Love Is... (12 page)

Mandi and I stared at him.

He continued. ‘When Mickey Rourke requests another facelift, his surgeon doesn't send him on a weekend retreat to work through his motives. Or steer him towards a decade of psychotherapy. He simply says, “Yes, certainly, sir. That will be twenty thousand dollars.”'

Mandi scowled. ‘How can you compare a spiritual union between two souls to something as crude as a rhytidectomy?'

Dominic let out a sigh as though he were a teacher forced to provide extra tuition to a particularly gormless pupil. ‘Because the client expects the same result from both: to be happy.'

Mandi shook her head. ‘But a facelift won't make anyone happy.'

Dominic smacked his hands on the table. ‘And there we go. First prize to the pregnant lady with the neon green dress.' Then he quickly glanced at me. ‘Are we allowed to acknowledge the pregnancy yet?'

Mandi looked up at the ceiling, breathed in slowly and then looked back down at Dominic. ‘So you're saying there are no answers for Ellie to find?'

He smirked and grabbed the black marker again. ‘I couldn't possibly comment. All I'm saying is that Ellie needs to find a way to slash our divorce rate.' He started ripping out pages and crossing through entire paragraphs. ‘Or she might find herself out of a job.'

Mandi snatched the pen from his grasp. ‘You can't fire Ellie from her own company,' she said, pointing the nib at his face.

Dominic smiled. ‘Now she's no longer the majority shareholder, yes, I can,' he said, before sliding his doctored version of Mandi's report across the table towards me.

I glanced down at the report, which was now sporting more marker pen than a pre-surgery Kardashian, and I sat silent for a moment, my hangover momentarily clearing. I thought about Matthew's insecurities, Harriet's heartbreak, Victoria's fear of abandonment, mine and Nick's bickering. What did make a happy marriage? Was it simply a case of benign compatibility? Or could we take control of our destiny? My eyes scanned the list of advisors and I suddenly
realised there was no point looking for a cure. At least not until we had an accurate diagnosis.

‘Divorce lawyer,' I suddenly blurted out.

Mandi and Dominic stared at me.

‘I need to meet with a divorce lawyer,' I said, though louder this time.

Mandi put her hand to her chest. ‘Ellie, don't be hasty. Not every marriage is doomed. You and Nick can work things out.'

I frowned at her. ‘No, Mandi,' I said. ‘I need to find out why people are getting divorced before I can even begin to consider a way to prevent it. I need to meet with the world's most experienced divorce lawyer.'

I grabbed Dominic's pen and began to write. ‘And I'll need a report from all of our matchmakers. I need them to interview each of their clients who have been divorced or separated. I want to know precisely why they chose to divorce. I want to know if they are happier now. I want to know why they thought it couldn't be fixed. I want to know
everything
.'

Dominic sat back and let out another deep sigh. ‘We already know why people divorce, Ellie.' He sighed again, as though forcing out his very last breath. ‘Infidelity, irreconcilable differences, growing apart. People just fall out of love.'

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Infidelity isn't a cause, it's a symptom. Growing apart and irreconcilable differences are too vague. Besides, no serious study would rely on anecdotal evidence. I don't want a one-word answer or a box that people ticked on a divorce petition. I want the truth. Then and only then can I begin to find a way to help people.'

Mandi clapped.

Dominic leaned back in his seat and threaded his fingers together. ‘Yeah, good luck getting the truth out of anyone. Most of all a lawyer.' Then he began to laugh.

Mandi clasped her hands together and let out a squeal.

‘Wait, Ellie, we have forgotten something really important,' she said.

Dominic stopped laughing and turned to her, seemingly keen enough for a solution to entertain Mandi's suggestion.

She sat up straight and readjusted her headband. ‘You know when scientists conduct studies into HIV and things like that?' she began.

Dominic nodded as though hoping it might speed her up.

‘Well, instead of focusing on the sick people, they tend to look at the groups who are immune.' She looked at us both and nodded. ‘Such as those who have the virus but don't go on to develop the full infection. Like apes and a small group of prostitutes in South Africa.'

