by B M Carroll
‘I need some time to think about what we discussed … Can I sleep on it?’
Jasmin was watching us closely.
‘Sure.’ I used a brisk tone, to stop our daughter from getting ideas. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday, at the game. We’ll talk then.’
Today, I need to be brave all over again. Aidan’s coming to soccer, and Jasmin is going home with him afterwards. My husband and daughter will leave the soccer pitch, hand in hand, and I’ll be left behind. The whole afternoon, evening, night, and most of tomorrow on my own. I need to look as though I’m not devastated at the thought. Even better if I manage to look excited. Pity I was never any good at acting.
‘Jasmin, your laces are undone …’
My daughter looks down, surprised. She shouldn’t be; this is a regular occurrence. She is often too busy talking or looking around to apply herself properly to the task.
‘Come here.’ I bend down and pull the first pair tightly before tying a double knot.
‘Do you think we’ll win today, Mum?’ she asks from above.
Despite the promise of the first game, we haven’t yet managed to secure a win. It’s hard to pinpoint why. The Cheetahs are a good little team, gritty and quite skilful for their age. I guess it’s luck … it hasn’t been on their side. And I know how that feels.
‘It’s not about winning. It’s about trying your best. Other foot.’
‘There’s Daddy … And Sophie.’
Sophie? Oh Lord, I guess she gave him a lift. I imagined him coming here on the bus, not with her.
The second lace needs to be unpicked before I can tie it properly.
‘There.’ I stand up too quickly, blood rushing to my face. Aidan and Sophie are right in front of me, holding hands. For pity’s sake, why rub my face in it? Couldn’t they pretend, just for my sake, just for one measly hour, that they’re not intimate with each other? Spare me some degree of humiliation?
‘Morning.’ Aidan ruffles Jasmin’s hair. ‘How did you sleep?’
Jasmin shrugs and looks to me for an assessment.
‘Better than usual,’ I say a little breathlessly. ‘She only got up four times.’
I’d been looking forward to sharing this news with Aidan, but Sophie standing here – with that perpetual unimpressed expression and my husband’s hand clutched possessively in hers – has sort of taken the moment away and made me question what I thought of as a definite improvement.
Jasmin darts away, joining the circle around her coach to receive a last-minute pep talk. Sophie, Aidan and I are left alone, not knowing where to look or position ourselves. We’ll never be able to pull this off. We’ll never be able to achieve that amicable, easy-going camaraderie that other separated couples manage to achieve when new partners and new children are added to the mix. I feel anything but amicable.
‘Here’s her bag.’ I thrust the backpack at Aidan. ‘She wanted to do her own packing, so goodness knows what’s in there.’
‘Thanks.’ He sets it by his feet. ‘So last night was better?’
‘Yes. A little.’
I desperately want to elaborate and give a blow-by-blow account, but it’s impossible with Sophie. She radiates disapproval and lack of interest in equal measure.
The game starts, and the three of us form a line: Sophie, Aidan, then me. It’s a relief to have something to focus on, something other than the fact that my husband is standing right next to me with another woman. At least they’ve stopped holding hands.
‘Come on, Cheetahs!’ I call out, my voice sounding as hollow as I feel inside.
About ten minutes into the first half, Aidan leans in closer to me, so close that his breath is warm on my face. ‘About that issue we discussed … I’m not ready … I need more time.’ His voice is barely audible.
I watch some play before I murmur, ‘Take whatever time you need.’
I did some research last night. Apparently we can donate the embryos, but that’s only barely more acceptable than discarding them. They’re our babies. They belong with us, in our family, not in another. Of course I can’t say any of this right at this moment, unless I want Sophie to hear. Does she know about this dilemma we have? Has Aidan discussed it with her?
Hannah is here. She catches my eye and gives me a smile. It’s a lifeline, that smile of hers.
‘I just need to catch someone,’ I say to Aidan. ‘A friend … I’ll be back later …’
As I make my way towards Hannah, a ball comes whizzing over the sideline, narrowly missing my head.
‘Sorry, Mrs Ryan.’
The culprit is Finn, one of the twins.
‘That’s all right,’ I say cheerily. ‘No brain damage … This time.’
