by Roxie Cooper
‘Oh God, Jamie! I’m so sorry. What happened?’
I knew she’d ask and I knew I had to be honest, but the words wouldn’t come out. The line went silent. The shame was too much to bear.
‘Jamie?’
‘I … I had an affair, Mum. I’m so sorry.’
She couldn’t say anything at first. I thought she’d actually put the phone down on me.
‘Why, love?’ she sighed. So, I told her. She made me go home for Christmas but I felt as if I was being a burden to everyone. I cried, didn’t say much, didn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about the pain, misery and upset I’d caused everyone.
I’ve got myself a little place now, a small two-bed flat about fifteen minutes away from Helen’s house. It’s all I can afford to rent for now but I’ll make it nice for Seb. I just want to get back to seeing him regularly. It’s been torture not seeing him every night. I’ve seen him since I left, for limited periods. Helen drops him off somewhere so I can spend a few hours with him, but I never come to the house. I know it must be hard for her on her own with him, working and dealing with this.
Helen told me all my stuff has been put into the spare room. She’s been kind to do that, to be fair. Most women would have put it all on the lawn or set fire to it. All of my belongings are in black bags, piled on the bed, on the floor, or in unlabelled boxes ready for collection. I’ve hired a van to collect it today. Seb is at school and we figured it was better he wasn’t here when I came.
I start loading the van with my stuff. After the fifth trip, I’m gathering the next load to take down when I hear the front door click shut. I stop what I’m doing, fearing it’s Helen’s dad sent by her to keep an eye on me. But I recognise Helen’s footsteps on the stairs. I turn around, suddenly panicked, feeling quite sick at the thought of seeing her. She knew I’d be here at this time, so she obviously wants to see me.
She walks across the landing and into the spare bedroom.
‘Hi,’ I mumble awkwardly. It seems woefully inadequate and disrespectfully casual. ‘Sorry, I won’t be long, I’m nearly done …’
She stands in the doorway. She’s lost weight in the weeks since I’ve seen her. I recognise the coat she wears, but it hangs differently on her frame, now it’s too big. ‘There’s all your art stuff in the garage. You can take that today, too.’
I nod, unable to look her directly in the face. ‘How’s Seb? Is he OK?’
‘Not really. He keeps asking why I made Daddy leave and believes that it’s all my fault.’
My eyes sting; I take a deep breath to compose myself.
‘“I want to go and live with Daddy”, he tells me. “You made daddy go away. I hate you!” That’s all I hear day in, day out, Jamie. Do you know how hard that is?’
I can’t answer, so I shake my head.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t tell him that you’re a lying, cheating arsehole. You’ll still be the perfect daddy in his eyes and I’ll be the villain of the piece.’
‘I don’t want that, Helen. Of course I don’t,’ I say.
She looks at my face for a few moments, like she’s looking straight through me.
‘What the hell happened to you, Jamie?’ she asks, her voice breaking. ‘To us? Never in a million years did I imagine you’d hurt me like this. Why?’
‘I never wanted to. Please …’ I try to explain, ‘I know you don’t believe it, but I didn’t want to hurt you. I just couldn’t help my feelings and it got fucked up. I loved you both. I never left you, I never wanted to. I loved you—’
‘You wanted to keep both of us? Have your cake and eat it?’ She laughs in disbelief. ‘Can you hear yourself?’
‘No, not like that! I … I shouldn’t have done it and I’m not saying it excuses it. I’m just trying to explain what happened. In my head, I’m not even sure what I thought at the time, but then it started happening every year and it became something I got used to, I suppose …’
Helen stands, shaking her head, unable to even look at me. I’m willing myself to shut the hell up because I’m making it worse. It sounds so pathetic …
‘What did I do that was so terrible, so awful, that you felt the need to go and have sex … oh, no … have this “incredible connection” with another woman?’ she asks. The way she says ‘incredible connection’ drips with disgust and disbelief and she stares at me in a way I have never seen before. Her face is covered with a steely veneer; her lips are pursed, eyes blank; there is no emotion. She’s being brave about this, but I know she will be dying inside.
‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s nothing you or we did,’ I plead with her, sitting down on the bed. ‘I think it’s a combination of things. We were different people when we got together, changed as we got older, wanted different things and then she came into the equation.’
‘Please don’t use all that as an excuse for fucking someone else for ten years,’ she says and laughs harshly. ‘It’s honestly pathetic.’
‘I’m not,’ I say, putting my hands up, defensively. I also want to point out that I wasn’t ‘fucking her’ for ten years but don’t feel now is the time to get into semantics, nor is it particularly justified. ‘We did stop seeing each other, for several years. We tried staying away from each other on numerous occasions, but something always threw us back into each other’s paths.’
‘Oh, how romantic,’ she snaps, sarcastically. ‘And yes, I’ve heard the same from her; at least your stories are consistent, I’ll give you that.’
Stephanie called me to let me know Helen had been to see her. She’d agreed to meet her one morning in a nearby park about a month ago.
‘“Jamie saved me”,’ Helen says, in a whiney voice, attempting to impersonate Stephanie. ‘“I was in a terrible place and he was just so lovely and made me feel less worthless about my own spoiled, bratty, shitty life!” Didn’t stop her cheating on her own husband though, did it? Picked a winner there, Jamie!’
‘Helen, stop. Please,’ I beg her, putting my head in my hands. I can’t take much more of this.
‘Oh, sorry!’ she says. ‘Does it hurt, hearing me insult your mistress? When are you going to tell me “it wasn’t like that”?’
I don’t say anything. I can’t.
‘We could have been happy, and you gave it all up for that. Was it really worth it?’ she asks.
‘Look, Stephanie aside, and while what I did was 100 per cent wrong, I do think we’d grown into different people over the years. We hadn’t been happy for a long time.’
‘You think we would have split up without your bit on the side?’
I instinctively go to say something about the ‘bit on the side’ comment, but let it go.
‘I just think we were more compatible when we were younger. We would have just carried on making each other more unhappy. I’m so sorry for the way it happened, but us separating is for the best. You need someone more ambitious, driven, maybe? I never felt I was good enough.’
‘Well, you suddenly became more ambitious for her, didn’t you? Look at you now, Mr Big Time Artist, winning your little competition. Finally left your safe job and work in London now,’ she points out. ‘All because of her. What an inspiration.’
‘She encouraged me and supported me like you never did,’ I confess. It feels like a betrayal saying it out loud, but it’s the truth.
‘Do you know what she said to me as she left?’
‘No,’ I reply, genuinely interested. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I lean forward, clasping my hands together.
‘I suggested that she probably fixed her little competition for her boyfriend to win—’
‘Well, that’s not true,’ I reply, certain of it.
‘She said “He won that based on his own talents. You should have had more faith in him all these years.”’
And in that moment, as inappropriate as it is, I love Stephanie a little bit harder. Believing in me until the bitter end.
‘Is that what you think, Jamie? That I never had any
faith in you? But I only ever wanted the best for you. I tried to get you so many good jobs over the years—’
‘Jobs I didn’t want or ask for!’
‘You didn’t have a bad life, Jamie. Most people would be thankful for those opportunities.’
‘But that wasn’t me, Helen!’ I shout at her, which I instantly regret. She jumps slightly, clearly shocked at my outburst. ‘You tried moulding me into something I wasn’t. We have different interests, friends, careers; our only common ground is Sebby. People change.’
‘Our whole marriage was a lie, Jamie. Do you know how that makes me feel? Used. Cheap …’
‘I know,’ I say, without breaking her gaze, because it’s important she understands.
‘I don’t think you do,’ she says. ‘You know what one of the worst things was? Going over the last ten years and putting things into place. All those weekends you went away and came back the next day a little bit weird. Going off sex for a few months and me worried I’d done something wrong.’
