If You're Not the One

by Jemma Forte

  The sound of the machines was distressing but not as distressing as what Karen saw next: which was that Jennifer’s face was contorted into the most frighteningly strange expression while her body was jerking in a disturbingly unnatural way.

  ‘Is she in pain?’ screamed Karen, wondering what the hell she should do. ‘Why does she look like that? Is she waking up?’

  But no one would answer her. The room was filling up with more and more medical staff all of whom were far too busy tending to the patient to give any clue as to what might be happening to her friend. They were all shouting at one another, mainly medical jargon which Karen had no chance of ever understanding. They administered something into Jennifer’s arm by injection, they checked her pulse, changed her drip, there was more frantic shouting and then finally, finally the machines seemed to calm down, meaning whatever was happening to Jennifer was hopefully subsiding.

  Karen was completely traumatised by what had just happened. She’d honestly thought her friend might be dying.

  ‘What happened?’ she begged to know, tears rolling down her frightened face.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s stabilised now,’ said one of the remaining nurses. ‘She was having some sort of seizure. She seemed very distressed but she’s fine now. You should try and get some sleep and we’ll get the specialist to come and talk to you more tomorrow.’

  ‘OK,’ said Karen, and her voice came out as a whisper.

  Once everyone had left the room, Karen went to sit next to Jennifer. She took her limp hand. ‘Hey you. You gave us a bit of a shock there lovely…’

  Karen stopped in her tracks.

  Then she blinked and went to switch on the bedside lamp to make sure she was definitely seeing what she thought she was seeing.

  When the light from the lamp illuminated Jennifer’s face she could see that she wasn’t hallucinating. There was indeed one very real tear rolling down her now still friend’s face. It was quite possibly the saddest thing Karen had ever witnessed. What was going on in that brain of hers? And how could she have missed quite how unhappy she was? If she pulled through this (and after what had just happened, finally Karen was admitting to herself that it was if as opposed to when), she vowed to do everything in her power to make her friend happy again.

  The next morning a vaguely refreshed Max arrived back at the hospital only to be told that his wife had suffered some kind of inexplicable seizure during the night.

  As Karen filled him in on what had happened, any benefit he’d been feeling from his short break from the hospital was erased totally.

  ‘Max look, I don’t know whether I should be telling you this because it’s a bit upsetting but at the same time the doctors thought it was a very encouraging sign.’

  ‘Tell me now,’ said Max.

  ‘OK,’ said Karen, who knew she had to fill him in but was wondering how on earth to broach the second half of her news. ‘Well the first thing is, she cried. Or at least I saw one tear roll down her face.’

  ‘Really?’ said Max, the mix of emotions he was experiencing at that moment unsteadying him.

  ‘Yes, which is pretty amazing. It shows more or less that there’s no way she’s brain dead. I mean, she can’t be.’

  ‘What’s the other thing?’

  ‘She said a word, Max.’

  ‘What? When?’ He couldn’t believe he’d missed it. His wife had done nothing but lie there for weeks and the one night he chose to be away it seemed she’d practically put on a show.

  ‘What? What word did she say? And when?’ he demanded to know.

  ‘At about three in the morning, just after I noticed the tear rolling down her face.’

  ‘And what was it?’ Max practically yelled.

  Karen gulped and then she made a decision, for sometimes she decided, there was such a thing in life as a good lie. A bloody necessary lie.

  ‘The word she said was…Max.’

  ‘Was it?’ said Max, his whole face lighting up and tears springing into his eyes. ‘I can’t believe it. Oh Jen,’ he said, rushing over to the bed and taking his wife’s limp hand and rubbing it with his. ‘Oh Jen, I love you. Thank you so much. I needed a sign, I really did, and now you’ve given me one.’

  Karen watched nervously, a weak smile on her face. What on earth was going on between Jennifer and Max? Not for the first time she berated herself for not having paid more attention to her friend when she’d tried to tell her that she wasn’t happy. It had been easier to assume that her friends were just having a patch. Looking at Max now though she could tell their problems had scratched far deeper than the surface. When had the rot set in?

