The Torn Up Marriage (9 page)

“The hardest thing to do is watch the one you love, love someone else.”

Anonymous

“We’re in!” He pushed wide the white-painted front door. “It’s ours. It’s really bloody well ours!”

They bounced together like a couple of kids in the empty hallway. Then she was in his arms being swung around.

At last! All those months of house-hunting, offers, mortgage applications, solicitors, the problems with the chain further down the line, the crisis when the old lady nearly pulled out on them. This house seemed like a dream they were never going to achieve. But here they were, the proud owners of No. 6 Percy Walk, a lovely stone townhouse on the edge of Alnwick.

Michael set her down to the floor again, but still held her hand, the key in his grasp, within hers, too. Grins plastered onto their faces. The furniture van was due to arrive shortly.

“Come on, Kitty.”

He led her around the downstairs rooms, one by one. The lounge with its big bay window overlooking the street and Victorian tiled fireplace, the rear dining area with French doors that opened onto the walled garden – walls of the same honey-grey stone as the house, roses rambling and weeds crouching at their base. The garden was in need of some TLC, admittedly. But it had potential, and plenty of shrubs and grass that would easily tidy up. It was a family home, a family garden – a place to start their family.

Back out to the hall. They dashed on into the kitchen, where he pressed her to him against the units, his body firm, animated. They laughed, then he kissed her, full on the mouth. She pulled apart just a little, surprised by the passion of it, caught his eyes, which were smiling mischievously. Then she drew back in again, their lips slower now, hers welcoming his.

“Well, then, Mrs Armstrong. Welcome to your new home!”

“Well, thank you, Mr Armstrong.”

“To the garden or upstairs?”

Katie felt almost tipsy as she grasped his hand in answer and led him upwards. The stairs creaked here and there as they skipped them in twos. They investigated the bathroom, the small third bedroom, a large double and then paused in an even larger double, the one that looked over the back garden. She had already decided on an earlier visit that this would be theirs. Yes, she could picture their queen-size bed there and the new duvet covers and curtains she had yet to pick. Something simple, white cotton maybe, with an embroidered trim. She stood alone looking out of the window for a few seconds, watching a tabby cat lying high on the wall, sunning himself, imagining the tulips and lupins she might plant in the borders. Michael had stopped in the smallest bedroom, still wondering which room might be best as an office space.

His breath then tickled the back of her neck. His body so very close behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder to look out at the garden, too. His arms snuggling around her.

“It’s really ours, isn’t it,” she whispered, still finding it hard to believe. “I love it. It feels so right.”

“Our room, do you think?” his tone was mellow, sexy.

“Yep, definitely.”

He was behind her, pressing close. “Then I think it needs christening.” He began nuzzling her neck provocatively.

He didn’t mean right now, surely? “But the removals men could be here any minute…” her voice weakened as his lips moved to the base of her ear lobe, kissing it gently, then she felt it tug ever so softly between his teeth. His voice teasing, husky, “Minutes is fine by me…”

She turned to face him. He clasped his hands around her buttocks, pulling her to him. Her body responded in spite of herself, pressed hard against his erection.

A yearning for him warmed within. God, she wanted him. Right here. Right now.

Their lips locked together, pressing, twisting. The salty-sweet taste of him. She unbuttoned his shirt, in a rush of fingers and fumbles.

He pulled her jumper off over her head. Nestled his head between her breasts as he expertly found the hooks of her bra and released them, revealing her breasts. He gently licked a nipple, sending a dart of pleasure between her thighs. She sighed, pulled at his belt, undoing the waistband of his jeans, feeling the heat of him through his boxer shorts, his hardness beneath her fingertips. He pulled them off in a rush as she flung her own lacy panties aside.

“I love you, Kitty.” He pulled her close to him.

“I love you,” her voice a whisper.

Naked, together, in a bare room.

The carpet was soft under her thighs, her back. It was a mossy-green colour – they had changed it for a new one since. She had wondered then, if the old lady had had a husband, if they had ever made love on the floor of their bedroom on that green carpet? Had they had a family? Had their children been conceived there?

