‘Has he rung?’
‘No.’
‘OK.’ He sits on the edge of a chair, leaning forward, reminding me of the time he asked my father to marry me. And I think: all the things we shared. He looks up from examining the floor. ‘Sorry about earlier, about believing him.’ He shrugs. ‘It made sense. He’s always had a thing for you. And I just got so angry, the thought of him with you...’ He looks at me with such hurt in his eyes.
‘So you know how I felt, how I could have gone to your office.’ I bite my lip. ‘I did regret it…when I calmed down.’
He looks at me for the longest time. ‘I wish we could go back.’
My smile is sad. I feel so tired. So defeated. All the mistakes we made. We sit looking at each other in the sitting room that was ours, the home that was ours, thinking of the life that was ours.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘I’ll have a coffee though. Might need a stimulant.’ He smiles.
I smile back. I give him that. Then I head for the kitchen.
‘Do you think he’ll come tonight?’ he asks, following me in.
‘I don’t know but, from what Sarah said, if he can get a flight he probably will.’
He nods.
‘I think it’ll be OK. Once he sees you’re here.’
He looks doubtful. ‘Might help if I’d ever been to a gym.’
I smile. ‘It’s not that. I told him we were back together – so that he’d leave me alone.’
‘Oh.’
‘If he sees you here, he’ll probably wake up to himself and stop drinking.’
‘So you want me to pretend we’re together?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind.’ The look he gives me makes me turn back to the kettle. And I wish – so hard – that I could just hate him.
‘What if he turns up tomorrow?’ he asks.
I turn and put my hand to my forehead. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’
‘I can sleep on the couch, take the day off work, stick around. I’m winding things up in there anyway. I have a few days due.’
My shoulders fall in relief. ‘Thanks, Ian. I really appreciate it.’ So formal.
From the kitchen table, he picks up one of Sam’s trains. Percy. His favourite. He runs his finger over it. Then he looks at me.
‘This is my fault. If I hadn’t been so bloody stupid, none of this would have happened.’
‘Maybe we should forget about faults.’ Whoa. Where did that come from?
He looks at me with such hope that I panic.
‘Ian, just so we’re clear… If Connor comes and I say I love you that doesn’t mean it’s true.’
The hope dies in his eyes.
And I’m sorry again. Confused. ‘I better go call Sarah. See if she’s all right.’
He nods. ‘OK if I take the couch?’
‘Do you want the sleeping bag?’
‘Yeah, I’ll get it.’ He smiles sadly. ‘Night.’
‘Night, Ian. And thank you.’ In the hall, I turn back.
He’s running the train over the table.
‘By the way. I love Mr Cushion Mountain.’
His smile warms my heart. If only love was enough.
Sarah is in a hotel and sounds much better.
‘I’ll fly over in the morning and stay with my parents. It’s funny but I really need to see them.’ She sounds teary.
‘Will you call me when you get there? We could meet up somewhere.’ I have to tell her. No matter what Peter says.
‘I’ll call you when I land.’
Oh God. Maybe Peter’s right. Maybe I’ll only hurt her.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
‘Dad! Dad! Saaaam, it’s Dad!’ Chloe shouts up the stairs. ‘Dad’s here!’
Sam bursts from his room.
‘Dad’s here!’ he shouts, his little legs taking him down the stairs so fast he looks like a train. If only he knew – he’d be delighted.
I follow him into the sitting room to find them both on top of a smiling Ian.
‘Are you back from the hotel? Is your holiday over, Dad?’ Chloe asks excitedly.
‘I’m just here for a little visit, honey. Do you still have tickles?’
She squeals in terror and excitement.
‘Me too, me too,’ Sam shouts.
But he underestimates his powers of control and has an ‘accident’.
Ian carries him upstairs, cleans him up and puts on his Sunny Side Up uniform.
A voice in my head tells me that things would be different if I took him back now. Another voice asks how long that would last.
