by Sophie King
‘You’re not a model, are you?’
For a chat-up line, that had to be the worst. Disappointed, she looked down at her magazine. ‘No.’
‘Sorry – it’s just that I’m a photographer. I tend to notice things – and not see the things I should sometimes. But I know I’ve seen you somewhere.’ His face cleared. ‘At school. St Theresa’s. I drop my daughter off every morning – well, she drops me off. Do you have a child there?’
‘Two. One is in year seven and the other in year nine.’ She leaned forward. ‘Look, I’m not being funny but I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone you’ve seen me here.’
He looked appalled. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. I’d be grateful if you did the same.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘Your daughter drops you off, you say. Is she learning to drive?’
He smiled ruefully. He was a very attractive man, thought Harriet, surprising herself. She had never, during her fourteen-year marriage to Charlie, looked at anyone else. But she felt unusually drawn to this nice man with the understanding greeny-blue eyes: he seemed so interested in what she had to say.
‘I’m trying to keep her a learner as long as possible. But since her mother died it’s one of the few things that has made Julie happy.’
So that was why he was here – bereavement counselling. The look on his face showed he could see she had made the connection. Something inside her made her want to put him at ease. ‘My husband’s left me. Well, not exactly “left me” but gone away for two months so we can think things over.’ Even as she spoke, she was horrified with herself for being so open.
‘That’s not very fair on you – or the kids. Can’t he make up his mind?’
That was exactly what Harriet had been asking herself since Charlie had left. She smiled faintly. ‘Apparently not. He says there isn’t anyone else.’
‘And you believe him?’
Harriet nodded emphatically. ‘Yes. That’s the one thing I’m sure about. Charlie wouldn’t lie to me. He’s not that kind of man.’
‘Harriet?’ Monica put her head round the door, smiling. ‘Would you like to come in now?’
She stood up quickly, knocking over her bag as she did so. Everything spilled out, diary, purse, tampons – oh, God. And now he was helping her stuff it all back in. How embarrassing! ‘Thanks,’ she said, feeling hot. ‘’Bye.’
As she followed Monica up the stairs, she tried to remember everything she’d been storing up in her head about Charlie to tell Monica so she could make some sense out of the nightmare. But something was niggling at her. Something she had just said to the man in the waiting room. ‘He’s not that kind of man.’
How often had she said that to herself – and to Monica – and believed it? But now, after her declaration to a complete stranger, whose expression had clearly stated he wasn’t convinced, she wondered if it was true.
‘Sit down, Harriet.’ Monica indicated the chair opposite hers.
Harriet sank into it gratefully. Over the weeks, she’d found Monica could see things that Pippa couldn’t – the advantage, she supposed, of talking to a stranger who could afford objectivity.
Monica smiled encouragingly. She was wearing her usual Jaeger suit with the matching scarf. Harriet wondered wistfully if her life was as well co-ordinated as her outfit. ‘So, Harriet, how have you been since I last saw you?’
Harriet felt disappointed. Had Monica forgotten that this was the week? She took a deep breath. ‘Uncertain. Charlie gets back on Friday and I’m terrified.’
Monica nodded calmly. ‘And what exactly are you terrified of?’
Harriet ran her hands through her hair. ‘Everything. I’m worried he won’t want me. I’m worried that the kids will be difficult and annoy him. And I’m worried in case this woman actually does mean something to him.’
Monica leaned forward and Harriet could see the top of her black bra peeping above her blouse. Had she been through this kind of thing with her husband? ‘You sound, Harriet, as though you’re expecting him to make all the decisions. You have a choice too, you know.’
Harriet closed her eyes. ‘But that’s just it – I don’t! If he says this woman means something to him, I can’t stop him going. And if he says he wants to stay, I have to pretend life is normal for the sake of the children.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Monica replied. ‘If Charlie says it’s over between you, you have a choice about whether to fall into a deep depression or get on with it. And if he wants to continue with the marriage, you still have a choice.’
