Waking up the next day, Lizzie wondered at first why she felt so miserable. Then it all came flooding back to her — the scene of her humiliation in Bruno’s house, with Bruno and his ex-wife looking pityingly on as they broke their crushing news.
She gave a low groan and pulled the covers back over her head. Saturday. She couldn’t speak to G. H. Brightman until Monday. Perhaps she simply wouldn’t get out of bed today.
But you couldn’t go into hibernation when you had three-year-old twins in the house. Minutes later, Alex and Ellie were jumping around her in their pajamas, chanting, “Castle, castle, castle!”
Then she remembered. She’d rashly promised to take them to Bodiam that day.
Hours later she was at the edge of the moat, holding Alex by the T-shirt so that he wouldn’t throw himself in, when he suddenly turned and, with a gleeful giggle, plucked her brand-new sunglasses from her face. One-handed, she tried to wrestle them back from him, but in the scuffle the glasses flew out of his clutches and went somersaulting into the brown water. Lizzie was leaning dangerously over the moat, trying to fish them out with a stick that wasn’t quite long enough, when Ellie piped up, “Daddy could get them out.”
“Yesh,” Alex chimed in, seeing a chance to divert blame from his small person. “Where’s Daddy? Daddy could get dem.”
Lizzie sat up and put the stick down. She watched her sunglasses float away. “Daddy’s in France,” she said with false calm. “I keep telling you. He’s in France having a nice, long rest.”
“Why dint we go, too?” Ellie whined.
“Yesh, why
dint
we?”
“Because,” Lizzie said.
“Because why?” came the chorus.
Lizzie took a deep breath and steadied herself. Then, in a voice that sounded freakishly calm to her own ears, she said, “Alex. Ellie. Remember that time Mummy and Daddy talked about getting divorced? And one of you asked what divorce meant?”
“No,” said Alex, but Ellie nodded vigorously. “Yes, an’ you said you’d ’splain anuvver time.”
“Well, I’m going to explain now. Divorce is when a mummy and a daddy stop being married.”
“Woss mawwied?” Alex asked, no longer smiling.
Lizzie thought for a moment. “Married is . . . it’s when two grown-ups who love each other decide to live together forever and ever.”
“Oh,” said Ellie.
“When I gwow up I’m going to mawwy
you
, Mummy,” said Alex. He got up on his haunches and touched her cheek in placatory fashion.
“Me too,” said Ellie.
“You can’t marry your mother, my darlings.”
“Then I’ll mawwy Ellie,” Alex declared.
“You can’t marry your sister.”
“Oh. Then maybe I won’t mawwy anybody,” he said gloomily.
She tousled his hair, blinking back inexplicable tears. “Maybe you won’t and maybe you will. Nobody
has
to get married, but most people want to,” she said.
“Okay, Mummy. But I’m not gonna mawwy Mrs. Kirker.”
“All
right
. Anyway, when you get married, you promise to stay together for ever and ever. But sometimes it doesn’t work out that way. Sometimes the grown-ups find they don’t want to live together anymore. When that happens, they can get divorced.”
Ellie studied her mother. “So divorce means not keepin’ your promise to live togevver forever?” she asked.
Lizzie paused, not happy with this wording. But after a moment she nodded her head. “Yes,” she said sadly. “That’s it in a nutshell.”
Ellie gave her a stern look. “How come grown-ups can break promises?” she asked. “You always tell us not to break promises.”
“Breaking promises isn’t right,” said Lizzie. “It almost always makes people sad. Daddy and I are very sad about breaking our promise, but we’ve decided to get divorced. We won’t be living together ever again, and we won’t be going on holiday together, either.”
“Don’t be sad, Mummy,” said Alex. He put his hand into the tiny pocket of his jeans and brought out twenty pence. “We woll buy you anudder glasses.”
“Silly,” Ellie rebuked her brother. “She’s not cryin’ for the
glasses.
”
But Lizzie took the coin and put it in her own pocket. “Thank you, my love,” she said. “Every little helps.”
“You
can’t
give up the marathon!” Tessa wailed at her on Monday morning, from the phone at work. “Think of what you’re throwing away! The hours of training! All that self-discipline! The miles you’ve clocked on your running shoes!”
“I’m sorry, I just won’t be able to do it,” Lizzie said.
“But you can’t give it up!” Tessa insisted. “You can’t let it all slip away, everything you’ve worked for — your fitness, your weight loss, your — your sense of pride in what you’ve accomplished!”
