The Torn Up Marriage (27 page)

“Well, I think a hot chocolate is called for. With cream and marshmallows,” Kate announced.

“Ye–es.” “Mmnn.”

Maybe they could get the craft stuff out this afternoon, let the girls make some paper chains and Christmas cards. She might even go the whole hog and dig out the Festive CDs. Why not? Give the pair of them a nice time, they surely deserved it; only two more days left to go. They were going to pop in and see Dorothy and George tomorrow, and then they might go for a walk or something, perhaps borrow Meggie dog again. Graeme had let them take her out last week for a stroll. Things had got a little easier between him and Kate, though he hadn’t accepted the offer to go with them, guessing that Kate was maybe just being polite. It had gone down well. The girls adored Meggie and fussed her. They should get her a bone or something, really, find a treat for her at the supermarket. Oh, but it’d be chaos there by now, a barrage of trolleys and turkeys. Yes, she was usually there along with all the others, circling for spaces in the car park, and then, huge list in hand, trawling the aisles, buying far too much food and drink for what was, in fact, just two days. She hadn’t even bothered to make a list this year; Mum was doing the roast, so they really didn’t need a lot – a Boxing Day buffet for three and a few nibbly bits. She might just nip to the Co-op on the corner later, a bottle of Baileys, couple of tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and a big box of Quality Street – what more could she possibly need? She wondered if the Chinese takeaway might be open Boxing Day evening? The girls were going to Michael’s mid-afternoon that day, and she’d be on her own again, but it’d be okay. By then it’d all be over, the main event done and dusted. She stifled a sigh. Normally she wanted Christmas to last for ever, loved the whole thing, but now she couldn’t wait to see the back of it. But she’d not show that to the girls, of course. She was determined not to spoil it for them and went to dig out the craft box, going at it head on with the gusto of an accomplished actress.

The act was failing by the girls’ bedtime. She’d managed to coax them into their beds by eight o’clock, but they were far too excited from a day full of festive preparations and the thought of only “three more sleeps to go” to settle. Exhaustion finally crept over them after three bedtime stories and a mug of hot milk each, the clock now approaching nine-thirty. Kate had reached the knackered stage a good hour before them, her story voice nearly lulling
herself
off. She was at the point of reaching for the junior Night Nurse, desperate measures she knew, but guilt hit; there wasn’t a sign of a sniffle between them.

Downstairs, she poured herself a small glass of red wine and slumped down on the sofa. She hadn’t bothered to re-set the fire, so stared at grey ash in the hearth, got up and swapped the festive CD for something more relaxed, finding Adele’s “21” in the rack. Her thoughts drifting back to last Christmas as she sat back down; she and Michael still very much a couple then, or so she had thought, believing that the world was theirs, and that Christmas was a time to celebrate…Or maybe,
he
hadn’t been thinking that at all, maybe as they sat cosy together by the log fire, he’d been planning his escape and thinking of Sophie. She stared at the three stockings hanging sadly there, the fourth hook empty. Then bloody Adele started up with “Someone Like You”, and the tears were ready, still hungry for her soul. She bit them back.

She made it through to Christmas Eve. She and the girls had been to visit Dorothy and George the day before, who smiled and greeted them warmly, saying they were doing okay, but the silk scarf around Dorothy’s head and the dark bags under her eyes told their own story. They’d dropped Michael’s stocking off at the flat on the way back. Charlotte going to the door, whilst Kate stood back watching, feeling her heart ache as Michael popped his head out of his new threshold, looked across at her with a small smile and mouthed “Thanks”. She heard him ask dutifully if they wanted to come in, but she couldn’t face that, seeing their love-nest, having to make small talk in the Poisoned Palace over coffee. She was relieved to hear Charlotte saying they had to get back home, Mummy had lots to do; she’d been primed.

Now sitting on a cold wooden pew at the Christmas Eve Christingle service, lined up next to Mel and Kevin; the children gathered around the crib at the front of the church. Kate wasn’t a regular church-goer by any means, but there was something that drew you there from time to time, especially at this time of year, to remember what Christmas was meant to be about, not just the presents and the glut of food. Something about the solemnity and solidity of the place that made you want to seal your wedding vows there, and funerals, christenings, the rituals of life and death. The vicar was addressing the children directly, asking questions about the roles of the shepherds, the kings and such like. She felt a little nudge in the ribs, Mel passed her a small carrier bag, but warned, “Don’t look in it till later on. It is meant for tonight, though. And whatever you do, don’t let the girls see, okay?”

