by kendra Smith
This man is flirting with me. I think. I’ve forgotten how to do that. She looked down. Then she noticed her left hand; it was bare. No ring. No, she remembered the hotel co-ordinator had their rings on a stupid little purple pillow somewhere. Well, she could keep them!
She stared beyond him, out at the lush green gardens, to the lights of the tennis court, casting a silver glow on the clay courts. She could hear the quiet thwack of the ball between two players. She wondered what it would be like to French kiss him. Katie! Where are these thoughts coming from? When did Tom and I last French kiss. Neck? Laugh together, dance?
‘You OK? You seem miles away.’
‘Yes, yes. Just thinking, um, about Fren— ocean swimming, about my dive training,’ she lied, feeling a strawberry blush rising up her neck.
‘Really? Do you dive—’ he nodded towards the beach ‘—out there? That’s pretty impressive.’
Is it?
‘Oh, I’m just about to start; y’know getting back into the water – doing something for myself.’ She gave a tinkly, shallow little laugh and raised her eyebrows.
‘That’s brave.’
‘Brave? I don’t know…’
‘Sure it is. Me and my buddies were just saying how cool it is to do that kind of stuff. Saw the dive boat come in yesterday. I’d love to do that.’
She smiled at the gorgeous man, then said: ‘Bye.’
‘Bye, beautiful,’ she heard from the rugged possibly Canadian man in the chinos with the cute smile.
She stopped in her tracks. She felt buoyed. Felt her heart beat a thousand times. Yes, dammit, she thought, pulling her dress round the right way, I can do this go-it-alone thing. Damn Tom. I’m brave – and a bit drunk maybe. And yes, fuck it, I’m beautiful.
30
Katie had never known a trip take so long. No Tom, no can-do spirit left, just endless airport queues, a God Almighty hangover, quarrelling children on the plane, queuing again for taxis. They pulled into a petrol station to use the cash point after Katie realised she didn’t have enough money in her purse. She looked worriedly at her balance, which was alarmingly low, wondered how much to tip. Don’t fall at the first hurdle.
Finally, they pulled into Ponderosa Avenue and it all looked comfortingly familiar. It was much cooler in Sydney than in Queensland and Katie felt frozen despite some slight sunburn. It was a wet, dark July night as the taxi pulled up by their front door. The bougainvillea stood wearily in pots on either side of the door; the fuchsia petals were soggy from the rain. She yanked her cardigan around her waist as she got out of the taxi.
She tipped fish fingers onto a baking tray, put some frozen bread in the toaster and then sat in silence with Andy and James, eating fish finger sandwiches. Rory was asleep in the car seat. Even he seemed to have detected that something was up, that there had been a step change without him knowing, a shift of gear. Nobody squealed, nobody dared to throw the tomato sauce around.
Quietly she changed them into their pyjamas.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ James asks.
‘Had to stay a bit longer; it’s his work,’ she lied. Tom having been away for long stretches in Asia would now come in handy, she thought, pulling out the legs of the pyjamas so Andy could step into them. His absences were part and parcel of the boys’ lives. Saying Daddy’s away on work had become normal for them, what they expected. Daddy not being there in the mornings on their birthdays when they woke up; Daddy not there to tuck them up for the fourth night in a row.
‘So will he have to go to his meetings in his swimmers?’
‘No, darling, I’m sure he’ll manage.’ She smiled and flopped down on top of the suitcase. She glanced at Tom’s suit hanging up in the hallway in the dry-cleaning cellophane and a pang went through her heart. Oh God. What have I done?
What she didn’t tell the boys was how she had yelled at their father at the resort. How, slightly drunkenly, she had packed all the suitcases, staggered to reception and booked him a single room. Told the young man at the front desk to give Mr Parkes the key to the single room when he came back, to hand over the case she had packed for him, which lay behind reception. She didn’t tell the boys about her note to Tom, which she also left at reception.
Dear Tom
I am taking the boys back to Sydney. I have left your stuff. You’ve given me no choice but to reconsider our whole marriage – my vows, YOUR vows. What marriage means to me. How you’ve broken your promise, broken my heart. I’m not sure we can recover from this; not sure I want to recover from this. How can I trust you again? I will contact you when I’m ready.
