The Ex-Wife

by Jess Ryder

  I’d just turned sixteen, which meant it was legal now. All we’d ever done up to that point was some serious heavy petting. I always hated that phrase. You used to see it on signs at the leisure centre, with a cartoon of a boy embracing a girl in a swimming cap, and Nicky would say it was ridiculous, as if a swimming cap was in any way a turn-on. We went well beyond heavy petting that day, all the way in fact. Like Becker’s straight-set win, it was over too quickly. Not great sex, but beautiful in its way. A historic moment. Afterwards, we lay entwined on the cream velour cushions, watching the presentation ceremony, the Duchess of Kent chatting to the ball boys, Becker parading his trophy to the cheering crowds. The insides of my thighs were damp with sweat and aching strangely. I had no doubt that this simple, awkward act had sealed our fates, binding us together for ever.

  ‘I love you,’ I whispered, and I will never forget his clumsy reply: ‘And me you too, I think.’ Not a ringing endorsement, especially when I’d just given him my virginity, but I forgave him. I always forgave him. No matter what.

  22

  Then

  Natasha

  * * *

  I found Andrew Watson & Associates, family solicitors, on the internet. Their office was above an estate agent’s, accessed via a doorway and a narrow flight of stairs. I’d been able to get an appointment at short notice, which worried me slightly. They offered a free initial advice session, after which ‘affordable fees’ would be charged. No fees were affordable as far as I was concerned, but I was hungry for the advice. I felt very uncomfortable about Mum using her savings and was determined to find another way to fight Nick. Maybe, I thought, I would be eligible for legal aid.

  Andrew Watson turned over a fresh sheet in his notepad and wrote my name at the top in bold black pen. He was about Nick’s age but wore the years less well. A large beer gut was straining against his shirt buttons, and his fingers were like fat sausages. His straggly beard looked like a child had scribbled it on his face and did nothing to disguise his saggy jowls and double chin.

  ‘So, tell me briefly why you’re here,’ he said.

  I explained that Nick had vanished with our daughter and I had no idea where he was.

  ‘You’re legally married, yes?’ I nodded. ‘He’s named as the father on your daughter’s birth certificate.’

  ‘Yes. I know about parental responsibility. I know Nick’s not done anything illegal.’

  ‘Have you any reason to believe he might harm the child?’

  ‘No, none. I’m sure Emily’s safe with him, but that’s not the issue,’ I said, feeling hot with anxiety. ‘She needs me. I want her back.’

  ‘Understandably. I don’t think the court will look too kindly on your husband’s behaviour – unless, that is, he has specific reasons for withdrawing your daughter from your care.’ He paused to study my reaction. ‘For example, if he felt that you were a danger to her in some way.’

  Nick’s accusation about my being violent flashed into my mind, but I shook my head vehemently. ‘No, there’s nothing like that. To be honest, I was planning to leave him – he found out and got in first. I think that’s what this is all about.’

  Andrew Watson wrote a few words on his pad, then looked up and pronounced his verdict. ‘The family court acts in what it considers to be the best interests of the child, and usually, although not always, that means restoring their normal living arrangements. We can apply for an emergency order for him to return your daughter to the family home.’

  For the first time in several days, a smile spread across my face. ‘That’s brilliant. That’s what we need to do, then.’

  He frowned. ‘It might be easier said than done. You mentioned earlier that you have no idea where he’s living now.’

  ‘No.’ My heart instantly sank.

  ‘All is not lost. The court can make another order to force anyone who knows his whereabouts to reveal them. A family member, his employer, bank, mobile phone company, for example. Once Emily is returned home, hopefully you and your husband can come to an agreement about where she lives and how you share her upbringing, but if that’s not possible, the court can make a child arrangement order.’

  ‘This is sounding extremely complicated.’

  ‘It can be, yes. Then there are divorce proceedings to consider. If your husband won’t co-operate, I’m afraid your legal fees could run into many thousands.’

  Thousands I don’t have, I thought.

  Watson glanced at his watch. My free hour was almost up. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’

  Oh yes, I thought, just one small thing. I told him I’d been locked out of the family home and had no access to cash. He let out a low whistle when I confessed that Nick and I didn’t have a joint bank account, and made another note on his pad. I couldn’t read it, but I guessed it was something like the most stupid woman I’ve ever met.

  Andrew Watson leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m presuming you’re a joint owner of the property, in which case you need to take proof of your—’

  I held up my hand to stop him. ‘I don’t think I am a joint owner.’

  He looked at me askance. ‘You don’t think? Surely you must know either way?’

  My cheeks flushed. ‘My husband lived there with his first wife. She moved out and I moved in. I don’t remember signing anything. I just assumed, when we married, that it would automatically belong to me too. But maybe that’s not the case.’

  ‘If you didn’t sign a deed of transfer … then no.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, you are in a mess.’

  I lowered my gaze. ‘Yes. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Okay …’ He gathered his wits. ‘If you can prove that you’ve been living in the house for a period of time, we can apply for matrimonial home rights. The court will issue an order so that you can carry on living in the family home until the divorce goes through. It’s pretty straightforward, unless …’ he raised a warning finger, ‘unless the property is jointly owned by your husband and another party, his ex-wife, for instance, and she won’t agree. But let’s not speculate. We can check the Land Registry and find out who the owner is.’