“Okay.” She placed it down by her feet. Itching to have a peek inside. Her curiosity was piqued.

The service over, the vicar shaking their hands at the back of the church, wishing them all a Merry Christmas and then they were outside. Hugs and kisses and the offer of a place to go should she need it from Mel, followed by, “Happy Christmas, sweetheart. You be sure to have a fantastic time.” Kate replying, “Thanks. You all have a lovely time, too. Hope Santa’s good to you.” The children wide-eyed and chattering, their breath frosty in the evening air. The stars in the sky setting themselves brightly for this magical night. The three of them on the short walk home, hands hugging through mittens and woolly gloves. A supper of cheese on toast with a cup of tea. Bath time, story time, she read them
The Night Before Christmas
, a Christmas Eve ritual, and wondered if they were missing their Daddy, who would normally be the one reading it.

“Goodnight, petal.” She kissed and hugged Emily first.

“Night, sweetheart.” Lottie next. Their hugs seemed tighter than usual.

“Sweet dreams. And remember, if you don’t get to sleep, he won’t come.”

They nodded earnestly.

“Night, night, Mummy,” they chorused.

And she smiled, as her heart ached.

By some miracle they settled fairly quickly, no doubt afraid to get out of their beds, in case it kept the Main Man away – he who was even more revered than the Lord God Almighty of earlier. Kate heard whispered chatter, but even that stopped after 20 minutes or so. Peeking around the bedroom door just a half hour later, they appeared to be sound asleep.

She busied herself for the next hour with last-minute gift-wrapping and stocking-filling. As she was making herself a cup of tea in the kitchen (she’d decided to keep well clear of the booze tonight), she remembered the carrier bag from Mel that she’d popped in the under-stairs cupboard, out of the girls’ sight, thinking it would be something for them. She took it to the lounge and sat with the white tree lights on, and the backdrop of the coal fire glowing. She pulled out a lovely bottle of bath oil, some champagne truffles from the “Chocolate Spa” in the town, some novelty reindeer earrings, and a posh candle that she’d spotted and loved the scent of in the craft shop the night she and Mel had gone Christmas shopping, but decided was a bit extravagant to get for herself. And there she was, crying away again, but this time she was happy, clutching a note that said, “Merry Christmas, Kate. These are your stocking fillers. X” And though it would be hard having to see Michael in the morning and then watching him go again, she felt she’d get through tomorrow okay. She could do it, and she’d plaster a bloody smile on her face, too.

“Mummy, Mummy. He’s been!”

Kate’s just woken mind clutching at the words, who’d been? Had Michael come and gone already? Had she slept through it all?

“He’s
weally
been,” Emily’s voice was lisping with excitement in her ear.

Kate glanced through half-closed eyes at the digital clock, there by the bed, the rest of the room in darkness; 5:28am. Oh, Good Lord! There was only one person it could possibly be that early Christmas morning, the Almighty Santa Claus.

“Wow, Em, that’s great.” She tried to sound enthusiastic. There was no chance of snoozing off again now. Not today. “Okay, Em, just let me get my dressing gown on and I’ll come straight through.” Kate shuffled into slippers and reached for her towelling robe. As she stepped out of bed it was freezing, but of course the central heating wouldn’t have come on yet. The light in the girls’ room was bright, Charlotte tearing into goodies from the stocking, which had magically been delivered to the end of her bed. Gold and silver chocolate coin wrappers were strewn over the covers, cocoa smudges tellingly smeared across her lips. The only day of the year she could get away with eating sweets before dawn. But her grin was wide and infectious and made Kate smile as she sat down at the end of her bed. She looked across at Emily opening her stocking carefully, as though it was the most precious thing, and saw that the end of her bed was empty, another space Michael had left in their lives. So she gave Charlotte a hug, and then moved to the end of Emily’s bed to watch her open her gifts, eyes wide at a soft toy reindeer, bubble bath, Miss Kitty lunch box and pencil case for nursery, and peppermint candy canes, amongst other things.

And however hard it was to sit in that space he had left, it was still magical to see the girls’ faces, lit by the glow of the bedside lamp and sheer excitement. The main presents were still under the tree, the labelled ones from Granny and Grandad Armstrong, Uncle Dan and Aunt Sally, Mel and some other friends, even Graeme had popped a parcel in for them, the sweetheart. They were going to wait until Daddy was here to open those ones. The bottom of both stockings had been probed, prodded and found empty, so Kate thought she’d go and make a cup of tea, take it back upstairs and see if there was any chance of snuggling back down in her own bed for a short snooze, no doubt with the girls in beside her. Was that just too much of a Christmas miracle to ask? Probably.

