Chapter 7
7
GEMMA
Mum called me several times that week but I still didn’t tell her about Jack, even when she asked how he was. I said he’d been busy, thinking to myself that yes, he’d been busy all right, busy cheating and busy lying his way out of my life and into someone else’s. But then it was Friday again – how had the world kept turning for ten whole days since I got that fatal Instagram message? – and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to put it off any longer. I knew that when I saw Mum in person I was going to break down again.
‘Get your shoes on, Poppy,’ I told my daughter after breakfast. She’d been busy playing with the toy laptop Jack had misguidedly bought her at Christmas (personally, I thought kids started pleading for phones and tablets and laptops early enough, without us encouraging the interest. Or perhaps I was just finding fault with everything that reminded me of Jack, all of a sudden).
‘Not a nurs’ry day,’ Poppy said without looking up. I had no idea how she’d managed to work out, at such a young age, which days she went there and which she didn’t, but she was usually right.
‘No, not nursery today. Nanny’s today. Come on, you can bring that with you.’
‘Going to Nanny’s!’ she said happily, getting to her feet. She loved my mum – I guessed all children liked going to their grandparents, and getting all the extra attention and spoiling that we parents hadn’t got the time or money to indulge them with. ‘Come on, Mummy.’
She was putting her shoes on already and beat me to the front door, the miniature plastic laptop in her hands.
‘OK, Pops, I’m just getting the car keys.’
On the drive to Exeter she always looked out of the window, singing to herself and guessing the colours of traffic lights and cars. She was good by now with blue, or boo as she called it, always pronouncing it in the same way you’d do if you crept up behind someone. She was good too with black and white, and with red, lello , and green, although understandably, shades of blue and green – like turquoise – confused her, and grey, brown and purple were a bit beyond her comprehension.
‘ White car!’ she shouted as one passed us. ‘ Back lolly!’
‘Yes, black lorry, well done, Poppy,’ I called back to her.
A bus passed, and instead of any comment on the colour, we got the usual hearty rendition of her favourite song: ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ . We always sang it together every time we saw one – and until very recently, Poppy had firmly believed a bus was actually called an All Day Long , because we’d sung that final phrase of every verse so many times. I already knew I wouldn’t be too sorry when she finally got bored with the song. There were a lot of buses on the roads around Exeter! But at least it kept my mind, for now, off the conversation I had to have when we arrived.
Mum was bright and breezy, as usual, when she opened her front door to us, giving me a hug and a kiss and sweeping Poppy up into her arms.
‘How’s my little Poppy-Pops now?’ she said, inspecting Poppy’s face for signs of any lingering illness. ‘Is she completely better, Gemma?’
‘Oh yes, completely,’ I said, and went on quickly before Poppy could start wondering what was supposed to be wrong with her. ‘How are you, Mum?’
‘I’ve got this ,’ Poppy interrupted, pushing the toy laptop into Mum’s hands before she’d had a chance to answer. ‘It’s my fav’rite.’
‘Your favourite for today, is it?’ Mum laughed. ‘Come on in, both of you. Have you got time for a quick coffee, darling, or do you need to get home and crack straight on with work?’
‘I could have a quick one. Oh, look, Poppy. Nanny’s got the doll’s house out all ready for you.’
Mum kept some toys at her house, especially for Fridays, so there was always something different for Poppy to play with. She trotted over to the rug where Mum had put the doll’s house, sat down and started to take out and rearrange all the furniture. I followed Mum into the kitchen and pulled the door half-shut behind us.
‘I’ve got to tell you something,’ I said – and already my voice was wobbling, tears not far away.
Mum turned, her eyes searching mine.
‘What is it? Oh, darling, don’t cry! Whatever it is, I’m here to help – come on, sit down, tell me all about it. It’s not Poppy, is it? What was wrong with her last week? Did you have to take her to the doctor, or?—’
‘No – no, not Poppy, she’s fine, Mum. I’m sorry, I need to tell you quickly, I don’t want her to see me upset.’ I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. ‘It’s Jack. He’s… left us. I had a message; he’s with someone else, he doesn’t want us to go over there – it’s?—’
‘ What ?’ Mum demanded – and I put my finger to my lips, reminding her to keep her voice down. ‘What the hell?’ she went on. ‘He can’t stop you and Poppy going over there, surely? What, is he involved in some fling with some girl? Once you get out there, he’ll?—’
‘We’re not going, Mum. We can’t. He doesn’t want us. He’s actually hiding from us – I don’t even know where he is, he’s changed his phone number, his email address, come off his social media, there’s no way I can even?—’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Mum exclaimed. ‘I mean, I know you were getting worried that you hadn’t heard from him recently, but – he’s changed his number? Changed his email? He can’t do that! He’s got responsibilities!’ I was glad, really, that she was so angry. If she’d started crying with me, it would have been too hard to pretend to Poppy, who might burst in at any moment, that everything was fine – as I’d been trying so hard to do. ‘He can’t hide away from everyone! We’ll find him. Leave it to me, Gemma: I’ll track him down, and when I do, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. He can’t just abandon you! And his daughter, for God’s sake.’
