Everything and Nothing (18 page)

Sarah kept ringing but he couldn’t turn his phone off in case Ruth tried to get hold of him. He would ring Sarah eventually and apologise for the way he’d spoken to her. He would make it clear that he loved Ruth and that he didn’t want to be with Sarah, but he would also say that he had treated her badly and had been a coward and he hoped she would be happy. He was sorry he had shouted. Sorry he had called her mad.

Ruth appeared out of nowhere. He had been scanning the park for her but then suddenly she was there. Next to him on the bench, looking like she’d been in a fight. They sat silently for a while, neither wanting to dive into the shit piled at their feet.

‘I am so sorry,’ Christian said finally.

‘Sorry for what? For what you’ve done, or being found out?’ Her voice was too hard.

‘For what I’ve done. Not that I have done anything this time.’

She laughed. ‘You know, once I might have believed you. But having your girlfriend sitting in front of me telling me how you’re going to start trying for a baby sort of put the kibosh on that one.’

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

‘Yes, but you’ve obviously been seeing her.’

‘I’ve seen her, but not in that way.’

She flashed her eyes at him. ‘Any way is unacceptable, Christian. Do you not get that?’

He felt desperate. ‘Of course I get that. That’s why I didn’t mention it.’

‘Not mentioning it is worse than meeting her. Fuck, you are so stupid.’

‘I thought I could deal with it.’

‘No, you thought you could get away with it.’ And possibly she was right. He felt pathetic.

‘Ruth, nothing happened. I love you.’

‘It doesn’t matter what happened and you don’t love me. When you love someone you respect them.’ She had an answer for everything and they were all probably right. He felt defeated, like he’d never win, and what was he trying to win anyway, what was the prize here?

‘She came for an interview at work, for an admin assistant role. Carol had set it all up, I had no idea she was coming in until she walked through the door. And then she rang the next day and asked to meet up.’

‘There wasn’t a moment in which you thought maybe you shouldn’t?’ He heard a catch in her voice and it gave him hope that she still retained a tiny bit of feeling for him. He imagined her love like an electric light bulb, which at this moment had one tiny filament attaching the working parts.

‘I’m sorry, Ruth. I didn’t meet her because I wanted to start anything up again. But it was odd seeing her, and she sounded desperate on the phone and, I know I shouldn’t have, but I thought it would be one last drink.’

‘What, for old times’ sake?’

‘I know. It was stupid.’

‘And then what happened? It was so great to see her you had to do it again and again?’

‘No, it was complicated. She told me she hadn’t lost the baby, but that she’d had an abortion and then had a breakdown and gone to Australia. Fuck, it sounds lame now, but I felt sorry for her. I felt responsible.’

‘For the first time in your life.’

‘What?’ Christian tried to look at his wife but her face was set so hard he barely recognised her and she scared him.

‘Responsibility is not your forte, Christian. Sure, you have a good job and you’re a good dad, as far as it goes, but you’ve no idea what really goes on with the kids. You don’t worry about things like I do. You sail through life, taking care of yourself. And I’m not saying you’d let us starve or anything, or if something bad happened you wouldn’t worry, but you don’t premeditate anything. It’s like you’re you on the surface, but just under your skin you’re still eighteen. Sometimes it’s like you resent us.’

‘I’m not, but that’s not . . . ’ Christian searched for what he wanted to say but Ruth’s words stung him as if she was throwing pins at him.

‘I was stupid to take you back last time. You never properly changed, so this was always going to happen again.’

‘But nothing happened.’

‘Stop saying that, it makes you sound stupid. You met her, you were no doubt nice to her, nice enough that she thought you were going to leave me . . . ’

‘She’s mad.’

‘And stop saying that. Take responsibility for that as well.’

Christian sat back on the bench. ‘Ruth, I’ll do anything. Please give me one more chance.’

She laughed at him again, a horrid sound that was not a description of mirth. ‘You sound like Betty. And no, the answer is no.’

‘I know I’ve got it wrong.’

‘Do you want a medal?’

‘No, I don’t mean just Sarah. There were two women once . . . ’

‘What, more fucking women?’

‘No, when I was younger, on the phone.’

‘I don’t want to hear about your teenage phone sex, Christian.’

‘Ruth, stop it. Listen to me. I think I get what’s wrong with me. I don’t think I’ve ever realised, before right now, what we had.’

