The Torn Up Marriage (20 page)

“Mummy, can Sophie come to my party?”

Oh, dear Lord, what next? Kate was bent double doing up Emily’s shoes ready for school.

She’d been knocked back over the past two weeks, trying to find a job. After the initial confidence boost of being on a “potential list” for the bank, she’d tried for some other work; a receptionist at the school – three mornings a week and ideal for the holidays, another in administration in the insurance brokers’ in the town, and as a waitress at the “Cobbles” café in the square – all worth a shot. She’d spent ages in front of the mirror practising her interview technique, refining her letter of application and CV, and then she hadn’t even got an interview, for
any
of them, and when she’d chased up the waitress role, the woman on the phone told her she was overqualified. She felt like re-writing her CV, missing out everything bar the odd GCSE. When did having a brain disqualify you from being able to carry plates and cutlery?

And poor Dorothy was still not that well. They’d let her home after the initial surgery but advised she’d need several sessions of chemotherapy, then radiotherapy and further scans and follow-ups. Kate had taken the girls to see her at home, explaining beforehand a little about what was wrong with Granny, trying not to alarm them. On her visit, when the girls were out of earshot, Dorothy admitted she was nervous about the imminent prospect of the chemo and her hair falling out, and wondered if her bare head might frighten them. Kate had tried to reassure her, talking about the great wigs the NHS offered nowadays, or suggesting they find some lovely scarves. Maybe they could go shopping for them one day if Dorothy felt up to it. But she knew she didn’t quite sound convincing, even to herself. She’d be devastated at the thought of losing her own hair. So she ended up saying they all loved her, hair or no hair, and that she’d always be special, and that had made them both cry.

“Well, can she?” Emily’s words jolted her back.

Oh, jeez! Kate had actually been looking forward to the party, getting everyone together, giving Dorothy a nice time. She’d been busy finding recipes for cup cakes and buffet food that would suit both the adults and the children. But the thought of Sophie there… Kate would never be able to relax, knowing she’d have to watch her flouncing about with Michael. Having to see her interacting with
her
children, holding their hands, playing Mummy with them. She knew she must do that, every bloody weekend, nearly. She was apparently getting on much better with them; the girls often chattering on about what they’d done, where they’d been
.
But God, to have to watch it all, in her own home, in the home she used to live with Michael, it made her feel sick.

Emily’s big eyes were hopeful. It was going to be her party, her special day.

“I’ll have to think about it, Em, okay?” Stalling tactics. This was too much to take in or make a decision on – on a Monday morning before the school run.

“Oh, but I
really, really
want her to come.”

Wondering where it all went wrong, three-quarters of the way down a bottle of Chardonnay.

What happened to our love, our future?

Now our daughter wants that bitch of a woman here at her birthday party.

They were all slipping away from her. Her husband, her daughters now, too, moving to the
other side
. Well, go on, take the lot, why don’t you? Finish what you bloody well started.

Kate drained the glass. The girls were upstairs asleep. Monday, 11:19 pm. Should she ring Mel? This was exactly the crisis moment she’d talked about. Nah, she didn’t want to talk about it. She poured another glass, emptying the bottle. It was just tonight. Tomorrow she’d stop again. It had just been a bad day – that was all.

Sophie. Sophie, the husband-grabbing bitch, at Emily’s party. Kate wanted to say a straight “no”. It was her house after all, her party. Well, Emily’s party, and a little nagging doubt told her how disappointed Emily would be. And another voice inside told her it was good that the girls were happier with Sophie now, that things had settled, they were enjoying their weekends with them. But it still hurt.

She’d been trying so bloody hard, looking for a job, trying to move on and find a life for herself. She’d felt stranded for so long, she just wanted to be able to come in from the cold. But life felt icier than ever. Dorothy so ill. And that hug with Michael, there in the hospital car park that day, just served to show her everything that she had lost; everything that Sophie had taken away.

And now the girls, too. The final straw.

