Me and My Sisters (31 page)

I lifted her on to my lap and kissed her cheek. ‘Well, the good news is that Mummy won’t be going away for a long time.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Because Mummy has realized that she’d much rather stay at home with you.’

‘Hurrah. Is Daddy going to be at home lots like he is now too?’

‘I think so, yes.’

She threw her arms around my neck. ‘Oh, Mummy, that’s the best news ever.’

I hid my face in her hair so she wouldn’t see me crying.

28

Julie

Not long after my birthday fiasco, I was driving the boys to school.

‘Is Daddy still in enormous trouble for forgetting it was your big birthday?’ Luke asked.

‘Yes, he is.’

‘But he said sorry loads of times,’ Leo reminded me. ‘When we say sorry we’re not in trouble any more.’

‘Well, Daddy was very bold and I’m still cross.’

‘But, Mummy, you’ve been cross for ages,’ Liam said.

‘And he brought you a cake and candles and a present,’ Luke pointed out.

‘I know, but I was very sad because everyone forgot and I had my party dress on and no party to go to. If everyone forgot your birthday you’d be annoyed too.’

‘Are you going to be cross for lots more time?’ Leo wondered.

‘Probably.’

‘For infinity time?’ Luke asked.

‘Not quite.’

‘For infinity four hundred and fifty times?’ Liam wanted to know.

I knew this would go on for hours until we got up to infinity trillion zillion, so I decided to change tack. ‘Would you like me to stop being cross with Daddy? Is that a good idea?’

‘YES!’ they cried.

‘OK, then, I’ll try.’

When I got home, I decided to vacuum the previous three days’ crumbs off the kitchen floor. I had been on a post-birthday housekeeping strike – but all it had done was allow the mess, which I’d eventually have to clean, to build up. I was making good headway when the phone rang. I picked my mobile up and realized it wasn’t ringing. I looked around and found Harry’s hidden under the newspaper on the kitchen table.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that Julie?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Dick Fogarty here.’ Dick was Harry’s boss.

‘Hi, Dick, I’m afraid Harry’s left his phone at home.’

‘Did he leave on time this morning, Julie? He’s late for a meeting and I just wanted to make sure he was on the way.’

‘He left forty minutes ago. He should be there by now. Is it a meeting about the big project?’

‘What project?’

‘The new programming your department’s been working so hard on.’

‘Um … I’m, eh, not sure what you mean – Oh, speak of the devil, Harry’s just arrived.’ I could hear my husband’s voice, apologizing for being late, saying that the traffic had been awful due to the rain.

‘I’ll let you go, Julie,’ Dick said. ‘Sorry to bother you. Oh, hold on, Harry wants a word.’

Harry sounded very hassled. ‘I can’t believe I left my phone at home. I’m so stupid. Please turn it off the minute you hang up. Switch it off and leave it somewhere where the kids can’t get it. No one is to touch it – no one, not you or the kids.’

‘OK, chill out. Hey, Harry, how come Dick doesn’t –’

‘Julie, I have to go. I’m late.’

I hung up and felt something shift inside me. I had wanted to ask Harry how it was possible that Dick didn’t know anything about his big project when Harry had told me it was a department thing. How could his boss be totally unaware of it?

I looked at Harry’s phone. He had been very stressed and distracted lately. Maybe there was no project. Maybe he was in trouble in work. Maybe he was sick. Dying? Or … maybe he was having – NO! I must not jump to conclusions. But what if he was – STOP! Don’t think bad thoughts. Harry wouldn’t, couldn’t, daren’t … would he?

I needed to think about this. I grabbed Tom and plonked him down in front of the TV. With wobbly legs I went back into the kitchen and stared at the phone. This was Harry. My Harry – reliable, loving, caring, family-man Harry. How could I be suspicious of him? Harry was my rock, my soul-mate, my husband, my best friend. Harry would never do anything to hurt me. He protected me, looked after me, made me feel safe. How could I doubt him? I would turn the phone off and put it away.

I picked it up. My hands were trembling. Don’t do it, I told myself. I stared at the phone. It was no good. I had to look. I had to see for myself that nothing was going on.

With shaking fingers I opened his text messages. Most of them were from me, telling him how selfish he was for forgetting my birthday. But then I found one sent on the day of my birthday from a foreign number: U have 2 cum & c me in Paris. U cant put off telling ur wife any more. Christelle.