And then she was lost to his entering her. Michael’s beautiful body bearing down on her, strong yet tender. The warm, deep gliding, filling her with his love. She gave herself to him, losing the thread of all her thoughts to a blur of passion, his groan close to her ear, as he came. The release of his muscles above her, as he moved to rest gently on his forearms, brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead. The blood still pumping through their chests, pressed together.

A slow grin spread across her face.

A sharp toot outside. The horn of a lorry.

“Oh shit!” He withdrew hastily and leapt up.

Kate laughing, still lying there.

“The removals!”

How come she can remember all this? And yet, she can hardly remember what she did yesterday?

She liked to think that that was the day when Charlotte had been conceived. It was about six weeks afterwards when she realised she might be pregnant. Funny how she can remember it all in such detail, down to the feel of that carpet on her back. The wide grin on his face as he scrambled back into his clothes… A time when he loved her. She wasn’t just imagining it.
When did that go? How can that love just go?

He was still tucking the back of his shirt into his jeans as he opened the door, the buzzer having gone twice. She flattened her hair with her hands and crushed the guilty grin that threatened to break out across her face, as Michael revealed the burly middle-aged man at their threshold.

“Thought we’d beaten you to it for a minute there.” The removals man smiled through stained, gappy teeth.

“Oh, no,” Michael replied.

Kate pursed her lips to stop her giggling. She’d hoped desperately there wasn’t a giveaway damp patch on the carpet as the men in overalls unloaded the queen-size bed into their room just ten minutes later.

And here she was, in their bed, in that bedroom, suspended a foot or so above the very spot where they made love, and she found that she was crying yet-a-bloody-again.

She placed a hand gently across the small rise of her stomach. There was no baby. She’d found out an hour ago. Did the test straight away. Nothing inside her. There hadn’t been a child there at all.

And she didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad. Yes, in a way it was a relief; how sad it would be to bring a baby into the world that your husband didn’t want to be in any more – into a house, a life, that Daddy has left. There would be no more children for them now. And yet she yearned to go back, retrace her steps, make it right again, somehow, to have a future together as well as a past. The night of the theatre might have been the last time she and Michael were ever to make love. She wouldn’t feel his touch again. She missed that so much, felt the absence of it like a tight knot inside her, and then it would rip and twist apart with jealousy at the thought of him touching someone else.

She struggled off the bed and made it to the bathroom, where she clung onto the sink. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. She needed to stop looking back, remembering… but how did you do that? She waited till the dizziness eased, grasping the cool porcelain, until the queasiness subsided.

How long? How long until you felt you could cope? Everyone kept saying that “Time was a great healer”, her mother especially, in just about every damn phone call. Well, she wished it would sodding well hurry up and get going, as this no man’s land of grief was tearing her apart.

They girls were away for the weekend with Michael and Sophie. Yes, they knew all about his mistress now, had met her, seemed to like her. It was well over a month since Michael had left. Kate had heard their excited chatter last night, about choosing wallpaper and new duvet covers for the bunk beds they were going to have in Sophie’s flat. How sodding lovely for them all!

Shit! She shouldn’t be thinking that way. It wasn’t Charlotte and Emily she was cross with. In the midst of all this mayhem, the least they could have was a bit of excitement about whether to get Miss Kitty or Disney Princess covers. Let them sleep easily under them, for God’s sake. But it just left such a gaping hole back here, a hole Kate had nothing with which to fill.

Her girlfriends had plans for her, though.

“If you’re not coming out, then we’re coming to you.” Mel was on the phone, later that Friday evening, determined to make Kate sociable again, and in the tone that said I’m not going to take no for an answer this time. Kate was quiet for a second.

“Well,” Mel carried on, “I’ve been trying to arrange an evening out for ages, and I can quite understand if you don’t feel up to going out in town, so Suz, Debs and I have been talking, and we’ve decided to come to you.”

