The Ballroom Class (33 page)

‘They’re fine, honestly. Making cakes with Ross.’

‘Oh, Katie, he was so sweet this afternoon. I don’t know what I was thinking  . . .’ Jo’s voice wobbled. ‘Greg’s such a thoughtless bastard, he met us outside playgroup of all places, and Rowan thought he’d come to pick us up and she was so excited, but he hadn’t, and Ross just  . . .’ She swallowed. ‘Ross just took the kids and I knew at least they’d be all right with him.’

Katie heard a terrible in-drawn breath and then, away from the phone, guttural choking noises that were too raw to call sobs.

‘Is he still there?’ she asked, trying to sound calm, though she raged inside at Greg’s cruelty. ‘Are you on your own?’

‘Yes. He’s gone.’

‘Jo, listen, Molly and Rowan can sleep here tonight if you want,’ said Katie, firmly. ‘You can too, come to that. I’m coming over now, OK? Is there anything you need?’

‘Oh God, how am I going to tell
Molly
?’

Her heart broke at the sound of Jo’s gasps. I should have done this hours ago, she thought. God, I’m a rubbish friend as well as a terrible mother.

‘I’ll be there in five minutes,’ said Katie, so Jo didn’t have to reply, and hung up.

Hannah nearly bowled her over, rushing out of the kitchen with something sticky.

‘Mummy, Mummy, have some flapjack!’

Out of habit, Katie was about to swerve to avoid getting Hannah’s syrupy hands on her best suit, but she stopped herself, dropping to her knees so she could wrap her arms around her daughter’s small frame instead, breathing in the little girl smell of her oat-strewn hair. Her arms went round Hannah and back on her own, and she had to stop herself squeezing her right into her chest.

‘I love you, Hannah,’ she said. ‘I really do.’

‘I love you, Mummy,’ said Hannah, rather muffled. ‘More than flapjack.’

Katie drove the two miles to the new estate where the Fieldings lived, trying to think of practical positive things she could do so Jo wouldn’t have to think too much. That was how she coped with major upsets in her life: channel all that energy into doing things, then at least when you fell apart, you didn’t have to worry about the locks being changed, or the post being redirected because it was already done.

She pulled up on the three-car drive, where deep grooves in the gravel suggested that Greg’s BMW had left in a hurry. It was a big house, with large Georgian-style windows and a conservatory, but only one sad little light was on: downstairs, in the children’s playroom. It glowed pink, through the princess curtains.

Katie got out, and crunched her way over to the door, ringing the bell, then stooping to call through the letter box. ‘Jo? Jo, it’s me.’

She drummed her fingers and the door swung open to reveal Jo, her curly hair mad and Medusa-like around her head, her eyes red and swollen with tears.

Quickly, Katie stepped in front of her, so any nosy neighbours wouldn’t see her looking so upset, and guided her indoors.

The hall was exactly as it always was – uncluttered, airy, but the gold-framed family photograph that usually stood on the telephone table had gone, and there were blank, brighter spaces on the wall where the glossy wedding photos had greeted visitors. Katie’s quick surveyor’s eye spotted a dustpan and brush just inside the kitchen, full of broken glass.

‘Oh, Jo, I’m so sorry,’ she said, putting her arms around her friend and hugging her with a sympathy she didn’t trust herself to put into words. Katie felt Jo’s chest shudder up and down as the tears started again beneath her, and held on tighter, resting her chin on her shoulder until they’d subsided.

Dealing with Jo’s pain meant she could ignore her own for another hour, as Jo wept and went silent by turns while Katie made contingency plans.

‘Now, then. Can I make you a cup of tea?’ she said, with brisk kindness. ‘Hot sweet tea. That’s what you need. I could definitely do with some. Come on, come through to the kitchen. Have you had anything to eat?’

‘I don’t want anything.’ Jo slumped, stunned, onto a high stool.

‘A biscuit?’ Katie opened up the fitted cupboards, to find teabags and mugs. Her hand closed on an ‘I love you daddy’ mug, with a baby handprint, and she pushed it to the back.

