The Torn Up Marriage (6 page)

“Bbrrrrrring…”

Oh, Christ! The doorbell. It was seven in the evening. Who the heck was it? Should she go?

The girls were upstairs in their pyjamas, out of the bath, ready for bed.

“Bbrrrrrring…”

Jeez. It might be Michael. She’d better let him in. But why was he ringing the doorbell? Wouldn’t he use his key? Or maybe that would seem wrong after walking out last night.

“Bbrrrrrring…” They were bloody persistent, whoever they were.

Her mother? A friend? Whoever it was, she really,
really
didn’t want to face them, but if the bloody bell went again, then the girls would be down and she’d never get them settled again.

“Okay, coming,” she called.

Kate opened the lock and peered around the doorframe. A man was stood there, dressed in shiny t-shirt, shorts and trainers. It was just into April! Ah, running gear… Graeme, their neighbour.

“Hi,” he smiled. “Michael running tonight?”

Kate must have looked bemused.

“Oh,” Graeme explained, “It’s just, Michael had said he might like to try out the running club… He was thinking of joining. It’s every Wednesday.”

Ah, yes. There’d been some mention of it a couple of weeks ago.

Graeme was in his early forties and worked at the accountants’ in the town, they didn’t know him particularly well, just the usual neighbourly stuff, but he seemed a nice enough bloke. She had heard from Julie, next door, that his wife had left him with the spaniel, no kids and a broken heart. “Michael? Yes, Michael. Sorry, Graeme,” Kate stalled for time. Of course, Graeme wouldn’t know that Michael wasn’t here. “Oh, right, well, he probably didn’t get chance to tell you…He’s away.”

Graeme paced there at the doorstep, trying to keep his warm-up going. “Ah, no worries.” He smiled at her with hazel eyes, kind eyes, yet they looked lonely.

“Yes, sorry, Graeme. He’s away… on business. It was all rather sudden.”

“Ah, okay. I’ll be off, then. Sorry to bother you.”

“ I’ll let him know you called.

He gave a brisk wave as he jogged off down the path. He was tall, rangy, in an athletic kind of way. “Right, I’m off. Just six miles tonight.”

“Have fun.” Kate closed the door.

“Dad-dy?” Em stood halfway down the stairs.

“No, sweetheart, I already said, he’s not home tonight.” Kate managed to draw on a smile. “No, it was Graeme. You know the nice man from over the road.”

Emily screwed her face up quizzically.

“The one with the spaniel,” Kate explained.

“Meggie dog,” Lottie chipped in from the top of the stairs.

Emily’s face broke into a grin, “
Meggie dog
.” She nodded. They liked Graeme. He always let them stroke the dog or give her the biscuits shaped like bones that he kept in his coat pockets. “Oh, ye-ss.” She nodded her head, then her shoulders shrugged back down. It was good, but not as good as Daddy being home.

“Where is he, then?” Lottie again.

“Graeme? Oh, he’s gone. He came to see if Daddy was running. But of course Daddy’s not here. So he’s gone again.”

The girls nodded, absorbing the information.

“Right, come on, then, you two. Back up to your room. Time for bed.” Kate rounded them up and tucked them in to bed.

“So, when
is
Daddy coming home?”

The words hit like a hammer the next morning. Kate looked down at Charlotte’s puzzled face, tried to smile. Already it had been two days. Two days of hidden hell.

Maybe never.

“Oh…uh…soon, sweetheart. Soon.”

What was she meant to say? Until she knew it was absolutely final between them, how could they involve the girls in all this?
But it had already been two days, two nights apart.

It was Friday now, FRIDAY. It had all kicked off Monday night with that bloody phone call. Tuesday, Michael home, the truth out. The hell of Wednesday alone; the fear of him leaving. Him leaving; Wednesday night. Thursday, no-man’s-land, he’d really gone…supposedly for a few days. She’d had a brief phone call last night from him, asking how the girls were, saying he’d arrange to see them soon. He’d wanted to chat with them, but they were already in bed, asleep. Kate thought it better not to disturb them. He’d sounded disappointed, but agreed. He said he’d give them all some space for a short while. Space, huh, the space for her mind to torture her. The space for her to hide from her friends and family, not knowing what to say.

Charlotte, standing in her school uniform, wasn’t buying it, “Well, he’s only just been away, and he
always
talks to us. Has he rung?” Five going on fifteen.

