The Torn Up Marriage (28 page)

So he’d sipped his champagne dutifully in bed, making all the right noises, that the cufflinks were stunning, such a thoughtful gift. Kissed her again on the freckles of her cheek. She shifted her mouth to meet his in a hot embrace. He panicked, drew back, saying he just needed to go to the bathroom, fearing that his full services might be required. There was an awful shadow of doubt about her intentions of late, and what she might
really
want from him. He wondered whether his real gift to her might end up being delivered in nine months’ time. He didn’t think she’d set out to deceive him, but there was a niggling doubt and just the thought of it was enough to put him off.

His heart really wasn’t in this relationship any more. He’d seriously thought of looking for somewhere to rent on his own, but it seemed pretty heartless to leave just before Christmas. And there was no way back to Kate now. She had seemed to totally shut down on him since the night of that kiss. Stupid prick that he was. Oh, yes, he’d seriously overstepped the mark with that. Had been kicking himself ever since.

After a long stay in the bathroom he ducked back to bed for a cuddle only, and then just a few minutes later said he’d better be getting up, to get ready to see the girls.

In response, Sophie’s tone was petulant, “Well, I suppose I’ll get to see you later, then. I don’t suppose you can say when? Have you got time for the chocolate croissants I bought to go with the buck’s fizz?”

He daren’t say no, but he’d better be careful with the drinking, he’d be driving. Breakfast was stilted, the conversation too polite, and he left half the Buck’s Fizz, saying he’d finish it later. He knew he’d messed up her Christmas morning and he regretted that, but he was pretty sure he was going to have to mess things up a whole lot more for her yet. He’d give back the cufflinks; she might get her money back. He’d felt obliged to stay and see Christmas through, not wanting to disappoint her. But for the past few weeks he’d begun to see that he’d been trying to fix something that was never right in the first place. He’d been trying to fix the wrong relationship.

So, he was determined he was not going to mess things up any more
here
. He stood on the front step to his old home and realised, due the number of parcels he was balancing, he had no hands left free to ring the bell. No need, the door was opened immediately by two excited little girls, who thought he was the best thing since sliced bread, or Father Christmas.

It felt like home, where he was meant to be, watching the girls unwrap their gifts. He’d got Emily a Sylvanian set with a house, furniture and a rabbit family of toys. Charlotte had wanted a Nintendo DS and some games. Plus there were some clothes and jewellery that Sophie had chosen and wrapped for the girls. They were delighted with their gifts; smiles like sunshine. The fire was glowing and the tree lights shimmering. The tree was rather a stunted one this year, he noted, but who was he to question that? He hadn’t been around to help with choosing one, had he?

He had wanted to have a gift for Kate, but it hadn’t seemed appropriate coming from him somehow. It felt all wrong having given her nothing but a shit year, and a load of heartache. So he’d wrapped up a bottle of her favourite Armani perfume and some Belgian chocolates, and labelled it from the girls. He had discreetly popped it under the tree, so he got Emily to fetch it for her. He so wanted to put things right, but didn’t know how, after that recent clumsy attempt at reconciliation.

Michael looked across at Kate as she opened it. She looked so lovely sitting there, in jeans and a soft beige jumper that clung to her slim curves in all the right places. He ached to be able to touch her again, to hold her in his arms, but he feared he never would again. Why the hell hadn’t he held on to that? How had he not seen how truly wonderful she was? She smiled across a “thank you” and kissed the girls. Then she started playing with Emily, putting the house together for the rabbit family and helping Lottie put a disc into the DS. She looked up, caught him watching her, and they shared a second or two to themselves, something poignant yet sad about that look, loaded with nostalgia.

The girls brought him presents that they’d clumsily wrapped themselves. First a photo frame with a new picture of the two of them. They were in the garden, a sunny photo, they were grinning and growing up. “It’s for your desk at work,” Charlotte announced. “We look too babyish in the old one.”

Then Emily handed him a gift bag, full of biscuits laden with icing sugar and silver balls, misshapen hearts and angels.

“Look what we made,” she announced.

“Wow, they look yummy. I’ll enjoy them later on.”

“They are shortbreads and chocolate-chip cookies,” Charlotte clarified.

“We made hundreds,” Em added.

“They certainly did,” Kate was smiling, “We had to make enough for all the grandparents, friends and, of course, some extras to test out.”

Michael grinned, picturing the chaos that must have been the kitchen.

