The Torn Up Marriage

by Caroline Roberts

  Oh, yes, the bomb of the affair had gone off weeks ago now and here they were left trawling through the wreckage, trying to find the pieces of their old lives and rearrange them somehow.

  She pulled back into the driveway and marched into the house. On a mission, but where to start? Small, maybe? The bathroom. Half-empty cans of deodorant, shaving foam, aftershave. She paused. It was the Armani aftershave bottle she’d bought him at Christmas. She stood and sniffed, closed her eyes. It took her back to nestling into the soft base of his neck, the smell of his shirt collar, the smell of him. Bugger! This was no good. No sniffing allowed. Just bin the damned thing. In it went, and more, a half-used Homer Simpson soap-on-a-rope the girls had chosen for his birthday. He’d taken some toiletries on his first few visits, grabbing some clothes, deodorant and the like embarrassedly, but these half-used things were still here. A bit like herself, she mused ironically. She snatched them up and plonked them into a bin bag, the first of many – this one for the dustbin.

  It felt surprisingly good.

  On to the bedroom. Socks, pants, t-shirts from his drawers. No more picking them up off the floor, no more having to wash them. And just think of all the space she could gain in the wardrobe. Oh, she might just have to go on a shopping spree in Newcastle, or maybe have a day in Edinburgh to start filling it again. Okay, shirts, ties, trousers, a couple of suits. She folded those reasonably neatly, though she’d love to just bung the whole lot in the trash, but she’d better keep them for him. The garage, that’d be a good place, then he could pick them up discreetly the next time he came, if he wanted. Another suit hanging there didn’t look like his usual work suits. It was black with the faintest pinstripe of grey. There was still a silk handkerchief in the top pocket in a dusky pink… the same shade as the bridesmaids’ dresses.

  She froze. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t just shove it in the bag. Her eyes were stinging. It wasn’t meant to be like this. She was going to be strong. Get rid of it all. It’d be cathartic. Shit. Go on, one part of her mind was egging her on. It’s just a suit! Get it in the bag with the rest of them. But it was his wedding suit. He really did love you back then, you know he did. It’s all just got mixed up and confused, but he did love you once, wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. She chewed at a fingernail, sat down on the bed with a sigh, closed her eyes, then clenched her fists and punched the pillows. She got up and emptied the rest of the wardrobe of his things, leaving the suit there, half hidden by an evening dress of hers. It was just too soon for some things.

  She was relieved to go downstairs and shove his CDs and DVD collection into a cardboard box, keeping a few of the ones she especially liked for herself. She considered the family photos on the mantelpiece, but left them as they were. That wouldn’t be fair on the girls. There was a wedding photo that she placed face down in the sideboard, however. The cheesy-smelling running shoes she found, plus some wellies and a couple of coats, which were lurking in the understairs cupboard; they filled another black sack. All she needed to do now was to take the whole lot out to the garage. Some of it was bulky, her arms were beginning to ache.

  She piled six bags up against the side wall, where his car used to be, ready for him to collect. If he was being awkward or left them for too long after she’d told him, she would ring a charity shop, get the whole lot collected; that’d serve him right. All she needed to do now was to take the discarded toiletries out to the dustbin, then go and make herself a celebratory cup of tea.

  She was just heading out the garage door, when a familiar voice stopped her.

  “Hi. You okay there? I was just passing.”

  She turned. It was Graeme from down the road. Damn, she hadn’t wanted anyone to see her clearing out Michael’s stuff.

  “Oh, hi Graeme.” She managed a polite smile.

  “Everything okay?” His tone was sympathetic.

  “Yep,” her voice was clipped. She was aware of the final black bag, heavy in her hand, desperate to dump it in the bin.

  “How are things going? Umn, I heard about Michael,” he seemed a little awkward, shy maybe, “Well, I’m sorry about that.”

  “Well, these things happen.” She tried to smile.

  “Having a sort out?”

  She nodded. “You could say that.”

  “Michael’s things?” He eyed the pile of bags behind her, the one in her hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry or anything.”

