by Sara Downing
Tom, I notice, has the year two boys. Ha – a morning of stress-inducing high-speed chasing around the park, pulling them down from the enclosure fences and ensuring they don’t feed each other to the lions. Well, good luck to him! Ginny hands us all our instructions – where to go, when to meet, what to see, etc, she really is far too organised, she has planned this like a military operation – and I grab Tom for a quick second before we head off with our respective groups. I just need to say something to him, anything, no matter how mundane, just to have him to myself for a few brief moments. But I have to do it under the guise of discussing our plans for the day.
‘Hi,’ I say, strolling over to him as he gives me one of his huge knee-melting, discombobulating smiles.
‘Hi, are you all set?’ he asks.
‘Yes, I just need to check something with you, though,’ I ask, keeping a wary eye on Ginny who is just out of my line of vision, and pretending to consult my clip-board.
‘Mr Parry and Miss Connery, sitting in a tree, K...I...S...S…I...N…G,’ comes the chant from behind us – it’s Tom’s year two boys. Oh God. I am so glad the other groups have already moved off to start exploring the park.
‘Mr Parry loves Miss Connery,’ I hear someone whisper. I try so hard not to blush – they might only be little kids but they are pretty astute at picking up on any signs which might give us away and prove their whisperings to be true. Tom turns round and fixes them with the sort of stare I didn’t think he was capable of. Eat your heart out Medusa, half of Cropley school’s pupils have just been turned to stone in one fell swoop.
Once his stony expression has faded, Tom handles it very well, and very delicately; to tell them off too strongly would just give them cause to think they had hit on the right note, and then they’d never let up. For all we know, they may have just chanced on that comment as they saw us standing together, and any other female member of staff standing where I am might just as easily have had her name dropped into their little rhyme. Let’s hope so.
Tom and I are still such a big secret, we’ve only just discovered ourselves that we are having an affair (there, I said the A word), so the chances of anyone else knowing, or even hazarding a guess, especially children, are pretty slim. It’s just a bit of innocent stirring from a bunch of cheeky kids.
God knows why we came here in search of monkeys today – we have enough of our own.
Seventeen
By the end of the day, I am shattered, not least because of the week we have had, plus the trip and the responsibility that goes with taking a party of kids out of their safe school environment and into the big wide, dangerous world. No, it’s more to do with what I know is imminent, the demise of my relationship with Mark. I am still resolved that it’s the right thing to do. Nothing has changed my mind, and certainly not the events of the past couple of days.
Even if Tom and I hadn’t properly kicked off our relationship this week, then ending things with Mark would still have been very high on my list of priorities – maybe not necessarily right now, but very soon. I can’t stand this kind of limbo state Mark and I seem to have drifted into. It doesn’t allow either of us to draw a line under things and move on with the rest of our lives. I’m not expecting too much in the way of protest from Mark tomorrow, but at the same time it’s not a nice thing to have to do, and I feel very sad and melancholy on the coach on the way back to school, knowing that the week is coming to an end and I have a daunting task ahead of me.
As I arrive home the phone is ringing. It’s Evie. She wants to pop round for a chat.
‘Everything OK?’ I enquire, hoping this isn’t about to be Episode Two in the ‘James is Having an Affair’ saga. Nice to have some notice this time, though, so I can get myself into the good, supportive friend state of mind that I owe to her to be in, putting aside my own troubles for a while. She’s always so good to me, especially when I need a shoulder to try on, so I know I have to be there for her too when she needs me.
‘Tell you in a mo,’ she says. She doesn’t sound even mildly suicidal, so hopefully things have resolved themselves.
No more than ten minutes later and she’s in my kitchen, glass of wine in hand, not refusing it this time. There is a glow to her cheeks which I haven’t seen for a couple of weeks; clearly her suspicions had really dragged her down, and it’s only now she has sorted everything out (which clearly she has, given her general state of euphoric bounciness) that I realise how awful it was making her feel and look.
‘Guess what,’ she says, as gleefully as a small child in a toy shop, ‘We’re off to Florence!’
‘Great!’ I reply, trying to muster some of her enthusiasm and wondering where all the suspicion and unhappiness have vanished to. I wait for her to expand further, as clearly she is about to, she looks fit to burst.
‘James was sorting out a surprise trip for my birthday. You know I’d always wanted to go to Florence? Well, my sister Lydia’s studying art there, she’s always raving about the place, loves it, and I’ve never been. Well, James’ PA was helping him sort it all out, doing the hotel bookings and all that sort of stuff. That’s all it was, can you believe it?’
She looks so excited and so happy. ‘So did you confront him, then? How did it all come out?’ I ask, wanting to know the details of how she’d managed to set her perfect marriage back on track.
‘I just came out and asked him if he was having an affair, told him how unhappy I’d been. He hadn’t even realised it’d looked dodgy. He was so shocked when I told him what I’d suspected, he almost cried, poor thing. Said he’d never wanted anyone but me, swore undying love to me and all that, and he was so sorry for giving me a reason to think those things,’ she explains. ‘Anyway, we made up big time, if you get my drift,’ she adds with a naughty giggle, as her eyebrows waggle up and down conspiratorially.
