Chapter 23
AMBER
‘Someone has to take action, hen, and by God if those clowns at the council won’t do something about the potholes, then I will. Me and my pal have got a tar bucket that we’ve customised…’
By the time the taxi driver had taken Amber from Glasgow Central Hospital to her street twenty minutes away, he’d sorted out the spending budgets of Glasgow City Council, the entire political future of Great Britain, climate change, at least two wars and he was now on to his patent-pending solution to the scourge of potholes.
But still, she didn’t want to test his vast capabilities by asking him to sort the absolute crapstorm that was her life.
How had it come to this? How? Just over two years ago, she’d been blissfully happy, with her gorgeous little family and her perfect husband, a fantastic best friend and a whole lifetime of happiness in front of her, and now…
Now she was the kind of chick that hooked up with married men and created health hazards that resulted in a strain on the already stretched resources of the NHS.
And seeing Estelle there tonight… As if the Gods of Colossal Humiliations hadn’t had enough fun with her, there was Estelle, reminding her that even in the pothole of life that she’d somehow fallen into, none of that mattered next to what poor Marge was going through.
If the driver heard her loud sniff as she fought back the great, heaving sob that was rising in her throat, he just stared straight ahead and moved on to his theory that UFOs were landing at Prestwick Airport.
She couldn’t get Marge out of her mind. All those years that woman had been so kind to her and Amber had cut her dead.
And true, Marge hadn’t got in touch with her either, but did that really matter now?
Did Amber really care who did what to whom?
The only thing that was important was that someone she loved was dying and Amber was consumed with guilt and regret.
Why had she been so bloody stubborn? In fact, wasn’t that the story of the last two years of her life?
She’d cut Ewan and Estelle off too, and yes, in her mind she’d had good reason, but what did it all really boil down to? They’d made a mistake. One mistake.
Hadn’t she done the same today? Okay, so her mistake was slightly less life-changing, at least for her.
But accidentally sleeping with a married man was a colossal fuck up nonetheless, and Amber could quite feasibly have been sitting here right now listening to a theory that we were about to be replaced by robots, having unwittingly wrecked Murray’s wife’s life.
Maybe his wife was preparing to divorce him right now and Amber had played a part in that.
It was a mistake. A really stupid mistake that she would take back in a heartbeat.
There was another loud sniff as her mind went back to Marge, and she wondered if there was anything in Marge’s life that she would take back. Did she have regrets? Things that made her sad now? Decisions that she would change? And what if there were, and it was too late?
The taxi turned into her street as her train of thought took her in another direction. If she were in Marge’s position, ill and close to the end of her life, what would she change? What regrets could she not live – or die – with? What would she want to rewind?
Everything. Every damn thing for the last two years.
She’d want her marriage back, her family intact, her world to be whole again.
Sometimes she wondered if she should have given Ewan a second chance, for the sake of the kids, if nothing else, but she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of him touching her after he’d been with someone else.
And it hadn’t mattered to her that it was only once.
It was the lies, the deceit, the broken trust and the knowledge that he was capable of destroying their family for the sake of a quick shag.
How could she ever get over that? He’d begged her to change her mind so many times, but the pain had been too real, too raw.
His actions had distorted the way she felt about him, shredded her love for him, so that all that was left was resentment and a grudging desire to be cordial for the kids.
But now… Her thoughts circled back. One mistake. Could she really punish him forever?
‘Because the thing is, those new robo-taxis over in America, the ones with no drivers, are missing the point. We’re a public service. We don’t just drive people around, we share their problems and provide a valuable social outlet…’
‘Excuse me,’ she blurted, just as they pulled to a stop outside her house. ‘Sorry to interrupt, and you’re right – a valuable social service. And as for what you’re saying about solving problems – any chance you could wait here for five minutes while I run in there and then take me somewhere else?’
‘Och, I’d love to, but I’m due a tea break…’
Her chin dropped. ‘What happened to being a valuable social service? How about if I bring you a ham sandwich, a bun and a can of Irn-Bru?’
Amber wasn’t sure what did the trick, but he grudgingly agreed. ‘Aye, fine then – but I’m leaving the meter running.’
‘Problem solving doesn’t come cheap,’ Amber joked as she dashed out of the car and into the house, deliberately averting her gaze from the red sports car parked at the end of her path. A red flag on four bloody wheels and she still hadn’t spotted it.
She’d asked the taxi driver to wait because, after the champagne she’d had earlier with that tosser, she didn’t want to risk getting behind the wheel and she couldn’t rule out needing a stiff glass of wine at some point in the next few hours.
Besides, the way her day was going, any disaster could befall her.
Was it really only this morning that she’d come downstairs with two paramedics and a married shagger on a stretcher?
Her face began to burn, and it wasn’t because she was galloping up the stairs.
In her bedroom, she put her hand up to the side of her face so that she couldn’t look at the messy bed as she passed it, and went straight into the carnage of the bathroom.
‘SpongeBob, I actually think I owe you a thanks…’ she muttered, as she picked him out of the shower tray and turned on the jets.
She meant what she said. If Murray hadn’t slipped this morning, and everything else hadn’t unfolded today, how long would it have been until she discovered he was married?
And when would she have found out that Marge was ill?
After she was gone and it was too late? And when would Amber have realised that she herself was stubborn, and uncompromising, and judgemental, and unforgiving?
Actually, she’d always known all of those things, but she’d just chosen to ignore them because, well, she was stubborn and uncompromising and judgemental.
