But I Said Forever

by Jennifer Gilby Roberts

  “Anyway,” I say, “like I said, I don’t have any hard evidence.”

  I fill her in on my limited knowledge.

  “Hmm, suspicious.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I could trail him if you like. See where he goes.”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. But now that she mentions it...

  “How would you feel about… spying… on Phillip?”

  “I’d feel pretty good about it. But don’t tell Will - I’ve had enough of his lectures.”

  “Mel, he’s been lecturing you since before I was born.”

  “I know that,” she says, swinging her legs. “But… I don’t know. Now he’s my boyfriend, it’s suddenly infinitely more annoying. We’re supposed to be equals and he’s still acting like he knows best all the time. And admittedly he usually does, but... oh sod it, I know he means well, but it’s driving me nuts.”

  To be honest, Mel would get into a lot less trouble if she listened to Will more often. But saying that would definitely strain our fragile sisterly bond.

  “I won’t tell Will if you don’t tell Phillip.”

  “Deal!” she says. “Can I wear dark glasses and a trench coat?”

  “In August? You’ll boil!”

  “Good point. Scrap the trench coat. Now, is he on nights right now?”

  “Yes, but he may not go out tomorrow.”

  “Fingers crossed, then. The tricky part will be getting Will out of the way. You’re going to have to keep him occupied.”

  “How do I do that?”

  Mel drums her fingers on the coffee table. “Well, the number one way is only for me. Other good bets are a computer that doesn’t work, his website, or a Star Trek box set.”

  “Phillip has a laptop that’s taking ages to boot up.”

  “Perfect. I’ll tell him I’m planning to visit the Eden Project - he’ll never want to come along for that; he doesn’t like anything outdoorsy - and you ask him to take a look at the laptop so he has an excuse not to. He won’t even notice the rest of the time I’m out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. It’s what I do when I need some space.”

  I laugh. And feel a stab of envy that she has a man who wants to be around her all the time.

  It’s difficult to keep my mind on work the next day when I know Mel may be uncovering evidence that could rock my whole world. I muddle through as best I can and rush home, only to find she’s not back yet.

  She finally turns up an hour later, looking frazzled. “Stupid automatic hire car. No car should decide that much for itself. Where’s Will?”

  “Fallen asleep in the lounge. Babysitting James this morning was obviously tough.”

  “Understatement of the decade. Your son has the lowest boredom threshold imaginable - how do you cope with him for an entire day?”

  “No choice,” I say, putting the lasagne I’ve made for dinner in the oven. “Any luck?”

  “Yeah,” she says, dumping her bag on the floor and hopping onto a stool at the breakfast bar, “and you’re not going to like it.”

  I’m not sure how I feel, quite honestly.

  “Well, I parked roughly where you said he did and waited,” she says, leaning her elbows on the table, “and he did indeed show up and go into a house further up the street. I managed to sneak up to the gate without him seeing. The door was answered by a very lovely-looking woman of around 30 and he went inside. I watched from a concealed location, i.e. the car, so I know he didn’t come out for two hours. The first fifteen minutes were quite exciting. After that it was distinctly dull. So glad I took Will’s iPad.”

  “Right.”

  “The good news is that I didn’t actually see him kiss or hug her or anything. She opened the door, they exchanged a few words and then he followed her inside. So, it could be nothing. He might just have joined a special interest group or something.”

  “And tried to bribe the nanny not to tell me about it?”

  “Well, that looks bad, but maybe he’s embarrassed about it. Maybe he’s collecting Barbie dolls or learning to crochet.”

  I laugh half-heartedly. “Maybe he is.”

  I turn away from her and start loading the dishwasher.

  “Are you okay?” Mel asks, after a minute.

  “I’m fine.”

  I’m not fine. But I still don’t feel hurt or angry. I feel… anxious?

  Mel picks at her nails. “Are you going to ask Phillip what he was doing there?”

  “I’ve already talked to him once. He said he’s seeing an alternative therapist and what you saw today doesn’t contradict that. What else is there I can do?”

  “Google the address?”

  I don’t move.

  “Hang on.” Mel rummages in her bag and pulls out Will’s iPad. “Number 36, Heatherdale. Go.”

  Her brow creases as she scrolls through pages of results. “Nothing’s coming up.”

  “Maybe they don’t have a website.”

  “Where doesn’t have a website these days?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I brace my hands against the work surface. “Let’s just leave it.”

  “You can’t leave it. The evidence is mounting up that he’s lying to you. Don’t you want to know the truth?”

  “No!”

  The word escapes my mouth before I can grab it and Mel starts. “How can you not want to know?”

  “I…” I clutch the edge of the work surface, feeling suddenly cold and sweaty. “I don’t know. I…” I force myself to breathe deeply. Mel starts to look worried. “If I know beyond all doubt that he’s had an affair, then I’ll have to make a choice.”

  “What’s to decide? Leave the bastard.”

  My knees feel shaky, so I slide down and sit on the floor. Mel jumps off her stool and comes to sit beside me.

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?” Mel asks. “Of course you can. You pack your stuff, you pick up James, you walk out the door, you don’t come back.”

