From Something Old

by Alexander, Nick

  Lucy glared at me as she thought about this. I could almost see her debating whether there was anything to be gained by having another hissy fit.

  ‘Is Joe coming back?’ she asked then, mirroring my unspoken fear that he might not, that we’d be abandoned here alone without food or transport. He’d insisted he would be back by seven, so in theory I didn’t need to worry. But then I’d never expected Ant and Amy to vanish, had I? I’d never expected any of this.

  ‘Of course he is,’ I said, wondering if I still had the taxi number in my phone. I remembered that I did, so at least we’d not die of starvation. ‘I told you, he’s renting a car and buying food and then he’s coming right back here.’

  ‘With Ben?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Yes, with Ben.’

  ‘Then can we go to the pool with the fishes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow we can go back to the pool.’

  ‘With Ben?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Yes!’ I said, struggling to keep calm. I took a deep breath and thought about the fact that it was no wonder she needed so much reassurance, then continued more calmly, ‘It’ll be you and me and Sarah plus Joe and Ben, and we can have a lovely day at the pool.’

  ‘OK,’ Lucy said. Then, ‘I’m bored, Mummy.’

  ‘I know,’ I told her. ‘I’m a bit bored too. Do you want to play cards?’

  She shook her head. Cards was boring, she said, and without Ben the pool wasn’t going to keep her happy for long, either. So in the end we went into the cool interior and ran around playing hide-and-seek, which at least killed the best part of an hour.

  About five thirty a jeep came bumping down the track and for a moment I thought it was Joe returning early. But then I heard a dog barking and the sound of Spanish being spoken and realised that we had new neighbours.

  They let themselves in two doors down, and suddenly the air was filled with noise. They seemed to communicate with each other exclusively through shouting, and the dog – a yappy Jack Russell – simply never paused for breath.

  I felt sad at the loss of the silence, but also safer somehow. Lucy moved to the far end of the courtyard, all the better to watch the daughter, who was about the same age. I was pretty sure that within the hour they’d be friends, and I wasn’t wrong. By six she was splashing in our pool.

  As the girls were now entertained, I did my best to think in some structured way about my relationship with Ant: about our future, about the kids, about custody and access and possible scenarios for reconciliation. But I couldn’t get to grips with any of it. There were so many unknowns, that was the thing – so many unknowns and so many mixed emotions. Of course, there were also three young girls shrieking in the pool, so I was literally unable to hear myself think.

  Little Lola’s mother came to collect her just before seven, and the dog, yapping at her heels, leaped quite spectacularly into the pool. This pleased Lucy and Sarah enormously.

  Lola’s mother didn’t seem to speak much English, but she pointed at the pool and said, ‘Thanks you,’ and I nodded and smiled and replied, ‘De nada,’ which I seemed to think I’d heard Amy say in lieu of ‘you’re welcome’.

  Joe arrived just then, and the Spanish woman looked relieved, as if he was the answer to a puzzle that had been bothering her. ‘You husband,’ she said, pointing and smiling almost grotesquely.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I said. ‘No, he isn’t, actually. He’s a friend.’

  She frowned at me.

  ‘Amigo,’ I said. ‘Not husband.’

  She frowned even more deeply at this and then, with a tiny upward nod of the chin that I didn’t really know how to interpret, she vanished, calling Lola and the dog, who was apparently called Nacho, to follow on.

  ‘We have neighbours,’ Joe said, as he walked towards me with two carrier bags of shopping.

  ‘We do,’ I replied. ‘Extremely noisy neighbours. Is there more?’

  ‘Yeah, loads,’ Joe said, handing me the bags. ‘Take these and I’ll go back for the rest.’

  ‘She looked grumpy,’ he said when he returned, joining me in the kitchen. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, pausing my fridge-stacking to consider the question. ‘She thought you were my husband, I think, and she was a bit shocked when I said you were just a friend.’

  ‘If only she knew,’ Joe said, and for some reason – paranoia, no doubt – I thought he meant that we weren’t even friends.

