Chapter 4
For the rest of the weekend, tears regularly caught Gemma off-guard, dripping and pooling like tiny puddles after rain.
She tried distracting herself, and to get solace, by documenting her latest finds in her diary-cum-journal, which she started the first time she ever brought home a mudlarking object.
She noted where and when items were discovered, any interesting pieces of information she learnt online, as well as observations about herself and her life.
Adam had never understood why she felt the need to log the ‘river junk she insisted on bringing home’.
She eventually gave up trying to explain.
On Sunday night, she discovered a lone sock of Adam’s at the bottom of the laundry basket.
It was navy with yellow bananas, part of a pair she’d given him at Christmas.
She took it out and went to find its partner.
But he’d taken all his underwear and every sock.
Did he know it was missing? Or did he not want it because it would only remind him of the wife he also no longer wanted?
Ugh. Even this single, solitary piece of wool was upsetting.
It represented everything that she now was, alone and lonely.
Half of a pair. She hid it in one of his empty drawers.
Then she took off her wedding ring because what use was that anymore?
The marriage was over. She put it out of sight in a decorative trinket box she never used.
Her skin was pale and indented from where the ring had sat for the past six years.
Even though she could still see its imprint, it felt strange and unnatural to not feel it on her finger.
She played with her engagement ring. It was modest but pretty.
She liked it. Perhaps if she wore it on another finger it could represent something else.
What that would be, she’d figure out later.
She moved it to the middle finger of her left hand.
Those two seemingly small acts packed a massive emotional punch.
She felt as if she’d been knocked down and winded.
On Monday, she called in sick and stayed in bed for two days.
It was as if her heart had been struck down by illness, a melancholic sickness.
An ache nestled deep inside, which she feared would never go.
It was a form of grief she hadn’t experienced before.
She didn’t know what to do, how long it would last, nor how she’d be able to move forward.
She felt heavy, as if drugged by sadness, and she couldn’t seem to think clearly or rationally.
She was reminded of objects she’d found in the Thames, that the river had worn down, chipped and snapped until they no longer resembled their original form.
She also couldn’t bear to face the fact that she was now completely on her own in the house and in her life.
It wasn’t the solitude she minded as much as the loneliness.
The feeling of being alone in the world, of not quite belonging.
A familiar feeling that Gemma was shocked to be reminded of.
She had been adopted as a one-month-old.
Before her parents had told her, just after her tenth birthday, she’d always wondered why she wasn’t like either her parents or her younger, non-adopted brother.
Why she liked spending time in the garden finding ladybirds or collecting shells and sea glass on the beach, and no one else in the family had been keen to join her.
When she was five, she’d asked her mother why she had freckles and they didn’t.
Had she drawn them on Gemma’s face with a permanent marker for fun and hadn’t been able to wash them off?
Her mother had responded with ‘you’re unique’, as if that was all Gemma needed to know.
Learning why her freckles would never come off and that her parents were fully supportive of her wanting to find her birth parents, if she ever desired to, was such a relief that any questions she may have had were annulled.
Not only that, but because every friend and family member had known from the beginning, her status as ‘adopted’ was normalised.
In fact, it became irrelevant. She understood it as merely another way for people to have children.
Yet despite all of this, there had forever been a hole that needed filling. Where did she come from? What was her heritage? Now, as she was left wondering about her future, questions about her past began to re-surface. And it all added to the confusion and overwhelm of the past few days.
In the end, Gemma realised it would be her work and her patients that would help her keep it together and distract her from self-absorbing thoughts.
She’d much rather talk about her patients’ lives and dreams, which she hoped did them as much good as it did her.
It was getting used to no longer having anyone at home to distract her or keep her company that was the problem.
On her first day back, it was the last day of treatment for one of her patients, which was a much-needed mood boost. As usual, Barbara, the head nurse, had brought in cupcakes.
It was becoming a tradition, but Gemma suspected it was mainly because Barbara and her husband were recent empty nesters, and Barbara wanted to continue baking without her husband complaining of being unable to eat it all.
