All We Have Lost (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I go to collect the children from Mum’s. They’re out the back, chasing each other with plastic watering cans. Their innocence breaks my heart.

We stand watching them.

‘Have you given up on the hose?’ I ask Mum.

‘Well, they’re supposed to be watering the plants.’

I smile. ‘Were they OK?’

‘Wonderful. They love to potter around together, don’t they?’

You see? I’m not the only one.

‘Coffee?’ Mum asks.

‘I’m not staying,’ for five hundred questions.

‘Did you make any progress?’

‘No.’

‘Did he explain?’

‘Can we not talk about this?’

‘He
has
ended the affair, though?’

‘How do I know? His word means nothing.’
He
means nothing.

‘Is he sorry?’

‘Mum. What did I just say about his word?’

‘But does he still want to come back?’

‘Enough, OK? I’m not you. I deal with things differently. It
is
allowed.’

‘You have to think of the children. It’s not just about you.’

I am not a bad mother. I am
not
a bad mother. I hurry across the grass and
retrieve my soaked children, becoming drenched myself in the process. They’re disappointed at my lack of reaction.

‘Come on, guys, we’re going home.’

Somehow, they know not to argue.

Unfortunately, we have to get out through the house.

‘Say goodbye to Granny.’

They run to hug her. Which is when I realise how much better they know her now. They have a relationship.

I soften. ‘Thanks for minding them.’

‘Anytime. Bye, love. Sorry for nagging, it’s just tha
t
…’

‘Mum!’

‘OK. OK. Sorry.’ She puts her hands up.

‘I’ll see you soon.’

I feed the kids, skip their bath and get them to bed early. I’m crawling into my own when the phone rings.

‘Have you been avoiding me?’ Connor asks.

‘Sorry?’

‘You never called me back.’

‘Didn’t I?’ I can’t remember a call where I promised I would.

‘What about the message I left? Didn’t that remind you?’

I remember now. ‘Sorry. I meant to get back to you.’

‘Not like you to forget.’

‘I’m having a few problems, Connor. I
think
I can be forgiven for not returning a phone call.’ Jesus.

‘Sorry.’ A beat. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’

‘I keep thinking about you.’

‘Yeah, well I’m grand. Still seeing the shrink,’ I joke.  

‘What’s the story with Ian?’

I fight the urge to hang up. ‘He’s seeing the children.’

‘How often?’

‘I don’t know, most days.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘Who knows
what’s
wise? Everyone but me it seems.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It’s just that it might be better if you didn’t see him so much. You need a clean break.’

‘Connor, I would love nothing more than a clean break. He’s the children’s father. What they need matters. I’m not going to be selfish about this.’

‘Just don’t be fooled by him. He’s probably still sleeping with her.’

‘Despite appearances, I’m not a complete eejit. I can look after myself. OK?’

‘OK.’ There’s a silence. ‘It’s just that I care about you. I care what happens to you.’

‘Well don’t. You’ve your life. And you’ve Sarah. She’s thrilled to have you back.’

‘I know. I’m lucky.’

‘So sound it. Thanks for calling, Connor, but I need to do this my own way, OK?’

‘OK. Goodnight, then. Talk to you tomorrow.’

‘No. I’m fine.’

‘I’d like to check up on you. Make sure you’re OK.’

‘I
am
OK. I have to sort this out for myself – without discussing everything I think and feel, OK?’

Silence. Then: ‘OK.’

‘Is Sarah there? Can I’ve a quick word?’

‘No, she’s out. As usual. Goodnight, Kim. Take care.’

I collapse onto the bed and put the phone on silent.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Chloe’s first day at school and Ian arrives at 8.20. Having him in the kitchen first thing, dressed for work, reminds me of how life used to be. Except for one thing. He no longer looks at home, standing awkwardly inside the kitchen door, arms folded. I’m swallowing back Solpadeine for a headache.

‘Our little girl is growing up,’ he says, smiling over at her.

