The Torn Up Marriage

by Caroline Roberts

  They nodded earnestly.

  “Night, night, Mummy,” they chorused.

  And she smiled, as her heart ached.

  By some miracle they settled fairly quickly, no doubt afraid to get out of their beds, in case it kept the Main Man away – he who was even more revered than the Lord God Almighty of earlier. Kate heard whispered chatter, but even that stopped after 20 minutes or so. Peeking around the bedroom door just a half hour later, they appeared to be sound asleep.

  She busied herself for the next hour with last-minute gift-wrapping and stocking-filling. As she was making herself a cup of tea in the kitchen (she’d decided to keep well clear of the booze tonight), she remembered the carrier bag from Mel that she’d popped in the under-stairs cupboard, out of the girls’ sight, thinking it would be something for them. She took it to the lounge and sat with the white tree lights on, and the backdrop of the coal fire glowing. She pulled out a lovely bottle of bath oil, some champagne truffles from the “Chocolate Spa” in the town, some novelty reindeer earrings, and a posh candle that she’d spotted and loved the scent of in the craft shop the night she and Mel had gone Christmas shopping, but decided was a bit extravagant to get for herself. And there she was, crying away again, but this time she was happy, clutching a note that said, “Merry Christmas, Kate. These are your stocking fillers. X” And though it would be hard having to see Michael in the morning and then watching him go again, she felt she’d get through tomorrow okay. She could do it, and she’d plaster a bloody smile on her face, too.

  “Mummy, Mummy. He’s been!”

  Kate’s just woken mind clutching at the words, who’d been? Had Michael come and gone already? Had she slept through it all?

  “He’s weally been,” Emily’s voice was lisping with excitement in her ear.

  Kate glanced through half-closed eyes at the digital clock, there by the bed, the rest of the room in darkness; 5:28am. Oh, Good Lord! There was only one person it could possibly be that early Christmas morning, the Almighty Santa Claus.

  “Wow, Em, that’s great.” She tried to sound enthusiastic. There was no chance of snoozing off again now. Not today. “Okay, Em, just let me get my dressing gown on and I’ll come straight through.” Kate shuffled into slippers and reached for her towelling robe. As she stepped out of bed it was freezing, but of course the central heating wouldn’t have come on yet. The light in the girls’ room was bright, Charlotte tearing into goodies from the stocking, which had magically been delivered to the end of her bed. Gold and silver chocolate coin wrappers were strewn over the covers, cocoa smudges tellingly smeared across her lips. The only day of the year she could get away with eating sweets before dawn. But her grin was wide and infectious and made Kate smile as she sat down at the end of her bed. She looked across at Emily opening her stocking carefully, as though it was the most precious thing, and saw that the end of her bed was empty, another space Michael had left in their lives. So she gave Charlotte a hug, and then moved to the end of Emily’s bed to watch her open her gifts, eyes wide at a soft toy reindeer, bubble bath, Miss Kitty lunch box and pencil case for nursery, and peppermint candy canes, amongst other things.

  And however hard it was to sit in that space he had left, it was still magical to see the girls’ faces, lit by the glow of the bedside lamp and sheer excitement. The main presents were still under the tree, the labelled ones from Granny and Grandad Armstrong, Uncle Dan and Aunt Sally, Mel and some other friends, even Graeme had popped a parcel in for them, the sweetheart. They were going to wait until Daddy was here to open those ones. The bottom of both stockings had been probed, prodded and found empty, so Kate thought she’d go and make a cup of tea, take it back upstairs and see if there was any chance of snuggling back down in her own bed for a short snooze, no doubt with the girls in beside her. Was that just too much of a Christmas miracle to ask? Probably.

  The snooze did not materialise, just a three-in-the-bed bounce-around, filled with elbow digs, chatter and giggles. Kate lasted an hour, holding them off from going downstairs for a while longer at least. She’d turned the tree lights on when she’d gone down to make her tea, and when they all headed down at six-thirty, it all glowed and twinkled, and Lottie gasped at the gifts stacked there. Kate was cajoled into allowing them one gift each before Daddy got there, which probably wouldn’t be till nine-ish, still two and a half hours. She hoped there was some good television on, maybe a Christmas film. There was always a Christmas film to fall back on.