  “Yeah, is it that obvious?”

  “Uh, huh. ‘Fraid so.”

  “How did you guess?”

  “The look on your face, for a start.”

  “Ah, that obvious.”

  “Remember, I’ve been there too.”

  “Oh yes, sorry, so you have.” She settled the bag down to the ground. So, she wasn’t the only sad, bitter, lonely person in the world, then. No, she was sure she wasn’t. All those once-loved partners leaving, all those affairs, broken homes, broken hearts. Probably a whole trail of them across the globe.

  “It’s probably a good thing, you doing that. It helps. A bit of a physical and mental de-clutter.” He smiled at her kindly.

  “Thanks, I think.” She managed a small smile back. “Umn, well, would you like to come in for a coffee?” Something about him seemed to put her at ease. He was just being friendly, after all, and at least he had some understanding of how all this felt.

  “No, no, but thanks. Perhaps another time,” he added. “I was just about to take the dog for a walk. She’s tied up there by the gate.”

  “Oh.” Kate looked down the drive and there was Meggie spaniel, her brown tail wagging in anticipation.

  “Can I take that bag to the bin for you as I go?” He nodded towards the black dustbin at the end of the drive.

  “Umn, no. No, thanks. I think I’ll have the satisfaction of putting it in myself.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you about.”

  “Yep.”

  He turned to go, then paused, “If you need anything. Anything at all, please ask. I’m not that bad at DIY and the like. Or if you need anyone to keep an eye on the girls at short notice.”

  She eyed him with an air of suspicion.

  He sensed her unease, “I mean, if you’re ever stuck. But I’m sure you already have plenty of people to help. I have nieces, my sister’s girls, so I do have some idea. We could take Meggie for a walk, or something.”

  “Well, maybe. Thanks for the offer.”

  “You take care, Kate.”

  “You too. And thanks, Graeme.”

  He seemed a nice enough guy. She hadn’t seen or heard anything of him dating again, since splitting with his wife… maybe that’s what it did to you, being left, betrayal, made you bitter, unable to trust anyone. Left you afraid to love again.

  Chapter 19

  “Saturday’s not going to work now. Sorry.”

  “What the hell do you mean? The girls know all about it. They’re looking forward to it. I told them last night. You can’t just pull out on them.”

  “Something’s cropped up at work. I really can’t get out of it.”

  She knew this would happen. “Jesus, Michael,” her tone was blade sharp, “I’ve just rearranged my whole weekend around you, and it was your bloody idea in the first place. No, it’s not on, you can’t just do that to them. Emily will be gutted.”

  “I know, I know. I feel awful. It’s a morning meeting. A big potential client. I can’t change it. Saturday’s the only day they can do.”

  Kate stood in livid silence. She knew this would bloody happen.

  “Kate?… Look, maybe I can see the girls for an hour or two in the afternoon. Or Sophie could have them for the morning while I’m at the meeting.”

  That was it. Her fuse blew. “Oh great. You can’t have your girls, but you think I’d be happy to palm them off on your mistress for a few hours. The one who’s already upset them enough about friggin’ duvet covers.”

  “Hey, hang on. That’s not fair, that was nothing to do with Sophie.
If you must know she helped smooth things over.”

  “NOTHING-TO-DO-WITH-SOPHIE! Jesus, Michael, are you stupid or what? If she hadn’t been so keen to get you into her bed, then you wouldn’t have left the girls, would you? They wouldn’t have to be sleeping in a spare room in her bloody flat, and they wouldn’t have to choose sodding duvet covers in the first place.”

  “Okay, okay, I get the gist. But I can’t rearrange this meeting. We’ll have to think up a plan B.”

  “No, Michael, YOU’LL have to think up a plan B. I’ve had enough of all this crap. Just don’t you hurt those girls any more…” Her voice was steely, yet she knew it was threatening to crack, her hand trembling on the receiver. “Ring me back when you’ve thought of something. And it had better be good.” She managed to hold on long enough to hear him say, “Okay. I’ll ring back later. I am sorry.”