She’d been snappy with them earlier. Bath time: Emily still going on about whether Sophie could come or not, and she’d been washing her hair, lathering it up, when it had snagged on her fingers, and, yes, she hated to think of it, but she was rough with her. Emily sobbing and Charlotte announcing that Sophie
never
pulled when
she
washed their hair. And the image slapped her, of Sophie bathing her girls, washing their baby-blonde hair, no doubt laughing with them, playing happy-bloody-families with
Kate’s
family, the one
she
had torn apart. She had to get up and go out of the bathroom, and stand in the landing until the shaking ceased.

She took another glug of wine. Maybe she could ring Graeme. He might pop around. It would be lovely to feel someone’s arms around her, and she was sure he would come. But no, that would only confuse things. They’d only exchanged casual chit-chat since
that night,
and she really didn’t want him to think they might start up a relationship. It wouldn’t be fair. The girls were here, too, they might get up, be confused if another man were here.
Bad idea
. She seemed good at those these days. There was always another bottle of white in the fridge.

She woke in her bed; how she’d got there she wasn’t sure, with a killer of a headache. The light was way too bright. What time was it? She had no idea. Her mouth tasted acrid, her tongue dry and furred. She heard the hum of cars, morning traffic.

“Mummy?” It was Charlotte. Kate tried to focus through blurred vision. “We’re ready. I got us some cereal.”

She could see that she was in full uniform, staring down at her, a frown creasing her lovely face. Jesus, no wonder they preferred bloody Sophie, not messed-up, hung-over Mummy. This was all wrong! They shouldn’t be getting their own breakfast, and they’d probably be late for school now, too. She daren’t even drive to get them there quicker – God knows what levels of alcohol were still in her blood! Shit. Shit!

“Okay, give me a minute, Lottie. Sorry, I overslept. I’ll just get dressed quickly.”

Would they have seen the empty bottles downstairs? Would Michael get to hear of it? He might even pursue custody. Then they’d really have taken everything from her.

She wouldn’t let that happen. WOULD NOT LET THAT HAPPEN. She flew up out of bed, pulled on yesterday’s jeans over her nightie, brushed her teeth, slipped on trainers and ran. Just over five minutes to get there, half jogging-walking, a hand holding each girl’s. The bell ringing as they reached the school gates. The quickest of kisses. No lunch box for Charlotte, bugger. She’d make something up and drop it in to the school office for her, mid-morning. She waved as Lottie turned with a last glance at her. The only Mummy there in her nightie with jeans shoved over, with bed-head hair. She shrugged off the stares from a couple of other mothers, who were still standing loitering and gossiping at the gates. Set off for nursery.

She wasn’t
ever
going to do this again. They deserved better than this. She was just feeling bloody sorry for herself – that was all. And tonight she was going to tell Emily that, yes, Sophie could come along to her party.

“Hi, are you okay?” It was Michael. Since when did he ring asking how
she
was?

“Umn, yeah,” Kate answered hesitantly. “Is everything alright there? You’ve got the girls from school, haven’t you?” He’d wanted to have them for tea, a night over and drop them at school in the morning.

And how many times had he ever offered to pick them up from school when they were together? How often would he get away early from work? Precisely never.

“Yes, they’re here.”

“It was just Lottie said you were poorly this morning,” he continued, “You should have let me know, I could have taken them to school.”

Shit, she wondered how much the girls had said, her cheeks burned with shame. Oh yes, she was really going to ring him up and tell him she was too hung-over to get them to school.

“Ye–es.” Thank God, he couldn’t see the red flush of guilt creeping up her neck. “Just a bit of a migraine, that was all. Much better today, thanks.” Well, it
had
been one hell of a headache.

“Oh, I see. Well, I just wondered if there was anything you needed, that was all.”

This was weird. He was being nice, caring. Was Sophie there next to him listening to all this?

“No, well I’m okay now, thanks. Just going to have a quiet night.”

“Okay.”

“How’s Dorothy getting on?”

“Not too bad. She needs to go in for some blood tests I think and further checks this week. Then it’s the big chemo in a fortnight’s time. She’s a bit anxious about that. It’ll be really tough on her, and Dad.” He went quiet for a moment. “But the doctors say it’s the best treatment to make sure it’s really gone. The cancer was primary, just in the breast tissue, thank God, but they feel it will be better to do this, to help prevent anything coming back or any secondaries. We can only go on their word. But it’ll knock her for six, I think.”

