All We Have Lost

by Alexander, Aimee

  ‘But we’d be living a lie!’ Connor says.

  My exact thought sounds so melodramatic when expressed.

  ‘Would you rather wound those you love? What would telling them achieve?’

  I don’t know why he’s looking at me. I don’t love Ian. And I’m not telling him a thing. He deserves nothing from me, least of all to know what I do with my time.

  ‘So you recommend deceit?’ Connor asks, cynically.

  ‘What you have done is deceitful. But it’s done and you can’t erase it. Telling them about it will only hurt. You are the only two who know what happened. They will never find out. Keeping it to yourselves will be harder on you than on them. Kim!’

  I jump.

  ‘Perhaps now you can understand how easy it is for affairs to happen?’

  ‘Last night was an accident and we’re here to make it right. What Ian did was ongoing and underhand. He lied to me, repeatedly. He spent our money on her while telling me to cut back. He made me feel small. I don’t know how you can compare them.’

  ‘If you had not come here today, you might have gone on to have an affair.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Mistakes are what make us human. I’m sure Ian is crippled with guilt; he has lost his family.’

  ‘He deserves every bit of goddamn guilt he feels.’

  ‘But maybe now you can understand why he had the affair?’

  ‘No. Actually.’ I shift in my chair and tap my fingers. Can we be finished?

  ‘Do you think the reasons for his affair may have been any different from yours?’

  ‘Firstly, I didn’t have an affair. Secondly, of course they’re different. Completely different.’

  ‘Don’t you think he might have been feeling like you felt? Lonely, isolated, unloved, unneeded?’

  ‘Ian was loved. We all loved him. He just didn’t want us. We weren’t enough. If he was lonely it was his own doing – he never came home.’

  ‘Maybe it was you he was lonely for.’

  ‘I was there.’

  ‘But were you there for him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not busy with the children?’

  ‘I was busy. But I loved him. He knew that.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he felt you loved the children more. It happens all the time. Maybe he needed to be reminded of your love.’

  Why are we seeing a male psychologist? ‘Look, Ian got bored. Wanted something new. Like your typical selfish bastard.’

  ‘How are the children taking the news?’

  When I hesitate, Connor lets the truth be known.

  ‘She hasn’t told them.’

  ‘I understand that this is hard but, for the sake of the children, can I suggest that you take Ian’s next call? You need to discuss the future, especially in terms of him seeing the children, and financial matters. Both you and the children need certainty in your lives. I wouldn’t let it go on any longer.’

  I sigh deeply. Then nod. Because I can kick and scream all I want. The man is right.

  We finish up and pay the secretary. Then Connor suggests coffee.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  In a nearby café, Connor looks at me.

  ‘That was great,’ he says like he’s just taken a dump.

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Come on, Kim. It was really helpful. He makes so much sense.’

  ‘So your conscience is clear?’ Men.

  ‘No. It’s not clear. But Peter’s right. We all make mistakes. It’s life. And we have to learn to live with it.’ He produces a simple smile as if everything has suddenly become that way. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘What he said about Ian – and the kids – it makes sense.’

  ‘You see a shrink and suddenly you become one.’ I look out at the people passing and want to be them, any of them. I’m not fussy.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asks.

  I turn to him. ‘Arrange for them to see him, I suppose.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Just wish I could do it without having to face him myself.’

  ‘Maybe you can.’

  ‘No. Any other option would seem unnatural to Sam and Chloe. And I want everything to feel as normal as possible.’

  ‘When are you going to call him?’

  ‘I’m not. He can call me.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looks like he’s worried that marriage is more complicated than he thought.

  ‘Anyway. No use sitting here all day talking about it. You’ve a flight to catch.’

  He nods. Then books it on his phone.

  Outside the café, he strides to the nearest taxi rank. He doesn’t look back.

  I’m walking to the car when my phone rings. I look at Ian’s cheating face on the screen. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and force myself to answer.

  ‘Hello, Ian.’

  ‘Oh, Kim. Hi. Thank God. I thought you’d never talk to me.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘The children?’

  ‘They’re fine – because I haven’t told them.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘Ian, they’re not stupid. They do notice you’re missing.’

  ‘We could tell them together.’

  Like it’s good news. I bite down on a finger.

  ‘Kim, I need to see them.’

  ‘You need?’

  ‘I’m sorry but they need to see me too. I’m their father.’

  ‘Interesting how you remember that now.’

  ‘Can I come over this afternoon?’

  ‘No.’ I pause. ‘You can come at seven. See them for an hour. Then, when they’re in bed, we can talk about custody and finances.’ I hope I sound cold, factual and detached because I feel the opposite. These are our children. We were a family.

  ‘Seven’s fine,’ he chokes. I’m about to hang up when he jumps in with, ‘Kim, what will we say to them? How will we tell them? We should sing from the same hymn sheet…’

  Hymn sheet, Jesus. ‘You think of something, Ian. You’ll be doing the talking.’

  ‘I’d like to tell them I’ll be home soon.’

