The Torn Up Marriage (3 page)

Morning came, as she knew it would. Time passing relentlessly, unforgiving.

She came to, a little groggy, reached over to his side. It was empty. Then it all came flooding back, along with a tight feeling of panic.
Had he gone? Had she slept through him leaving?

Last night, was it real, not just a horrible nightmare? Even now, with the truth dawning insistently, she half expected him to wander back in from the bathroom, steal into their bed, back under the covers to cuddle up for another five minutes. To lie close like they used to.

Like they used to.
Was that it? Their marriage in past tense.

She clicked the switch on the bedside lamp, turned the small clock towards her: 7:02. Time to get up, face the day. The girls to sort out for school and nursery, breakfast to prepare, the usual chores. The kitchen no doubt a mess from last night’s meal; funny she had no memory at all of whether she’d cleared it or not. Would Michael be there the same as ever at the breakfast table? How could she face him? But how not? She wasn’t going to show her confusion and pain in front of the girls? But could she really manage to pretend everything was alright?

The bedroom door cracked open. She held her breath. The shuffle of small feet; Emily, piling into Kate’s side of the bed. Her daughter’s small body backed up against her. She placed an arm across her and held her close. For several minutes they lay like that, Emily oblivious to the chaos that had come crashing into her home, Kate’s arm protective around her.

A footfall in the hallway. A shadow passing the gap at the doorway, the seat of the toilet lifted, splashing from the shower: Michael. So he’d stayed. A small electric pulse of hope throbbed inside her.

Well, it really was time to get into gear and get up. “Come on, Em,” she said softly, “Time to get up, petal.” Emily shifted next to her, but curled back to snooze again.

Then Lottie was stood there in the doorway, dressed in her Miss Kitty pyjamas, her arms folded stiffly, “Why was Daddy in the other room?”

“Oh…” Kate’s voice failed her for a moment. A second’s pause, then she rallied, “Oh, I just wasn’t feeling too good… and then he was snoring, like he does.”

The arms relaxed. Both girls seemed satisfied with that explanation. Emily stirring beside her, nodding. They all knew about Daddy’s snoring, even at night, fast asleep, he could do a very good impression of the Gruffalo. Emily slipped out of bed and traipsed out of the room following Lottie. Kate got up, put on her dressing gown and wondered about going to the bathroom. He probably hadn’t locked the door. She could just march on in as usual. They often shared the bathroom, but that seemed all wrong this morning, so she hovered for a few seconds awkwardly, until she heard the door handle click. Would he head back to the spare room? But no, he appeared at their doorway, in his boxer shorts, looking rather sheepish, needing clothes from their room.

He caught her gaze awkwardly. “Morning,” his tone was timid, as he headed for the wardrobe.

“Morning,” somehow she answered, on automatic pilot, as he passed within inches of her.

The two of them acting like polite strangers, not lovers, not husband and wife, stood half-dressed on the threshold to their bedroom, after a night spent metres apart, with a wall of guilt and shame and sorrow between them.

Kate stayed in the shower a long while, shutting her eyes, shutting off her thoughts, just letting the water splash over her, into her face. The water a touch too hot, but it felt good, pummelling her skin, soaking her hair. She rubbed in shampoo vigorously, moved back into the steady stream, rinsing the suds away, until the girls were banging on the bathroom door.

“Mummy, get out. I need to wash.” “Mumm-ee. Need a poo.” The rapping of small hands against wood.

Kate switched off the shower and stood out, the water droplets already cooling on her slim body. Then she wrapped herself in her robe and opened the door against a push of arms and legs, Lottie winning, but Emily dashing onto the loo regardless. To Kate’s relief, Michael was no longer in their bedroom. She pulled on jeans and a black pullover, applied her “ten years younger” face cream, a quick swipe of mascara, then lipgloss. In the dressing-table mirror, she saw dark circles under her eyes. She dug in her make-up bag for concealer. Did this Sophie woman wear much make-up? What did she look like? Big boobs, curvy figure, petite, tall? Was she one of those women who always looked glamorous? She could bet Sophie didn’t need bloody “Wrinkle Release” or whatever it was she rubbed in religiously every morning. Should she have been making more of an effort?

