The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  I laughed. “I could tell you liked him.”

  “Tall, dark, and handsome,” she mused. “Fit, too. Gorgeous. Rachel thought he was, too.”

  “I did not!”

  “Yes, you did. Pity he’s too old for us.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “He’s my age, thanks.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  Rachel, her face scarlet now, nudged her, and I left them to it.

  But later, before we closed the office, I called a meeting so we could thrash out some ideas for properties for David. We got together a list of another six that we thought he’d love, and then I e-mailed him to see whether he wanted to see any of the others.

  He replied immediately.

  They sound great. I particularly liked the third one we saw today, the one with the view of the racecourse. I need to get my mortgage sorted out first, though—will be in touch soon.

  I sighed. He’d told me he had his mortgage sorted. It seemed he was yet another client messing me around. I’d learned from experience that until someone had got a guaranteed mortgage, they weren’t seriously looking. I guessed we wouldn’t be seeing him again, but I wrote back saying he should let me know if he wanted me to recommend a financial adviser.

  Will do, he replied. See you soon.

  TWO

  WHEN I ARRIVED home, I walked through the house toward the happy sounds I could hear in the garden. I stood unnoticed at the patio windows, watching Rory run up the lawn and into the paddling pool, splashing water and shrieking. The hosepipe lay on the grass, filling up the pool, as it emptied every time he jumped into it. Joe sat on the patio, a beer in his hand, wearing just his shorts. He had his Kindle in his hand, one eye on the screen, the other on Rory.

  “Hey,” I said, and he jumped. I kissed him on his cheek. “My two boys.”

  “Hi.” He put the bottle down on the patio and I stooped to pick it up again and put it on the table. “Good day?”

  “It was okay.” I sat beside him and sipped his beer. “I spent hours taking some guy round a load of properties that I don’t think he’ll be buying.”

  “Argh, time-waster,” he said. “That’s the way it is, though, I suppose.”

  “You weren’t the one wasting your time! Mind you,” I said, looking Joe straight in the eye, “he was very attractive . . .”

  He laughed. “Perk of the job.”

  Joe was a stay-at-home dad. We’d been married for a few years, but still it was unexpected when I got pregnant with Rory. Joe was working in IT and though he was paid well, he wasn’t enjoying his job much and was looking for a change, whereas I was really happy at work and was bringing in quite a bit more than he was each month. I didn’t want to bring in a manager and lose control of the place, so when Joe suggested he should stay at home with the baby, I jumped at the chance. My hours were awkward, and I knew I’d never find a childminder or nursery that would keep Rory late at short notice. We were typical prospective parents in that we thought our lives wouldn’t change much when our baby was born; Joe had sworn he’d be able to take on part-time jobs while Rory slept, and I’d believed him. That first year had been a massive learning curve for both of us.

  And now, well, house sales were down nationally and that was showing no sign of change soon. I had to work longer and longer hours to try to keep clients happy and to keep staffing as low as I could. Any ideas I’d had of taking days off to care for Rory were suddenly blown out of the water. Only two days ago Joe had told me his skills were now three years out of date and he’d suddenly found that he could no longer apply for certain jobs even if he wanted to, as technology had moved on so rapidly. The thought of being the only wage-earner was now making me panic. It wasn’t that I minded, just that houses didn’t seem to be shifting at the moment and I couldn’t think of a way to make more sales. I was worried, too, about the rentals I owned; they were mortgaged up to the hilt and it would only take one defaulter to mean we’d lose hundreds of pounds each month. And if houses weren’t selling, I wouldn’t be able to sell mine, either. Or not unless I made a loss. The thought of that would keep me awake at night. And Joe . . . I had a horrible feeling that he’d stopped looking for work. He changed the subject when I brought it up and I could never bring myself to press the matter.

  Then Rory saw me and all thoughts of that left my mind. He yelled with delight and ran toward me, his arms outstretched.

  I leaned down to kiss him, my face buried in his hair. “Hello, my lovely boy. Have you had a good time?”

