Today, for the first time, Mel real y understood Caroline’s point of view. Nobody gave the stay-at-home mum any awards. There was no bonus for doing al the cooking and cleaning, no pat on the back from the MD for endless washing, no awards ceremony for calm mothering in the face of sick children, nothing: just the expectation that it would al be done again the next day. No wonder mothers lost their rag.
Right now, Mel would have kil ed for a girlie night out where she could laugh with like-minded women, let her hair down and be someone else other than Mummy. When she’d been working, she hadn’t understood. Now she did.
She fished her mobile phone out of her bag and dial ed Caroline’s number. ‘Hiya,’ she said warmly when her friend answered. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been talking to you for so long and I’m sorry about the row.’ No point beating about the bush. ‘I gave up work to stay home with Sarah and Carrie and, as you know, that means I haven’t had a moment to myself since.’ ‘You gave up work?’ Caroline said, surprised. ‘I thought you were welded to that job and would be buried with four land lines, two mobile phones, a lap top and a BlackBerry in your coffin.’
Mel laughed. She’d forgotten how black Caroline’s humour could be. ‘Nearly,’ she said. ‘Except the company wouldn’t have al owed a lowly member of staff like me to have something as posh as a BlackBerry. Hand-held email devices are for the top echelons only. Listen, how do you fancy a night out - just you and me?’
‘I can’t do any nights out right now,’ Caroline said, with a certain bitterness. ‘Graham’s working late a lot. What about lunch tomorrow? I can’t go out as I’ve got a guy coming to give me a quote for painting the windows - they haven’t been done for years. But you could come here …’
Mel hadn’t been to Caroline’s house for a very long time.
‘I’d love that,’ she said. ‘And Carrie and Sarah too. If Carrie’s better from her tonsil itis.’
‘Of course. Poor Carrie.’
Caroline’s house would not have featured in a homes and interiors magazine: there were too many scuffed skirting boards and grubby bits of wal where ten-year-old Ryan, eight-year-old Fionn and six-year-old Luka had been practising their footbal skil s. The back garden was also testimony to a trio of footie mad boys, as there was a scorched, dry patch on the lawn where they clearly played bal each day and most of the shrubs looked crushed. But the house oozed homeliness and love, from the wild flowers sitting in a jug on the sun-dappled windowsil to the smel of cooking that lingered in the kitchen where Caroline had been fil ing her freezer with homemade soups, lasagnes, and her speciality, vegetable and parmesan gratin. She’d also made a batch of fairy cakes topped with girlie pink icing with a Smartie on top of each.
Sarah, and Carrie - who was much better today - were enchanted with these.
‘I went through a muffin-making phase,’ Mel admitted, sitting down at the kitchen table while Caroline gave flowery plates with the little pink cakes to Mel’s daughters. ‘I grew out of it.’ ‘You do,’ Caroline agreed. ‘Muffin-making is like PMT - it comes in waves. When I feel the wave coming, I stock up and freeze most of it. The rest of the time, I go to the bakery down the road. Why would anyone want to bother making pastries when you can buy them cheaper?
Anyway, I’m on a diet, so I don’t buy them now. Saves money and calories.’
‘I thought you baked al the time.’
‘It made me feel better if people thought I did,’ Caroline said. ‘Otherwise, they want to know what you do al day. As in “How do you fil your day?” delivered in a condescending tone. If people think you’re a wonderful cordon bleu, they tend to imagine you spend your time bashing the hel out of basil leaves with a pestle and mortar, and they respect that.’ Caroline sounded very miserable, Mel realised.
‘We could have lunch in the garden,’ Caroline said. ‘I’ve made sandwiches and the girls can play with some of the boys’ old toys.’
‘Perfect.’
They sat on deck chairs at a weatherbeaten wooden table and talked, while Sarah and Carrie explored this new garden. It wasn’t long before Caroline came out with what was
bothering her. It seemed that her marriage to Graham was going I
through a difficult patch.
‘I’ve been experiencing my own little mid-life crisis,’
Caroline explained. Her gym membership had been one of the first things to go when she’d given up work to stay home with the children, and no matter what anyone said about how good walking was for you, it was hard to summon up the energy to walk in the dark of winter. The weight had piled on.
‘Everyone puts on a few pounds when they get older,’ was al Graham had said when Caroline had told him she felt fat, frumpy and middle-aged.
