‘Me, too. Will you visit? I know it’s a long way, but I’d like to see you.’
I gulped. Fuck.
‘No, sorry. I’m not going to. I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
‘Nice to know you care.’
‘Look, I do care, but not like that. Have you thought about getting some counselling?’
‘What? To get over you? You’ve got a fucking cheek!’
‘No! About your drug habit and self-destructive behaviour.’
‘Oh, just fuck off—’
I terminated the call before he could say anything else. I blocked his number with shaking hands. That conversation just confirmed it – no more men.
*
Before the week was out, there was another romantic casualty in the house…
‘I can’t believe I was just about to buy the last available flight. I texted him to see if the timing was OK. We’d discussed the visit when he was over a few weeks ago. It was all going ahead. He was going to pay half because we’d left it too late and they were so expensive. Anyway, he called me when he got the text.’
‘Oh, Ali, what a fucker.’ And also no surprise really…
‘I know! He just said, I think we both know this is going nowhere. I’m never coming back, and this isn’t fair on you. Please don’t waste your money on visiting.’ She stood leaning against the door as I wrapped myself up in my duvet, reluctant to get out of bed for my morning run, the bouncy new routine on writing days when the kids were with Sam or at school. Ali resembled a mad professor with her tufty shagger’s clump, horn-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose and her monochrome men’s paisley pyjamas.
‘So clinical.’
‘He did say sorry,’ she conceded, ‘and all the usual crap people say when they’re binning you.’
‘Oh God, did he say: “It’s not you, it’s me”?’
‘Yes! Why do people say that?’
‘Because it makes them feel less guilty. Anyway, you seem OK. Or are you just putting on a brave face?’
She remained silent as a single tear slipped out from under her glasses.
‘I don’t know. It’s not about him, really. I just don’t want to be on my own.’
‘Get in bed!’ I whipped the duvet aside and scooted over to make room for her. ‘Look, I liked him and he was fun, but you want someone who wants to be in the same country as you. So you may as well be on your own, right?’
‘I know all that. It was the planning things, the stuff to look forward to, the knowing I had a distraction from my life from thinking about Dad, about how awful it is for Mum, how Grace has no grandpa.’ Ali’s hands flew up to her eyes and angrily wiped the tears. ‘That’s why I had the affair with Jim – I hoped it would end with us living together as a family again, something to build on when everything else was just so sad. Now it just emphasises how broken my family actually is. And the icing on the fucking cake is I have no boyfriend either. It’s all shit!’ I held her while she wept. I wished I could help, but as I found out with grief, you just have to be in it, allow it to blast you with its presence.
‘How can this be my life? How can I be living in a house share with a baby and not have my own place where my mum can come and stay? I keep thinking things will be better when… But what? When I have a flat? I will never be able to buy one now, not even a studio flat. The money I got back from Jim got sucked into Dad’s funeral and fixing my car, and what’s left isn’t enough for a deposit. I don’t earn enough to even get a mortgage and renting somewhere round here would use what’s left in no time. Work has practically dried up now I have no agent. Mum’s in a pit of hell dealing with Dad’s finances, trying to sell the house, move back here. Everything just feels so unstable. I wish he hadn’t died. It’s left a hole in all of our lives.’
‘Your mum is always welcome here, for as long as she likes, you know that.’
‘Oh, fuck, you must think I’m so ungrateful, saying all that about living in the attic and how shit it all is.’
‘No, I get it. You’re having a really awful time at the moment. Of course the natural thing is to want your own home. But to keep thinking things will get better when this happens or that happens isn’t helpful. You’ll spend your entire life waiting for the next thing to make you happy. This is your life: whether it’s what you planned or not, it’s where you are right now. It won’t always be good, but it won’t always be this shit. Life is hard and then sometimes it isn’t. Grief also makes you mental. You can’t try and outrun it: it always catches you in the end. Maybe slow down, be on your own, see what you want. Why not start with getting a new agent? You did so well on your own after Jim dropped you, but I think you need someone in your corner again.’
‘How did you get to be such a guru?’