So they’d been discussing her, had they? It sounded ominous. “B-but…” she stammered, damn, she couldn’t think quickly enough. It wasn’t as though she had any other plans.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be nothing for you to have to do. Debs is making a starter, I’m doing main course and Suz a pudding, and we’ll all bring something to drink. So it’s all sorted.”

It seemed very much a fait accompli. “Oh, but…” Kate floundered.

“No buts, the only thing we need to know is which night is best? When does Michael next have the girls?”

“Well, he’s got them this weekend, actually.”

“Perfect. Well that’s it, then, it’ll have to be tomorrow. Yep, Saturday night will do fine. Don’t want to have to wait another week, do we?”

“Ah, well I suppose…”

The doorbell rang and they arrived en masse: Mel, Suzy, a friend of Kate’s who’d worked in the bank with her, and Debs, one of the chattier school-gate Mums. They’d all clicked at social events in the past and seemed to make a natural group. The three of them came bearing dishes covered in cling film and silver foil. The smells wafting by as they trooped through to the kitchen were mouth-watering, amazingly arousing Kate’s appetite, which had been missing, presumed dead, for some time now. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had a “proper” meal, as her mother would have put it. She fed the girls, of course, but often had just the last slice of pizza or a few chicken nuggets that they’d left on their plates, or sometimes just a piece of toast for supper, that seemed enough. Her mother would be mortified if she found out, especially since she’d taken to sending up food parcels.

Her parents had visited last week, armed with a huge casserole and a cottage pie. Kate daren’t tell them she never wanted to eat sodding cottage pie ever in her life again, but the girls had enjoyed it, and it saved her from having to contemplate cooking for a few days.

Well, her girlfriends were here and intent on entertaining and feeding her up, by the looks of it. She’d been avoiding them, if the truth be known. Well, not just them, just the whole of the outside world of late. Sitting around the kitchen table while the food warmed in the oven, Mel poured large glasses of red wine, the four of them chatting – Kate managing the odd comment. It should have been lovely, but she felt very much as if she were acting a part. Sitting there at the table, yet feeling very distant from it all, from them, the chatter going on in a buzzy kind of way outside her. It was hard to concentrate. The knowledge that the girls were away with Michael and
you-know-who
, she didn’t even like saying her name to herself, ate away inside her. She was still trying to get used to that.

But the food and wine started to warm her. Debs had made delicious garlic mushrooms and Mel’s lasagne to follow was lovely, and there was even homemade tiramisu for pud. Kate sipped her wine slowly, not wanting to drink too much tonight. She preferred to drink alone these days. She feared it would make her even more emotional. Her friends had even brought gifts. It was like the three kings turning up, with aromatherapy bubble bath, chocolates and a fridge magnet from Mel that made her smile sadly when she read: “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” It had a rainbow on it arching over the words. She stuck it on the fridge door next to the girls’ colourful alphabet letters, the ones she’d used to write “bastard” the night after Michael had left her. Luckily, she remembered the next morning to mix them all up again, before the two of them came down for their breakfast.

The meal now finished, Kate’s tummy groaning with the unexpected volume of food, they sat around the table, the conversation and wine flowing around her. This was, in fact, so much better than sitting in on her own, wondering what her daughters would be doing, trying not to think too much, watching some inane programme on the television, or listening to music to fill the quiet. Though sometimes that wasn’t always the best antidote, a favourite lyric having the power to reduce her to tears, the words meaning too much or a memory resurfacing, bittersweet. Tonight she listened instead to the chatter of easy friendship, of support, of school issues and the latest stack-heeled shoes Suzy had bought.

Cautiously they circled nearer to the real issue of the evening, why they were there. “How have you been?” and “How are you coping?” being offered sympathetically. The red wine oiling the wheels of their concern, giving them the confidence to voice it.

“God, all this must have been so hard for you, Kate. I’ve been thinking of you all the while.” Debs reached for her friend’s hand across the table.

