I remember sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for him to come home from work, my brain full of static, unable to think straight. I didn’t shout or even cry, not to begin with. When he got in, I just waited until he came into the kitchen.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked me, and I pushed my phone across the table towards him and said, ‘I’m thinking this might be important.’
His face as he realized what had happened. I could almost hear it: the collapse of everything in my life.
I thought he’d beg me to forgive him. He didn’t though, he just said, ‘Shit.’ And looked at me and said, ‘It’s exactly what it looks like, I’m so sorry.’
I believe that, too – he was sorry. Sorry I found out, but also sorry for hurting me. I know he wouldn’t have chosen to do that, but it’s not like he chose not to, is it? It’s not a foregone conclusion, cheating on your spouse. You have to make decisions, a series of decisions, before you end up in a situation where your wife’s looking at a photograph of your dick in someone else’s mouth.
‘I know,’ he says, ‘I know. I’d been relieved that you didn’t suspect anything.’ He closes his eyes again. ‘All the words for this are so shitty,’ he says.
I laugh. ‘Yes. You could say that.’ I know what he means; it’s like I said to Edward, months ago. All such a cliché.
‘I suppose I thought it would go on for a while and then stop. I didn’t think we’d end up here. Like this. I used to sit in the car sometimes and say it out loud. “I’m having an affair.” But it never seemed… Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry, Thea.’
I sigh. ‘I know. Anyway. Never mind all that. What did you want to talk to me about?’
‘Oh. Yes. Okay. The thing is. You’ll laugh,’ he says, ‘and who can blame you. But…’
There’s quite a long pause. I raise my eyebrows, waiting.
‘I think… Have I made a massive mistake? I think I might have done.’
He’s right, I do laugh: an explosive ‘HA’. It reminds me of my reaction to the news about the baby, that sob pushed up and out from my diaphragm in exactly the same unexpected fashion, loud enough for the old people in the corner to turn and look across.
‘I know. What sort of… I can’t even believe I’m saying it.’
‘To me, as well. Of all people.’
‘Yes.’
‘You shouldn’t be saying it to me, should you? What would you do if I said, oh yes, but don’t worry, we can fix it?’
He says nothing. I almost think that’s what he wants.
‘I’d be mad to, Chris. You can see that, can’t you? I mean you’re having a fucking baby.’
‘I know.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I know.’
I shake my head. ‘You don’t know at all. You’re a… I don’t even know what you are.’ I sigh. ‘But it’s just cold feet, isn’t it? You don’t mean it. If I said, “Okay, let’s fix it,” you’d be in as much trouble, or worse.’
‘I just… I don’t know if I can do it.’ He does look frightened; scared and exhausted. Not for the first time, I wonder what it’s like for him at home. Very different to how it used to be.
‘Bloody hell. So it’s not even like you’re saying, “Thea, I love you”?’ I shake my head at him. ‘You must think I’m a complete mug. Oh yeah, great, come on, let’s try again because you’re frightened by what you’ve done? I mean you’ve been shagging her for four years, Chris. That’s bloody ages.’
He doesn’t say anything.
‘Oh my God. I can’t believe it. I’m outraged.’
‘I do love you,’ he says.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘No, I do, of course I do. It’s the hardest thing about it all, isn’t it? If I didn’t, it would be easy.’
‘Pardon me for not seeing which bits were hard for you. I seem to remember you told me our marriage was dead – that seemed fairly final, don’t you think? I don’t see how you come back from that. “Oh no, hang on – not dead, just sleeping”? I hardly think so.’
‘There’s no need to be–’
I close my eyes and make a placatory motion with both hands. ‘Look. I don’t want to fall out with you. I’ll always have… I don’t want to hate you, do I? I’ve loved you so hard and for so long. But try and see it from my point of view for two seconds. I’m not here to help you, or offer support or succour. You decided you wanted to get that stuff elsewhere. Extracurricular everything. And I haven’t made a fuss, have I? Or not much of one. I could see in your face it was pointless. If I’d thought I could change your mind, I’d have tried. I’d have done anything.’