‘Look at my uniform, Dad.’ She jumps down from the table and performs an amateur but heart-warming twirl. Her delight at Ian being here for her special day is obvious.

‘Wow,’ he says. ‘Look at you.’

I glance at Sam who is, after forty minutes, finally finishing his one Weetabix. He is unusually quiet. I kiss the top of his head so he’s not feeling left out.

‘My man,’ I say to him. It’s the same innocent term of endearment I’ve used since he was a baby but suddenly it takes on a new significance, as if I’m sending a message to Ian that he isn’t my man any more.

‘Back in a sec,’ says Ian, disappearing out the door.

He returns with presents – a new suspension bridge for one of Sam’s train sets and a pair of Barbie roller skates for Chloe. I haven’t bought them anything. Damn.

‘Nifty,’ says our almost five-year-old and I can’t help smiling.

The doorbell rings. Chloe rushes out ahead of me.

It’s Mum, arriving unexpectedly. Am I the only one not to have bought presents? Chloe drops to the floor and starts to rip off the wrapping paper. Then she is flinging herself at her granny in gratitude.

‘Have a wonderful day, pet,’ Mum says, a little teary.

‘Thanks Gran and thanks for the paints.’

‘You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’ve a little something for Sam, too.’

‘He’s in the kitchen,’ Chloe says, sitting back on the ground with her first proper paint set.

‘Oh! Ian!’ Mum says on reaching the kitchen. She turns to me with a big smile and sparkly eyes, then goes to give him a hug. ‘It’s good to see you. How are you?’

Traitor.

‘I’m fine, Florence, thank you. How are you?’ He pats her back affectionately. Ian always did love Mum.

‘Oh, Ian, I’m well.’

Then comes an awkward moment. Where does the conversation go now?

Sam saves the day. He, too, loves his present, a kaleidoscope.

Chloe arrives to check it out.

‘Well, love, I’ll get going,’ Mum says to me. ‘Just wanted to wish Chloe luck.’

‘Aren’t you coming with us to the school?’ I ask.

‘No. I’ve got to…. rush off.’

‘OK, well, thanks so much for the pressies. You know how Chloe loves art.’

‘Like her mother.’ She smiles, then goes over to Chloe, stoops down and kisses her. ‘Have a great day. Have fun.’

‘Bye Gran and thanks for the paints. They’re great.’

‘And tanks for my kliidascope. It’s bwill.’

She ruffles his hair. ‘Bye, gorgeous.’

And then she’s gone. Leaving more awkwardness. How do we get to the school – all together or separately? For obvious reasons, I’d prefer separately. But maybe this can be my present to Chloe.

‘You may as well come with us, I suppose,’ I say to Ian.

His eyes say, ‘thank you.’

Mine say, ‘I’m not doing this for you.’

We drop Sam at the Montessori. He puts up a fight because he’s used to his sister going in with him. I promise a train ride. And have to shake on it before he’ll budge.

We drive to the school, Ian making small talk with Chloe.

As we’re about to go in, Ian starts taking photos. He takes a few shots of Chloe, more with Chloe and a friend from the Montessori, then one of Chloe and me.

‘Let me take one of the family,’ says a passing Good Samaritan.

‘No thanks; it’s OK,’ I rush.

‘Thank you; that’d be great,’ Ian says, at the same time.

We look at each other. She looks at us.

Then I see Chloe’s face.

‘Sorry. Thank you. That would be lovely,’ I say.

We squat behind our daughter and smile. I think of the photo of my father with James and me and am ambushed by a range of emotions, none of them good.

Cheese!

As I drive him back to the house to get his car, I feel him gaze on me.

‘I miss you. I miss our life,’ he says.

I keep my eyes on the road. There’s no point having this conversation.

‘We haven’t spoken about money,’ he says.

‘No.’

‘What if I just keep my salary going into the joint account?’

‘OK.’

‘I’m changing firm but there won’t be a problem with the account. It’s all set up. But if there
is
a problem of any sort, just let me know and I’ll sort it.’