Katie
She also didn’t tell her children, who were looking at her with their blankies and thumbs in their mouths how she had then lain quietly on her bed and sobbed herself to sleep, had thought about Adam, had wondered if this was her punishment. No, I won’t tell them that, she thought, getting up as every bone in her body ached.
After she read them a story, she automatically hauled all the laundry from the suitcases and put it into two piles in the laundry room. Sorting out my whites from my coloureds. An everyday thing; many women do it; many women trawl through pockets and untangle socks and fish pants out of trousers that little boys always take off in one fell swoop. She smiled wearily.
Then her eyes clouded over. But how many women have images of their husband embracing their best friend looping around in their heads at the same time? How did it all happen? Where were they? How did it start? Lying on some hotel bed, perhaps. Had she met him in town, in a bar? She could suddenly see it… the small, glitzy room with matching bedside lamps, tastefully chosen to go with the curtains. What had been on his mind when he’d kissed her? What had he been wearing; was it his best shirt, had he made sure he’d shaved properly, put on his aftershave reserved for special occasions? Had he pre-booked the room? Did they look out over the Sydney skyline and share a drink, talk about Ann’s dreams about of a baby? God, and I know how strong those dreams are, realised Katie, ramming a towel in the washing machine.
Did Ann then cry, lean on his shoulder, while he held her? Did he lay her down on the bed, careful to remove the counterpane first, gently lowering her head down first? Listen to her calling him a real man… Did he then run his hands over her breasts? Did he think of me when he was kissing her? When he caressed her, squeezed her thigh so hard it left red marks? Did he imagine what I’d feel as he lowered himself down, pressed himself into her?
Her clothes would have been thrown to the side on the floor, his trousers left crumpled over a chair. His trousers with his phone in the back pocket, his phone with a text from her, asking how long he’d be at the office or asking if he was on his way back from the airport… back to his wife. Katie felt herself slump down onto the floor. She’d been sitting for over an hour watching the clothes swish round and round, when she realised she hadn’t put any soap in the machine.
*
Rory had exhausted himself crying and had fallen asleep on Katie’s shoulder. It was 2 a.m. This was after she’d walked up and down the corridor, swaddled him, re-swaddled him and sung him ‘Humpty Dumpty’. Gingerly, she placed him in the cot. She crept, in the dark, finding her way round the room with her hands, and into her bed. Maybe he sensed her anxiety.
She sunk heavily into her pillow. Perhaps her kids just knew when she was at her weakest and feeling vulnerable? Or maybe they held meetings in the bathroom before just before bed: Yeah, you do the 1 a.m. to 2 a.m., then Andy does the 3 a.m. bit, then Rory, yes, you finish off at 5 a.m.
Katie studied the alarm clock, fell into a light sleep, then woke with her heart pounding. She was confused, thought she was still in Queensland, and reached over to Tom’s side of the bed. It was eerily cold; there was no snoring, no harrumphing and coughing. Tom’s not here.
She drifted into a fitful sleep. She saw a taxi. She hailed it. Must get away. Someone was tugging at her, at her hair; she was trying to get into a taxi and couldn’t get in; her shoes were caught in the door; her hai
r was being yanked…
It was Andy, standing by her bed, pulling her Snoopy nightie. ‘Mummy, Mummy… I wet the bed.’ He was holding his blanky and standing next to her bed. Her heart went out to him. He looks achingly vulnerable, thought Katie, as she sat up and pulled him close.
After she’d got him and the bed sheets changed, it was 3.30 a.m. Back to the soft, lovely duvet… There was screaming from the boys’ room. She closed her eyes firmly shut. She hoped the noise would go away; maybe it will, she thought, if I lie here still enough, if I hide from the world. But really, deep down, she knew from experience that there was more chance that a caterpillar could cross the Harbour Bridge without being run over than of silence now.
She ran through to find James sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat.