‘I’m so pleased for you Evie,’ I say, giving her a hug, and I mean it. If the two of them can’t make it work, then there’s no hope for the rest of us.
‘Anyway, can you come out shopping tomorrow?’ Evie asks. ‘Now I’ve got a trip to plan for, I need some new clothes! I thought we could go up to the Bull Ring.’
‘Hang on a minute, you’re telling me you’re off to Italy, the home of fashion and style and all things gorgeous, and you need to buy clothes before you go?’ I pretend to protest, then add quickly after, ‘Of course I’ll come. But not tomorrow, there’s something I need to do…..’
‘Next Saturday, then,’ she goes on, barely noticing the shadow that passes across my face. I don’t want to have to tell her what I am doing tomorrow; she is on such a happy cloud that I wouldn’t want to clip her wings and send her spiralling back down to earth in sympathy. No, I will tell all to her and Alex when the time is right. We’ll have a lovely girly day next weekend and I’ll pour my heart out, if the timing feels right. I think I should be ready for it by then.
‘Anyway, you’re looking pretty perky, Grace, things on the mend with Mark?’ she doesn’t wait for a reply but continues, ‘Tom was very complimentary about you the other night, wasn’t he? Seems to think very highly of you.’ I don’t know if she is digging, or just saying it as she sees it. In any case, she has no reason to suspect there is anything going on between Tom and me.
I feel a huge blush spreading up from my chest, via my neck, to my face, and I head for the fridge and the wine bottle, to top Evie up, and cool myself down. I think I’d need to climb right inside it to do that, my face is so glaringly puce.
‘We’re sorting stuff out,’ is all I say, still facing the fridge. I think Mark should be the first one to hear what I have to say, not Evie, and I don’t really want to go into it all this afternoon. And I’m certainly not letting on about Tom, not until my relationship with Mark has been properly brought to an end.
‘Tom’s a nice bloke. He’s great to work for,’ is all I say, trying to be casual. I feel a bit bad, as Evie, Alex and I have always shared everything up until now. But for some reason I want to keep thi
s close to my chest. I quickly change the subject, asking Evie about the details of the Florence trip, and as excited as she is, the diversion works and she is off and running, whisking me through the ins and outs of her itinerary like a tour guide on speed.
My friend is happy again, and I’m so glad for her.
Eighteen
‘Mark, we need to talk.’ How I hate those words. That doom-laden phrase that so often presages the end of a relationship. A conversation about the weather, our plans for the day, work, booking a holiday, or a multitude of other stuff would never be kick-started with that awful phrase. It’s up there with ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ as the expression no one wants to hear. No one in a relationship that means anything to them, at least.
But once said, there is no going back. I think Mark realises what is coming, and as we sit together at the kitchen table, in the beautiful home we share and have made our own, I am swallowed up by the immensity of what I am doing, and how profoundly it is going to change the rest of our lives. Since that moment when I first met Mark, and I knew he would be someone to matter to me, there has not been a bigger event in my life. Meeting Tom, and everything that has happened with him so far, is small-fry in comparison. Not to belittle what I feel for Tom, or anything, but Mark and I have History. Tom and I have yet to make our history; we are both so new to each other. I know we will make a go of it, and a good go at that, but I’m in the here and now of Mark and me for the time being. We have spent more than eight years together, and here I am, putting the lid on the box that contains our relationship, relegating it to a memory on a dusty shelf.
I have been rehearsing what to say, but when it comes down to it, what I’d prepared seems wrong and way too formal. I tell Mark simply that I want us to separate. I tell him there has been no love between us for a long time, and that we both need to move on in our lives. I tell him it’s not fair to either of us to carry on the way we are as we both have different expectations. He sits quietly and listens to me speak. I realise I have tears rolling down my cheeks, and before he says anything in response, he passes me a tissue.
‘I loved you so much Grace. But I think we both just want different things in life now. We’ve grown up and grown apart. It’s very sad.’ He is calm and collected, but there is a faraway look in his eyes, and although I don’t see any hatred for me in them, gone is that heart-spinning mix of adoration and worship that they used to glow with every time he looked at me.
‘I don’t think there’s a way back for us though, Grace, I think you are right.’ Ever the pragmatic lawyer, but at least he is agreeing with me, and not begging me to try again or pleading on bended knee, declaring his undying love. I think we’ve been through all those sort of conversations just once too often of late and now we both know our relationship is well and truly over.
‘I’ll go and stay at Evie’s, I’ll call her later. I’m sure she won’t mind. It’ll give us time to sort out the house and all our stuff. It’s not long till the end of term, and then I’ll have time to find somewhere more permanent to live. We might even have the house on the market by then.’
I realise I am nervously ranting, pouring out all the things I’ve been going over in my head these past few days, trying to deal with the emotional side of a forthcoming break-up, but also being practical and attempting to work out where I will live, what I will do. There is so much involved when a relationship ends, but the practicalities will help detract from mourning the end of Mark and me.