Dominic shook his head as though trying to dislodge a fly in his ear.

She continued. ‘So, shouldn't we be studying the happily married people instead then? To see how they do it.'

I screwed up my mouth and considered her argument. I glanced at Dominic, who had ceased shaking his head.

‘Great idea,' he said. ‘Now all you have to do is find a happily married couple who are actually happy.' Then he laughed again, although this time it was more of a snort.

I put my hand up to stop him. ‘Mandi has a very valid point, Dominic.'

Dominic resumed his laughter and then stood up as though he'd just awarded himself centre stage.

‘Eleanor, you have to remember, our clients don't want the truth, they want hope. Hope that they will be different,
that they will transcend the limitations of humanity and attain a higher state of fulfilment.' He looked at me, a smirk fixed on his face.

I immediately wondered if he'd been liaising with Matthew on some kind of secret chat room for philosophers against humanity.

I shook my head slowly. Was it that Dominic was grossly underestimating our clients? Or, I wondered, as the door swung shut behind him, perhaps just himself?

After he'd left, I turned to Mandi. Her eureka expression had faded and she began to cradle her head in her hands and cry. At first it was just little snuffles, but it soon escalated to full-on sobs intermitted with desperate wails. After a while, she looked up at me, mascara tramlines down her cheeks.

‘Five of my clients divorced this week,' she said, wiping the tears away with her sleeve. ‘I can't take any more of this heartbreak. You have to find the truth, Ellie. Find it. And prove him wrong.'

I leaned forward and squeezed her shoulder.

‘Don't worry,' I said. ‘I will.'

Chapter 10

I
t was early evening when I walked home, past the seemingly endless rows of terrace houses. As I shielded my face from the low winter sun, I began to wonder what truth existed beyond the glossy front doors. I'd always assumed the couples who resided in them were happier than me, rationalising that if they were effective enough to produce four offspring, hold down two careers and still have time to commission bespoke mosaic floor tiles for their front path, then perhaps they had the answers I was looking for.

I looked up at an especially grand entrance porch and sighed. I knew now that heartbreak didn't discriminate. The divorce rate, which had been creeping up year on year, was like poison ivy, cracking the jet-washed bricks of happy homes just like this.

And it wasn't as though divorce was the only indicator of heartache. There were plenty of other relationships limping on, hoping to reach the finish line, to the imaginary fanfare of a revered anniversary. As I strode ahead, I began to
think about my own marriage. There was no doubt I loved Nick more than I had ever loved anyone before. However, at the same time, petty irritations had begun to fester, and I was beginning to realise that his behaviour wasn't infallible and neither was mine.

The sun was setting by the time I reached our house. The last glow of the day sent an eerie shimmer across the cracked concrete of our front path. Just as I was considering how I would spend the evening before Nick came home, I noticed a flash of blonde in the corner of my eye. I looked up to see a slim lady and a small boy peering into our front window.

She jumped back when she saw me.

‘Oh gosh, I'm so sorry,' she said, pulling her son away from the window to stop him from pressing his nose against the glass. ‘You must be the owner.' She wiped her hand on her skirt and then held it out to me. ‘I'm Kerri. We're moving in next week. I hope you don't mind us nosing in your window. It's just—' she looked down at the boy ‘—Freddie, he was dying to see the place and we were just heading back after his swimming club and he'd done so well tonight, so I thought it would be nice to show him where we'll be living. I'm so sorry. I hope you don't mind.'

I laughed. ‘Of course not.' Her petite features and pretty blue eyes looked disconcertingly familiar. She reminded me of someone from the past. ‘Why don't you come in?' I turned to Freddie. ‘You like dogs?'

He grinned and nodded.

His mother smiled. ‘Freddie loves dogs. Thank you so much.' Then she stared at me for a moment and her eyes suddenly widened. ‘Ellie?'

I studied her more closely. She looked so familiar but I
just couldn't place her. Then I looked into her eyes again and my mind immediately flashed back to a time when they were framed by three sets of false lashes.