‘I’m not a guru!’ I protested. ‘I’m just a stupid twat who has read a lot of books and done some courses. I’m still a bloody work in progress. Just watch my reaction when Sam gets engaged. I’ll probably have a meltdown and torch their house!’
‘You won’t. I bet you’ll be with someone by then.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because you don’t want to be with anyone and like being on your own, therefore Sod’s law says it will happen.’
‘I do love it at the moment. I feel light as a feather, free as a bird!’ And I playfully kicked the covers up with my feet.
29
So, You’re the Ex-Wife…
Can you drop the kids at mine later? I’m stuck at work.
‘Is he mad?’ Mel said when I showed the text to her and Ali. ‘I’m not driving back home tonight. Colin’s in charge.’
‘You know what he’s like. If he thinks the weather isn’t bad, it isn’t bad.’ It had been snowing solidly for three hours transforming our little corner of south-east London into Svalbard.
I’m not going anywhere. Have you seen the weather?
My phone rang immediately.
‘Look, why won’t you drive?’ Sam asked tersely, no ‘Hello’, no ‘Are you OK?’ Straight to the point.
‘Because the roads are horrendous. Have you looked outside?’
‘It’s just a bit of snow.’
‘It isn’t. It’s a blizzard over here and I slipped all over the road going to nursery; it’s too icy.’
‘But you’ve got the massive Volvo; you’ll be fine.’
‘I won’t!’ But there was a more insistent reason why I didn’t want to schlep all the way over to his house; I didn’t want to meet Carrie or see their house, plastered with photos of their happy life with my children posing as a counterfeit perfect family. I felt more moved on than I had in the past two years, but that was a step too far right now. Carrie could stay in her box until I was ready to open it…
‘Fine. I’ll see if Carrie can come over and get them then.’ He put the phone down before I could object and I waited for the inevitable text.
Carrie is on her way. Please make sure the kids are ready to go. She’s bringing the baby with her.
Oh, rub it in, why don’t you! I wanted to type back: Perfect fucking Carrie being brave and battling over to our house through the blizzard with baby in tow.
‘Carrie’s on her way,’ I blurted out to the girls in the kitchen.
‘What? Has she seen the weather? There’s virtually no visibility out there,’ Ali said. ‘Plus, you nearly went up the kerb on the way back from nursery.’
‘I know. He wouldn’t listen. I don’t think it’s as bad in the centre of town where he works.’
‘You’ve never met Carrie,’ Mel said astutely, pulling her scarf round her neck. Even with the heating on it was a bit chilly in the kitchen.
‘Oh, fuck, you have to put some make-up on!’ Ali cried, and started flapping. ‘Now! You need a spruce up.’
I checked in the mirror above the dresser. I looked my usual hassled make-up-free self.
‘Go on, upstairs, get some slap on,’ Ali ordered. Mel looked on amused at the fuss. ‘And put a different
jumper on. That one’s got all sorts of shit all over it.’
‘Kids, Carrie is on her way – can you get ready, please? School bags, coats!’
‘Carrie’s coming here?’ Isla asked, poking her head out of her bedroom where she was playing schools with her Sylvanians.
‘Yes. She’ll be here quite soon.’
‘Mummy, is this the first time you’ve met her?’
I nodded. Isla came out of her room and wordlessly hugged me. I hugged her back, my breath catching in my throat. How did she always know? I dashed into my room and rummaged through my sad little make-up bag. Cover-up on a zit, some blusher, mascara and I brushed my hair. At least it wasn’t too grey at the roots. I had touched them up a few weeks ago. As instructed, I changed my jumper for a clean black one, and added a pair of dangly silver star earrings for good measure. Hi, I mouthed to myself in the mirror. I practised a forced smile and hand shake, remembering Dad’s advice – a bone crusher always ensures you will be remembered, and potentially feared.
‘That’s better,’ Ali smiled at me. ‘You look fresh, not trying to impress. Very natural.’
‘You know she’ll be more shit scared than you,’ Mel sagely pointed out. ‘Don’t forget, it’s her first time meeting you, the revered mother of his original family, the first wife, the one she has to live up to.’
‘You think?’
