The Torn Up Marriage

by Caroline Roberts

  “Umm, maybe, Lottie. Just eat up your Rice Krispies now. We’d better get going. Em are you having milk on those?” Emily was eating dry Coco Pops with her fingers. Kate poured her some milk on, “And use your spoon now, like a big girl, okay?”

  “I’d like to see Grandma,” Charlotte chattered on. The girls always got spoilt there, with homemade fairy cakes or those chocolate tea cakes from Marks and Spencer’s with the marshmallow tops. And if they’d been good – which of course they always were – there were small packs of Fudge and Milky Bars in the special sweetie jar.

  “Or maybe we could go see Granny Dorothy and Grandad George. Daddy could come along with us then.” They were Michael’s parents.

  Did that child never give up? “We’ll see.” Kate just nodded, knowing there was no way they’d be visiting any of them.

  Somehow they got to school and nursery just on time. Kate made minimal small talk with Mel and another of the school-gate Mums, then dashed off in self-defence, making it home for another day where she tried not to cry or tell anyone what was going on. She set to with the housework. She’d have it all straight by the time Emily finished nursery. And tomorrow she’d be up before them and have breakfast ready. Maybe she’d cook pancakes. Real ones. They loved pancakes.

  She was in her bedroom. Their bedroom. She ought to change the bedding.

  The bedding. Where he had lain with her just days ago. She lifted the duvet, ready to strip the cover off. His smell was still there. They had chosen the bloody duvet set together in the January sales. He’d stood there saying he preferred the plainer coffee-and-cream set, when she’d liked that lovely Kylie Minogue one with its soft-pink satin inlays. The pillowcases even had a sprinkle of diamante on. The little shit. He must have been sleeping with Sophie by then, and he had the nerve to stand there in John-bloody-Lewis making her buy a different set. The one he liked. When all the while he must have known he was going to leave her alone in them.

  She tore them off the bed. The sheet, the pillow cases, ripped at the duvet cover, its buttons snagging, one popped off. The motion stirring his citrus aftershave, along with the biscuit smell of him, of them together. She stood frozen, then slumped down onto the pile of empty bedding. Tears of fear and failure ran fast and furious down her cheeks. Sobbing into the dirty bedclothes.

  Why? Why? Why me? Why us? What had she done wrong?

  She crushed the smell of him to her. Lay there. She wasn’t sure for how long.

  He wasn’t coming back.

  Sod it. Sod him. She wiped the last of her tears on a mascara-stained pillowcase and then blew her nose into it. It was all going in the wash anyhow, or maybe even the bin, come to think of it. Yes, the dustbin seemed as good a place as any for it. Save her the ironing. And next time she was in Newcastle she’d buy that bloody Kylie Minogue set for herself.

  “Hi, Kate, can you put me on to the girls, please?” He was just about holding it together, there on his mobile, parked up in some lay-by. He’d been for a long drive after work, circling the country lanes between the town and the sea. Thinking and thinking.

  And then he’d made his decision. Stopped the car. Had to carry it through.

  “Oh,” Kate sounded disappointed that he didn’t want to speak with her.

  But he needed to speak to the girls first. There was a rustle, Charlotte, “Hello, Daddy. Where are you?” Her annoyance over his missing week scarcely hidden.

  “Oh, I’ve just been busy at work.”

  “But when are you coming home?”

  “Ah, soon sweetie.” The lies were getting harder to tell, but he didn’t want to do this over the phone. He was going to arrange to see them on Sunday, tell them face to face, give himself another day to work this out. Think about the words he’d use, how to tell them the truth without alarming them. But, damn, his voice began to crack, “I-I’ll see you soon. Are you alright? Are you being good for Mummy?”

  “Of course. Can we go and see Granny and Grandad?”

  “Umn,” More people to tell. More lives to unsettle. “Yes, soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, what have you been doing at school, then?” Back to safer ground.

  “Not much. Maths was boring, times tables, over and over and over. But we did music. I’m learning to play the recorder.”

  “That sounds good. You’ll have to play me something.”