The kids’ happiness at their father making breakfast breaks my heart.
Ian comes with us on the school run. I call Fonsie to see if it’s OK to work on the proposal from home. I set up on the kitchen table while Ian empties the dishwasher and puts the bin out. Then he joins me with his laptop. And coffee for two.
I focus on the proposal. The ideas just keep coming, with them a genuine enthusiasm to implement them. Still, every noise from outside has me jump. The post being delivered. The bins being emptied. I look at Ian.
‘If he’s going to come, let him come now before we pick up the kids.’
He gives that thought then says, ‘If he doesn’t, we should take them off for the day.’
I nod.
‘We could go to Tara.’
With all its connotations. And yet, we can’t stay here. ‘OK.’
They are so excited to see their father again, they fling themselves at him.
‘Dad! Dad! What are you doing here?’ Chloe asks.
‘We’ve brought a picnic. We’re going to Tara.’
‘Yaay.’
In the car, my mind plays good-cop-bad-cop:
He’s really trying. The kids love him. I love him. Take him back.
He’ll do it again.
He won’t.
He will.
You really think he’ll risk losing his family again?
If he thinks I’m a walkover, he will.
Give him a chance. We all make mistakes. You of all people know that.
But things will go back to the way they were. Communication will break down.
Only if you let it.
He’ll work too hard. Lose interest in us.
He won’t.
He won’t help around the house.
Get help. You’ve an income now.
I’ll get help but I’m not taking him back.
‘I better stay the night,’ Ian says at ten that evening.
I grimace. ‘I feel like a bit of an eejit.’
He smiles. ‘I’ll go in the morning.’
Part of me doesn’t want him to go at all. The weak part.
‘The kids will be delighted,’ I say.
He looks at me as if to say, ‘Just the kids?’
I look away, don’t trust myself not to. ‘Do you need to get a suit and stuff for tomorrow?’
He thinks about that. ‘Probably should. Will you be OK for twenty minutes?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Lock the door. If he calls, don’t let him in. Just ring me and I’ll turn around.’
‘OK.’
He’s gone five minutes when the doorbell rings.
And I think, typical, bloody typical. Then I think, Oh God. He’s been watching the house, waiting for Ian to go!
The doorbell goes again.
I force myself to peer out.
It’s Sarah! I fling back the door and rush out to hug her.
‘Sarah, thank God. Are you OK? Come in, come in.’ I hurry her inside. ‘Jesus. Look at you.’ There’s a massive bruise on her cheek and no make up can hide that black eye.
I show her into the kitchen. ‘Drink?’
She nods.
I get the whiskey out. And we sit at the table.
‘Did you go to the police?’
She nods. ‘They filed a report. It will help with the divorce.’
‘Oh what?’
‘I don’t know. You love him.’
‘He doesn’t love me.’
‘It’s just the drink…’
‘Kim, I’m too long in the tooth to take abuse from anyone. Even Connor. I’ve thought about it all night. No man’s worth it. I might have given him a chance if he loved me but he doesn’t. And I don’t want to be with a man who doesn’t want to be with me. You can understand that.’
I nod.
‘What’s that?’ she asks.
‘Oh it’s just a proposal I’m working on.’
‘You’re working?’
‘Sorry. Didn’t I tell you? I’ve been offered a part-time job in an art gallery.’
‘No, you didn’t tell me. We haven’t spoken in ages. You never call me back.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know, I didn’t want to bother you with everything.’ Or talk to Connor. ‘But forget that, what about you, what are you going to do?’
‘Divorce him. Move on. Should never have married in the first place.’
‘I’m sorry things haven’t worked out. I really am.’
‘Plenty of fish – who knows better than me?’ Despite a smile she looks heartbroken.
‘Sarah, I have to tell you something about Connor…’
A loud thump comes from upstairs, followed by a cry.
‘What was that?’ Sarah asks.
