Falling in Love Again

by Sophie King

  BLEEP, BLEEP!

  Damn. His back pocket was reverberating in his left buttock. ‘Sorry. Forgot to turn it off.’

  Great! This could be his excuse. He’d pretend to check his texts and then say he had to go. Good. He really did have a message.

  WILL PICK YOU UP FROM MEETING. NEED TO SPEAK. URGENT.

  Nancy?

  ‘Something important’s come up?’ Karen was giving him a funny look, suggesting she didn’t believe a word of it. ‘Anything to do with the woman I saw you with?’

  That was none of her business! Looking round, he felt all eyes on him.

  ‘You mean my stepmother?’

  Karen nodded. ‘If it makes you feel better dear.’

  The purple woman leaned forward. ‘Are we going to do it this time?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s no need to snap, big man . . . sing! We were going to do it last month.’

  ‘THIS ISN’T A BLOODY SINGING CLASS.’

  They were all looking at him again.

  ‘Maybe not,’ said the creep with the affected voice.

  He’d never liked the name Hugh and this bloke looked like the sort of arrogant chap who tried to sing the ‘Choir only’ bits in Christmas carol services or hog the aisle seat in train carriages. What did he do anyway? Unlike the rest of them, he hadn’t, so far, volunteered what he did for a living.

  ‘However,’ Hugh was looking at them all now with bright almost feverish eyes, ‘singing might make us all feel more positive!’

  And that was how Ed suddenly found himself singing some kind of song that he dimly remembered from scout days. Koom By Ya or something like that. And the funny thing was that he left the hall feeling surprisingly brighter and calmer than when he had gone in. Even though Nancy’s silver Audi Convertible was waiting ominously outside.

  ‘What’s wrong?

  ‘Tell you in a minute.’ She kept her eyes straight ahead on the road. ‘Tell me what you did tonight.’

  It was like being back at school.

  ‘Just stuff.’

  ‘Stuff!’ Nancy sounded amused. ‘And does this stuff help?’

  ‘Not sure yet. We started off with a list exercise but then someone began to say something and there was a bit of a diversion afterwards.’

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a diversion myself, actually. Jamie rang. That’s why I called you.’

  He groaned. ‘Don’t tell me. The Kid’s been expelled again.’

  ‘Got it in one. Says he’s had enough of boarding and wants to go to a sixth form college instead. We’ve found him one. Not far from you, funnily enough.’

  ‘No, Nancy. No.’

  ‘Ed – he’s your stepbrother. And it’s not as though his mother is able to look after him. Not while she’s still in the Priory.’

  ‘I know. I know.’

  ‘It will only be for a few months, Ed. If that. He’s bound to get himself expelled again and then have to go somewhere else. But in the meantime, you might just be the sensible influence he needs. Come on Ed. You know your father would want you to do it.’

  No. No. NO! ‘Jamie’s a nightmare. He doesn’t get up in the morning. He’s been drinking since he was twelve. He’s had three tattoos already . . .’

  ‘Four, actually. We thought one was only Biro but it turned out to be an amateur DIY job.’

  ‘And he was caught snogging a twenty-three-year-old mother in a club.’

  ‘Really?’ Nancy sounded impressed. ‘What did her husband say?’

  ‘Apparently she didn’t have one. Did you know he’s been chucked out of four schools already?’

  ‘Five now. But that’s the point, Ed. He needs a man in his life. A stabilising influence. Just like you needed a mother at his age.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Nance.’

  ‘I know, darling. And I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to play that card unless I had to. Now are you going to have your little stepbrother to stay or not?’

  I was wrong. Not about the insulation. He arranged for someone to do that. But when they had finished, he gave me a funny smile and said ‘It will help when we come to sell the place.’

  Sell?

  ‘This is my home,’ I said, trying to sound calm because he hates it when I get hysterical as he calls it. ‘I don’t want to move. Besides, where do you want us to go?’

  Then he put his hand on my shoulder and said ‘Not us. Me. You.’

