14
I got through the next few weeks by painting every free minute I got—anything and everything. There was nothing else quite as raw as that first painting of me and Alex, which I’d hidden from myself behind a stack of old paintings, but everything I did was still expressive and cathartic—painting after painting made with barely any conscious thought, just responding to my feelings. A psychoanalyst’s dream, no doubt.
Alex phoned around two months later. It was a shock to hear his voice.
“We need to talk about sorting the house out,” he said. “Shall I come round?”
Instinct told me a neutral location for our meeting would be best.
“No,” I said quickly. “Let’s meet in the park.”
Alex sounded doubtful. “Sure. Though I could do with collecting some of my things.”
“You can come and get them afterwards.”
“All right. The bench overlooking the fountain at eleven?”
I looked around at the clichéd unwashed dishes and discarded pizza boxes—a testament to how well I was coping without him. “Can you make it twelve?”
“Okay, see you there.”
As well as clearing up, I took a little trouble with my appearance before I went to meet Alex. I didn’t want him to know I hadn’t been sleeping. That I was grey faced from painting through the night. Stressed because I couldn’t apply my brain to my teaching planning and subsequently turned up to sessions having forgotten half the art materials or some critical piece of paperwork. That I’d lost weight because I kept forgetting to eat and I was just so fucking sad and lonely, despite my friends coming round to keep me company as often as they could.
So I made an effort, choosing something flattering to wear, putting on make-up, conditioning my hair so it shone. As I set out for the park, I had no idea whether any of it had worked or not. Whether I looked fine and in control. A person dealing well with a sad situation. I’d hardly been able to face looking at my poor broken reflection these past few months—but I’d done my best today, which was all I could do, and that knowledge gave me enough courage to walk past the park’s herbaceous borders and up the steps to the fountain.
Alex was already there—seated on a bench, looking at his phone, wearing new clothes, I noticed—a dark-green jacket and a pair of cream cargo pants. He didn’t see me straightaway, so there was time to notice his hair was freshly washed and even longer than he usually wore it. It suited him. He looked good; not like a grieving man who had recently broken up from a long-term relationship. More like someone who had embarked on a new chapter of his life. He didn’t look like someone who’d been pining for me at all, and that hurt. A lot.
He looked up. Saw me. Stuffed his phone into his jacket pocket. Stood.
“Hello, Lily.”
“Hi, Alex.”
There was a moment where we just stood there, unsure how to greet each other. Then, at the exact same moment he moved to kiss my cheek, I drew away to sit down on the bench.
Alex sat, too, leaving three feet of space between us. “How are you?”
But I wasn’t going to tell him the truth about that. I had my pride, after all. So I nodded. “Fine, thanks. You?”
“I’m ...” He spread his hands. “You know, getting there. Working my way through the stages of grief. Trying not to be annoyed because Dad seems hell-bent on sticking in the anger stage.”
I nodded, easily able to imagine his father like that. Anything to avoid the inevitable despair. “You are what you are with grief, though, aren’t you?” I said. “There’s not much deliberate choice involved.”
He looked at me. I wondered if, like me, he was uncertain whether or not we were only talking about his mum.
Alex sighed. “That’s true. But even so ... It’s time to move on. I can’t stay living with Dad. That’s why I wanted to see you. To discuss selling the house.”
He looked at me. My cue to deliver my carefully prepared and partly fabricated speech.
“Yes. Well, about that. I’ve got a friend moving into the house on the weekend.” Amy. I hadn’t actually asked her yet, but I was pretty sure she’d say yes. “And I’m starting some weekend work in a few weeks’ time, so—”
Alex frowned. “Teaching? On weekends?”
Care-assistant work at the hospital, mopping up sick and emptying bedpans mostly, no doubt. But maybe there could be an element of teaching involved? Showing the patients how to keep positive in dire circumstances, perhaps? Who was I kidding? There wasn’t going to be any teaching involved. It was just going to be a hard slog. But I didn’t have any choice, did I? If I didn’t want to sell the house, I’d need to give Alex his share of what we’d already paid off on the mortgage. And no mortgage company was going to give me a mortgage if I only had my teaching salary. I was lucky to have got the extra work.
“It’s allied to teaching, yes,” I lied. “Anyway, the important thing is, once I’ve started that work, I’ll be able to take on the mortgage by myself. I’d like to stay living there if I can.”
I focused my attention on a boy cycling round and round the fountain, trying to outrun the spray, laughing gleefully every time it hit him. But I could still sense Alex’s searching gaze.
“If you’re working that much work, when will you have time to paint?”
When, indeed.
I forced myself to look away from the boy. Shrugged. “I’m sure it will sort itself out somehow.” I wasn’t.
When he still looked doubtful, I said, “Look, it’s fine. It will be fine. Don’t worry about it. How about you? Will you buy a flat?”
Now it was Alex’s turn to look away. “I’m not sure. Possibly. The thing is ...”
Surely he wasn’t planning to move in with his new girlfriend? Not already?
“I know about Felicity,” I said, wanting to get it out of the way. To get it over with. “Inga told me.”
He nodded. “Of course she did.” He sighed. “Look, I didn’t plan for it to happen. When I left, I wasn’t even sure it was permanent. I just needed some space. Then Mum died, and Felicity was ... well, she was just there, I suppose, at first. But she was really so good to me. So kind. Things just ... well ...”
I spoke quickly. “That’s great, Alex. You don’t need to explain. I’m happy for you.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“She’s not you, Lily,” Alex said quietly. “Felicity’s not you.”
I made an attempt at a smile. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though, is it?”
It was true—at least for Alex. He always had wanted more from me than I was prepared to give. The baby issue had just brought that into sharp focus.
I got to my feet. “Listen, I hope it works out for you with Felicity. I wish you both all the very best, I really do. Now, I’m off to meet a friend, so feel free to go and collect some things. I’ll be in touch about any paperwork you need to sign once I’ve sorted the mortgage out. Bye, Alex.”
“No, wait,” he said. “Don’t go. There’s ... well, there’s something you should know.”
I turned. “What?”
“Fliss. She ... well, she’s pregnant.”
Fucking hell. I blinked, with no clue what to say. Or to think. Or feel.
“Well, that was quick.”
Alex looked embarrassed. “I know. Actually, I think it must have happened the first time we ...”
I had a sudden memory of Alex leaping onto the kitchen table the evening he’d proposed. So much for grand gestures.
“Well, congratulations. I’m very happy for you.”
Alex looked as if he wanted to laser beam my eyeballs, he was so determined to read my expression. “Do you really mean that?”
Of course I didn’t fucking mean that. What was wrong with the man? It was just something you said, because you wanted the whole miserable meeting to be done with. When you needed to get away from someone as fast as was humanly possible.
“Of course,” I said, summoning superhuman skills from somewhere to back the lie up with a kiss. “You’ll be a wonderful father.”
“Thanks. I hope so.”
He opened his mouth to say more, but I was at my absolute limit of pretence, so I just lifted my hand and turned to walk quickly away. “Sorry, Alex, I’m going to be really late to meet my friend. Good to see you. I’ll be in touch soon. Bye.”
Jesus. Nobody wanted to know they were so easily replaced, but had that actually been pity in Alex’s face? Had he really thought my maternal instincts would somehow be magically kickstarted by the news that he’d impregnated somebody else? Well, they hadn’t, and they wouldn’t. I only wished I’d got out of our relationship sooner and saved all that unpleasantness with his mother.
He was right. It was time to move on.