‘No, I don’t. I watched my mother’s pain as she put up with my father’s affairs and I vowed I wouldn’t do the same. Then, when Dad finally went, it felt so different and wrong because home wasn’t the same without him.’ Harriet’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t want to put my children through that agony. And I can see now why Mummy put up with Daddy’s affairs. She was frightened of being on her own – just as I am.’
Monica handed her a tissue and waited. ‘Let’s go back. Tell me again what you said about your marriage when you first came here. No, don’t look like that. I haven’t forgotten. I want to remind you.’
Harriet swallowed. It was so hard, so painful. ‘Well, our marriage hasn’t been great for the past three or four years but it hasn’t been terrible either.’ Suddenly she thought of the fierce love etched on that sixth-former’s face yesterday. ‘We never had what you’d call a grand passion,’ she said, flushing, ‘but we were both in our late twenties and settling down seemed more important. He wasn’t married – single men were becoming rarer – and we were both ready to have babies. In Charlie, I saw someone loyal and steady whom I could rely on. Ironic, isn’t it?’
‘And what were the first few years like?’
‘Comfortable,’ said Harriet wistfully. ‘It was nice making a home together and doing grown-up things like choosing carpets. I was thrilled when I became pregnant with Bruce just before our first anniversary and couldn’t wait to give up work. I was an assistant in a public relations company and I hated the artificiality. All I’d ever wanted was a family. Kate arrived just over a year later and we felt almost smug at having one of each. It all seemed so easy.’
‘Until when?’
‘Until Charlie’s job began to take him away more.’
‘And the sex?’
Harriet wriggled in her seat. ‘It sort of tailed off.’
‘Did he mind?’
Harriet felt defensive. ‘He didn’t say so. Just being together with the children seemed enough – until that text.’
‘What does that tell you?’
‘That he should have told me earlier how he felt?’
Monica nodded. ‘Yes, but what else? Let me give you a clue. Have you gone to pieces since he left?’
‘Not exactly, but it hasn’t been easy.’
‘It never is. What about the children?’
‘They’ve been all right – but only because they thought he was coming back.’
‘Children also suffer if their parents stay together for their sake, Harriet. They pick up on vibes, and later, when they’re older and realise how unhappy their parents were, they blame themselves for “keeping them together”.’
Harriet was silent. She remembered how she’d wished her parents had split up earlier to save her mother the continued pain.
‘Let me ask you another question. What kind of practical things have you learned since Charlie went?’
‘Well, I’ve sorted out the bills. I’ve changed most of them to direct debit, which is much easier.’
‘Anything else?’
‘It’s not been as lonely, somehow, as I thought it would be. When the kids have gone to bed, it’s rather nice to be able to sit down with a book and a snack on my knee instead of having to cook a proper dinner for Charlie and listen to his day, even though he never bothers to ask about mine.’
Monica smiled. ‘You see? You’ve just told yourself something you hadn’t realised. If you did find
yourself on your own, you’d manage better than you think.’
‘But I don’t want him to go.’ Harriet’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘We’ve been together too long. I always thought we’d get old together.’
Monica stopped smiling. ‘Longevity, Harriet, is no reason for continuing a marriage. You’re not going to get a long-service award for hanging on to a relationship that’s past its sell-by date. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not telling you to leave him or ask him to go. You have to make up your own mind on that. I’m simply pointing out the options.’
She glanced at the clock that stood on the table between them. This always happened, thought Harriet, frantically. They’d reached a crucial point just as their session was ending. ‘I’ve got this horrible feeling that even if he says he wants to go, I’m going to beg him to stay,’ she said softly.
‘I can understand that. But supposing he did and then he agreed to stay, how would you feel?’
‘That he stayed because of the children and not because he loved me.’
‘I can understand that too. Harriet, I’m sorry but our time is up. You know, don’t you, that this is our last session? I hope you feel it’s been helpful.’
No, Harriet wanted to yell. No, I want you to come with me and hold my hand when Charlie gets back. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘If you want another series of sessions, you’ll have to ask the doctor to refer you again.’ Monica handed over a sheet of paper. ‘In the meantime, I wonder if you’d mind filling in this survey. It’s entirely confidential but it will help us work out whether you found the counselling useful and how we can improve it in any way.’