  More court orders, more legal fees. I could see thousands of gold coins pouring onto the leather-topped desk, Andrew Watson’s balding head barely visible behind the heap. He must be thinking all his Christmases had come at once.

  ‘What about legal aid?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got no income, no savings to speak of …’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘You’d only be eligible if there was proof that you’re a victim of domestic violence, or that the child is at risk from your husband, which I take it is not the case?’ He registered the defeat in my eyes. ‘I’m sorry. This can be an extremely frustrating and expensive business. As much as I’d like to represent you, I recommend that you try to resolve the situation amicably with your husband and keep the courts out of it.’

  I knew there was no chance of that happening. Nick would fight me every step of the way and he wouldn’t care how much it cost. He was probably already sitting with some fancy expensive lawyer, putting together a case against me. There was no proof that I was a danger to Emily, but that wouldn’t bother Nick – he’d make something up.

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ I said, rising to my feet. ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

  I walked out of the solicitor’s office onto the pavement. It was mid-morning, the sun was shining brightly and the sky was a cheerful, mocking blue. I felt so weighed down with worry, I could barely drag myself up the street. What was I going to say to Mum? I knew she’d be furious that I wasn’t eligible for legal aid, and was bound to go into one of her rants about how rich people shouldn’t have an advantage when it came to justice. I also knew that she’d want to fight, that she’d try to thrust her money into my hands. But I couldn’t take it. Even if we used all her savings, it wouldn’t be enough, and we’d never win. We might just as well put the money on a bonfire. It would be a complete waste of all Mum’s hard wo
rk, all those years of scrimping and self-denial. She deserved a few treats in her retirement; I couldn’t take them away from her. No, this was my problem. But I wasn’t about to give up on Emily. I just needed to find another way.

  * * *

  I suspected that Nick’s family knew where he was. Unable to afford to get a court order, I had to take the DIY approach. There was no point in my contacting his parents or Hayley and begging them for information. But they were still close to Jen.

  Would she help me?

  She’d rung Hayley originally, and she’d found Sam’s address for me. She hadn’t been worried about my talking to him, which suggested she had nothing to hide. I thought back to our last encounter at her flat. When she denied that she and Nick were having an affair, it had felt like she was telling the truth. And she’d seemed genuinely shocked that he’d taken Emily. There was a spark of female solidarity there – could I turn it into a flame?

  Once I was back at Mum’s house, I dialled Jen’s number. My pulse quickened as I waited for her to pick up.

  ‘Natasha?’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking about you. How’s it going?’

  ‘Not good. Still no news from Nick.’

  She tutted. ‘This is so unfair on you. And little Emily. I don’t understand why he’s being like this.’

  ‘Come on, Jen,’ I retorted, ‘we both know what he’s like. He wants his own way and he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it. That’s how he was with you. I realise that now, and I feel really bad about it.’

  ‘Well … I must admit I did hate you for a very long time.’ She paused, and I thought I could detect a slight crack in her voice. ‘But you were just a kid. You didn’t understand who you were dealing with. Still, that’s all water under the bridge. Let’s not talk about it now.’

  ‘I still want you to know that I’m sorry.’

  She made a small sound of acknowledgement, then changed the subject. ‘Did that address for Sam work out? Did you manage to hook up with him?’

  ‘It was the right address, but I didn’t see him, no. He’s gone away.’ I decided not to mention the humiliating meeting with the wife and kids.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. So what are you doing? Sitting at home, waiting and wondering?’

  I told her that Nick had changed the locks on the house and cancelled all my cards.

  ‘He’s done what?! You’re kidding me.’ Her voice hit the high notes. ‘Utter shit, utter, utter shit. Mind you, it doesn’t surprise me for one second. That’s why I just caved in when he wanted me to leave. I knew he’d play dirty if I fought him.’

  I sighed audibly. Of course, that was why she’d moved out. Why hadn’t I realised that before? I’d been walking around blindfold ever since the day I met Nick, letting him paint every scene for me, not looking for myself. I’d seen the world totally through his eyes, believing every lying word.

  Jen’s voice interrupted my thoughts. ‘So where are you staying now?’

  ‘At my mum’s. She’s looking after me.’

  ‘Sounds like you need it.’ She puffed out a breath. ‘Look, Natasha, if there’s anything I can do …’

  ‘Well, there might be, actually,’ I said, trying to sound calm and confident.

  ‘Okay … fire away.’

  ‘I need to talk to Nick face to face. My marriage is over, I know that. I don’t want anything from him; all I care about is Emily. We have to act in her best interests,’ I said, echoing the solicitor’s words.

  ‘Absolutely. But I don’t see how I can help.’

  I took a breath. ‘Could you ask Hayley if she knows where Nick is?’

  ‘Hmm … She said he deliberately hadn’t told her, remember?’

