Chapter 4
The End
I remember that’s how it felt, that this was the end. It sounds melodramatic. But in a sense, it was the end, of life as I knew it. It was an ending I wasn’t ready for, that I’d spent most of my married life trying to prevent. And that was in spite of the signs – and there were many.
It was why, the following morning, instead of the shopping trip I’d planned, I was back at Selham station for the second time in as many days.
Sitting on the platform, I was craving the quiet stillness of yesterday that had been replaced by the gale force wind driving icy needles of rain at me, as pulling up the collar of my jacket, I shivered.
It was only eight o’clock in the morning. Unable to sleep last night, I’d lain in bed as long, dark hours passed, going over what Gareth said, until eventually the first glimmer of daylight had appeared.
I thought about his so-called business trips, which most likely had been a cover for his extra-marital activities and in reality hadn’t existed.
Then I wondered what his girlfriend would think if she knew it was the first night that Gareth had slept in the spare room; that he was apparently spending the night in our house out of some misguided sense of responsibility.
To make sure I was OK, was what he said – after telling me he was leaving me for someone else. I mean, pick the bones out of that.
Not wanting to face him, I’d stayed in bed listening to the familiar sound of him getting up, then going to work. Only as the sound of his car faded, had I got dressed and gone downstairs. Then, still reeling from last night, I’d driven here.
OK, so you wouldn’t have described our marriage as exactly made in heaven.
We’d had our fair share of challenges over the years.
But everyone expected that – and we’d overcome them – until this point.
But as I stared at the ring I’d worn for over two decades, I thought of the mental agony I went through the days before our wedding.
The commitment I nevertheless made that felt like the right thing; watched my hands start to shake.
Marriages don’t have to end – not if people want to make them work.
Can you tell me what exactly is it we’re hanging onto? Gareth had looked at me last night, bewildered. Because truthfully, I’m not sure any more.
Family? History? The tradition of marriage? I couldn’t believe he needed to ask. As for love, surely that was a given? But how was it, neither of us mentioned love?
He looked exasperated. In other words, you’re saying it’s about the past. You’re obsessed with it, Tilly.
Take those cards – they’re a prime example.
As his eyes wandered towards the sympathy cards, his words were brutal.
The past is gone, Tilly. Forever. But you won’t let it go, will you?
You hang on, as if you think you can wish it back.
You can’t change what’s happened. You have to move on.
I’d gasped. It was as if he didn’t even understand that I was grieving. Lizzie’s dead, Gareth. Don’t you think it’s normal I’d be upset?
Sighing, he’d shaken his head. It’s like you’ve always been grieving. I’m not even sure what for. It’s up to you if that’s how you want to live. But I don’t. I don’t want to go on feeling stuck in a part of my life I can’t change. I want to look forward. To the future, Tilly. Laugh. Have fun. Live.
Laugh? I’d looked at him in disbelief. Lizzie was dead and Gareth was talking about laughing again? And of course, I was grieving. I still wasn’t over losing my mother when I lost Lizzie, too.
His voice was defeated. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.
Oh really, Gareth? Well, you have. Not just hurt. He’d killed – no, bloodily murdered, some vital part of me. I don’t understand. After all this time. When I’ve just lost Lizzie – why now?
And that was when I knew my answer. The irony was he’d done it so soon after Lizzie because of Lizzie – because of the reminder that the older you get, the less you could take for granted how long you had.
He was in the throes of a full-blown midlife crisis, one that in time, no doubt, he’d get over.
I glared at him. Don’t you dare say life is short.
His eyes were haunted as his hand reached towards one of mine. But you know as well as I do – it is. Don’t we owe it to ourselves to make the best of it?
Snatching my hand away, I’d stormed up to our bedroom, slamming the door behind me then locking it, before collapsing onto our bed.
The bed in which we’d lain next to each other for twenty-two years, where the twins had been conceived, shock giving way to loud, rasping sobs as I felt my entire world collapse around me.
How could he do this to me? To us? To our entire family?
It was hours later when I sat up. Gazing tearfully around the room, I took in the photos, the pictures on the walls, the carefully chosen furniture, each piece of which had its own story, all of it suddenly meaningless.