Harriet took it wordlessly. Somehow it had reduced all Monica’s wise words to a mundane commercial level. How could you ascertain how successful or helpful a counsellor had been until you had put your experience into action?
She thanked Monica again (should she have brought her a present?) and went down the stairs into the street, hoping, as she always did, that no one would see her. If by some bad luck they did, they would perhaps assume that she was a volunteer for the counselling service rather than a client. Women like her were usually on the other side of the table, weren’t they?
Harriet’s stomach rumbled but she still didn’t feel able to eat. The prospect of Charlie returning and all the decisions and choices she could and couldn’t make were tying her stomach in knots. She didn’t want to go home either. When the children were there, the noise drove her mad, but the silence when they were at school was worse. It made her think and she’d done enough of that already this morning.
She’d go to the gym. If she hurried, she’d just make the yoga class she sometimes went to with Pippa. Harriet nipped back to the car to collect her leotard from the boot and jogged across the road to Fit For Life, the gym that had opened the previous year. There was another a little further down the high street, but Harriet preferred this one. It was lighter and brighter but, most importantly, all the instructors had a positive outlook. Harriet always came away feeling better about herself.
She flashed her membership card at the girl on the desk, then changed swiftly and made her way to the yoga class, which was held in an airy room with mirrors down one side.
Sara, the instructor, who was wearing a pink T-shirt with Fun, Fearless, Female printed on it, smiled at her. ‘Come on in, we’ve only just started.’
Harriet found a space towards the back. She had been to enough classes to know what to do, and the easy pattern her body fell into helped her mind to relax. The music was soft and calming. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend that Charlie wasn’t coming back this week, that life would go on in the normal way. Normal? Harriet felt a shock go through her. Yes, in a strange way, life had become normal during Charlie’s absence. Did that mean she could cope without him?
‘Raise your right hand and stretch gently to the right,’ said Sara, through her microphone. Harriet followed the girl in front. Perhaps she should get a mike to use on the kids. It might make them listen to her. She smiled: that was better. Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror: her face looked taut and her breasts non-existent. She stopped smiling. Was that why Charlie had gone off her – because he didn’t find her attractive any more? After breastfeeding Kate her breasts had gone down two sizes, but there was nothing she could do about that, except wear balcony bras. Implants seemed too scary – and artificial.
She looked at the other women in the class. They all appeared serene and, worse, were full-chested. Was the woman who had sent the text well endowed? Or did Charlie find her more intellectually stimulating than a wife who was at home all day with the kids?
The thought bothered her through the rest of the class and she came away without that lovely feeling of well-being. Something else worried her too. When she’d looked in the mirror and seen her taut face, she’d been reminded of her mother. Would she turn into her if Charlie left?
Harriet got back into the car and fished out her mobile. She rang her mother at least once a week, but with the panic of Charlie coming back, she hadn’t spoken to her for several days. ‘Mum, it’s me. Hi. How are you?’
‘Fine, darling. And how about you?’
Her mother sounded bright but she might be putting it on.
Harriet knew she found it hard to be on her own and wished she didn’t live so far away. She, and sometimes Charlie, took the children to see her at least four times a year but Sussex was a good two-and-a-half-hour drive from here, depending on traffic.
‘Fine. I’ve just been to the gym and now I’ve got to tackle Waitrose.’
‘Isn’t Charlie coming back this week?’
‘Yes. On Friday.’ Harriet tried to think of something neutral to say. She hadn’t told her mother about their problems and didn’t want to burden her with them – she was in her late sixties, after all. Besides, her mother had always liked Charlie and it would be hard to admit that things weren’t right.
‘It will be lovely for you, darling, to have him back.’
‘Yes. Yes, it will. What have you been doing this week?’
‘Oh, quite a lot. We had our weekly walk yesterday, and on Friday we’ve got the church dinner. Some nice people have moved into the village over the last few months, which makes things like the dinner more interesting. The garden is looking beautiful too. I wish you could see it.’