For Christ’s sake, stop it, woman! Why the hell was she feeling bad about herself? An extra layer of foundation or touch of bloody blusher wasn’t going to change things now, was it? And, it was
he
who had done her wrong. The cheating git.

She headed down the stairs, turned into the hallway, Michael’s back to her, there at the kitchen bench. He was making coffee, filling the kettle. She stood for a second, prickling with emotion, torn between anger, sorrow and fear. She couldn’t speak as he turned to face her, a knot filling her throat. Their eyes caught; a realm of mixed emotions between them. “I’m sorry” seemed to reach her from his. She needed to do something, so marched into the kitchen and set to getting the juice and milk from the fridge, the cereals from the cupboard. Juice. Glasses. Butter. Jam.

The girls appeared, filling the void with their chatter. Toast crumbs, soggy cereal left in bowls. Ten minutes had passed and they still hadn’t spoken to each other directly. Michael cleared his throat, “Right, girls, up and brush your teeth.” A forced jolly tone.

As they were safely up the stairs, he started gently, “I’m sorry, Kate.”

She glared at him across the breakfast table.

“For all this, for what I’ve done,” he carried on, “I never meant to hurt you or the girls. It was the last thing I wanted…”

Kate bristled. The girls were off out of the room, but she kept her voice low. “And what was the
first
thing you wanted Michael? Someone new to shag?” He looked down. She continued, “How did you begin to think that having an affair wouldn’t hurt me?” Her tone was icy.

The words and then the silence lay accusingly between them. He still hadn’t said that he was staying, that he wanted to be with Kate. That he’d made an awful mistake.

“Are you leaving me?” She needed to know.

“I… I really don’t know. I need some time to think everything through… Do you want me to?” He looked her in the eye.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. He should be
grovelling
. Begging her to have him back…This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Any of it. She paused, her hand trembling on her coffee mug. “I’m not sure, Michael, there’s too much to take in. There’s the girls to think of, too.” Part of her wanted to chuck his things in a suitcase and kick him out of the door. But
Don’t go. Don’t go
, was clawing away in her mind.

Footsteps thumping down the stairs, a school bag being dragged along the passage.

“I’d better get the girls off to school.” Kate stood up from the table.

“I’d better get to work,” he echoed, picking up his car keys from the side. “I’ll call you.”

Call you
. The words were cold, ominous. Not “I’ll be home”. Not “See you later”. Just “I’ll call you.”

It was brazen enough to be a beautiful day. Lottie was holding tight to Kate’s hand, Kate using the other to push the buggy with Emily in it. The sun was sharp, dazzling in a clear Northumberland sky. Daffodils, bold and yellow, swayed in the early-April breeze. The three of them passed town houses similar to their own, built in the local honey-coloured stone with neat front gardens encased with shiny black iron railings. They made their way, amidst the traffic, to Charlotte’s school, half a mile from their home on the outskirts of the market town of Alnwick.

Even the things Kate had done every day for years felt like a challenge today. The usual gaggle of mothers were there at the school gates. She didn’t want to get caught up in the gossip, so kept her gaze low and busied herself with straightening Charlotte’s coat collar before giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek and a goodbye hug. She held back the urge to hold her too tight, too long, instead just taking an extra second of comfort from her cuddle. All Kate wanted right then was to hold tight to everything she had and never let go. But she released her grip and watched her eldest daughter walk down the path to the playground, her PE kit swaying from one shoulder, book bag in the other hand, soon catching up with a friend, their small bodies leaning in, heads bobbing as they chatted.

Kate swallowed the knot in her throat and swung the buggy into a u-turn, “Come on then, Em, let’s get going.” Kate marched briskly on, crossing the road by the Percy Monument, a tall stone tower with its proud lion set on the top, watching over, protecting the town. They dodged the morning queue of commuter traffic, passed Barter Books, where she loved losing herself amongst the aisles of second-hand books, then made their way up the hill. It was just around the corner to the Busy Bees Nursery.

“Hi, Kate.”

Oh, God, she didn’t want company today. She turned to see deep-brown eyes smiling at her, set against gorgeous coffee-coloured skin, skin that Kate envied, especially after the winter months, when her own was pasty white. Her friend’s black shoulder-length hair was scraped back behind a purple headband.