  She let them open Graeme’s gifts. They both had a soft toy dog, one brown like Meggie dog, the other golden. He’d dropped the parcels round the other evening. Kate had asked him in, but he didn’t have time to stop, was going off down to his sister’s for a few days, spending Christmas catching up with family in Yorkshire. They chatted for a while. It was an easy, pleasant, no-hard-feelings kind of talk. He gave her a small kiss on the cheek and started walking off down the path. And then he paused, looking thoughtful as he spoke. “I bumped into Michael the other day, at the gym. It’s easier running inside on the treadmill these dark nights,” he explained, “Anyway, he didn’t seem himself. I think the penny’s finally dropped; he’s realised what an idiot he’s been. I could have told him that on day one. He said he misses you and the kids.”

  “Oh,” Kate wasn’t sure what to say. She knew it must have been hard for Graeme to tell her that, as though he was giving back his last chance of having her for himself. But as far as Michael was concerned, it was all too little too late. “Well, he’s made his own bed there, Graeme, the day he walked out,“ she said bitterly, “Anyway, he can talk as much as he likes, but he’s still with her.”

  “Ah, I see. I didn’t realise. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “It’s okay.” None of this was Graeme’s fault. She knew she shouldn’t be brusque with him. He’d been a good friend. “Anyway, you have a lovely Christmas with your family.”

  “Yeah, thanks. And you have a good time, and the girls… I know it’ll maybe not be easy.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for the gifts for them, that’s really kind.” She walked out to him and gave him a hug, more as friends, but with a warmth that came from knowing that painful place where they had both been and found shelter together.

  “When’s Daddy coming?” Emily’s voice brought her back to the here and now.

  “Ooh, well still a couple of hours yet. You two were up at the crack of dawn. But it’ll not seem too long, really. I’ll make us some pancakes for breakfast and we’ll see what’s on the telly, shall we?” He was probably opening his special gifts with Sophie right now, she mused, having Christmas-morning sex and champagne. They’d done that in their early child-free years. She got up and headed for the kitchen, taking out the milk and eggs and flour, driving the thoughts away with activity. There was no point going there.

  “He’s here. He’s here.” Charlotte flew to the door, Em fast on her heels. The two of them had been loitering by the front window, one each side of the Christmas tree, for the past half hour. Luckily, he was earlier than he’d said. The girls were almost as excited as when good old Santa had made it. And Michael was almost as loaded up with gifts. Kate smiled, but felt a lump lodge in her throat, too.

  What a morning he’d just put in. It was a relief to pull up at the house. But this surely wouldn’t be easy, either.

  He’d bought Sophie an expensive watch and some Dior perfume, but had a feeling from the look on her face that it somehow that wasn’t quite good enough or what she was expecting. But that was no surprise, really. After all, none of it felt good enough any more, did it? She might have raised a smile if it had been signed divorce papers and an engagement ring she’d unwrapped.

  Sophie had presented him with cufflinks, expensive-looking ones in a purple velvet padded box. He tried to look delighted, all the while thinking, rather ungraciously he realised – cufflinks, who the hell wore cufflinks any more? He’d wear a dress shirt maybe once a year, to the races or something. The
re was also a Hugo Boss pullover all wrapped up with strings and bows. That was nice and he’d dutifully put it on. (He was also wearing the too-snug M & S Y-fronts he’d unwrapped from his mother, though he usually preferred boxer shorts. They felt very middle-aged.) Anyway, he’d smiled and thanked Sophie with a kiss; she’d probably spent a small fortune, and the cufflinks were nice, a grey kind of pearly look set on silver, maybe platinum.

  So he’d sipped his champagne dutifully in bed, making all the right noises, that the cufflinks were stunning, such a thoughtful gift. Kissed her again on the freckles of her cheek. She shifted her mouth to meet his in a hot embrace. He panicked, drew back, saying he just needed to go to the bathroom, fearing that his full services might be required. There was an awful shadow of doubt about her intentions of late, and what she might really want from him. He wondered whether his real gift to her might end up being delivered in nine months’ time. He didn’t think she’d set out to deceive him, but there was a niggling doubt and just the thought of it was enough to put him off.

