But I Said Forever

by Jennifer Gilby Roberts

  “Well, you have to buy something frivolous,” I say. “That’s your dream, then?”

  “Part of it.”

  “What’s the rest?”

  “Sure you want to know? It’s properly cheesy.”

  I smile. “Cheesy is underrated.”

  “Agreed.” Zack frowns at the model rake he’s been creating. “All right then: if it was my dream, the place would be a family business. I’d have my wife working alongside me and maybe my sister - if I could afford her - to do the marketing. Then when the kids grew up we could drag them along to help. A real team effort.”

  I can see it in my imagination. I passed a place on the sea front with a ‘To Let’ sign just the other day. How nice would it be to work surrounded by your family? Well, maybe not my family, but in one where everyone is equal and pulls together it would be perfect.

  “That sounds wonderful, I’d love that.” I look down quickly as I feel myself flush. “That is, it sounds like a wonderful life to have.”

  “What about you? If you won the lottery, I mean?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be a lady of leisure either. I’ve tried it and it’s not all it’s made out to be. I’d buy a house I could afford to run and put money away for the future and for James’s education. It would just be wonderful to be financially secure.”

  Zack frowns. “I didn’t know you had to worry about money. I thought you married it?”

  My breath catches in my throat. For one moment, I’d forgotten that he didn’t know.

  I twirl my wedding ring around my finger. “I… The truth is, I’m leaving my husband. I’m moving out on Tuesday.”

  “Oh.”

  We look at each other. I’m suddenly very conscious that my hands are covered in paste and I’m wearing an apron with fluorescent flowers all over it.

  “You have a place to go?”

  “Yes, I’m going to stay with a friend.” I grip my celstick a little too tightly. “James’s old nanny, actually. For now, at least.”

  “Do you need help moving things?”

  I open my mouth to refuse, then think better of it. “That would be lovely. There’ll be the cot to put up and we’ll probably have to shift some of the furniture about to make room for it.”

  “Just tell me where and when.”

  “Thank you.”

  We go back to decorating our cake, leaving me all too conscious of things left unsaid.

  Chapter 17

  Early on Tuesday, after Phillip has left for work, I put the note I’ve written him on the coffee table. I wish I didn’t have to tell him where I’m going, but I can’t deny him contact with James. It’s not as though he’s dangerous or anything.

  Part of me thinks it’s cowardly to just walk out, but I honestly don’t think talking would do any good. He can’t understand my position - he can’t understand me - and I doubt my departure will have any more emotional impact on him than the washing machine breaking down. I wonder if he’ll even tell people I’ve gone. Maybe I’ll just be “ill” or “away” for future social engagements.

  Lauren, Carly and I pack the car and drive with James to Carly’s house. Then Lauren and James stay behind while Carly and I bring the second batch of my belongings.

  Carly’s house is a small, red brick, 3-bed terrace. The whole place is beautifully bright and airy, and at the back is a small - but south-facing - garden with a lawn for James to play on.

  “Anyone home?”

  I hear Zack’s voice and hurry back through the tiny kitchen and not-much-bigger lounge to the open front door. Carly follows more slowly.

  “We’re back here. Are you feeling strong?”

  Zack adopts an expression of mock-insult. “Hey, I’m always strong. Please direct me to something that needs heaving about.”

  With a sideways glance at me, which I pretend not to have seen, Carly does so.

  Zack starts carrying bits in from the car while Carly takes me up to see James’s new nursery. I look around, lost for words.

  “Carly, you really didn’t have to do all this,” I say. “It’s gorgeous, but...”

  Carly shakes her head. “Mum adored James, she would have loved it. I stuck with yellow, because she didn’t approve of gender-specific colours for babies. And look, I painted some ducks on the walls.”

  James crawls around on the floor and pulls himself up on the chest of drawers. It’s a lovely room. It’s small and the mottled brown carpet is a little worn, but it’s bright and welcoming. I think he’s going to be happy here. I think we’re going to be happy here.

  “Well, this is nice,” Lauren says, poking her head in. “Which one’s my room?”

  Er...

  “You’re staying here too?” I ask.

  “Well, since I’m now jobless and homeless, Carly said I could crash. It’ll be fun. We can paint each other’s nails and talk about how men are all bastards - you know, girl stuff. Like a university house.”

  “I never went to university.”

  Lauren shrugs. “Nor did I. Carly, where am I sleeping?”

  “You’ll have to share my room; it’s the largest.”

  “Not on that bloody awful air bed?”

  “It’s that or share mine.”

  “Well, if you’re offering...”

  Carly sighs. “Fine, we’ll top and tail it. But no stealing the duvet.”

  By evening, everything we need is out of Phillip’s house and into this one. Most of it is still in boxes, but the pile isn’t too overwhelming. I was ruthless in my clear-out and it feels surprisingly freeing. All the things I no longer dared to wear will be far more useful swelling my savings than filling my wardrobe.

  Since it’s still light when James goes to bed, I head out the front to give the windows a first clean and find Zack, talking into his phone.