‘Oh God, of course,’ Ali agreed. ‘I shat myself the first time I met Diane. She was so nice to me; I felt so bad afterwards because she was a real person with feelings. Before that she was just someone Jim used to bitch about and shout at down the phone.’
‘Sonny, quick, get ready.’
‘Want Daddy,’ he sulked. His speech had come on leaps and bounds since the summer, and I now had a real name: Mummy. No more ‘Dad’. However, along with the speech came a torrential downpour of tantrums.
Then my phone rang.
‘Carrie’s had a crash round the corner from your house. She can’t get the car back off the pavement; it’s gone over the edge into someone’s front garden.’
‘Oh dear. Are you coming to get her?’
‘Yes, I’m in a cab, but the traffic is bad. This blizzard is nuts.’ It was on the tip of my tongue to sneer: I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO! Instead I smugly kept quiet, my dignity intact. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you be able to go and get her? She’s in a bit of a state. No one is in the house so could you bring a pad and paper so she can leave a note about the fence?’
Snow was falling so fast our footprints were blanketed before we’d taken the next step, smothering all sounds bar the occasional muffled siren. No one was out.
‘I feel like we’re in an apocalypse or something,’ Ali said. ‘It’s so eerie.’
The car had visibly skidded going round a corner and mounted the pavement, slicing through a fence and grinding to a halt just before it hit the bay window. The car wasn’t obviously damaged but the fence was scattered across the front garden. I knocked on the driver’s window and the glass slid down to reveal Carrie’s naturally pale face. She looked like she had been crying. The baby, wrapped up in a dotted grey snowsuit, was on her lap bashing the steering wheel with his pudgy fists. He turned to look at me with his unblinking inquisitive eyes and for a split second I saw Sonny. Then he was gone and a baby with overstuffed hamster cheeks and a perfect cupid’s mouth stared at me.
‘Hello, thanks for coming.’ Carrie looked so much younger than on the television with her perfect skin, except for the dark circles under each eye, the war wounds of every new mum. Her vibrant red hair was stuffed under a trendy grey bobble hat and she hadn’t painted on her trademark seductive black flicks sweeping off each eye. In fact, she was rather plain in a natural kind of way.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked frankly. What an out-of-body experience. Did I really care if she was OK? I actually didn’t know. It didn’t feel like it was supposed to feel. I was expecting to hate her, bask in the superior knowledge that I was the wronged woman and she was the evil bitch who stole my husband. Instead my mind refused to acknowledge her part in the whole tragedy, gifting her a Get Out of Jail Free card.
‘Yes, just about. I wasn’t even going very fast when I went round the corner. The car skidded out of control. I don’t think I put it in Winter mode on the gear stick. I hate this car; it’s too big and computerised.’
‘Here’s a pen and paper.’ I passed them to her through the window and she hastily scribbled a note to the house owners. Her hand was shaking and her writing was messy, slanting to the right in direct contrast to Sam’s graceful calligraphic script.
‘Sam said he’d come and collect us from your house. Is that OK?’ She looked at me nervously, her eyes blinking so many times I began to mirror her. Two red pinpricks bloomed on her pallid cheeks and she bit her lip.
‘Yes, no problem.’
We made it down the hill without slipping, our previous journey now completely eclipsed by the unrelenting snowfall. Carrie was fearful of falling with Jaimie in her arms so Ali held on to her to keep her steady.
‘I’ll just run upstairs and get you a nappy and wipes,’ Ali offered when we got in the house, shaking snow from our clothes and kicking wellies under the radiator in the hall. Carrie had come without a bag.
‘Would you mind taking him so I can get my shoes off?’ Carrie asked me apologetically.
I nodded and reached out for Jaimie, who continued to stare at me. He turned to try and reach Carrie, but she was bent down undoing her boots. He let out a howl and Isla and Meg appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘Oh, Jaimie, why are you crying?’ Isla cooed and walked down to meet him. Meg hung back. He held his arms out to her and I let her take him. ‘It’s OK. Mummy will be free in a moment. Come and see the kitchen. We have lots of toys and we have a cat. He’s called Ginger and he’s so friendly.’ I felt shut out. I understood the children had a secret life I knew nothing about, apart from when probed, so witnessing Isla play mummy to her adoring baby brother was a lot to digest. Sonny clambered down the hall to see what the noise was and stopped dead when he saw Carrie. He looked from me to her as she finished taking her boots off.