  “You don’t understand.” I shake my head. “And I don’t understand why you don’t understand. We had the same parents; we were both taught that marriage is for life. Dad might not have had an affair, but he’s been riding roughshod over Mum’s feelings all our lives and Mum’s accepted it. Why isn’t that inside your head?”

  Mel looks at the floor. “Maybe it is. Maybe that’s why I’m scared to get married. Just in case things turn bad and I can’t leave. I want more from marriage than staying out of duty.”

  I laugh humourlessly. “So did I, and I thought I’d got it.”

  We sit there for a minute and then Mel takes my hand and squeezes it. I squeeze hers back.

  “I don’t think knowing he’s had an affair would be enough to make me leave,” I say. “I’d make excuses for him. He’s under pressure with his new job, we’ve had all the stress of becoming parents and moving house, we haven’t made time for each other, I’ve neglected his needs, it’s really just a cry for attention, everybody makes mistakes, etc etc etc. I’d feel I had to forgive him and try to make it work. But at the same time I’d resent him. Things have gone downhill so much that I just… don’t love him anymore. So, I’d rather not know for sure, because even what we have now is better than that. Does that make sense?”

  “Frankly, no,” Mel says. “But… well, I guess if that’s how you feel… Oh, sod it - no, it makes no sense. From what I can see, what you have now is crap. And surely the suspicion is worse than the knowledge because all it can do is fester? If you knew for sure, you could have it out with him and move on. How are things going to get better if you stick your head in the sand?”

  “I don’t know.” I let my head fall forward. “But everything’s changing right now with my new job and Carly leaving, and I just can’t handle anything else. When things settle down, I’ll do something.”

  “How long will that take?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know that either. It took me four years of being unhappy at
home before I managed to drag myself out to look for a job and it would have taken longer if you hadn’t had your big meltdown and made me face up to the effect it had had on me. There’s something about your sister looking you straight in the eye and telling you you’re a smug, stuck-up bitch that makes you take action.” I shrug. “Mel, I’m hopeless. I’m 23 and I am my mother. A life of resignation is all I’ve got to look forward to.”

  “Well, if you won’t take action, I can.”

  “No! Look, I’ll try, okay? I just need some time.”

  “I want a deadline.”

  I look down at our joined hands. “Christmas,” I say. “If I haven’t acted by Christmas, you can go digging. But not until then. Promise?”

  “Four whole months.” Mel’s face drops. “Okay, Christmas. But I will literally start on Christmas day, and I reserve the right to prepare a strategy ahead of time.”

  “If you must.”

  I feel simultaneously relieved by the idea that Mel will take care of it and panicked at what will happen after that. Part of me wants her to start now and part wants her to forget the whole thing. The raging conflict in my mind renders me exhausted and suddenly all I want to do is sleep.

  But I can’t. Eventually, I get up and sit out on the balcony off the master suite. This is my favourite place in the house, because I can look over our lovingly-maintained (not by me) gardens and see the sea in the distance.

  Below me, Mel and Will are sitting on the garden swing seat. Mel’s head is on Will’s shoulder and they’re holding hands. I watch them talk for a while, then Mel gets up and pulls Will with her. By the looks on their faces, they’re heading for the bedroom.

  I feel jealousy bubble up and try hard to control it. After all, I’ve got a lot to be happy about too. Even if my marriage isn’t part of it.

  I go back inside and find myself a book to take my mind off the rest.

  On Sunday, Will goes off to tour the Roseland Observatory (one of the local “attractions”) and Mel comes into the bakery, where she watches Abby and Toby - filling in for a poorly Zack - with worrying interest.

  “Why aren’t they a couple?” she demands when they’re both out of earshot.

  “They both seem to think the other is out of their league.”

  Mel snorts. “That’s ridiculous. They obviously need some help.”

  “Mel…”

  “Oh, come on, they’re perfect for each other.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to interfere in people’s lives anymore?”

  “I’m not interfering, I’m helping. You said yourself you know for a fact they’re both interested.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But nothing. Give me two minutes.”

  Before I manage to say anything else, she’s bounced off to the back of the bakery and through the kitchen door.

  Customers keep coming in, so I can’t leave the counter. I try my best to keep my mind on what I’m doing, all the time praying Kristine doesn’t come down before Mel gets back, because she will go nuts.

  I heave a sigh of relief when Mel comes out of the kitchen again, a broad grin on her face. “Sorted,” she says. “There’s just one tiny thing you need to do tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no,” I say, shrinking back from her. “Leave me out of it.”

  “Relax! All you have to do is give Abby the birthday present he’s bought her tomorrow. You’re completely free to claim you don’t know what it is.”

  “I don’t.”

  “There you go, then.”

  I smooth down my apron. “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  Why do I fear I’m going to regret this?

  “Okay, then.”

  “Great! I just have to run to the shops.”

  Late that evening, when Mel and Will have left, James is in bed and I’ve collapsed, Carly calls. “Have you found a temporary nanny, yet?” she asks.

