Having It All

by Maeve Haran

  As she drew up outside the house she glanced up, half expecting an anxious face at the window, but the curtains were all drawn.

  For a moment she allowed herself to imagine David inside, distraught and repentant, phoning anyone who might know where they were, trying not to face the worst, swearing he’d never see the girl again if his family came back safely.

  As she sat in the dark under the orange glow of a street lamp she heard their front door open and someone running down the steps. In thirty seconds she’d be in his arms, he’d be crying and she would forgive him. He would say he’d never do it again and she would know it was true. Together they’d put the children to bed and renew their promises to each other, the last few weeks a nightmare from which they had both woken up at last.

  But the anxious face that appeared at the window wasn’t David’s. It was Susie’s. ‘Thank God you’re back.’ The relief in Susie’s voice made it high-pitched and breathless. ‘David rang just after you left.’ Susie avoided looking at her and began to unstrap Daisy. ‘He said to tell you they had problems at the paper and that he wouldn’t be home tonight.’

  CHAPTER 14

  The first thing Liz noticed when she woke up was that it was curiously quiet in the bedroom. The clock-radio was off. There was no gentle snoring from David. And, most noticeable of all, no whoops and shrieks from Jamie and insistent demands of ‘Up! Up!’ from Daisy wanting to climb into their bed.

  It was so different from their usual noisy rumbustious mornings that for a split second Liz wondered if she was at home. But looking round in the dim light she saw the familiar, loved objects of their bedroom – the elephant lamp her father had brought back from India, the naive painting of a bull David’s colleagues had given them as a jokey wedding present, the nursing chair her mother had sent her when Jamie was born, the basket of toys for Jamie and Daisy.

  She glanced again at the clock-radio. Nine o’clock! Jesus, she should be at work by now! And then she remembered. She wasn’t going to work. And with that realization the other memories of yesterday flooded back with frightening, mind-numbing clarity. Yesterday was the day she’d chucked in her job. Yesterday was the day she’d tried to save her marriage. And yesterday was the day David had chosen to spend the night in someone else’s bed.

  For a moment Liz’s brain rejected the full horror of her position. Maybe she was overreacting. David had said there were problems at the paper. Everyone knew how unpredictable newspapers were. They had technical problems. Union problems. Libel problems. Maybe he was telling the truth.

  For a full thirty seconds Liz walked round the lifebelt David had thrown her and examined it. She could climb aboard and tell herself that it wasn’t the QE2 but it would do for the moment. At least she could float on it until she felt strong enough to swim for the shore. And it was better than drowning, wasn’t it?

  Yet there was just one small problem in accepting David’s story. Every instinct she possessed, every loving memory they shared, every bit of experience from twelve years together screamed at her that it was a lie. David had not stayed at the paper. David had been making love to someone else. And suddenly Liz felt herself being sucked into a black hole of depression and despair. She could cope with losing her job if it weren’t for the affair. And she could cope with the affair if she hadn’t just lost her job. But she couldn’t, no way could she, cope with both.

  Miserably she remembered a workmate saying life was fine if three things balanced: your work, your lovelife and your home. You could survive with one going wrong, two was tough, three the end. For a moment she lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for a crack to appear, waiting to hear the walls of her home start to crumble. But to her surprise what she heard was someone knocking on the door instead. If she ignored them they would give up and go away. But they weren’t giving up. There were knocks and shouts and she heard Daisy shout ‘Mummy! Door!’ Somehow she dragged herself out of the black hole which was sucking her in and got herself over to the door.

  Like light chasing shadows Jamie and Daisy bounced into the room and she saw that Daisy held a bunch of freesias and Jamie clutched something round. Behind them Susie was carrying a tray with croissants and she could smell fresh coffee. Almost shyly Jamie handed her the present and she saw that it was a rosette. TO OUR MUM, it said, FOR BEING VERY BRAVE. WE LOVE YOU. And finally Liz felt the tears come. Tears for herself and her marriage and her babies, for the hopes they’d had and the waste of seeing it all in ruins. But then, as Jamie and Daisy ran to comfort her, they became tears of gratitude that though there were precious things she’d lost, she still had so much left.