  “When I get my own recorder I can. Mummy’s going to buy me one soon.”

  “Okay, great. Can I speak to Emily now?”

  “Yep, she’s just here. Em-il-ee, it’s Daddy for you… She’s here. And Daddy, don’t be too long at work will you, because we’ve got to go to bed soon.”

  How to explain it would be another whole day before they’d see him? And then after that nothing would be the same for them. Noting his own cowardice, he said nothing. He made a fist out of his hand and bashed his forehead. Then Emily came on.

  “Hello, Daddy.”

  “Hi, Emmie. Sorry I’ve had such a busy week this week and haven’t seen you much. Have you been okay? What have you been doing?”

  Emily struggled to remember, there was a pause. Cars hummed past his vehicle as he looked out across patchwork fields to a thin line of gunmetal sea. “Nurs-ry,” she piped up, “with Jack.” Then she added, “Ooh, and I had dirty socks. None clean.”

  “Oh, I see.” That didn’t sound like Kate. What had happened to Mrs Clean and Routine? And then the realisation kicked him. He had happened, his shitty behaviour. Letting them all down. His guts churned.

  “Well, that’s not so bad, Emmie. I’m sure I’ve gone to work in dirty socks before once or twice.” Most likely in his bachelor days after a heavy night out.

  “Weally?”

  “Oh, yes, smelly socks were quite the fashion in my day.” What the heck was he blathering on about? But he could hear her giggling down the phone and it made him smile.

  “Well, I suppose you’ll be getting ready for bed in a minute. I’ll be back to see you soon. Not tonight, though.” Maybe she’d let Lottie in on the bad news for him. “So be good for Mummy and sleep well.”

  “’Kay.”

  He heard a bit of a clatter, then Lottie’s voice once more, “Daddy, can you read us The Gruffalo when you get back?”

  “Sure I can. When I get back.” Another white lie that stuck in his throat. He’d read them The Gruffalo a thousand times if they wanted, but he wasn’t coming back, not like she meant, “Can I speak to Mummy now?”

  “Okay. Bye then, Daddy.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  “Hello,” Kate’s voice was cool.

  “Thanks, I just wanted to have a chat with them before they went off to bed. Look, I’ll call you back later this evening. We can speak properly then, okay? It’s probably not such a good idea with the girls up.”

  That sounded ominous.

  Just what was he planning on telling her?

  She’d drifted about, unable to eat any supper, her appetite missing in action, she couldn’t focus on the television, and even her favourite music: The Script, Maroon Five, Adele, the songs she loved, seemed annoying or just too damned sad. She sensed that this was going to be the call. By the time he rang, she’d already been over it all, every possible scenario, and it was always the worst one that stuck.

  “Kate…”

  Her hand was trembling. Before he could say anything else, she spoke, “It’s over, isn’t it?”

  His voice was gentle, though the words cruel, “Yes, it’s over. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, oh God,” she broke then. Couldn’t speak.

  “Kate, are you there? Are you okay?”

  Silence. So this was it. It was really happening.

  “Are you okay?” He tried again.

  “Of course I’m not bloody okay… But I’m here, still here.”

  “I’ll need to come back, fetch some more things.” He shifted into practical mode now, “And I want to see the girls. Can I take them out Sunday? I think I need to try
and explain to them.”

  How, how did you explain all this?

  “They’re missing you… Yes, you’ll need to talk to them.” Her voice was distant, on autopilot.

  So this was it. The split-up discussions, arranging Daddy’s day trips. Sharing time. Custody. That word killed her. Would it come to that? The pair of them fighting in court. Could he take away the girls from her, too?

  “It’ll just be for the day. I just want to talk to them, explain about us not being together.”

  She felt as though all the air had been punched out of her. “Yes, I suppose you’ll have to do that. They keep asking where you are.”

  “I’m sorry. I just needed these few days to think about everything. To be sure I was doing the right thing.”

  “The right thing? Hah! For who, Michael? Who’s this right for… only you?”

