Claire held both her arms out from her side, unsure whether to throw them around Belinda in a bosomy hug of warm welcome or simply settle for a kiss on the cheek. In the end neither happened, because Belinda kept her distance. Experiencing a sense of awkwardness, Claire let her arms drop back to her side.
‘Hi Belinda,’ Claire cranked her smile up another notch. The sides of her lips would be meeting each other around the back of her head at this rate. ‘It’s lovely to meet you at last.’
Belinda gave Claire a cool look. ‘Hello,’ she eventually said.
Claire felt a small pang of anxiety. Give it time, said a little voice in her head, she’s only just crossed the threshold.
‘Chuck us that bag darling,’ Paul grabbed the small holdall from his daughter, ‘and I’ll show you your room. I think you’re going to like it. Claire’s done a smashing job with the decorating. It’s your favourite colour. Pink.’
‘These day’s I prefer blue,’ said Belinda as she followed her father up the stairs.
Claire’s smile wavered. As father and daughter disappeared along the landing, Claire turned to shut the front door. She caught the sweet notes of carol singers half way down the road. A few more minutes and they’d be ringing the doorbell. She went to find her purse while Paul was showing Belinda her room.
By ten o’clock neither Paul nor Belinda had come downstairs. Claire had hoped to have bonded with Belinda by now. In her mind she’d imagined the three of them cosying up together with hot chocolate and crumpets, enjoying a bit of telly or chit-chat. She decided to knock on Belinda’s door and see if father and daughter fancied a bit of home comforts. But when she made her way along the landing, she heard weeping. And then Claire heard Paul say, ‘Of course I love you more than anybody else darling. Yes, even more than Claire.’ And although Claire knew that when you had children they came first, she couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit hurt that the lion’s share of Paul’s love was for his daughter.
Two hours later and the hands of the clock announced the arrival of Christmas Day. Claire climbed into bed. Alone. Across the landing the crying had stopped. But the talking hadn’t. She’d not been able to hear their conversation. Only low murmuring. Claire told herself it was good father and daughter were communicating – clearing the air after years of an ex-wife thwarting their relationship. Claire knew how important Belinda was to Paul. It was one of the reasons they’d held off starting their own family together. Paul hadn’t wanted Belinda to have her nose shoved out of joint. Or think there was a sibling having what she hadn’t got – a full-time father. But now that Belinda was a young woman, Paul had agreed Claire could stop taking her Microgynon in the New Year.
Claire’s spirits lifted as she thought of having her own baby to love and cherish. She pulled the duvet up to her chin. By the time she’d drifted off to sleep, Paul still hadn’t come to bed.
Thirteen Days Ago
When Claire awoke the other side of the bed was empty. She could see it hadn’t been slept in. She flung back the cover. Surely Paul wasn’t still in Belinda’s room? She padded across the landing and flattened an ear against the door. Silence. She knocked tentatively. No answer. Easing down the handle, she cracked the door open. The curtains were still drawn. Her eyes came to rest on the bed. Paul and Belinda were tucked up together, fast asleep. Claire felt a small frisson of...something. Alarm? She didn’t feel comfortable seeing her husband spooned into Belinda. Even if she was his daughter. At that precise moment Paul stirred.
‘Happy Christmas darling,’ he yawned.
Claire hesitated, unsure whether Paul was talking to her or Belinda.
‘Well give me a hug then,’ Paul held his arms out to her. Ah. He had been addressing her after all. She moved to his side of the bed and perched, allowing her husband’s arms to briefly enfold her.
‘Happy Christmas.’ Claire kissed Paul’s stubble before lightly asking, ‘How come you slept in here?’
‘Didn’t mean to. Must have crashed out.’
‘Obviously.’