‘You’re not mummy,’ he gruffly said to Carrie, his lips set in a grim line, his pudgy cheeks aflame. I wanted to kiss him.
‘I know, darling. Your mummy’s there.’
Carrie looked at me and pulled an awkward face.
‘Shall we go and find Isla?’ I suggested in my over-cheery, let’s-ignore-how-bizarre-this-predicament-is voice.
‘Isla is so amazing,’ Carrie enthused. ‘She is like a second mummy to Jaimie. He totally loves her.’
Meg followed silently behind me and loyally grabbed my hand.
‘Yes, Isla is very caring,’ I admitted, while at the same time feeling like my heart was being ripped out through my mouth. I didn’t want Isla to be a second mummy to anyone; she was only seven. Don’t tell me things I already know; I’m her fucking mummy! I roared in my head while on the outside I was a graceful swan with artfully applied make-up and a benevolent smile.
As we entered the kitchen, Mel was perched at the butcher’s block, sipping a coffee and admiring Jaimie, who was playing with Isla’s hair.
‘This is one of my oldest friends, Mel,’ I introduced Carrie. ‘She’s staying the night, though may well be trapped here longer than twenty-four hours.’
‘Hello, Mel, pleased to meet you. I’m sorry to be crashing your girlie evening,’ Carrie apologised. ‘We’ll be gone as soon as Sam gets here.’
How long will that be? I wanted to cry. With my aversion to phoney small talk I wasn’t sure how to fill the gap until he arrived.
‘So, Carrie, what’s your new TV show about?’ I didn’t give a shit about her next show. My mouth had forgotten to ask permission from my brain before it spoke.
‘Oh, gosh, well, it’s er … about cooking for families. I actually have to, er … ask you a favour…’ I looked in panic at Mel
and she widened her eyes in alarm, but before Carrie could elaborate, Ali bustled in with the nappy and wipes.
‘Here you go. Is the portable changing mat still in the kitchen drawer?’ she asked me.
‘Yep, I’ll get it.’ And I jumped up, glad to have a purpose and useful distraction from whatever social hand grenade Carrie was about to lob. I had no idea what favour I could possibly do for her.
‘Come and clean his bum in here,’ Isla suggested. ‘You can do it on the rug, it’s softer.’
‘Oh my God, what do you think she was going to ask you?’ Mel hissed as soon as Carrie was out of earshot in the living room.
‘I have no fucking idea.’
‘What, what?’ Ali quizzed us, out of the loop. I got her up to speed. ‘Maybe she wants a threesome now she’s finally met you! I told you make-up was a good idea.’
‘All clean!’ Carrie had returned without us noticing. ‘Isla’s practising her changing skills.’
Fuckity fuck, I wondered if she’d heard us gossiping, but Sam timed his entrance perfectly, causing a diversion.
‘We’re in the kitchen,’ I shouted, gleeful to see his face at the room full of women, only one of them in his camp.
‘Oh, hello.’ With an air of insouciance, he kissed Carrie on the cheek. Quick as a flash, my Beardy Weirdy radar detected some latent activity. A diamond ring flickered across the back of my mind and I saw Sam propose to Carrie. I monitored my feelings and found them to be stable and apparently unbothered by the vision. Though I knew my bloody emotions were most likely prevaricating and by tomorrow I would be smashed in the face by some kind of delayed reaction. Sometimes it was hard to tell if I had moved on or was just pretending. He then kissed Mel and Ali and stopped in front of me. I shot him down with a gimlet stare.
‘Thanks for helping out,’ he said breezily, and patted me on the arm instead, like I was some serf. ‘Right, the snow is insane. The cab couldn’t make it all the way up the road. Are you sure you put the car into winter mode?’ he aimed at Carrie.
The Single Mums' Mansion Page 21