Chapter 5
FIVE
Victoria
‘Sorry it’s still a mess,’ says Ed when I walk into the kitchen.
My lovely husband had promised me he’d tidy up the kitchen, whilst I handled bath time.
I have left the boys watching television, both dressed in matching Star Wars pyjamas.
‘I had a great idea for a song and I started writing and then I couldn’t figure out a chorus that worked so I called someone from class and I…
’ Ed looks up at me and then stops speaking, probably knowing I am really not listening.
I shrug at Ed’s apology. Usually I would launch into a lecture on the division of labour in our house but I’m too tired, too irritated, too stressed by Camilla’s message and what it might mean.
Plus, whatever I say never seems to make a difference to how Ed parents the boys or looks after the house. Any lecture I give is only met with the reply of, ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ which is just lip service and basically means, ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’
‘What did the boys eat for dinner?’
‘Fish fingers and oven chips,’ says Ed. It’s Ed’s go-to dinner because it’s something the boys will definitely eat.
‘So no vegetables,’ I say, gritting my teeth.
‘I mean, I offered them carrots but they both said no.’
‘They’re children, Ed. They will never say yes to a vegetable.’
‘I know I’m…’ he starts to say and I wave my hand at him, feeling a tightening across my head. I just want this awful day never to have happened. Why has she contacted me now? Why?
‘Do you want to do bedtime?’ Ed asks me and despite my circular thoughts and the tension I can feel all over, I nod.
I have to take all the time I can get with the boys since I am at work five days a week.
I always do bath time and bedtime if I get home early enough but something in my face must convey some level of exhaustion for Ed to ask the question which, it must be said, is a rare moment of insight for him.
I never pass up on this precious hour and a half at the end of the day if I can get it.
I wish I was here more but you don’t get everything you wish for. I know that better than anyone.
If I’m honest, at forty, I sometimes feel like I’m hanging onto my life and my job by the skin of my teeth.
The world of advertising is changing so fast I can barely keep up.
The twenty-somethings at the office throw around terms like CTRs and programmatic ads and behavioural targeting as though they have been using them all their lives, which they probably have.
Despite that, I’m good at my job. I’ve written some of the most successful campaigns for The Think Tank, the agency where I have worked for the last twelve years, less the two I took off to take care of the twins.
But working in advertising is hardly the plan I had for myself.
I was going to write the next great literary novel.
Of course, advertising is filled with people who had the same ambitions.
I do actually enjoy my job, or I did. Now I feel like I’m only moments away from being replaced by a fifteen-year-old who knows how to use ChatGPT.
And I really need this job since Ed decided that his true passion in life is not accounting, but rather music production. He is now studying and working part-time, bringing in very little money but getting good experience at the music studio, according to him.
We used to have a nanny, a sweet young girl named Marissa, who worked five afternoons a week, picking up the boys from school, and then cleaning up the house and preparing dinner for them.
I used to come home from work to a neat house and children who had been fed a nutritious meal.
But then came Ed’s big, fabulous announcement and now home feels like chaos because Ed told me he would take on the role of ‘after-school babysitter’.
I didn’t even ask him if he understood the irony of calling himself a ‘babysitter’, instead of a father.
On days when I walked through the door and everything looked perfect because Marissa had cleaned and done the washing, I felt like I was able to go on with being a working mother.
My time with the boys was all about the pleasures of parenting.
But now Ed is in charge and he does, it must be said, very little. Very, very little.
At work, because I took time off after I had my kids, a man who was my junior when I left, Blake, is now my boss and he has an irritating habit of calling me Vicky despite how many times I’ve told him not to.
Mainly because of him, I dream of being able to walk out of the door of my office building one afternoon and never return, but that’s impossible.
It takes me longer than usual to calm the boys down and get them into bed with brushed teeth.
Then I have to read stories and give cuddles and despite how tired I am I keep reminding myself that I should be grateful for every moment because I thought I would never get to have kids.
It took five rounds of IVF, but they’re here.
‘Do you want some dinner?’ Ed asks when I come downstairs. I don’t know what he thinks I will eat since I’m pretty sure that he’s had fish fingers and chips as well. Sometimes I hate feeling like the only grown-up in this house.
‘No,’ I say because all I want is a long hot bath and to be alone and quiet and think.
‘I may get to bed early,’ he says. ‘I just need to finish cleaning the kitchen.’
What have you been doing while I got the boys to bed? A question that does not bear asking. ‘I’ll do it,’ I tell him because at least that will mean I’m alone and that it will be done properly.
