“We stayed at Rhiannon’s last night,” I admitted. As soon as I said it, I felt guilty. I should have never have mentioned Rhiannon’s name. Now she was smack bang in the middle of my mess.
“So, you and I have a slight disagreement and you run to Rhiannon? Fuck, Gillian. Grow up. Why do you always have to run to your friends?”
“Because I don’t have a family. Screw you, Joel. You kicked me out of my bedroom. Tell me, what sort of personal life do we have? We’re fucking flat mates. The only thing we have in common are the amazing daughters that you fathered then conveniently forgot,” I dared.
Hanging out with Rhiannon had given me the courage I didn’t know I had. The life I had with Joel, I realized, wasn’t the life I wanted. This wasn’t enough for me. And this life, this fake marriage, wasn’t something I wanted my kids to see. The last thing I wanted was for them to think this was acceptable.
“What’d you say?”
“Nothing. Just forget it. Like you do everything else.”
“Fuck you, Gillian. I do everything for you—”
“No you don’t,” I cut him off angrily. “You might pay the bills, but you’re delusional if you think you do everything for us. When was the last time you took the time out of your very important day and spent time doing your daughter’s homework with her? Or read Bianca a story? Or even asked how I was doing? You know carrying our son. What happened to the man I married?”
Joel stumbled backwards at my questions. And I have to admit it felt so good to watch him squirm. I took the opportunity to hug the towel tighter around me.
“Don’t you dare throw this back on me, Gillian. You have no idea what I am going through.”
“Well, tell me!”
“What?”
“You think you’re going through something. How about talking to me? Instead of packing all my things and tossing me out of my bedroom. Why don’t you try being an adult and just tell me what’s going on?” I challenged, pushing past him and storming into the spare room which had now become mine.
Joel followed, watching silently as I pulled on a pair of old grey tracksuit pants and a striped sweater as fast as I could, not bothering with underwear.
“Do you even care what I do all day, or just that your ATM card works?” he asked angrily.
As horrible as it was to be arguing over this petty crap, it was the first real conversation we’d had in weeks. “What have I done to make you think I hate you?”
“Just forget it,” Joel walked away dismissively. “But don’t you dare think you can take my girls away from me.”
Summoning all my strength, I called after him, “Fuck you, Joel. Don’t you dare walk away from me! Why’d you kick me out of our bedroom?”
“Gillian!” he growled. “Come on, tell me!”
I watched as he spun on his heel. Even his strut was angry. A moment of fear passed through me but I was in too deep to back down now. Facing me, I could feel the hate.
“You’re a leech. You’ve done nothing but ruin my life for the last seven years. You trapped me in a life that I didn’t want. And yet again you go and get knocked up. All I ever do is work to pay for everything. You mean nothing to me. Don’t you get that? If you left then maybe I could have my life back. One that I want to be a part of. One I actually liked. Not this domestic bullshit.”
“Come on, Joel, don’t hold back now,” I challenged, following him into the lounge. By now we were screaming at each other not giving a fuck who heard.
“I want you to get the fuck out,” Joel stated so coldly that I almost ended up with frostbite.
“This is my home, Joel. Mine and my daughters,” I reminded him.
“No, Gillian! This was my home. A home you turned upside down again and again and again until I could barely recognize it or myself.”
“Is that what you really believe?” I asked, flabbergasted.
“I don’t know how else to say it, Gillian. I don’t want you in my life. That’s why you’re no longer in it. That’s why I kicked you out. I couldn’t bare the suffocation and boredom anymore.” The way Joel said it broke my heart. He was no longer yelling, he was no longer leering over me. Instead, he sat down at the kitchen bench, sipped his drink and spoke slowly and calmly. The part that hurt the most was that he was so composed. He wasn’t yelling out of spite or anger. He was speaking from his heart, no matter how black that heart was.
As tears streamed down my face, Joel got up and walked away without looking back. He took the keys from his pocket. I watched in silence as he unlocked the newly installed dead bolt on the bedroom door. As he vanished into his room, I heard his phone ring, before he let out a pained roar and a long list of colourful expletives.
My marriage was over.
GILLIAN
Six years later
I dropped Lucas off at his first day of kindergarten and tried not to cry. I hadn’t realized just how different boys were to girls until that moment. When Bianca and Charli had gone to school they wouldn’t let go of my hand and begged me to stay for hours. Eventually I pried myself from their death grip and snuck out the door. But Lucas had pretty much waved goodbye as he got out of the car and said, “See you later.” No kiss, no hug, and no tears, at least not from Lucas.
Squinting through my watery eyes, I was glad I’d taken the morning off work. They’d been pretty awesome about everything even if they didn’t know the full story. I headed toward the office, but glancing at my watch I realized I still had an hour before they expected me. I’d thought dropping Lucas at school would take longer, but since it was quick and painless, I had time to take myself out for coffee.