‘One of the kids must have fallen out of bed. Back in a sec.’
I run upstairs. It’s Sam. He’s fine. Asleep on the carpet. I pick him up gently and place him back on his Thomas The Tank Engine pillow. I’m smoothing back his hair when I hear the doorbell.
‘I’ll get it,’ Sarah calls.
Oh God. What’ll she think when she sees Ian? He’ll know not to tell her about Connor won’t he?
I run. I’m halfway down the stairs when I see her take a step back from the door. Then I see who’s there.
‘What are you doing here?’ Connor asks her.
Sarah turns and stares up at me, as the truth dawns. ‘It’s you? You’re the one he loves?’
‘I was just going to tell you.’ It sounds weak, even to me.
‘Kim?’ Connor calls. He looks crazed.
‘Connor. You need to go see Peter. You’ve been drinking.’ If I can just get to the door. Shut it. Call Ian.
‘Bitch,’ Sarah spits at me then runs from the house.
Oh God, he’s in.
‘Get out, Connor,’ I say as calmly as I can. ‘Get out now before I call the police.’ Only problem is, my phone is in the sitting room.
‘You know you love me,’ he says, closing the door behind him.
‘I love Ian and he’ll be back any second.’
He starts towards me. This is my friend for as long as I can remember, a vegetarian, for Christ’s sake. Do I continue down the stairs, walk boldly past him to my phone? Will he let me? Or do I reverse, show weakness? In the end, I stay where I am. ‘Get out of my house,’ I say in a low voice that always works with children.
He stops.
So I advance.
But then he begins to stumble towards me.
I’m not going to make the sitting room. I’m not going to get past him. So I stop again.
‘I told you. I’m back with Ian.’
‘Where is he then?’ he demands, looking around in an exaggerated manner.
‘He’ll be here any minute.’ I look at the door. Any second. Please Ian. Walk in the bloody door. Please.
Connor laughs. ‘Really? Or is he with her? Come on, Kim – I thought you had more sense.’
‘He won’t be happy to see you here, Connor.’
‘Ooooh, I’m really scared now. Look, I’m shaking.’ He holds out his hands, spreads his fingers and shakes them exaggeratedly.
The front door opens. Ian takes in the scene.
‘Connor was just leaving,’ I say to him.
They face each other.
Connor smiles. ‘Well if it isn’t the prodigal husband.’
‘Connor, you’re not welcome here,’ Ian says calmly, firmly. ‘And don’t call my wife again or you’ll have the police to deal with. They take harassment very seriously.’
‘Oooh, Ian, you’re frightening me with all those big words.’
‘Just go,’ Ian says with just the right degree of tired exasperation.
‘Look who’s talking? Mr Bang The Boss.’ Connor looks at me triumphantly.
‘You can’t talk,’ I say.
He smiles. ‘Neither can you. As it happens.’
Before I know what’s happened, Connor is on the ground, nursing his jaw. Ian is holding his fist, looking as surprised as the rest of us.
I take a deep breath. Here goes.
‘We all made mistakes, Connor. Ian is sorry and I forgive him. We’re back together. You should look to your own marriage now before you lose it. You’ve hurt Sarah so much. I still can’t believe you hit her. You’ve no idea how much she loved you. And she doesn’t love easily. You need to go and see Peter before it’s too late. Before this goes any further.’
Connor stares at me as he pulls himself up off the floor. It’s as if I’ve just told him something he didn’t know. He pales. ‘I hit her? I hit Sarah?’
‘Yes, you hit your wife. Maybe that’s what you should focus on for a while.’
He runs his hands through his hair looking like he’s just woken up. ‘Christ.’
‘Call Peter before you do anything else. Sort this out. Please.’
And he just leaves, walks out, holding his head.
I’m shaking. Even my kneecaps are trembling.
‘You OK?’ Ian asks.
I nod.
‘Stay here. I’m just going to get Sarah from the car.’
‘Sarah?’
