The Mudlarkers’ Club

Chapter 1

The day Adam left, Gemma took her heightened emotions, her now-ex-mother-in-law’s hot-pink wellies, and a pair of yellow Marigold gloves down to the Thames foreshore.

It was mid-morning and never had the timing of the river’s low tide been so perfect.

Whenever life caused Gemma stress – and even when it didn’t – she went down to the river to search for objects from the past. Gemma mudlarked.

There was a strong wind and a smattering of rain.

The sun was trying but failing to be seen.

Gemma was beyond caring. Normally a fair-weather mudlarker, on this day it could have been snowing and she still would have been out here, meandering across the pebbly silt with her head down, looking out for anything that caught her eye.

It could be a sherd of Victorian salt-glazed stoneware, a lead token, a farthing, a Thames garnet or a plastic Christmas cracker ring.

Some days, there might be nothing at all.

It wasn’t necessarily about the finds. All that mattered was giving yourself over to the search.

It was meditative mindfulness without having to sit cross-legged with your eyes closed or colour between the lines.

One of her patients – a septuagenarian named Miriam – used to spend every hour of her chemotherapy sessions colouring in.

Until she got Occupational Overuse Syndrome in her right wrist and had to find something else to do, which seemed so utterly unfair.

One of her pictures was still hanging in the staff tearoom.

Gemma walked with as much speed as she could in wellies that were half a size too big.

In her haste, she’d forgotten to put on extra socks for padding.

A blister was forming on one heel already.

Her rucksack bounced on her back as if in time with her pounding heart and throbbing head.

Her eyes had filled with tears and, although the wind was trying its best to dry them out, her world felt like it was completely under water.

The day had begun like any other ordinary Saturday.

Gemma in bed with a cup of tea – decompressing from her week at the hospital by scrolling social media – and Adam out for a run.

He’d got into running shortly after they started dating.

In those early days, she’d taken it up too, because new love made her want to do everything he liked doing.

But in the end, she had to admit (to herself as much as him) that it wasn’t her thing.

Now, he was part of a club and was training for a marathon, and she sporadically did Pilates.

After watching Instagram reels of animated cats and skits by wannabe comedians, Gemma started playing around with the ageing filter on TikTok.

In an instant, her face morphed into what it might look like in forty- or fifty-years’ time.

It was funny, fascinating and horrifying all at once. She saved the picture to show Adam.

When he returned, she was in the kitchen making a coffee.

‘Good run?’ she asked.

‘It was okay,’ he answered.

He leant against the counter and took a gulp of water from his bottle. His cheeks were red, his skin glistening with sweat and his chest still heaving.

‘I have just the thing to put a smile on your face,’ she said, reaching for her phone. ‘Actually, it’s truly frightening. Me as an old woman.’ She laughed and showed him her wizened face. ‘That’s who you’re going to wake up next to one day.’

Adam stared at the picture. She was expecting a chuckle at least, but all he did was frown and chew his lip. Maybe he was preoccupied with work, which he seemed to be a lot these days. She tried to distract him.

‘Come on, let’s do you,’ she said.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘All I have to do is take a photo.’

‘I’m not in the mood, okay?’ His tone was curt.

‘What’s got into you?’ she asked. Lately he seemed permanently bad-tempered and grouchy and she’d had enough.

‘Look, Gem …’ He pulled at his neck as if it were sore. ‘I don’t know how to say this—’

‘Say what?’ Adam was never usually one lost for words.

His sigh chewed up the air. Something was clearly bothering him.

Was it his job? Or could it be his dad? They’d always had a turbulent relationship, which only worsened when his beloved mother, the perpetual peacemaker, died six months ago.

Or could it be that he was sick? She had a patient once who, after getting a terminal cancer diagnosis, hadn’t told their partner. Gemma held her breath.

‘I’m … um …’ he mumbled. ‘I guess there’s no other way to say it.’ He paused. ‘I’m leaving.’

‘Pardon?’ She froze, her mug halfway to her lips. She repeated his words in her head, just in case she’d misheard.

‘I’ve met someone—’

‘You’ve met someone?’

Gemma closed her eyes and pressed her temples. The words coming out of his mouth didn’t make any sense. She pulled out a chair and sat down heavily.

‘What do you mean, you’ve met someone? You’ve been having an affair?’

He nodded.

She felt utterly sick. ‘Who with? For how long? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know,’ she said, even though she did.

Or did she? She just couldn’t bear to hear the answer.

She immediately switched into practical mode.

The nurse in her began seeking to fix the problem.

While she couldn’t change the past, surely she could do something about their future together?

She carried on. ‘Don’t you think we should talk it out?

Go to marriage counselling? Do something!

’ She hit the table. Coffee sloshed. This was horrendous.

She was in a soap opera from which she couldn’t escape. She was a cliché.

He didn’t say anything.

‘Please, Adam, there has to be something—’

‘It’s not like you can shove a drip into our relationship. It can’t be solved like that.’

‘Don’t you dare belittle my work!’

‘That wasn’t my intention.’

‘Well, you’re doing a great job of humiliating me on all fronts.’