Ruth held her hand up. ‘Please stop. I’ve heard enough of your bullshit for one day.’

He held his head in his hands in a gesture which seemed false but which he felt so keenly, desperately searching for something, anything. He’d take Ruth any way, he realised, it didn’t even have to be that she loved him. ‘But what about the kids?’

‘Like you were thinking about them.’

‘Ruth, I’ll change, I promise. I’ll never make you sad again.’

She gave him a look she usually reserved for Betty’s wilder claims. ‘At least stay in the realms of reality. We’re married, it’s our job to make each other sad.’

He wanted to grab her, to shake her and look deep into her eyes so she could see how much he meant this. They did it in films and it worked, why couldn’t the same apply in real life? Because that was what this was, Christian realised, maybe ten years too late. It felt as real as a newborn baby or a car crash or the death of a friend; a moment which sucks you so completely into the here and now you are for once certain. ‘No, you know what I mean, please, Ruth, please don’t do this.’

‘I’m not doing anything, I’m responding. And I want you to leave, as soon as possible.’

‘No, please, really.’

‘God, you are so arrogant!’ Her face was flushed and her voice was rising. ‘You really thought you could get away with this, didn’t you?’

‘I wasn’t thinking like that at all.’

She stood up. ‘I’ve had enough of this. You’ve ruined my life enough for one day. I should be getting back to the kids.’

He stood up as well and put his hands on her shoulders. For a tiny moment they looked at each other and they both longed for things they couldn’t have. ‘Ruth, it’s Hal’s birthday on Saturday. Please give me till the end of the weekend. It’s not fair on him.’ There, he’d played dirty, but he meant it and he was desperate.

Ruth looked as though she knew she’d been had. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘till the end of the weekend, and just because of Hal.’ She shook his hands off. ‘I’m going to get a taxi home but don’t follow me. I can’t bear to sit in the same space as you.’

He watched her walk away and realised his son had saved him for the second time in his short life. He felt dirty and unworthy, ashamed and guilty. Totally unde-serving of a family who only a few days ago had seemed a burden. Could he admit that to himself and were you allowed to think thoughts like that?

Christian looked across the landscape of his life and realised he didn’t bring much joy. He didn’t even have many meaningful relationships. Of course there was Ruth and the kids, but she was right, he floated with them, he didn’t interact. And Toby, of course Toby. But how much was that to do with history and how much to do with what Christian did for him? He never spoke to his parents beyond pleasantries, had no idea who his brother even was. There were lots of faces at work who were good for going to the pub with for a quick one after work, which pissed Ruth off because it meant he never got home in time to put the kids to bed. But when you looked at it they were all nearly ten years younger than him, he was their boss, they probably only relaxed after he’d left. A sickness washed over him like a shroud.

Ruth only just made it to the street and into a taxi. A fatigue so pure had descended on her she wondered, absentmindedly, if she really was sick, rather than emotionally bludgeoned. The brief respite from Betty sleeping better had evaporated as quickly as steam from a boiling pot. She wondered if this was what her tiredness had always been about, a deep sense of despair in a life which she feared was wrong.

Her body was strung out like washing on a line, she felt as see-through and inconsequential as a lace nightdress. The next few days stretched out before her like one of those never-ending American roads and she wasn’t sure if she could make it. She wasn’t sure if she could keep up the hard front which she would now need forever more to protect her against Christian. Because one moment of weakness, one day of PMT, one sleepless night, one glass of wine too many and she’d be weeping and wishing for him to put his arms around her.

One day she’d let herself mourn for all the lost moments and days that she had foolishly presumed would belong to her and her children. She saw herself on all the endless weekends that lay ahead: another drawn-looking woman in a park with two children fighting, an ill-conceived picnic at her feet, waiting . . . waiting for what? For time to run out, the kids to grow up and then . . . ? Then the loneliness of dinner for one, of trying to find something for herself, of taking up a hobby that was more of a chore, of accepting invitations from kind friends for holidays in which you always felt you were in the way.

Ruth could remember every detail of the first time Christian had shattered her world. She’d started her maternity leave the day before and had spent her first full day with Betty in a state of contentment. She’d got her to bed and the house was relatively tidy and she had been making a salad, feeling strangely pleased with herself, as if the world had an order and she was part of it. Then Christian arrived home.