“Tessa?”
“Yes?”
“Will you just shut up and listen a minute? I’m giving up the marathon because I won’t be here to run it.”
“What the hell are you talking about now?”
“I’m going to Scotland. Glasgow. I’m going to open the branch office for G.H. Brightman after all. I phoned the office this morning and it’s all on.”
That evening, Tessa and Greg arrived at Back Lane Cottage with some cartons of Chinese food and a bottle of wine. “We need to talk,” Tessa said firmly. “You can’t go to
Glasgow
. Nobody goes to Glasgow. You
must
think it over some more. I mean, what about Bruno?”
Lizzie poked at her beef and broccoli with a fork. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet. It’s more or less no go with Bruno. He’s — um, he’s going back to his ex-wife.” She put down her fork and took a slug of wine.
Tessa stared at Greg, dumbfounded.
Greg cleared his throat. “Hang on,” he said. “What do you mean? From what I gathered, this chap was all over you. What ex-wife? What are you talking about?”
Lizzie got up and walked hurriedly to the bathroom. She could hear Tessa chiding Greg. “You idiot! Did you have to be so tactless and insensitive? Can’t you see she’s a wreck? Just leave the talking to me, okay?”
Lizzie blew her nose fiercely and sucked the tears back down. She wasn’t a wreck, not by any means. She was a woman who’d decided to make a fresh start somewhere new. Straightening her shoulders, she walked back to the table. Greg and Tessa smiled brightly.
“So,” said Tessa, “you’ve had a little hiccup with — with getting out there and dating again. Never mind. Early days yet. These things happen. No need to — you know, do anything rash. No need to rush off to Scotland.”
“Glasgow’s a cultural hot spot these days,” Lizzie told them stubbornly. “I
want
to go there. Brightman is offering me a good salary. It’s cheaper to live there than here. I can’t afford to turn it down. As for Bruno, I’m getting to grips with all that. And d’you know what? I don’t bear a grudge. I mean, it’s sort of touching, in a way — the whole reconciliation thing. I hope he and his wife are very happy the second time around.”
Greg and Tessa exchanged glances.
“But Lizzie,” Tessa pleaded, “you’ve just settled down here. You’ve just got this house looking decent. And the garden. All those nettles you destroyed. How can you possibly leave? Uproot the children all over again? I mean, is it really necessary?”
“The twins don’t care where they are, as long as
I’m
there,” Lizzie said fiercely. “Do you think I’d go to Glasgow just for a jaunt? Of course it’s bloody necessary.”
For once in her life, Tessa looked quelled.
“Glasgow has the Burrell Collection,” Greg said thoughtfully after a moment. “Also that science center that looks like the Sydney Opera House.”
Tessa turned on him. “Will you shut up, Greg? Lizzie, you haven’t thought this through. Ellie and Alex need to see their dad on a regular basis. If you take them way up there, they’ll grow up without a male role model.”
Lizzie gave a hollow laugh. “James? He’s the model of a philandering bastard. Did I happen to mention he’s swilling wine with Sonja Jenkins in the South of France right now? I’m going to Glasgow, and that’s that.” She glared at them both as if she expected another argument, but neither of them said a single thing. “Brightman’s already set me up with a relocation agent and I’ve found out about day care places. There’s this woman called Fiona who runs a child-minding business out of her home. It sounds okay.”
“The twins will grow up saying ‘och aye,’ ” Greg pointed out.
“Good,” said Lizzie. “I’m all for the occasional ‘och aye.’ ”
“You should stay and stand your ground,” Tessa insisted. “You’ve put down roots here. Running away isn’t going to solve anything.”
“I’m not running away,” Lizzie said. “ I’m — I’m embracing new opportunities.”
Tessa’s eyes darted about as she considered all the angles. “Look,” she said suddenly, “go to Glasgow if you must, but don’t give up the marathon. You promised me you’d run it. For the fetus. Remember? So if you really must go to Scotland, couldn’t you carry on training up there and take a few days off work to come down and run it? Please?”
Lizzie shook her head. “The marathon doesn’t matter now. I’ll be too busy, too stretched. I won’t have the time for it.”
Tessa scrunched up her mouth and glanced at Greg. He took her cue. “Lizzie, we
need
you to run it,” he urged. “Tessa’s very — superstitious. Don’t look at me that way, darling, it’s true. She’s scared shitless she’ll lose the baby if you don’t run. So — please?”