  His heart really wasn’t in this relationship any more. He’d seriously thought of looking for somewhere to rent on his own, but it seemed pretty heartless to leave just before Christmas. And there was no way back to Kate now. She had seemed to totally shut down on him since the night of that kiss. Stupid prick that he was. Oh, yes, he’d seriously overstepped the mark with that. Had been kicking himself ever since.

  After a long stay in the bathroom he ducked back to bed for a cuddle only, and then just a few minutes later said he’d better be getting up, to get ready to see the girls.

  In response, Sophie’s tone was petulant, “Well, I suppose I’ll get to see you later, then. I don’t suppose you can say when? Have you got time for the chocolate croissants I bought to go with the buck’s fizz?”

  He daren’t say no, but he’d better be careful with the drinking, he’d be driving. Breakfast was stilted, the conversation too polite, and he left half the Buck’s Fizz, saying he’d finish it later. He knew he’d messed up her Christmas morning and he regretted that, but he was pretty sure he was going to have to mess things up a whole lot more for her yet. He’d give back the cufflinks; she might get her money back. He’d felt obliged to stay and see Christmas through, not wanting to disappoint her. But for the past few weeks he’d begun to see that he’d been trying to fix something that was never right in the first place. He’d been trying to fix the wrong relationship.

  So, he was determined he was not going to mess things up any more here. He stood on the front step to his old home and realised, due the number of parcels he was balancing, he had no hands left free to ring the bell. No need, the door was opened immediately by two excited little girls, who thought he was the best thing since sliced bread, or Father Christmas.

  It felt like home, where he was meant to be, watching the girls unwrap their gifts. He’d got Emily a Sylvanian set with a house, furniture and a rabbit family of toys. Charlotte had wanted a Nintendo DS and some games. Plus there were some clothes and jewellery that Sophie had chosen and wrapped for the girls. They were delighted with their gifts; smiles like sunshine. The fire was glowing and the tree lights shimmering. The tree was rather a stunted one this year, he noted, but who was he to question that? He hadn’t been around to help with choosing one, had he?

  He had wanted to have a gift for Kate, but it hadn’t seemed appropriate coming from him somehow. It felt all wrong having given her nothing but a shit year, and a load of heartache. So he’d wrapped up a bottle of her favourite Armani perfume and some Belgian chocolates, and labelled it from the girls. He had discreetly popped it under the tree, so he got Emily to fetch it for her. He so wanted to put things right, but didn’t know how, after that recent clumsy attempt at reconciliation.

  Michael looked across at Kate as she opened it. She looked so lovely sitting there, in jeans and a soft beige jumper that clung to her slim curves in all the right places. He ached to be able to touch her again, to hold her in his arms, but he feared he never would again. Why the hell hadn’t he held on to that? How had he not seen how truly wonderful she was? She smiled across a “thank you” and kissed the girls. Then she started playing with Emily, putting the house together for the rabbit family and helping Lottie put a disc into the DS. She looked up, caught him watching her, and they shared a second or two to themselves, something poignant yet sad about that look, loaded with nostalgia.

  The girls brought him presents that they’d clumsily wrapped themselves. First a photo frame with a new picture of the two of them. They were in the garden, a sunny photo, they were grinning and growing up. “It’s for your desk at work,” Charlotte announced. “We look too babyish in the old one.”

  Then Emily handed him a gift bag, full of biscuits laden with icing sugar and silver balls, misshapen hearts and angels.

  “Look what we made,” she announced.

  “Wow, they look yummy. I’ll enjoy them later on.”

  “They are shortbreads and chocolate-chip cookies,” Charlotte clarified.

  “We made hundreds,” Em added.

  “They certainly did,” Kate was smiling, “We had to make enough for all the grandparents, friends and, of course, some extras to test out.”

  Michael grinned, picturing the chaos that must have been the kitchen.

  He stayed for a while longer, but then felt a little awkward, as if he was intruding on their world. “I suppose I’d better be going. You need to get off to your mum and dad’s, don’t you?” It was almost too hard to stay and watch what he’d so easily given up, and now lost.

