of hot chocolate.