I screamed and dropped the phone.

Tom came waddling in from the TV room. He picked up the phone and handed it to me. ‘Tank uuuu,’ he gurgled. ‘Mama, tank uuuuu,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

He looked at me quizzically, then padded back to his cartoons.

Who the bloody hell was Christelle? An affair? Harry? How could this happen? How could this be possible? I could feel my chest tightening – Jesus Christ, I was having a heart attack. I took a deep breath, tried to calm down. I mustn’t jump to conclusions. I needed more evidence. I opened the sent menu on the phone. Harry had replied to her message at eight thirty on the night of my birthday: I really do want to see you. I promise I will come asap. I just need to find the right time to tell my wife.

I stuffed my fist into my mouth to stifle the wail. I didn’t want to scare Tom. There was no project. Harry, my Harry, was having an affair with some slut called Christelle who lived in Paris. How the hell did he meet her? Who was she? How long had it been going on?

I scrolled down through his other messages, but he had deleted everything up to a few days ago. I covered my face with my hands and tried to gather my thoughts. How long had Harry been behaving strangely? Three months? Four? What had happened around that time? Oh, my God, it had started around the time I went to London for Clara’s birth. He must have met Christelle that weekend. But how? Where? He’d told me he hadn’t gone out, that he’d stayed at home with the kids. But he was obviously out and about chatting up slappers called Christelle. Had he slept with her? Was he in love with her? Was he going to leave me? Oh, my God, he was going to leave me destitute with four kids.

NO! There was no way he was leaving the kids with me. If Christelle wanted him, she was getting the triplets too. I wondered how long the romance would last once she realized Harry was bringing three hyper boys with him. The
bastard
. How could he do this to me? I was his wife! I had given him four beautiful sons. I had been with him through thick and thin. If anyone should be planning on leaving, it should be me. I’d put up with salary cuts and raising four boys on my own with no help … making ten euros stretch a mile … never complaining, well, not all the time … constantly telling him money didn’t matter, I loved him anyway … that he was a great dad and husband … that we’d ride out the storms … things would pick up. And he’d had the audacity to go out and meet some French whore while I was helping my sister give birth.

I was shaking with rage and shock. I needed a drink. I opened the fridge and took a glug of wine. I should have known she’d be French. Harry always went on about how Juliette Binoche was so good-looking, but then he used to say I looked like her with curly hair. I used to say, ‘Yeah, with curly hair and two extra stone,’ and we’d laugh. Bastard!

There was a knock on the door. I jumped. It was Marian. I closed the fridge and composed myself. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I was going to keep this to myself until I had sorted it out in my head. No one was going to find out.

She came in. ‘Sorry, did I give you a fright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Harry’s having an affair with a French tart called Christelle.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘There is no project. The two-faced bastard has been lying to me.’

‘I think I’m having a stroke.’

‘How do you think
I
feel?’ I sobbed.

Marian came over and hugged me. ‘Tell me everything.’

Through hysterical tears I told her about the phone call with Dick and showed her the texts.

‘I never would have thought it of Harry,’ she said. ‘He’s mad about you. He’s always going on about how great you are. He thinks you rock.’

‘Well, apparently he doesn’t any more,’ I bawled. ‘He’s off chasing French women. How could he do this to me? We’re happy – OK, we fight a lot about the kids and sleep deprivation, but we do love each other. At least, I thought we did. Was I wrong? Have I been fooling myself? Oh God, oh God, oh God … what am I going to do?’ I began to hyperventilate.

Marian handed me a paper bag. ‘Blow into it, slowly, it’ll help your breathing. Now, listen to me. That man loves you. I’ve seen you guys together, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He definitely loves you. Maybe it was just a one-night stand and she’s stalking him.’

‘But he says he really wants to see her and he promises he’ll come to Paris. It doesn’t sound like he’s being stalked. It sounds like he’s mad keen. How did this happen? How could I be happily married one minute and not the next? He obviously can’t stop thinking about her, he was texting her on the night he forgot my bloody birthday.’

‘Breathe.’ Marian put the bag up to my face as I began to panic again. ‘We need a stiff drink.’

While I paced up and down, breathing into the bag, Marian proceeded to make extra-strong brandy-coffees.

‘Where did he meet this whore?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, but I think it must have been the weekend I went to London, because he started acting weirdly shortly after that.’