  ‘If she knew what?’ I asked, freezing with a carton of what looked like some kind of milk in one hand.

  ‘If she knew what’s been going on next door,’ Joe said. ‘Then she’d be really shocked.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course. And you managed to rent a car then?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s only an Ibiza,’ Joe said. ‘It was all they had. I had the choice between black or white.’

  ‘Is that no good?’ I asked. I know absolutely nothing about cars.

  Joe shrugged. ‘Nah, it’s fine,’ he said. ‘It’s just a standard hatchback kind of thing. But it’s got five seats and they threw in the boosters, so it’s fine.’

  ‘I was wondering, after you left,’ I said, ‘how come you actually rented a car? I mean, we could have just got a taxi to go shopping, couldn’t we? And if she’s bringing the other car back tomorrow . . .’

  ‘I dunno,’ Joe said, lifting another bag from the floor, plonking it on the counter and peering inside. ‘Just a feeling, I guess.’

  ‘A feeling?’

  ‘Yeah, it makes me uncomfortable. Being without transport, it makes me nervous. If something happens to one of the kids, or . . . I don’t know, really. I like to be able to get out if I need to, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I can understand that,’ I said. My feeling of being stranded here alone was one of the reasons I’d felt safer when the neighbours arrived, after all. I too now felt safer, knowing we had a car.

  ‘I don’t much like depending on other people,’ Joe said.

  ‘You mean the neighbours?’ I asked. ‘Or the taxi?’

  ‘I was thinking more of Amy,’ he said.

  Promising ourselves we’d make healthier choices tomorrow, we took the lazy option of heating up and divvying out the four frozen pizzas Joe had purchased. They’d defrosted in the car anyway.

  He was quiet and seemed preoccupied, which was understandable, and even the kids seemed more tired than usual. So by nine they were all in bed, and as it seemed clear that neither Joe nor I was feeling particularly chatty, we also retired to our rooms, to read.

  As the next day was Saturday – I’d actually lost track until Joe reminded me – the public pool was crazily busy. There were so many people that it was all but impossible to swim.

  The upside of this was that it felt totally safe to leave the kids to their own devices. There were children and adults a-go-go and there were even two muscular lifeguards on high chairs, even if they did seem to be chatting more than watching. They were smoking, too, which seemed shocking – passing back and forth, in plain view, something that looked suspiciously like a joint.

  Joe and I had nabbed a shady spot to lay our towels and were both reading. I’d finally managed to lose myself in the story, which was both a break from my own miseries and, as it featured a divorced couple, an oblique way of thinking about them.

  On arriving, Joe had tried repeatedly to phone Amy, wandering off into the distance each time to do so, but it seemed she wasn’t picking up.

  When his phone buzzed, I glanced at him and watched as he sat bolt upright. ‘Ouch!’ he said, crossing his legs on his towel. He jabbed at his screen a few times, and I was just wondering if it would be intrusive to ask for news when he looked over at me and said, ‘Apparently she’s sent me an email.’

  ‘An email?’ I said. ‘Amy?’

  ‘Yeah, she sent me a text to tell me to check my mail.’

  ‘Can you do that here, on your phone?’ I asked.

  Joe nodded. ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘I’m just picking them up now.’
r />   He rolled on to his side so that his back was towards me and read whatever she’d sent him. It must have been quite some email, because he was reading for a good ten minutes.

  When he’d finished, he rolled on to his back, exhaled through pursed lips, and said, ‘Wow! OK.’

  I watched him with concern until he glanced over at me, whereupon I raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question. His reply was an almost indistinguishable shake of the head.

  He closed his eyes for a bit and I tried to read, but I was distracted by the nervous tapping of his fingers against his phone. Unexpectedly, he leaped to his feet. ‘I need . . . to walk or something,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be back.’

  I tried once again to read, but my concentration was gone. I kept getting to the bottom of the page and realising that I hadn’t taken in a single word. I thought about Joe’s face before he’d left, how grey and sad and serious he’d looked, and I started to worry if he was OK.