  Sorry wasn’t enough. She slammed down the phone and found herself weeping. Then she got up, walked calmly to the kitchen, blew her nose loudly on some kitchen towel and took out the large pair of scissors from the drawer.

  “Mummy?” A small voice came from the open doorway.

  Oh, shit. Shit. She sat bolt upright where she’d been sobbing on the bed. Folds of black pinstriped material lay in jagged strips around her. Deep slashes through the sleeves, down the jacket front. The trousers in a dozen different pieces. She’d particularly enjoyed cutting up the crotch. She tried to scramble the fragments together, but there was too much to hide.

  “What are you doing?” It was Charlotte, standing sleepily at the side of the bed, fuzzy in the lamplight and the mist in Kate’s eyes.

  “Oh, sorry, sweetie. Did I disturb you?”

  The little girl nodded, bemused at the strange scene before her.

  “What’s that?” She pointed at the pile on the bed.

  “Oh, just something of your dad’s. It’s okay, I don’t think he’ll want it any more. To be honest I got a bit cross with it. But it’s all okay now.”

  “Mummy, have you been crying?”

  There was no point in lying. She must look a right state, her eyes red-rimmed for sure. “Yes, darling. But don’t worry. I just got a bit upset. It’s been a bit tricky for me, with Daddy not being here and everything.” Kate wiped the sleeve of her dressing gown across her cheeks. She shifted the remnants of the suit across the bed. The pink silk handkerchief peeping out, colourful in the pile.

  “Here,” Charlotte picked it up, offered it to her as she sat down next to her. “Look, there’s a hankie, Mummy.”

  The tears welled again, but Kate bit them back. “Thanks.” She took it, dabbed at her eyes. On her wedding day she’d never imagined having to use it to dry such tears.

  “It’s okay, Mummy. Daddy said it’s okay to cry. He told me and Emmie the other night, when she was upset about the covers.”

  Kate nodded, then gave a soft sigh. God, how she wished her daughter hadn’t seen her like this.

  “He said it lets it out if you’re upset,” Charlotte continued. “That it’s a good thing not a bad thing. He said he sometimes cries too… And that if we needed to tell him why we were sad we could talk to him, or ring him anytime. Do you think you should ring him now?”

  “Oh, well no Lottie, it’s a bit late,” she floundered, “Maybe not tonight. Just talking to you is good tonight.” Kate blew her nose in the handkerchief. “Sorry, petal, I didn’t mean for you to see me upset.” She rubbed Lottie’s arm reassuringly. “I’m okay, honest.” They had a hug. Then Kate said, “I think you’d better go back to bed now. You’ve got school tomorrow. So you’d better get some sleep.”

  “You too, Mummy.”

  “Yeah, me too. Good idea.”

  “Night, Mum.”

  “Night, sweetheart. Thanks for coming to see me. And don’t worry, I’m fine now, everything’s fine.” She sniffed.

  Charlotte left her, padding out quietly. Why had she lost control, damn it? Lottie shouldn’t have to see her like that. She’d thought they were asleep. Kate screwed up the silk hankie, thought of launching it across the room, but instead curled up under the covers, eventually drifting off to sleep with it still tight in her hand.

  Michael had actually come up with a workable plan B by the next morning. It wasn’t ideal on his part, but Kate was comfortable with it because it involved his parents, and they had always been lovely with her and the girls. She was to drive the girls to his parents’ house in the country, just five miles out of Alnwick. They would spend the morning there and then Michael would collect them as soon as he could, probably lunchtime, before having them to himself for the afternoon.

  Now she was pulling into his parents’ driveway, she felt a little guilty for not having visited sooner. They’d spoken on the phone, but she hadn’t actually called in person since the news of the affair. At first, she hadn’t known if Michael had told them, and she really didn’t want to be the one to break the news. And then she just couldn’t bear the thought of having to face them and possibly breaking down or bad-mouthing him, especially in front of the girls. Dorothy had phoned, of course, as soon as the truth was out. They were “so disappointed in him… didn’t know what he was thinking”, and had shown immense support for Kate, who was “welcome any time”. But all she’d managed to do for the first few weeks was to survive by keeping within the insane comfort of her own four walls, however lonely they might be, merely acting out the basics of her life for the sake of the girls. That alone had taken all her energy.