  ‘You want to lie to them? I don’t think so, Ian.’

  ‘I was hoping…’

  ‘Well don’t. I’ll see you at seven.’ I hang up. My hand is shaking and when I reach the car, I steady myself with it.

  ‘Is it seven yet?’ Chloe asks for the hundredth time.

  I nod. ‘It’s seven.’

  She and Sam race to the front room. Sam climbs up on the couch and stands peering over its back, giving him a view of the driveway. Chloe takes up position at the window. Their enthusiasm is heartbreaking.

  I know he’s arrived when Sam starts jumping up and down. And Chloe runs to me.

  ‘It’s Dad! It’s Dad! Open the door, Mum.’

  ‘It’s OK, sweetie. He has a key.’ Then I think: If he uses it, I will kill him.

  The doorbell rings.

  ‘Mum! Mum! It’s Dad.’ They run out into the hall.

  I must have raced to the door too when I was young. For my cheating father.

  I get up slowly, breathing deeply and repeating the mantra, I can do this. Last time I saw Ian – at the office – I was all drama and emotion. Today, I will be dignified.

  Chloe runs in, grabs my hand and tugs me forward. ‘Mum!’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  In the hall, Sam is jumping to reach the catch on the front door. He is calling his father.

  What are we doing to them?

  Before I have the door fully open, they dash out and grab his legs. They cling to him, each trying to outdo the other with their ‘Dads’ and stories.

  I stand, holding the door. I’m aiming for dignified but it’s hard.

  He looks up from where he has hunched down to hug our babies. Days ago, this man was my husband. A week ago, everything was normal. Or at least I t
hought it was.

  He looks shaken, like he did when he lost his father to leukaemia. His eyes are so sad that I have a moment of weakness. Luckily it passes and I return his look with one of ice.

  He lifts them up, one in each arm. I want to ruin the moment for him but can’t because I would ruin it for them too. And as he kisses each of them on the forehead I look on like I’m watching a scene from a movie that isn’t my life.

  He looks at me as if to say: Can I come in?

  I stand back. He lets the kids down and they torpedo in, Chloe grabbing him by the hand to make sure he comes.

  ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,’ I say.

  He gets the message but the children don’t.

  ‘Mu..um. We want you too.’ It’s Sam.

  Chloe says nothing but looks from Ian to me then back to Ian again.

  They know. Somehow, they know.

  So I give them what they want, my presence in the room. But I pick the chair furthest from the happy family scene.

  ‘Look Dad, Thomas is bwoken,’ says Sam, referring to his tank engine.

  It’s as if nothing has happened, as if I’ve imagined it all. And I wish… No I don’t.

  ‘Hmm. Let’s see. Maybe he needs new batteries.’ Ian looks at me as if to say, ‘have we got any?’

  The old me would have jumped into action. The new me keeps her eyes blank. Let him work it out.

  He’s stuck. Can’t go tracking down batteries without trespassing.

  But Sam is looking at his dad, The Fixer, with a mixture of admiration and impatience.

  Damn. ‘They’re in the kitchen in the third drawer,’ I say looking away. Then I remember Connor. I directed him to the same drawer only last night.

  Ian disappears, the children in his wake.

  My phone starts to ring. I check the screen.

  Oh God. It’s Sarah.

  I am halfway up the stairs before I answer.

  ‘Hey!’ she says cheerfully.

  And I breathe again.

  ‘How are you?’ she asks.

  Guilty as hell. ‘Fine. Thanks. You?’

  ‘So glad to have Connor back. We were apart one day, one day, and I missed him so much. He’s so special, Kim. How could you have kept him from me all this time?’

  ‘Sarah, this isn’t a great time.’

  ‘Oh sorry. I was just calling to see how you are. Everything OK? You poor thing.’

  Downstairs, Ian, playing with the children, laughs out loud.

  I sigh.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing. Ian’s here.’

  ‘You didn’t take him back, did you?’

  ‘No. He’s here to see the children. And to sort out custody.’

  ‘Good. Don’t let him push you around.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got to go, here.’

  ‘Hang on a sec. Connor wants a word.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll call him back, OK?’

  ‘Oh. OK.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Ian puts the children to bed. When he comes back down, he seems to have forgotten how things are, walking into the room wearing a big smile.

  ‘He’s really obsessed with the old trains, isn’t he?’

  I raise a cool eyebrow.

  He loses the smile. ‘Kim, I can’t tell you how sorry...’

  ‘We’re all sorry.’

  He sits near me. ‘How are you?’

  Hurt, tired, sad, lonely. But I just look at him coldly. ‘Did you tell them?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I couldn’t do it to them. They seemed so happy.’

  ‘Well, you’re going to have to!’

  ‘We can’t wake them up now!’

  ‘They’re not asleep.’

  ‘I’ll tell them next time. I promise.’

  ‘Next time?’

  He looks panicked.

  ‘It’s all right.’ I sigh. ‘I was joking.’

  He looks weary.