She’d made strawberry vanilla cupcakes with buttercream frosting, sprinkled with freeze-dried strawberries. Barbara had excelled herself.
An old patient, Joe, returned for his fourth round of chemotherapy in four years, which wasn’t great news, but he was always good company. Gemma put aside a cupcake for him.
‘Do you love us that much that you couldn’t stay away?’ she joked when he walked into reception. He’d put on weight and it rather suited him.
‘I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again either,’ he said. ‘But history has a disturbing way of repeating itself.’
‘Let’s get your vitals done. I think your favourite spot by the window in the treatment room is free. I’ve got you a cupcake for later.’
‘Thanks, Gemma. So how are you doing? Any news since I was last here?’
There’s so much news, she wanted to say.
But she just told him about the Georgian button she’d recently found.
There was no need to upset him or herself by talking about Adam and the breakdown of her marriage.
As it was, she’d not yet mentioned it to anyone.
It was as if saying it out loud would render it more concrete, more real.
Something impossible to reverse should Adam suddenly – improbably – change his mind.
It also felt shameful to say ‘he’s left me’ as if her character and integrity – not just his – were in question.
‘Did you know that the eighteenth century was the golden age of button-making in Britain?’ she asked, as they headed down the corridor.
‘No, I did not.’
‘It was an era of vanity and dressing to impress. The button I found is large and has a floral motif. I love to imagine who might have worn it. Ostentatious buttons were often on the coats of flamboyant men who were keen to stand out from the crowd.’
‘It wasn’t mine then. I’m not that old or flamboyant.’ Joe laughed. ‘You really love mudlarking, don’t you? I’m sure you’ve told me once before – I can’t remember – but have you been doing it long?’
‘About five years. I took it up when we moved closer to the Thames.’
‘And what do you do with all the things you find?’
‘I store most things in Tupperware containers,’ she said, taking Joe’s temperature.
‘But not before I’ve carefully cleaned them so they don’t get damaged, then dried them out or done whatever needs to be done, as best I can, to preserve them.
The mud is oxygen-starved and so it has amazing preservation properties.
Except that means some things start deteriorating very quickly as soon as they’re removed from it. ’
‘You should have them on display.’
‘I suppose.’
‘That way others can enjoy them too. Your husband at the very least.’
Gemma smiled to hide her discomfort at the mention of Adam.
It was time to change the subject. She noted the thermometer reading, put the blood pressure cuff around Joe’s arm and asked him to squeeze his fist. ‘Are you going to treat yourself to a new hat again, to wear while you’re having treatment?
’ she asked, keeping her eyes on the monitor.
‘I think I will. We’re coming into summer, so a panama might be the go-to.’
‘Very dashing. And how’s the furniture restoring business?’
‘Excellent. There’s either been an increase in inheritances or more people have discovered the benefits of reviving something rather than throwing it away and replacing it with something cheap and mass produced.
As you lot here know, there’s nothing like the joy of bringing things back to life.
’ He slapped his leg and laughed at his joke.
Gemma always enjoyed chatting with Joe. There was never any topic too dark or off-limits for him. ‘Your blood pressure and temperature are looking good,’ she said. ‘Are you ready for chemo round four?’
‘As ready as Tyson Fury. Let’s give this thing my best right hook.’
On Friday evening, not long after she’d got home, she received a call from Adam. She glared at her phone. They hadn’t spoken since he’d walked out, and she suspected that if she didn’t answer, he’d keep trying until she did.
‘Hi,’ she said, toneless.
‘Hi, how ar—’ He stopped. He probably realised that it was unlikely she was doing great, far from it, and that he was the sole cause. ‘I … uh … wanted to get a couple of things. Can I come over?’
‘Now?’ she said. While she didn’t fancy speaking to him, she definitely didn’t want to see him. A long, hot bath was far more preferable to a stilted interaction with the man who no longer loved her.
‘Yeah.’