  But here they were parked up in the gravel driveway of the large farmhouse, an attractive home built of sturdy grey Northumberland stone, with white-painted sash windows and a welcoming front door at its centre, a delicate yellow rose climbing the wall beside it. Outside the walled gardens were fields where sheep and cattle grazed. Kate had always thought it must have been a lovely place for Michael and his younger brother, Dan, to have been brought up.

  Dorothy, Michael’s mother, was there at the doorway, welcoming them with her arms wide and a broad smile.

  “Hello, hello. Come on in.”

  Her eyes were the same stunning blue as Michael’s. But her face was broader than her son’s, the hair above it a neat grey, set in rounded curls. A homely, matronly figure dressed in pale-green twin set and tweed skirt. She had favoured smart, yet practical, country clothes ever since Kate had known her.

  Kate paused on the threshold, feeling a little strange; life had changed so much since they had last been here. “Hello, Dorothy.”

  “Granny, Granny!” The girls were swirling in her arms.

  Seeing their glowing faces she realised that Michael had come up with a good plan B getting them here. As long as he managed to turn up himself this afternoon to spend some time with the girls.

  “Hello, my lovelies,” Dorothy showed them in, giving Kate a warm hug, “And how are you, my darling?”

  “Oh, fine.” Kate put on her brave face.

  Charlotte and Emily had already gone on through to catch up with Grandad George. Dorothy raised an eyebrow at her. She knew things could not be easy for her daughter-in-law.

  “Well, so so. Could be better.” Kate tried her best to raise a reassuring smile.

  “I know, I know.” Her mother-in-law was shaking her head softly, as though she could hardly believe it herself.

  “Grandad, we’re here!” The girls were charging into the kitchen, where George was just coming out.

  “Hullo, girls. How are you?” He ruffled their hair. “Pretty as pictures, as ever.” He grinned at the girls and then broadened his smile at Kate, too, as if to include her in his compliment.

  She followed them through into the large kitchen, with its oak cabinets and centre island. Emma Bridgewater-style spotted biscuit and coffee jars adorned the surfaces, and a jug of pastel-shaded sweetpeas, no doubt from the garden, sat on the dining table at the far end of the room, where French doors opened out to the sheltered rear garden. The May sunlight was streaming in in a golden haze.

  “Juic
e girls? And I’ll make Mummy a cup of tea, shall I?”

  “Yes, please.” “Please.” Charlotte and Emily were installed at the table chattering with Grandad.

  Dorothy smiled at Kate, who was stood beside her. “Would you like a tea? Have you got time to stay?”

  “Oh, oh yes, that’d be lovely.” She had little to go back for really, just chores. But she wouldn’t stay too long – let the girls have some time with their grandparents. And the last thing she wanted was to still be there when Michael turned up.

  Dorothy busied herself with organising cups and the teapot. “Oh, girls, I thought we might make some cakes this morning. Do you fancy doing that?”

  “Ooh, yes.” Their faces were animated.

  “What kind?” Charlotte bounced on her chair.

  “Well, maybe some fairy cakes or cup cakes. I’ve got the swirly icing bag ready and I’ve bought some sprinkles and things for the tops.”

  “Wow, can I see?” Charlotte leapt off her chair.

  Dorothy pointed to a cupboard, “Have a look in there.”

  She was straight in, Emily soon with her, pulling out little jars of hundreds and thousands, silver balls, tiny icing flowers and more. They were going to have a fine time.

  “Thanks, Dorothy. They’ll love doing that.”

  “Now then, girls, if you’re going to cook, what do you need to do?”

  “Lick the spoons?” Emily was smiling hopefully.

  “No, that’s later.” Dorothy laughed.