Twelve Days Ago
‘I’m not being difficult,’ Claire hissed at Paul. She finished loading the dishwasher and turned to tackle a pile of pots that she’d tried and failed to squeeze in next to the stacked crockery. ‘But I’ve hardly seen you since Belinda arrived and she’s barely exchanged two words with me. All I did yesterday was cook for you and a houseful of relatives, clear up, run around filling glasses, dispose of mountains of Christmas paper, produce High Tea, taxi your Aunt and Uncle home and listen to endless criticism from your mother. I didn’t even get to open a present yesterday! Not that anybody on your side gave me anything. Including you!’ Claire could feel her eyes pricking with unshed tears. She’d spent a small fortune on gifts for everybody, especially Paul and Belinda. Her step-daughter hadn’t even given her a Christmas card.
‘I didn’t want to do personal presents in front of Belinda,’ said Paul, ‘just in case it gets back to her mother what I spent on you. It only causes animosity.’
‘So bloody what?’ Claire cried. ‘I’ve nothing to be ashamed of! I’m not the other woman for God’s sake! Why am I treated like one?’
‘Keep your voice down or Belinda will hear. Look, I just want her to be the focus of attention for now. Is that too much to ask? You’ve had me all to yourself for the last seven Christmases. Can’t I finally have the pleasure of one Christmas with my child?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Claire through gritted teeth. ‘And is there any chance of you sleeping with your wife instead of your daughter tonight?’
‘Of course. As long as Belinda isn’t feeling insecure.’
‘She’s seventeen Paul, not seven!’ Claire cried. ‘And personally I don’t think it’s right that a father and daughter should be–’
‘Should be what?’ Paul interrupted. ‘Are you implying I’m some sort of pervert?’
‘No! I just think...it just seems...well, it’s odd. I don’t feel comfortable with it.’
‘That’s because you’re not a parent Claire,’ said Paul coldly.
‘Yet,’ Claire corrected. ‘That’s because I’m not a parent yet.’
‘I think we need to review starting a family together,’ Paul countered, ‘because frankly Claire, I don’t think you’re cut out to be a mother.’
Seven days ago
‘New Year’s Eve!’ Paul rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘What do you fancy doing darling?’
‘I’d love to go to the Smiths’ party,’ Claire said excitedly, ‘it promises to be a blast. There’ll be loads of teenagers there too,’ she smiled timidly at Belinda.
‘Actually I was asking Belinda what she wanted to do,’ said Paul.
Claire opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again.
‘I’d like to have a New Year’s Eve supper with my two parents,’ said Belinda firmly, ‘and for a few hours pretend I’m part of a united family.’
‘If your mother’s happy with that, then so am I,’ Paul assured his daughter, ‘anything for my girl.’ And then Belinda had turned to Claire and given her a radiant smile.
Six days ago
Claire had woken up with a monumental hangover. She’d gone to the Smiths’ party by herself. Everybody had asked after Paul. She’d lied and said he wasn’t feeling well. And then she’d pasted a smile on her face, danced the night away and got incredibly drunk.
The mobile phone on the bedside table bleeped. A text message. From Paul.
Sorry I didn’t make it home last night. Too much to drink and it would have been foolish to drive. Hope you enjoyed the party.
Claire immediately replied.
It was enlightening. Have already made my New Year’s resolution!
And then she’d spent a fortune employing a locksmith on New Year’s Day to change all the locks.
Now
Dodging a smattering of fat raindrops, Claire shoved the Christmas tree into the depths of the car. Pine needles were everywhere. She should have
put a sheet down. Too bad. She wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. Hardly surprising given the circumstances. A flash of lightning zigzagged through the sky as she shoved the cardboard box of broken decorations into a space. The heavens opened just as Claire banged the boot lid down. Hastening to the driver’s side, she threw herself into the car and slammed the door on the weather. Snapping her seat belt on, she started the car up and headed towards the local dump.
She didn’t know what the future held. And right now she felt incredibly alone. But at the same time Claire couldn’t help thinking that she’d had a narrow escape. Abruptly the rain stopped. Clouds parted to reveal a watery sun doing its best to pour forth golden light. And suddenly Claire felt something in her heart rise. Hope.
BREAKDOWN
‘Oh for goodness sake, get a move on!’ I thumped the car’s steering wheel in frustration.
