Chapter 58 Divorce
Aimée puts her rucksack down and immediately starts complaining to me about the divorce. I haven’t told her anything, so clearly Stephen informed her on the way back from the airport. Nice touch.
‘How was your family?’ I ask, trying to divert her.
‘I told you this would happen if I flirted with him,’ she says.
‘I don’t think it was you, Aimée.’
‘I dance with him one time, and he wants to leave you. I have power, you see.’
I stare out of the front window and nod. Stephen hasn’t yet appeared, and for some reason, I feel anxious. Do I miss him or am I anticipating how it might feel if he simply stopped coming back?
‘And who’s going to get me?’ she continues. ‘I don’t want to go from house to house. I need space, and I like the privacy of the loft.’
‘I can assure you, you will be our first thought when we come to a settlement.’
Stephen finally appears in the window and I feel a telltale flutter of excitement. He’s so uncomplicated I find it grounding, and it could all end, just like that. He takes hold of the gate, then stops and looks to his right. He nods, then says something, and I conclude he’s talking to someone.
I knock on the window, as I am impatient when I feel I’m the person who should be the centre of attention.
Stephen glances across at me, puts up his hand and waves, then turns back to his invisible interlocutor, speaks, listens, and then laughs.
‘I think we need to think about my wages if there are two houses,’ says Aimée.
I ignore her, as I’m feeling a pang of what might be jealousy, but it feels to me more like a shot of icy anger. I tap the window again, firmly this time. Stephen waves his hand towards me, but this time without glancing.
‘Fuck you!’ I say, which makes Aimée sigh and leave in a strop.
I decide that I’m going to punish Stephen’s insolence by having a public row. I head for the front door, but Nathan is already rushing down the stairs calling ‘Daddy’ in a way he never calls ‘Mummy’.
I open the door, and Nathan trundles down the steps, shouting. Stephen turns immediately, of course, and his face breaks into a huge and genuine smile full of warmth and delight. A face I’ve not seen myself for some years.
‘Hello, darling!’ I say, as Stephen heaves Nathan high in the air and kisses his belly.
‘Hi,’ he says.
As I arrive at the gate, I stop dead. The out-of-sight subject of Stephen’s interest is a man sitting in a wheelchair. A man with a beard, carrying a bunch of flowers.
Matthew Hollis looks at me. I look at Hollis and grit my teeth. I am wondering what he’s said, why he’s here and what I’m going to do to him, all in a single moment.
‘And who’s this?’ I ask, feigning ignorance.
‘I’m just looking for an old girlfriend,’ says Hollis, holding up the flowers and smiling at me as if he’s practised at such deception.
‘Apparently, she might’ve lived in our house at one time. I told him we’ve been here for years. Do you remember the name of the woman we bought it from?’
‘No, but I do remember she died soon after,’ I say, and glare at Hollis.
‘Really?’ says Stephen, with Nathan now upside down, dangling by his ankles.
‘Good luck with your search,’ I say, taking Stephen’s arm and tugging him through the gate.
Stephen pulls away from me and swings Nathan upright. Nathan squeals in delight and they chase each other up the path into the house.
I am left standing there with Hollis.
‘You don’t answer my calls,’ he says.
‘There’s a good reason for that. Stephen’s divorcing me,’ I say. ‘So I’ve been a touch preoccupied.’
‘Shit,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know. But that’s good news for us, right?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is, but I’ve got a lot to think about, and none of it is helped by you turning up in the middle of my life like this. OK?’
He nods apologetically, and hands me the flowers.
I head back to the house, stuffing the flowers in the bin on the way in. Stephen has Nathan on the floor and he’s tickling his feet with his stubble. I pick Nathan off the floor and tell him to hide in the playroom and Daddy will try to find him. Nathan runs off, giggling.
‘Your mum called while you were out,’ I say. ‘She’s taking some time to recover, isn’t she?’
‘It takes time.’
‘Have you discussed euthanasia?’
‘Lalla,’ he chides, as if I’m joking, which I most certainly am not. I doubt that Madeleine is remotely ill now, but it serves her purpose to draw him away from me.
‘Are you all right?’ he says. ‘Shouldn’t we start talking about the whys and wherefores?’
‘About what?’
‘The divorce,’ says Stephen, showing a little frustration.
‘Oh, I thought that was a joke. A response to the stress of your mum and dad and maybe even work too.’
‘It’s not stress. It’s what I want.’
‘Oh, don’t give me that hang-dog expression, Stephen.’
‘But I want a divorce.’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘We’re not getting divorced. It’s not in the plan. We’ll rekindle our love instead.’
‘I’m not in love with you any more, Lalla.’
‘That’s just your opinion.’
‘No, it’s not an opinion,’ says Stephen, looking shocked.
‘Well, it’s not a fact, is it? Love is a feeling. Your feelings may be wrong.’
Stephen seems about to say something, but just puts his head in his hands, which gives me the perfect opportunity to share my thoughts.
‘We’re just on different ships at the moment, and we need to steer in the same direction. If you want to take up cycling, walk the Camino de Santiago, or have separate bedrooms, I’m happy, as long as we’re on the same path together.’
‘Lalla, I’m just not—’
‘Trying hard enough?’ I add quickly.
‘Happy. I don’t want to be a partner. I don’t want a house in Hampstead.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I refuse to be punished because you can’t manage the simple task of keeping yourself happy. Here’s an idea. We don’t get divorced and you start making an effort.’
‘I find this all really, really draining,’ he says. ‘You’ve changed. I’ve changed.’
‘Well, it’s no surprise, is it? I didn’t have children to care for.
You used to be quite independent, too. You used to be able to wash your own clothes, book your own dentist appointments, plan holidays, pay your council tax, cut your toenails, make social arrangements, even make a woman orgasm.
It’s a little galling to then claim I’ve lost my sparkle.
I’ll fucking sparkle if you want me to, darling!
Just stay at home and look after everything, and I’ll be your firework. ’
‘I empty the dishwasher,’ says Stephen.
‘Sadly, darling, like sex, even that is a rare delight these days.’
‘Well, you don’t know what it’s like to earn the money to keep this all going,’ he says. ‘I feel like I’m being drained, like all my energy is being siphoned off. Like there’s a syringe in my arm taking everything.’
‘Fine, if that’s how you feel, let’s get on with it. Have you thought about practicalities?’ I say. ‘Where will you live?’
‘We’ll sell the house. I’ll get a flat and you can get a smaller house for you and the children.’
‘Children? What do you mean?’ I say, feeling the anger rise in my throat. ‘If you want a divorce, you can have the fucking children.’
‘Pardon?’ he says, his eyes wide now.
‘I’ve no interest in them. What for? They belong to our marriage. If that dissolves, it’s all off. You think providing money is tough, you should try providing motherhood. If you’re closing your wallet, I’m closing mine.’
‘Don’t you want your children?’
‘Certainly not. I don’t want to be reminded of their weak-willed failure of a father, who jumps the moment it all feels a little strained.’
‘I knew you’d confuse the fuck out of me.’
‘Oh, sorry, did I make your divorce uncomfortable?’
‘We can go for dual custody. We could have them half the week each.’
‘Not interested. You leave me, take your stinking children with you. I’ll be the one who lives exactly as I want, without any responsibility. You don’t get to win.’