Marian took a sip of her coffee. ‘I just don’t see it. Harry isn’t the type. He’s a real family man – he loves you guys. He never looks at other women. He never comments on other women. He thinks you’re the best thing since liposuction.’

I sniffed into my mug. ‘Maybe it’s because we haven’t been having much sex. I often brush him off when he wants it, but it’s only because I’m so tired all the bloody time. Is it my fault? Did I make him go looking for sex elsewhere?’

‘Sex,’ Tom gurgled. He had come back in to see what all the shouting and crying was about.

‘Fuck that. Harry has no right or reason to go dipping it where it doesn’t belong. I don’t care how little he was getting at home. Listen, Julie, after I had Ben, Greg got no action for five months. Eventually he said he thought it was going to fall off from lack of use, so I gave him one. They think it’s about them, about us not wanting to have sex with them – they don’t get it. It’s not about them at all. It’s about us being too exhausted to brush our teeth, never mind have sex. The other night Greg was all about the foreplay – forget about it, I told him, just get on with it and let me go to sleep.’

‘But maybe if I had made more of an effort to keep him satisfied, he wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. All the books say you shouldn’t neglect your sex life.’

‘You’re not neglecting it. It’s just slowed down a bit. I told Greg that when I get one week of uninterrupted sleep I’ll give him a blow-job. I haven’t had three consecutive nights in five years.’

‘I feel the same way – but look at what’s happened. Harry’s sleeping with someone else – some sexy French girl with lacy underwear and pert boobs and cellulite-free thighs who isn’t tired all the time.’

‘That does not make you responsible. It just makes him a prick.’

‘Pick.’ Tom bustled over to me. I picked him up and cuddled him.

‘You need to find out more,’ Marian said.

‘I could ask the triplets what happened that weekend, if Harry went out,’ I suggested.

‘Great idea. Milk them for information. Kids only learn to lie when they’re six.’

I suspected I was over the alcohol limit and shouldn’t have picked up the triplets that day – the brandy-coffees had been very potent. When the boys had climbed in and put their seatbelts on I began my interrogation.

‘Boys, you remember the weekend Mummy went to London to help Louise when she was having the baby?’

‘No,’ Leo said.

‘What baby?’ Luke asked.

‘Who’s Louise?’ Liam looked confused.

‘Your auntie Louise, Mummy’s sister.’

‘The one we only see at Christmas, who gives us the crap presents?’ Luke wondered.

‘Don’t say “crap”,’ I scolded. ‘Yes, that’s Louise. Anyway, do you remember when I went away with Tom for two sleepies and Daddy was looking after you?’

‘No,’ Leo said.

‘Did Daddy buy us sweeties?’ Luke asked.

‘I thought Sophie was your sister.’ Liam was finding it hard to work out the family tree.

‘Sophie is my sister and Gavin is my brother and Louise is my other sister.’

‘Who’s your mummy?’ Liam asked.

‘Granny is Mummy’s mummy,’ Luke told him.

‘Who’s Granny’s mummy?’ Liam wanted full disclosure.

‘My great-granny.’

‘Why was she so great? Did she buy you lots of sweeties?’ Luke’s obsession with sweets continued.

‘No – look, can we just forget about sisters and grannies for a minute? Do you remember when Daddy was on his own with you for a weekend and he let you watch lots of TV and eat pizza?’

‘Oh, yeah, I remember the pizza.’ Leo’s brain finally caught up.

‘Did we get sweeties after the pizza?’ Luke asked.

‘Jesus, Luke, I don’t know. But I want to ask you if you can remember if Daddy went out and left you alone that weekend. Did a babysitter come and put you to bed?’

‘I dunno.’ Leo shrugged.

‘What babysitter?’ Liam asked. ‘Gloria? I like Gloria. She sometimes gives us sweeties.’

I tried to remain calm. ‘OK, listen to me carefully. When Daddy was taking care of you when Mummy went away, did he go out and leave you with a babysitter or did he stay in and put you to bed himself?’

‘Where did you go?’ Leo asked.

‘Mummy, why do you ask so many questions? I’ve got a headache,’ Liam grumbled.

‘Me too,’ Luke said. ‘Sweeties are good for headaches.’

I thumped the steering-wheel in frustration. Sherlock Holmes could rest easy: my triplets were not going to be taking his place any time soon.