Chapter 28 #2
He doesn’t respond, and I suspect he is, to phrase it politely, shitting himself.
Despite everything we’ve gone through, all the suffering he has caused me, I have never once spoken to him like this.
He laid my self-confidence so low that it was practically non-existent, had me brainwashed into thinking that everything that went wrong was my fault.
I’ve never raised my voice at him, or called him names, or held him accountable for what he did.
That seems to have changed too, like so many other things about my life.
I’m now gripped by such rage that if I could teleport to Basildon, I’d find him and choke the last breath out of him.
The background noise fades, and he’s clearly gone somewhere more private. A flush sounds, and I shake my head as I realise he’s now hiding in the toilets. Pure class.
‘Okay, Kate,’ he says once he’s relocated, trying to sound assertive. ‘What is it you need to say to me so urgently?’
It’s funny how I recognise now that he’s only trying to sound assertive – that he’s shaken, that I’ve called his bluff and he doesn’t really know how to handle this version of me. How could this man have held me in his thrall for so long?
‘Did you lie about our fertility tests?’ I ask simply.
Rage aside, I don’t really want to spend more time than I have to on the phone to him.
I want to erase him from my heart, from my mind, from my memories.
Even talking to him makes me feel soiled and full of regret for the way I allowed him to treat me.
He is silent, and I can almost picture the shocked look on his face.
I can also imagine the weaselly expression that it will segue into, as he tries to bluster his way out of it.
If past patterns are anything to go by, he’ll now try and convince me I’m going mad.
He’ll tell me I’m crazy and that I’m imagining things.
By the end of the conversation I’ll be the one apologising to him, while he goes back to the bar and complains about his psychotic ex-wife to his current girlfriend.
No.
I’ve been down that path before, and I’m grateful to my time in Bonnie Bay for helping me learn one important lesson – I’m worth a hell of a lot more than that.
‘Before you answer, Harry, I should tell you that I know you did. I know because I’m pregnant, and because the doctor told me nobody even uses the phrase “inhospitable womb” any more. I’m guessing you found it on Google?’
More silence, and I can picture him so clearly.
I spent years studying this man’s facial expressions, looking for signs that he was about to start an argument, or say something that would hurt me.
I was so finely attuned to his moods and needs, I barely paid any attention to my own.
Now, I’m fully expecting a smooth speech that puts all the blame on my shoulders.
Instead, I get something I never could have predicted in a million years. Honesty, in all its unpleasant glory.
‘Congratulations, Kate. That’s… that’s great. And yes, I did lie.’
I’m so taken aback by this bombshell that I can’t even speak. Rosie, listening in, widens her eyes, and makes the universal sign for ‘dickhead’ with her curled fist. I’d normally find that amusing, but right now I barely notice.
‘Why?’ I ask simply.
He sighs, and there’s a loud bang. I think he might have just punched the cubicle wall.
‘Because when I found out the problem was mine, I couldn’t handle it.
I don’t just have a low sperm count, I have no sperm count.
Pretty rare, apparently, but you know I always liked to be a high-flyer.
Do you know how it made me feel, being told that I couldn’t perform the most basic of male functions properly? ’
He sounds bitter, upset. It would have devastated him, any slight imperfection always did.
He was vain and arrogant and always assumed he was going to be the best at whatever he set out to achieve.
This news would have made him feel less of a man, no matter how outdated a notion that might be.
I steel myself against the temptation to sympathise with him, because he doesn’t deserve it. Not after what he did.
‘Yes, Harry,’ I reply firmly. ‘I do understand how it made you feel – because I’ve now spent years feeling exactly the same about myself.
You could have told me. I wouldn’t have blamed you in any way, not the way I’ve blamed myself at least. But did it not occur to you to tell me at any stage after we split up?
You didn’t think it might be relevant somehow? ’
‘I should have told you, yes. Except I’d halfway convinced myself it was true, that the problem was yours.
It was a lie I’d told so often it didn’t even feel like a lie any more.
Plus you know how things were between us.
It didn’t end well. There never seemed like a good time for that conversation. ’
I shake my head in disbelief. He really is incredible.
There were so many times he could have found a way to tell me – he just didn’t want to, because it would make him face up to what he’d done.
