Chapter 4 #2
She forced a smile. She’d read that if you smile while saying something the other person doesn’t want to hear, it disarms them. ‘Tell me what you want and I’ll leave them in the porch.’
‘Will you be out?’ he asked, as if horrified she might have a social life.
‘No. Yes.’ She corrected herself because now she’d have to go out to guarantee she wouldn’t see him.
He paused. ‘Okay, but it’s raining.’
‘The porch is covered.’
‘Fine,’ he sighed.
She supposed he was being conciliatory. There was no point arguing now, was there?
He told her what he wanted: some books from work he’d forgotten to return, his portable speaker, some clothes and his Kindle.
‘We also need to talk some time,’ he added.
‘About moving forward. Selling the house and all that.’
Gemma swallowed. Selling the house? It would be inevitable, of course, but her mind had yet to properly entertain the idea.
‘Not that I’m trying to rush you,’ he said quickly.
Except he was!
‘You can stay for as long as you like. Until … well … I suppose until we come to an agreement.’
She sighed. It was all too hard.
‘I also wanted to give you my new address. In case you get mail for me. I’ve set up a redirection but sometimes, you know …
’ His voice trailed away as if he expected her to commiserate on the likelihood of an unreliable postal service.
She felt nothing for his concerns about his post, rather she was affronted and hurt that already he was thinking about the practicalities of their separation.
‘Text it to me,’ she said.
‘Okay.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Yep.’
She hung up and went to check the local tide chart. It was neither high nor low, yet it would be low enough for a short time at least. After leaving the items Adam requested in a box in the porch, she went to find her boots and rain jacket, and left the house.
When she returned, the items were gone.
But, so too were other things, which she realised over the course of the next twenty-four hours. His umbrella, a framed photo of his parents, and the Nutribullet she never used. She’d completely overlooked the fact that he still had a key.
The next day, after organising for a locksmith to change the locks, and not giving a toss about the more expensive rate because it was a Saturday, Gemma finally felt up to telling her mother about her marriage breakdown.
It helped that Gemma didn’t have to go into too much detail before her mother’s strong sense of justice fired her up so much that she unleashed a fury of indignation on her behalf.
‘How dare he, how dare he!’ her mother repeated. ‘He’s despicable.’
‘He said he wasn’t happy.’
‘There are far better ways of getting around that. Now, you’re unhappy!’
Gemma nodded despondently.
‘Shred his business shirts,’ her mother said with a hint of glee in her voice.
‘What?’
‘You’ll feel so much better. I did that once. Before your father. But that’s another story.’
‘You know I’m not as hot-headed as you are. Anyway, he’s already taken his business shirts.’
‘Oh, darling, I am so sorry.’ Her mother sighed.
‘I keep thinking, what did I do wrong?’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t think like that.’
It was nice of her mother to stick up for her so vehemently, but Gemma knew that it takes two to make a relationship work.
‘Yeah, but sometimes doing nothing or having your head in the clouds isn’t always the best strategy either,’ she said. ‘I must have been stupidly blind to his needs and wants. I didn’t mean to be. I really didn’t mean to be.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up. He shouldn’t have jumped into bed with someone else, no matter what. It doesn’t solve anything.’
‘Maybe we never should have married …’ Gemma’s voice cracked because that wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d say.
‘Oh, Gemma, darling. Listen, I want to come and see you. I’d drop everything and come up to London tomorrow, but we’ve been having staffing issues at the charity shop, and I don’t think I’ll be able to find anyone to fill in at such short notice.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll be okay.’ As much as Gemma thought it would be nice having her mother stay for a bit, she preferred the idea of moping on her own for a while. Her mum would only want to tidy the house.
‘But I’ll come down another weekend,’ her mother said. ‘Wait a minute … I’m looking at the diary. Next weekend is out because I’m doing a charity walk and then, the following weekend—’
‘Don’t worry,’ Gemma interrupted. Her mother’s busy social life was admirable but she didn’t want to hear about it. ‘We’ll work something out.’
Next, Gemma called her brother. May as well get all the family informed at the same time.
Rich lived in Spain, and Gemma’s only niece, three-year-old Sofia, was on her way to speaking better Spanish than English.
Gemma worried that one day she may not be able to converse with her at all.
Even Rich preferred speaking Spanish. Or maybe he liked showing off. Gemma had never been sure.
‘El cabrón!’ he shouted down the phone after she’d told him. Although Gemma didn’t know what it meant, he was clearly, kindly, as outraged as their mother had been.
‘El …?’ she said.
‘Bastard, Gemma. He’s a bastard.’
A much longer discussion ensued because Rich was a detail-oriented man and liked asking questions. At the end of the call, he promised to be in contact more often to check on her, which she greatly appreciated but doubted would actually happen.
‘Call me anytime, though, yeah?’ Rich said. ‘If you want to vent your anger at el cabrón, I’m here. Anytime.’
And from then on, el cabrón became Adam’s new nickname. If nothing else, it made Gemma laugh in a sardonic I-can’t-believe-I-have-a-bastard-of-a-husband kind of a way.