Everyone laughs, and I hand the ball to the opposing team for the throw-in.
Never mind brain damage, it’s heart damage that’s the problem here. I have lost the man I love, my soul mate, the father of my children (yes, I am counting the ones who haven’t been born). I can make jokes, I can tie laces, I can walk and talk, I can function. But my heart is torn to pieces. I am not sure it will ever be whole again.
38
Hannah
Flipping heck! I don’t believe it. Sophie McCarthy. Again. At the soccer field, of all places. I thought I was hallucinating at first but, no, she’s for real. There she is, wearing a beanie and one of those big, puffy jackets. She’s going to be too hot in all that gear. It’s only the first half-hour or so that’s cold, then the autumn sunshine kicks in. Is that Chloe’s ex she’s talking to? Talk about six degrees of separation! Is there no getting away from her? I was still getting emails when I went to bed last night, at 11 p.m. At least she hasn’t seen me. Not yet.
‘I know that woman, the one standing next to Aidan,’ I say to Chloe, when she comes over a few minutes later. ‘I work with her.’
She looks taken aback. ‘You work with Sophie?’
‘She’s my boss,’ I say, trying to keep a neutral tone.
‘Oh.’
Chloe shoves her hands in her pockets. The action feels defensive, and it makes me look closer at her face. Her mouth seems to have a slight tremble. She’s upset. About Sophie? Or her ex-husband? Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Even though I’m bursting with questions – Are Sophie and Aidan a couple? It certainly looks like it. Does Chloe get on with her? Maybe Sophie’s a lot more agreeable socially than she is at work – I make myself shut up and concentrate on the game.
For the next fifteen minutes or so we stand mostly in silence, other than the odd word of encouragement called out to our kids, who’re being run ragged by the opposition but – somehow – haven’t yet conceded a goal. After another few close calls, the whistle blows for half-time.
‘Get your drinks, team.’ Davy is right next to us, his white hair standing up from the breeze. ‘Gather round.’
He waits until they all have their drink bottles, then crouches down so he’s at their level.
‘Now, the good news is that youse haven’t conceded a goal …’
‘What’s the bad news?’ Callum asks.
‘Trust Callum to be negative,’ I say sotto voce to Chloe, and she smiles.
‘The bad news is they’re dominating us,’ Davy answers bluntly. ‘They’re making us run, and we’re getting tired …’
It sounds like my work. I’m being dominated too, being made to run around and chase my tail, and I’m fatiguing.
‘What’s Sophie like to work for?’ Chloe asks, with uncanny timing.
I hesitate. I don’t like to be indiscreet but, after the stress of the last few weeks, it’s hard to conjure up an outright lie. Dishonesty takes energy, something I’m completely out of.
‘Tough.’ There, that was honest, and not too derogatory.
Chloe grimaces. ‘Yes, I imagine she’d be a hard taskmaster.’
‘How do you get on with her?’ I ask, turning so I can fully see her face.
‘To be fair, I think I’d find it hard to like anyone who’s in a relationship
with Aidan … I’m too emotionally involved …’ She sniffs, then plucks a tissue from her pocket and blows her nose. ‘Sorry, I think I’m coming down with a cold.’
I feel her misery so keenly it could almost be my own. She’s a pretty girl, Chloe, but this morning – with her red nose and drawn face – she looks worn out, trampled on.
‘How long have they been together?’ I ask sympathetically, hoping for her sake that it turns out to be a short-lived fling.
‘A few months … I’m as bad now as I was at the start. I can’t accept it, Hannah. It’s doubly hard, given the circumstances … I can’t stop blaming myself for how things have turned out.’
‘How exactly did they meet? Was she a friend of yours?’
‘No. Never.’ Chloe’s response is vehement. ‘We crashed into her car one morning. Aidan was driving, we were both distracted …’
Suddenly I can picture the scene. Two mangled cars. Fates intersecting. The guilt, the responsibility, the consequences. ‘Oh my God … the accident that caused her to miss all that time from work …’
‘Yes, that was because of us … Aidan and me.’
‘Did it go to court?’
‘Yes. Aidan pleaded guilty. He’s going to be sentenced in a few weeks’ time. We’re all on tenterhooks, waiting.’