‘It’s all right sweetheart, it’s all right,’ she whispered loudly. She had no idea what was wrong but was determined that it would be all right very soon. She balanced, chimpanzee-like in the dark, holding on to the bunk beds, stroking his hair whilst her left arm went dead. It was very hard to sound soothing when you were clinging to furniture like an orangutan. Oh God, maybe this whole go-it-alone thing will be harder than I thought, she panicked, then breathed deeply, wriggled her fingers, trying to encourage the blood flow. How will I cope without Tom?
31
‘How are you?’ Lucy was peering into her camera; she hadn’t quite got the concept of Skype and webcams. Appeared to think that the nearer you got and the more you shouted, the better it came across. It was 6 a.m. Katie had slept terribly, then realised she could get up and talk to Lucy. Lucy’s face looked brown, she was chubbier, she’d just come in from the garden she said, had been sitting in the sun, it was a glorious August day.
‘Sorry not to have been in touch recently, Luce—’ Katie shook her head and her voice trailed off. In the last few weeks her homesickness training had come in handy. Pull down the sunnies. Smile, sister. She had held her grin while she stood waiting for the kids at the school gate in front of other mums, as she tied shoelaces and got them in the car. Had kept smiling as she pulled away from the kerb, then turned down the nearest side street, put her head on the steering wheel and sobbed her eyes out as the boys sat mutely in the back. Her insides had been crumbling for weeks now; little blood vessels had shrivelled and died.
‘How are the kids since we last spoke?’ The concern on Lucy’s face almost made Katie want to cry right there and then. Katie had told Lucy over the phone but had to cut it short as she hadn’t been able to speak for sobbing at the end.
‘Was she a good friend?’ Lucy had asked tightly down the phone.
‘Yes, suppose so. Was on IVF, I was trying to help her,’ sniffed Katie.
‘And she helped herself to your husband!’
Katie had wrung her hands. God, how she missed Lucy. For all her Laura Ashley ways, she was quite canny. ‘You got it in one.’
‘Katie?’
‘Oh OK. They’ve been unusually quiet; it’s like animals, you know – they’ve sensed something’s up. Are better at going to bed, fewer tantrums but more hand-holding.’ Katie shrugged in front of her camera, attempted a smile. ‘Actually it’s awful, Luce, James has even wet the bed a few times – he hasn’t done that for three years…’
‘Oh poor you, Katie… and what have you told them?’
‘Well, they know that Mummy and Daddy are living in different houses, that Mummy and Daddy are cross with each other…’
She didn’t tell Lucy about how desperately she wanted to protect them, throw a mummy-sized blanket of love around them to shield them from all of this hurt.
‘Trouble is, Lucy, I get so annoyed with them.’ Katie could feel the tears well up.
‘Totally understandable, Katie; don’t beat yourself up too much.’
‘I slam doors and I get really cross about yogurt tops being left on the kitchen table. I am angry, so, so angry with him, yet I take it out on them,’ sighed Katie. ‘God, I hate myself.’ As she said this, an image of Adam came to mind and she bit her lip. If I could nearly get myself into that mess, then I suppose Tom…
‘Katie?’
‘Sorry, yes?’
‘You will ring me again in a few days, won’t you? Or text and we can Skype again – promise?’
She nodded at her friend who filled her computer screen, then clicked the mouse. Her face vanished. After she’d spoken to Lucy, she reflected on the past month. July seemed to be crawling by. People had asked after her. How are you? Kind people, people who wanted to be nice. People with frowns and eyes that bore into her. She had wanted to scream at them: I don’t know how I am and I’m scared. My husband may not love me any more. But she hadn’t.
Instead, she hadn’t sobbed into hot dogs at James’s seventh birthday party in the park last weekend. No, she had smiled cheerily and filled the party bags, and paid ‘Superhero man’ in his blue Lycra and thanked him for leaping and bounding across the park with eight young children in awe behind him. She held her smile as all the parents picked up their children, exchanged pleasantries about the afternoon, the heat, how everyone was growing up.
She tried her best to ignore the pounding headache, the hot needles behind her eyes, found it really useful that Sydney was so hot, that her tears beneath the sunglasses were mistaken for sweat as she swiped away batch after batch. She tried not to miss Tom. But she did slump exhausted into the driver seat at the end of the day. Did drive her family home. In silence. Usually.