  Doesn’t he get it? There is no ‘me’ without ‘him’ because we’re an ‘us’. So I’m doing what I’ve always done. Taking my sleeping tablets and acting as though nothing is wrong. I have to. For the sake of the children.

  Session Three: Get Practical!

  You might not feel like it now. But it will help in the long term.

  Have you:

  Seen a solicitor to find out your legal rights?

  Contacted the local authority to apply for single ownership council tax (if applicable)?

  Thought about getting a job (and re-training if necessary)?

  Talked to the Citizens Advice Bureau about the above and other issues?

  14

  LIZZIE

  ‘So tell me, Lizzie, have you slept with anyone recently?’

  Lizzie stared in horror at the mirror in front of her, showing a distraught spiky-haired stranger and Annaliese, ‘her’ hairdresser of half an hour’s acquaintance (who was already on first name terms and talking about ‘when you come back for your next appointment’), who was merrily snipping away. What had she been thinking of? This was short. Way too short.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I asked if you were going away for Christmas.’

  So her new hairdresser hadn’t been enquiring about her sex life! It had just been her own guilty conscience speaking! The same one that had been screaming in her head ever since she had woken up after that evening with Dan with a bitter taste in her mouth (that cheap white wine had been a big mistake) plus a crumpled sheet and one tousled sock with a hole in the toe which definitely couldn’t be a leftover from Tom because he was 9 – 11 and not 6 - 9.

  ‘Yes. No. Sort of. Sorry but don’t you think this is a bit short?’

  ‘Where are you staying then?’

  ‘Home. Didn’t I say just a couple of inches?’

  ‘Actually, you told me to do what I wanted.’ The look in the hairdresser’s eyes indicated she might just withdraw that invitation to make another appointment in six weeks time.

  ‘I’m not mad,’ Lizzie wanted to say. ‘I’m just confused because I slept with another man to prove I’m not unattractive even though my husband is shagging my best friend.’

  Shit. Sorry. Sugar. She looked like an elf now. Where was her hair? Her lovely longish bob! Her ears felt cold already. Tom would never want her back now! Especially as she was steadily working her way up to a size twelve, thanks to an anaesthetic mix of Bounty bars and booze.

  ‘Cool.’ Annaliese was nodding, approvingly. ‘Like it, will he?’

  Who?

  ‘Your ex. That’s why most women want their hair chopped off. They say they want to be completely different. Show him what he’s missing.’

  ‘That’s the idea.’ Lizzie smiled bravely up at the hairdresser realising that she too had a blonde elfin haircut with a pale, narrow band of skin on her left hand, just like hers. ‘I just hope it works.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ Her mother slammed a cup of tea down in front of her so it slopped onto the saucer. ‘He’s with someone else now. She’s pregnant, Lizzie. It’s gone too far. And by the way, what on earth have you done to your lovely hair?’

  Too far? Not necessarily. She’d talked it over quietly with Ed, who was nicer than she’d initially thought, at the group meeting the other night. Perhaps, because she wanted to reassure Ed that his experience wasn’t that unusual (she’d done a feature on lesbian wives for Charisma only last year), she had confided that actually, despite everything, she still missed Tom terribly. So if a complete stranger could understand, why
couldn’t Mum?

  ‘You’re just missing the familiarity.’ Her mother was sitting down opposite, lighting a cigarette. ‘And don’t look at me like that, Lizzie. If I want the odd cigarette, I’ll have it. What’s the point of worrying at my age?’

  She had a point.

  ‘Exactly!’ Her mother’s eyes gleamed, the way they usually did when she knew she’d won a fight. ‘Want a brownie?’

  Why not? Eating was one of the few things that helped.

  ‘No, darling, a frownie. It’s a patch that you put on your face to iron out the frowns. Brilliant, they are and you could do with one, if you don’t mind me saying. I’m right about Tom too. I know if your father had an affair, I’d never forgive him.’