  ‘I know, but he might have done by now. She’d never tell me in a million years, but she’d tell you, I know she would …’ I could almost hear Jen weighing up her loyalties. ‘Please? For Emily’s sake, not mine.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not promising anything, you understand? And I’m not going to lie to Hayley. I’ll be your go-between, if you like. I’ll explain your position and see what she says. She’s a mum herself, she should understand.’

  ‘Thanks, Jen,’ I said, a wave of relief rushing over me. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  23

  Then

  Jennifer

  * * *

  It had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t have a family of my own. Nicky and I had it all planned out. We would have three children, including a boy for him and a girl for me. I wanted them to be close, so they could play together, but not so close that they would be hard to manage. A two-year gap between each child seemed perfect.

  We married very young, I was only nineteen and Nicky was twenty-one. Some of our wedding guests were convinced I must be pregnant and spent the reception staring at my stomach. But apart from that first time in front of the Wimbledon final, we’d been extremely careful. Nicky was determined not to bring a child into the world he couldn’t provide for. We had to have our own house first, with three bedrooms and a garden for the children to play in. It had to be in a decent area with good primary schools. There was no arguing with him, so I went on the pill.

  To begin with, we lived with Nicky’s parents. We slept in his room and used the spare bedroom as a separate sitting room. Hayley, who’d always been smarter than me at school, was away at university and only came back for the holidays. It was easy to slip into the role of daughter; I’d already been playing it for years. I shared the kitchen with Jane, but that wasn’t a problem. We took it in turns to cook for the four of us. It was all very cosy and compatible. Jane and I even went clothes shopping together in Bristol. I think we were both missing Hayley and needed some girlie company.

  I didn’t see much of Dad. Now that Mum was gone, he worked full-time, and when he wasn’t working, he was travelling the globe. He had a new woman in his life, too, an Australian teacher he’d met in Sydney. There was talk of him moving out there permanently to be with her. I didn’t blame him; he deserved to be happy after all those years caring for Mum. We both deserved happiness, and miraculously, we both seemed to have found it. I felt as if someone up there was taking care of us.

  Nicky had refused to go to university. He was too impatient to wait for three years before starting his career. He got a job as a gofer in an advertising agency in Bristol and advanced quickly, leapfrogging the graduates and becoming a senior account exec aged only twenty-four. His charming skills were second to none and I don’t think he ever lost a pitch. Scarcely a week went by without him being headhunted by clients or rival agencies, even some from London. He’d tell his boss he was going to leave, and they’d offer him more money to stay.

  I was working as a receptionist in a large office block in the city centre. Nicky’s company was based there, which was how I’d got the job. I thought we’d be able to meet for lunch, but he was always busy entertaining clients. It was easy, boring work, far beneath my capabilities, but I liked the idea of being close to Nicky, even though I never saw him and he always stayed later than me. I still dreamed of becoming a designer, but I didn’t have the motivation to do the necessary training. Instead, I amused myself by rearranging the artificial flowers and titivating the coffee tables in the foyer.

  Nicky and I had already decided we wanted to start a family sooner rather than later. Get it over and done with early, and then, when they grow up, we’ll still be young enough to enjoy ourselves, was his view. He was also strongly of the opinion that we should have our own home first. Living with his parents was comfortable and cheap, but it wasn’t grown-up. We were a luckier generation. It was much easier to buy in those days; if you took out an endowment mortgage, you only needed a small deposit.

  We managed to buy a cute little semi on the outskirts of Bristol and moved in just before my twenty-third birthday. I remember sitting on the packing cases, drinking warm cava because we didn’t yet have a fridge, and saying, ‘So, can we start making babies now?’ He clinked my glas
s and said, ‘Why not? No time like the present.’ We put the mattress on the bedroom floor and made love there and then. It was a symbolic gesture, but it felt different. Special. Daring. I stopped taking the little tablets that had been my night-time routine for years and prepared myself to conceive.

  We thought we’d struck gold first time, because my period didn’t come. But the pregnancy test was negative. The same thing happened the next month, then the next and the next. It took six months for my body to resume its natural cycle. ‘We’ll be fine now,’ Nicky said. ‘Just you wait and see.’ We set to our baby-making with renewed vigour, but now we had the opposite problem. My periods turned up every month, as regular as clockwork.

  Nicky was becoming increasingly frustrated. In his experience, if you worked hard and did all the right things, you would be rewarded. Yet the harder we tried, the less we achieved. I kept a temperature chart, ate certain foods and avoided others. We had sex less often and concentrated our efforts around ovulation. He even made me lie on my back with my legs in the air afterwards to encourage the sperm to swim in the right direction.

  A year had gone by now and our baby plans were behind schedule. Nicky insisted I went to the doctor and had tests. There seemed to be nothing wrong with me, so the doctor suggested testing Nicky. After a humiliating experience at the hospital, it was discovered that he had slow sperm. He was devastated. For the first time in his life, something wasn’t going his way. We tried all the self-help things – he gave up smoking and started taking vitamin supplements – but nothing worked. Making love became stressful and less and less enjoyable. Sometimes he couldn’t manage an erection and became angry with me for putting pressure on him to perform. I came to dread the look on his face every month when my period arrived.