But I Said Forever

by Jennifer Gilby Roberts

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I say, brandishing my flowery lock box. “I brought my kit.”

  Which has been expanding rather faster than it should have done. Other women compulsively buy shoes; I suddenly can’t resist cake decorating tools.

  “If you stick around here, maybe we can do a bit more on the cake front.”

  “You could always do the full course yourself.”

  “I thought I might, actually,” he says, going back to his work. “The taster session was quite fun. Still, I don’t think I’ll ever be great at it. We all have our limitations.”

  Zack and I, side by side, once a week, all year.

  I feel a thrill run through me and quickly turn away and find a place to work.

  I know it isn’t wrong to be attracted to someone else - marriage doesn’t alter biology, after all - but it can’t be wise to spend so much time with them. It would be best for me not to do the course if Zack’s going to.

  But I so want to do it, and it’s not like we’ll be alone. Not like right now.

  “So, you’re happy about being divorced, then?”

  “It’s a huge relief. Major cliché alert, but it’s like getting out of prison.”

  “It wasn’t always like that, was it?” I ask, keeping my eyes on my work.

  Zack kneads some dough vigorously. “No, for a long time everything was going well and we were happy. And then things got tough and… well, we couldn’t weather it.”

  “And you’re doing better in yourself?”

  “Yeah, a lot better, thanks. I have to stay on the pills for six months to make sure it’s over, but hopefully I’ll be fine after that. I never had it before, so hopefully it won’t come back. Unless I have the misfortune to go through another messy divorce.”

  “You haven’t given up on the idea of marriage, then?”

  What am I saying? This conversation should end right now. I shouldn’t be encouraging any sort of connection between us, let alone discussing relationships.

  “No, I’m still interested in having a family and with luck I’ll choose a bit better second time around. I’m only 30, so I’ve still got time.”

  I was brought up to believe that marriage was for life, barring the most extreme circumstances. I’m not sure I could marry a second time. I am sure that my parents wouldn’t come. The idea of saying “never mind, try again” like you’re discussing a failed baking attempt makes me suddenly very uncomfortable.

  “Where do I find the icing sugar?” I ask.

  On the night of the gala, Carly has been pressed into more overtime and I’ve pressed myself into something expensive and highly uncomfortable. I’m still feeling self-conscious about my hair. So much so that I’ve deliberately selected an outfit that shows off the gentle curves I have to divert attention from it.

  I still don’t know how I ended up with this body. Mum and Mel have shapely figures and Dad isn’t exactly svelte. Only I lack padding. And it certainly has its advantages, but I do wish I could at least try out an hourglass figure. And I frequently wish I had breasts that actually needed a bra. Plus, the hate that rolls off some women is unbelievable. The negative side of the backlash against size zero (which I fully support) is that it now seems to be okay to call women built like me unfeminine, unhealthy and unattractive. I didn’t get to choose how I was made either, you know.

  I make my grand entrance down our stairs. Phillip is waiting in the entrance hall, looking devastatingly handsome in full black tie. For one moment, I flash back to when we were first married and life was glamorous and exciting. Maybe tonight will be fun. Maybe it will help us turn back time.

  Phillip looks me over, as he always does, starting at my feet. He gets all the way to my face and suddenly says, “Brittany, what in the world have you done to your hair?”

  “Phillip, I had it cut on Thursday. You’ve seen me since then. More than once.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

  How flattering.

  He inspects my head like he’s looking for nits. “Good grief,” he says. “Well, it’s too late to do anything now. We’ll sort you out with some hair extensions next week.”

  I step back, stung. “I don’t need hair extensions. It’s my hair and I like it.”

  As of right now.

  “It isn’t suitable.”

  “Lots of women have short hair.”

  “Not in our circle - at least not at your age. And, with your figure, it looks far too masculine. It doesn’t project the right image for my wife to the people we associate with.”

  I look at my feet and wish I could stay home tonight. “Is that all I am, Phillip? An image?”

  “Of course not. Now come on, it’ll look terrible if we’re late.”

  Does he even realize that that’s a yes?

  Two long, dull hours later, I’m seriously considering getting blind drunk and ruining “Phillip’s wife” for good.

  The gala is gorgeous: a huge ballroom, brightly lit by huge chandeliers, with bales of white chiffon artfully draped around the place. And the nibbles are yummy. I wish my dress was loose enough to allow me to eat more than three bites.

  I entered on Phillip’s arm, was introduced to a number of important people and made suitable small talk. I was complimented on my hair several times, although at this sort of event you can never tell if people are sincere or not. And through it all I have wondered what it was about this life that used to appeal so much. Phillip is circulating and I should be too, but all I want to do is escape. The closest I can get is to stand on one of the balconies, partly concealed from the room by silk curtains.

  Phillip and I met at an event not unlike this one, which the father of one of my friends was attending. We’d been to the same primary school, but then her dad had made it big and she’d been packed off to private school. We kept in touch, and she managed to wangle us both invitations while her dad was in fits of guilt over divorcing her mum.