“Yeah, well it’s not been easy… And thanks for the phone messages and the cards. All of you. And tonight, all this.” Kate raised a fragile smile. And suddenly it seemed okay to open up a little, reveal her heart. “Yeah, it has been pretty tough. It was all such a shock. I just don’t know how I didn’t realise, never guessed anything was going on. I mean, it wasn’t perfect, but is any marriage?”

“How would you know? How would any of us know?” Suzy’s tone was kind.

“It’s such a small town, though,” Kate continued, “And it must have been going on for a while, weeks, maybe months. I just feel so stupid.”

There was a darted glance between Mel and Debs. Kate picked up on it straight away, “What? What is it?” They looked rather sheepish. “Go on, tell me,” she probed.

Mel started, “Well…” then paused, looking across at Debs.

“I–I saw something,” Debs blurted out.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw Michael with someone, a while back… it looked kind of cosy. But then, I couldn’t be sure. I thought maybe I was reading too much into it. It might just have been his secretary or something.”

“It
was
his bloody secretary,” Kate’s voice was low, tense. “When, where? When was this, Debs?”

“Oh God, a couple of months ago now. End of Feb, maybe March. I… I just wasn’t sure, and it was before all this blew up.”

“You knew.” Kate froze, her wine glass suspended mid-air, “Jesus, you knew. Why didn’t you say anything? All along, you knew…” She started shaking, then darted an accusing look at Mel, then Suzy. “I suppose you all knew, did you?”

“No, not then.” Mel’s tone was calm, trying to soothe, explain, “It was only afterwards, much later. Debs didn’t tell me until she’d heard about Michael leaving.”

Oh yeah, spin the other one, they’d probably all discussed it, gossiped about her, knew all along. Kate sat shaking her head slowly, “And no one thought to tell me. I thought you were my friends.”

“We are, of course we are.” Suzy reached for her hand. Kate snatched hers away.

“Look, Debs wasn’t sure at the time. It might have been nothing.” Mel added.

“They were just walking together,” Debs tried to explain, “It was early evening, down by the river. I was walking the dog. I was some distance away. I could have got it totally wrong.”

By the river, where she fed the ducks with the girls. The image jarred.

“It might have done more harm than good telling you.” Mel was trying to mediate.

“I agree,” Suzy added.

“Oh, so you’re all against me now?”

Mel again, “No, no it’s not like that at all, Kate. Come on. Think about it.”

Think about it. That’s all she’d done for sodding weeks now. And now, knowing that at least one of her so-called friends had known all along. She felt so stupid and even more betrayed. If she’d have known, she might have been able to confront him, change things, had time to plan her defence, a plan of action. And it hurt so much, all of it. And now this… from her so-called friends, it felt as if someone was sticking pins into her.

What should have been a nice night degenerated rapidly. She couldn’t face it any more, pretending to be alright, perhaps a book and a bath would be preferable to listening to any more of this crap. She stood up, “I think it’s time you all left. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I really feel like I need to be on my own right now.”

“Kate, I’m really sorry,” Debs was trying to make amends.

“Kate, no one meant to keep anything from you, or upset you.” Mel held her gaze, “Debs was only trying to do the right thing.”

“Maybe… I don’t know, but it just doesn’t feel like that right now.” Kate stood up, left them at the table, speeding off to the downstairs loo. Frustration and anger fizzing through her, a small part of her warning her that she’d probably overreacted. Had she just lost the few friends she had? She heard them clearing the kitchen, washing dishes, their talk minimal, muted, the mood of the evening crushed.

Could she do nothing right?
She should be in there making coffee and conversation, at least trying to be the hostess. But she felt so damned hurt, and all she wanted to do was be alone.

“Kate, are you okay?” Mel was outside the toilet door.

“Yes,” her voice was firm; her heart was not. “I’m sorry, but could you just all go.”

“Okay, if that’s what you really want. If you’re sure you’ll be alright, hun?”

“Yes.”

“ Look, I’ll give you a ring in the morning.”

Kate heard the rustle of coats, footsteps, the front door close. She sat down on the loo and put her head in her hands.