‘Kerri?' I said.

She jumped up and down, then ran towards me and flung her arms around my neck.

Five minutes later, after she'd attempted to verbally download the past seven years of her life, Freddie began to huff and puff.

‘Can we see the dog now, Mum?' he asked. ‘Please?'

‘Oh yes, of course,' I said, reaching for my keys. ‘I should've invited you in straight away.' I turned to Kerri. ‘You will stay for a drink, won't you? We still have so much to catch up on.'

She nodded and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘It's not like we have anything to go home to anyway.'

When I opened the door, Rupert leaped out and into my arms as though he'd been abandoned for months. Freddie's grin faded and he looked up at me through knitted brows.

‘Has he been home by himself all day?' he asked.

I nodded, feeling my stomach knot as I did.

Freddie looked back at Rupert's full-body wags and then at me.

I bent down to Freddie's level. ‘I'm so busy at work at the moment,' I said, ‘and Rupert's not allowed in the office.'

Freddie scowled at me.

‘But I walked him earlier though,' I added, as though a seven-year-old boy could comprehend, or even care about, the justifications adults make to appease their consciences.

In the manner of a determined social worker, Freddie carefully extracted Rupert from my grasp and then took him inside. Without invitation, he made his way to the kitchen
and filled Rupert's bowl with fresh water. Then he started opening cupboards presumably in search of Rupert's dinner.

‘In the fridge,' I said, following them into the kitchen. ‘Brown label. Campfire stew, there's half a tin left.'

While Freddie spooned Rupert's food lovingly into his bowl, Kerri and I sat at the kitchen table drinking wine.

By our second glass, Kerri still hadn't mentioned him, so I felt a little reluctant to ask the question. But after a further gulp of wine, I eventually mustered the courage. ‘So, how is David?'

Freddie glanced up and then back down at Rupert, who was quietly munching on his stew, tolerating increasingly enthusiastic strokes.

Kerri stared into space, and took a sip of wine. Immediately, I regretted questioning her. Perhaps they'd just separated. It might still be raw.

‘He's dead,' she said.

My muscles tensed. I'd had a response all ready to come out. I'd had countless conversations like this with clients before. I was good at this. This was my profession. I said nothing.

‘Please don't go all weird on me, Ellie,' she said, taking another gulp of wine. ‘I don't need to be protected. I just need to be able to talk about it.'

I looked at her, at the creases in her forehead and the frown lines between her eyebrows. There was the reason I hadn't recognised her straight away.

‘When did it happen?' I asked.

‘Five months ago,' she said.

‘How?'

‘Cancer.'

‘Bloody hell,' I said.

She sighed. ‘Yep. We found the lump in January and he was dead five weeks later. The night before our sixth wedding anniversary.'

I looked at her and then at Freddie. He had the same kind smile as his father, the same purposeful stance, the same green eyes.

‘How do you even begin to cope?' I asked.

She forced a laugh. ‘You don't.' She took another gulp of wine. ‘It's like one day your world is full of colour, then the next it's black and white, like a thick cloud of dust has settled and you know it will never go. I can see my old life but it's in the distance, somewhere unreachable. I keep having dreams that he's still alive.' She looked out through our back doors as though searching for something. She wiped her eyes. ‘And then I wake up and it all starts again.' She looked down at the floor. ‘Or I'll see Freddie's school bag in the hallway and think it's David's briefcase. I used to nag him about leaving it there. I was always saying: “One of us will trip over it and get hurt.”' She took another sip of wine. ‘I was prepared for the pain. I was prepared for the endless torturous nights. It's the little things though.'

I reached across and squeezed her hand.

‘I've lost his mini screwdriver. The one he always used to tighten the door hinges and to change the batteries in Freddie's toys. I've looked everywhere and I can't find it.' She held her head in her hands, her body shaking. ‘It has a black and yellow handle.'

‘I'm sure we've got one you can borrow.'

She looked up at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘But I have to find it. It's in the house, I know it is. I can't lose it.' She started sobbing. ‘I can feel him slipping away from me, Ellie, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.'