‘I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.’ To Gemma’s ears the apology sounded feeble and far from genuine.

‘Really? How did you mean it to turn out?’ she said sarcastically.

‘You thought sleeping with someone else would be fine? That it wouldn’t hurt me?

’ she snapped. ‘That ageing filter may have seemed silly to you, but I was genuinely thinking we were going to wake up next to each other with age spots, wrinkles and jowls. Throw in a kid or two. Maybe even grandchildren.’

‘Actually, I haven’t been happy for a while. I feel …’ He paused, then continued. ‘Well, it’s more what I don’t feel …’ He couldn’t finish the sentence and gave her an apologetic smile. Since when had he become such a coward?

‘You don’t feel what?’ she interrogated him. Her mind trying to make sense of what he was saying – or rather, what he wasn’t.

‘Look, I still care for you, Gem,’ he told her, as if that was supposed to make her feel better. ‘But I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t think it’s – we’re – working. Not like it used to.’

‘It isn’t?’ Gemma said, as much to herself as to him.

Very quickly, she tried to condense the past few years of their six-year marriage into a thirty-second thought bite.

Sure, they’d been arguing more than usual and were spending less time together, but that’s what happens when you have a stressful job, work long hours and have different interests.

Gemma had thought their relationship was merely going through a short-term blip.

All marriages had them. You couldn’t be together for years and not have challenging times, could you?

‘But I don’t understand.’ Her voice wavered.

She didn’t want to break down. She must stay strong and calm.

There will be a way through this, surely?

‘We used to have so much fun, be on the same wavelength, be more than just mates,’ Adam said.

‘I thought we still were. We’re husband and wife, for heaven’s sake.’

He chewed his lip.

‘Okay, so if you feel that way, let’s work on getting it back.’ She looked at him expectantly, hoping for a flicker of agreement. ‘It’s not too late to try, is it? I’ll give anything a go.’ She didn’t care how desperate she sounded.

He shrugged, a non-answer answer.

His silence made her want to cry. ‘The grass isn’t always greener, you know?’ she said sharply. ‘Anyway, what’s this woman got that I haven’t?’ As soon as she uttered those words, she wanted to retract them, because she wasn’t sure she could handle his answer, whatever it was going to be.

Thankfully, he saw the look on her face and dodged the question, explaining non-committally, ‘It’s not as easy as that—’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry, Gem. I’ve fallen out …’ He paused.

‘Oh,’ she said, as she realised with terrible clarity what he was going to say, and how her dreams of fixing their relationship were, most likely, fanciful. ‘You mean, you don’t love me anymore?’

He looked at his feet.

‘And you’re in love with this other woman.’ Now, she might actually throw up.

He nodded.

‘Oh, my God, is she in your running group?’ The thought just came to her. ‘Is that why you’re going for longer runs, then coffee afterwards? Are you even going running?’

‘Gemma, please—’

‘Well, is that all I get?’

‘She’s my physio,’ he said softly.

‘Your physio? Isn’t she, like, in her twenties?’

His silence spoke volumes.

Her head spun. All at once, the sight of him revolted her.

‘I suppose, you’d better leave then, hadn’t you?’

Without saying anything more, he walked out of the kitchen.

She heard him climb the stairs and go into their bedroom.

She stood up and leant on the table to steady herself.

How had she not seen this coming? Had she been blind to reality?

Why hadn’t he said he was unhappy? Or had he tried, and she hadn’t wanted to listen?

She couldn’t remember. Her head swooned. Her body was jittery.

It felt as if she were looking down on herself from above, except she didn’t recognise the person she saw.

She’d become someone different, yet she didn’t know who exactly.

It was the same with Adam. Suddenly her husband was not the person she’d thought he was.

They were no longer the couple she’d assumed they were.

Everything was not what she had believed it to be.

Gemma stood up and wiped her eyes. She didn’t know what to do, whether to stay in the house or go out. But where do you go after your life has fallen – no – been torn apart? She felt agitated. She wanted to get out of herself, step out of her skin and leave all this dreadfulness behind.

She heard Adam clomp down the stairs. He stopped in the kitchen doorway with a weekender bag in each hand.

‘I’m going then,’ he said.

She nodded but didn’t look at him.

‘We’ll need to talk properly about the next steps.’

How could she possibly think about what came next when she was still trying to compute what was happening now?

She could tell he was still looking at her.

‘Just go,’ she told him.

He quietly turned and walked down the hallway, letting the front door slam behind him. She exhaled slowly.

Even though he’d left, she didn’t feel relief.

The matter-of-fact announcement of his affair and how he’d simply walked out swirled in her mind.

It seemed surreal. She couldn’t properly conceive any of it being true.

It was confusing, disturbing and hurtful.

Oh, God, she needed to do something. She couldn’t stand in the kitchen surrounded by memories of happier times while she felt so rejected and lost. She couldn’t stay a minute longer. She had to get out.

The one thing guaranteed to calm her was mudlarking. The gently lapping water of the river would soothe her. Concentrating on what was hidden in the foreshore would focus her mind, allow her to think. It would enable her to feel a little more like herself.

Yes, that’s what she’d do.

She went to get her gear.