  You don’t say. Poor old Dad. Tom had always said he had a difficult life. Didn’t know how he’d put up with it; the constant nagging. The criticism.

  ‘Of course, when I had mine, it was different.’

  Lizzie swallowed her tea the wrong way. Why was she hearing everything wrong? First the hairdresser and now Mum.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Her mum was putting her cup down now and looking at her carefully. ‘I said when I had my affair, it was different.’

  ‘You . . . had . . . an . . . affair?’ said Lizzie slowly.

  Mum began to wriggle uncomfortably. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you but I also thought it might help.’

  ‘How? When? With who?’

  She was getting up now; turning her back (as well she might) in the pretence of washing up. Hang on. She wasn’t getting away with it that easily.

  ‘Mum!’ Lizzie took the washing up brush out of her hand and led her back to the table. ‘Tell me. Everything.’

  ‘All right then.’ She sighed. ‘It’s been weighing on me for so long that it might actually be a relief. A bit like Mental Weightwatchers. You were little. About six. George lived next door. I cut my hair afterwards too. A sort of atonement.’

  George? She could vaguely remember some neighbours; jolly neighbours who had waved at her over the fence for a time when they had all lived with Mum’s dad, before he’d died.

  ‘Your Dad was always working and didn’t seem interested in the bedroom department.’

  Too much information!

  ‘And I did something I shouldn’t have.’

  She glanced at Lizzie nervously. ‘Just the once it was. But it was enough. Of course, I told your father immediately. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t.’

  ‘And he stayed.’

  ‘Course he did. He had to.’

  ‘Why?’

  Her mother sniffed. ‘You’d better ask him that one yourself. I’ve said enough already. That’s what comes of drinking tea that’s not de-caff. Honestly, Lizzie. I don’t know how you can have this stuff. It sets your pulse all racing. But that’s why it’s no good expecting Tom to come back and thinking it will be all right again.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t you see, love.’ Her mum had her arms around her now. ‘Because once you step over that line, it’s never the same again.’

  ‘Do you wish you’d gone? With . . .’ she could hardly say this man’s name. ‘With George?’

  Her mother’s eyes had gone shiny. ‘I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had. But it wouldn’t have been fair on you, love. Would it?’

  So it was all her fault! If it hadn’t been for her, Mum would have gone off with this George bloke and she and Dad wouldn’t be living in bliss-less disharmony.

  Mum patted Lizzie’s arm. ‘But keep all this under your hat, love. He won’t be pleased I’ve told you and besides, it’s water under the bridge now. Isn’t it? It’s not something you can take Ache in Asia for, is it?’

  Echinacea, actually. But whatever. Maybe Mum was right. And besides, she had more important things to deal with. Like seeing Dan again. In precisely forty minutes’ time. And there was no getting out of it. Not unless she wanted to be out of a job.

  ‘So is he paying you alimony?’

  Lizzie didn’t want to talk about alimony. She wanted to talk about what might or might not have happened with Dan the other week. Meanwhile, he was intently focussing through the lens at Pauline’s sister’s cousin’s next door neighbour’s six-year-old whose mother had said yes of course her little Kylie could pretend to have worms. Provided she got paid. In cash.

  Pauline was another mother at Sophie’s school who knew all kinds of people and didn’t mind (unlike Sharon) ‘sourcing’ case histories provided she got a cut.

  Meanwhile, Dan was busy setting up his apparatus in the studio.

  ‘About that time you came round when I wasn’t feeling too good,’ she began, feeling her palms sweat.

  ‘Yeah?’

  He wasn’t making this easy for her.

  ‘I’ve got a feeling . . . I mean . . . I’m not sure if . . .’

  ‘If you said too much?’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry about it, Lizzie. I told you. I have a sister with six kids. It’s made me good at listening to women. Any time. Like the haircut by the way. Cute! And the curves! My sister pigged out on chocolate to get her through her marriage break-up, too. Suits you. Less scrawny. Now Kylie, I want you to sit on that chair and look as though you’re feeling itchy. Got it? Great!’