He stayed for a while longer, but then felt a little awkward, as if he was intruding on their world. “I suppose I’d better be going. You need to get off to your mum and dad’s, don’t you?” It was almost too hard to stay and watch what he’d so easily given up, and now lost.

“Oh,” Kate seemed surprised, “Well, we’re in no rush. We don’t have to be at my parents till twelve-ish. You could stay for a coffee, if you’d like. I’m sure the girls would like that.”

“Yes, Daddy, yes.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“There’s plenty more of those biscuits to get through as well.” She grinned.

So they ate doughy shortbread and drank strong coffee, watching the girls open the other gifts that were still under the tree.

Kate could almost suspend belief that he’d be going soon, back to the other woman. Back to his other life. She watched him get down on the floor and play with the girls, picking up the rabbit mum and dad, joining in some imaginary game of playing house. Of course, in the pack were a mummy and a daddy and two little rabbits. Kate wondered what happened about all the split-up homes? Would Emily send Daddy Rabbit off in a minute to the spare room, or banish him to the cupboard under the stairs. Did the mice family (she’d seen them in the shops) then get to move in or something, or the Mice Mummy find the Rabbit Daddy in the spare room, and what the hell would that start off? She shook her head at her own crazy thoughts. She sipped her coffee and tried to forget what a shitty, broken-up place the world could be sometimes. She gathered back her Christmas spirit by looking at the brightness of her girls’ faces. Their dad was here for them. He had made their Christmas morning complete and that was a big positive. And they’d go and have a nice day with her parents, who would take care of them and do their best to make sure their day was special. So what if the world was broken up? You just had to make the best of the pieces you had left.

She’d made it through. They’d been fussed over good and proper, her mum, Jean, had made a fantastic traditional turkey dinner, and Peter did the honours carving. The girls had eaten nearly all of it up. Grandma had loved the shortbread and cookies gift (as well as the Crabtree and Evelyn set Kate had bought her), and Grandpa had made a damned good job of eating most of the biscuits with his late-afternoon tea, whilst sitting with his tummy bulging under his new M&S jumper. How the heck he fitted more food in after that huge turkey meal, Kate didn’t have a clue.

The only blip she’d had was when she ending up sniffling into her Brussels sprouts. It was kind of funny at first, but then it became one of those moments that starts with laughter and ends in real tears.

Charlotte was struggling with the veg still left on her plate. She’d had a go at the carrots, but the sprouts were still sitting there accusingly. She glanced across at Grandma Jean with a “Do I have to?” look, who just said, “Well, try a few at least, Lottie. Emily’s had some.”

“Wonder what Daddy’s having for his dinner?” Emily mused out loud.

An uneasy quiet settled over the table for a second.

“Well, I bet Sophie won’t be forcing him to eat his sprouts,” Charlotte chanted sullenly.

And it was funny but sad all at once. Kate laughed along with the others, but then somehow all she could think of was that he wasn’t with them for Christmas dinner and that he should be here, or that they should all be at home together. And her laughter dissolved into fat tears that dripped right down the end of her nose and onto her sprouts, plinking into the gravy. She kept her head down, not wanting to spoil the occasion for everyone else, and excused herself, shuffling off to the loo to blow her nose, splash her face with cold water and give herself a couple of minutes out.

But that was the worst of it and it had been a nice day overall. They’d stayed for tea and mince pies until about six-ish, later than Kate had imagined, then felt it was time to go. The girls were getting tired; no wonder after their 5.30 start, as she was too.

There wasn’t too long an evening to get through now, bath times and bedtimes having taken up a fair while. Michael had phoned to chat with the girls before they went off to sleep. Charlotte told her that he’d said he was missing them, and Kate could see that it was probably a strange day for him, too.

She sat in her PJs, legs curled up on the sofa with a glass of Baileys in her hand, (she’d only had a sip of Prosecco at her parents, as she was driving), a crappy film playing that happened to be on the telly, nothing too romantic or scary, and her other hand dipping in and out of the hexagonal tin of Quality Street. If she fell asleep on the sofa, then it didn’t really matter. She’d made it through, pulled it off, that was the main thing, and the girls had had a lovely day. They had gone a bit quiet for a while after Michael had left in the morning, but then they were soon packing a favourite gift each to take to Granny’s in the car with them, choosing the Nintendo and Rabbit Family, and then they were heading off down to Morpeth. Their kisses and thanks at bedtime were extra proof that it had been special for them, even though their grins had said it all through the day anyhow.