  I gave up on the book and dropped my Kindle into my bag, then stood to see if I could spot him. There were people everywhere, but no Joe. I checked in on the kids – they were playing with some Spanish locals, watched closely by two overweight mamas eating ice creams – and then I set off around the perimeter fence to look for him.

  I found him in the scrubby car park, sitting on a tree stump. He had his head in his hands and though, as I approached, he wasn’t making a sound, it was pretty obvious he was weeping.

  I thought of leaving him alone, but an old woman was looking on concernedly, so deciding that he’d be less troubled by my intervention than by hers, I crouched down beside him. It wasn’t until I rested my hand on his back that he even noticed I was there.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. I knew it was a stupid question, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. He looked up at me and shook his head gently. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet, and just the sight of him brought tears to my eyes.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I asked.

  ‘Later,’ he croaked. ‘Just . . . later. I need to be alone. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ I said, standing and reluctantly leaving him to it. I glanced at the old woman and smiled gently in an attempt at reassuring her. To calm myself, I walked twice around the perimeter of the pool before finally jumping in with the kids.

  On the way home we stopped off in Orce for another batch of takeaway pizzas. It seemed silly when we had so much food back home, but neither of us could summon the energy to cook, and it was what the kids wanted anyway.

  We managed to get them to bed by ten that evening, and it was only then that Joe seemed ready to talk. I poured us two glasses of wine from the fridge and carried them out to the courtyard.

  ‘So, I expect you want to know what’s going on?’ Joe said as I handed him his glass.

  I sat down. ‘When you’re ready, Joe,’ I said. ‘And only if it helps. Otherwise there’s no reason you need to tell me anything.’

  He nodded and sipped his wine. ‘Actually, there is,’ he said. ‘A reason, that is. Because it kind of involves you as well. Actually, involves is a bit of an understatement.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. My heart skipped a beat.

  ‘So, I’ve had a think, and there are three ways we can do this,’ Joe said, sounding like he was forcing himself to be efficient. ‘I can show you Amy’s email. Or you can call Ant and get him to tell you himself.’

  I nodded and thought about the two options, neither of which really appealed. ‘And the third?’ I asked.

  ‘I suppose I could tell you,’ Joe said. ‘I could, you know, give you a summary sort of thing. But to be honest, that’s my least favourite option, so . . .’

  I nodded again. I looked out over the pool and licked my lips and wished there was a way to freeze this moment. I wished I could remain not knowing in this sultry Spanish evening with my glass of chilled rosé by the pool. I wished I could choose to never know that everything had changed.

  ‘The email then,’ I finally said. The fact that Joe felt I needed to know told me everything really, didn’t it? I had no desire to speak to Anthony, so what would even be the point? ‘As long as you don’t mind?’

  ‘No,’ Joe said. ‘I don’t care.’

  He handed me his phone, and slowly, I started to read the email. Halfway through, he said something to me and stood, but I was in a daze and I wasn’t really sure what it was that he’d said.

  Dear Joe.

  I’m sorry to do this through an email but I honestly feel it’s better for both of us that I do it this way.

  I said to you the other day that things haven’t been right between us for a while. I know you looked surprised when I said that, but I’m pretty sure if you think about it you’ll see it’s true.

  I know that you love me because, unlike me, loving is something you’re incredibly good at. I’ve always known that you love me, and it’s felt good, and that’s all to your credit.

  And I love you too, I really do. I love you like family. I love you like a brother. I love you like a friend. I love you as the father of our wonderful child, Ben.

  But I’m not in love with you any more, in fact I don’t think I have been for years. I’m really sorry to have to tell you that, but it’s true.