Helen breaks off to look out of the window, taking a sharp intake of breath to compose herself. I want to interrupt and say how mortified I am I’ve done this to her, but I don’t have that right, so I don’t. She has to say this.
‘All those times, you’d been with her. Ten years …’
I don’t think it’s possible for this to get worse.
‘Do you know what it’s like telling the tale to another relative, another friend? They can’t believe it. “My God! You’ve got to be fucking kidding? Jamie? Jamie? He doesn’t seem the type!” they say. But you are that type, aren’t you? It’s always the ones you never suspect,’ she says, her voice breaking off at the end.
‘I guess I am. But, Helen, I never wanted to hurt you and if it makes you feel better, I’m tormented by it every single day.’
I don’t know what else to say. Nothing I can do will make this better.
‘Well, it’s not enough, but it’ll have to do,’ she replies. ‘Anyway, I’m only here so you can sign this. It’s about the divorce.’
Reaching into her handbag for some documents, she slings them on the bed with a pen.
‘Sign where the tab is.’
I do as I’m told and hand it back to her.
‘I’ll be divorcing you on grounds of adultery which I can’t imagine you’ll contest,’ she says, confidently.
I feel sick when she says it. It’s entirely accurate, but it feels brutal and raw, hearing it out loud.
‘No, of course not,’ I tell her, shaking my head.
‘I want to know, though …’ she goes on, putting the paperwork back into her bag. ‘Are you together now? Are you living with her?’ A sharp intake of breath punctuates the end of the sentence.
‘No. That’s the truth. I haven’t seen her since the night of the gala. I’ve spoken to her on the phone a few times, but I’m a mess, Helen. I’ve just lost everything in my life. All my own doing, admittedly, but I’ve still lost everything – my wife, son, house, life as I knew it. I’m going to be on my own and sort myself out.’
She looks at me intently, hugging her coat around her. Usually standing confident and tall, today she looks like a shadow of the woman she was. Her shoulders hunch forward and appear heavy from carrying the burden of everything I’ve inflicted on her. The stress of the last two months has taken its toll on both of us it would seem.
‘Let me know when you’re settled and you can start having Seb overnight,’ she says walking out the door.
‘Helen,’ I call out to her, ‘I—’
‘Don’t. I don’t want to hear you’re sorry or you still love me or any of that,’ she states, firmly.
‘No, I know you don’t want to hear that,’ I say.
‘What then?’ she sighs, turning around to face me as she walks out the door.
‘I hope you’ll find someone who treats you better than I did.’
PART FOUR
It Ain’t Over ’Til It’s Over
CHAPTER 33
Saturday 22 July 2017
Stephanie
It’s written in black biro on lilac paper, faded over the years. Folded in half, the crease still stands, but it remains immaculate. I’ve read it hundreds of times. On some occasions, crying. On most, despising myself.
But I feel different reading it today.
Dad presented it to me on my eighteenth birthday and I was initially terrified to read it. It was like she was alive again, hearing her say new things. Running to my room and shutting the door behind me, I perched on the end of my bed and opened the white envelope.
Wednesday 24 November 1993
To my beautiful girl, Stephanie
From the moment I first felt you kick, to the last glimpse I had of you as a funny, sweet girl, always full of kindness and laughter, I have loved you more than you will ever know. In the thirteen years I have been your mum, you have made me prouder than I could ever say and I know you will go on to such wonderful things.
So, on your eighteenth birthday, I wanted to share with you some advice I have learned over the years, because I won’t be there to give it to you myself.
Find someone who accepts you for who you are. Let them love you unconditionally. Let them love your quirks, your scars, let them love you when you’re happy and when you’re mad. Don’t strive to be perfect, none of us are. Embrace your imperfections and make sure the person you fall in love with adores them.