‘She was leaving as I was driving in; I told her to wait in the car.’
‘She won’t have, though.’ I know Sarah.
‘We’ll see. Close the door behind me.’
Sarah won’t meet my eyes. I want to tell her everything but Ian asks me to get her a glass of water. While I’m gone, he sits her down and starts to explain. It sounds better coming from him and I’m so grateful. I hand Sarah the glass and am surprised when she takes it. I don’t know whether to stay or go, so I sit quietly out of the way.
‘I’m so sorry, Sarah,’ I say when Ian finishes.
‘Did you think about me even once?’ she asks.
‘As soon as I did, I stopped. I’m sorry. I felt terrible. We both did. We wanted to tell you but Connor’s psychologist said not to – that it would hurt you too much. Connor went back to London to make your marriage work but at some point he must have started drinking. He loves you, Sarah, he really does. He thinks you’re great. It’s just the drink. If he goes back to see Peter…’
‘You bitch,’ she whispers. ‘Pretending to be sympathetic…’
‘I was sympathetic. Genuinely. And I was about to tell you when Sam fell out of bed.’
‘You know, I don’t have many friends. I’m too brash for most people. But I thought you were my friend, Kim. You fucked my husband then pretended to comfort me. That’s all I need to know. I don’t care what you were going through, how drunk you were. I can’t forgive you, Kim. I can never forgive you.’ She gets up.
So do I. ‘Sarah. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I don’t know how it happened. Everything seemed to just rush out of control.’ I hear myself sounding like Ian did. So I know it’s useless. How can I expect Sarah to forgive me when I’m standing here unable to forgive Ian? I bow my head and whisper, ‘I’m sorry.’
She starts to leave.
‘Let me give you a lift,’ Ian says. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘With my parents.’ She sighs. ‘It’s OK, I’ll get a taxi.’
‘No you won’t. Come on.’ He puts an arm around her.
She doesn’t argue.
Ian turns to me. ‘Lock the door.’
I nod. But who’d want
to come in? I’ve lost everyone.
To keep busy, I light a fire. It’s just taking hold when Ian returns.
‘She hates me,’ I say.
He smiles. ‘A bit.’
‘It’s not funny.’
‘It’s not the end of the world either.’
I give him a look.
He holds it. ‘You’re ultimately a good person. She’ll see that when she calms down. And if she doesn’t, you’re still a good person.’
That surprises me. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ He sits on the couch. Blows out a breath. Then he looks at me. ‘Were you scared?’
I nod. ‘You?’
He smiles. ‘Damn right I was.’
I find myself smiling. ‘I hope he’ll be OK.’
He thinks about that. Then, like he’s letting go, he says, ‘Me too.’ He clears his throat. ‘Because he’s ultimately a good person.’
‘He is.’
He looks at me significantly. ‘We all are.’
Admitting that is the biggest step of all.
‘I should probably stay tonight. In case he comes back.’
‘He won’t be back, Ian.’
‘No. But did you see the kids’ faces this morning when they saw me here?’
God. This is so hard.
‘Just for tonight,’ he says.
‘I’ll get the sleeping bag.’
I stare into the airing cupboard. Socks, vests, towels, sheets, clothes lie knotted up together. Messy. Not folded, not perfect. Yet somehow we manage. I think of Mum and the compromises she made, the patience she had, and how, in the end, she got what she wanted. She was not too big for a deal.
I go downstairs and into the kitchen. I find a pen and paper, then sit at the table. I start to write:
If you want to stay longer than a night, these are my conditions:
We live day by day. As friends.
We see someone. No expectations. No assumptions.
We parent fifty-fifty.
We communicate.
We discuss problems.
We listen.
We go out every Friday night. Just to talk and remember who we were.
Unless we decide to separate, we are still technically married. If you are EVER unfaithful, deal over.
I take a deep breath and stand.
In the sitting room, wordlessly, I hand him The Deal.
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