I hear my voice break, my words trembling. I will not cry. I won’t.
‘But that was then, and things are different now. Everything’s changed, hasn’t it? And the most significant change is little Mottram junior. Babies need fathers, and they don’t always get them, but you’ve no get-out, no excuse. We’ll get divorced, and you can marry Susanna, and I hope you’ll be happy. I’d like you to be happy because if I thought you’d messed up my whole life, and brought everything I’d worked to create, for decades, crashing down round my ears for nothing, I’d be absolutely bloody furious.’
I sit back in my chair, exhausted.
‘You’re right, of course,’ he says, after a moment.
‘You’re damn right I am. Honestly. You should be ashamed.’ I look at him and relent slightly. ‘It will be fine; you know it will. I expect you’ll love it, being a dad. You’ll be good at it, won’t you? You’re patient and loving and that’s all anyone can ask for in a parent.’
‘I dunno.’
I don’t know what else to say – it’s not my job to perk him up.
‘And Susanna’s excited about it?’
‘I think so. Yes. She’s planning stuff. We’ll have to extend, probably.’
‘Oh. I suppose you will.’
‘Yeah, there’s not room for all of them.’
‘I suppose not.’ The eldest, Ruby, is fourteen, then there’s Alfie, who’s ten or thereabouts, and the youngest is seven, maybe. I can’t remember his name. Joe? I’m not sure. Anyway, none of it works if they have to share, I guess. Not my problem though.
‘Anyway, so I’ll have to remortgage for that. And then you’ll get your money. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to sort out.’
‘That’s okay. You’re lucky there was some money from Uncle Andrew.’
‘Yeah, I know. You’d have told me, though, if you needed the money? I’d have found it somehow. I wouldn’t want–’
‘I guess. Anyway, it’ll be good to have it. I thought I might buy one of those flats on the coast road, you know, the new ones.’
He looks surprised. ‘What, in Brackwell? Are you moving back, then? I thought–’
‘Oh, no. Not at the moment, no. But house prices down there – it seems like a good investment, doesn’t it? I’m trying to be sensible.’
‘Are you going to sell your house? You’ll live together, you and… him?’
‘No, I shall keep it. Holiday let maybe. Not sure. We don’t live together at the moment, or not exactly, but we might. As he lives over the shop and I work there, it seems quite practical. The flat is lovely,’ I add, ‘but it’s sensible to have somewhere of my own, as well, I think. Because you never know, do you?’ I glance at him. ‘I’ll never feel entirely safe. I don’t want to… I need to make sure I’m okay.’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyway. So is that what you wanted to talk about?’
He nods. ‘Yeah. Don’t tell anyone, will you?’
Oh right, now he’s concerned that this might escape into the world, that people might think badly of him. I sigh. ‘Who would I tell? Come on, Chris.’
‘Xanthe.’
‘Everyone tells Xanthe stuff, don’t they? But I won’t if you don’t want me to.’ I look at him. ‘You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. Seriously.’
‘I hope so.’
‘You will. Right. I should go – we�
��ve been here for hours.’ I stand up and put on my coat. ‘I’m sure Edward’s been rushed off his feet.’ I laugh.
‘Yeah. Thanks for listening. I appreciate it.’
‘That’s okay. I look forward to getting an enormous cheque or whatever. Money transfer?’
‘Probably easiest, isn’t it? I’ll be in touch. And about the divorce.’
‘Okay, just let me know what I need to do. Do I have to divorce you? I’m afraid I haven’t looked into it; I didn’t think there’d be any, you know, rush.’
‘There isn’t, really. I mean, we can’t get married before the baby’s born now anyway. She doesn’t… you know, she doesn’t want to be a pregnant bride.’
‘Oh yeah, once was enough,’ I say, and laugh again. ‘No. Okay. I don’t mind if you want to leave it until it’s two years or whatever. Then it’s like a “no fault” thing, isn’t it, which is better. Even though,’ I add, ‘it’s obviously all your fault.’
He doesn’t look amused, so I point at my face. ‘See me smiling. A joke. Admittedly not a very funny one but still.’ I pick up my bag. ‘Goodbye then,’ I say. ‘Take care.’