  I was 18 years old and in my last year of school, and he was 25 and seemed like Prince Charming come to life. He asked me to dance, to walk with him in the ornamental gardens and, at the end of the night, for my phone number. A rather whirlwind courtship followed, but he was the perfect gentleman. He took me to so many wonderful places I’d never been to before and we had so much fun together; it felt like I was living out a Disney film. We married that summer and, for a while, I was very happy.

  Phillip is seven years older than me, which some people find odd - even disturbing - but my parents were the same ages when they met so it never seemed strange. My mother even quietly discouraged me from looking at boys my age, on the basis that older men made better husbands; more mature, more established in their professions and finished “sowing their wild oats”.

  I fish out my phone and call home to check on James. Carly answers in a strained voice.

  “It’s Brittany. Are you okay? Is James okay?”

  “James is fine,” she says, with what sounds very much like a sob. “My mum just called. She’s had a fall and she thinks her leg is broken.”

  “Has she called an ambulance?”

  “Yes, but James is asleep, so...”

  “Phillip and I will get home as soon as we can.”

  “Thank you.”

  I quickly hang up and hurry to find Phillip. Feeling grateful to Carly and guilty because of it.

  “Can I borrow my husband for a minute?” I say, smiling apologetically at the distinguished-looking couple he’s standing with. I put my hand on Phillip’s arm and guide him away.

  “Brittany, that man is the patron of the hospital,” Phillip whispers through a fake smile. “He’s a vital connection. I trust this is important.”

  “It is,” I say, doing the same smile. “Carly’s mother has fallen and broken her leg, and we need to get home so Carly can go to the hospital.”

  “Now? It’s only a broken leg.”

  My smile slips. “Phillip, you know her mother’s still weak after the chemo. Carly left a great jo
b in London so she could be there for her.”

  “I need to be here. Her mother can wait a few hours.”

  I start to frown and quickly stop myself. “Fine, you stay and I’ll go home.”

  “You need to be here too. It’ll look terrible if you leave so early.”

  “For goodness sake, Phillip, tell them I have a migraine or something. And if they don’t believe you, so be it. People are more important than appearances.”

  I turn and walk off, leaving him to make whatever excuses he deems necessary.

  Carly reports from the hospital that her mother is resting comfortably and they don’t think it’s a bad break, but there’s a backlog to clear in X-ray before they can check.

  I do my best to sleep, but Phillip’s words tonight keep repeating in my head.

  I’m sure he would never have said something like that when we first met. Back then he’d only just qualified and he was warm, caring and understanding. But in the years since he’s grown harder, colder and more shut up in himself. I think he’s had to, to cope with the job. I’ve sometimes wondered if he wanted to be a doctor, or whether he forced himself to follow the family tradition. I suspect the latter. Maybe if he’d gone into some other job, he’d still be the man I met.

  What worries me most is that I’m not sure if my Prince is ever coming back.

  When I get home from work on Sunday, I find Carly sitting on the sofa, clutching James and crying. He’s holding out his chubby little arms in what I think is an attempt at a hug.

  “I’m sorry,” she says between sobs. “I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  “What’s happened? Is it your mum?” I ask, hurrying over.

  She nods. “They finally got her into X-ray. The break is clean, but they found a tumour. The cancer’s back.”

  I sit down heavily beside her. “Oh, no.”

  “And it’s spread. They scanned the rest of her, since it was in her breast last time, and it’s all over the place.”

  “Oh, Carly, I’m so sorry. Are they going to start chemo again?”

  She swallows hard. “No. Mum won’t take it.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Carly wipes her eyes on her sleeve as I take James and sit him on my knee. “She says she’s had it enough times. It makes her so weak and the cancer comes back faster every time. She kept on having it while my dad was alive because she knew he couldn’t stand to lose her. But, now he’s gone… she says she’s ready to go. That she’s never going to beat it.”

  “Do you think she’s right?”

  Carly blows her nose on the tissue I hand her. “Yes,” she says, “and no. I don’t want to see her suffer - and if it was me, I’d probably do the same - but she’s my mum and I don’t want to lose her.”

  “Of course not.”

  Carly slumps forward and leans her head on her hands. “Why couldn’t the bastard thing just leave her alone?”

  I put James down on the floor so I can hug her. James clutches one of her legs, trying to help with his limited abilities. He loves her so much and I love that and hate it at the same time.

  She sits up again, tilting her head back to stop the tears falling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear in front of James.”

  “It’s quite all right.”

  “The thing is, I don’t know how much time she has left and I want to spend as much of it with her as I can.” Carly takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to resign.”

  Anxiety surges through me. “No, don’t do that. Of course you should be with your mother, but you don’t need to leave. We’ll call it a… sabbatical. I’ll call the agency and find us a temporary nanny.”

  How am I going to manage without her? What if the new nanny isn’t any good? What if James doesn’t like her? What if she mistreats him? What if I can’t find one at all?

  “Don’t give it a thought,” I say, trying to sound calm and in control, and rubbing her back in the way that always soothes James. “I’ll get on the phone first thing in the morning and make arrangements. Don’t worry about anything except your mum.”