  As she held them both tightly she saw Susie smiling in sympathy over the top of their heads. For a moment she felt embarrassed at how much the girl knew about her life. Too much. But what the hell. Just at the moment she needed all the friends she could get.

  ‘By the way’ – Susie smiled shyly –‘about my notice. Things are different now. I know I’m due to leave in two weeks, but do you want me to stay on for a bit?’

  But before Liz could answer she heard the front door open. And they both knew it was David.

  ‘Would you like me to take the children?’ Susie jumped off the bed, nervously, the cosy atmosphere dissipated, and moved towards the door, sensing fireworks ahead.

  ‘No, it’s fine. Leave them.’

  Why had she said that? Surely it would be better that they went quietly off with Susie?

  Then, to her shame, Liz realized she wanted their protection. With them here nothing too terrible could happen. With them here she couldn’t accuse David of adultery and he couldn’t leave for ever. For the first time she realized she was scared. She was no longer a well-paid TV executive. And if she lost David she’d be a single mother struggling to keep afloat. Was she strong enough to take that risk?

  She could hear David bounding up the stairs two at a time as he always did. Then there was a crash and they heard him shouting and swearing. Moments later he hopped in, rubbing his knee with one hand, the cause of his fall, Jamie’s Ghostbusters Spook Exterminator, in the other.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Jamie. You left this bloody thing on the stairs again!’ he bellowed.

  As Jamie ran to her arms, Liz watched David flop on to the bed rubbing his knee.

  ‘Daddeee!’ crowed Daisy, throwing herself at him, as blissfully ignorant as Liz was painfully aware of his crumpled suit that had clearly spent the night on someone’s bedroom floor, or the faint musky smell that hung about his clothes, as telltale as the guilt that still lurked in his eyes.

  Hearing a small sob from Jamie, David leaned over and lifted him up, repentance already setting in. ‘Sorry for shouting, old son. Daddy’s a bit tired.’ He avoided Liz’s eyes. ‘Hard night at the paper,’ he added lamely.

  Watching them, she desperately wanted to believe him, that it was tiredness not guilt that made him so touchy, that the man she had loved and laughed with for the last twelve years had not betrayed her as though none of that meant anything to him, that last night he had been, just as he said, having a hard night at the office. But she knew she couldn’t.

  Suddenly David was struck by the realization that it was nearly ten a.m. and Liz wasn’t up yet. ‘What are you doing in bed? You should be at work.’ His tone seemed to suggest that she was malingering. ‘Are you ill or something?’

  She was so angry that she abandoned all thoughts of softening the blow. ‘If you’d bothered to come home last night you’d know that I resigned from Metro yesterday. So I can stay in bed as long as I like!’

  ‘You resigned?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘You mean you walked out on a three-year contract worth nearly a quarter of a million because of your bloody ego? Knowing you wouldn’t get any severance pay and that you – we – would be left without a penny? Oh brilliant, absolutely bloody brilliant!’

  He jumped up furiously and stormed towards the door. He knew that he shouldn’t be shouting at her, that
he should be telling her everything was all right. But it fucking well wasn’t. She’d given up Metro without so much as consulting him when any day he might find himself out of a job too. Replaced by some other smart young yob Logan brought in from the World. Then they’d be on the streets. Them! The high-flyers that everyone envied!

  ‘David,’ Liz asked quietly, ‘you haven’t even asked me why I resigned.’

  He stopped at the door and turned. ‘I don’t need to. I already know. Because you want to iron my shirts like your friend Ginny!’

  Liz flinched. ‘That’s not fair. It isn’t about ironing shirts. I’ve just had enough of being pulled two ways. I want to be here for Jamie and Daisy. I want to make a home for you to come back to.’

  ‘If we’re not careful we won’t have a home to come back to!’

  What was he talking about?

