Chapter 2
2
Are you ever having a bad day, or doing something difficult, or just generally feeling rubbish and you think to yourself: I wish my mum or dad were here, to make it better? I think that all the time and yet, it’s funny, because my parents seem to have the knack for making things a bit worse.
‘Okay, kids, I need you to listen carefully, because we have some news,’ Mum starts, pausing to take a deep breath. ‘Your dad and I are pre-divorcing.’
‘What?’ I squeak.
‘Really?’ Tom, my brother, says at the same time.
‘It’s important to us that you realise that sometimes things just don’t work out,’ Mum continues. ‘But we need the two of you to know that it’s not your fault. Is it, Johnny?’
Mum gives Dad a sharp jab with her elbow.
‘No, no,’ he quickly joins in. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Wait, hang on a second.
‘Pre-divorcing?’ I say, because that’s a new one to me.
‘Yes,’ Mum says, her face serious, but the hints of a smile flickering at the edges of her mouth. ‘It’s basically an intent to divorce, later, when we’ve worked out the best course of action.’
‘But wait,’ Tom chimes in. ‘What about Christmas?’
Tom’s innocent but seemingly ill-timed question breaks through the seriousness of the moment. Mum’s face visibly shifts from that of a calm therapist to that of a woman who has been pushed in front of in a queue too many times and is about to finally snap.
‘We’re getting divorced,’ Dad tells him plainly. ‘We’re not denouncing Christianity.’
‘You mean renouncing,’ Mum corrects him. ‘And, seeing as though it’s so important to you, Tom, we thought it would be good for us, as a family, to spend Christmas together one last time.’
‘So Santa will know where to leave our presents?’ my brother jokes – at least I think he’s joking.
I allow myself a little snort.
‘It’s nice to see you’re taking it so well,’ Dad half-jokes.
‘Sorry, I’ve just never heard of a pre-divorce,’ Tom replies. ‘Are you, like, actually doing it?’
‘Yes,’ Mum says, clearly and plainly. ‘Unless things get better.’
‘So you’re not actually divorcing?’ I check.
‘We’re pre -divorcing,’ she says again. I still don’t get it.
I just stare at her, my thoughts racing with a million questions, but there is one obvious one that I have to ask first.
‘Why are you getting divorced?’ I ask, the words feeling heavy in my mouth. ‘Or pre-divorced, or whatever the correct term is.’
Mum’s expression softens. She looks a little sad that I’m even asking her the question, but her tone remains firm as she meets my gaze.
‘It’s just not working,’ she explains simply – there is a regretful edge to her words too, though. ‘Neither of us is happy.’
Jill Page, my mum, with her impeccable posture and professional demeanour, shifts in her seat for a moment before regaining her composure. Despite retiring early from her job as a solicitor, she still carries herself with an air of professionalism – one that she probably could have retired too. Sometimes, when she tells us things, it’s as if she’s about to deliver a report rather than just, you know, talk to her kids.
I’m not expecting her to only wear twinsets and pearls and spend her days knitting – or any other silly stereotypes – it’s just that her power suits and her girl-boss bobbed hairdo aren’t as necessary as they used to be. I wish I could get her to relax a little.
‘It’s been a long time coming,’ Dad admits, offering us one of his trademark friendly smiles. ‘But hopefully you understand.’
Johnny Page, my goofy, fun-loving dad, is in his early sixties as well. He has kind eyes behind his glasses, and a sense of style that matches his demeanour – he’s so laid-back, he’s horizontal. Unlike my retired mum, Dad is still working as a tree surgeon. He always jokes about never retiring, claiming he’ll only hang up his boots when he falls out of a tree or when the world runs out of greenery. He’s a huge sci-fi nerd whereas Mum much prefers a cosy romance, and that’s just the start of how polar opposite their personalities and tastes are. When you think about it, it’s a miracle they’ve lasted this long.
‘What your dad and I need is for the two of you to be really brave, okay?’ Mum says, her tone as determined as it is sad. ‘We can all get through this, but you kids need to be strong. Do you think you can do that?’
‘Mum, we’re both in our thirties,’ I reply, deadpan, because I’m starting to think that she thinks we’re ten and thirteen, when in reality I’m thirty, Tom is thirty-three, and we’re both fully grown adults who flew the nest over a decade ago.
‘I know,’ she says softly as reality catches up with her. ‘But it still must be hard for you both.’
‘Can’t you work it out?’ Tom asks optimistically. ‘If this is only a pre thing. Maybe give things another go, for old times’ sake?’
Dad shakes his head sadly.