‘What sort of answer was that?’ she asked Mel. ‘It got to the point that we were talking like radios with transmission problems.’ She talked but Graham didn’t receive. She wanted to receive but Graham wasn’t interested in talking.
‘He used to tel me I looked wonderful years ago,’ Caroline
‘He used to tel me I looked wonderful years ago,’ Caroline said sadly. ‘Now I could wear my pyjamas al day and he wouldn’t even notice.’
Mel remembered how Caroline used to look when they worked together: sleek and sexy, and admiring men eyed her as she walked through the office. She didn’t look like that now, though she stil looked good: her face was alive and intel igent, her figure curvier than before. But the spark in her eyes was gone.
‘Graham said that women moaning about diets is so boring and didn’t want to discuss it any more.’
Then Caroline had joined WeightWatchers. She’d lost twelve pounds but stil had another stone to go to reach her target weight.
‘The people at WeightWatchers were so thril ed for me but Graham didn’t even notice,’ she said, bitter again. ‘He used to notice when I’d achieved something at work, but now, nothing I achieve is of value to him - nothing.’
Mel’s heart ached for her friend. She searched around for the right thing to say. ‘Remember when we had that row about Lorna,’ she said rueful y, ‘and you said that nobody recognised that being the CEO of the house was the hardest job in the world? You were right and I was wrong, Caroline. It is hard,’ she admitted. ‘Adrian supports me and says I’m bril iant al the time, but it’s not quite as rewarding as someone saying thanks for a report at work or the feeling of satisfaction you get when you’ve completed a particular project. Everyone seems to think any human being with an IQ in double figures should be able to cook, clean and bring up children. You’re busy nurturing your children so they grow up into clever, wel -adjusted adults, and you may think this is special, important work but nobody else does.’ ‘No, nobody values it.’ Caroline’s mouth was set in a grim line. She took one of the pink fairy cakes and ate the Smartie from the top. ‘Nobody thinks mothering is anything much. My husband certainly doesn’t, and unless I am seriously deranged and he’s started wearing Obsession for women he’s having an affair.’
Mel opened and closed her mouth like a fish, so stunned, she was unable to make a sound.
‘I know the signs,’ Caroline went on, taking another cake and removing the Smartie from the top. ‘Not what the magazines tel you - is he wearing new underwear? does he shower more often? Though there’s definitely the perfume. No, I can tel because I know Graham. It’s the way he looks at me. We’ve been married twelve years and the train carrying unbridled lust left the platform a long time ago, but he looks at me in astonishment now, as if to say how am I married to this woman?
How did I get to this place?’
‘Caroline, I’m so sorry -‘ began Mel.
Caroline interrupted her. Now that she’d started this sorry story, she wanted to finish it. ‘I can see him looking at me and wondering, how did she turn into this woman with the chain store jeans and the scrubbed shiny face? I can see it written on his face. He married a go-getting advertising manager and boring Mummy is not what he thought he’d end up with.’
‘Are you sure he’s having an affair?’ Mel asked. ‘This could be a bad patch and you’re feeling down and ‘
‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure. I haven’t caught him in bed with the next-door neighbour or anything, but he is. I know it.
It’s so obvious. He never buys clothes, Mel, and he’s got several new ties lately, and al these overnight trips he’s been on suddenly - they’re fabricated. I phoned his office one day with a message for him and they said he was on a day off. He’d told me he had an urgent trip to London and would probably be away overnight.’
Mel sighed. That sounded conclusive.
‘What do you want to do about it? Don’t be passive, Caroline. If you’ve changed, so has he and he’s got to take responsibility for that. When you got married, a cheating Graham wasn’t what you thought you’d end up with,’ Mel said spiritedly, turning the whole scenario on its head the way she used to do with problems in the office.
‘Probably not,’ said Caroline, ‘but I can’t afford to look at it that way. He’s working and I’m at home. We couldn’t survive without him. That limits my options.’
‘Caroline, no it doesn’t,’ Mel insisted. ‘You can’t settle for second-best just because Graham pays the bil s. You have a marriage, a partnership. Being a parent is something separate. You can be parents together and not be married.
Getting out of your marriage is an option.’
‘You can say that because you haven’t wondered what would happen if you ever split up,’ Caroline said harshly.