  “I’ve been in the paddling pool all day,” he said. “But I’m starving! What’s for tea?”

  “It’s in the oven,” said Joe. “Lasagne. It’ll just be a few more minutes, so let’s get you into the bath and it’ll be ready by the time you’re out.”

  “I’ll take him,” I said quickly. “Come on, Rory; let’s go.”

  Rory stood between us, indecision on his face. “I want Dad to take me.”

  I felt a familiar prickle of hurt. “Come on, sweetheart; I haven’t seen you all day! You can tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  “Go upstairs with Mum, Rory,” said Joe. “Come on, be nice!”

  My face smarted. My own child shouldn’t have to be persuaded to spend time with me!

  “But . . .” said Rory, and then he looked at my face and I knew he’d seen the hurt there. “Okay, but will you be a lion? Growl just like Dad does.”

  “I’ll have a go,” I said, but when I did, it clearly wasn’t up to scratch.

  He gave me a pitying glance. “Don’t worry, Mum,” he said. “Dad can do it when we get back downstairs.”

  So I ran a bath for Rory, and sat next to him as he played and sang and splashed. Hopefully he’d forgotten he was with his second choice. I started to think about the work I still had to do that day. I tried to get home as soon as the office shut at five so that I could spend time with Rory before he went to bed—though often I couldn’t manage that because of evening viewings—but the cost of that was that I had to work late. As soon as he was in bed, I’d be on to my e-mails, making calls, trying to match clients to properties they’d love, keeping track of the finances, and preparing for the meeting we had first thing every morning. The legal work had to be up to date, too, and often I did that at home, as it was easier to concentrate outside the office. Often I’d look up from my laptop late at night to find Joe asleep on the sofa, with something neither of us had been watching muted on the television.

  Now that Rory was three, I knew Joe was anxious for us to have another child, so that the children could grow up together. He loved being at home with Rory, but I was worried that if he would struggle to find work now, he’d find it impossible in another few years’ time. And if the property market was still in a slump, what would we do? I tried to forget these problems in the time I had with Rory each evening, but they were always there at the back of my mind.

  * * *

  * * *

  I TOOK RORY up to bed after he’d had his supper and lay on his bed to read him some stories.

  “Do the voices,” he urged. “Make them scary!”

  I tried to do it, but he sighed. “No, do them like Dad does. Make me shiver!”

  I tried again more forcefully and he laughed, but said firmly, “Tell Dad to come up and do it.”

  Shamefaced, I called to Joe and he came into Rory’s bedroom on all fours, growling and snarling so that Rory screamed with excitement. I stood and watched, and though I loved it, I was hurt, too, that he’d wanted Joe instead of me.

  Later, when Rory was asleep, I sat at my laptop, typing up notes for the property valuation I’d seen after I’d dropped David off. I was just about to start to e-mail clients who’d sent me messages that afternoon, when Joe came back from the gym.

  “You don’t mind if I watch this, do you?” he asked, and flicked the television on. A football match was ab
out to start. Wonderful.

  There was no way I could concentrate while there was background noise, so I took my laptop into the kitchen and sat at the dining table. Joe came into the room and took a bottle of wine from the fridge. He raised a glass to offer me some, but I shook my head violently.

  “Come on, Gem,” he said. “It’s Friday night. Start of the weekend.”

  I was so tempted to say, What weekend? I’m working! and I think Joe must have recognized the expression on my face, because he put the wine back into the fridge and sat down beside me.

  “Give me a job to do,” he said. “Any job. Come on, I can handle it.”

  I laughed and he nudged against me, his legs tanned and hard against mine. I nudged him back, feeling a frisson of desire as his body touched mine. “I’ve got all the bank statements here,” I said. “And here’s a list of all the fee payments that have come in from solicitors. I need to marry them up and check for outstanding debts. You wouldn’t do that for me, would you?”

  He moved an inch closer to me. “Maybe. What’s it worth?”