  “Anyway, do you still have your old stair gates in the loft?” “Is it all right if I come get them? A friend’s moving into a new house with her little boy and they don’t have any.” “Brilliant. I’ll come right over.”

  He hangs up and looks at me. “My sister,” he says. “I’ll pop out and get the gates and my drill. Now he’s mobile you can’t be too careful and those stairs are quite steep.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He smiles at me and heads out.

  I apply myself to getting the windows at least reasonably clean before the sun goes down. The house is neat enough outside, but needs a good scrub. I may have to hire someone to do the top windows, unless Zack has a ladder.

  “Brittany.”

  I jump, and wobble on the stepladder as I recognize Phillip’s voice. Carefully, I climb down and turn to see him at the gate. I really hoped he wouldn’t turn up yet. To be honest, I didn’t expect him to. I thought he’d at least leave it until he had a day off.

  “I’m here to take you home.”

  I look at him. A passer-by would probably tell me to go with him. He’s tall, handsome and well-dressed and the scene would probably look terribly romantic. But it isn’t.

  “I’m not coming back, Phillip.”

  “Brittany, this is unacceptable behaviour.”

  I put down the bucket. “I don’t think you’re entitled to complain about that.”

  Phillip moves closer. “I’ve said all I care to on that subject. I expect you to come back home and do your duty. I’ve given you everything you wanted, now you need to do your part.”

  “This wasn’t part of our original… agreement. I am grateful for all you’ve done for me, but you’re asking too much in return.”

  “The only thing I’m asking you to do is to forget something. That doesn’t seem too onerous.”

  I sigh. “Phillip, I don’t think you’re ever going to understand where I’m coming from. We’re just… not compatible. Maybe we were at one point, but I was so young. I’m older now, I’ve changed and… it doesn’t work. It’s not going to work again.”

  “Get in the car.”

  “No, I won’t.”


  “Brittany, I’ve had enough!” Phillip marches up the path and grabs my arm. “You are my wife. Now get in the car right now or I’ll…”

  “Get your hands off her.”

  Phillip and I turn to see Zack jumping out of his car.

  “This is none of your business,” Phillip says, straightening his shoulders. “My wife and I are having a private discussion.”

  “Your wife has left you,” Zack says, jogging up the path. “And, frankly, I can see why. In any case, you have no right to force her to do anything. Now let go of her arm and apologize or I’ll call the police.”

  To my relief, Phillip does. I try to recall if I’ve ever seen him lose his temper before. He doesn’t flare up, he gets cold and imperious. That was unpleasant, but this is worse. He’s made me feel smothered, ignorant and angry before now, but never scared.

  “I will apologize, Brittany,” Phillip says, straightening his tie. “I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

  He turns to Zack. “And you are?”

  “A friend.”

  “I see.” Phillip turns back to me. “That puts a rather different slant on the situation, doesn’t it? If you remember, Brittany, you signed a pre-nuptial agreement that said…”

  “I know what it said,” I interrupt, fighting down a flush of humiliation. “That’s not the situation. Zack works with me and is helping us move, that’s all.”

  Phillip gives both of us a hard look. “I’ll come back and speak to you at a later date, when you’ve had a chance to think properly about what you’ve done.”

  Inwardly, I sag with relief. Zack watches while Phillip goes back down the path, gets into his car and drives away. Then he moves to my side.

  “I’m pretty sure those prenup things aren’t legally binding in this country,” Zack says, “but I can check.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I say, picking up my bucket and climbing back up the stepladder. “I’ve no intention of dating anyone. Not until I’m officially divorced.”

  Maybe not even then. Maybe I’m better off being on my own.

  Zack puts a hand on the stepladder. “I can do that for you.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, blinking a few tears at the window. “Did you get the gates?”

  “Yes. Do you want me to put them up now?”

  “No, they’ll have to wait. He’s asleep and the noise might disturb him.”

  “I’ll come round tomorrow night, then?”

  “Whenever’s convenient for you.”

  “Brittany… please call if you need help with… anything. Anytime.”

  I try to answer, but end up nodding instead.

  He goes back to his car for the gates. I take my bucket of dirty water inside and hide in the kitchen until he leaves.

  My first night out of the marital bed is a long one. I lie awake listening to the unfamiliar sound of the clock on the wall ticking, and then the rain beating on the windowpane. After the day’s frantic activity, I finally have time to take stock. I wish I didn’t. I keep bouncing between elation that I’ve actually left, fear that I shouldn’t have and an awful, stupid sense of failure.

  I was raised to be a wife (yes, it still happens). I don’t know why my parents have clung so hard to such a traditional outlook. Dad is quite religious now – at least, he claims to be – but he wasn’t while we were growing up, so it can’t be that. Every part of their parenting was based on the assumption that I would marry and stay home. I absorbed the message into the darkest recesses of my mind and now it’s like I have little demons climbing out of there, telling me I’ve ruined my life and let everyone down – my parents, James and even myself. I’ll be a divorced woman and, to the demons, that’s only one step above hanging round the docks.

  Somehow I have to push through it and build a new life - here in this house, which is already feeling terribly crowded. I think Carly and I will get on fine, but throw Lauren into the mix...