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘and you.’
I head for the door, but he calls after me.
I turn back. ‘What?’
‘I… Nothing. Goodbye.’
I raise my hand in farewell and walk to the front of the shop, leaning against the counter. I close my eyes for a moment.
‘You okay?’ asks Cerys.
‘Oh, yeah. Yeah. Can I pay you? And thanks for that extra coffee. I very much needed that.’
‘Thought you might. You’ve been here for hours. Paying for all of it?’
‘Yeah.’ I can buy Chris’s lunch – it won’t kill me. She rings it up and I search for my purse.
‘That your ex?’ she whispers. ‘Sorry. None of my business.’
I laugh. ‘No, it isn’t, and yes, he is.’
‘Everything all right?’
‘Yeah. Stuff to arrange, you know. He owes me half a house.’
‘Oh, of course. Did he give you a massive cheque?’
I laugh. ‘Wish he had. But no, not quite.’ I look over my shoulder to where Chris still sits in the conservatory, staring out at the rain. ‘Right, thanks, see you tomorrow.’
I push out into the cold afternoon air, stop for a moment and breathe out. Bloody hell. It’s not easy, is it? Any of it. I’m not sure how to think about any of what just happened. I hope he’ll be all right. I don’t want him to be miserable, even if he does deserve it. I look across at the bookshop and smile. Lucky me. My new life is fun, isn’t it, and surprisingly not at all stressful. Isn’t it an odd thing – I cross the road, avoiding the enormous puddle by the bus stop – isn’t it funny to think that I might be in a better place than Chris is? Not that I’d gloat about it. Or not much anyway. I push open the shop door and the bell jangles above me.
‘Oh hey,’ says Edward. ‘All right? You were ages.’
‘I know. Jesus. What time is it?’
‘Nearly half five. May as well close?’
‘May as well.’
* * *
Upstairs, as I peel potatoes and Edward makes pastry, he says, ‘So, that was Chris.’
‘Yeah, weird, right? God.’
‘Mm.’
‘What did you think? He was a bit off with you, wasn’t he, I thought. Which is odd, when you’ve taken me off his hands, as it were. Or at least, you know…’
‘Mm.’
I turn to look at him. ‘Mm? Is that all you’ve got?’
He screws his face up. ‘I thought he’d be taller,’ he says. I laugh. ‘He seemed… What did he want?’
‘Oh, I dunno. I’m not sure he knew himself. It’s all getting a bit real, isn’t it, and he’s freaking out.’
‘I suppose that’s understandable. It is quite old to start being a parent. I wouldn’t fancy it much myself.’
‘No, me neither.’
After a while, he says, ‘Did he ask you to go back to him?’
I’m astonished, and turn again to stare at him.
He nods. ‘Thought so.’
‘How the hell did you guess that?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s a long way to come to talk about mortgages.’
‘Well, but–’
‘What did you say?’
‘I told him to fuck off, obviously.’
‘Did you?’
‘Oh, come on. What do you reckon?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re thinking about it?’
‘Edward.’
‘You might want your old life back.’
‘Wouldn’t matter if I did, would it? That’s not what I’d be getting.’
‘Near enough.’
‘Edward.’
He opens the drawer and rattles about, looking for the rolling pin.
‘That’s not… You don’t really think–’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes you do, don’t be stupid.’ I empty peelings into the compost bin. ‘Seriously.’
‘Well, but–’
‘You’re not, like, my second choice, you idiot,’ I say. ‘Jesus.’
‘Am I not?’
‘Fuck’s sake.’
This makes him grin, but then he’s serious again. ‘I’d understand if I was. Sort of understand. I mean, he did seem to be a twat, so…’
I look at him. He has a noble expression on his face, which is how I know he doesn’t quite mean it.
‘He’s all right, mostly, usually for about, um, fifteen years, and then he starts shagging your mate,’ I say.
He opens the cupboard beside the oven and crashes through a selection of roasting pans and cake tins, retrieving a fluted flan dish. We’re having quiche.