He’s an idiot and a coward and a liar, and again I can’t quite believe I stayed with him for so long.
That I clung on so hard. Even when things were terrible between us, I was so weak and desperate that I held on – and being under the illusion that I couldn’t have children might have contributed to that weakness.
‘Well, I was always good at accepting the guilt, wasn’t I, Harry? Always good at mopping up the punishment. As for when or how, there’s a world of ways to communicate out there. Maybe you could have just tagged it onto one of those Friday night messages you’ve been sending?’
A thought suddenly occurs to me. ‘Does she know? Does Vicky know you probably can’t have children?’
I can’t bear the thought of another woman going through what I’ve gone through, even if it’s one who stole my husband. Not that I really wanted him anyway, I now realise. If she stole him, it’s because the door was wide open and there was a sign on it saying ‘burglars welcome’.
‘She doesn’t want children,’ he answers, sounding defensive.
‘That’s not the point, Harry. You need to tell her. I know it doesn’t fit with your master of the universe image, but you need to tell her.’
‘Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it. And Kate? I’m sorry, I really am. And I’m pleased for you. You’ll make a great mum. So, I take it you’ve met someone else?’
‘That’s none of your business. It could be a one-night stand for all you know – because I’ve been under the impression that I didn’t need to take any extra precautions for all this time.
You sent me out in the world thinking I was broken, thinking that this could never happen.
It was… it was a cruel thing to do, Harry. Cruel and so bloody irresponsible.’
I’m saying these words, and meaning every single one of them, but my anger has drained from me. I find that the new thing I’m feeling is annoyingly unwelcome, and that fury was easier to handle than this. Than compassion.
‘Right. Yes. All I can do is say I’m sorry.’
He’s apologised to me more times during this one conversation than in our whole relationship. Maybe all I ever needed to do was stand up to him.
‘As for Vicky—’ he goes on, before I interrupt him.
‘No. I’ve said my piece, and I don’t want to know any more. You and Vicky are none of my business, either. Tell her, don’t tell her – I don’t really care. Harry, don’t ever contact me again, all right?’
I hang up, and let my phone fall to my lap.
I now find that I’m definitely pitying him, and it is both liberating and frustrating.
I also know that despite what I just said to him about Vicky being none of my business, it will play on my mind – he needs to tell her, and one day, when I’m feeling less shaken, I will entirely possibly contact him again to check that he has.
Or even contact her directly, and try to be the better woman.
I shake my head to clear these thoughts. ‘So. As you gathered, you were right, Rosie.’
‘It seems so. Wow, Kate. You really have bad luck with men. One is a lying scumbag, and the other abandoned you when he found out you were pregnant.’
I look up at her sharply, surprise on my face. Abandoned me? She thinks Brody abandoned me? I shake my head, and realisation slowly dawns.
‘Oooh,’ she says slowly, processing this new information. ‘He doesn’t know? Kate, that’s not right – you have to tell him!’
‘I know that! Of course I know that! And I will tell him, once he’s back home in Chicago. If I told him while he was here, then he would have stayed.’
Understandably confused, she responds: ‘And that would be a bad thing how?’
‘Because I wanted him to stay for me, not because he felt duty-bound! And I wasn’t enough, Rosie.
He’s not a bad man, he’s the opposite, but it would never have worked between us if he’d only stayed for the baby.
And now he’s gone, and even though that all made sense before, I feel terrified!
How the hell am I going to cope? I don’t even have a proper job, and my flat is on the third floor, and I’ll be all alone, and I know nothing about babies! Is this all a terrible mistake?’
The words tumble out of me in a torrent of fear. It’s been a hell of a day.
Rosie puts down her glass, and holds my hands in hers. ‘First of all, take a breath. There. That’s better. Now take another one. Brilliant. And no, of course it’s not a terrible mistake – it’s wonderful!’
‘But you were the one who told me being a mum was like having monkeys throwing poo at you!’
She laughs. ‘I did say that, didn’t I? And there is a lot of poo involved. But I’d never be without my kids, and you’ll feel the same. And Kate, you won’t be alone. You’ll have us.’
For a few more weeks, maybe. But when September comes, I’ll have to leave – back to London, back to being lonely.