  “No, Kate,” his tone was firm, “We couldn’t have carried on like we were.”

  She didn’t reply, still clinging on to a fragile belief, a hope that maybe they could have done.

  “I’ll come and fetch the girls at ten Sunday morning.”

  Chapter 10

  She knew she’d have to go sometime.

  She took a deep breath as she pressed the doorbell, facing the Victorian frosted-glass panels of the front door of her childhood home. An outline shifted towards her in the hallway, the door opened. Her mother, her grey hair falling stylishly to just below her ears. Kind, slate-blue eyes were smiling at her, a pair of reading glasses swinging on a thin chain around her neck; she’d probably been flicking through The Sunday Times in the conservatory. Kate felt a glow of warmth, swiftly followed by a shadow of regret that she was about to shatter their cosy weekend. For a second, she yearned to be held by her, but just stood there, “Hello, Mum.”

  “Hello, Kate, love.” Her mother scanned the garden path behind her, the pavement outside. “Oh… you’re on your own?”

  “Yes, Michael’s taken the girls out to the zoo. They’re having a day in Edinburgh.”

  “Oh, right.” A small frown furrowed Jean’s brow. She sensed there was more to this, but that it would all come out in due course, “Oh, I see. Well, come on in, then, love. I’ll just pop the kettle on, shall I?”

  A large gin and tonic might have hit the mark better, but Kate just gave a small smile and said, “Lovely.”

  Jean strolled down the hall into the spacious kitchen extension out at the back. She was dressed in smart beige chino trousers teamed with a pale-blue blouse. “Your father’s just in the garden. I’ll give him a shout in a minute.” She busied herself, fetching teabags and the pot, “Earl Grey alright?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  How did you tell your parents, who’d been married for over thirty-five years, that your own marriage of only eight was over?

  “So what time did they set off, then?” Her mother was edging nearer to the conversation they were both dancing around.

  “Umn, early… nine-ish.”

  “Oh, well, we’ll see them next time.”

  “Oh, Mum,” Kate grasped the kitchen work surface.

  Jean dropped the teaspoon, came to her and touched her shoulder, “What is it, Katie?” slipping back to the childhood version of her name.

  “He’s left me, Mum.”

  “Oh, good Lord! I knew you weren’t right on the phone the other day. And all those messages I’ve left.”

  Her father, Peter, came ambling in through the back door, secateurs in hand. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, his once-black hair now white and thick. “Hel–” Jean gave him a sharp look and a flick of her head, motioning him to move on. “–Lo,” he finished. “I’ll just go wash my hands, give you girls a minute.” He looked concerned, awkward.

  “Hi, Dad,” Kate’s voice was muffled, her mother’s arm about her shoulders now and the tears came. Those tears that always seemed ready to hijack her nowadays, waiting just below the surface to flow again. Her eyes had been red-rimmed all week, with sallow grey bags beneath; she’d taken to using a lot of foundation and concealer.

  Jean held her to her, with a hand softly stroking the top of her head, sifting the strands of dark-blonde hair. “I’m so, so sorry, my love.” They stood together for a moment or two. Soothing words whispered above her, “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

  But it wasn’t alright. It was never going to be alright.

  The tears eased a little, Kate pulled back, “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  “What on earth are you sorry for, Katie? It’s alright to cry. We all need to let it out sometimes.”

  She hadn’t wanted to break down like this, to make a scene. She had meant to tell them calmly, responsibly. Just the facts.

  “What’s happened?” Jean’s voice was gentle.

  Kate pulled away with a sigh. Her mother turned to give her a little space and started popping teabags into the pot, pouring water in.

  This was so hard, having to put it into words. “He… he’s been having an affair. It’s been a few months. He’s left us to live with her.”

  “Oh, dear God! What a thing to have to deal with. When did you find out?”

  “Last Monday, well it was Tuesday, really, when I found out the truth.”

  “But are you sure it really is over? Is it serious? Marriages all have problems sometimes. Things can change.” Jean stirred the pot.

  “He says he loves her.” Kate lifted a hand to her face, bit her inner lip. “He’s left us. Gone to be with her.”

