The Right Time (3 page)

‘Apparently not,' Emma muttered.

‘You're like . . . the model couple.'

‘Again – not so much.'

Liz looked at Emma. ‘Do you think that's helpful?'

Emma shrugged. ‘I don't know. I don't understand any of this.' She stared at Ellen. ‘It seems to me that basically you've been putting on an act . . . for how long?'

Sam had said something like that. ‘So our whole lives, it's all been a lie?' he'd asked. It had felt like a kick in the guts.

‘It wasn't an act,' Ellen defended. ‘We stayed together for the kids. Lots of people do that. But you can't tell everyone that's what you're doing, that would pretty much defeat the purpose. Besides, we were still a family, just because Tim and I were no longer a couple didn't mean we couldn't function as a family. We wanted to wait for the right time, when it would have the least impact on Sam and Kate.'

‘And this is the right time?' said Emma, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well, as close as we can get. Kate's finished her final exams now, and Sam's only just starting his senior years. I guess the most ideal time would have been to wait till he finished as well, but that's another two years away and we weren't prepared to do that.'

‘Things were that bad?' said Evie.

‘No, we don't hate each other or anything,' Ellen assured her. ‘Actually, once we sorted out how we felt, and accepted the fact it wasn't going to last forever, we were quite civil to one another. We had nothing to fight about any more –'

‘You and Tim fight?' Evie exclaimed.

‘Of course we do. Or we used to, when we had expectations of each other. When we stopped having those, we got on like polite housemates, courteous, respectful . . .'

‘Were you having sex?' Emma asked.

‘Emma!' said Liz.

‘What?'

‘I don't think that's any of our business.'

‘I'm only trying to understand all this. She's saying they were like polite housemates. I don't know many polite housemates who share a bed.'

‘We weren't having sex,' Ellen said bluntly.

Emma frowned. ‘So how long has this been going on?'

‘About five years,' said Ellen.

‘You've gone five years without sex?'

There had been sex occasionally, when she'd had too much to drink, when she just wanted to be close to someone. But afterwards it always made her feel guilty, and even a little queasy, like over-indulging in junk food – all calories and artificial additives, no nutritional value.

‘Five years ago was when we started counselling anyway,' Ellen explained.

‘You had marriage counselling?' said Emma.

‘Of course we did. Do you think we'd get to this point without doing everything we could?'

‘How should I know? You got to this point shrouded in secrecy,' she retorted.

Ellen sighed. ‘I told you, Em, it was for the sake of the kids.'

‘Still, I don't understand how you could be going through all that and manage to keep it a secret. Didn't you need to talk about it to someone?'

Ellen and Liz exchanged a furtive glance.

‘What?' said Emma, her eyes narrowing. ‘You knew, didn't you, Liz?' she accused.

‘Did you?' Evie blinked.

‘Why did you tell Liz and not us?' Emma demanded.

‘I didn't plan it,' said Ellen. ‘It just came out one night, when we were having a few drinks.'

‘It just came out?' Emma said dubiously.

‘I was complaining about how the world is designed for couples,' Liz explained. ‘And that you don't fit in if you're not part of a couple and that's why so many unhappy couples stay together . . . and . . .'

‘. . . and, well,' said Ellen, taking up the story, because Emma was not giving any indication of letting them off the hook, ‘it just came out. I told her that Tim and I were one of those unhappy couples, but we weren't going to stick it out forever.'

Emma frowned. ‘How long ago was this?'

Ellen glanced at Liz. ‘I don't know. Last year?'

Liz shrugged. ‘Something like that.'

‘So she's known all this time and you didn't think you could trust us with it?'

‘It's not that,' said Ellen. ‘I just felt that it wasn't right for too
many people to know before Kate and Sam were told. What if something were to slip?'

‘So you didn't trust us.'

‘For Chrissakes, Emma!' Liz broke in. ‘This isn't about you. Or me, for that matter. It's about Ellen. Are you going to withhold your support because she didn't tell you first?'

‘Of course not.'

‘Then can we talk about what's important here?' said Liz. ‘Like how Ellen is coping, what she needs from us?'

Evie nodded. ‘You're right, Liz. What can we do, Lenny? How can we help?'

‘I'm okay, really,' she said. ‘It's a completely amicable arrangement, and I've had a long time to get used to the idea.' She paused. ‘I just wanted to tell you before I tell Mum and Dad.'

‘So they don't know yet?' said Evie.

‘No, you are the first to know, after Kate and Sam.'

‘And Liz,' Emma muttered.

‘Let it go, Emma!' Liz groaned.

The waiter arrived with their coffees and they sat in silent contemplation as she distributed them.

‘So when do you plan to tell Mum and Dad?' Emma asked, stirring her coffee.

‘I'm going round there tomorrow.'

She looked up abruptly. ‘You're telling them before the party?'

‘No, I'm telling them tomorrow,' Ellen reiterated. ‘The party's next weekend.'

‘I mean, you don't think you should leave it until
after
the party?' said Emma.

Oh, what now? ‘Why do you say that, Emma?'

‘This is their fortieth wedding anniversary. I think they deserve to celebrate it without the dark cloud of their daughter's broken marriage hanging over it.'

Liz sighed loudly. ‘That's a little melodramatic, don't you think, Em?'

‘No, I don't,' she said. ‘I think it could ruin it for them.'

‘Look,' said Ellen, ‘I told you it's all completely amicable. We're not going to make it uncomfortable for everyone, so no one has to feel uncomfortable around us.'

‘Tim's coming to the party?' asked Emma.

‘Yes, he'll come.'

‘Then who's going to know the difference?' she persisted.

Ellen hesitated. ‘Well, what about the kids? Are they supposed to act like nothing's happened? Lie to their grandparents?'