  But David didn’t wait to explain. It was as though saying she’d resigned had activated some unsuspected volcano. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Liz, I don’t want a wife at home!’ The image of his mother dusting and cleaning all the joy out of his childhood flickered across his mind. ‘I want an equal. I want a woman who’s her own person with her own life. I don’t want to live with my bloody mother!’

  Liz felt furious at the unfairness of it all. How could she defend herself against that suffocating martyr who had pretended to give but had asked a price so high for her gift that her son was still paying it? And so was she.

  ‘Look, Liz, let’s get one thing straight. You aren’t doing this for me. You’re doing it for you.’

  And suddenly Liz found that she had no answer. He had wounded her to the quick. Because it was true. She had given up everything for a dream she thought they shared. And looking at David’s angry face she saw that she was wrong. It was only she who wanted a different life after all.

  As David walked from the room, Jamie started to sob. Looking at the fear on his face she lifted him up and held him, her own worries evaporating in her fierce desire to protect him, her first born.

  And for the second time that day she wondered what the hell she was going to do. She desperately needed someone to talk to. And with a great flood of relief she remembered that she was having lunch with Mel today. Thank God for Mel. She was warm and witty and wise. If anyone knew what to do, she would.

  Liz slipped under the steamy bubbles and felt the perfumed water swirl through her hair until it felt squeaky clean. Having a bath and time to get dressed slowly was such an unfamiliar luxury that she was determined to enjoy it no matter what the circumstances. Next she intended to put on her smartest clothes to meet Mel. There was nothing like dressing to kill to stave off depression.

  She sat down at her dressing table and surveyed the damage done to her face. A tiny bit of puffiness remained but she’d managed to get rid of the redness round the eyes by soaking them in Optrex. She just had time to do her hair and make-up before she had to leave.

  Three-quarters of an hour later Liz looked in the triple mirror and was amazed. No one would guess that today was the worst day of her life. Her skin and hair were glowing with health, and worry had even made her lose a couple of pounds she’d been meaning to shed for years. Now the bright yellow suit looked even better than when she’d worn it three months ago on her first day as Programme Controller of Metro TV.

  For a moment she looked at the chic woman staring back at her and thought of David making love to her in that suit. She should have known that their values were drifting apart. He believed success was a God to be worshipped and striven for no matter what the cost, and she didn’t. Maybe it was as simple as that.

  Stepping out into the street she saw a cab immediately and hailed it.

  When the taxi-driver dropped her off at the restaurant, Liz couldn’t help noticing that he watched her departing legs appreciatively. On the pavement outside she stopped for a moment and looked up, smiling bitterly. Of all the restaurants in London Mel had chosen one called Ménage à Trois.

  Mel was already waiting at their table. She always made a point of arriving five minutes early at any restaurant to get the inside seat so she could survey the scene and be first to find out who was screwing whom without missing out on a word of gossip. Mel reckoned the best position for this activity was midway between the Ladies, the Gents and the Exit.

  ‘Hey, you look great! Unemployment obviously suits you!’ Liz smiled at Mel’s tone of undisguised admiration. She knew Mel thought she didn’t bother enough with her appearance most of the time. Well, today she had.

  ‘So, how are you? The media’s buzzing with stories of how you gave Conrad what for.’ Mel was eager to get the blow-by-blow resignation story.

  ‘Oh that.’

  ‘What do you mean “Oh that”? That’s all people are talking about in The Groucho.’

  But Liz had never shared Mel’s obsession with media gossip, and anyway after last night it seemed trivial by comparison. What she really wanted to talk about was David.

  Britt tapped her fingers on the steering wheel in irritation and drove round the block for the third time looking for a parking space. She knew she shouldn’t have brought the car, that you have to put yourself down at birth to get a meter in Knightsbridge, but she needed it afterwards or she’d have no chance of getting to her meeting.

  When David had called an hour ago, she’d known instantly something was wrong. His guilt at betraying Liz was an irritant she’d learned to live with, but this morning it had got out of hand. He wasn’t a natural deceiver. To a lot of men she’d met adultery was a way of life. But not David. He’d sounded close to tears when he’d demanded to see her, and her intuition told her that when he did he was going to dump her.