Great. Nothing like a dose of emotional blackmail to round out her day. Lizzie glared at Tessa. “You idiot,” she said. “You’re not losing this baby. Okay, I’ll run the bloody thing if you’re going to make such a big deal out of it.”
Tessa surged at her and tried to hug her, but Lizzie batted away her hands. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” said Tessa, “but I think it might do you some good too, you know? Help keep you sane with everything you’ve got on your plate.”
“Help keep me out of a size twelve pair of jeans, you mean.”
“That too.”
Greg was suddenly struck by a thought. “Hey, does James know you’re leaving? Do you think he’ll try to stop you?”
“We haven’t actually talked,” Lizzie admitted. “I’ll phone him tonight. He’s coming back from France next week. We’re due to sign the divorce papers as soon as he gets here.” She took a deep breath. Greg and Tessa watched her anxiously. “I can’t bloody wait!” she declared.
Now that Lizzie had made up her mind to move to Glasgow, she was full of impatience to pack up and go. Brightman had offered to give her a month to wind things up, but she’d told him she could do it in two weeks. The less time spent looking over her shoulder in case Bruno should suddenly pop up out of the woodwork, the better.
Bruno didn’t seem to realize that it behooved him never to contact her again. He’d phoned a couple of times to ask how she was doing. Each time, she’d hung up on him. The sooner she could be out of here, without a forwarding address, the better.
She was packing up the small items in the living room the next day when Sarah and Ingrid Hatter poked their heads through the front door and called, “ Yoo-hoo!” Lizzie set aside the picture she was about to wrap in newspaper — the one of her and Tessa in Greece — and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair.
“Come on in,” she called. “It’s about time I had a tea break.”
“What are you doing?” Ingrid asked, as curious as ever.
“ I’m — I’m packing up my stuff,” Lizzie said. “I was going to come over and tell you. I’ve taken a job in, um, Glasgow.”
Ingrid threw herself down on the Ikea sofa. “You
what
?” she demanded. “Is this because of that basket, Bruno?”
Basket? Oh, right. One of Ingrid’s euphemisms. News certainly traveled fast; Lizzie hadn’t actually laid eyes on Ingrid since her disastrous encounter at Bruno’s house.
“Sarah said you came home on Friday night looking as if you’d been crying your eyes out,” Ingrid went on. “I took the liberty of calling him up, and the cheeky bugger told me he’s back with his wife. The absolute nerve of the man. After kissing you like that in the garden! He won’t be mowing my lawn anymore, I can tell you that for free.”
Lizzie made an explosive noise, a mixture between a sob and a laugh. “Oh, Ingrid. Don’t sack him on my account. Look, the truth is, I’m going to Glasgow because I can’t really afford to live here. My former boss has offered me quite a decent salary to start up an office there. It’s a big opportunity. I can’t turn it down.”
Sarah was toeing a rug and looking miserable. Lizzie felt a strange urge to go over and hug her, but she’d never hugged the child before and it would probably be embarrassing for both of them.
“What does James say?” Ingrid barked.
Ah, James.
That was the tricky bit.
She’d phoned him in France last night and he’d had quite a bit to say, none of it very supportive. He’d started out politely enough, asking her to reconsider the whole situation, pointing out all the disadvantages of going so far away from her friends and family, and of putting the children through the trauma of adjusting to yet another new preschool.
“I know all that,” she’d told him. “I’ve weighed up all the pros and cons. But I can’t really see what else I’m supposed to do. I can’t get a decent job around here, not one that would justify my putting the children into day care. I won’t be able to stay in this house in the long run, anyway. It’s too expensive.”
“Rubbish,” he’d said. “I’m quite prepared to keep paying the rent. If that’s the issue, just stop worrying about it and stay right where you are.”
That was when she began to bristle. “I’ll do as I see fit,” she’d told him. “I’m not answerable to you anymore.”
There was a silence. And then he said, “But you’re answerable to Alex and Ellie.”
Lizzie was furious. “So are you!” she spat. “You should’ve thought of that when you walked out on us. I’m going to Glasgow because I’ve sent my CV out to thirteen PR firms and not one of them wants me! You try taking a five-year break from work and then trying to shoehorn yourself back in! They don’t hold your bloody place for you. And anyway, what are you worried about? If you can keep flitting up to Scotland to redesign old barns, you can make the time to get up there to see your own children.”