‘He’s leaving us,’ said Jo, before Katie even had time to work out how to ask. ‘Our marriage has been over for ages, apparently, only I’ve been too wrapped up in family stuff to notice. He’s been trying to drop hints, he says, but you know, stupid me, too tied up with raising his kids.’ She looked at Katie through watery, angry eyes and counted off her fingers. Her hands were wobbling with so much emotion that she had to grab each finger firmly. ‘I’m not the woman he married, he’s fed up with our boring life, I’ve let myself go, I don’t talk to him, I put the kids before him every time, it’s never going to work, and he wants to get out now so he can start again. So
both
of us can start again, sorry,’ she added, bitterly. ‘He’s thinking of me too.’

‘Jo, I’m so sorry.’ Katie poured boiling water onto the tea bags. That sounded really final. Why hadn’t she noticed? What signs had she missed that things were so bad?

Jo had no idea we were going to counselling until I told her, Katie reminded herself. It’s amazing how much you can hide if you don’t want people to know.

‘I didn’t realise you were so unhappy. I wish I’d known.’ Katie bit her lip.

‘Well, neither did I,’ said Jo, bitterly. ‘I’m still  . . . shocked! I mean, Greg was always obsessed with work, even when he had all this, so how he’s got the nerve to tell me now that I wasn’t putting him first, when he’s put his business before everything else  . . .’

That hit a sore spot in Katie, and she reacted automatically. ‘I’m sure he was doing it for you and the kids, Jo.’

‘He didn’t have to tell me I’d turned into a flabby, boring housewife, though!’ she spat, and Katie put the kettle down and hugged her fiercely.

‘You’re not! Of course you’re not! What have you done since he left?’

Jo deflated. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? Well, you have to do
something
. Let’s get the locks changed, for a start, and call your solicitor about where you stand financially. He hasn’t closed any bank accounts, has he?’

She shook her head. ‘He knows I need money for the girls. He wouldn’t do that.’

‘Wouldn’t he?’ Katie grabbed Jo’s shopping notepad and started making a list. ‘Right – solicitor. Locksmith. You drink your tea and I’ll pack up his clothes. In bin bags.’ She tried a smile. ‘I won’t even bother to fold them neatly, either.’

‘Katie, I’m so grateful to you and Ross.’ Jo stood up, wobbled, then sank back down, defeated. ‘You know, you’re so lucky. Ross is the sweetest man I know. Look after him.’

Jo spotted her flinching and pounced at once. ‘What? What’s happened?’

Katie considered not telling her – this was Jo’s hour of need, after all – but she and Ross were going away, he’d tell her anyway.

‘We  . . .’ It stuck in her throat but she made herself say it. ‘We’re having a rough patch. I think it might be a make or break one.’ Katie’s stomach plummeted as she heard the words coming out of her mouth. ‘Last night at counselling – I, I told him we were only still together because of Jack and Hannah.’

Jo covered her mouth with her hand, and above it, her brown eyes were round with surprise and horror. ‘Katie!’ Her hair bounced as she shook her head in disbelief. ‘I mean, I know you were having counselling, but I thought things were better, Ross seemed so much
happier
at dancing and he told me that  . . .’

She paused, as if aware she’d said too much, and Katie looked more closely at her, suddenly angry that Ross had been discussing their problems with her.

‘He told you what?’

Jo pressed her lips together. ‘Katie, I’m not taking sides between you and Ross. You know that.’

‘I’m not asking you to! What’s he said?’ Katie resisted the temptation to add, ‘You’re meant to be my friend,’ but only just.

Jo seemed to be struggling with herself, but suddenly it burst out of her with an emotion that took Katie aback. ‘He hasn’t said
anything
, because he’s incredibly loyal to you, but don’t you realise how hard it is for him sometimes? Looking after children is
exhausting
, and
difficult
, and you never feel like you’re doing it right, even when you are! I know how he feels! And then you come home and give him a hard time about stuff that doesn’t really matter, when what he deserves is a bloody medal. He’s the only dad at the playgroup and he’s managed very well, but he’s lonely! He feels like you’re only interested in your career, and the house, and the kids – not him. You make him feel as if he’s let you down.’