Most of our married life had taken place within this house.
Then with just a few words, Gareth had wrecked all of it.
* * *
This morning, sitting on the bench, as the wind picks up, I tried to make sense of Gareth’s accusations about how self-obsessed I was, my problem with nostalgia; how I should have been back at work, not noticing the damp seeping through my jeans.
Instead, I was numb, replaying more words that proved it was all my fault.
You’ve been so obsessed with your sister’s illness, Tilly.
And now, this morbid fixation on her death…
You have no idea how difficult it’s been.
Do yourself a favour and get back to work.
We all have to go on. Life has to go on.
I’d stared at this man, who was suddenly like a stranger to me. Who is she?
He didn’t even have the decency to hesitate. Her name’s Olivia.
Couldn’t you just have had an affair? Got it out of your system?
Then he’d dropped the bombshell. Olivia’s just told me she’s pregnant.
As he went on talking, his words fell on deaf ears.
I felt sick. You see, when I became pregnant, Gareth made it clear he didn’t want children.
Not ever, rather than in a couple of years, as he’d led me to believe.
When he knew how important it was to me, it had caused a rift between us.
It seemed the cruellest irony that he was leaving me for someone else because she was pregnant.
It was another twenty-four hours in which my life had taken yet another unimaginable twist. One that was out of my control. So what now? I asked myself the same question as yesterday.
As I sat there, my phone buzzed. For a moment I wondered if it was Gareth, realising what a mistake he’d made, wanting to apologise. I hesitated briefly, then pulling it out of my pocket, saw my closest friend Elena’s face flashing up on the screen.
Elena and I met at Pilates years ago, our friendship forged over strengthening our cores and the glasses of wine that followed. ‘Hey, El.’
‘Hey! What are you up to? Come over – I haven’t seen you in ages.’
I hesitated. ‘It’s not the best day, to be honest.’
‘Are you OK?’ My friend sounded worried.
‘No.’ My voice wavered, tears suddenly streaming down my face. ‘Gareth’s met someone else, El. He’s leaving me.’
‘Fuck.’ She was shocked into silence. ‘Where are you?’
‘Out.’ I wiped my face on my sleeve. The fact that Elena knew made it all the more real.
‘He’s a shit. Oh, Tilly…’ Her voice was filled with sympathy. ‘Do you want to come over?’
* * *
Elena’s hug was warm and welcoming, as was her house. It was also messy, but between family life and work, she didn’t have time to tidy. Unlike me, in the soon to be half-furnished, half-empty house that I was about to be living in, utterly alone.
‘It’s so lovely here.’ Tears trickled down my face. ‘It really is, El. You’re so lucky.’
‘It’s a pigsty.’ She looked at me as though I was mad. ‘You know perfectly well you can’t stand mess. Would you like tea? Or wine? Wine, I think.’ She made the decision for me. ‘But only one. We need to talk – and then, we need to make you a plan.’
I watched her get a couple of glasses, and then a bottle from the fridge.
It’s what friends were for, wine and sympathy, even at nine in the morning.
‘What am I going to do now?’ I said pitifully; the question that was dogging me, mumbled through my tears.
‘What about the boys? And the house? I can’t afford to buy him out.
I’ve only just lost Lizzie, and now I’ve lost Gareth, too.
’ My voice was growing more hysterical with every word.
‘I have to tell the boys. How on earth do I do that, El? It’s their home and I’m going to lose it. I’m going to lose everything.’
My friend placed two glasses of white wine on the table, then sat down opposite me. ‘Tell me what happened.’
So I told her, about how there had been no warning. About Gareth’s business trips that he’d obviously lied about. About how I was reassessing everything I’d believed I knew about him; about us.
‘I feel like calling him and telling him exactly what I think of him,’ she said furiously. ‘I mean, does he have any idea at all how lucky he was to have you?’
‘He doesn’t want me.’ I stared at the table. There was no dressing it up; that was what it came down to.
‘He’s a dick.’ She followed it with a list of expletives.
‘El, don’t,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t help.’
‘Oh Tilly…’ She was quiet for a moment. ‘I know how shit this is,’ she said sympathetically. ‘And I know, right now, you’d give anything for things to go back to how they were.’