It suddenly all feels way too much. I put on a good show for Brody, and I amazed myself with how I handled Harry, but really, am I ready for this?
Am I capable of being responsible for another human being?
I’m still fighting the rising panic when I hear a commotion outside. It’s a bit like when the bins are collected, a low-level ruckus. Then I hear Moira’s voice, and stare at Rosie.
‘He asked Moira to come too?’
‘No. I asked Moira to come. I have a tendency to just get drunk in these kinds of situations, so I called her and asked her to join us. Obviously, I didn’t realise it was going to turn out to be such an interesting night… do you want me to tell her to leave?’
I shake my head. Apart from anything else, this is Moira’s cottage. It’s her home, and I’m just squatting. I have no right to turn her away.
There’s a knock on the door, and Rosie jumps up to answer it. The noise turns out to have been Robbie setting up the ramp, and he wheels Moira through into the room. They both go silent, staring around them at the place.
It drags me out of my own self-pity party, realising that it must be so strange for them.
For Moira, who has been living with Joanne, and for Robbie, who has been away in Australia.
I know how many memories this cottage holds for me after such a short amount of time – for them it must be even more significant.
‘Och, it’s nice to see the place again!’ Moira announces. She holds on to Robbie’s hands and manages to get to her feet, letting him support her as she takes careful steps towards the kitchen table. I wonder what she’s going to do, how she’s going to react – this must be emotional for her.
With typical Moira character, though, she just reaches out and takes a Kettle Chip. ‘Ugh. Salt and vinegar,’ she announces, pulling a face. One prowl around the table, and she goes back to her wheelchair. I know she’s making amazing progress, but she also needs to not push herself too far.
‘Right, off to the pub with you, Robbie,’ she says, as he brings her over towards us. ‘This is a girls’ night if ever I saw one.’
‘Aye,’ he replies, taking in Rosie’s now half-empty prosecco bottle and my tear-stained face. ‘I don’t need telling twice!’
Once he’s gone, the three of us are left alone. Moira’s shrewd gaze misses nothing, and she asks: ‘So, what’s going on here then, hen?’
Rosie raises an eyebrow at me. I know what she’s asking, and I nod.
What the hell. It’s not like I have anything to lose, and Moira is like the wise woman of Aberdeenshire.
I’m guessing there’s not much she hasn’t seen in life, and she’s never showed me anything but kindness. I don’t need to keep secrets from her.
‘Well, Kate’s pregnant, even though she thought she couldn’t have kids, and her ex is a toad, and Brody has left without even knowing, and now Kate is having a wee meltdown thinking she’ll be raising a bairn all alone!’
It’s a good a summary as any, and Moira’s eyes go wide. Then she makes a disapproving clicking sound with her tongue, and points a bony finger at me.
‘Alone? I’ve never heard such stuff and nonsense! You’ll no be alone, woman! You can stay here, with us. We know enough about bairns between us to write a book.’
‘That’s not realistic,’ I insist, even though the idea is so very comforting. ‘My job. My flat…’
‘Pah. Details, that’s all they are. Details that can be worked out.
Did I tell you that James Fraser came to see me yesterday?
Seems to have some mad scheme about turning the shop into something more than it is.
He might be talking out of his bahookie, but he might not be.
I wonder where he got the idea in the first place? ’
Her gaze narrows, and I bite my lip. ‘Um. Yes. That might have been me. Plus, what’s a bahookie?’
Rosie interjects: ‘Backside, Kate – bottom, buttocks, arse!’
She says each word with great relish. That prosecco is going down well.
Moira nods, unsurprised. ‘I suspected as much. I know we’d mentioned it as a vague idea, Kate, but now he’s talking about investment and business plans and the like.
The more he talked, the more I started to like it.
Much better than that whole bijou hotel nonsense.
And if it goes ahead, I’ll need help – I’m too old to take charge of it all.
I’ll be needing a manager, won’t I? And someone to look after the cottage for the time being.
You’d be useful here, Kate. And you wouldn’t be alone, darling. ’
She leans forward, patting me on the shoulder, pinning me down with her all-seeing gaze. ‘How does that sound?’
I turn it over in my mind. It sounds mad. It sound impossible. It sounds… right.