Kate sighed, “Yes, he phoned last night, but it was too late, sweetie. You were asleep. He’s fine. He says he’ll see you soon, okay? Anyway we’d better get you and Emily ready for school.”

“Maybe he’ll ring tonight. Or is he home tonight? He’ll have to be home for the weekend.”

“Yes, probably.”
Ring earlier tonight, you bastard, or come home, even just to see them. It’s not just me you’re hurting.
Kate raised her eyes to heaven for strength, then shouted up the stairs, “Em, are you getting dressed up there? Do you need a hand?”

Her youngest daughter appeared at the top of the stairs, “No socks,” her bare feet curling over the top step.

Socks. Socks. Oh shit, she’d not done any washing since Monday. She took in the debris lying around her in the hall, in the kitchen. Not a lot had been done in the house at all. Cups and plates were mounting up on the side above the dishwasher. She’d managed to feed the three of them somehow with whatever they’d had in the freezer and the cupboards. But she hadn’t dared go back to Sainsbury’s.

“Oh, sorry. Can you just pop yesterday’s on again, Em? I’ll do the washing today. Sorry, petal.”

She’d have to get a grip. Today she’d do the washing, pick up around the house, hoover. It’d stop her moping about anyhow.

Lottie was in the kitchen, putting out the cereal and bowls, finding the milk in the fridge – at least there was still some left. Kate watched. Normally she’d be down there ten minutes before them, setting the table, putting the juice out, making coffee for her and Michael. This was all wrong. The girls weren’t meant to that know anything was different. They weren’t meant to be getting breakfast by themselves. Michael was meant to be here, for Christ’s sake. None of this should be happening at all. Em appeared, old socks on, their browned soles accusing her as she pulled out a chair and climbed up.

“Mu-um, can we go and see Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow?” Charlotte again.

Oh, God, another no-go zone! Her parents had left an answer message yesterday, seeing how they all were. Just the usual, but Kate couldn’t bear to phone them back, to make idle chit-chat, or to have to tell them the truth. How could she possibly see them face to face?

“Umm, maybe, Lottie. Just eat up your Rice Krispies now. We’d better get going. Em are you having milk on those?” Emily was eating dry Coco Pops with her fingers. Kate poured her some milk on, “And use your spoon now, like a big girl, okay?”

“I’d like to see Grandma,” Charlotte chattered on. The girls always got spoilt there, with homemade fairy cakes or those chocolate tea cakes from Marks and Spencer’s with the marshmallow tops. And if they’d been good – which of course they always were – there were small packs of Fudge and Milky Bars in the special sweetie jar.

“Or maybe we could go see Granny Dorothy and Grandad George. Daddy could come along with us then.” They were Michael’s parents.

Did that child never give up?
“We’ll see.” Kate just nodded, knowing there was no way they’d be visiting any of them.

Somehow they got to school and nursery just on time. Kate made minimal small talk with Mel and another of the school-gate Mums, then dashed off in self-defence, making it home for another day where she tried not to cry or tell anyone what was going on. She set to with the housework. She’d have it all straight by the time Emily finished nursery. And tomorrow she’d be up before them and have breakfast ready. Maybe she’d cook pancakes. Real ones. They loved pancakes.

She was in her bedroom. Their bedroom. She ought to change the bedding.

The bedding. Where he had lain with her just days ago. She lifted the duvet, ready to strip the cover off. His smell was still there. They had chosen the bloody duvet set together in the January sales. He’d stood there saying he preferred the plainer coffee-and-cream set, when she’d liked that lovely Kylie Minogue one with its soft-pink satin inlays. The pillowcases even had a sprinkle of diamante on. The little shit. He must have been sleeping with Sophie by then, and he had the nerve to stand there in John-bloody-Lewis making her buy a different set. The one
he
liked. When all the while he must have known he was going to leave her alone in them.

She tore them off the bed. The sheet, the pillow cases, ripped at the duvet cover, its buttons snagging, one popped off. The motion stirring his citrus aftershave, along with the biscuit smell of him, of them together. She stood frozen, then slumped down onto the pile of empty bedding. Tears of fear and failure ran fast and furious down her cheeks. Sobbing into the dirty bedclothes.

Why?
Why?
Why me? Why us? What had she done wrong?

She crushed the smell of him to her. Lay there. She wasn’t sure for how long.

He wasn’t coming back.