  In the meantime she didn’t have the heart to tell Max what her friend had really said and more than ever she prayed that Jennifer would wake up soon. Apart from anything else she needed to ask her ‘Who on earth is Joe?’

  THE PAST—MAX

  Thirty-three thought Jennifer, studying her grey complexion in the harsh light of the bathroom and slapping on yet more pink blusher. She felt more like eighty-three. Eadie was two and a half and Polly was six months and teething badly, so sleep was a thing of the past and Jennifer had never been so desperately in need of a break from the crying, the nappies, the demands. A romantic dinner out would be just the recharge she required.

  Of course, in some ways it was tempting not to bother and just to become at one with the sofa like they did most nights, but she’d always said that birthdays were to be celebrated and she was determined that this one would be no exception. So Max had booked a table at a local restaurant, fancy enough that it warranted her wearing something which wasn’t leisure wear, but not so smart that the fact she hadn’t been to the hairdressers for months was a problem.

  It would be such a treat to spend some proper time with Max and sheer luxury to be able to abandon her babies for a few hours of precious, uninterrupted adult time.

  She sighed now as she opened the bathroom door and the sound of Polly screaming from her cot hit her in a wave. ‘Coming baba, coming.’

  Half an hour later, having plonked Eadie downstairs in front of CBeebies and strapped a still grizzly Polly into her bouncy chair, she called Max’s mobile. It went straight to voicemail. This was a good sign. He was probably already on the tube heading home.

  She left a message: ‘Hi, only me, birthday girl. I’m so excited! Eadie’s bathed and fed and Polly’s bathed, but not fed, because her gums are pretty much on fire. She’s basically been screaming all day, but anyway,’ she said in a sing-song voice, trying not to lose the plot, ‘I can’t wait to hand over to Mum and more importantly I can’t wait to see you. Can’t believe I’m actually going to be getting out of the house and eating with someone who doesn’t need their food cutting up or blended. So please hurry. Wahoo. Better go and grab Pol. See you soon, call me.’

  One hour later and there was still no sign of Max. Jennifer’s mum had arrived and had taken over looking after the girls leaving Jennifer wondering what to do. She felt trapped. By now she was literally desperate to escape the confines of the house but didn’t particularly fancy sitting in a restaurant on her own. Where was he? Of all the days to be late back.

  She phoned his mobile for the fourth time. Finally he picked up, but as quickly as her heart leapt with joy, it sunk again like a stone when she realised the background noise was of a bar or a pub.

  ‘Where are you?’ she said, instantly really cross. Had he not even started the journey home yet? She’d kill him. At that moment she was swamped by a really bad feeling about how the night was going to pan out.

  ‘I’m just having a quick pint with a few people from the office. I won’t be long.’

  ‘But we’re going out. It’s my birthday and I’m ready. You said you were going to take me for a drink beforehand.’

  ‘Well sorry, but I couldn’t really say no, they all wanted me to come for one. You know what it’s like. You have a nice bath or something and I’ll leave as soon as I’ve finished this one.’

  �
�But I’m ready and I can’t believe you haven’t left. Why do you need to have a drink with them? Why couldn’t you just say that it was your wife’s birthday? You see them every bloody day and meanwhile I’m sitting here dressed up to go out, with make-up on, for the first time in what feels like far too long, waiting for you!’

  ‘All right,’ said Max, ‘calm down, bloody hell, all I’ve done is come for one pint. It’s only seven. I’ll be home for eight.’

  ‘Only if you leave right now,’ said Jennifer, hot tears pricking her eyes. She was unbelievably upset. ‘I told you Mum was coming early, and how often do I get the opportunity to go out before the girls are asleep? Never. Whereas you get to go out all the time.’

  ‘All right,’ said Max moodily.

  Jennifer could tell he was slightly pissed. The situation was getting worse by the minute.