‘This isn’t Bel Air where they each end up with half of a ten-mil ion-dol ar fortune: the woman gets the ten-bedroom mansion for the kids and he gets the beach house. This is the real world and I don’t want my children to suffer financial y.’
‘You can stil walk out,’ insisted Mel. ‘You don’t have to stay with him and suffer in silence.’
‘In theory, yes. In practice, no.’
‘You know what, Caroline.’ Mel was exasperated. ‘When I met you first, you were so tough and I admired you more than any other woman I worked with. You said what you thought, you didn’t pussyfoot around like the rest of us. You were honest, upfront and you believed in yourself. Now you’ve forgotten al those things, as if being at home has beaten you down.’ ‘Being at home hasn’t beaten me down -
‘ Caroline said sadly - ‘wel , perhaps a teeny bit. Graham has; the kids have; life has. I feel as if Caroline is gone, buried deep beneath the cloak of Mummy.’
‘Are you real y sure he’s having an affair?’ Mel asked again. ‘There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for everything,’ she added. ‘Wel , there could. He might be depressed, have you thought of that? And,’ Mel paused because this was dangerous territory, ‘what about sex?’
She’d read that men having affairs often had wonderful sex with their wives to make up for the infidelity, instead of swearing off it altogether as the popular myth had it.
‘Sex is not on my agenda and it’s not on his either,’
Caroline said flatly. ‘We get into bed, normal y at different times, we kiss chastely on the pil ow, and he rol s over and reads his latest thril er and I read my catalogues. Thankful y I had my coil removed or it would have rusted.’
Mel felt an incredible rush of pity for her friend. ‘I’m sorry. I feel as if I haven’t been around much as a friend to you.’
‘You couldn’t stop Graham from having an affair,’ Caroline pointed out. ‘I half thought that if I clung on to my old life, I’d stil be a bit the old me, the me he fel in love with. Meeting you occasional y made me feel that I could be.’
Mel thought of how she met her old col eague Vanessa for lunch, convincing herself that this link to her past life and Lorimar would help make her current one more varied. It didn’t. The two lives were different.
‘Hanging round with people from our old jobs isn’t what we should be doing,’ she said decisively. ‘We need to cut the cord. We need to find new ways to define ourselves, make ourselves
feel better. But first, you’ve got to confront Graham. You owe it to yourself and the kids to see if you’ve got a marriage any more. You can’t hide from this; you need to know for sure and then, if needs be, you can butt him out of your life. But you must be sure, Caroline. You could destroy things if you confront him and you’re wrong.’
Caroline shuddered. ‘Is him coming into my bed at night smel ing of another woman’s perfume any less destructive?’ ‘Point taken. Just don’t do anything rash.’
‘I haven’t done anything rash in years,’ Caroline said bitterly. ‘Graham’s affair has probably been going on for months now and I’ve said nothing. I’ve rol ed over and played wifey. Hear no evil, see no evil, et cetera.’
‘You need a holiday or some time on your own so you can think,’ Mel said. ‘A bit of quiet time where you don’t have the boys pul ing at you, so you can feel a bit like your old self. Then, you can see what you think.’
‘There’s no chance of me getting away on my own,’
Caroline said. ‘I’d love to, but me-time is low on the list of priorities here. Graham is “working” al hours, and we can’t afford the sort of childcare involved in me slipping off for a week away. I wish.’
‘Not even a long weekend?’
‘No. The hour it takes to cut my hair is about as much me time as I get.’
Mel had a thought. The spa voucher! She hadn’t had a moment to use it and it was just as wel : this was the perfect time for it.
‘My leaving present from Lorimar was a two-person day session in Cloud’s Hil , this new luxury spa at home. How about you and I booking ourselves in for a day of luxury?
You can stay overnight with me that evening, and we’l hit the hot spots of Carrickwel afterwards when we’re al painted and pampered. Graham can babysit and you can take the time out to review your options.’
Caroline’s face brightened marginal y, then it fel . ‘What options?’ she said.
‘Wel , there’s the option to tel Graham to get his cheating ass out of your house and that you’re consulting a lawyer.
OK, you might not mean it but he doesn’t know that and it would be good for him to get a shock. He needs to know that you’re serious.’
‘What if he says bye bye, he was just waiting for the right time to leave me anyway?’ Caroline asked.