  “Oh,” Kate seemed surprised, “Well, we’re in no rush. We don’t have to be at my parents till twelve-ish. You could stay for a coffee, if you’d like. I’m sure the girls would like that.”

  “Yes, Daddy, yes.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “There’s plenty more of those biscuits to get through as well.” She grinned.

  So they ate doughy shortbread and drank strong coffee, watching the girls open the other gifts that were still under the tree.

  Kate could almost suspend belief that he’d be going soon, back to the other woman. Back to his other life. She watched him get down on the floor and play with the girls, picking up the rabbit mum and dad, joining in some imaginary game of playing house. Of course, in the pack were a mummy and a daddy and two little rabbits. Kate wondered what happened about all the split-up homes? Would Emily send Daddy Rabbit off in a minute to the spare room, or banish him to the cupboard under the stairs. Did the mice family (she’d seen them in the shops) then get to move in or something, or the Mice Mummy find the Rabbit Daddy in the spare room, and what the hell would that start off? She shook her head at her own crazy thoughts. She sipped her coffee and tried to forget what a shitty, broken-up place the world could be sometimes. She gathered back her Christmas spirit by looking at the brightness of her girls’ faces. Their dad was here for them. He had made their Christmas morning complete and that was a big positive. And they’d go and have a nice day with her parents, who would take care of them and do their best to make sure their day was special. So what if the world was broken up? You just had to make the best of the pieces you had left.

  She’d made it through. They’d been fussed over good and proper, her mum, Jean, had made a fantastic traditional turkey dinner, and Peter did the honours carving. The girls had eaten nearly all of it up. Grandma had loved the shortbread and cookies gift (as well as the Crabtree and Evelyn set Kate had bought her), and Grandpa had made a damned good job of eating most of the biscuits with his late-afternoon tea, whilst sitting with his tummy bulging under his new M&S jumper. How the heck he fitted more food in after that huge turkey meal, Kate didn’t have a clue.

  The only blip she’d had was when she ending up sniffling into her Brussels sprouts. It was kind of funny at first, but then it became one of those moments that starts with laughter and ends in real tears.

  Charlotte was struggling with the veg still left on h
er plate. She’d had a go at the carrots, but the sprouts were still sitting there accusingly. She glanced across at Grandma Jean with a “Do I have to?” look, who just said, “Well, try a few at least, Lottie. Emily’s had some.”

  “Wonder what Daddy’s having for his dinner?” Emily mused out loud.

  An uneasy quiet settled over the table for a second.

  “Well, I bet Sophie won’t be forcing him to eat his sprouts,” Charlotte chanted sullenly.

  And it was funny but sad all at once. Kate laughed along with the others, but then somehow all she could think of was that he wasn’t with them for Christmas dinner and that he should be here, or that they should all be at home together. And her laughter dissolved into fat tears that dripped right down the end of her nose and onto her sprouts, plinking into the gravy. She kept her head down, not wanting to spoil the occasion for everyone else, and excused herself, shuffling off to the loo to blow her nose, splash her face with cold water and give herself a couple of minutes out.

  But that was the worst of it and it had been a nice day overall. They’d stayed for tea and mince pies until about six-ish, later than Kate had imagined, then felt it was time to go. The girls were getting tired; no wonder after their 5.30 start, as she was too.

  There wasn’t too long an evening to get through now, bath times and bedtimes having taken up a fair while. Michael had phoned to chat with the girls before they went off to sleep. Charlotte told her that he’d said he was missing them, and Kate could see that it was probably a strange day for him, too.

  She sat in her PJs, legs curled up on the sofa with a glass of Baileys in her hand, (she’d only had a sip of Prosecco at her parents, as she was driving), a crappy film playing that happened to be on the telly, nothing too romantic or scary, and her other hand dipping in and out of the hexagonal tin of Quality Street. If she fell asleep on the sofa, then it didn’t really matter. She’d made it through, pulled it off, that was the main thing, and the girls had had a lovely day. They had gone a bit quiet for a while after Michael had left in the morning, but then they were soon packing a favourite gift each to take to Granny’s in the car with them, choosing the Nintendo and Rabbit Family, and then they were heading off down to Morpeth. Their kisses and thanks at bedtime were extra proof that it had been special for them, even though their grins had said it all through the day anyhow.