Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
My mood of buoyant optimism lasted the rest of the weekend, in spite of Patch giving me the silent treatment, maintaining a face like thunder and only addressing me via the children.
‘Meredith, where did Mummy put Daddy’s gym bag?’
‘I don’t know what a man has to do to get anything to eat in this house, do you, Toby?’
Resolutely, I ignored his sulking. I’d expected it; it was inevitable. He was hurting and this was how he was expressing it.
Still, when I woke alone in our bed on Monday morning, I realised that the sunshine had vanished and with it my positivity. I dragged myself up and embarked on the morning routine, discovering that, unsurprisingly, Patch had already left to go to the gym before work and the children were at their most cantankerous.
By the time I opened the front door to begin the walk to nursery, I’d already endured a screaming fit from Meredith because she didn’t want to wear her raincoat, Toby throwing his breakfast toast on the floor Marmite side down, and the discovery that the back of the sofa was soaked with rain because Patch had left the living room window open.
‘Come on, you two,’ I urged as cheerfully as I could. ‘Hurry up or we’ll be late.’
‘I need a wee, Mummy,’ Meredith whined.
‘Well go upstairs and have one then. Come on.’
‘Mummy, I’m hungry,’ complained Toby.
‘Serves you right for twatting your breakfast on the floor,’ I said under my breath, then, ‘I’ll put an extra cereal bar in your bag. Let’s make a move.’
But by the time we made it to the nursery gates, my exasperation had been replaced with a deep sadness. These were my children – only slightly larger versions of the tiny babies I’d carried inside me and loved so much I wanted to lick them from the moment I first saw their furious, scrunched-up faces.
I was tearing their world apart. Everything they knew – the corner of the kitchen where Meredith sometimes curled up in the sunshine like a cat, nodding off on the floor and needing to be carried upstairs to finish her nap; the young apple tree in the garden Toby still studiously watered with a can even after it had rained; their bedroom, their climbing frame, their parents – all of it would be left behind.
And it was all my fault: my urge to unmake past mistakes, my desire to get a job and a life outside of motherhood, my refusal to forgive and forget my husband’s transgression.
You could just suck it up and stay, Naomi , I thought.
But the prospect of that was intolerable. I couldn’t imagine ever sleeping with Patch again, knowing what I knew now. I could already feel the resentment I harboured over his selfishness, his assumption that anything to do with the house and the children was my problem, his prioritisation of his own ambitions over mine, emerging from the place where I’d kept it submerged for so long.
If I stay, I’ll end up hating him , I realised.
‘Are you okay, Naomi?’ I’d barely noticed Bronwen taking the children’s hands from mine and their bags from my arm. ‘You look miles away.’
‘Sorry.’ I forced a smile on to my face. ‘Monday morning, you know. Just getting through it on autopilot.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ She laughed. ‘You have a good day, now.’
I bent down to kiss the children, feeling the first hot tears on my cheeks mixing with the cool rain. Somehow, I managed not to cry properly until they were out of sight, but as I walked away the street in front of me went all blurry and I couldn’t catch my breath for sobs.
Then I heard hurrying footsteps on the pavement behind me and felt a warm hand on my arm.
‘Hey, Naomi.’ It was Princess Lulu, once again in her sleek work attire instead of her sleek sportswear.
‘Morning, Imogen,’ I managed. ‘Sorry. Having a bit of a bad day.’
‘I can see that. Come on, let’s go for a coffee.’
Part of me wanted to tell her to leave me alone, brush off her concern, head home and lick my wounds in peace. But suddenly, the company of another adult, another woman, felt like a promise of much-needed comfort.
‘But won’t you be late for work?’ I asked.
‘I’m the boss. I can be as late as I like. Let’s do this.’
Firmly grasping my elbow, she led me down the road and pushed open the door of a coffee shop – a chichi new place I’d been meaning to visit but never found the time, all artisan espresso and avocado on sourdough toast.
‘Hello, Imogen.’ The bearded young man behind the counter beamed at her like she was his long-lost sister. ‘Your usual? Extra hot oat milk latte?’
‘Yes, please, Duncan.’
‘And for you, madam?’ His face was solicitous – carefully kind, but not so kind as to make me start crying again.
‘Just a black coffee, please,’ I said.
‘I’ll bring it right over.’
Before I could protest, Imogen had tapped her phone on the payment device and led me to a table by the window.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘what’s up? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to – I’m just some random, after all – but if you want to talk, I’ll listen.’
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. ‘You’re very kind. It’s nothing, really.’
But also everything.
‘The twins are all right?’ she asked gently.
