The Torn Up Marriage (31 page)

He could see the layers of hurt he had created. The wall between them. Her words weighing heavy in his mind. “Oh, Kate, I’m not sure how I get that trust back. But maybe over time, I can prove it to you. You’d see, you’d know – there was only ever you. I just lost sight of that for a while. I made a huge mistake, and I hurt you all. I regret that so much.” He shook his head, dropped his gaze to the floor for a second, then looked right at her, “I know I can’t change what I’ve done, but what I can do is promise you that I will always love you, that I will
never
have another affair.”

“How can I believe you, Michael, when you’ve already done it once?”

“Jesus, I swear I would never do that again. I can see all the damage I’ve caused… Attraction, sex, that doesn’t equal love. I know that now. Seeing Mum and Dad, everything they’ve been through together, that’s what real love’s about. What if you were ill, or the girls? I’d want to be there for you. I love you, Kate. I’ve been such a stupid, blind bastard.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” She gave a small, wry smile, “But Michael, you should have talked to me,
months
ago,
before
it all went wrong. Before it went too far. We might have been able to sort it out back then. But now…” her voice trailed, tired with the emotions of it all.

They both sat quiet for a moment or two, just thinking, feeling.

“Isn’t it a bastard that it’s only when you lose something that you realise what you had?” He hung his head low, then looked up, his blue eyes intense, fixing hers, “I’m sorry, Kate.” He was crying as he spoke.

“Oh, Michael, they’re just words.” The tears were biting at her eyes, too. “Just words. I don’t think “sorry” will ever be enough.”

It was still too raw. The hurt a physical pain within. If it all went wrong again, she’d never forgive herself for letting him back in, giving him a second chance to ruin all their lives.

“Okay, okay, I understand. Look, I’d better go now. Thanks for hearing me out at least.” He rose to leave, offering a fragile smile. There was no other choice but to walk away. Too much damage had been done; he couldn’t blame her, only himself.

It was a shame the girls didn’t have a bigger room. He’d shoe-horned their bunk beds into the box room at his new flat, above the dry cleaners in the town. He’d been there for six weeks now. There was the tiniest of bedside tables and then just enough room for an adult to slide sideways, backed against the wall, to get in and out. But at least the girls could stay with him again now. He’d done his best managing with days out, but venues were limited on wet February weekends, and the cinema and popcorn trips were costing him a small fortune.

Lottie complained that it smelt like the swimming pool but worse: the cleaning agents drifting upwards from the vents at the back of the shop below. And it could be noisy on Friday and Saturday nights, being on the drift-zone between pubs. But hey, who was he to complain? Who the hell had caused this broken-up life, after all? It started with a kiss – no innocent kiss – just over a year ago, and ended up as this. He had no one to blame but himself.

He still had his girls. His business was doing fine. He was now on speaking terms with Kate, having made the move to apologise and try and explain. Thankfully, his mum had finished the chemotherapy sessions and her recovery was going well. She was scheduled for radiotherapy in a week or so, and he’d heard it was nowhere near as gruelling as the chemo. The consultant was pleased with her, the prognosis was looking good, thank God. And she seemed to be coping much better emotionally, too. Life was okay. He was okay. He had to look forward, not back, now.

He’d tucked the girls down about an hour or so ago, after tickles, hugs, kisses and a double read of the Gruffalo – with him squeezed onto Em’s bottom bunk, his knees wedged to one side, Lottie peering down from the top.

They were the best, his girls. And they were pretty much what was keeping him going at the moment.

And his work. He could nearly lose himself in work. Marketing, copy, websites, graphics. He knew who he was and what he was meant to be doing there. Sophie had left the company at the end of January. Things had come to a head. He was the last person to make things difficult for her at work – God knows, he was the guilty party in all of this, but working in such a small team and office was bound to have its problems once they had split up. Trying to work together on the latest project had been stressful, the car crash of their relationship clouding every conversation, every act. She announced she’d been offered a far better-paid role at a large insurance company down in Newcastle. He’d let her go as soon as she wanted, with a month’s pay in hand. Since then, things had begun to settle again in the office, though he had to work twice as hard till he managed to find a suitable replacement.

And, that job offer he’d had was still simmering in his mind. He made a coffee, sat down in front of the TV with the Sky remote; the football match served as a background to his thoughts. An old uni friend, Paul, was setting up a marketing company in New York, wanted Michael’s input. Phoned him out of the blue, saying he wanted to keep a strong link with the UK and he wanted Michael’s expertise. There was a job there waiting for Michael in the US if he wanted it – New York, the city where dreams were made, a new start? It was flattering to be head-hunted. But he
really
didn’t want to leave his girls. Didn’t want to leave Kate, either, in all honesty. But
how long
? How long did you wait trying to put a relationship right, when you might have already destroyed it for good? But their marriage deserved more of a fighting chance than time had so far allowed. He could wait.