“Oh, hello, Mel. Hi.” Kate managed a smile. “Hey, Jack,” she ruffled the little boy’s short, dark hair. He gave her a cheeky grin in return.

She liked Mel. They had clicked several months ago when Emily and her son, Jack, had made friends at nursery. The children began playing over at each other’s houses, she and Mel chatting easily over coffee, sharing toddler-tantrum stories and remembering how life used to be BC – Before Children. Mel was different from most of the mums Kate had met, the ones who seemed intent on competing with you, having Superkids and being Supermum. With Mel, it was okay to be yourself and admit it wasn’t always easy. And Jammy Dodgers and chocolate fingers were fine at snack time, all the better for sharing with the parents, in fact, not a homemade sugar-free, sunflower-seed, organic muesli bar in sight.

“Well,” Mel started, “I’ve just had to endure Miss Rebecca’s full-on tantrum about wanting to wear her brand-new satin shoes to school.” Rebecca was Mel’s eldest, a year older than Charlotte. “
Yes
,” she carried on, recounting the argument, “they are black and black is allowed, but
no
they are not suitable for school and will be ruined within an hour. And yes, I know they were for your birthday and it’s only three days ago, but I’m sure Granny Hall would not want to see them spoiled the next time she pops in.” Mel rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

Kate smiled. So the world was carrying on as normal. God, it would be so nice to go back a day, to when a six-year-old’s tantrums were the worst thing you had to face. But she was grateful for the easy chatter.

“Oh, Mel,” she sighed, “It’s a minefield isn’t it, parenting.”
Parenting. Marriage.

They reached the top of the hill, rounded the corner and turned through a wooden gate into a courtyard. Bright pots of primulas marked the nursery entrance. They made their way in through red swing doors to a large playroom painted with murals of flowers and animals. Pictures the children had created were pinned to boards, colourful mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Kate helped Emily take off her coat, the mittens swinging with an air of vulnerability on their ropes emerging from the sleeves. Emily hung it on her peg.

A young assistant came across. “Hello, Emily. Hi, Jack. Are you ready to play?”

Emily nodded seriously, her blue eyes gazing up at the girl. They were so very like her father’s. Kate leaned in to kiss the top of her head, where the blonde curls were wispy, fine and baby-like, around the fringe. The kiss caught in Kate’s throat and she knew tears were close behind. Christ, she had to get a grip on herself.

She coughed, muttered, “Bye. Have a lovely morning, sweetheart,” as Emily took the assistant’s hand and wandered across to a low table set out with play-dough and plastic rolling pins.

She had to get outside and pushed through the swing doors. Didn’t know how much longer she could hold it together.

Damn. Mel was there at her side, “Well, they seem happy enough.”

“Uh-huh…Well, I’d better get on.” Kate started manoeuvring the empty buggy, keeping her glance low.

“Kate, is everything alright?” The words echoed Michael’s from last night.

She took a slow breath, staring at the wall, not wanting to catch Mel’s eye. Not wanting to catch herself out. She kicked up the brake on the pushchair and looked down at that instead. “Yep, fine. Just a bit tired. Sorry, got to dash. Got a lot on today. We’ll catch up soon, okay?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Maybe we could meet in town. A latte, or lunch? What do you think?” Mel found herself talking to the back of Kate’s head.

“Yep, that sounds good.” Kate started to walk away, emotions clutching her chest, making it hard to speak, “I–I’ll ring you.”

She was glad to get out of the nursery’s courtyard to the space and anonymity of the street. She sped up, didn’t want Mel catching up with her, just heard the slightly bemused tone of her friend, “Bye, then. See you soon.”

But what to do now? Where to go? A whole morning, no,
a whole day,
to fill. A day in which her thoughts might be enough to send her over the edge. She needed to keep busy, yes, that was the best way. Maybe she’d take Emily to feed the ducks by the river later on; nursery finished at noon. That would fill an hour or so this afternoon. And she had things to get from the supermarket. She could do that this morning. The milk was low and she hadn’t anything for supper. Dinner – was Michael coming home? Oh, God. Blank it. She’d just go back home for now, carry on as normal, make a list and go and do the weekly shop.