I convinced myself the free parking spot just outside the front of my favourite coffee shop was a sign. Extra me time, a vacant car park, no queue, and the best ever apple cinnamon muffins staring back at me. Opening my wallet was the only disappointment. These days I could barely scrape twenty dollars together. Not enough for anything. Hunting around in the car I felt like I’d won the lotto when I found a couple of two-dollar coins wedged in between the backseat. I had no idea how long they’d been there or where they’d come from, but the finders’ keepers’ rules applied in my car.
Ecstatic with my find, I jumped from the car, all my enthusiasm returning, and dashed up to the counter and ordered. After I was handed my steaming latte and muffin, I spotted a huge tree in the middle of the park just across the road. “Bugger it,” I told myself as I darted between cars and planted my bum on the park bench down beneath its shady branches.
Sitting there, peacefully eating my breakfast, I just watched the people come and go, imagining their lives. There were men in business suits strutting along hurriedly talking a million miles an hour into their wireless earpieces. Women in short skirts sucking in every last breath of their cigarette before stomping it out with a stiletto heel before darting back into the building. A young mother already looking exhausted pushed along a pram, and an old man on the motorized scooter was almost mowing people down. I could’ve sat there all day just quietly watching and daydreaming.
It was easy and fun to imagine their lives. I wondered if they, like me, got up every day, put on a costume, and pretended to be something more than they were. To hide their secret pain that they were forced to bury beneath the suit and tie so no one would ever know. I liked to believe that my life wasn’t the only one that wasn’t all it appeared to be.
After a while my time enjoying the quiet sunshine ran out. I had to get to work. It’s amazing how real life drags you back into reality and the dreaming and fantasies just seem to melt away. Nothing more than a taunting distant memory. As I jumped into the car and pulled out into the traffic my brain slipped into overdrive as I ran through the to do list in my head.
Twenty minutes later I was at my desk sorting through piles of mail to be distributed. Six months ago, I’d taken a part-time job to help support us. I usually worked from nine to two, four days a week. My job was pretty simple and didn’t require overtime. It felt good
to feel needed, to have responsibilities, but most of all it felt good every fortnight when my bank account bounced back into the black. I sorted and distributed the mail, did any photocopying people needed but were too busy or important to do themselves, answered phones, and was the general office gopher. If there was an important meeting on it was usually my job to organize the coffee and cakes. And the hours were flexible, something I needed more desperately than the money. I needed to be able to drop the kids off in the morning and pick them up at the end of the day. Through the years, that was the one stable point in their lives. They knew that Mum would be there to meet them every day.
“Hi Jane,” I said as she hastily handed me another pile of files to sort through. Sometimes Jane was a bitch. Really, that was the only way to describe her personality for six months of the year. The other six months, however, someone else entirely worked in her place. She was happy, pleasant to talk to, and quite good company. You just had to pick which Jane had come to work each day and adjust. If it was the bitch, all you could do was duck for cover and wait till it passed; if it was the fun Jane, enjoy a laugh and a smile while the going was good.
The look on her face and the fact that I received only a barely audible grunt told me exactly which day it was, and I was going to ensure I steered clear.
Work was easy and rewarding. In the office I got not only adult conversation, which I desperately craved, but also some appreciation for my efforts. When I first started it surprised me how unbelievable it felt to get a simple thank you or a smile or a “job well done.” For me it was the little things that made a difference.
Each day seemed to fly by as uneventfully as the next, which was exactly what I needed. It seemed like my personal life was such a shit show that I knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle a complicated and drama-filled workday. I guess that was the best thing about working with a team of men. Most of the time I was the only female, a situation that would intimidate many other women, but I honestly felt like I could be myself with them. There was no bitchiness and no one judging me.
“How did Lucas do on his first day at school?” Scott asked, leaning over the petition between our cubicles.
“He wouldn’t even let me walk him into his classroom. I got a ‘see ya Mum’ at the car and he was gone.” I laughed easily.
“I would have gladly swapped. Rachel cried for over an hour. Every time I took a step towards the door it just got louder. Anyone would’ve thought she was being torture.” Scott was a good guy. A single dad doing his best to raise his young daughter. Although he didn’t know my situation—it was something only a handful of people did—he some days seemed to understand me better than I understood myself.
“Tomorrow can only be better,” I encouraged. “Let’s hope so.” He laughed, giving me two
thumbs up before vanishing down the corridor.
After he left, I found myself wondering about Joel. These days it was something I did less and less, yet for some reason today, I couldn’t help it. I wondered if he even remembered that it was Lucas’s first day at school. He certainly hadn’t said anything.
My marriage to Joel had disintegrated rapidly after he moved me out of our bedroom. Stupidly, in the beginning I convinced myself he was just hurt and angry. I thought he blamed me for everything, but that once he’d calmed down things would go back to normal. Like our normal fights. We’d both be angry, say things we regretted, both get hurt, then upset, then angry again, before coming back and making up. Or at least call a truce. But this time it was different. A week after the lock was on his bedroom door, Joel still hadn’t been to work. He was home all day every day. And he wasn’t doing anything. I tried to ask him if he was on leave or if he had plans, but the only response I got were incoherent grunts. Then one day he flew into a violent fit. He hadn’t spoken to me in three days when all of a sudden, the bedroom door was kicked open; a chair was thrown, shattering the glass tabletop into a waterfall of broken glass. I barely had enough time to shoo the girls into their bedroom and close the door before he came looking for me.