  “Thank you,” Carly says, and hugs me again.

  Help.

  Chapter 7

  I spend the week frantically trying to find a temporary nanny and failing. Then I call the local nurseries. None of them can take him full-time. One can manage four days a week, but not for a fortnight, another can start him next week, but only for mornings, and a third can do three days, so long as there isn’t an R in the month and we only dress him in pink. Okay, the last one I made up. Now I have a list of local childminders, a permanent headache, my first grey hair and my sister coming for the weekend, and I could really do without all of them.

  Mel and Will were due to arrive Friday lunchtime, but their hire car doesn’t pull up until the evening. Will then goes straight upstairs to bed.

  “That flight,” Mel says, flopping down on my sofa, “was horrific.”

  I dig in my cupboards for some chocolate, which she practically grabs out of my hands.

  “Will hasn’t been on a plane since the flight that started his phobia off and he decided it would be a good idea to experiment and see if the fear was still there.”

  I sit down beside her. “That sounds sensible.”

  Mel leans back against the sofa and closes her eyes. “It does, doesn’t it? Anyway, he decided to go to the doctor for advice and was given some tranquillizers in case he should feel particularly anxious.”

  “Reasonable.”

  “Very. Now, it turns out that he is very much still afraid of flying and the anxiety kicked in pretty much as soon as we got to the airport. So, he had a tranquillizer. Then, because it wasn’t working fast enough, he took another. And another. Do you know what happens when you take too many tranquillizers?”

  I grimace. “I’m beginning to get the picture.”

  “First, he started telling me how pretty the clouds were. That I could handle. Then he started singing about goblins. You know the song in Blackadder?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, it goes like this: ‘See the little goblin, see his little feet, see his little nosy wosy, isn’t the goblin sweet?’ He chants that over and over. All the people round us were stuffing in earplugs. Honestly, this is the first time it’s been Will embarrassing me in public and I swear I’m never doing it to him again.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “He finally stopped singing and I relaxed. Right up until he decided that he wanted to get out of the plane and go fly with the clouds. I had to call the stewardess and get her to handcuff him to the seat so I could keep him in place. Worse still, the handcuffs she brought out were some of those pink fluffy ones, so God only knows where they’d been.”

  “Ah.”

  “And then when we landed I had to take him to hospital in case he’d actually damaged himself with the overdose. Three hours we sat in A&E - with him chatting amiably to the wall and everyone else trying to sit as far away from us as possible - and all they did was send him home to sleep it off.”

  She stuffs some more chocolate in her mouth. “So, how are you?” she asks round it.

  “Oh, fine.”

  “Where’s James?”

  “Asleep.”

  “Phillip?”

  “At work.”

  “But he’s coming home a bit more now, right?”

  I hesitate. Part of me is reluctant to confide in her. We spent such a long time sniping at each other. Well, it was mostly me. In fact, I was a right bitch to her. There, I said it. I was jealous and unhappy and I tried to tear her down because of it. I’m not proud of it, and, if we’re going to rebuild our relationship, I have to let her in.

  “Not really.”

  “Oh.” She pulls a face. “So, things aren’t any better?”

  I sigh. “Quite honestly, Mel, things are worse.”

  Mel picks at her nails. “I always thought you guys were happy.”

  “Well, I put a lot of effort into convincing
you of that.”

  “Things weren’t always bad, were they?”

  “No, they weren’t,” I say. “In the early days, everything was so exciting. New house, new clothes, new places to go. Even all the lessons I went to didn’t feel like more school - it was like I was becoming a whole new person. And then I woke up one day and realized I had, but I didn’t like her very much. I had no real occupation, nothing that was actually mine and I’d lost all my friends because they thought I was a snob. I hoped that having James would help, but all it did was hammer home how alone I was. I didn’t find any kindred spirits at the baby groups I joined, Phillip was promoted and started spending yet more time at work, and even when he came home he wasn’t interested in spending time with me because I couldn’t go out and about like I used to.”

  I gather my courage. “The thing is… Phillip may be having an affair.”

  Mel sits up straight. “What a scumbag! Are you going to kill him? I’ll help.”

  “No, no,” I say quickly. “It’s only a suspicion - I could be completely wrong.”

  “Is it with the nanny? Because it’s always the nanny, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have thought she was Phillip’s type, but some people have these weird fetishes that they keep a secret, don’t they? Like you go to see your bank manager and he looks all proper, but under his desk he’s got clamps attached to his…”

  “Mel! It’s not Carly.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, you can never really know another person and she’s here with him all the time and…”

  “She’s a lesbian.”

  Mel stops. “Oh. Well, you probably can, then.” She purses her lips. “You know what, Brittany, that’s brilliant! Every woman must worry about their husband running off with the nanny and you’ve sidestepped the whole issue. I wonder if there’s enough of them to start up an agency? You could make a fortune!”

  “I’m pretty sure there are discrimination laws that say you can’t do that.”

  “But you can break those if there’s a genuine reason, can’t you? I mean, women with philandering husbands have a real need for a nanny like that. Although, I suppose they could always hire someone horrendously ugly and…”