‘They’re fine. At least, they are now. But my marriage has gone tits up and I don’t know how long they’re going to be fine for. And I haven’t got a job or any money or anywhere to live and it all just seems like…’ I trailed off, a tear splatting on to the dark, opaque surface of my coffee.
‘A lot? That’s because it is.’ Her blue eyes rested on me as she sipped her latte. ‘Look, feel free to tell me to butt out. But I’ve been there. I know what it’s like.’
‘You have? But I thought…’ My image of the wealthy banker husband, the perfect home, the life without financial or marital woes, materialised in my mind and just as quickly vanished.
‘I was happily married? I thought so too, until I wasn’t. That was when I’d just found out I was pregnant with Jesse. It was grim – the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. But I got through it, and you will, too.’
‘How, though? I haven’t had a job since before I had the twins. And Patch works stupid hours and has hobbies and stuff – would he have the kids on weekends and then I’d never see them? And how will I afford to even live? I just can’t see how it’s ever going to work.’
‘Now, listen to me,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s not easy, I know. But you won’t get anywhere by being defeatist about it. Your husband’s not an unreasonable person, is he?’
‘No,’ I admitted reluctantly, ‘he’s not. The reason we’re splitting up is – well, it’s complicated. But it’s not because he’s violent or anything like that.’
‘That’s a good start.’ The way she said it made me wonder if, perhaps, her own ex-husband had been something like that. ‘So, really, it’s just practicalities you need to focus on, isn’t it? Where you can afford to live, how you split childcare – all that stuff.’
‘I guess so. But all that – it feels kind of overwhelming right now.’
‘Of course it does. So we break it down. Can you spare ten minutes?’
I nodded, automatically taking my phone out of my bag. Then Imogen started talking and I listened and made notes. She talked about pensions and equity and divorce law and all the things I’d been too terrified to think about on my own, and sent me links to documents I could read later on.
Listening to her, I was reminded of Rowan, who’d separated from Paul shortly after their daughter was born, and managed to make it work. Rowan, too, would be able to help me navigate all this.
‘I think that’s probably enough for you to be getting on with for now,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll send you the details of the solicitor I used – she’s sharp and she’s kind. She’ll help you.’
‘But first, I need to help myself.’ I felt my spine straighten against the back of my chair. ‘I need to find a job.’
‘What is it you do?’
I laughed. ‘For the past four years, change nappies, clean up sick and do the nursery run. Before that, I was a legal secretary.’
‘Not my area, unfortunately. But I run a recruitment company and I’d be happy to help you polish your CV up a bit. It’s a candidates’ market out there; you’ll find something.’
‘I really hope you’re right.’ I drained my coffee, encouraged by her confidence.
‘Let me give you my card,’ she suggested, handing over a glossy scarlet rectangle. ‘And get in touch, okay? Otherwise I’ll chase you next time I see you at nursery.’
‘I will, promise. And thanks for the coffee and – you know. Everything.’
After that, I hurried to the supermarket and picked up some shopping for Bridget. She seemed more cheerful today and less confused, so I took the opportunity to ask her how her appointment with her GP had gone.
‘You can’t be too careful at my age, Naomi,’ she said. ‘So they’ve referred me for some tests at the hospital next week.’
‘You can’t be too careful at any age.’ I hugged her. ‘I’ll come and keep you company there, shall I?’
She accepted my offer gratefully and I left shortly afterwards. I didn’t tell her about Patch and me – it wasn’t my thing to tell. It was news for Patch to break to her alone or for him and I to reveal together. But I knew that whatever happened, she’d always be a presence in my life, my children’s grandmother, a woman I’d grown to love.
Back at home, instead of tackling the household chores, I opened my laptop and spent the day sitting at the kitchen table, getting up and making endless cups of tea whenever I began to feel overwhelmed by the task ahead of me.
All the work I’d already done on my CV and my LinkedIn network was going to stand me in good stead – there, at least, I was prepared. Summer was almost here and it wasn’t the ideal time to be job-hunting, but I was confident that by the time the children started school in September, I’d be employed, even if it wasn’t in my ideal job.
In a fit of optimism, I even googled law conversion courses: now might not be the perfect time to resurrect that old dream, but it wasn’t the right time to let it go, either.
And, when Patch got in from work, the children asleep and the dinner things cleared away, I suggested he join me at the table, and got my laptop out again.
‘We need to talk,’ I said.
I knew that the conversation would take all my resolve and courage, and that it would be only the first of many. But I was prepared. I had my ducks in a row.
And even more importantly, I had three responses to the message I’d sent earlier to Kate, Abbie and Rowan in a new WhatsApp group using exactly the same words.
Naomi:
We need to talk.