Love Me Or Leave Me (17 page)

But on check-in, Chloe had handed her a highly impressive tailor-made schedule which clearly stated they were booked in for an ‘initial mediation meeting’ with a solicitor called Sam Davenport. Naturally, Jo had Googled him to see exactly who this guy was beforehand, and was delighted to learn that he was actually one of the top, if not
the
top divorce lawyer in the country.

Even her own solicitor had been suitably impressed when she heard that Sam Davenport came as part and parcel of this whole weekend’s package. ‘Worth every penny,’ she’d said to Jo at the time. ‘And as it happens, for what you’re paying, cheap at the price.’

Jo double-checked the neat printout she’d been handed and yes, there it was in neat black and white.

Friday 6pm: Meet and greet drinks in the downstairs bar.

7pm: Jo and Dave to hold an initial, private meeting with Mr Sam Davenport, specialist in divorce law.

8.30pm: Dinner in the Yellow Dining Room.

The 6 p.m. drinks thing, Jo just decided to skip altogether, which was why she’d just holed up in her room, opting instead to avail of the free Wi-Fi and catch up with work emails/arsing around on TripAdvisor. After all, what was the point in it? A meet and greet to say hi to all the other couples about to be ditched? Colossal waste of her time, even if she’d been physically up to it, which right now, she most definitely wasn’t.

Or worse, were hotel management actually misguided enough to think that she’d want to spend any time socially with Dave, having a cocktail and a laugh and reminiscing about how great it had once been? Some chance. She was here to divorce him and divorce him fast, not to befriend the traitorous git all over again. She’d already acted out the whole pretence that they were a couple on completely friendly terms just to wangle a room here in the first place. Jesus, she’d given a performance worthy of Meryl Streep, hadn’t she? Over and out. Enough.

As it happened though, her 7 p.m. meeting with Sam Davenport was the one single part of this entire process Jo had actually been looking forward to and she was bloody well prepped for it too. Thanks to her own solicitor’s warnings, she’d arrived here ready for absolutely anything and had an entire wheelie bag full of her bank statements, household utility bills, affidavits from her own team to prove that she was the primary breadwinner – in fact, scratch that – the
sole
breadwinner. Moreover, that her beautiful apartment had been hers and hers only long before the unhappy day that Arsehole Evans had first waltzed into her life. You name it, she had all the necessary documents on hand, to back up everything she had to say.

And so promptly on the dot of 7 p.m., Jo turned up to the Library, wheelie bag in tow, all set to get this wrapped up and back to her room as quickly as possible. Sam Davenport was already there ahead of her; a youngish guy as it turned out. Dressed like the kind of man she was used to from work, in a tailored navy suit and a crisp blue shirt and tie.

The kind of man, Jo thought bitterly, that she should have ended up with. A successful professional, like herself. Someone who’d actually behave like a gentleman and stand by her, instead of that useless – she instantly dismissed the tail end of that sentence though and instead, took care to flash Sam Davenport her best ‘professional, utterly in control’ smile.

‘Lovely to meet you, Miss Hargreaves,’ he said, standing up to shake her hand as she barged in, wheelie bag clattering noisily over the parquet floor behind her. ‘I’m Sam. Divorce law is my field and I’m just here to talk you and your ex through how we’ll proceed over the course of the weekend. If that’s agreeable to you, of course?’ he added politely.

‘Wonderful, yes, thank you,’ Jo smiled back. First genuine smile she’d cracked all day. All month, in fact. ‘And can I just say how lovely it is to meet you in person? You come very highly recommended.’

‘We aim to please,’ he replied graciously.

God, she thought, it feels wonderful to be in the hands of a real professional! Now all I need is for Sam to sit and listen to exactly what I have to say and it’s all over bar the shouting. Wait and see, after ten minutes of hearing my side of the story, he’ll probably end up hugging me and saying you poor woman, how anyone could have possibly put up with such a useless shit for so long is beyond me. In fact, Miss Hargreaves, not only do you deserve the fastest end to your marriage this side of Reno, but someone should give you a medal for putting up with everything you’ve had to endure at the hands of the medical profession. Not to worry though, I’m here to protect you and make sure Dave doesn’t get his hands near a penny of your earnings and this will be all done and dusted in no time.