‘And when did … How did they …’ I’m making a mess of this, but she knows exactly what I’m asking.
‘When did they fall in love? Afterwards … He saw a lot of her. He wanted to help her out. And it just happened, his feelings changed, or so he says …’ Chloe tries to smile, but once again it looks more like a grimace. ‘And if it’s not hard enough seeing her here with him today, or them living together, I also have to grapple with Jasmin being drawn into it. She stays with them every other weekend now. She’s with Sophie when she should be with me.’
The game resumes. Despite Davy’s pep talk, the other team continues to dominate, resulting in two quick goals. The game looks irredeemable and the team is clearly disheartened.
‘I’d better go back,’ Chloe says. ‘I don’t want them to think I’m being antisocial.’
‘Of course.’
Slowly she makes her way down the sideline, coming to a stop next to Aidan. He turns towards her and says something. I should stop staring.
I feel sorry for her. How could I not? I know just how lonely she’ll be tonight, and tomorrow. When Harry died, I felt the same. The weekends were like an abyss, insurmountable, never-ending. But at least I didn’t have to watch him holding hands with another woman. I can only imagine how agonizing that would be for Chloe.
‘Come on, Cheetahs!’ Callum shouts from the far side of the field. ‘Let’s get one back off them.’
He’s been very vocal this game, calling out to his team mates, shouting, ‘Time!’ and ‘Man on!’ and ‘Well in!’ It must be something Davy is trying to instil at training. It’s good.
For once, it’s Finn who’s the despondent one.
‘We’re not going to win any games this season,’ he moans in the car on the way home. ‘We’re going to come last.’
‘We are going to win,’ Callum counters fiercely. ‘That team is top of the league, and we only lost by two goals …’
‘It’s not about winning,’ I say, wondering how many parents across the city, across the country, are bandying about that exact same phrase on their way home from Saturday sport. ‘Callum’s right … They were a good side, and your team made a valiant effort.’
‘What does “valiant” mean?’ Finn still sounds sulky.
‘Brave. Fearless.’
Speaking of bravery, it was decidedly cowardly of me not to go over to Sophie. She obviously didn’t see me, but I did see her, and the grown-up thing to do would have been to say hello, at the very least. Something came over me there on the sideline: as one part of my brain was telling me I should approach her, another, stronger, part was resisting with all its might. I’m a grown woman. Why should I have to be sociable with people I just don’t like? What is the point?
The thought stays with me for the rest of the drive home: I don’t like Sophie McCarthy. It has taken me quite a long time to arrive at this conclusion, because I was trying so hard to be positive, but now that I’m here I feel quite definite about it. I don’t like how Sophie behaves at work, how she creates deadlines almost for sport, how she huffs and puffs and harasses her staff. I don’t like how she backed Jane into a corner – goading her into a resignation – and I don’t like how she has no respect for other people’s partners, or children, or private lives. Yes, she got me a pay rise, and for a while that distracted me, fooled me into believing that perhaps there was a better, nicer, kinder side to her. The truth is, the pay rise wasn’t about generosity on her part, or an acknowledgement of my efforts and hard work, or even sympathy about my financial situation. The pay rise was about keeping me in line, indebted, putting me in a position where I couldn’t say no to her demands, which have been coming in thicker and faster than ever.
Another thing I don’t like about Sophie McCarthy, although it is absolutely none of my business, is her relationship with Chloe’s ex. Poor Chloe is obviously heartbroken. Jasmin left directly after the game, with Aidan and Sophie on either side of her. She had a bright pink backpack on her shoulders, presumably her overnight bag, and she looked every bit as reluctant about the sleepover as her mother did.
A conversation comes back to me, from Sophie’s office, a few weeks ago. Didn’t she say something about her partner’s daughter being a nightmare to get to sleep at night? Is it because Jasmin feels anxious, intimidated, threatened? All the things I feel when I’m around Sophie? Oh my God, I remember now: Sophie made a joke about giving Jasmin a good old-fashioned smack. Was it a joke? She wouldn’t go as far as hitting Jasmin, would she?
Back in the early days with Harry, when we’d talk late into the night, exchanging our innermost thoughts and fears and dreams, I told him about Sophie. About what I saw that day at the ravine.