  I’m probably worrying over nothing. We’re three grown women, after all. Surely we can live harmoniously together for a short time?

  Chapter 18

  I advise my solicitors that Phillip and I are officially separated and to file for divorce, and then I steel myself to wait.

  And to tell my parents. After a week, I decide I can’t put it off any longer. Otherwise, they might call the house, find no one there and decide that Lauren has murdered me.

  “Now listen to me, my girl,” Dad says. “You go home right now and tell him you made a mistake. You women go strange after giving birth and he’ll know that, being a doctor. I’m not going to let you throw your life away.”

  I’m tempted to hang up and ignore any further calls, but I know I have to practise being brave.

  “I’m not going to do that, Dad,” I say, as steadily as I can manage, while I grip the arm of Carly’s sofa for dear life. “Phillip and I are no longer compatible and there’s no way we can compromise on our issues. I’d like you to accept that, but it won’t change anything if you don’t.”

  “What on earth is wrong with you girls? I found both of you - both! - excellent husbands. Your sister won’t marry hers and now you’re divorcing yours! Don’t you have any intelligence between you?”

  None that he ever valued.

  “I give up. What did I ever do to deserve such idiotic, irresponsible, disobedient daughters?”

  He slams down the phone and I hear him stomping upstairs through the phone Mum’s listening in at.

  “Mum?”

  “I’d better go and calm your father down. Getting worked up like this isn’t good for his blood pressure.”

  Another stab of guilt hits me. “Mum, I’m sorry.”

  “I have to go, darling.”

  She hangs up on me too.

  I don’t think Mel need worry anymore about being the one they disown.

  I call back every day for a week before Mum answers. She asks if we’re okay and if we need anything, but every word she says echoes with disappointment and sadness. Dad refuses to speak to me at all.

  I throw myself into work, because when I don’t I alternate between cold-sweat panic and steaming-hot guilt. After chatting with Penny and spending hours on Pinterest, I decided to make a 3D haunted house cake for the craft fair. Every night I start work as soon as James is in bed and force myself to block out everything else. And it helps; it really does. When I’m overwhelmed by my feelings, I distract myself by modelling ghosts and gothic architecture and that keeps me going.

  It takes me a month to create. When it’s finished, it looks so beautiful I almost can’t bear to think that it will be eaten. Admittedly, most of the decoration is flower paste and doesn’t actually taste that good, and I can’t be sure of the condition of the fruit cake underneath it either - but what matters is how it looks to the judges.

  I want so much to succeed at this. To be something other than a mum with a job in a shop. To be recognized as actually having some talent - something special about me. Maybe I’m never going to become a doctor like my… Phillip, or even do a degree like Mel, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a skill, does it?

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. I am so, so tired. What I need is a hot bath, a book and a chance to relax. I store the cake carefully in one of the kitchen wall cupboards - where I can be certain James won’t get at it - and trudge into the living room.

  It’s trashed. James’s toys are strewn about and there’s an empty crisp packet on the table, along with a coffee mug - and no coaster - and goodness knows what else. And Lauren is lounging on the sofa, unconcerned. My stress levels double instantly.

  “For goodness sake, why can’t you clean up after yourself!” I snap.

  Lauren keeps her eyes on her magazine and her feet on the coffee table, ignoring the mess around her. “It’s only a few bits, I’ll tidy up later.”

  “You always say that and then you never do. When was the last time you vacuumed?”

  “Weekend.”

  “That’s four days ago!”r />
  Lauren heaves a sigh and puts her magazine down. “Will you relax? The house is quite clean enough to live in.”

  “By your standards.”

  “You mean by normal people’s standards. Normal people only vacuum once a week, if that. Normal people live with a few smears here and there. Just because you have some kind of obsessive compulsive disorder...”

  “I do not have OCD, I just like things clean. And, in case you’ve forgotten, there’s a baby in the house.”

  “Kids need dirt; it’s how they build up their immune systems. If you kill all the little germs, the first big one that comes along will floor him. Next thing you know, he’ll be in hospital on a drip and...”

  “Don’t even joke about that,” I say, fists clenching.

  “I’m not joking. Seriously, you’re putting him at risk...”

  “Don’t you tell me how to look after my child.”

  “Which one of us is qualified in childcare?”

  “Lauren, I swear I...”

  “Stop it!”

  Both of us turn to Carly, framed in the doorway.

  “Stop fighting!” she says, clutching at her skirt. “Every day when Brittany comes home, it’s like this. I’ve been looking after three under twos all day and I need some peace and quiet. If you can’t call some sort of truce, then one of you is going to have to move out!”

  I look at my feet, cheeks flushing. Carly’s been so kind taking me into her home and I’m being a terrible housemate. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry,” Lauren says. “But seriously...”

  “No!” Carly says. She takes a deep breath. “All right... there must be a way to get you on the same page. So what is it?”

  She starts muttering to herself, like one of those poor women you see on the streets wearing six layers and pushing a shopping trolley. Lauren and I exchange glances.