God, they looked so young, like a couple of teenagers, though they were well into their twenties when they’d got married. And she went back there in her mind, it was a magical day, one of her happiest. She hadn’t doubted his love for her at all.
James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” was playing in the background. Michael whispering in her ear, his breath warm, his lips so close it made her lobe tickle, “You really are beautiful, Kitty”.
He held her tight, his hand slipping down cheekily from the small of her back to cup a buttock. The only two on the dance floor, moving in slow, sexy circles. The room was full of chattering friends and family, yet as the coloured strobes of light flickered over them, they could have been the only ones there. Her world had been reduced to the scent of his aftershave and the feel of his body close to hers. The spin of champagne bubbles and love making her light-headed. She didn’t think she had ever felt so happy. She tilted her face to kiss him. A brush of their lips, then she pressed hers firmer, until the pressure was exquisite, almost teasing. A promise for later.
There was a whoop from the crowd, bringing them back to the here and now. Matt’s, Michael’s best man’s, Scottish lilt shouting, “Get a room!” and a burst of laughter.
They both grinned at the comment.
“And though you do look amazing in it,” Michael’s low tones continued suggestively, “I cannot wait to remove this dress, Mrs Armstrong.”
“Well, you’ll just have to wait, Mr Armstrong, for another hour or so at least. It’d be rude to leave our own wedding so soon.” But she pressed herself even closer to him as they danced, anticipating the feel of his skin bare against hers, the way his fingers would lace expertly over her body.
Then the beat of the song changed, and her Uncle Ralph, her dad’s brother, appeared at her shoulder doing some kind of frantic chicken-clucking style dance to The Time Warp. She and Michael looked at each other bemused, laughing, and they were soon caught up in a conga that trailed giddily around the room.
Whatever had happened to “till death do us part”?
But love could turn into hate, complacency or mere boredom, trust into betrayal.
And she couldn’t remember when she had last kissed him like that. When had they stopped kissing, wanting each other? Had they stopped loving each other, too?
And yet she knew she was still clinging on to that love, when she should have let it go months ago. Wasn’t that what normal people did? Got upset, then got angry, then got on with their lives?
Her head began to pound. The empty wine bottle there on the table reminding her. She must have fallen asleep on the bloody sofa again, for the cool light of early morning was across her now. A photo had dropped on to the floor, face down, its edges curling overnight. She leaned to pick it up; the four of them, the girls aged three and about six months, by the look of it, at home in the garden. They looked happy, a family. Now the girls were staying with Daddy and his new girlfriend for the weekend, and Mummy was stuck here on her own, in a house too big for her. Could things have been different? Had she done enough to keep them together? When she’d found it hard sometimes coping with the girls, had she shut him out? Had she driven him away?
She remembered late last night, sobbing Michael’s name into the sofa cushion, just before she dozed off. Oh dear.
She felt cold and stiff in the neck. Her right arm had pins and needles in it. She could just curl back up again, try and sleep some more. She hated these weekends alone. She couldn’t even pop across and see Graeme. That would seem all wrong. They had spoken after that night. He’d been passing as he walked the dog, but she’d kept it brief, friendly enough, she hoped, standing outside her gate, trying to make it clear that that was just a one-off, not going to happen again. And then she’d felt awkward and a bit guilty, as if she’d led him on. If she didn’t keep a bit of distance now, then she worried that he might think she was interested in forming a relationship, and she didn’t want to disappoint him further. Or was she flattering herself? He might be damned relieved? Why the hell had she gone and messed that friendship up, too?
Right! Enough! Enough feeling sorry for herself. This wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She’d get up, grab a cup of tea and have a shower. And then? Maybe she’d go and visit her parents, but that would involve having to be bright and breezy. She wasn’t quite sure if she was up to bright and breezy today. Maybe she’d take the girls to visit them early next week – it was the school holidays. It would fill up a day.
She could clean up, get the house straight for when the girls came home. But, hey, how depressing was that? Was that the best she could come up with for the weekend? Herself, the four walls and the inside of the toilet bowls.
Mel. Yes, she’d ring Mel. She could be herself with Mel. If she was feeling a bit down it wouldn’t matter, she wouldn’t have to be on her best behaviour. Yes, she’d see if she was about today.
She showered, had a mug of tea and picked up the phone.
“Mel?”
“Oh, hi, how’s things?”
“Fine…” Then Kate’s voice slid, “Well, not brilliant.”
“Oh, what’s up?”
“Well, you know. Just the usual. My husband’s had an affair, left me and I’m still feeling sorry for myself.” She tried to make it sound light-hearted.
“Is it the girls’ weekend away?”
“Yes.”
She knew. Hit the nail right on the head
“So why don’t you come round here? We’re having a barbecue later. Having an Olympic theme. The kids have been inspired by all the London 2012 stuff on the telly. Kev’s brother and family are coming around. There are races planned for the kids. If you come over now you can have a quiet coffee, and then if you fancy staying on when the tribe gets here, well that’s up to you. There’ll be plenty to eat. Kev’s just back from Sainsbury’s. Bought the whole of the meat aisle up, by the looks of it. There’s only eight of us… What did you get, Kev? A couple of cows?”