‘Did you ask him about that then?’
‘Yeah. Four years they’ve been seeing each other.’
‘Shit, really?’
‘Mm.’
‘That’s… that’s ages.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Are you okay?’
I shrug. ‘Makes no difference, does it?’
‘No, but–’
‘Anyway, he didn’t exactly ask me. Or he didn’t exactly mean it, anyway. He’d have been terrified if I’d said yes.’ I sigh. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d asked me, I don’t know, nine months ago.’
‘You’d have thought about it?’
‘No, no, I don’t think I would have, I’m not a total idiot. But it would have upset me.’
‘But you’re not upset now?’ He flips the pastry neatly over the flan tin, pushing the rolling pin across the top, and then pauses, looking at me.
Wrinkling my nose, thoughtful, I say, ‘I feel a bit smug actually.’
He laughs. ‘Do you?’
‘Well, my life’s quite… I don’t like to say it’s brilliant, because that’s asking for trouble.’ I plant my hands firmly on the chopping board, touching wood for all I’m worth. ‘But you know. It’s pretty, er, great.’
‘Is it? Earning minimum wage in a dusty bookshop in the back of beyond?’
‘Yeah, and sleeping with my boss because who else would I sleep with?’ I grin at him.
‘You could probably find someone.’
‘Maybe.’ We look at each other. An intense moment. I smile and lean over to kiss him. ‘Ah. I’m pretty happy with what I’ve got, to be honest. Suits me fine.’
* * *
Time to go home. To Sussex, I mean. I’ve given notice to my landlord and I need to fetch my things. I’m going down on the train, so I can hire a van when I get there rather than driving down in an empty van, which would be annoying. I’ve shifted things round at the Lodge to make room, and been up in the loft, which is, fortunately, boarded over.
Edward is still saying I should properly move in with him, but I’m not certain. I’m at the flat more than I’m at home because it’s convenient. It’s not just that though. I like being there, with him. Sometimes we go
to the Lodge, and occasionally I sleep there on my own, but he doesn’t really like it. I mean, I do as I please, but if I’m honest, I don’t like it either. It seems wasteful when we could be together. He says he’s waited a long time for me, and so he wants to make the most of it. And fair enough; I doubt anyone ever lay on their death bed and wished they’d had less sex.
Finally I’ve had the money for the house, from Chris. I’m not paying the mortgage anymore, and now I won’t be paying rent on the flat, I’ll be quite a lot better off. I’m hoping that if I buy a flat in the new development, the mortgage on it will be barely noticeable.
I’m looking forward to seeing Xanthe and Rob, and the kids, and Angela. I’m not going to see Chris though. I got Xanthe to go and pick up the box of photographs, the ones we couldn’t sort out last year. I have no idea if he’s kept any of them. I don’t care much.
I don’t imagine Edward will want to come with me, and I’m surprised when he says he does.
‘I’d like to see where you’re from,’ he says.
‘But we’ll have to go on the train.’
‘I can handle that.’
‘And it will be tedious. Moving furniture.’
‘I can handle that as well. Unless you don’t want me to come with you?’
‘It just didn’t occur to me that you’d want to.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘The shop–’
‘I do go on holiday sometimes, you know. I can close. It’s February – not busy, are we?’
‘I suppose not. Are you sure you want to come? The flat’s horrible.’
‘Does it have a bed?’
‘Yes.’
‘And will you be there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I want to be there.’
‘Okay. Thanks. It will be better,’ I say, ‘if you’re there.’
‘At last she admits it,’ he says, and we smile at each other.
* * *
It’s funny being in Brackwell with Edward. I show him various places: my schools, the flat I lived in when I came back from university, the flat Chris and I lived in when we first got together. We drive past Mum and Dad’s, and, cautiously, past Chris’s house; Susanna’s old Renault Espace parked (badly) outside it. There’s a tricycle upside down in one of the borders, which is odd – none of her children are young enough for a tricycle. I don’t feel much when I look at the house, except that it seems smaller than I remember.
The Bookshop of Second Chances Page 32