As soon as the shower was warm enough, she jumped in, gave herself a thirty-second clean, then out, towel dried and pulled on the jeans she’d stuffed in the wardrobe when she was tidying her room prior to daytime sex this morning, then added a cream jumper and a pair of boots.
She brushed her hair back into a messy ponytail – not deliberately, but she didn’t have time to make it neat – and then shot back down the stairs.
After a quick pitstop in the kitchen to make the sandwich and grab the bun and the Irn-Bru, then a pause to pick up her handbag and jacket from the rack at the door, she was back in the taxi fourteen minutes later.
‘There you go,’ she said, handing the lot over to him, before giving him the next destination.
By the time they got there, she was wondering if it was possible to patent the ability to eat a ham sandwich and drink a can of Irn-Bru while driving and waxing lyrical on the history of solar panels.
It was like hanging out with a talking Wikipedia.
‘Can you wait again, please?’ There was every chance this could go very wrong and she’d be back out on her arse in the rain. ‘For five minutes. Maybe ten. I might need to go back where I came from.’
‘I tell you what,’ Wiki Driver said, ‘pay for what you’ve used so far, and I’m going to stay here and eat my bun and have a wee break.
I need to catch up on the latest in international affairs.
My passengers like to know these things.
I’ll stick around for ten minutes and if you don’t come back, I’ll shoot off. ’
‘Deal. Thank you so much,’ she said, tapping her credit card against the little machine on the back of the front seat, not even looking to see what the fare on the meter said.
She’d probably just spent the equivalent of a one-way ticket to Alicante, but she would worry about it when the credit card bill came in. She could always remortgage the house.
She jumped out, ignoring the cold, the drizzle and the fact that one boot went straight into a puddle, and ran up the path, then up the four steps to the door of the townhouse and rang the bell.
When the guy answered, his first reaction was very obvious surprise, followed by an immediate leap to concern.
‘Hey. Is everything okay? Is something wrong?’
‘No. Yes. I mean, can I talk to you?’
That’s when her ex-husband stepped back and let her in the door.
‘The boys are asleep – they both crashed out on the couch, and I was just about to lift them up to bed, but I can wake them…’ he offered, still clearly confused as he led her through to what she saw was an open-plan kitchen and living room.
And yes, there were her babes, Sid in his favourite Spiderman pyjamas, and Alfie, arm slung over his brother, was wearing a Buzz Lightyear spacesuit.
Obviously no one had told him there are no dinosaurs in space.
She kept her tone low so as not to disturb them. ‘No, no – you don’t need to wake them, it’s you I’ve come to speak to.’
Amber resisted her curiosity to look around. She’d never been in the house he’d moved in to after they split, but from what she could see, it looked spotlessly clean and well cared for – although there did appear to be a basketball hoop in the middle of the kitchen, but she let that go.
‘Sounds ominous. Do you want a coffee, or do I need beer for this?’
He leaned against the worktop, and this was perhaps the first time in two years the Amber could look straight at him without immediately averting her eyes because rage, or hurt, or some other negative emotion would start twisting round her gut.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ She was already way too amped up for more caffeine. ‘I just need to ask you something. What you did… do you wish you could go back and undo it?’
He held her eye contact, not even flinching. ‘Every single day. You know that. It was the biggest mistake of my life.’
‘And if I could find a way to forgive you…?’ It was a question, but she couldn’t get the rest of the words out, because they were stuck somewhere in her chest, right next to her heart.
‘Then I’d beg you to come back to me. I don’t want to do life with anyone else but you.’
He wasn’t usually one to go into deep conversations about his emotions or their relationship, but this was the first opportunity she’d given him to speak calmly, without reproach or condemnation, since the night she’d found out about the affair.
Back then, he’d argued that it was a one-night stand, but to her it was an affair because the emotional exchange, the foreplay, the deceit, had started weeks before.
She wasn’t interested in hearing his defence or his explanations, so she’d blocked all conversation.
Refused to bend. So now, hard as it was, she wanted to listen to what he had to say.
‘I know I’ve got no right to say it,’ he went on, ‘but this is what I want. You, me, the kids, Saturday night on the couch watching movies. I love you and it kills me that I blew it. I’ll never stop being sorry. To all of you.’
She nodded slowly, fear and relief and love and so many other feelings bubbling inside her, so she didn’t know which one was going to rise to the top.
It was as if today had mopped up all her emotions, tossed them in a tumble drier, and somehow, at the end of the cycle, she was left with a steaming hot towel of self-reflection, doubt and regret wrapped around her heart.
Was she crazy to even consider this? Was this all just an extreme knee-jerk response to the shitshow of a day? Or was it real? Could this really be their lives again?
Her gaze went from the man she’d loved for a decade – actually, the only man she’d ever loved – over to her sleeping boys.
‘And how long will the offer of a place on the couch be available?’
‘Until you take it.’
Until you take it.
Was that what she wanted? She wasn’t sure so she wasn’t going to give him an answer now.
Not today, when she could barely think straight and her decision-making skills had already landed her in an emergency situation.
She wasn’t going to confuse the kids by getting them all back together and then having to let it go because the resentment or anger was still there.
‘Okay. I need to go somewhere. But I’ll think about it and get back to you.’
He stayed exactly where he was, leaning against the worktop, letting her call every shot. ‘I’ll be here.’
Before she did anything she would regret, she backed out of the kitchen, turned and then went out of the front door, where her valuable social service was still waiting.
‘That bun was the best thing I’ve ever tasted, hen. Right, where to next?’
Home. Yes, she should go home. But…
‘Can you take me back to Glasgow Central Hospital?’