She had been quick to get off the phone when anyone from the UK had called. Kept it short, avoided Skype if she could. She didn’t want anyone except Lucy to see her hollow eyes, the fact that maybe she had been wearing the same T-shirt for three days. The fact that if they had looked closely behind her into the kitchen, they would have seen a huge mountain of washing up – more than usual – plates stacked on top of each other, of countless tins of beans. ‘Beans again, Mummy? That’s fine,’ James had said last night. She had looked at him. He was smiling. He’s trying to be nice to me, thought Katie, feeling the tears threaten.
Katie watched the sun come up over the back hedge in the garden. It was 7 a.m., minutes before the day really began. She was snatching some moments before she had to crank into sixth gear as the Mummy Machine. For now, she could just be herself. Yet who am I? She stared at the dazzling colour of the pink frangipanis swaying in the garden as the steady noise of the cicadas started up. Why am I not enough for him? Have I not lived up to his expectations of a mother, a wife? She twisted her wedding band around. The hotel had sent them special delivery from the resort. That was a funny old day when she signed for them. She’d placed Tom’s on the dressing table; it seemed to mock her whenever she walked by. Ha! Wedding ring? That won’t stop me… She had taken to wearing hers on her right hand. Wasn’t quite ready to take it off altogether.
Is married love conditional, conditional on lots of things; on me being like I was before we were married? she thought. Just who is the new Katie? She rested her head on her forearms and sighed. Who am I in the play called ‘My Life’? This is the real Katie, she thought. The one right here, dammit. A little bit terrified, a little bit crazy. Like the man with the cross round his neck said before I was covered in confetti: for better, for worse.
She realised how much she had been going through the motions, sleepwalking in her own life. It’s all changed. The acts are still running in the show, yet I’m not sure who all the actors are. I’m not sure what my part is any more. There is a big question mark over how we reach The Happy Ending. Katie sighed, thinking about Tom, about the last time she spoke to him, about how she couldn’t speak to him when he’d called. About how she’d found Ann’s earring in his suit pocket, then laid on the floor that day and cried for an hour, fallen asleep, woken suddenly and rushed to pick up the boys looking like she’d slept in her clothes for a week. Nobody had said anything. That was worse: nobody at school had mentioned her filthy skirt, the creases in her blouse; the fact that she couldn’t really
remember when she’d last washed her hair.
She had spent the next few days walking around with Vaseline-covered glasses on. Like all the old wounds had been opened up; even if there had been a minute green shoot of healing, it had vanished.
Everything had been the same to the outside world – the house, the kids, the car, the route to school, the radio shows, the swimming lessons – but after the earring, something so real, in her hands, it was all totally different again. There was a veil of shadows over her normal world and behind the shadows, fears lurked. Her fears. What will happen? Will he do it again? Can I trust him?
And yet… has it been me? Her she-devil was seldom quiet – taunting her with what happened with Adam. Katie put her hands over her ears. God, she was back and raring to go on this one: Maybe the stone and a half you’ve slowly gained put him off, sweetie? He used to tell you that he’d love you forever, didn’t he? That you were the most beautiful girl in the restaurant – remember? When did he last do that? And do you think he saw you and Adam? Did you think you could get away with that one…?
‘Stop!’ She looked up as Andy stood before her, a puzzled expression on his face. She pulled him close, realising that she and Tom hadn’t spoken for weeks. No phone calls or texts. Nothing. Nada.
‘Mummy sad again?’
Katie nodded.
‘I kiss it better.’
32
‘Blake – it’s Katie.’
‘Oh hi, darl.’ He sounded very surprised on the phone. ‘How are you? Um, Naomi told me—’
‘Don’t worry about that, when’s your next ocean swim course?’
‘Tomorrow, sweetie; winter is on its way out, thank goodness. You up for it? You sure you’re ready—’ He hesitated.
‘Totally,’ she quickly said. ‘See you there.’
As Katie put the phone down, she felt just a tiny bit better. It had been three months of hell. She looked out of the window at the sun and felt a skip in her heart.