There was an echo-ey voice in the background. A rustling of carrier bags.
Mel again: “Sixteen burgers, twenty-four sausages, pork steaks, kebabs. Might as well have invited the whole street. Honestly, you’ll be doing us a favour, help us get rid of all this food.” Mel was rabbiting on.
Kate felt a little brighter already; the joys of a normal, chaotic family life. “I’d love to come. Thank you.”
“See ya soon, then. Come round whenever you want. I’m off to marinade chicken now. Did I mention the chicken? Yes, chicken as bloody well.” They laughed.
“Okay, thanks. See you in a while.”
Sitting on stools in Mel’s kitchen drinking strong coffee. Kev and their two children were out in the garden setting up the barbecue.
“You okay… Bit of a night last night?” Mel had spotted the dark shadows under Kate’s eyes.
“Oh, I was just home.”
“Right…”
Kate was quiet.
“Are you struggling at the mo, Kate?”
“Just stayed up thinking, that’s all.” And drinking, to stop the thinking.
“Do you think I didn’t help matters, Mel? Do you think I might have driven him away?”
“What do you mean? Is there something on your mind, Kate?”
“Uh, I don’t know. It’s just, I can get really wrapped up in the girls sometimes… I thought he’d understand… that it was just a phase.” She bit her lip… remembering. “Sometimes I was a bit hard on him… he’d come in from work late and I’d have just settled them, after a whole day of it and I’d just got five minutes, then he’d come marching back in, want to get them up again, to say goodnight… it used to drive me nuts ‘cos then it’d be an hour, maybe more, before they’d settle again.”
“Yeah, that’s a tough one.”
“And he always seemed to be working late, so it’s not as though I’d have known when he was due in or anything… but then we’d row, and I’d be tired and grumpy… Oh, I don’t know.”
“Having kids is tough, Kate. They’re great, but, jeez, can they wear you down sometimes.”
“I wonder now if I should have kept going at work, maybe part time or something. Instead of giving it all up when Em was born. I’d maybe not have felt so isolated. There was Michael carrying on with the job, building his company, his career, and I’d gone to being little housewife. I didn’t give him an easy time. I think I felt a bit jealous that his life hadn’t really changed. … and there I was trying to be the perfect mum, but I didn’t even manage that, did I? It’s all gone tits up, hasn’t it… And I can’t believe it’s all over. We’re over. That it’s all gone.” She was fighting back tears.
“Do you want him back?”
“No, not that, not now… I–I just wish we could turn back time. That it had never happened like this. Why did he do it, Mel?”
“I don’t know, hun, he’s the only one who can tell you that. And, being a full-time mum’s tough… I must admit I’m glad to get out for a couple of days a week at work in the building society. Maybe you could think about looking for some kind of work?”
“Maybe, but then there would be childcare to sort out and everything. Ah, Mel, all I wanted was for it to be right for the girls, and now what a bloody mess we’re all in!”
“Nothing’s perfect Kate. None of us are perfect. That’s just life. You can only do your best. And in all this, remember it’s Michael who betrayed you, who walked out.”
“Yeah, I know.” That slammed back at her. “Do you have any wine?”
Mel eyed her cautiously, judgingly.
“What?”
“I’ll pour you a small one.” She headed for the fridge, paused, “But, Kate, drinking’s not going to make anything better.”
“It’s just one glass I want.”
“Look, I don’t want to interfere or anything and I know life’s been pretty shit for you lately, but…” She went quiet for a moment, forming her words, “It’s just, well, when I’ve popped over the last few times… I’ve seen the half-empty wine bottles.”
“At least they weren’t empty,” Kate quipped, trying to make light of the observation. Then she sat silent, with a gloomy feeling that she knew what was coming.
Mel smiled gently, trying to smooth her way into the damning words, “Don’t you see? You’re not doing yourself any favours, relying on drink as a prop?”
Blimey! If she’d wanted a lecture, she could have gone to her parents. “I don’t drink when the girls are there,” Kate jumped in defensively. Just when they’re up in bed, her alter ego nipped at her.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m not having a go, honestly. I’m just saying this as a friend, that’s all. I’m probably not putting it across very well, but I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
Kate looked across at her friend, embarrassed, a little angry.
Mel persevered. “I care about you, Kate, and I want to help you get through this. But drinking like that, it’s not going to help you in the long run. Even the other night, I couldn’t help but notice how much you were necking it when we were out. It’s not like you.”
“I was only trying to have a bit of fun,” Kate snapped back.
“I know, I know. But if you’re drinking at home too, well… Look, if you get to that point where you feel you need to drink, you can ring me, we can have a chat, anytime… okay?”
Kate didn’t think she’d want the two-in-the-morning calls, as it often was. Those times when you woke in an empty bed in an empty house and needed to blank it all out.
“Are you relying on it?” Mel was really into her spiel now, “Maybe you should think about going to the doctor? They can help you know.”
Kate sat bristling. She hadn’t come here for a bloody lecture. She might as well go back home.
“Look,” Mel’s tone softened, “All I’m saying is I’m here for you. Whatever, whenever. I’m not trying to nag… okay?” Mel smiled across tentatively, trying to calm the atmosphere that was like static between them.
