Chapter Thirty-Two
She ran to Julia.
Things between them were a little tense, but they were still sisters. Julia knew her like no one else. She would understand the devastation Jen was feeling now.
She’d thought that Julia might be out with Dan, or snuggled up on the sofa with him in a haze of sickening contentment, but luckily she was alone.
Jen couldn’t face such a blatant display of happiness while her own heart had been shattered.
Julia wore an old dressing gown and her make-up-free eyes were red as she tucked into a tub of ice cream.
She took one look at Jen’s face and got another spoon from the drawer, handing it to her silently.
They sat on the sofa in the tiny flat Julia lived in then, and Jen told the whole sorry tale, as much of it as there was to tell, as the ice cream slowly disappeared.
She’d called David as soon as she’d seen the note, and on the third time he’d picked up, apparently realising that she was going to keep trying until he answered. He’d sounded appropriately sheepish. Broken, even.
But he’d gone back to his wife, and taken Martha.
Apparently she’d been in touch over the past couple of months, and they’d quietly begun talking and rebuilding. She was sorry. She realised she’d made a terrible mistake.
‘What can I do?’ he asked, despair threading through his voice. ‘It’s Martha’s mum, and nothing can replace that. I have to do what’s right for her.’
Jen wanted to scream at him. What about what’s right for us? What about me? Can’t I be enough, for you and Martha?
But she didn’t, because she knew the answers. What was best for Martha was the only thing that mattered. And Jen loved her, there was no doubt of that. She loved David, she loved Martha, and given the chance she’d have done anything to make them happy, to make things work.
But what could she offer that meant more than Martha’s own mum?
Sitting at the table in his kitchen, where they’d eaten and talked and mapped out a future together, she sobbed into the phone. ‘But – everything you said, all our plans, was it – did it mean anything? At all?’
She heard him swallow, and when he spoke his voice shook. ‘Yes, of course, I wouldn’t string you along. And I’ll never know if I’m making the worst mistake of my life, but – it’s her mum. I have to try.’
That was the last conversation she had with him. And, as she sat on her sister’s sofa, she wept for everything she’d lost; not just David, not even Martha, but the future they should have had together. The family they were going to add to. The life they would have shared.
She didn’t know who she was, without all that.
Julia held her as she sobbed, and dried her face and refilled her glass. She called David every name under the sun, she told Jen that she could do better, that she deserved better, that she absolutely would find better.
She said all the right things. Until she didn’t.
‘I know you can’t see it now,’ she said, brushing away the mop of hair that was sticking to Jen’s tear-sodden face. ‘But it’s probably for the best.’
Jen gaped at her. ‘What do you mean?’
Julia shrugged. ‘Well, what I mean is, maybe it’s best for it to end now, if it wasn’t going to work out.
Before that poor little kid got properly attached to you.
You know, things can feel all settled and then suddenly it can all just – fall away.
’ Her voice wavered, and she took a gulp of wine. ‘Maybe it’s better now than later.’
Jen pulled away, wiping her face with both palms. ‘What?’ Martha was already attached to her, and she loved the little girl. She thought Julia had understood that.
Julia laughed.
She actually laughed.
‘Well, come on. You know I love you, but you’re not exactly the settling-down type, are you?
I mean, you need your freedom and that’s fine, but I have to admit I was kind of wondering how you’d manage a ready-made family so young.
Being in a serious relationship, it’s – it’s hard, you know.
Even without the complication of a kid.’
Jen stared. The wine sat uncomfortably, curdling in her stomach. She felt like the world was dropping away under her feet. ‘What are you saying?’ she whispered. ‘That I’m not mature enough for a proper relationship?’
Julia ran a hand through her unusually untidy hair. ‘No, I mean – there’s nothing wrong with it, but you’re young, and you’re a bit of a magpie, aren’t you? And it’s fine when it’s pottery classes or the choir, but she’s a kid. What if you’d got bored?’
‘But – I love her.’ Jen’s voice shook and the tears welled up again. ‘I love him. I would never have . . .’
Julia looked sympathetic, and Jen felt for a moment that she’d understood at last. ‘I know you think that now. But – I’m just saying, the chances are you were going to struggle with it.
In the end.’ Julia took another slug of wine.
Her eyes had a glazed look. Perhaps she’d drunk more than Jen had thought.
She shrugged. ‘I tried to tell you. But you were never going to listen, you always have to go your own way.’
Every word hit Jen like a punch. This was her sister, she’d come to her for support, and all she was getting was criticism.
Something snapped inside her, and she leapt to her feet, looking around for her bag and coat.
‘Well, thanks very much,’ she said. ‘Can’t you just listen, for once? Can’t you be on my side, even now?’
Julia looked confused, and then upset. She stood and followed as Jen moved around, picking up her things and fighting into her coat. ‘I – wait, no, I – it didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to . . .’
Jen had reached the door and was struggling with the lock. One arm in her sleeve and her shoes unlaced. She spun around. ‘Oh yes, you did.’ Tears slipped down her cheeks, but fury at Julia overtook her hurt. ‘You meant every word. That was you telling me exactly what you think of me.’
She caught one more glimpse of Julia’s distraught expression before she slammed out of the door. She steeled herself against any stirring of sympathy for her.
And she’d been steeling herself against it ever since.
Jen tried to put her life back together.
She went back to work in January, having spent Christmas shut in her bedroom trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.
As she would spend every Christmas after that.
But she brushed her hair and washed her face, planned the week’s activities and braved the school.
Her classroom was still festooned in the Christmas decorations she’d put up in December.
Everyone else had taken theirs down on the last day of term, but she hadn’t wanted the children to be disappointed, so she’d left hers up.
They looked drab and depressing, and she blinked back tears as she pulled them all down, remembering how optimistic she’d felt when she’d hung them.
That felt like a different life now. One that belonged to someone else.
Jen tried. She tried to smile, she tried to be professional and cheerful and focused. And, as the children filed in, full of news about their holiday, she tried not to look at the empty space where Martha should be sitting.
She stopped eating. She stopped sleeping. The thought of work began to fill her with dread – an unshakeable fear that she was letting the children down, and a deep, paralysing sense of loss every time she looked at Martha’s empty chair, and remembered what her life should have been.
The thought of work began to make her tremble. Her heart raced, she couldn’t catch her breath. And, in the end, she simply couldn’t face it.
She walked away. She walked to Ted, the person who had helped her through the last time her life had fallen apart. And he had listened, he had understood. He hadn’t judged.
She hadn’t taught since. She hadn’t celebrated Christmas. And she hadn’t confided in her sister.