Harry had laughed. ‘So what are you saying, Hannie? That the girl was pushed? By her walking partner?’
I remember getting annoyed with him. ‘It’s not a joke. She lied. Why would she lie if she didn’t have something to hide?’
Harry tried to pull me close for a kiss. I shoved him away.
‘So why didn’t you say anything at the time?’ he asked, taking me more seriously.
‘Because I didn’t have the confidence to speak up. That’s why. And it’s not as if I saw the push. All I knew was that she lied. And I convinced myself that I didn’t even know that for sure, that my eyes could’ve been playing tricks on me.’
It feels like centuries ago, that conversation with Harry.
But what if Sophie did push Kristina Owens down that ravine? What if she’s genuinely dangerous? What if she saw Kristina as an impediment to her aspirations to be dux? And what if she sees Jasmin as an impediment to her life with Aidan?
The boys are fooling around in the back of the car, wrestling each other, arms and legs everywhere.
‘Stop it, you two. That’s an order.’
We get home, have lunch and get stuck into a school project. Then we have dinner, showers and watch a movie. It’s late when I get to bed and I’m extremely tired. I yearn for sleep, oblivion, but instead I find myself back at the ravine. Looking across to the other side, trying to reconstruct the scene and who was where, trying to get my head around what actually happened. But it’s useless. If only I had some certainty. If only I could be sure of what I saw, and what it meant.
I turn in bed, adjust the positioning of my pillow, and now I’m in the school hall, clapping as Sophie receives her plaque for dux, seeing a close-up of her flushed face and triumphant smile. How far was she prepared to go in order to secure that plaque?
I’m being melodramatic. There was never a suggestion by anyone at school that Kristina was pushed. Why am I being like this? Why am I so on edge?
It’s because of Jasmin.
Her obvious reluctance as she left the soccer field sandwiched between Sophie and Aidan. How young and vulnerable she seemed. Knowing how downright intimidating Sophie can be at times. Knowing that Sophie regards Jasmin as an inconvenience, at the very least.
I can’t help but be deeply troubled by it all.
39
Sophie
It’s odd having a child in the back of the car. It makes me feel off balance, and a little irritable, if I’m honest. All Aidan’s attention is directed at Jasmin, as though I’m not even here. It’s not that I need to be the centre of attention. I’m old school, that’s all. The ‘children should be seen and not heard’ school.
‘Hey, are you all right back there?’ Aidan enquires in an overly cheerful tone. ‘It was a good game … A close one.’
From what I could see, it wasn’t close at all. Why do parents feel compelled to lie? What’s wrong with the truth? The other team were better than you were. That’s why you lost. End of story.
‘You played well … I was proud of you.’
As a matter of fact, Jasmin did play well. I was surprised; she was as good as any of the boys out there. It made me see a different side to her: tough, gritty, determined. She got a ball in the face once, and it obviously hurt, but she blinked away the tears of shock and refused to come off when the coach gave her the option. I liked that. Aidan seemed surprised when I offered to give him a lift to the game. Obviously, I would have preferred to spend my Saturday morning sleeping in, but the thought of the three of them being all cosy together urged me out of bed. Chloe seemed shocked to see me there, which was the whole point. I made sure Aidan and I were holding hands.
Aidan is constantly checking the rear-view mirror, smiling back at Jasmin, and looking over his shoulder whenever we stop. ‘I thought we might make some pasta tonight … You can help … and we’ll watch another movie …’ The distraction level is phenomenal. I’m just glad I’m the one who’s driving; I can see how children cause car accidents. Speaking of accidents, the police contacted me yesterday, looking for further medical reports, which I faxed through straight away. I’m dreading the hearing, reliving the horror of the accident while at the same time worrying myself sick about Aidan. What if the judge comes down harder than Aidan’s legal-advice team are expecting? What if he’s incarcerated and I have to walk out of that court room alone? Unlikely, I know, but it’s hanging over me, hanging over both of us. It’ll be such an enormous relief when it’s over. To make matters worse, Jane’s hearing has been scheduled for the week before. It’ll get thrown out, of course. An extraordinary waste of time, money and – especially for me – energy.