Chapter Thirteen

 

 

THREE DAYS LATER, I PULL up on the drive and park next to Gage’s car, another thing I shall have to arrange to be carted off.

I suppose I’ve gone from feeling bitter, to accepting it all. He was cheating on me, but then I cheated on him. I guess the only thing I’m really angry about is that he could’ve been a better husband – but for some reason he always chose not to be – and now I will never know why. I will never get chance to ask him. The remains of our marriage are going to haunt me forever because I can’t tie it up inside a neat box and convince myself it’s really actually over – because it isn’t. We could have maybe worked things out, but now I shall never, ever know. Now all I’ve got is this vision in my head of him dressed in women’s clothing, kissing a random woman on a debauched night out that eventually killed him. That’s all I’m left with: garish nightmares and no answers.

While the kids make themselves comfortable in the living room, I check the house. The cleaner came in yesterday and did a full sweep, but I still just want to make sure.

The master bedroom is missing a bed but that doesn’t matter. I can sleep in the spare room for now. All his clothes and things have been boxed up along one wall. The cleaner has even written what’s gone into what boxes: sports kit, toiletries, underwear, shoes and trainers, trousers and shirts, suits, misc.

The funeral is Friday next week and he’ll have been dead almost two weeks when we bid our final farewell.

I hesitate on the threshold to the en suite bathroom before walking inside. The room smells like it’s had the full works and there’s not a trace of Gage’s rank bodily fluids, nor the towels he left lying around or any of his toiletries – not even any of his black curly hair left in the plughole.

I need a moment, so I pop the toilet lid down and sit on it, then put my head between my legs.

It hits me again… how unfair it all is. How easily it happened. How I’ll never find out why he couldn’t love me. It’s like a nightmare I’m becoming detached from. It feels like it never even happened to me, like it must have been someone else. Since I slept with Sam, my marriage has felt like the dirty secret, not my love for Sam. My marriage was disgusting in comparison to the love I share with Sam. It was unfulfilling and almost, I hate to say it, abusive.

I’m still yo-yoing, unable to find one train of thought that I can stick with which will help me get through. I’m all over the place, and while I know that’s normal, it’s leaving me so exhausted at the end of every day – almost too exhausted to sleep peacefully at night, if at all.

 

 

AT THE DINNER table, I’m pushing chicken around my plate while Emily is enjoying her carrots, peas and gravy. Rupert has his bowl of pasta shapes and still requires me to help him out.

“Mummy, when’s Daddy coming home?” Emily asks out of the blue.

I turn to her, taken aback. “Pardon me, darling?”

“Isn’t he coming home?”

“We explained, didn’t we? Daddy’s gone to heaven.” Beneath my steel exterior, the core of me is trembling, my foundations threatening to crack, like an earthquake just ripped right through me.

“Oh, but how did he get to heaven?”

I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t know what she’s thinking or feeling or how this must seem to her. If I could only see inside her head, then I could help her understand.

“When your body dies, darling… your spirit inside flies up to heaven. You can’t see it, it’s that invisible magical bit inside you that makes you who you are… that’s the part that’s gone to heaven. Daddy’s body is resting here still, but soon we’ll have to say goodbye to it.”

“But where’s his body? Isn’t he coming home?”

“No darling,” I explain gently. “You know when we had to bury your pet fish, well we’re going to have to bury your father, too. Except we’ll have to bury him somewhere else.”

Emily shakes her head from side to side. “I didn’t like that. I don’t want to bury Daddy.”

“Okay, you don’t have to come.” I’m biting the inside of my cheek, anything to stop myself from crying.

“I want a picture of Daddy so I can talk to him and tell him things. We could put it on Teddy’s belly so that I can still hug Daddy.”

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. “Of course, whatever you need Ems.”

She continues eating her dinner and I watch her, trying with all my might to hold it together. We’re eating at the kitchen dining table so I get up from my chair and walk to the window, letting my tears fall with my back to her.

“What are you doing, Mummy?” she asks.