  “Er… almost.” I cross my fingers behind my back.

  “Because I’ve got someone who can do it if you want.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” I let my head fall back against the sofa cushions. “You’re an angel.”

  “It’s a friend of mine from college. She’s been working as a nanny in Australia and has just got back, so she’s happy to fill in for us while she re-acclimatizes. She’s brilliant at entertaining kids and I’m sure James will love her.”

  “Wonderful,” I say, relaxing for what feels like the first time in weeks.

  Finally, things are looking up. Tomorrow I should find out if I’ve got a permanent job and soon the new nanny will settle in and things will be stable enough for me to decide what to do next.

  I just need a little time.

  Chapter 8

  “Is there any way I could have Thursday off?” I ask Kristine on Monday morning. “I’ve got a new nanny starting, but she can’t be here until the evening and my old one can’t take him. I’ve tried to find cover, but nowhere will take him for only one day.”

  Kristine frowns. “Not easily. I can’t be in that day, which is bad enough when Zack isn’t here. You’re the only sane one left.”

  “I’ll look after him.”

  I look up and stare at Zack, framed in the kitchen doorway.

  “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look after my son? On your day off?”

  He huffs. “I do know how to look after children, you know. I’m sure I told you that I have three nephews, and I enjoy spending time with kids.”

  “I know you said that, but...”

  Zack shrugs. “Just thought I’d offer. No obligation.”

  “No, no,” I say quickly. “That would be wonderful, I’m sure he’d love it. But, are you sure? Really?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Oh, well then,” I say, fiddling with my wedding ring. “I’ll… give you my address. Or you give me yours and I’ll drop him off? Or we could meet here? Whatever’s easiest for you.”

  “I’ll pick him up. If it’s a nice day I might take him to the beach. That is, if he isn’t afraid of sand like my youngest nephew?”

  “Not at all. He loves it.”

  “Well then, that’s settled.”

  This is strange.

  When we hit a quiet spell, I give Abby my birthday present to her - a bottle of the perfume she wears - and the neatly wrapped gift from Toby. I very nearly drop it as I hand it over and it takes all my self-control to keep from fidgeting while she unwraps it. It’s a small flat box that has to contain jewellery. From the shape, I’m fairly confident Mel didn’t take leave of her senses and buy a diamond ring. I’m scared to imagine the fallout from that.

  I watch Abby’s expression carefully: she looks pleased. She takes her present out of the box and it’s a silver heart-shaped locket with spaces for two photos inside.

  “Isn’t that lovely?” she says, bright eyes shining. “Help me put it on.”

  She opens the card while I fasten the clasp. It looks very well made. Maybe white gold, or even platinum, rather than silver. I really hope Mel asked Toby for a budget before she went shopping.

  “Oh, B!”

  “What?” I ask, stomach suddenly clenching.

  “Look at what he’s written!”

  I look over her shoulder. Inside the card, in what I don’t think is Mel’s handwriting, is written: “If there’s room in your heart for me, give me a call. Toby.” Below that is what I assume is his phone number.

  “Oh, I think I’m going to faint!” Abby says, clutching my arm as I move beside her. “He likes me! Do you think he was waiting until I was 18?”

  I nod, not trusting my voice.

  “Should I call him now or wait until I get home? Or should I play it cool and leave it a few days? No, I can’t do that. Now. No, home. No, now. No...”

  “Abby!” I say, laying my hands on her shoulders. “Breathe. Calm.”

  She tries to do as instructed.

  “Don’t call him now,” I say, “because Kristine is guara
nteed to come down and shout at you for being on the phone while you’re supposed to be working. You can call him whenever you want in your free time, but wait until you’ve calmed down.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” she says. Then she starts bouncing on the spot. “Oh, but I’m so excited! Where do you think he’ll take me? Cinema? Dinner? A walk on the beach? Oh, I broke my flip flop the other day, I’ll have to go out and get some more and…”

  Customers come in and require us to work. Abby tells every regular – and quite a few bemused tourists – that the guy she’s had a crush on for ages has finally asked her out. Her delight is infectious and everyone goes about grinning. And, even though I’m only five years older, I find myself smiling fondly at her and remembering when life still got that exciting.

  I’ve never felt so old.

  I spend the rest of the day alternately smiling at Abby and trying not to remember that this is the end of my trial period.

  The day goes by and nothing is said. Eventually, it’s evening. Kristine has flipped the sign on the door and I’m mopping the floor.

  Kristine casts a critical eye over it. “That’ll do. You can go.”

  I lean on the mop and watch her turn towards the kitchen door. “Kristine?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do I… well, it’s the end of my trial period. Do I still have a job?”

  “Have I fired you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you still have a job. Thursday when it’s quiet we’ll have a chat and sort you out a proper contract of employment.”

  I clutch the mop, pride bubbling up inside me. I’ve done it! I’ve proved I can hold a job. It may not be a dream job, but it’s mine.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Kristine’s lips quirk. “You’re doing fine, Brittany. Keep up the good work.”

  I beam at her back as she disappears into the kitchen.

  I’m now officially a working mother.

  Squee!