  ‘Let’s talk custody,’ I say, wanting him gone.

  He nods.

  ‘Well?’ I say.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t done this before.’

  ‘Neither have I.’ He attempts a smile.

  ‘We need lawyers.’

  ‘Maybe we can work it out without lawyers.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Well, couldn’t we work something out that suits us both?’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘I don’t know. We could start by seeing if you agree with how often I’d like to see them?’

  ‘And how often would you like to see them?’

  ‘Um.’ He rubs his forehead. He looks at a stain in the carpet then back at me. ‘I’d like to see them every week, of course. I’d love to see them a little every day but that probably wouldn’t suit you so what about at least once during the week and maybe take them every second weekend? And the weekends I’m not taking them, maybe I could see them for an afternoon or two? Would that be OK with you?’ He looks hopeful.

  And I can’t believe we’re doing this. Dividing out our children. I feel like giving in, telling him he can see them whenever he wants. But this is the man who wants it all.

  ‘I can’t let you take them at the weekends when I don’t know where you’ll be.’

  ‘The Lansdowne Hotel.’

  ‘You’re staying in a hotel?’

  ‘It’s not too expensive and it’s near work.’

  Where she is. ‘I don’t want them to meet her.’ I feel like my mother. Making The Deal.

  ‘I’m not seeing her, Kim.’

  ‘I don’t care what you do with your life as long as you don’t do it in front of our children.’ And I wish that this were true. It will be, though, in time.

  ‘It’s over with her.’

  I shrug like I don’t care. ‘Ian, I’m not going to come between you and the children. You can see them as often as you want – as long as it’s just you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he says hoarsely and he starts to well up.

  ‘Don’t thank me. I’m doing it for them.’

  ‘Thanks, anyway. You didn’t have to be fair. You could have kept them from me. To punish me. I know that. So thank you.’

  ‘I don’t want them hurt. I don’t even want to tell them.’

  ‘Maybe we don’t have to. Maybe we could pretend. They’re so small. So vulnerable.’

  ‘I wish you’d thought of that. I wish you’d thought of them. Of me.’ I get up and hurry from the room.

  In the bathroom, I wash my face, blow my nose and avoid the mirror. He knows not to come after me. But suddenly I want him to. I want him to take me in his arms and promise me that we’ll go back to the start and he’ll be around all the time and we’ll do things together. But if he said that, I wouldn’t believe him. I take a deep breath and go back out.

  He’s fiddling with little windmills Sam and Chloe made at summer camp.

  He looks up. ‘Do you think they’d miss these if I brought them back to the hotel?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ll tell them. They’ll probably be delighted.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he says hoarsely.

  ‘Look, if you want to take them for the day tomorrow, it’s OK. If you’re not playing golf…’

  He looks so earnest when he says, ‘I was a fucking idiot. And I’m sorry.’

  ‘What time do you want to pick them up?’

  ‘Tenish?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘About money, there’s plenty in the joint account and I’ll be lodging my bonus cheque on Monday.’

  I can’t deal with this now, so I just nod.

  He looks hopeful.

  So I need to be clear. ‘Ian, just because you’re seeing the children doesn’t change anything between us. You’re still my ex-husband. That won’t change.’

  ‘I know.’ He bows his head.

  ‘OK.’ God, this is so hard.

  In bed, I lie awake. Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe it is ov
er. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I do. I shouldn’t, though; that’s what’s important. I need to build a life without him. Tomorrow, I’ll have the day to myself. That’s where I’ll start.

  There will be art galleries. Lunch somewhere nice. I will make myself have fun. I will live in the moment. I might even buy a self-help book. Because why the hell not?

  Sleep comes with having a purpose and a little more certainty in my life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Ian arrives on time. The children are bursting to go. He says he’ll be back at six and will have them fed. They just about remember to wave goodbye. Off they go, Sam in one arm, Chloe in another. They look so cute, the three of them silhouetted against the morning sun.

  The house is suddenly very quiet.

  But I have my plans.

  Walking into the Orange Gallery is like entering a sanctuary. I amble around in blissful silence, no one pulling out of me, no one asking for anything, no one climbing on something they shouldn’t. I inhale the art, actually breathe it in, right into my bones. Time loses relevance.

  My favourite art gallery owner makes coffee and we sit together at his desk. I ask about up-and-coming artists. He looks them up on Google Images. It’s my ideal day, gazing at new art and arguing over what we like. There isn’t much actual argument – Fonsie and I have always been united in our taste. I want ninety per cent of what he hangs in the Orange Gallery, closer to ninety-eight per cent but I’d never admit that to him – we’d have nothing to argue about.

  He looks up from his laptop. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  I came here every week for twelve years – until I gave up work.

  ‘I’ve missed me,’ I joke.

  He smiles, no clue what I mean.

  ‘Anyway, I’m back. Every week from now on.’

  I ask him about a painting he has hanging. He tells me it’s by a new artist he’s showing, a man who’s recovering from alcoholism and producing great work.