‘So you’re leaving?’ I confirm looking straight ahead. Does this mean he really has left her? Do I care? Unfortunately, the answer is yes. But I’ll work on that.

‘Yeah. At the end of the month.’ He sighs deeply. ‘I’d been trying to for a while. Kim, I know you’ll find this hard to believe but I hated what I was doing. I hated myself. I wanted to end it. I thought that if I got another job, it would be easier. I received an offer just before going into that board meeting. I’d handed in my notice and ended the affair before you arrived.’

‘How did she take the news?’ I ask coldly.

‘I meant nothing to her. I was a distraction.’

I think of a cat toying with a mouse. Two mice, though. Because she toyed with my life too. Ruined it, actually. So, four mice. Because… the kids.

I pull up outside the house. Suddenly I have to know. I turn to him, look right into his eyes.

‘Did you love her?’

‘No,’ he says simply. ‘It was never about love. I was lonely.’ He looks at me. ‘I only love you. I’ve only ever loved you. I can’t believe that it has taken this to make me realise how great you are, how great my life was.’ His voice breaks and he starts to cry. ‘I’m sorry, Kim.’

I get out of the car. Go inside.

I pace the back garden, trying to empty my mind. Connor was right. A clean break would be so much easier. The phone bleeps. It’s a text from Connor wondering how I’m doing. Doesn’t he listen? Doesn’t he know when to leave a person alone? I switch the phone to silent and go back into the house. I start to clear up after breakfast. Wiping the counter, I knock into the lilies. Great clumps of pollen rain down on the fish bowl.

‘Oh God. Don’t eat it, Boo, please don’t eat it!’ The last thing we need is a dead goldfish.

I swipe the vase away then race to the drawer for a spoon. When I get back to the bowl Boo is at the surface, gulping great big fishy mouthfuls of bright yellow pollen. Oh, sweet Jesus. I scoop out what’s left, then ring the pet shop.

‘Hi, it’s me again.’ I’ve been on a bit.

‘Hi, Kim.’

‘Is pollen poisonous to fish?’

‘Gosh, that’s a new one on me. Couldn’t tell you.’

‘He’s just eaten a load of it.’

‘What type?’

‘Lilies.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘Haven’t a clue.’

‘What should I do?’

‘I’d probably change the water. And… try not to worry.’ OK, so the guy’s laughing at me. He has to get his kicks somehow.

I do as recommended. Then peer into the bowl. Boo
looks
OK. I wonder when we’re out of the woods.

Rather than watch a life-or-death struggle, I head for town. There’s a gallery owner who needs an answer.

In trying to explain my ‘no’ to Fonsie, it all comes out. Well not all. But most.

‘The children have lost their father and don’t even know it. I need to be there for them.’

‘Sounds to me like you need a diversion,’ he says calmly.

I shake my head. ‘The children need stability, Fonsie.’ You can always tell the people seeing shrinks – they use words like stability.

‘What about part-time? You could still be there for the children and have a distraction from everything else. It could be your sanctuary.’

I smile at his use of the word. A sanctuary is exactly what it would be. And there’s the money – whatever he offers, it would be a step towards independence. But: ‘What kind of hours were you thinking?’

‘How does three hours a day, four days a week sound?’

I squint at him. ‘Would that be enough for you?’

‘It would be perfect.’

I could still drop the kids off and pick them up. It wouldn’t make a difference to them – apart from having a happier mum who’d have enjoyed her morning instead of wasting time trying to do the impossible – may as well admit it, Kim Waters is no novelist. I take a deep breath. It’s a relief to admit it.

‘So when would you like to start?’ he asks.

I love him for his persistence.

‘How often does a chance like this come along?’ he persists further.

‘Never.’

‘Why don’t you take a few weeks to allow the children settle into school? I want to start paying you from today though, so you won’t change your mind.’

‘Fonsie, there’s no need. I’ll take the job. Starting next week.’

‘Excellent.’ He shoots out his hand. ‘Shake.’

I laugh. Suddenly this feels so right. ‘You have no idea how much this means to me.’

‘Ditto, kid.’