CHAPTER TWELVE
Jackie
When Ashley told me the news, I was devastated. I had no idea why she would have mentioned it to me, since she couldn’t possibly have known about me and Scott. But she did.
“Did you see…we’re in for a big wedding in the news?”
“Oh?” I asked with mild interest. I was sitting at the table in the staffroom, my sandwiches on the table, munching through the whole-wheat bread.
“Yeah! The society wedding of the decade.”
“Whose?”
“Scott West, of course!”
“What?” I had known Scott was part of high society—by then I had found him on the West Incorporated website. But this?
“Yeah!” she said. She was sitting eating her own lunch. She lowered her sandwich slowly. “Why’re you staring at me like that, Jackie?”
“No reason,” I said dully.
I was in shock. As a psychologist myself, I recognized the symptoms. But there wasn’t much I could do about it. I stood and pushed my chair in, walked back to my tiny office as if in a dream. I sat down and switched on my computer. Went straight online to do a search for “Scott West Marriage.”
I sat with tears rolling slowly down my face as I looked at the pictures that came up. Scott and a tall, model girl with brown hair and red lips. The two walking in the park, at a party. On a rooftop. They were dating. Clearly. Why else would there be a picture of them kissing?
“No,” I whispered. How could he do this to me? Had everything he’d said been a lie?
I sat there for about ten minutes, just looking at the pictures. I couldn’t think. I felt as if someone had sneaked into my heart and switched it off. Nothing made sense.
“Jackie?” My other colleague, Barbara, came in. She frowned at me. “Hell, Jackie, you look terrible!”
I blinked. “I’m fine.”
She raised a brow at me, but nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure. Are you going to be at the football match this afternoon?”
I shook my head. “I need to go and fetch Stella from the daycare.”
“Okay,” She nodded. “I’ll miss having you there. Hey—are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded. I felt as if I was looking down a long tunnel, seeing everyone from afar. My words came up down the same long hallway. “I’m fine, Barbara. See you later.”
She left. Good: at last I can collapse. I slumped slowly forward in my chair and sobbed.
I let myself cry for a long time. It was better than the numbness, my professional mind noted dimly. I went to the bathroom and washed my face carefully, cleaning it off so that the kids wouldn’t notice I’d been sobbing. Redid makeup and went back for my round of appointments. I tried my best to be attentive and serious, but it was probably obvious my mind was elsewhere.
After work, I collected Stella from the able care of Ainsley at the daycare and drove home.
“Stella,” I murmured as I changed and fed her. “What are we going to do?”
Scott had just turned his back on us. He was out of my life.
I considered my options as I sat in the sitting room, my baby in my arms. We could confront Scott. But the media would be all over it. And if I appeared in the public eye I might ruin Scott—which, despite everything, I didn’t want to do. I loved him. I’d ruin me too. Quite apart from the impossibility of paying lawyers and things, I would face condemnation in the press and I didn’t want that.
“Okay. So confronting him is out. What else can I do?”
The first thing, the most appealing thing, that came to mind was to leave town. I didn’t want to stay here anymore. I didn’t want to drive to work down the street where I met Scott. Didn’t want to sleep in the bed we shared. Didn’t want to hear about the local celebrity.
“Uh.”
Stella stretched and yawned in my arms and I kissed her, my heart full of pain. I thought about leaving. If I left, what would happen to Dad? He was more stable, that was certain—something I suspected had a lot to do with Stella being here. He loved seeing her and that was changing his life.
I can’t take you away from him.
She seemed to know I was thinking about her, because she wriggled and looked up at me. My eyes locked with those gray ones and I felt so sad. How could Scott turn his back on her? I could even understand his issue about me—I mean, his family would probably disapprove of me and I wouldn’t fit in his social sphere. But how could he reject her too?
“There’s only one thing we can do. Talk to Dad about moving.”
If my dad moved too, then we could maybe all move into a small cottage together. My mind was already jumping ahead, making plans. I could hopefully find another job and we could share the rent. That would mean I could leave Dad to look after Stella and I wouldn’t have to pay for daycare. I wondered if I wasn’t maybe overestimating Dad’s capabilities there, but maybe he could manage. We’d have to see.
As soon as I’d had the plan, I enacted it. I lifted the sleepy Stella and put her in the traveling cot, then headed out to the car. It was my evening to check on Dad anyway: since he’d stabilized a bit I only went twice in the week and then on Saturdays.
“Dad?” I called as I walked into the kitchen. He was asleep in the sitting room—he opened one bleary eye as I came in, then grinned.
“Ah! There you are, sweetie. And my grandchild! How is she today?”
I smiled as he lifted her out of the carry cot and looked down at her with complete awe.
“She’s fine,” I said. My heart still felt sore, but the sight of my dad, his strong, veined hands holding the tiny baby, never failed to move me. “Dad?”
He noticed immediately that something was up. I loved him for that. He squinted at me. “What is it, baby?”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started sobbing. I told him what had happened. Not the exact story—if Dad knew who the father of my child was, he’d probably track him down and “fix him”—his words, not mine—and I didn’t want Dad fixing him.