  Now, you know what a psychological mess I am, so it probably won’t come as much of a surprise to know that I’ve never been that happy in our marriage. Right at the beginning, perhaps, when all those endorphins or whatever were rushing around . . . Because I was in love with you at the beginning, it’s true. But since then, I’ve been trying to find a way to plug what feels like a big, dark pit inside me. Sometimes I think that pit is full of despair, and sometimes I think it’s full of hate or even evil. Whatever it is, the core of me isn’t that nice, I’m pretty sure of it. At times the call of that swirling pit has been so intense that I’ve had thoughts about killing myself to spare you all, but then something’s generally come along to get me through. I know how much you hated Mungaro, but he really helped me through a difficult time. Pure Being therapy was great for a while, as well.

  At other times, I’ve been able to cope so well that I kidded myself my black hole had vanished. But it never completely had.

  Not until now, Joe, that’s the thing – not until this chance meeting with Ant happened. Because he made it go away. It’s gone! And I can’t begin to explain what a relief that is. So I’m wondering if I wasn’t in the wrong relationship all along. I’m wondering if that wasn’t what kept this awful feeling going inside me.

  I haven’t told you much about my parents and there seems little point in doing so now. But know that my father in Toronto isn’t the cuddly, lovely man I told you he is. He is, and always has been, a total and utter bastard. As for Mum, well, you worked that one out yourself: she’s mentally ill (schizophrenia is the official diagnosis) and she spends about half of her time in the psych ward. Why have I never told you any of this? I think I’ve always feared that I’m mad like my mother, or a bastard like my father, or very possibly both. And I always worried that if you knew about them, you’d start looking for those character traits in me. And you’d very probably find them.

  Perhaps this thing with Ant is all bull. Perhaps it’s like The Secret and Mungaro and The Power of Now – a sort of sticking plaster that will help me feel better for a while and then fall away with time. But despite the horror of what I’m doing to our family, I feel so centred right now that I need to know; I just have to find out if it’s real. I hope that with time you’ll understand that.

  I don’t hate you, Joe, in fact I don’t even have anything I could really criticise about you. And I don’t hold you responsible for anything that has happened in ANY WAY. It’s important that you know and accept that. This is all me. This is all my fault and my doing. I take full responsibility.

  I love you still, Joe, though I’ve never been a very good wife, and I love our son too, though I’ve never been that good at being a mother.

  So I’m
hoping and praying to the universe that we can find a way to get through all this without hating each other. That we can find a way to be friends and be there for our son and avoid all the horror that divorcing couples tend to make for themselves.

  Ant and I are flying back to England today, and by the time you get back home, I’ll be gone. Though the house is mine, I want you to stay there for now, with Ben, at least until we’re calm enough to work out what’s best.

  I’m not sure what you will want to tell Ben, but knowing you, you’ll try to be truthful, and as long as you do your best not to paint me as a monster (even if that’s how you think of me right now) I’m happy to go with whatever you decide.

  I think it would be best if we waited a few days before we spoke, to let the dust settle, so to speak, but if you need to talk to me, call and I’ll pick up.

  I’m so sorry to do this to you, and I’m so grateful for everything we’ve lived through together, but I’m forty-six, Joe, and if there’s a chance I can be truly happy, then I need to take it. I really hope you’ll try to understand.

  With all my love, and all my sorrow, Amy.

  PS. On a practical note, I’m about to check the car back in, so you’ll have to rent one locally. Of course, I’ll cover any costs incurred (just stick it on the AMEX). Sorry about that but I can’t think of any other practical solution.

  PPS. Ant has declined to tell Heather any of this, which is another situation we’ve created that you’ll have to deal with alone. I would suggest that you encourage her to phone him so that he’s forced to tell her himself. He has promised to pick up if she does, too. But if you prefer to show her this email, then that’s fine by me as well. Whatever you think is best. He’s convinced that she’ll feel nothing but relief, by the way. She hates his guts, apparently. But if you do let her see this, he wants her to know she can remain in the house with the girls. He doesn’t want her worrying about anything material. Even if their marriage has fallen apart, he doesn’t want her to suffer unnecessarily.

  By the time I’d finished, Joe was gone, and I somehow managed to recall the words I thought I’d missed: that he was going to bed and that he wanted me to leave his phone in the kitchen.