“Okay,” Kate conceded. Some of this had been festering away in the back of her own mind, too; her overwhelming need for the odd glass of wine, or two, at all sorts of times of the day and night. But now someone else had noticed it, it made it into a problem and right now she didn’t need any more problems. But, hey, it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She wanted her friend to understand that, “It’s only sometimes… It just helps me get through. I thought it would be getting easier by now. But it’s not, not really. Well, I do get better days, and the dark times aren’t as often, but when they come back they’re still as dark…” her voice trailed, struggling with emotion.
“Oh, Kate.” Mel’s arm was around her.
Kate held her breath, regained control, just as young Jack came strolling into the kitchen, dressed in vivid green-and-yellow running gear.
“Usain Bolt, Olympic fever,” Mel whispered in her ear.
“Wow, you look great.” Kate managed to speak.
He grinned, “Mum, where’s the coal stuff? Dad can’t find it.”
“The charcoal? Under the sink in the utility. And don’t you dare touch the matches. Let Dad do that. Okay?”
“Oo–kay.” He pulled a face, then flashed another grin at them. “You staying for our barbecue?” he asked Kate.
“Yep, I think I will. If that’s okay?”
“Yes,” he grinned again, “Is Emily coming, too?”
“No, sorry, honey. She’s off with her Daddy today.”
“Oh, okay.” He skipped off, then stopped dramatically at the back door, taking up the lightning-bolt pose.
Kate couldn’t help but smile.
“Right, well enough of the serious stuff,” Mel resumed, “Let’s join Usain Bolt and the others outside.”
Mel poured herself a glass of white and they headed out to the broken sunshine and wafts of barbecue smoke. Kev’s brother and his family arrived soon after with their two young boys. The group of adults were starting to get merry out the back on bottles of lager, voices and laughter getting louder. After nipping to the kitchen to prepare a couple of salad dishes, Kate and Mel rejoined the party. It wasn’t glorious weather, a little cloudy and windy, but it was still warm. Kate relaxed, enjoying the buzz of the family barbecue, chatting to people who didn’t know too much of her background, playing kick-about football with the boys later on – a GB-versus-Brazil final, apparently, and got splashed and water-pistolled by the kids in the paddling pool. She had a burger and a chicken piece, more than she’d eaten in ages. By seven pm she was crashed out on Mel’s sofa with a cup of tea. She’d limited her alcohol to just two glasses of wine and then had a diet coke. She could do it. It was all fine. Where was the problem? She didn’t have to drink alcohol to enjoy herself.
Mind you, it wasn’t the “enjoying herself” times that were the problem.
As she turned her key in the lock of her own front door an hour later, her heart began to sink. In the kitchen the fridge called to her. She knew there was a bottle of Pinot Grigio in there, chilled and ready to go. As she went to open the fridge door, she spotted the magnet from the girls’ night in all those weeks ago: “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” And she pulled out the plastic carton of milk, to make herself a cup of tea. She put the kettle on and as it boiled she headed for the living room, clearing the empty wine bottle and glass from last night. She took the duvet back upstairs and then carefully put away the photo albums, slipping the image of the four of them back into its place, before shutting them all inside.
Where the hell had the old Kate gone? Would she ever find her again? She felt like a shell of herself. Maybe, all these cocooning duvet times, where she found herself in the depths of gloom, were just times when she was silently growing, reassembling herself for the moment when she would break out, not quite the woman she was before, but changed, developed, ready to face the next stage of her life. She bloody well hoped so.
They were back, the ev
ening shadows following them up the path as they dashed out of the car and into her arms, Michael walking slowly behind them.
“Hi, girls, had a good time?”
“Yep,” Charlotte began, “We went on a boat trip and saw puffins.” “And seals” Emily chipped in. “They were sooo cute, Mummy,” Charlotte again, “And Daddy wished you were there, too.” Emily spoke softly.
Kate glanced up, surprised by the comment, caught his eye.
He looked a little awkward, “Wondered why we hadn’t done it before ourselves,” he corrected, his voice stiff. He gave her a look she couldn’t quite fathom.
A lump caught in her throat. There were so many things that they hadn’t yet done together as a family, things they had talked about, things she had quietly hoped they might do some day, but then their imagined future had gone, changed, taken a whole new course. Michael held her gaze above the girls’ heads for a second, then smiled sadly. A second that left a question mark in her mind.
PART THREE
“Life’s not about waiting for the storm to pass…
It is about learning to dance in the rain.”
Vivian Greene
Chapter 25
“Hi, Kate.”
Kate turned from window-shopping at the boutique to the voice behind her. It was her sister-in-law Sally, Dan’s wife. She hadn’t seen her in ages. She felt a little awkward.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard.”
Heard what? Good God, was Michael getting married again, but hang on they weren’t even divorced yet? Was Sophie pregnant or something?
“Hi, Sally.” Kate mustered a smile, trying not to look concerned. “No, I don’t think I’ve heard anything. Is everything okay?” It might not be about Michael at all, to be fair.
The Torn Up Marriage Page 17