  Tom’s mobile, as usual, was going through to voicemail.

  ‘This is Tom Morris. Please leave a message . . .’

  The sound of her husband’s voice – rather stiff, as it always was on the phone - seemed weird now she didn’t hear it every day. So what should she do now? She could hardly ring Sharon. Instead, she’d just have to wait until he picked up the kids at the weekend like he’d been doing since going. Amazingly, they seemed to have accepted the routine, despite her post-visit quizzing.

  ‘Did you go back to Sharon’s?’ she’d demanded after the first visit.

  ‘No,’ Jack said, leaping from one dining room chair to the other (what had he eaten now?). ‘We went on the London Eye. It was really cool.’

  The London Eye! But they were going to do that as a family. How could Tom have taken that away from her?

  ‘Spoken to Tom, love?’ Her dad, who’d been at home when she went to collect the kids after the worms shoot, was eyeing her sympathetically.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your Mum says you want him back.’

  So they did talk every now and then!

  ‘Says she told you about George too.’

  She said not to mention it!

  ‘So I guess it’s my turn, love.’

  What was this? Family Truth Game?

  ‘Come here.’ He patted his side of the sofa. ‘I’ve got a bit of a virus but don’t worry. It’s not catching! That was a joke, love. I’m talking about my computer. Her name was Marjorie, by the way.’

  The computer?

  ‘No, love. My ‘friend’. The one I’m trying to tell you about. It was just after we were married. Your mum and me . . . well, we had our teething problems. And we were trying to have you but it didn’t happen fast. So I’m afraid I did something stupid.’

  She moved away. ‘Please Dad, I don’t want to know.’

  ‘But you must, love. It might help you understand this situation you and Tom are in. When your mum found out, she was really hurt. Just like you, now. But I begged her to take me back and she did and we had you. Which was lovely.’

  She could sense the ‘but’.

  ‘But it wasn’t enough. Your mum was so hurt, you see, that later she went and had an affair herself. And somehow we’ve never really got over it. The anger’s still there. On both sides.’

  After all these years?

  ‘When you get to our age, it’s a bit late to start again.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe we should have parted years ago. Made a clean break and met other people. That’s why I know that you can do it. You can start again. Especially now you’ve got this great new haircut. Makes you look years younger, you know. Tell you what!’

  He leapt up to grab his newsp
aper from the glass-topped sixties coffee table. ‘This is exactly what you need!’

  The Daily Telegraph?

  ‘Well, it’s Thursday isn’t it?’ ‘Even I have a decko every now and then just out of interest, you understand.’ Dad was literally pushing it in her face now. ‘It’s just what you need.’

  Was she going mad? How can Dad with his grey cable-knit cardigan possibly read the dating page of the DT instead of sticking to the business section?

  ‘Come on, love. Grab a pen. We’ll work out an ad for you right now!’

  15

  ALISON

  She’d half expected David’s phone to be switched off. But no. It was ringing with that long distant foreign tone that proved her son Ross had been right. David had gone abroad without even telling her.

  How irresponsible! Supposing something happened to one of the children and she couldn’t get hold of him. It was bad enough with Mungo . . .

  ‘David?’

  Was that him? That sleepy voice showing that she had clearly rung in the middle of the night. Where was he? She couldn’t remember the last time they had gone away without each other except – oh God, how naïve had she been – when he’d gone to Paris last year for an ‘overnight conference’.

  ‘Who’s speaking?’

  Even in sleep and separation, he remained well mannered, she noted with irritation. ‘Your wife. Remember me?’

  ‘Alison! Are you all right? Has something happened to the children?’

  She felt a spark of pleasure that she had scared him. And then she remembered.

  ‘It’s Mungo. He’s ill. Seriously.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  That was clearly relief in his voice! So it wasn’t the children, she could almost hear him thinking. Only the dog. Only Mungo who had been with them since Ross had been at secondary school. A part of their lives which he, David, had so suddenly shattered.