Easiest divorce I ever handled! That’s what Sam Davenport will tell everyone, as soon as he’s heard what I have to say, Jo thought confidently.

‘Well, as you can see, I’ve arrived fully prepared, Sam,’ she told him, indicating the stuffed bag she’d dragged along with her. ‘I’ve got everything my own solicitor advised me to bring along, so that should significantly speed things up for us.’

‘Excellent,’ he nodded. ‘I wish all my clients were as well organized as you.’

Jo nodded appreciatively and sat herself down on the sofa opposite him. Silence, while he looked down at his watch.

Still more silence.

‘So … emm … where exactly do we start?’ Jo couldn’t help blurting out, anxious to cut to the chase. ‘What do you need to know first? Because Dave and I have only been married for three years, but separated for nigh on five months now, so as you can appreciate, I’m anxious to close this unfortunate chapter of my life once and for all.’

Yet another pause as Sam took another quick glance down at his watch and out of habit, Jo found herself doing the very same. Exactly 7.10 p.m.

‘Oh, I forgot to mention I may even be able to prove mental anguish, you know!’ she tacked on brightly. ‘I’ve got all the doctor’s certs to back that all up. Because, when I tell you what I’ve been through – you just won’t believe it!’

‘That’s all most interesting, Miss Hargreaves, but I’m afraid there’s just one slight problem.’

‘Well, I can’t really see how there could be, actually. It’s all here, everything you need. I just want to get a separation agreement that’ll hold water in court, guaranteeing me I’ll walk out of my marriage with absolutely everything I had walking into it, and then we can all go home. This,’ she added with a smile, ‘will be the single easiest case you ever had to deal with!’

‘Yee-ess,’ said Sam, ‘and that’s all good to hear. However, as you know, there’s no such thing as a one-sided divorce.’

‘Meaning?’ Jo looked at him, puzzled.

‘Meaning we can’t proceed at all, certainly as of yet.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m afraid it’s going to prove something of a challenge to get you divorced, Ms Hargreaves. At least, not until your husband has the good grace to join us.’

Chapter Twelve

Dawn.

Two months, three weeks and five days. Dawn had counted. That was exactly how long it was since she and Kirk had even been alone together. Properly alone that is, in an actual room, where there was no escape from one another. Where they’d actually have to talk about the elephant standing between them.

She took a moment to glance down at the neatly printed, personalized schedule in her hands that Chloe gave her when she’d checked in earlier. Her eye darted down the page in front of her once more, just to be sure.

Friday 6pm: Meet and greet drinks in the downstairs bar.

7pm: Dawn and Kirk to hold an initial, private meeting with Ms Kate Stephens, expert in conflict resolution services in the Lavender Room.

8.30pm: Dinner in the Yellow Dining Room.

There was no avoiding it any more. In just a few short minutes, she’d have to be in the same room as him. She’d have to somehow try to put on a brave face and act the part of someone calm, cool and reasonable. She’d have to remember at all times, that this was Kirk’s doing, whether she liked it or not.

Of course she’d lost count of the number of times he’d tried to contact her during every day of the two months, three weeks and five days since Armageddon. But Dawn wouldn’t, couldn’t have the calm, civilized, ‘I’m so sorry, please forgive me,’ discussion that he so clearly needed to. Are you joking? It was out of the question.

Mainly because Kirk excelled at that kind of thing, he was like a living, Zen master class in getting people to spill everything out and openly express their emotions. Once they did, then of course, he was on home turf. It would be purely a matter of time before you ended up howling on his shoulder that you still loved him and of course, forgave him everything. Exactly the words that Dawn never would or could bring herself to say again.

So as a precaution, acting on her Mum’s advice, when she first moved out, she’d changed her mobile number and made sure to give it to everyone bar him. Plus back at the flat, Eva was always there to call screen for her and God help Kirk if he called and was on the receiving end of one of Eva’s tongue-lashings.

Their wedding anniversary had come and gone, he’d bombarded the flat with calls and somehow she managed to get through it all by just blanking him out. Or at least, by trying as best she could.