Things are not easy between us right now.
I don’t think he should have given up his job when the kids are so young.
I don’t think it’s fair that the financial burden is now on me, and he’s not exactly a domestic god.
But I also don’t have the energy for the same argument again.
So I turn away from him and begin stacking dishes in the dishwasher.
I keep going while he makes himself a cup of herbal tea and leaves, waiting until I’m sure he won’t come back and then I cut myself some sharp cheddar cheese and grab a handful of date and seed crackers to eat it with.
I’m actually starving, so I shove the food in my mouth too quickly as I open my Instagram and re-read the message from Camilla.
The truth about your life is that it’s built on a lie. It’s been a long time Victoria and I’m finally ready to talk. You had better be ready to listen. Camilla.
What do you want? I send her because once I know that, I can figure out what to do.
I told Reese not to speak to her until we were together but I’m stronger than Reese is, less open to Camilla’s tricks.
Honestly, I’m not as kind-hearted. It seems to me that life has rewarded Reese for her beautiful heart and her giving spirit with a wonderful man who is making lots of money, a job she loves but doesn’t even need, easy pregnancies and basically everything that is good.
But she’s my best friend and she’s lovely so I try… really hard, to control my jealousy.
Our friendship has lasted through twenty years of ups and downs and she has always been there for me as I have for her, especially after what happened with Camilla.
Sixteen years ago, I was very worried for my friend. I don’t want to ever see her that lost and sad again. It’s best that I suss out Camilla’s plans before she gets a chance to start manipulating Reese.
I need to know what this woman wants before I talk to Reese again.
Camilla has replied.
I want to set the record straight. Reese needs to know what you did. And maybe there are some things you don’t know as well.
I protected my friend. What things?
Unease swirls in my stomach, the cheese and crackers mixing with my anxiety. I get up and find the antacids and pop one in my mouth while I wait for her reply.
Maybe you see it that way. Maybe you’re just so used to lying about your whole life that you don’t even know how to start telling the truth. But I’ve been watching you, Victoria. I know a lot more about you than you can imagine. And I think it’s time for everyone to know the truth.
I am surrounded by a white static noise as my stomach cramps.
Is this a joke? A scam? Just bullshit meant to intimidate me or does she actually know something? There is so much I’ve kept to myself, so much I am keeping to myself. And all along, I’ve been aware that it’s possible that it could blow up in my face. Is that what’s going to happen?
I used to know Camilla pretty well. I knew how to deal with her when she said shitty things or did shitty things.
I knew to keep a wall around myself so that I wouldn’t get hurt when she asked me why I was wearing an unflattering dress or why I was dating a man she considered beneath me.
My tactic was to laugh her criticism off, make her feel stupid.
But Reese was never able to do that and she got really, really hurt.
I decide that the best way to play this is to go in hard. The best form of defence is a good offence. Camilla needs to know I’m not falling for her crap.
Why don’t you tell me exactly what the hell you want Camilla.
I want you to suffer. Just like I did. And I’m going to make sure that happens.
I recognise bullshit when I read it.
I’m not engaging in this crap Camilla. Please don’t contact me again.
When I speak to Reese, I’ll tell her to block this crazy woman. We have enough to deal with in our lives without inviting this kind of trouble back in.
I stare down at my phone screen, waiting for a reply but Camilla is smart enough to know when to go silent.
Opening Google, I type in her name and scroll through three pages, but there’s nothing. She’s probably got a different surname now. I check out her profile on Instagram but it’s very generic, just pictures of food and flowers.
Maybe it’s too generic?
I click on each photo, seeing if there are any comments, but no one seems to appreciate her pictures.
Is this Camilla or is this someone using her name? Or has she set up this basic profile to harass Reese and me? That’s probably right. Social media wasn’t the frenzy it is now when Camilla and I last spoke but I can imagine that she’s the perfect troll, hating on everyone and everything.
Standing, I finish cleaning the kitchen before checking on the boys who are both deeply asleep. They sleep like they play, with fierce intensity. Grateful for the silence in the house, I go to the bathroom, empty the bath of toys and turn the taps on.
When I’m in the warm water, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, remembering Camilla as she was. I thought she was quite pretty but she never saw herself that way. She was smart and that’s what she took pride in, her intelligence.
But she’s not smarter than I am and I’m not going to let her into my life so she can upend things.
We were friends for four years, sharing our secrets as we shared restaurant meals, holidays and long nights together, always beginning with one truth and one lie until it all fell apart because of what she did.
She doesn’t get to do that again.
She just doesn’t.