He took a sip of coffee. Nah, it wasn’t right to go abroad, he’d give Paul some advice, certainly, work with him online, over the phone. But no, he had no intention of leaving his family. He’d messed them up enough as it was.

Sometimes, just for a split second, Kate looked at him like she used to. And he yearned to hold her. Usually it was just as he was about to leave, after dropping the girls off. At those times, a flicker of fondness, maybe even love was there in her eyes, but then her features would harden, as if she’d remembered. But it might not always be that way. He would wait. He missed them all like crazy. Missed what he had had. Missed what he had destroyed. Why the hell hadn’t he seen it at the time? He’d been love-drunk and fucked-up on lust. But there might still be a way back.

This was one boring Premiership Match, 0–0 at 82 minutes. He heard a splutter, Emily coughing. He’d go and check on her in a mo. She’d had a nasty cold and then this cough that was hanging around. He had some sachets of Calpol in the kitchen cupboard, kept them in just in case. He’d give her a spoonful if she seemed restless.

The throaty rattle started again a few minutes later. He jumped up, went to the girls’ room. In the light from the hallway he could see she was restless, tossing in the covers. He touched her forehead. It was really hot, clammy. Her eyes half-opened, “Mummy?” His heart dipped. Mummy wasn’t there. Mummy and Daddy were all split up.

“It’s just me, sweetheart. Just Daddy. You’re okay.” She didn’t feel okay, she felt bloody hot. He didn’t have a thermometer, damn. Kate would have had all that at home. But he knew to get some Calpol into her. That should settle her if she had a temperature. He pulled the covers back away from her to cool her some more. Kissed her forehead. It was burning up under his lips. “I’ll just go fetch you some magic medicine. Make you feel better.” He lifted her pillow. She’d be better propped up a bit to ease that cough.

He came back with the medicine and a plastic spoon. “There you go, petal.” It was really sticky and she wasn’t with it. He ended up spilling some down her pyjamas. “Okay Emmie, try and get back to sleep now. Shout for me if you need me. I’m just here in the lounge or in my bed later. Night, night. Sleep tight.”

She nodded, still a bit dozy, gave him a wonky smile. “Daddy, can I come into your bed?”

“Later, if you can’t sleep, yeah. But try here first, okay… Think of something nice. Umn, like ice creams and Disney Princesses. Jelly beans and cup cakes.”

“Peppa pig,” she whispered back.

“Hugs and kisses, butterflies.”

“Worms.”

“Worms?”

She nodded, “I like worms.”

He remembered, then, that they’d been making a worm factory at nursery that week. Em had been full of it. Loved watching them tunnel along the glass.

“Right, time to sleep. Night, night.” He settled the duvet loosely on her.

Lottie hadn’t stirred the whole while, still sound asleep in the top bunk. Michael padded out in his bare feet, making his sideways slide through the narrow gap.

The match had ended at a thrilling 0–0. He watched the sports headlines. Drank the cool remains of his coffee. Put on some music softly for background. He could have a look at some graphics he was working on, on his laptop. It was far too early to go to bed. Maybe he could work up some ideas on the American project, too.

He got stuck right into it and a couple of hours passed quickly. He glanced at his watch, nearly midnight, he’d go check on the girls and then get ready for bed. He’d looked in on them once more, after giving Em the medicine, on his way to the loo. She was sleeping, her cough had eased. It had been quiet since.

But looking in this time he could see her little body tossing in her bed, a strange mumble coming from her. He opened the door wide to let the hall light scan over her, not wanting to startle her and Lottie with the stark ceiling light. “Emmie, are you okay?” he whispered.

She murmured, not really with it. He leaned over her, could feel the heat coming off her without even touching her. He turned on the bedside lamp. She was flushed red. Her hair damp and stuck to her forehead. He undid the top buttons of her pyjamas. He tried to sit her up but she seemed a bit floppy. This really didn’t seem right. Should he try and get a doctor? Ring Kate? But he didn’t want to panic Kate. He should be able to deal with this.

“Emmie, how are you feeling?” he gently shook her arm. If she came to a bit more, spoke to him, he could see if she was lucid.

“Daddy?” the wrong voice. Lottie popping her head over the wooden bar. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just Emmie. She’s not feeling very well.
Em?”
he tried again. A little knot of panic flaming in his gut. He should have checked her again, not got so into his work. It was too soon to give her more medicine, and that should have worked by now. Yet, she seemed even hotter than before.

“What’s up with her?” Lottie again. He wished he bloody well knew.

“Em?” He shifted on to the bed, pulled her gently upright to sit her onto his lap. She was like a friggin’ furnace. A & E? He couldn’t risk her getting any worse. It was past midnight now and the chance of getting a doctor to the house was minimal. She was damp with sweat. She didn’t seem to know what was going on, her eyes not able to focus on him, just blinking.