So predictably enough, Kirk’s next step was calling into Earth’s Garden, where she worked. Time and again, Dawn would look up from the till and there he’d be, standing at the door with the big brown eyes boring into hers, just willing her to drop everything and talk to him. That was all he wanted, it seemed, just to talk, just to try and get her back on his side again.

But she was a step ahead of him and had it all pre-choreographed with her pal Sheila, who worked alongside her in the shop. If and when Kirk did show up, then like clockwork and in a trembling quiver, Dawn would immediately leave the shop floor and head upstairs to her little office, while Sheila politely told him that either he could leave now or she could call the cops. Totally his call.

Then, in the past few weeks, he’d taken to writing to her, typical Kirk, via snail mail. So many letters, with her name neatly written in his copperplate handwriting on recycled, carbon neutral envelopes would land on her doormat, she’d lost count. But even though she was only itching to read what was inside and even though it took every last gram of strength she had not to rip open the envelope and have a good look, she’d disciplined herself just to return them unopened. And if nothing else did, then that would bloody well show him.

The man Dawn had married would have been cut to the quick to be deadheaded out of her life like this, but then that was his own tough shite, wasn’t it? He’d hurt her first, he’d humiliated her and left her just this side of becoming a complete basket case and if he wanted someone to blame for the whole sorry mess, he only had himself.

Besides, having a conversation with him was completely pointless and a big waste of everyone’s time. The only reason Kirk was so bloody anxious to talk to her was to make himself feel better. And once he’d wrangled the two magic words ‘I understand,’ out of her, then as far as he was concerned it would be slate wiped clean, the past forgotten and he’d be completely free to move on, while Dawn was supposed to sit happily on the sidelines with a smile plastered on her face.

God Almighty, did he really expect her to make it that easy for him? What kind of a pushover did he take her for anyway?

Worse, even his insane family, the Lennox-Coyninghams had started to move in on her lately.

‘Now I know what’s happened isn’t necessarily the life path you would have chosen for yourself,’ Dessie, Kirk’s Dad had dropped into Earth’s Garden to tell her, all Jesus sandals and stinking of dope. ‘But you must remember, Kirk is like an overflowing vessel of love; always has been. He has so much love to give and this chapter of his new life is the natural expression of that. I really can’t understand why you’re not happy for him.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have time for this,’ Dawn had tried to interrupt, but now that he was here, there was no shutting Dessie up.

‘Besides, what’s so wrong with having an open marriage anyway? Think of the freedom it would give you, when the time comes when you move on and find another partner? It’s the best of all worlds, for both of you! This way you and Kirk can still be together, and yet share all your sexual needs with another … what could be more perfect? Certainly works for Gaia and me.’

‘Then the best of luck to Gaia and you, but I’m afraid I really have to ask you to leave please.’

‘Dawn,’ he said, stopping in his tracks. ‘It may be the last thing you ever hear from me, but I only pray you’ll listen! This is the healthiest and most natural way for any marriage to progress and flourish. You must trust me, I know what I’m talking about.’

It had taken every gram of strength Dawn had left in her not to fling the five-pound bag of lentils she was carrying into his face and only pray it would inflict lasting damage. An open marriage? What did these people take her for anyway?

‘Believe me, it’s the only way,’ were Dessie’s last words to her.

But no, it certainly wasn’t the only way, she thought furiously. You know what was another highly effective route out of this, Dessie?

Divorce, that’s what. So take that and shove it up one of your dope-clogged chakras.

*

Up in her hotel room, Dawn took a moment to glance at the TV, where Sky News was on in the background.

5.56 p.m. Which meant she had exactly four minutes and counting.

She was sitting catatonic on the bed, in a posh hotel room so impressively gorgeous that it was actually more of a suite really. It was super-luxurious with a flat screen telly and a bathroom big enough to throw a party in. Were you in the frame of mind for a party, Dawn thought wryly. If it had just been herself and her sister Eva checking in for a girlie weekend, then of course, somewhere this fancy would be utter bliss. But how was she ever really supposed to relax and enjoy it with a giant knot in her stomach, the size a sailor would use?