‘Why would they have to lie?' said Emma. ‘It's not going to be a topic of discussion if you don't say anything beforehand. And Tim'll be there, so everything will be as normal. I think for the sake of Mum and Dad you could leave telling them till the week after.'

‘Tim will call in to the party,' said Ellen, ‘but he won't stay the whole time.'

‘Why not?'

She shrugged. ‘Because . . . that'd be weird.'

Emma groaned. ‘That's what you think is weird?'

‘Stop!'

Everyone turned to look at Evie. Her eyes were glassy and her face was flushed pink.

‘This is a marriage we're talking about,' she said, her voice wavering. ‘This is eighteen years and two children. It deserves some respect, not all this bickering.'

‘Here we are, sorry for the delay,' the waiter chirped arriving at their table, her arms laden with plates.

Ellen sighed inwardly. Evie was right, she had hoped for compassion and understanding from her sisters, not sniping and bickering. No wonder she dreaded telling everyone else.

‘I can't eat this salad,' said Evie with a sigh.

‘Do you want to order something else?' Ellen asked her.

She cast a furtive glance around the table. ‘Cake,' she said. ‘I feel like a great big piece of chocolate fudge cake.'

‘Evie,' Emma scolded.

‘Actually,' said Liz, ‘I feel like cake too.'

‘Honestly . . .'

‘Good idea, we'll all have cake,' said Ellen, beckoning the waiter.

Emma flatly refused to eat cake for lunch. The others indulged Evie, just as they always had. It was getting a little ridiculous now that she was a grown woman in her thirties.

The heels of Emma's designer shoes clicked on the footpath as she walked back to her car and opened the door, sliding elegantly into the driver's seat. As she settled back into the leather upholstery, she took a long, deep breath. Well, what do you know.

Emma had never expected this, not in a million years. Hadn't seen it coming at all, and she usually had a bit of a nose for these things. Ellen and Tim, the stable, ‘model' married couple, with the ‘model' children, now apparently embarking on the ‘model' separ ation. Ellen's separation couldn't be like everyone else's – messy and nasty and painful. God, she had always been so tiresome, dolling out relationship advice to all of them, whether they asked for it or not.

‘
Well, Tim and I always
talk
about these things, we think that it's vital to keep the lines of communication open
.'

So much for that.

‘Tim's always helped around the house, without being asked. It's never been an issue.'

But clearly there were issues.

When Evie had had kids it had got even worse, Ellen became the final authority on child-rearing. Whether it was constipation, circumcision or sleeping habits, she knew the right way, and there was no other way. She was like a born-again Christian.

So of course now she was going to have the exemplary separation. Amicable. Ha! Emma would be interested to see just how amicable things were in a year's time, when money was tight and they were haggling over care of the kids, when Tim started seeing someone.

But he wouldn't, would he? Tim was just so . . . insubstantial. Emma had known him for twenty years, but she didn't
know
him. She couldn't say what he thought about anything, what his opinions were, if he even had any. He was just a pleasant, agreeable, accommodating man. A good father and ‘provider', he had
worked in a safe government job all his life; clearly he didn't have an ambitious bone in his body. He laughed at other people's jokes but rarely made any of his own, always showed polite interest in the conversations around him but never had anything of note to contribute. He did whatever Ellen told him to do without fuss. Had he simply bored her to death in the end?

No, according to Ellen this was mutual – they'd come to the decision together, neither was to blame, she wasn't kicking him out and he wasn't leaving her. They had just grown apart. True to form, Ellen intended to conceal the cracks even while her marriage was publicly collapsing. It was exactly like when she fell pregnant in her first year at uni. Somehow she managed to spin it so there wasn't the faintest whiff of indiscretion about it. She and Tim had already talked about getting married, and when they did marry they wanted to start a family as soon as possible, she'd maintained. So this was just a little ahead of schedule.

Hmm, ahead of a wedding, a place to live, a job that could support them. But Ellen didn't make mistakes. Occasionally she might get the timing wrong, but she never
did
anything wrong, and she certainly never failed.

Well, her marriage had failed. Like it or lump it. Whether the separation was going to be amicable or otherwise, Ellen's marriage had failed.

No wonder she'd been so secretive. Though of course she'd told Liz. And what were they doing having drinks together anyway? Emma didn't remember being asked out for drinks any time and not being available to join them. So that meant they hadn't asked her. Of course if she'd said that out loud, Liz would have made another ‘It's not about you' crack. All right when you're on the inside. Liz seemed to be everybody's confidante. She was the only one Eddie would talk to about anything. Evie probably went to her as well. Though she couldn't imagine Evie had any deep dark secrets. But Emma had always had her suspicions about Ellen. She always sounded . . . rehearsed or something. Everything couldn't have been as perfect as she'd made out. And clearly it hadn't been.

Emma wondered how their parents would take the news. She couldn't help but see this as yet another episode that would
place Ellen firmly on the centre stage as they rallied their support around her.

Of course Ellen needed their support, Emma wasn't begrudging her that. But here in the privacy of her car, all alone, she felt the familiar stirrings of jealousy and resentment. Sandwiched between the eldest and the freakishly intelligent, Emma had done nothing to distinguish herself in the eyes of her family. Evie had never done anything particularly distinguishing but she was the baby – at least until Eddie came along more than five years later – so she didn't have to. Throughout her childhood Emma tried to explore her talents and her strengths, just as her parents encouraged, but her mother wasn't interested in the same things, and her father barely even noticed her, beyond that she was pretty. It was little wonder she didn't score prominent roles in any of her dance concerts. Her mother never offered to work on the costumes, or help backstage for the actual performance; she rarely even made it to regular classes. Emma used to watch all the other mothers, lined up along the wooden bench at the back of the church hall, tapping their feet in time with their daughters, humming the tunes, knowing the routines off by heart.