And I will mourn. Even though I have Tom, Mark is the man I thought I would spend my life with, and it’s still a harsh reality to swallow that he won’t be. We’d expected and planned to grow old together, and I need time to get my head around that, adjust my expectations of what my future holds. Tom and I are so new, I don’t know if we will still be together in a week, a month, a year, a decade. We haven’t reached the stage of discussing our futures yet. We’ve no track record, so I have no evidence on which to place my bets.
The rest of my day passes in a blur. Mark disappears off, I don’t know where, presumably to give me some space to get my things together and make any plans I need to for the next few days. We’d agreed that I’d be the one to go; now that it’s a done deal, I can’t imagine having to share the house with Mark for one minute longer, and I need to be gone by the time he gets back.
It’s not that I hate him or anything; I don’t, far from it. I may not want to spend my life with him any more, but I have no animosity towards him whatsoever. It’s funny how my feelings for him are so much more subdued than they have been, now that he is officially my ‘ex’. But it would just be too weird to stay here, in the home we have made together. We’re no longer a couple, so to continue to share a house, bed, living space or whatever else with Mark would just be wrong, and really hard. Having made the decision to move on, we have to do just that and follow it through. He’d suggested that he be the one to move out, but to be honest I feel like I need the change of scene to reinforce the sense of moving on in my head. No, new life, new home is what it has to be for me. I know the latter is going to take a bit of time to sort out, but a clean break now can only be the right thing to do.
I put in a quick call to Evie and explain what has happened. She’s a bit shocked, but supportive none the less, and I don’t have to ask for somewhere to stay, she offers me her spare room almost immediately.
‘When you said you were sorting things out yesterday, I thought you meant getting back on track,’ she says, sounding sad, and I feel bad for putting all this on her, particularly as she has only just pulled her own relationship back from the brink of what she believed to be disaster.
‘No, sorting things out as in ending it,’ I reply. ‘I didn’t want to tell you yesterday, Evie, you were so happy. I won’t impose on you for long, I promise, just until we can decide what’s happening with the house and work out who’s going where and all that sort of stuff.’
‘You can stay as long as you like, you know you’re more than welcome. Anyway, we’re off to Florence the week after next, then Mallorca with the girls just after that, so we’ll hardly be here. You take your time, get things sorted out. You’ll have the place to yourself. In fact you’d be doing us a favour, house-sitting for us. Save me getting James’ mum round every day to water the plants, feed the cat and all that stuff. Stay, Grace, don’t rush off, take all the time you need.’
She is so generous, so kind, I am overwhelmed and I feel myself welling up.
‘Get some stuff together and get yourself round here,’ she says, taking control and clearly sensing my imminent collapse, and her bossiness is just what I need to kick me into action. I pack a few bags, enough clothes to get me through the week, and choose some shoes to go with them. My lovely wardrobe and the rest of my gorgeous footwear collection will have to manage without me for a while, and I gaze at it all wistfully as I close the zips on my suitcases. Still, I can always pop back when Mark is at work and get more stuff, it’s not like he’s going to change the locks or anything. I hope.
Evie and James are just wonderful, so welcoming and comforting. I feel cosseted and looked after, and it’s just what I need. It feels a bit like running home to my parents, only with more champagne. Honestly, these two need no excuse to crack a bottle open. This time it is to celebrate ‘New Beginnings’ for me, and it’s slowly giving me a warm and fuzzy feeling, making me feel a lot better. It’s a very long time since I’ve been through this kind of thing but I have fabulous friends, and lots to look forward to, and I know I will be alright. Eventually.
The three of us have taken up residence on the Brookes’ extensive patio and decking area, admiring the stunning views across the hill, soaking up a bit of sun and putting the world to rights. The girls are off at their usual Saturday afternoon activities, and it feels very calm, and civilised, and adult. James is discreetly coming and going, giving Evie and me a bit of girl-time when we need it, topping up our glasses, and generally keeping an eye on us, only joining us for the
conversation when it veers away from relationships and onto safer topics. I’m so glad there was nothing bad going on between the two of them after all; they always have been and still are the perfect couple. And even such a perfect couple are allowed to have the odd glitch from time to time, I realise that now.
Loosening up under the influence of alcohol, I wonder if I should tell Evie about Tom, but decide not to for the time being. She has been generous enough to put a roof over my head, and I don’t want to make her think I’ve left one good man just to run into the arms of another. It sounds too shallow and clichéd. And a bit sordid too, even though it’s far from that. I will tell her about him soon, I don’t see how I can avoid it, but not today, and when I do I need to make it quite clear that the growing love between Tom and I has had nothing whatsoever to do with the end of my relationship with Mark. All it has done is act as a catalyst to make me finish with Mark, and I would have done that eventually, Tom or no Tom.
By Sunday morning I am nursing a bit of a champagne head, but feeling much better in my mind about everything. Evie and I had talked last night until our lips were numb, although some of that numbness could undoubtedly be attributed to the alcohol as well as the chat. She had listened whilst I spouted, and been a real rock, a shoulder to cry on, and a good, non-judgemental friend. We’d sat outside till the small hours, until the patio heater was no longer enough to entice us to stay out there, then I’d somehow managed to get myself up to bed in her gorgeously sumptuous guest room, but that part was all a bit of a blur.