“Yes, I can imagine, poor love. Send her my best wishes and I’ll pop and see her again very soon. Oh, and say ‘hi’ to the girls from me.”

“Yep, they’re just here watching TV. Shouldn’t be telling you that, should I? I should have them playing some educational game or something.”

“It’s okay. They watch telly here, too, you know. It’s not against the law. As long as you don’t stick them in front of it all the time,” she jibed.

“Certainly not,” He sounded as though he were laughing. “In fact, we’re taking a walk and then going to the pizza place tonight.”

And she could picture them, waltzing along, eating ice creams and pizza with an orange glow around them like the Ready Brek family. Sophie there with the girls instead of her, and suddenly she felt queasy.

“Right, well I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he went on.

“Thanks,” her voice sounded weak, “Thanks for asking.”

“Bye, then.”

“Bye.”

A click. Silence down the line. The distance stretched out between them.

Time alone. Right, then, she was
not
going to have a drink. She was going to go out. The whole evening in on her own, whilst they were playing happy families and eating pizza, was going to be way too long. The house would be too quiet, too big without them all. It would be getting dusky in an hour or so, being late September, but she needed air, space. She put on her old walking boots and a fleece over her t-shirt and jeans, and went down by the river, to the pastures. People passed her, walking dogs, pushing buggies, enjoying the balm of an early-autumn evening, but she hardly registered them. Alnwick Castle loomed on the vast grassy bank across from her; ancient walls of stone, grandly protective, having seen so much; battles, bloodshed, lives lost, hearts broken.

On she went through an old stone arch into Hulne Park and along the track into the woods. Her feet just kept going, over muddy paths and new-fallen leaves of russets and golds, until she felt tired. The air about her was getting damp, the sky a dull darkening grey, glimpsed through the canopy of trees. Time to head back. She didn’t want to be out here when it got dark.

There was a cracking noise from the undergrowth. She stopped. Her heart beating on double time. She looked up to see the bob of a white tail and the grey-brown hind fur of a roe deer. He turned to glance at her, his eyes a gentle liquid brown. He was beautiful. She must have startled him as much as he had her. If it had been a person loitering there, watching her, she knew she would have been shaken up. The deer bounded away. The woods closed in. She suddenly felt very alone.

The next morning, she was weeding the small garden out the front, pulling up a patch of rogue dandelions, digging the earth, turning the soil.

“Hello, Kate.” It was Graeme, with a cheery smile.

“Oh, hi, Graeme.” It was still awkward. They had spoken a few times, pretending that nothing much had happened between them, playing at being just good friends again, but it was all a bit stilted.

“Are you all okay? How are the girls?”

“We’re fine, thanks. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He smiled, in a no-hard-feelings kind of way.

She realised that she missed his easy company, even if it was never going to be love.

“Umn, talking of the girls,” she offered an olive branch, “It’s Emily’s birthday in a week’s time, next Sunday. We’re having a bit of a party here, family and friends. Don’t worry, it’s not just three-year-olds. I just wondered if you might like to come?” She gave a shy smile, remembering their kiss there on her doorstep, then pushed it out of her mind.

She shouldn’t feel awkward about asking him. He’d always got on well with the girls, and she wanted to re-establish their friendship. Having him there might even bolster up her confidence against the sultry sex-siren Sophie.

Oh, yes, believe it or not, Kate Armstrong could attract men, too.

He grinned, “Yep, okay then, thanks. I’d like that. What time?”

“About three-ish is kick-off. I’m doing a buffet and drinks.”

“Sounds good. I’ll bring a bottle along, shall I?”

“Thanks, that’d be nice.”

“See you Sunday, then. Bye.”

“Bye.” She watched him walk on, then sighed. It really was a shame they hadn’t sparked in a way that might have given them some kind of a future. He was pleasant enough, maybe not Mr Dynamic, but certainly one of the good guys. How come you couldn’t make yourself fall in love with the good guys?