In an instant her body had stiffened, her head flopped back, eyes wide open and fixated. Fuck, what was going on?

“Em? Emily?” He frantically shook her fragile frame. She didn’t respond. Remained rigid. Fear gripped him.

“Daddy. What’s happening?” Lottie’s voice was scared.

Panic seared through him. THINK, think! What were you meant to do? His baby, this was all so wrong. He pulled her close, cradled her body. It must have been seconds, but it felt as if time had frozen.

“Get up Lottie . Right n…” He was interrupted as Emily burst out in a howling cry.

“Oh, Emmie, my Emily, thank Christ.” He gasped, so glad that she was alive.

Lottie had slid down the wooden steps. She was crying, sobbing along with Michael, a trio hugging on the bottom bunk. Emily still seemed disorientated. “I think we’d better get to the hospital, Lottie. The doctors will need to check Emily over. Come on honey, let’s go.”

He carefully lifted Emily off the bed, made his way out the bedroom door, cradling her in his arms, found some slip-on shoes near the door, shoved his feet in them. Car keys. Get the keys from the kitchen. Saw his mobile there, too. Shoved that in his pocket. Emily in his arms. Lottie? She was there beside him in pyjamas and plimsolls. Dashed down the narrow stairway. The car was parked in the back street. He strapped Emily in, her body had softened, seemed more normal. Thank Christ. But there was something weird going on. He needed to get her checked out and fast. The nearest overnight A & E was at Ashington – about a half hour away. He got Lottie in. Started the ignition. Flew out of the town centre onto the A1 and drove as fast as he felt was safe. Overtaking anything that got in his way. Talking to Em every now and again. Just a mumble as an answer, but at least she was making a noise. He felt sick thinking of her seized up as he held her. How must it feel to have your child die in your arms? He shuddered, feeling that he’d almost found out. The half-hour journey seemed to take forever. Should he have called an ambulance, done it that way?

He reached the lights of the town, a roundabout, flashed through some red traffic lights – sod it, there was no one at any of the junctions. He didn’t have time to mess about. Pulled the car up onto the kerb at the edge of the ambulance bay. Unstrapped her. Ran in with her in his arms. Lottie alongside. Reception. Trying to get the words out straight.

A woman polite, smiling, “What’s your little girl’s name?”

“Emily. Emily Armstrong. We need seeing quickly.”

“Okay. I’ll get a nurse as soon as possible.” She took a few more details. “Please, just take a seat.”

He didn’t want to take a seat. Wanted to run in with her. Find a fucking doctor. Barge those green doors. Didn’t have to. A lady in blue uniform came out through the swing doors towards them. “Come on through. What’s been happening? What are her symptoms?”

A blur of words, “Temperature. Seemed really hot. Too hot. Murmuring, then the stiffness. And staring.”

Into a cubicle. Laying her down on the bed. White sheets, green paper. Lottie sat on a plastic chair.

“What’s her name?”

“Emily?”

“Emily. Hello, Emily. My name’s Claire. Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll get you all checked out.” The nurse looked up at Michael, “We just need to do some initial checks on her. She does seem pretty hot.”

The girl looked about eighteen. He hoped she knew what she was doing.

The nurse checked Emily’s temperature with a thermometer under her armpit. Then she explained she was going to do her blood pressure, as she placed a thick black band around her arm. “This’ll just feel a bit squeezy, Emily. But it won’t hurt.” Em started sobbing at this point. “It just feels a bit strange, that’s all.” She pumped it up, glanced at the machine, nodded. “Okay, that seems fine.” The nurse turned to Michael again. “And now for her Sats, we’ll just need to put a clip on her finger. Look, Emily, we’ll try it on Daddy first.”

He put his index finger out. Just a weird squeeze. It was like a spark-plug clip for the car.

“It’s fine, Em. Point you finger out like Daddy. Good girl.”

Michael watched as the nurse left it on Em’s finger for about 30 seconds, wrote down the results. “What’s that for?” he asked.

“This just picks up how much oxygen is in the blood and can show us Emily’s pulse rate.” The nurse smiled.

She didn’t seem too anxious. There was no mad rush for the doctor. But what if Em had another fit or whatever it was? “What do you think it is?” he queried. There were all sorts of nasty illnesses. Shocking, maiming ones like meningitis. Shit, he hadn’t even thought of doing the test thing with the glass. “Is there a rash?”

“No, no sign of any rash when I took her top off just before. But I’ll get the doctor to have a proper check. He should be here within 15 minutes or so.”

Fifteen minutes or so? What the fuck were they playing at?

She saw the look on his face. “She doesn’t appear to be in any immediate danger. But her temperature is of some concern. She’s recording at 39 degrees, so I can give her some medicine immediately to get that down. We need to then find out what exactly is causing that high temperature.”

“I–I gave her medicine, Calpol. About two, two and a half hours ago.”

“Okay, I see. That’s fine.”