  I leaned over and whispered in his ear.

  “Pass me that file and my laptop,” he said, “and give me half an hour, and then I’m going to hold you to that.”

  THREE

  Monday, June 19

  “SO YOU’LL DEFINITELY be able to work on Friday afternoon?” I asked Rachel the following Monday.

  She nodded. “The course is on Saturday, then?”

  “Yes, in a hotel in London. Covent Garden. I’ll go down late Friday afternoon and come back Saturday night.”

  She looked at the rota in front of us. “And you’re at work on Sunday? Are you sure you won’t want a day at home?”

  “I can’t. Brian’s off on Sunday. You’ll have Wednesday off in exchange for Friday?”

  This happened every week. We were short-staffed, but unless the housing situation changed soon I couldn’t afford to take on anyone new. I had to juggle around the rota to keep everyone happy and the place staffed. That was the problem with having a business that had to be open every day of the week. I tended to work most days, taking half days off where I could, but it was hard and I seemed to be permanently exhausted.

  I was happy to work long hours, but I did miss Rory and loved nothing more than to just be on my own with him. I loved those times we’d spend at the park or having a milkshake in our local café or at the swimming pool. Joe usually came along, too, and I liked that, I really did, but sometimes . . . well, when Joe was there Rory would often turn to him if he was upset and I’d stand there feeling useless, whereas on our own he was totally reliant on me. It sounds selfish but it can be hard for a mum to watch her child run to someone else for help, even if that person is his dad.

  Often I’d daydream about the time when Rory was older, when he could walk from school at the end of the day and come to the office and do his homework for an hour while he waited for me to finish work. Joe would be out at work, then later, in my daydreams, it would be just Rory and me, in the kitchen, making dinner together while he told me about his day.

  It was a strange fantasy, I knew that. It wasn’t as though things were bad now, it was just that I felt I’d missed out on that lovely one-to-one time that most mums seem to have. I shook myself. I loved Joe. I loved Rory. I loved my job, most of the time. There was no reason to live in fantasyland.

  I looked up to see Rachel staring at me.

  “Sorry!” I said. “I was miles away.”

  “Anywhere nice?”

  I shook my head. “I was thinking of Rory and what he’d be like as a teenager. At high school.”

  Sophie saw the chance of a gossip and came hurrying over. “He’ll be gorgeous. Totally gorgeous.”

  I looked at the photo on my desk. Rory was riding his tricycle in the park, his face serious as he concentrated. His hair was blond and floppy and glossy, and far, far too long. The photo was taken a month ago, just as summer started, and already his skin was tanned, his body lithe. Joe and Rory gave me the photo when I got home from work just as Rory was going to bed, and as soon as he was asleep I’d started to cry at what I was missing.

  “He’s just like Joe, isn’t he?” asked Sophie.

  I smiled. “Yes, beautiful!”

  They laughed.

  “Would you like another baby?” asked Rachel suddenly. She blushed and I guessed she thought she’d been too forward.

  They both looked at me, an eager look in their eyes.

  “I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “I think so. I think Rory would love a baby brother or sister.”

  “And they’d love him,” said Sophie, a sentimental look on her face.

  “I wasn’t going to have another,” I said. “Not with working full time. It’s just something my mum said.” I thought back to Christmas, when she and my dad had come to stay. “She said the best present I could give Rory was a brother or sister. I’ve got an older brother and we used to get on really well when we were kids. He’s working in Edinburgh now, so I don’t see him as much as I’d like, but we’re still great friends.”

  “She’s right!” said Sophie. “He’d have a friend for life.”

  I smiled. “That’s a lovely thought.”

  Rachel picked up the coffee mugs. “I’ll get these done,” she said, and went into the kitchen.

  “So you decided against going down just for the day, then?” asked Sophie.

  “I couldn’t face getting the six A.M. train. Joe wanted me to so that he could go to the pub on Friday night, but I couldn’t face it.” I left a pause, and then admitted, “So I told him it wouldn’t get me there on time.”