  “And you’ve not told us, for all these days? Oh Katie, we could have helped. I would have come up, helped with the girls.”

  “I just needed time, Mum.” Kate looked out of the window, past the shrubs, the vegetable patch, up to the blue expanse of the sky, “I wanted to be sure it really was over. And we haven’t told the girls yet, not properly. Said he was away with work…. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell you.” Her words drifted to a whisper.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Jean’s hands were trembling as she poured out the tea from the pot. “Come on, let’s take these through to the conservatory.” She placed three cups on a tray, along with the biscuit jar and sugar bowl.

  Peter reappeared cautiously at the threshold between the hall and kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

  “Not really, Peter, no.” Jean, her tone formal, concerned. “Come through.”

  They settled onto wicker furniture with floral seat pads and Kate had to say it all again. “It’s Michael. He’s left me for someone else, Dad.” It wasn’t any easier the second time.

  “Oh, Kate, pet.” He shook his head slowly, as if trying to register the words. “Good Lord! What’s the matter with the man? Does he have no sense of his responsibilities?” He stood up, started pacing the floor tiles. “How are you coping? How are the girls? What can we do to help?”

  “Would you like to stay here for a while?” Jean added.

  “No. No thanks, Mum. The girls have got school. We need to be in Alnwick. I’m just trying to sort things out day to day, really.” She paused, “It’s just so hard to think about it all, though.”

  “Well, I’ve a good mind to go and have words. Sort him out. What the hell does he think he’s playing at?” Peter was stood tall, squaring himself up.

  Kate gave a half-smile. Typical Dad back in schoolmaster mode (he’d recently retired as head of the high school in the town). “Dad, you can’t just box his ears and make it all alright, you know. He’s in his thirties, not thirteen.”

  “Well, he’s acting like bloody thirteen… Oh, I know, I know… I just can’t believe he’d do this to you and the girls. I’m so bloody cross. And boxing his ears might make me feel better.” He sat back down on the wicker sofa next to Kate, his tone softening, “And how are you?” He placed a sturdy, reassuring arm around her.

  “I’m alright.” A necessary lie. No point worrying them even more.

  “Well, just ring us, or come down. Or we’ll come up, if there’s anything. Anything at all.” He sat quiet for
a moment, thinking, then added, “Are you alright for money?

  “Yes, that’s all fine, Dad.” She had an allowance, monthly housekeeping from Michael’s wages. She hadn’t really thought about that side of things. Surely he would keep supporting them.

  Jean passed around the tea and they sipped politely. Peter took a digestive from the jar. Kate declined, her stomach already protesting on one sip of Earl Grey.

  Well, the truth was out. Her torn-up marriage was now in the public domain, probably to hit the family grapevine by suppertime. Not as gossip, not really, more as genuine family concern, Jean keeping her two sisters in the know. Strands of support and sympathy from Northumberland and beyond. She wondered how long it would take to reach her cousin out in Canada. There were no siblings of Kate’s own to tell, being an only child. She could have done with a sister right now, someone close to lean on. She was glad they had the two girls; they would always have each other. She could picture Lottie holding little Emily’s hand right now, somewhere at the zoo. How would they feel when Michael came to explain that he wouldn’t be coming home today, not ever? She blinked back a tear.

  Michael had a brother, Dan. She wondered if he had told his family yet. Would it be even harder for him having to tell them, being the guilty party? And how would Dorothy and George, his parents, take it? They were lovely people. How would it be for them all from now on? It wasn’t just her and the girls, was it? Michael’s betrayal reached further, affected so many, like circles spreading out from a sinking stone.

  “And the girls? How are they?” Peter’s tone softened as he spoke of them, “Where are they today?”

  “Michael’s got them, taking them off to the zoo. They don’t really know too much yet.” Kate didn’t add that today was when he was meant to be telling them. Take them to see the lemurs, the lions, the penguins and then sit them down and announce that he wasn’t going to be living with Mummy any more, that he wouldn’t be coming back home with them.