‘Mum,’ I said wearily, ‘Australia’s a big place. Even the Child Support Agency’ – yes, I’d contacted them the previous day – ‘doesn’t hold out very much hope. They say that if he’s stayed in New South Wales, there’s a chance he can be found – they’ve got a reciprocal arrangement, with Australia, apparently, but?—’
‘There’s no but about it!’
‘But,’ I went on regardless, ‘he’s not stupid, Mum. He’ll surely have realised that if he doesn’t want to be tracked down, he’ll have to move to another state; go completely off grid.’
She stared at me, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe this. He always seemed so… well, you seemed so…’ She stopped, lost for words. Then, shaking her head, said, ‘You’re surely not just going to let him get away with this? Did you have any clue? I mean, I know you hadn’t heard from him recently, but did he hint at anything earlier, in his calls, or messages – anything to make you suspect he was carrying on with someone?’
‘I haven’t had any calls or messages,’ I admitted, looking away from her. ‘It’s not just a recent thing. I haven’t heard from him for weeks. Over a month.’
‘Oh, Gemma,’ she said, softening, holding out her arms to me.
‘Don’t. Please, I don’t want to cry any more. I want to stay angry. Stay angry for me, please, Mum. It’s the only way I can cope – by hating him.’
‘I can’t believe it, Gemma. I just can’t believe someone can change so suddenly like this. Surely, whatever he says now, he’ll get in touch with you soon, and you can at least talk it all over?’ She paused, thinking about it, before adding, ‘But how did you find out, if he’s changed all his contact details? Did he contact you from a different number? Can’t you?—’
‘His brother messaged me, without Jack knowing. The brother thinks he’s a disgrace – but even so, he still closed his Instagram account, straight after sending me the message, so I can’t get back to him. So, basically still loyal to his disgraceful brother, whatever he says.’
She nodded. ‘I see.’ I supposed the truth – that Jack really had dumped me without a second’s regret – was beginning to sink in. ‘And you’ve gone to the CSA. He hasn’t set up any child support. You’re going to need some help.’
‘I’ll… find a way to manage. I’ll have to. Working extra hours or?—’
‘No. I’ll help you, obviously. So will your father. Have you told him? Would you like me to?’
‘No. I will, Mum – I’ll call him. Tonight, when Poppy’s asleep. I wanted you to know first. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you any sooner. I… had to pull myself together. And I’m not expecting you – or Dad – to help me. That’s not why I’m telling you.’
‘I know you weren’t expecting it. But we will do, obviously. We’ll pull together, Gemma, like we always have done. We’ll have a meeting, the three of us. Sort out your bills, and?—’
‘I’ve made a spreadsheet,’ I admitted.
‘Of course you have,’ she said, smiling. ‘Ever the accountant – just like your father.’
Finally, I let her hug me, and we both tried – and somehow managed – not to cry.
‘I’d better go,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a lot of work to get through.’
‘I didn’t even make the coffee!’
‘It doesn’t matter. It was just an excuse to come in here, so Poppy didn’t hear.’
‘I’d better check she’s all right,’ Mum said, bustling past me into the living room, back in nanny mode, putting on her nanny voice to sing out to Poppy that the doll’s house looked lovely, weren’t they lucky little dolls to have all their furniture tidied up so nicely?
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk later.’ I gave her a kiss, and bent down to hug and kiss my daughter. ‘Bye, Poppy. Be good for Nanny, won’t you?’
‘Bye bye, Mummy.’ She waved me off like a queen dismissing her courtiers.
‘I’ll bring her home after her tea,’ Mum added quietly. ‘So you can get as much work done as possible while it’s quiet.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’
I thought about Mum as I was driving home: how she’d managed to stay on good terms with Dad after they’d decided to split up. I never really knew whose decision it was to divorce; they’d always kept to the narrative that it was mutual, that they’d simply wanted different things and decided they’d be better apart – but it had never really made sense to me. Neither of them had left for someone else. Dad had since had a girlfriend or two, but they hadn’t lasted, and he’d even admitted after the last one, that he’d kept comparing her to Mum and it could never be the same with anyone else. So why? What had they achieved from the break-up? Mum said she liked her independence, but I’d never been aware of Dad stopping her from doing anything she wanted. And it wasn’t as if they’d argued a lot. But I supposed nobody ever really knew what went on in other people’s relationships, even their parents’.
Jack and I hadn’t argued often, either. Just the occasional silly, minor dispute over whose turn it was to do various chores, like everyone does – especially once there’s a baby to look after, making more washing, more mess, more meals to prepare. Children do put a strain on a relationship, I knew that, but Jack had always seemed to love Poppy so much, and had always played his part as much as he could. He’d been gentle with her, never seeming frustrated by her crying, always happy to pick her up and pace the floor to get her settled. If we’d always been at each other’s throats, if he’d seemed unhappy with me or bored with life as a parent, it would have made it all so much easier to understand. But this – the callousness of it, the absolute lack of any care with which he’d apparently just moved on – moved beyond us – it didn’t make sense. It would never make sense. I was never going to get over it, I realised, and this did at least give me back the anger I needed. He’d ruined me. That was the only way I could think of it. I’d never be whole again.