“He’s left her, you know.”

Kate had phoned her sister-in-law to get the girls to thank her for their Christmas presents.

She stood, stunned for a second or two. Well, now, was she meant to give a round of applause, send in the marching band, run back into his arms?

“He’s here in the spare room,” Sally continued.

Ooh, she probably wanted rid of him, a grown man crowding their house the day after Boxing Day.

“Oh,” was all Kate could muster.

“I just thought you might like to know.”

“Yes, well I suppose I’d need to know that. We’ll have to see what he wants to do with the girls, how he’ll arrange his visits.” Her voice sounded cool, detached.

“He’s here now, if you want to speak.”

“Oh, no. No thanks. We’ll sort it out later.”

She needed to process this information. She pictured him hanging around at his brother’s house, unshaven, in two-day-old jeans, looking sorry for himself. But she wasn’t going to feel sorry for him. It was all his own doing.

In the no-man’s land of days between Christmas and New Year, Kate and the girls visited Michael’s parents. Dorothy’s chemo sessions were timed to give her a short break over the Christmas period, but she still looked pale and worn out. The tell-tale silk scarf was wrapped around her head, eyebrows pencilled neatly in. The adults had cups of tea and Christmas cake, the girls tucking into chocolate chip cookies and Roses chocolates, telling their grandparents all about their gifts, and remembering to thank them for their new pyjamas, delivering the hand-made thank you notes they’d created that morning, thick with glue and glitter.

In the kitchen later, Kate and Dorothy were washing and drying dishes, keeping a rein on normality. George was at the dining table playing Hungry Hippos noisily with the girls.

“How are you feeling at the moment, Dorothy?”

“Oh, not bad…” Then she sighed, as if she was fed up with putting a brave face on things, “Actually, it’s all been a bit gruelling really, this chemotherapy lark,” Dorothy’s voice sounded strained.

It must be horrid for her, Kate thought, yet she hardly ever complained about anything. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through all this.”

“Well, it’s just one of those things, isn’t it. Got another session next week. But it’s just so tiring, I feel drained for the first few days after each infusion.” Her tone was practical, stoical.

“Yes, it must be tough.”

“It’s funny,” Dorothy paused with her rinsing, “I always quite liked my body really. It wasn’t Miss World or anything. But it always got on just fine. I walked, I ran, made love, had my babies. And now it seems like it’s turned against me, somehow, betrayed me. And I’ve got to fight it.”

“Oh, Dorothy,” Kate dropped the tea towel on to the side, placed a gentle hand on her mother-in-law’s shoulder, “It’s not your body you’re fighting, it’s that bloody cancer.”

“Yes, the cancer. It’s a strange thing. A bit of a bugger, really.”

It was the first time she had ever heard Dorothy swear.

“Mind you, it has shown me one thing, Kate. It’s taught me how very precious life is. And how very short.” She looked at Kate meaningfully. “You do know he’s left her, don’t you?”

“Yes, I heard from Sally.”

“I’m certain he’s left her for good. I’ve seen the change in him lately. More like his old self. He called in Christmas Day, said he’d seen you and the girls. He misses you all terribly.” Dorothy gave her a pointed look.

Kate stayed silent. What was she meant to say? Oh, good for him, let’s just take him back then, shall we? Just forget the past nine months of hell. She remembered Dorothy’s confession about her affair, how she and George had made it through, but every relationship was different, every person was different. Dorothy hadn’t gone off and lived with the guy for nine months.

But, then, there was that kiss, life had just started getting easier to handle before that bloody kiss from Michael out of the blue. Even though she had brushed him off, it had stayed with her, reminding her of how things used to be. And that just upset it all again, got her thinking too much, remembering his touch, the feel of his lips on hers, dwelling on the past. Well, she wasn’t going to let him upset her any more; it wouldn’t happen again.

What did Dorothy expect? Was Kate supposed to be his minder again, now poor little Michael was all on his own? Well, life wasn’t that simple, even if it was short. Just because he was back on his own and missing them, didn’t mean that they could go back to being happy families again.

In fact, there was only one thing that could be worse than everything she had been through this year, and that would be to let him back into her life for it all to happen again. Yes, he could see the girls, she’d never stop that, but he would never get the chance to hurt her like that again. If she never let him back in, then he couldn’t, could he?