  ‘I’ll come now then,’ he huffed.

  Jennifer felt like bursting into tears. ‘Well that’s very good of you given that it’s my birthday. Or perhaps you’d forgotten?’

  ‘Hardly, as if you’d bloody let me, going on and on about it, like a ten-year-old. Every frigging year.’

  Jennifer was stunned. She gulped, waiting for him to realise how cruel he’d been and to say sorry.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ was the only thing he said though before putting down the phone.

  Jennifer felt like he’d taken a chisel to her heart and chipped a tiny little piece of it out.

  FRIDAY MORNING—THE DAY OF THE ACCIDENT

  ‘You haven’t been for a while. It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Good to see you too,’ said Jennifer, though she wasn’t entirely sure it was. She’d taken a break from therapy in order to reflect on whether it was actually working for her or not. On balance she’d decided that it was. She just wasn’t a very patient person. Never had been, and yet what had become clear was that achieving anything from the process would take time. There were no overnight answers. Instead, she tended to go away after a session, ponder what had been discussed and perhaps understand more about why she felt the way she did but not necessarily what to do about it.

  She was also very wary of the constant need to analyse her childhood. It just felt a bit pointless. Her parents had done their best. They were good people. So what if she’d ‘married her mother’? The past was done. What she was after was some help with the present. Still, she had decided to persevere.

  ‘So, what brings you back today, Jennifer?’ asked Susan, a petite woman in her sixties with a short cropped hairstyle and disarmingly deep voice, which wasn’t the only clue to her voracious smoking habit. Susan’s face was considerably lined for her age and there were deep grooves running down towards her top lip. She always insisted Jennifer took her shoes off when entering her house which was where she held her sessions in the smallest of her three bedrooms.

  ‘It’s been a bit of a mad week I suppose,’ admitted Jennifer. ‘Yesterday, Eadie, my eldest, broke her arm. It was horrific.’

  ‘Oh my goodness. How terrible! Is she OK?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine.’

  ‘And you?’

  Jennifer paused. Why was it the minute she got in this room she always wanted to blub like a baby?

  ‘Um…’ She blinked rapidly. Thankfully Susan realised she needed helping out.

  ‘Tell me about you and Max. Last time I saw you, you had some concerns about your relationship. How are things now?’

  ‘Not great,’ said Jennifer dolefully. ‘I don’t know really. Yesterday, at the hospital, I was so desperate to see him but when he finally arrived all he did was lay into me about what had happened. Like it was my fault. It was so strange. I’d been expecting a hug and for him to ask me if I was all right. How he reacted just highlighted that there’s a big gulf between us at the moment.’

  ‘Why do you think that is?’

  ‘I think it’s a couple of things really. We’ve always had a bit of an issue about whether I should work or not and lately I’ve been feeling quite resentful about sacrificing my career to stay at home. If I’m honest I think I partly only did it to please him. He’s a modern man in so many ways but I know he loves having dinner on the table when he gets in. Sometimes he makes me feel like he wants me chained to the sink.’

  ‘What’s the other thing?’

  Jennifer exhaled noisily, already despairing at what she was about to say, ‘He keeps banging on about how wonderful this woman at work called Judith is and it really upsets me because of course the irony is she’s a career woman who barely knows what her children’s names are.’

  ‘And how does that make you feel?’

  ‘Inadequate, lacking by comparison and also annoyed at myself for not having focused more on what I want to do.’

  Susan nodded.

  ‘I get a bit jealous too. There was a time when Max thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. Now I just seem to annoy him. Though perhaps I’m just being ultra-sensitive.’

  ‘Going back to what you said earlier. Did Max specifically tell you to give up work?’

  ‘Not directly. He always said it was up to me but then would infer that for lots of reasons it would be more sensible if I stayed at home.’

  ‘And what did you think?’