The traffic lights glowed green, but the female learner in front of me was going nowhere. Her car engine screamed in protest as she over-revved, struggling to find the bite of the clutch. Moments later the car bunny-hopped forward. And stalled. The traffic lights swung back to amber, then red. I drummed my nails – what was left of them – on the steering wheel. Have patience Trish. Once upon a time you were a learner too. I stared through the windscreen. The sky looked ominous. So typical of a British winter. Dark clouds were jostling together, like rugby players in a scrum. For the last couple of weeks much of the UK had been in the grip of bitter weather with sub-zero temperatures. I switched the radio on. Anything to dilute the tedium of idling at these traffic lights.
‘Motorists will face disruption as freezing temperatures cause icy conditions,’ droned a newsreader.
Yes, and didn’t I know it. I’d already used two cans of de-icing spray this week. And it was all Neil’s fault. If he’d not run off with our big-breasted neighbour, we wouldn’t have had to sell our lovely house. Our lovely house with the big double garage. Which had been a Godsend in freezing weather. And I wouldn’t now be living in a one bedroomed flat with a parking space open to all elements. Or watching my biological clock tick away. All those years of saving our pennies, finding a family-sized house, climbing all the way up the career ladder to feather our nest for the big brood we’d planned to have. And then, when I’d barely unwrapped the cellophane from the ovulation prediction test, Neil announced he had something life-changing to discuss.
I’d been so excited! I thought he was going to talk about selling the Fiesta and buying that lovely Lexus we’d seen at the local car showroom – the one with the huge boot. Ideal for a double buggy. He’d taken me by the hand. Led me to the sofa. Told me to sit down. I’d turned to him, eyes shining.
‘I’m so sorry Trish,’ he’d said.
Disappointment had registered. ‘Oh. Can’t we afford it?’
There had been a small pause. You see, my head had still been in that other place. The one of imagination – where clearly I had absented myself for far too long. I knew nothing much about world debt, war, politics, or recession. I couldn’t even contribute to a conversation about TV reality stars or footballers cheating on their vapid WAGs. No. My other world was far more beautiful. Full of rainbows and dreams. It also functioned on a completely different time zone to the real world. For in this place I’d already had baby number one (a darling daughter) and was now pregnant with baby number two (a boy naturally). Even as Neil was staring at me, looking oh-so-serious, a part of me had been busy whizzing through damage limitation. Okay forget the Lexus. What about a Citroen Picasso instead?
‘I’m leaving you.’
I’d crashed back to reality in a nano-second.
‘Leaving me?’ I’d repeated stupidly.
‘Yes. For Karen. Next door.’
‘Karen? Next door?’
‘Yes.’
I’d sat there, numb. Too shocked to articulate any further speech.
That had been six months ago. Since then I’d managed to articulate a great deal. Especially since hearing that Karen was pregnant. And they’d bought the Lexus. Bloody woman. Bloody man. Bloody car.
‘Snow showers are forecast. However, according to wildlife experts,’ said the newsreader, ‘our hard winter is giving a much-needed boost to some of Britain's hibernating animals ensuring a deep, healthy sleep.’
Was that why I felt the urge to curl up and hibernate? Because of impending snow? Certainly somewhere in the depths of my ribcage, a full-scale blizzard was still raging. At least I didn’t have work today. I’d taken the day off to do Christmas shopping. Which would be a doddle. I no longer had to think up amazing gifts for Neil – a Ferrari experience or a helicopter lesson. Or fret about what to buy my fussy in-laws. This Christmas I’d be wrapping just two presents. One for my mother. One for my father. As an only child, I had no siblings. So no nephews or nieces to buy for. I sighed. Hopefully the shops wouldn’t be too manic. My tummy rumbled. A spot of lunch would be nice.
The traffic lights suddenly shifted their colour arrangement. Red and amber shone promisingly together. I put the car in gear, ready for the off. In front of me the learner catapulted forward. And once again stalled.
I couldn’t help it. I let out a beep of annoyance.
Beep.
Gosh that had felt so good. I did it again.
Beep.