Don’t hold grudges, especially against those you love. They’re a waste of everyone’s time. Don’t push people away because you’re too stubborn, one day they might not come back.
Life isn’t simple, it can get complicated. But always put yourself first. Don’t put up with people who mistreat you. It’s OK to walk away from them.
Be kind to yourself. Be brave, always.
Keep taking photos, you have a natural talent for it.
You’re so very special, Stephanie. Go out into that world and be the absolute best you can be.
Hold on to the memories we have, my darling girl. They are precious. Remember me how I was – how you, me and Ebony used to love singing along to the Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat soundtrack, stargazing in the garden and painting in my art studio. Daddy will always be there for you. You all have to look after each other now.
Never forget how much I love you – now, always and forever.
Mum
Xxx
All it did over the years was remind me how much I’d messed-up. Instead of taking her advice, I railed against everything she said and I felt worse because of it.
But that was the old Stephanie.
Only now, eighteen years later, can I read it and finally understand what it means and put it into context. Giving advice comes from experience, and my goodness, I can relate to this. I never knew Mum and I were so similar. Not until the night Dad told me about how they got together. Everything made sense when I found out.
Life is chaotic. The last six months have been a blur and the night of the art gala blew my world away. Apart from a few phone calls with Jamie since then, we’ve had no contact. His wife called me at work about a month after, asking if I’d meet her. I don’t blame her – I’d have done the same. We met in a park and she demanded all kinds of explanations about our relationship, none of which she accepted or wanted to hear, which was fair enough. I didn’t play anything down and I was truthful about everything. I owed her the truth and I figured the last thing she needed was more bullshit.
My priorities now are Evie and Adelaide. We’ve moved into a little cottage in a village not far from Dad. Ebony was upset I hadn’t talked to her about it but Dad was surprisingly sympathetic and a great support through it all, having been through a similar thing with Mum.
‘You can’t help who you fall in love with,’ he said, as I wept in his arms on many a cold evening.
Reading the letter, I remind myself of how far I’ve come. She’d be proud of me today. I smile, folding it up and sliding it back into the envel
ope.
Walking into the kitchen to pop the kettle on, I check the time. I’ve got about an hour before I need to leave the house. It’s going to be scorching hot today, apparently. The sun streams in through the lounge windows, making glorious sun patterns on the carpet. I’m hoping I don’t look too garish in my outfit: a pillarbox-red knee-length playsuit with spaghetti straps. I’m so nervous.
Suddenly, three faint taps on the front door, which I ignore. I’m not expecting anyone and don’t have time for people selling anything, so I turn the radio up and ignore it. The ’60s sounds of ‘Be My Baby’ by The Ronettes echoes around the kitchen which makes me smile. It makes me think of Dirty Dancing, one of my favourite films.
After fifteen seconds or so, they try again – louder this time – so I reluctantly go to answer it.
I am not mentally or emotionally prepared for who’s on the other side of the door.
‘Hello, Stephanie,’ Jamie says, his face lighting up.
I’m so shocked to see him, I almost lose my breath, never mind my balance.
Quite literally speechless, I look at him for a few seconds before lunging towards him, giving him the biggest hug. He holds on to my waist and we stand, for what feels like minutes, not saying anything. Every now and then we squeeze each other, which makes us both giggle.
‘How did you know where I lived?’ I ask, confused, pulling back to face him.
‘You told me you were moving to this village last time we spoke so I just knocked on everyone’s doors asking if they knew you.’
‘Oh my God! Are you serious?’
‘Yeah. I think that old lady at number four thinks I’m mental. But I could have guessed this was your house just from the outside.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at it!’ he says, nodding to the little front garden which is filled with brightly coloured flowers. There’s a cute candy-pink birdhouse sitting on the left side of the garden, next to wind chimes and other swirly ornaments that have a calm stillness about them in this searing heat, but kick into action when a breeze starts up. ‘It’s like something out of Alice in Wonderland. It’s so very you!’