“Just washing my hands. I’ve got muck on them from Rupey’s dinner.”

“Okay, Mummy.”

My daughter reminds me so much of myself at that age – too clever for her own good.

 

 

AFTER THE KIDS are fast asleep in their own beds for the first time this week, there’s a knock on the door I’m determined to ignore. However, my car’s outside and if it’s someone who knows me, they probably know I’m in because I wouldn’t leave the house at this time of night without my car.

When the knock comes again, along with a text message saying: open up!, I shake my head and unlock the door.

Hetty walks in unaccompanied. Joe must be looking after the milk monster.

“All right?” she asks, trying to seem disengaged, as if she’s popped round on the spur of the moment. She scans the rooms as she passes down the hallway towards the kitchen, seemingly assured I’m not yet past caring for my kids.

She puts on the kettle and props herself against the sideboard while we wait for it to boil. She doesn’t know what to say to me, so when the kettle has boiled, she goes about mashing the tea and grabbing milk from the fridge.

We take the drinks into the living room and sit in the smaller two-seat sofa which the kids like to play on.

“So, you been sleeping then?” she asks, holding her mug to her lips.

“I don’t think so. I seem to snatch a few winks, but nothing good enough.”

“It’ll get better,” she says.

“You think?”

“It can’t get any worse, right?”

“Yep.”

“If you wanna talk, you can talk, you know?”

I turn and look at her. She’s make-up free and tired. Her hair is barely brushed but she looks beautiful, in her own quirky way. She stopped dyeing her hair blue once she got pregnant, but the tips are still blue. The rest is blonde, her natural colour.

“I can’t talk about it yet,” I whisper.

“Okay.”

“I just want to get on with things. Once the funeral’s over with, I’m going to sell his car and this house and put everything in trust for the kids. I don’t want any of it.”

“Liza, come on. Don’t act rash.”

“I don’t want any of it, Het. None of it.”

“Well, that’s fine, but your children still need a roof over their head and they are his kids. With his money, you’ll be providing them with a safe future.”

I start shaking my head. “It doesn’t feel right, though.”

“It doesn’t matter what’s right, all that matters is the kids.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Listen, okay?” she asks, and I nod that I’m listening. “I’ve got cover for you at the shop for a few weeks because we all agree you need time out. The thing is, while there will always be a place for you at the shop, I really think it might be time for you to consider doing all the things you said you were going to do.”

I take a deep breath. “You mean my MA and all that?”

“That, yeah. And everything else. Travel. Teaching. All that.”

“I can’t think about any of that right now. Besides, we discussed the other day that we were going to work together on building your brand.”

She looks awkward, like she doesn’t want to upset me with her true feelings on that.

“Just say it,” I ask.

“I’m not ready for that. Betty’s still very small.”

“Cute. You’re calling her Betty now?”

“It suits her.”

“It does.” I manage a small smile; it seems there are still things that give me some semblance of peace.

“I discussed it with Joe and we decided I’m not ready to go big yet.”

“No, you told Joe you’re not ready. You told Joe you’re not ready, and you went mental on him because you’re nervous about it all.”

She turns her head and eyes me with scorn. “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too. But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yeah… fuck.”

“Then, let us continue as we were going to. It’ll give me something to focus on.”

“She is small, Liz. I can’t… I’m not going to upend my life suddenly if we manage to do this.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m only asking you to draw some pictures and develop the ideas, then for us to approach manufacturers and make them a reality on a grand scale. You won’t need to do much but design, and I bet you’ve been doing that in the back of your bloody head since you had Betty.”

“Yeah,” she groans, “but I still hate you.”

We have an extremely complex and complicated relationship. We’re probably closer than sisters. We’ve never had any rivalry at all. We do get on one another’s nerves, but it’s only because we’ve got each other’s backs and we want the best for one another. It can be difficult when one of us fucks up and the other one can’t do anything about it. We just have to ride the fuck-up together.