I remembered trying to get as far away from the girls’ bedroom as I could. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I refused to let them get caught in the crossfire. The less they heard, the less they saw, the better. I’d seen Joel furious before, but nothing could have prepared me for this. His eyes were glazed over and bulging out of their sockets. The veins in his forehead were poking out at odd angles, sweat gathering on his brow and top lip. The air surrounding him was thick with venom. At first, he didn’t say a word, he just glared at me. Then, out of nowhere, he backhanded me across the face. I didn’t even see it coming. Knocking me off balance, I crashed into the hallway wall before sliding down the wall in a daze. I was woozy and off balance. Gathering a handful of my hair in his fist Joel pulled me up off the tiles and forced me to face him.
“This is all your fault! You pathetic, good for nothing slut!” he growled into my face, covering me with spit.
I still remember the stench of the bourbon on his breath. Standing there, trying not to collapse or shake, I looked him in the eye. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I wasn’t really thinking properly. When he punched me in the stomach, I felt like the life had been sucked out of me. I went numb with fear as I spluttered, and my legs turned to jelly. I didn’t know how the hell my son was ever going to survive this. Still holding me by my hair, Joel shook me roughly, then tossed me to the ground and discarded me like I was rubbish. I tried not to make a sound, but I couldn’t help it. The whimper escaped my lips.
“From this moment on,” he snarled, “you’re on your own. I’m not giving you a single fucking thing. You have taken everything from me. And now, I’m done.” He started to walk away and I remembered feeling relieved that it was over. But another whimper leaked out.
I was cowering on the floor, Joel standing over me. He looked more like a monster than I had ever seen him. Nostrils flaring, face covered in sweat and rage, he tossed his head back and then spat on me. He deliberately spat on me. Then, as if for good measure, he swung one leg behind him before kicking me as hard as he could in the back. I remember seeing it coming but it was like it was happening in slow motion. Even now I can clearly recall the painful howl I let out as his boot connected with my side and I recoiled in agony. And I remember looking up, seeing Adele standing there in the doorway. Actually, she was the last thing I saw—two of her, her face pale—before I blacked out.
When I woke up in the hospital, they asked a million questions. And I couldn’t answer any. I didn’t know how I’d gotten to the hospital or who’d brought me or why I was there. But when I tried to sit up, I knew there was a reason. My whole body was screaming in pain. There were two nurses monitoring me and my baby. I understood very little of what they said in their hushed calm voices, but the look on their worried faces wasn’t hard to read. I was in real trouble.
Ten days later they let me go home. Ten days later I saw my girls. Ten days later Adele filled me in on what she knew. Joel had been fired. He had attacked the receptionist and the investigation concluded that he’d done all the things she’d accused him of—threats, sexual assault, as well as a host of other company policy breaches. He’d been dismissed instantly. Then Adele told me what she knew about what had happened. Charli had called her and asked her to get here as quick as she could. When she arrived, she saw me cowering in the hall, with my husband towering over me. As she stood there, she watched him kick me and walk away. Joel didn’t even see her until she was on the floor beside me calling the ambulance. Adele explained that she’d had no idea what had been going on. And she knew nothing about Joel’s violent behaviour. Although she was disgusted and embarrassed, she couldn’t bring herself to tell the police what she’d seen happen.
A big part of me believed she was a coward for that. Then I remembered the police asking me and I too had told them I didn’t know. I hated Joel more than I ever thought possible, but for some unknown reason
I just couldn’t do that. I was a pathetic coward. But no matter what he was to me, he would always be my children’s father.
“You okay?” Scott asked politely, his head popping up again. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
An icy shiver ran down my spine. I despised the fact that the mere thought of Joel still brought me undone. I knew I’d never forget that day, but I didn’t think I would have to relive it so vividly every time his name popped into my head either.
Shaking my head and running my fingers through my hair, I pasted on my best smile and faked it. “Absolutely. Just away with the pixies. Well, that’s me for the day. I better go pick up the girls. I’m sure Lucas will just tell me he’s going to walk home, but I better check. Don’t stay too late.” With that I threw everything I had in my handbag as quickly as I could and got out of there. A cold sweat had taken control of my body and I didn’t know how long I would be able to keep it together before I fell apart. The last thing I wanted was to be known as was the crying girl.
I made it to my car. Just. Punching the steering wheel, I swore and cursed and cried and howled. All of this happened years ago, yet here I was sitting alone in my car in a shopping centre car park, crying like it happened yesterday. Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I threw the car into reverse, squealed the tires, and took off.
Half an hour later I was home. Still tangled in the past, I barely recognized the house in front of me. That first night when Joel had taken me home I’d been mesmerized by the beauty and splendour of the gardens, but they were dead now. The water feature had been turned off and the fish had died. The fairy lights littered about the yard had all blown their globes and been blown from the branches. Gone was the magical paradise and in its place stood a yard littered with bindies and tumble weeds.
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