Sod it. Sod him. She wiped the last of her tears on a mascara-stained pillowcase and then blew her nose into it. It was all going in the wash anyhow, or maybe even the bin, come to think of it. Yes, the dustbin seemed as good a place as any for it. Save her the ironing. And next time she was in Newcastle she’d buy that bloody Kylie Minogue set for herself.

“Hi, Kate, can you put me on to the girls, please?” He was just about holding it together, there on his mobile, parked up in some lay-by. He’d been for a long drive after work, circling the country lanes between the town and the sea. Thinking and thinking.

And then he’d made his decision. Stopped the car. Had to carry it through.

“Oh,” Kate sounded disappointed that he didn’t want to speak with her.

But he needed to speak to the girls first. There was a rustle, Charlotte, “Hello, Daddy. Where
are
you?” Her annoyance over his missing week scarcely hidden.

“Oh, I’ve just been busy at work.”

“But
when
are you coming home?”

“Ah, soon sweetie.” The lies were getting harder to tell, but he didn’t want to do this over the phone. He was going to arrange to see them on Sunday, tell them face to face, give himself another day to work this out. Think about the words he’d use, how to tell them the truth without alarming them. But, damn, his voice began to crack, “I-I’ll see you soon. Are you alright? Are you being good for Mummy?”

“Of course. Can we go and see Granny and Grandad?”

“Umn,” More people to tell. More lives to unsettle. “Yes, soon.”

“Okay.”

“Well, what have you been doing at school, then?” Back to safer ground.

“Not much. Maths was boring, times tables, over and over and over. But we did music. I’m learning to play the recorder.”

“That sounds good. You’ll have to play me something.”

“When I get my own recorder I can. Mummy’s going to buy me one soon.”

“Okay, great. Can I speak to Emily now?”

“Yep, she’s just here. Em-il-ee, it’s Daddy for you… She’s here. And Daddy, don’t be too long at work will you, because we’ve got to go to bed soon.”

How to explain it would be another whole day before they’d see him? And then after that nothing would be the same for them. Noting his own cowardice, he said nothing. He made a fist out of his hand and bashed his forehead. Then Emily came on.

“Hello, Daddy.”

“Hi, Emmie. Sorry I’ve had such a busy week this week and haven’t seen you much. Have you been okay? What have you been doing?”

Emily struggled to remember, there was a pause. Cars hummed past his vehicle as he looked out across patchwork fields to a thin line of gunmetal sea. “Nurs-ry,” she piped up, “with Jack.” Then she added, “Ooh, and I had dirty socks. None clean.”

“Oh, I see.” That didn’t sound like Kate. What had happened to Mrs Clean and Routine? And then the realisation kicked him.
He
had happened, his shitty behaviour. Letting them all down. His guts churned.

“Well, that’s not so bad, Emmie. I’m sure I’ve gone to work in dirty socks before once or twice.” Most likely in his bachelor days after a heavy night out.

“Weally?”

“Oh, yes, smelly socks were quite the fashion in my day.” What the heck was he blathering on about? But he could hear her giggling down the phone and it made him smile.

“Well, I suppose you’ll be getting ready for bed in a minute. I’ll be back to see you soon. Not tonight, though.” Maybe she’d let Lottie in on the bad news for him. “So be good for Mummy and sleep well.”

“’Kay.”

He heard a bit of a clatter, then Lottie’s voice once more, “Daddy, can you read us
The Gruffalo
when you get back?”

“Sure I can. When I get back.” Another white lie that stuck in his throat. He’d read them
The Gruffalo
a thousand times if they wanted, but he wasn’t coming back, not like she meant, “Can I speak to Mummy now?”

“Okay. Bye then, Daddy.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

“Hello,” Kate’s voice was cool.

“Thanks, I just wanted to have a chat with them before they went off to bed. Look, I’ll call you back later this evening. We can speak properly then, okay? It’s probably not such a good idea with the girls up.”

That sounded ominous.

Just what was he planning on telling her?

She’d drifted about, unable to eat any supper, her appetite missing in action, she couldn’t focus on the television, and even her favourite music: The Script, Maroon Five, Adele, the songs she loved, seemed annoying or just too damned sad. She sensed that this was going to be
the call.
By the time he rang, she’d already been over it all, every possible scenario, and it was always the worst one that stuck.

“Kate…”

Her hand was trembling. Before he could say anything else, she spoke, “It’s over, isn’t it?”