Ruth had known he was drunk from how he shut the door. She could tell from text messages as well. Sometimes she didn’t mind that much and sometimes it seemed like a crime against humanity. Tonight was a crime night. She was shocked that he hadn’t realised it was a special day; what if she went into labour and he was too drunk to drive her to the hospital? Ruth had all these arguments on the tip of her tongue, ready to go, when he stumbled into the kitchen and she knew something was very wrong.

‘Shit, what’s the matter?’ she’d asked, and at that moment she’d only been thinking along the lines of a lost job or a crashed car, which had seemed bad enough until he’d spoken.

‘I’m leaving,’ Christian had answered.

‘Leaving? Where?’ The baby was wedged under her ribs and it made coherent thought a struggle.

Christian wouldn’t look at her, he kept shuffling his feet like a child. ‘I’m leaving you. This house.’

‘You what?’ She’d had to sit down, her legs had given way, like you see happen in films.

‘I’m sorry, Ruth. I can’t go on. We’re living a lie, we don’t love each other, we don’t like the same things, we never do anything together, you’re always exhausted, we never have sex.’

‘But I’m eight months pregnant.’ The words sounded as helpless as the baby she was about to give birth to.

‘I know, but it’s not only that. This has been going on for years.’

‘Years? Why didn’t you say something then? Why did you get me bloody pregnant?’ There was anger in there, but for now she felt as if she was sinking.

‘I don’t know. I’m not saying I don’t love you. Or that it’s always bad. But, you can’t tell me you’re really happy, can you?’ He flopped into the chair opposite her.

‘Christian, are you on drugs? I’m due to give birth in three weeks. Do you think now is when we should be having this conversation?’ And then she had seen what the real problem was, as clearly as if she had been standing next to him. ‘Oh my God, there’s someone else, isn’t there?’

He had started crying then, crying in a way she doubted he had done since he was a child, and she had felt disgusted with him. ‘She’s called Sarah and she’s pregnant as well.’

The air was sucked out of the room. ‘You’re joking.’

‘No. It wasn’t planned, she only told me today.’

‘You fucking shit.’ It wasn’t enough, but it was all she had.

‘I know,’ he’d said, and that had almost been the worst admission.

They had sat at the kitchen table in silence, both trying to absorb what had happened. Ruth wasn’t sure she could give birth and care for a newborn on her own. She knew that lots of women did it, but she didn’t think she was strong enough. But then Christian was by her feet, kneeling, trying to put his arms around her belly which was as round as the world. ‘Ruth, I’m sorry. I don’t really want to leave. You’ve got to help me, I don’t know what’s happened. How did this happen?’

And even as she was scratching his face as if only the feel of flesh under her fingernails was going to be enough, she had already relented. She knew she was going to forgive him from that second. If he hadn’t asked for it she would have probably begged. Now was the first time she had admitted that feeling to herself, as she sat in the taxi on her way home and the memory forced more tears out of her stinging eyes. She was weak and pathetic and maybe only had herself to blame.

Agatha knew something was going on. Ruth was in bed one minute, too ill to see the kids, and the next she was racing out the door, saying she was meeting Christian. It was very confusing for the children, especially as she hadn’t even told Betty that Ruth was upstairs. Agatha felt annoyed with Ruth and hoped she wouldn’t take another day off tomorrow as she had everything she needed to do for the party arranged into very specifi c timelines and Ruth didn’t do specific.

Betty’s bottom lip quivered as she watched her mother rushing away from her again and Agatha pulled her onto her lap, knowing too well the feeling of having a confusing mother. She wished she could take the girl with her, but in reality Betty was too far gone; she would miss her mother and ask too many questions, possibly give them all away. Besides, Agatha could already see very strong traces of Ruth in her which weren’t all to do with how she looked. She refused to brush her dolls’ hair and was happy to chuck them all into their box after playing with them without worrying whether or not they were comfy. In the morning she’d try on three different outfits, pulling all her clothes out of the drawer and then stuffing them back in without concern for Agatha’s neat folding. Once, only once, Agatha had looked into Ruth’s drawers. Not because she wanted to take anything, but to see if she was right. And of course she had been. Nothing was properly folded or colour co-ordinated. There didn’t even seem to be a system and in her underwear drawer there were old broken bits of jewellery and a leaking biro.