After I’d told him he sat back and looked at me. “What an asshole.”
I sniffed, laughing. Dad looked so mad. It made me feel better having told someone.
“Yeah,” I said with some feeling. “He is an asshole.”
“Well, baby, what do you want to do?”
I sighed. Dad had put Stella back in her cot—she was starting to wake up now, the noise of me crying had disturbed her—and he held my hand. I squeezed those strong, sinewy fingers and was so grateful to have him in my life.
“I don’t know. Dad, I think I want to move town.”
“Oh.” He looked horrified. He didn’t say anything, but his big blue eyes scanned my face brokenly. I was moved.
“Oh, Daddy. I don’t want to leave you. I want to take you with me.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well. That changes things.”
I smiled. “Daddy, did I remember to tell you I love you?”
His eyes met mine and the look in them was so soft it moved me to tears again. “Baby. I love you too.”
We embraced and I breathed in the scent of him—musk, dust, engine oil. Comfort. I sighed. There was no alcohol to be smelled; a fact that I noticed with a faint spark of joy. He had been teetotal for the last three months. I knew how hard he was trying. I squeezed him back.
“Would you think about it?” I asked after a long while. “About moving with me?”
“Well.” He looked about the cottage, where he had lived for a decade now. It was in better repair than it had been. He had found the energy to fix all the little things that had been broken for so long, since he’d sobered. I felt so bad for thinking of dragging him away just when things were settling down. His home looked comfortable for the first time in years. Why should he leave it to stay in two rooms with me?
“I don’t want to drag you away, Daddy,” I said softly.
He looked at me with a sad, knowing smile. “Baby, you’re not dragging me away. I want to be where you are. Where both my beautiful women are,” he added, looking fondly at the baby. I sniffed.
“Daddy, you’re wonderful.”
He beamed. I had never seen him glow like that, as if someone had switched a switch on inside him. He straightened up, tried to hide the little smile of pride. “Humph,” he said. “Well, we’ll have to see about finding houses. Where do you want to go?”
I sighed. I knew Barbara had a sister who practiced as a psychologist in Boulder. It sounded like a great place to live. Not cheap, though. But if I could find a job—maybe Barbara’s sister could help me find one—then that would be less of a worry. And it seemed so healthy there, with the countryside nearby, the lifestyle more measured and less hectic than here. And far away from Scott. That was another attractive feature.
“Boulder?” I said.
His eyes widened. “That would be amazing.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you think so, Daddy.”
“Yeah!” He looked into the room, eyes unfocused as if he was already envisioning the house there, his new life. “I could go walking in the countryside, and we could show little Stella the trees, and…it could be amazing, sweetheart.”
I sniffed. “You know, you make me wonder why I didn’t do this years ago!”
He laughed and soon we were both laughing. The sound disturbed Stella, and she looked at us owlishly.
“Would you like that?” I asked as I picked her up, crooning to her gently. “What do you think about Boulder, mm? Would it be nice?”
My dad laughed, the slow, wheezy laugh I loved so much. “You have to tell her about it properly. What would you think of hills, and forests, and green, open countryside?”
His voice was lilting and lyrical. Stella turned to face him, beguiled by the tone if not the meaning of the words.
“Wuuh,” she said. I laughed.
“I think she likes the sound of that. What do you think?”
My dad smiled. I passed her to him. He held her in his arms, crooning to her, weaving stories of green leaves and big sunsets. I watched them, my heart still sore, but peaceful now.
I might have lost Scott, I thought miserably. But Dad seems happy. And maybe he’s right. Maybe it would be better for my daughter after all. I stayed to talk to Dad for a long while after that. We discussed the plans and possibilities. I promised to call Barbara and find out if her sister could help me find a place. Then I left.
As I drove home, I found myself feeling as if I had shrunk. I was making my plans, looking ahead. But it wasn’t really me doing it. I was somewhere else. It was dissociation, almost: my body was here, driving the car, talking to Stella, mechanically carrying out daily tasks. But I wasn’t here. It’s the shock, I told myself distantly. You’ll come around soon. Just keep going.
I fed Stella, made my dinner. Sought comfort in my daily routines. But the strange deadness in my chest was getting worse, not better. It was weird. Everyone else seemed to be so happy about the move to Colorado—even Stella, if my father’s interpretation of her sounds was reliable. Why do I feel as if there’s no point to life anymore?
I sighed. I knew it was the shock. That was, until I was setting my alarm on my phone. I hadn’t switched my phone on that day, I realized with a shock. What if Ainsley had needed to contact me? Almost as soon as I switched on, a message came through on my phone. I opened it. It was from Scott. Several messages, actually.
Hey, sweetie. Answer me, please? Then, Jackie? We need to talk. Please? And: Please, reply?
I deleted all the messages, rage and hurt and pain threatening to burst my heart in two. Then I blocked him on Whatsapp, Google, my number and everywhere else I thought he might find me. That made me feel better. It was as if I had cut all possibility of a future with him out of my life myself. Instead of letting him hurt me, I’d done it first. I could be resigned to Boulder and a gray, numb life.