  She laughed.

  Rachel came back in to put away the biscuit tin. “What time did you tell him it started?”

  “Nine A.M. instead of nine thirty. The train gets in at eight fifty, so I’d have to rush to be there on time.”

  She shook her head in mock disapproval. “Lies to your husband. What next?”

  I laughed along with the others, but I was well aware that I was telling Joe more and more lies lately. Some nights I’d sleep in the spare room, telling him my head was aching, when all I wanted was to be on my own for a while. Or I’d creep in with Rory, just to spend time with him, even though he was asleep. And I knew that Joe suspected I wasn’t happy. I’d seen him watching me at times, and when I’d smile at him, he’d seem lost in his thoughts and take a while to respond.

  Last night, when we were in bed, I felt he was about to ask me about it and suddenly I thought, I’ll tell him everything, tell him exactly what I’m feeling, but then he turned away from me and went to sleep. I was still sitting up, putting my face cream on, and I wanted to lean over, to kiss his cheek, to try to regain some of that closeness, but I just couldn’t. So I turned away from him, too, but I couldn’t sleep.

  I seemed to have gone from someone who was always honest, always open, to someone who said whatever had to be said for an easy life. I didn’t know how that had happened.

  FOUR

  THAT NIGHT I took Joe up on his offer of wine. It was Monday, that was his excuse, and I realized then that virtually every night lately he had an excuse to open a bottle. “It’s Thursday!” he’d shout from the kitchen. “Nearly the weekend! Come on, let’s have a glass.” He was pretty good at having just one or two glasses, though, and so was I, now. I hadn’t always been like that.

  So that Monday night Joe poured us each a glass of wine and we did what I loved best: lay at either end of the sofa, legs entwined, and talked. We put some music on and I lit some candles and for a while nothing existed but us. Our family. We talked about everything and nothing, as we always did, but the conversation always came back to Rory. It was our favorite topic, guaranteed to put me in a great mood. Joe told me about swimming and the park and how Rory had befriended a dog who lived across the street from us, and I soaked
up those stories. I could never hear enough of them.

  I told him what the women at work had said about having another child. “Do you think we should have another?” I asked, suddenly overcome with sentimentality. “Do you think Rory would like a little brother or sister?”

  Joe looked startled. “Of course! He’d love it. I’d love it!” He reached out to pull me to him. “I thought you didn’t want to. You shouted at your mum when she mentioned it, remember?”

  I winced as I remembered my mum’s shocked expression on Christmas Day when she’d given me her advice and I’d given it back to her with both barrels. She’d instantly looked down at the glass in my hand and I knew she thought I was drinking too much. That had made me even angrier. I couldn’t think now why I’d reacted like that. I’d felt so much pressure at work, and the idea of getting pregnant on top of that had seemed just too much.

  But now, in the candlelight, with Rory asleep in his bed and my work for the evening all done, I couldn’t seem to recapture that feeling of anger and frustration.

  “What’s changed your mind?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “The women at work, I think. Sophie . . . she agreed with my mum. She said he’d have a friend for life and she’s right. Look at you and Caitlin. Mind you, look at you and Brendan.”

  Joe laughed. He was probably his elder brother Brendan’s greatest fan; he was never happier than when the two were together. “Oh, I wouldn’t want one like him. That would be a nightmare.”

  Despite the haze of wine and sentimentality, I couldn’t help but think how hard I’d have to work to bring in the money needed for a bigger family. Perhaps I could expand the business? But how could I do that when houses weren’t moving? My heart sank. I was exhausted as it was, without bringing more pressure on myself.

  And then I thought back to when I was pregnant with Rory. It was the first time I’d felt relaxed in my body since . . . well, I could hardly remember. The feeling of a baby inside me, those first tentative movements I’d felt so early on, like a butterfly’s kisses. I’d loved him from that moment. Before then, even. He’d been part of me then; he’d always be part of me. And the thought of another, of going through that again, was exhilarating.