‘I will. The children finish school this week and I was thinking of coming down shortly afterwards.’
‘How about Sunday? Or do you think Charlie will want a weekend at home after being away?’
The keenness in her voice made Harriet feel worse. Her mother was lonely: she needed them. On the other hand Sunday was too soon for Charlie, who would want to collapse on a chair in the garden, especially if this weather continued. The thought of piling the kids into a hot car and trying to stop them arguing on a long journey would be exactly what he didn’t need. Well, he’d just have to cope, wouldn’t he?
‘Sunday would be lovely, Mum. Can’t wait to see you. Lots of love.’
10
NICK
Nick watched Harriet leave the waiting room with her counsellor. He didn’t want her to go: she had been so easy to talk to, and Amber was on a completely different wavelength from him.
‘Nick,’ said Amber, walking in briskly. ‘I’m ready to see you now.’
He followed her into their usual room and sat down reluctantly.
‘Sorry I had to cancel yesterday,’ she said.
He waved his hand, dismissively.
‘Now, how have we been doing?’
‘We’? How patronising was that?
Amber looked down at the notes on her expansive lap; the lower half of her body was shrouded in a shapeless black cheesecloth skirt. ‘Last week we ended when you were telling me that your daughter disapproved of your girlfriend.’ She put down her pen and looked at him almost coquettishly. ‘How important is it to you, Nick, to have female company?’
God, this was embarrassing. ‘We
ll, I’m not some sex maniac, if that’s what you think.’
Her face remained impassive.
‘And for over a year I wasn’t ready for another relationship. But now I’m aware that I miss certain things. Not just the physical bit but the warm feeling that comes from talking to someone who knows what you’re going to say before you say it. Yet I can’t hurt Julie. I feel guilty enough as it is.’
‘Guilty?’ Amber frowned. ‘In the last session you also said that, in your view, you had helped to kill your wife.’ She glanced at her notes. ‘You hadn’t “physically killed her” but your “attitude precipitated her death”.’
God, thought Nick, appalled. Had she written all that down? Would it – could it? – ever be used against him? ‘Well, in a way, I did.’
‘Why do you think that?’
Nick sighed. ‘I’ve told you. Juliana took a break from modelling after our daughter was born. Said she was sick of it. Then she decided she wanted to go back. By then she’d been out of it for over six years. She was older and none of the agencies wanted to take her on. Then a new one said they’d consider her if she lost some weight. I told her that was stupid, that she was slim without being skinny, but she kept going on and on about it.’
Nick stopped. He put his hands over his eyes to shut out Amber so that he could pretend the world didn’t exist. Even now, he couldn’t believe he had been so crass, so thoughtless.
‘And what happened then?’
Amber’s voice had a quiet authority he hadn’t heard before. Nick lifted his head. ‘One evening, when she kept insisting she was too fat to go back to work, I snapped. I said – oh, God – “If you feel that way, do something about it instead of wearing us all down”.’
He rubbed his eyes, staring at Amber pleadingly, willing her face to soften. ‘She’d got on my nerves. Awful, isn’t it? But when someone talks about nothing else all the time, it finishes you off and, I don’t know, I was tired with work and tired when I got back.’
‘And then?’
What was this? Bloody Desert Island Discs? ‘Then she stopped eating.’ He’d been crazy to hope that Amber would understand. No one could. ‘Well, anything that had calories. She lived on apples. Then pineapples because she’d read they broke down the fat she didn’t have. Not bananas. And not one ounce of flour or butter or pasta or anything else. She got so thin it was painful.’ Nick swallowed the lump that was blocking his throat, threatening to stop him breathing. ‘She was tired all the time but wouldn’t see the doctor. I’d make appointments for her but she refused to go. Then I’d find her in the kitchen in the middle of the night, cramming food into her mouth so it dribbled down her chin. After that I’d hear her retching in the loo. The bulimic stage lasted only three months. Then she stopped eating. Well, anything of substance.’ His voice wobbled. ‘She lost three stone in six months.’