Standing in the vegetable aisle. Carrots or broccoli…? Potatoes. She’d need potatoes. She was going to make a roast-chicken dinner. They all liked that. A real family meal. That’s what she needed to do. A proper family meal; all of them together. Huh! More like the last bloody supper.

She moved on. She should have made a list. She always made a list.

“S’cuse me, love.”

Her trolley was blocking the aisle. An old man trying to get by.

“Sorry… sorry.” She moved it aside absentmindedly.

What was it she was looking for anyway? She found herself staring blankly at a wall of pre-packed pork chops and sausages.

What if he stayed, had supper and then stayed? The image of her and Michael going off to bed fixed in her mind. The thought of him touching her… But he had been touching someone else just the day before, in another bed, with different arms around him. The imprint of
her
lips in his memory. The intimacy that had been before, the scent of
her
still on his skin. Would Kate be able to smell that? She couldn’t blank that out. She knew she couldn’t live like that, though, for sure, some women would have done. How could they ever be the same after this?

She re-focused on the pinky-blood colour of the pork chops. Damn, she couldn’t think what it was she needed on this aisle. A swirl of panic set off inside her. Meat, it must have been some kind of meat. She gripped the handle of her shopping trolley, trembling, looked down, the vegetables in it giving her no clues. People wove around her with trolleys half full, baskets laden, reaching past her.

How to protect the girls? If this was all going to blow up tonight, how could she stop the huge row, or whatever might happen next, from hurting them? They couldn’t discuss it in front of the children. She wouldn’t say anything more while they were still up.

The old man had taken a while choosing what to buy for him and his wife’s supper; she’d been a bit poorly lately, in bed with a bad cold. He wasn’t used to going shopping alone, felt a bit lost without her, really. He noticed the woman whose trolley had been in his way, still there, immobile. She looked very pale, a bit out of it. He wondered if she was about to faint, instinctively reached out his arm to steady her.

“Are you alright, love?” His voice was kind.

What was it she needed? How could she not know?

An old man was looking at her, his face seemed friendly, his words echoey. “Are you alright…?”

He seemed to be talking to her, his tone concerned.

And that moment of kindness broke her. The tears began streaming down her cheeks, uncontrollable now. A flutter of people, chatter, movement.

She found herself sitting on a plastic seat at the end of the store past the tills, clasping a damp tissue in her hand. A woman in her fifties was smiling gently at her. “Are you sure you’re okay, madam. Is there anything I can get you? Anyone I can call?” The lady was in a uniform, navy with an orange piped trim on it, her name badge labelled her Carol.

Oh, good God, Kate realised she’d been taken and put on that row of plastic seating where the old ladies waited for their buses and bored six-year-olds leapt on and off until their parents finally finished at the tills. Her eyes felt sore and gritty and there was the tissue in her hand. Bugger! She must have been crying. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t like her at all. She didn’t go breaking down in supermarkets. No, she was the one who could rustle up a five-course meal for Michael’s clients without breaking a sweat, the one who used to advise business customers in the bank. She hoped to God no one she knew had seen her. What the hell was she doing getting into a state over a sodding chicken?
Ah
, that was it. That’s what she needed.

“Where’s my trolley?” Yes, she’d been shopping for a roast dinner.

“It’s okay. We’ve kept it by the end checkout for you.” Carol spoke softly and slowly, smiling encouragingly, as though Kate might be a bit dim, or fragile.

“Thanks.” Kate stood up. She had to get that chicken, pay for her shopping and get out of here fast.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just fetch the last things I need, settle up and be on my way.”
And outta here.

At the till now, loading her goods on the conveyor belt, the well-meaning assistant had found her a pre-packed chicken, helped her to the counter and started emptying her trolley for her. How embarrassing! So Kate repeated in clipped tones that she
really
was fine now, she’d be okay, and finally lost Concerned Carol. The sooner she got through the checkout and away the better. There was bound to be some busybody from school about. Piles of food drifted by on the conveyor belt, the woman in front of her had it crammed with cereals, milk, juice, bread, biscuits, sweets; the things you bought for your family. Kate watched the items go by. Everyday goods, everyday life going on around her. The supermarket shop.

Everything was normal. Nothing was normal.