“What about Sam?” she asks, buffing her nails on her shirt. “Has he been in touch? Warrick said he showed up on Tuesday night.”

“Apart from him helping me sort out a cleaner for this place, I haven’t heard anything else since then. He’s never been the type to barge his way into my business, unlike some people I could mention…”

She throws her head back on a suppressed scoff. “Charming.”

“Well…”

“So, what are you going to do?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m not ready for anything like that.”

“If you ask me, Gage got what he deserved.” She stares at me with that serious look in her blue eyes, lips pursed.

“Well, I didn’t ask you. Not that I would expect anything less than scorn from you.”

“Well…” She flicks her hair over her shoulders, sniffing the air like she does.

“Emily doesn’t want to come to the funeral, you know.”

She turns and assesses me more intimately, twisting her body towards mine. “What?”

“I was thinking maybe you could have them for the day while I get it over and done with. I’m glad she doesn’t want to attend actually. It’s adult stuff they have no comprehension of. She doesn’t need the memory of watching a load of adults pouring their hearts out, crying.”

Hetty swallows visibly, even partially looking harrowed. She quickly shakes it off and straightens up again. “Sure, I’ll have the kids. Won’t you need me there, though?”

“No, I need you to take care of the things that mean the most to me.”

Her chin goes, then mine does. Her eyes turn red raw and then she leaps across and cuddles me.

“I’m so sorry, Liz. So sorry. And for slapping you.”

“God, I thought the sorry was for the slap first and foremost. I’m sure you enjoyed that a bit much, you know?”

“I was just so angry. I can’t help it. It’s the emotion that hits me first, you know? I’m hardwired to be angry first.”

We pull apart and she grabs a box of tissues, taking one for herself before handing them to me. We wipe our eyes and she tells me, “Of course, I’ll have them. Joe and I will take them somewhere fun. I’ve been thinking of taking Betty to one of those baby-friendly cinema screenings. I’ll see if we can’t find a suitable thing to take them all to. It’s going to be fun!” she declares, but I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince.

“Good luck!” I exclaim.

“Yeah, maybe we should go to The Deep. It’s dark in there, the babies will sleep.”

We laugh and I notice it’s getting dark outside. It’s the night when grief is the worst… when the quiet and the lull and the memories and the lack of sleep all make for one big nasty nightmare.

“Listen, if he is the man you love, you shouldn’t hang about. I know it’s been an awful time and everything, but why wait, Liz?” She’s biting her nails as she says this because she’s expecting a bad reaction.

“It’s not that easy, Het.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Because I love him and it’s not right to drag him into this with me right now. He doesn’t deserve it. Gage would be loving this right now, you know? We both know he would never have made it easy for me to leave him.”

She peers at me, her expression changing from casual to worried. “Are you saying he was that kind of husband?”

“I’m saying I wouldn’t be surprised if he went on a self-destructive bender last weekend to make me feel bad about myself, because that was what he was like. Always making me feel bad about everything. When I came back from Paris with you that time and told him what a good time we’d had, he slagged off each and every part of the trip and even told me I needed my head testing for walking around cemeteries, not that he would have ever realised how many famous people’s graves there are in Paris.”

“He was a bit of a nasty fucker, then?”

“I just kept going for the kids, Het. It’s what I’ll always keep going for.”

“But what about you?” she frowns. “When are you going to realise that some self-love could change your whole world?”

“That’s the thing, Het. I know that. I do. That’s why the thing with Sam has to wait. I’m not ready. There are things I’ve ignored for so long, and do you know what? The worst thing about his death is that I’ve got no excuse to ignore all my problems anymore. No excuse whatsoever. He’s gone and it’s just me now. I get to call all the shots.”

“Oh, you certainly do, sister. You really, really should, too.”

She takes our mugs into the kitchen and tidies them into the dishwasher.

Before she leaves the house, she gives me that wicked grin of hers and says, “I hope you know I’m gonna make you wear my dresses.”

“I’m not in it for anything else.”

She cackles as she heads out of the door.