I
make him feel
– he must have said all that, thought Katie, picturing the sad ‘poor me’ look on Ross’s face as he moaned about his rotten stay-at-home life. How else would Jo know? The betrayal felt like a punch.

She’s just getting how Greg made her feel out of her system, Katie told herself, don’t take it personally. But she couldn’t stop herself snapping back.

‘And he’s whined about that, has he? Don’t you think you’re just getting one side of the story?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, get some perspective!’ Jo retorted. ‘Greg has screwed up our whole family by acting like a selfish bastard, never thinking about talking to me first. And I’m trying to stop you doing the same bloody thing.’

Katie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Stop!’ she hissed. ‘You have no idea what Ross is like at home!’

‘I know he’s a good man!’

‘And you think I don’t know that?’

‘Obviously not.’

There was a weird atmosphere in the kitchen, as if the room was filling up with misery and panic and change, like poison gas swirling around.

Jo said nothing, but just shook her head, and the passionate, angry words that had tumbled out of her moments before hung in the air between them.

It’s your fault. You pushed him away. You took him for granted.

Someone else would appreciate him, would look after him.

Someone  . . . like Jo?

No, thought Katie.
No
.

‘If I’m being honest with you, Katie,’ Jo said, ‘I’ve never
ever
seen this drippy, selfish, victim Ross that you’re always moaning about. He’s practical, and positive, and one of the best parents I know. All the mums love him. It is
hard
being the one stuck at home with the kids, losing your own personality while you do nothing but heat things up and change shitty nappies! It’s like you’re determined to see such negative things in him!’

‘Let’s not talk about me and Ross now, OK?’ said Katie. She was trying hard to not yell at Jo, not right now, but she was definitely going too far now. ‘Let’s focus on you.’

‘Oh  . . . God.’ Jo sank back onto her chair, drained of all energy. With a last effort, she said, ‘Look, it’s not for me to get involved. I care about you both, I love the kids. But if you could just take a step back. If you don’t love him any more, then fine. Just don’t try to make out it’s all his fault. It’s not fair.’

Jo just doesn’t understand, thought Katie, and suddenly she felt very, very lonely. And then she felt mean, because everything Jo had just said was probably what she’d wanted to say to Greg, if she hadn’t been in shock.

To block it out, her brain shifted into practical, coping mode. ‘Do you still want to go to Center Parcs?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t feel up to it.’

‘No, it’ll be good for the children,’ said Jo. ‘And me. If Ross is going, I’ll get some time on my own, to think.’ She looked up at Katie, and Katie could see how much of an effort she was making to hold herself together. ‘Should give you a chance to think as well.’

‘I’ll clear Greg’s stuff out while you’re gone if you want.’ Katie wanted to be helpful. She was too weary to be angry at Jo, even if she was missing the point. What good would it do to repeat all the stuff about work pressure? She’d only sound like Greg. ‘He is moving out, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ said Jo. ‘He didn’t say where, some hotel I should think.’ She paused. ‘What about Ross? Does he want to leave?’

There was something about the way Jo said it that made the situation begin to seem sharper-edged to Katie: Ross packing his jeans and T-shirts away, taking his CDs, emptying the bookshelves of his design books, explaining to the children where Daddy was going, and why  . . .

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We haven’t got that far yet.’

The phone rang in the hall, making them both freeze.

‘I don’t want to speak to Greg right now,’ said Jo quietly.

‘OK.’

‘You really do have a good marriage, Katie,’ she went on, awkwardly. ‘Don’t mistake a rough patch for the end. I’m not being a bitch for fun. I mean,’ she twisted her mouth up wryly, ‘if I were a real bitch I’d be encouraging you to walk out, so we could all be bloody miserable together.’

She hugged herself, squeezing her own soft arms as if she’d never feel comforted again.

‘I know,’ said Katie, getting up off her stool. ‘Come here.’