The snooze did not materialise, just a three-in-the-bed bounce-around, filled with elbow digs, chatter and giggles. Kate lasted an hour, holding them off from going downstairs for a while longer at least. She’d turned the tree lights on when she’d gone down to make her tea, and when they all headed down at six-thirty, it all glowed and twinkled, and Lottie gasped at the gifts stacked there. Kate was cajoled into allowing them one gift each before Daddy got there, which probably wouldn’t be till nine-ish, still two and a half hours. She hoped there was some good television on, maybe a Christmas film. There was always a Christmas film to fall back on.

She let them open Graeme’s gifts. They both had a soft toy dog, one brown like Meggie dog, the other golden. He’d dropped the parcels round the other evening. Kate had asked him in, but he didn’t have time to stop, was going off down to his sister’s for a few days, spending Christmas catching up with family in Yorkshire. They chatted for a while. It was an easy, pleasant, no-hard-feelings kind of talk. He gave her a small kiss on the cheek and started walking off down the path. And then he paused, looking thoughtful as he spoke. “I bumped into Michael the other day, at the gym. It’s easier running inside on the treadmill these dark nights,” he explained, “Anyway, he didn’t seem himself. I think the penny’s finally dropped; he’s realised what an idiot he’s been. I could have told him that on day one. He said he misses you and the kids.”

“Oh,” Kate wasn’t sure what to say. She knew it must have been hard for Graeme to tell her that, as though he was giving back his last chance of having her for himself. But as far as Michael was concerned, it was all too little too late. “Well, he’s made his own bed there, Graeme, the day he walked out,“ she said bitterly, “Anyway, he can talk as much as he likes, but he’s still with her.”

“Ah, I see. I didn’t realise. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“It’s okay.” None of this was Graeme’s fault. She knew she shouldn’t be brusque with him. He’d been a good friend. “Anyway, you have a lovely Christmas with your family.”

“Yeah, thanks. And
you
have a good time, and the girls… I know it’ll maybe not be easy.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the gifts for them, that’s really kind.” She walked out to him and gave him a hug, more as friends, but with a warmth that came from knowing that painful place where they had both been and found shelter together.

“When’s Daddy coming?” Emily’s voice brought her back to the here and now.

“Ooh, well still a couple of hours yet. You two were up at the crack of dawn. But it’ll not seem too long, really. I’ll make us some pancakes for breakfast and we’ll see what’s on the telly, shall we?” He was probably opening his special gifts with Sophie right now, she mused, having Christmas-morning sex and champagne. They’d done that in their early child-free years. She got up and headed for the kitchen, taking out the milk and eggs and flour, driving the thoughts away with activity. There was no point going there.

“He’s here. He’s here.” Charlotte flew to the door, Em fast on her heels. The two of them had been loitering by the front window, one each side of the Christmas tree, for the past half hour. Luckily, he was earlier than he’d said. The girls were almost as excited as when good old Santa had made it. And Michael was almost as loaded up with gifts. Kate smiled, but felt a lump lodge in her throat, too.

What a morning he’d just put in. It was a relief to pull up at the house. But this surely wouldn’t be easy, either.

He’d bought Sophie an expensive watch and some Dior perfume, but had a feeling from the look on her face that it somehow that wasn’t quite good enough or what she was expecting. But that was no surprise, really. After all, none of it felt good enough any more, did it? She might have raised a smile if it had been signed divorce papers and an engagement ring she’d unwrapped.

Sophie had presented him with cufflinks, expensive-looking ones in a purple velvet padded box. He tried to look delighted, all the while thinking, rather ungraciously he realised – cufflinks, who the hell wore cufflinks any more? He’d wear a dress shirt maybe once a year, to the races or something. There was also a Hugo Boss pullover all wrapped up with strings and bows. That was nice and he’d dutifully put it on. (He was also wearing the too-snug M & S Y-fronts he’d unwrapped from his mother, though he usually preferred boxer shorts. They felt very middle-aged.) Anyway, he’d smiled and thanked Sophie with a kiss; she’d probably spent a small fortune, and the cufflinks were nice, a grey kind of pearly look set on silver, maybe platinum.