  ‘I think that’s the problem. I didn’t really know so I just went with the flow and tried to do the easiest thing for everyone. And in many ways I’m glad I did. I’ve been able to be there for the girls and it’s been incredibly rewarding in many ways. Only now they’re getting bigger, I suppose I worry about being so financially dependent. Especially with our marriage on shaky ground.’

  Susan’s gaze never left Jennifer’s face.

  Jennifer was filled with the familiar urge she often got when she came here to punch her square in the jaw.

  ‘Have you told Max any of this? Have you discussed your fears?’

  ‘I’ve tried to, but weird as it may sound we never seem to get any proper time together and half the time he doesn’t listen anyway.’

  She sighed heavily and it occurred to her then how odd it was that she was sitting in someone’s box room, on a sun-lounger which had been covered in a throw in order to disguise it, pouring her heart out to a stranger. A stranger who she occasionally spotted doing her shopping in Sainsbury’s, no doubt spending the money she’d earned listening to people like her moaning about their lives.

  Silence filled the room but Susan’s expression didn’t change which made Jennifer want to say something purely for shock value, just to see if her expression would change.

  After what felt like an endless pause Susan finally spoke. ‘Do you think there’s any chance at all that you’re having a mid-life crisis?’

  Jennifer couldn’t help it. She rolled her eyes.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just you’re not the first person to suggest that that’s what all this is about.’

  ‘And, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No you aren’t having one?’

  ‘No, I mean yes I am. I mean…what I mean is, there’s not a chance I’m having one. I’m definitely having one.’

  For once Susan looked mildly taken aback. This was pleasing to Jennifer.

  ‘OK, so do you want to tell me about that?’

  ‘Well, I think that what I’m trying to say is that I know I am definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, having the hugest mid-life crisis ever.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Only I don’t think that should be taken lightly.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Look, I really hope you don’t think I’m being rude, it’s just that even when you asked me that question it was almost as if you were dismissing having a mid-life crisis as something I should be able to face up to and get over.’

  Jennifer paused in order to give Susan a chance to defend herself but her total silence appeared to indicate that she’d prefer Jennifer to continue instead. So she did.

  ‘Admittedly, I used to hear
the phrase myself and think it was a tired old cliché which applied purely to people who were desperate to regain their youth or just wanted an excuse to wear leather trousers. Only now I’m having one myself I realise it’s a far more complex stage. There’s a reason it’s been given the label “crisis” and I just think people should focus more on that word. You know, Susan…’

  Jennifer paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

  ‘Go on…tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Well…I don’t think what I’m feeling is as straightforward as simply not wanting to be middle-aged. I think what I’m going through is something I really need help with and I suspect it’s the same for everyone who goes through this stage. I know for some people it may manifest itself in dressing like an idiot, or having sex with someone just to validate the fact they’re still vaguely desirable but those are just symptoms which stem from suddenly wondering what the hell has happened to you. To me, a mid-life crisis is more about waking up one morning and wondering how on earth you’ve ended up doing what you’re doing. It’s the sudden awful realisation that so much of your life is behind you and yet you haven’t achieved what you wanted to, in which case it’s likely you never will. It’s about assessing where you’re at and mourning your hopes and dreams and that sort of fizzy sense of confidence you have in your youth when it feels like anything’s still possible. Then, once all that’s caught up with you, you start to examine other areas in your life at which point if you realise anything is lacking, the crisis just gets worse.’

  Jennifer tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Look, if I’m being totally honest Susan, which I know is the whole point of coming here, I suppose at the moment I’m slightly wondering if I can stand to be with my husband for the rest of my life because I’m not sure he really loves me any more. Meanwhile it’s also dawned on me that my earning prospects are dismal and that I’ll probably never fall in love again which somehow feels like a monumental disaster. Is it wrong of me to want to experience feeling giddy with love again before I die? Is it weird that not knowing how I’m going to fill my time for the rest of my days terrifies me? Because despite not being young any more, I’m also a long way from dead, and with a bit of luck I’ve still got a lot of life to live. Only now I’m finally wise enough to understand how quickly it’s all going to fly by.’