  For a moment she considered just driving away and heading off the pain by avoiding it altogether. Maybe she’d just phone up and leave a message saying she couldn’t make it. And then just as she was about to put her foot down, a Golf drove out of a parking space immediately in front of her and, with the instincts of a London driver who knows the odds against such a piece of good fortune to be several million to one, she drove deftly in and parked.

  The meter was three feet away from the entrance to Ménage à Trois and it had almost two hours on the clock. That kind of good luck made her suspicious. It was too good to be true. Telling herself she was getting to be a superstitious old hag like her mother, she swung her long legs out of the car and strode towards the restaurant, just as David’s chauffeur slowed down outside it.

  Inside the restaurant Mel listened to Liz’s tale of woe and tried to catch the waiter’s eye. This was definitely going to be a two-bottle lunch.

  ‘So, what should I do?’ Liz leaned closer to Mel and tried to keep her voice down. ‘Force a confrontation? Make him admit he’s having an affair? Or just accept that we’ve got different values now and that maybe it’s time we split up?’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Mel banged her empty glass down with such force that the people at the next table glanced at her nervously. ‘This has nothing to do with different values. The guy’s bonking his brains out, that’s all! It’s just bad timing. Look. He’s feeling guilty as hell – quite right too, the bastard! – and you hit him with the news you’re sacrificing your all to be with him just when he’s hoping you’ll go off on a tour of TV stations in Hong Kong!’

  Miraculously a second bottle appeared, without Liz even noticing Mel ordering it. But then Mel spoke that secret sign language known by waiters everywhere. She poured them another glass.

  ‘Look, Lizzie, what David needs now isn’t warm slippers and steak-and-kidney pie. It would scare the hell out of him. What he needs is space. And if you’ve got any sense you’ll see that it’s still you and the kids he loves.’ She patted Liz’s hand encouragingly. ‘All he wants from her is to have his prick dipped in whipped cream and be told he’s the greatest fuck in the history of the world, ever.’ Mel sipped her wine. ‘I know it doesn’t sound like it, but believe me, it’ll pass. In a few weeks time he’ll get ov
er it. The wife always wins. Believe me, I know. I’ve lost to her often enough! Wait for the signs. He’ll start coming home while it’s still light and when the phone goes in the middle of the night he’ll be as pissed off as you are. He’ll snuggle up to you in bed, and ask for Ovaltine. That’s when you whip out the home cooking. A couple of gourmet dinners by the fireside with optional extras for dessert and he’ll love having you at home. And if he doesn’t then that’s the time to start wondering if you have irreconcilable differences, not now. Trust Auntie Mel.’

  Liz giggled for the first time in what seemed like days. ‘But I don’t know if I can just ignore it. What I can’t bear is not being sure. We’ve always been straight with each other, always talked about everything that mattered. I want him to admit it if he’s having an affair and that’s why he’s being so shitty. It’d be so much easier if it were out in the open.’

  ‘Who are you kidding? Of course it wouldn’t! It would ruin everything! Never ask, that’s the only bit of marital advice my Mum’s ever given me. Dad was the Warren Beatty of Golders Green but not once did she ask if he was being unfaithful. Admittedly she thought of having him followed but that’s only human. And then she reckoned why did she want to spoil a perfectly good marriage by knowing the truth. So she didn’t.’ Mel grinned outrageously. ‘They’re celebrating their fortieth anniversary next month.’

  ‘But, Mel, that’s terrible! That might have been OK for our mothers, but we believe in openness and honesty and talking things through and all those other mad, crazy sixties concepts, don’t we?’

  ‘Of course we do. When it suits us.’

  Liz sipped her wine and thought about what Mel had said. Outrageous though it was, it made a lot of sense. Surely there was enough good in their marriage to make it worth fighting for? If she chucked in the towel now David would probably move in with whatever dumb twenty-year-old he was having the affair with. She started to feel better. ‘So you reckon in a few weeks everything will be all right? Mel? Mel?’