Just one more time.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
I should have done that to Karen. Not beeped her. But, you know, given her a piece of my mind. With lots of flashing eyes and waving arms. And plenty of cussing.
Suddenly I was back in that other world. Where you could do and say whatever without repercussions. Oh I’d vented my spleen at Neil, but never at Karen.
‘You tart!’ I snarled at the steering wheel. ‘You beep-ing cow. Not content with just beep-ing my husband, you had to beep-ing steal him too. I suppose it was the beep-ing effect of your beep-ing bosoms on his beep-ing TODGER. You beep-ing beep-diddy beep-diddy beeeeeeeeeeeeep –’
‘GET OUT OF YOUR CAR!’
I snapped to. I seemed to be panting. As if from exertion. A man was standing by my window. He looked absolutely livid. Which was a shame because he was incredibly good looking. He rapped on the glass. Loudly.
‘DO YOU HEAR ME?’
I buzzed down the window.
‘How dare you rap on my glass.’
‘How dare you harass my pupil.’
‘How dare you not teach your pupil to drive properly.’
‘Have you thought about therapy?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes you!’
‘Have you thought about anger management?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes you!’
‘I’m not the one sitting in my car banging my hands on the steering wheel, blaring my horn and calling a learner a big-breasted cow amongst other UNREPEATABLE NAMES.’
I blanched. Had I? Out loud?
‘Right-oh,’ I warbled.
Clearly I’d lost the plot. Neil had said as much. When things had become nasty. At the who gets which CD and custody of the plasma television stage. I hadn’t wanted any of it. Told him to take the whole damn lot and give it to Karen. The only thing I’d clung on to was my James Blunt album. Back to Bedlam. How apposite. I’d played ‘You’re Beautiful’ until I thought my heart had broken in two. And then Neil had smugly told me the song was his and Karen’s favourite. Whereupon I’d hit him over the head with the CD case and instead that had broken in two.
At that moment the radio burst into song. I couldn’t believe my ears. James Blunt. You’re Beautiful. I looked through the windscreen. Outside it had started to snow. The opening guitar chords filled the car. Flakes whirled through the open window. I suddenly had an awful lot of images playing in my head. Neil telling me I was doo-lally. James Blunt, suicidal and peeling off his clothes in a snowstorm. This stranger, his mouth working. Forming words. Although I couldn’t hear them. They were drowned out by a cacophony of horns. This time from drivers behind me. The snow was coming
down thick and fast now. It blew through the open window. Stuck to my eyelashes. My mind and vision were overwhelmed with snow. The traffic lights jigged through their colourful routine. I opened my mouth to speak. Somewhere deep within me a damn burst. I realised I was going into meltdown.
The man suddenly looked concerned. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh my God,’ I croaked, ‘I’m melting.’ Get a grip Trish. Of all the places to have a nervous breakdown. Not here. Not at these ruddy traffic lights. In all this snow. In front of this man. His long dark hair was sticking to his head. I felt completely disorientated. ‘Are you James Blunt?’
‘I’ll be right back,’ said the man. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
As if. I couldn’t remember where I was going. Or even how to drive my car. I gasped, shrieked, wept and wailed. The window was still down. I was now blinded by snow and tears. Cars were edging around me. Racing to beat the traffic lights before they pinged back to red. In front of me the learner was shifting over, settling into the passenger seat. The man started the car’s engine and screeched through an amber light. I put my head on the steering wheel. And sobbed my heart out. Moments later my driver’s door was yanked open.
‘Move over.’
The man was back.
Obediently I unsnapped my seatbelt. Lifted my legs over the handbrake. The man shoved my car’s gear into first and zoomed across the junction. Almost immediately he pulled over and parked – behind his pupil’s car. The learner, a young woman looking terribly concerned, was standing on the pavement. She opened my passenger door and peered in.
‘Hey, are you all right?’
‘No Susie, she’s not,’ said the man getting out of my car. ‘Go and open up.’ He tossed some keys at her. Susie caught them deftly. ‘Put the kettle on. Make a hot sweet tea.’
Mixed Emotions Page 7