‘We’ve tried, mate,’ he says, and there is just something about Dad being serious that makes things seem genuinely terrifying. When Dad isn’t joking, things are bad. Honestly, even when he did the eulogy at Grandad’s funeral, he was getting laughs.
‘This seems out of nowhere,’ I point out, my mind racing to make sense of it all. ‘And Christmas sounds like it’s going to be super awkward.’
‘Just to confirm, the actual Christmas dinner will be unaffected, right?’ Tom checks.
His priorities are just fantastic, aren’t they? I’m not sure he’s taking this seriously. I’m not sure I am either, to be honest, because I’m still not sure what ‘pre-divorcing’ actually means.
Mum’s shocked expression speaks volumes.
‘I thought you two would be more distraught,’ she admits – she almost sounds disappointed.
Tom shrugs in a way that shows the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.
‘We’re all adults,’ he says simply. ‘You guys can do whatever you want. Or pre do whatever you want, or… whatever.’
‘Amber?’ Mum prompts me. ‘What do you have to say about all of this?’
‘Assuming Christmas dinner is unaffected,’ Tom reminds me, as though it makes a difference.
‘Yes, can we all shut up about Christmas bloody dinner,’ Mum snaps.
I can see the corners of my dad’s mouth twitching, as though he’s dying to laugh at Tom, but he knows it isn’t the time.
I swallow hard, to try to shift the knot that has taken up residence in my throat.
‘Obviously, I’m upset,’ I begin, because obviously I am – no matter what’s going on, I hate to hear that they’re unhappy. I just need to make sure that I say the right things. ‘And I don’t fully understand why it’s over. And of course I would rather you stay together… but I respect your decision.’
Deep down, I’m clinging to the hope that maybe they haven’t fully thought this through yet, and that when they do, they’ll change their minds. After all, they’ve been married for over thirty years, and they’ve made it this far. What a shame it would be to throw it all away now.
Mum’s expression softens, although she still seems unsatisfied.
‘It’s important to me – to us – that you kids understand that it’s nothing to do with you,’ she continues, getting the conversation back on track. ‘This is grown-up stuff.’
I try to suppress a smile, knowing all too well that it wouldn’t be appropriate given the circumstances. It’s just jarringly funny, and kind of cute, that Mum is telling us in the same way she would have done twenty years ago.
‘How about I take you both out for ice cream,’ Dad jokes, lightening the mood. ‘You’ve taken the news like good kids.’
I see something shift in Mum’s eyes. This surge of something that looks like it’s bubbling to the surface.
‘Everything’s a joke to you, Johnny,’ she snaps, as whatever it is finally boils over. ‘And that’s why we’re splitting up.’
Mum practically jumps from her seat and storms out of the living room, leaving the three of us sitting around the coffee table on our own.
Tom picks up a cream cheese and cucumber sandwich, his appetite clearly unaffected, and takes a huge bite.
Yes, obviously my mum catered telling us that she and my dad are getting a divorce.
Dad sighs heavily.
‘You kids should stay single for as long as you can,’ he suggests with a jokey smile, though you can see a hint of sadness behind his eyes. Then, as if to distract himself from the reality of the situation, he asks: ‘So, what are you two doing this evening?’
I glance at Dad, a smile creeping across my lips.
‘I have a date,’ I confess. ‘But, if it’s any consolation, those usually end with me continuing to be single, so…’
‘Ah, don’t be daft, you’ll have a great time,’ he tells me. ‘Ignore me, I’m an old cynic.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Tom says. ‘And by that I mean tell him: good luck with that. That being you.’
Do brothers ever grow out of winding you up? Because Tom has been my brother for thirty years and, I swear, he’s only getting worse. Still, aside from being siblings, we’re friends too. We both work in London so we hang out all the time, and I know that, if I ever needed him, he would be there. He just might crack a joke while he was there too.
‘Tom, why don’t you stay for dinner?’ Dad suggests. ‘It’ll be less awkward with you there.’
‘Why doesn’t Amber stay?’ Tom replies, vaguely panicked at the thought of sitting at a dinner table between our warring parents.
‘Because Amber has a date, she just said,’ Dad replies.
‘And speaking of which, I need to get going,’ I say, smiling to myself as I leave Tom to deal with this one alone. ‘I’ll see you guys later. Good luck.’
I direct those last two words at Tom. He shoots me daggers.
Yes, the weight of my parents’ impending surprise divorce is weighing heavy on my shoulders, but there are plenty of other things on those bad boys too. I need to get a few other things off my plate, before I can add this into the mix, and one of those things (and the easiest, if I’m being honest) is this date tonight.
Suddenly I’m not feeling all that romantic, or optimistic, but we move. Let’s just hope I’m luckier in love than my parents, huh? Somehow I doubt it!