In a Kingdom by the Sea

by Sara MacDonald

  Here her life lies, beached, stretching aimlessly and predictably ahead of her. A child every year with this mummy’s boy. Forever second place to her parents-in-law, with whom she will always live and have to care for, until they die.

  ‘Your wife is young not to work,’ I say. ‘Doesn’t she miss her children and her teaching and her friends? Doesn’t she get bored, having to stay at home all day?’

  I know perfectly well that what I am saying is divisive but I’m infuriated.

  Rahim assesses my passive aggression with his heavy-lidded stare. He chooses not to understand me. Enjoying English novels and talking to a half-dressed western woman is as far as his interest in another world goes.

  A cultural divide is opening up like a black hole. I begin to put my belongings into my beach bag. ‘I guess,’ I say, ‘you don’t really understand the meaning of boredom?’

  ‘No,’ he says coldly, his eyes travelling insolently over my face. ‘I do not understand your meaning. It is obviously a western concept. My wife is very happy. She has made good marriage with me. My parents, they will teach her many things about being a good wife.’

  I get up and walk away, my anger barely contained.

  It is another of Birjees’s ‘few happy endings’ then. I enter the cool apartment and glance in the mirror by the door; stand and stare at a woman who had the freedom to choose exactly how she lived her life and she still, inexplicably, invested it in the life of her husband.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Karachi, 2010

  Two days later I am changing some money at the front desk when a woman swings into the lobby of the hotel and calls out to me. Her face is vaguely familiar.

  ‘Mrs Michael, isn’t it? How are you? I am Fatima Khambata from the PAA office. We met once here in the hotel …’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, smiling at her. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I am fine, Mrs Michael. I am so sorry to disturb you, I know Mr Michael, he is on holiday but could I bother him for five minutes to sign some papers? Elias, the office manager, did ring and leave a message to say I was on my way.’

  I stare at her. ‘My husband is still in Islamabad. You weren’t at the conference with him?’

  She looks startled. ‘Yes, I was … but the conference finished on …’ She stops, embarrassed.

  I feel the blood rush to my face. ‘When did the conference finish?’

  She longs for escape, her eyes dart left and right. I wait.

  ‘For me, it was the day before yesterday, lunchtime,’ she says, precisely, not meeting my eyes.

  I muster as much dignity as I can. ‘Obviously, my husband has been held up with other business. I suggest you ring him about the papers …’

  ‘Yes,’ she says eagerly, clutching her sliding dupatta. ‘I will do that. Of course, of course … thank you, Mrs Michael.’

  She turns away, then touches her forehead, theatrically. ‘Oh! Now I remember! Some delegates were making programme for walking in Margalla Hills. Mr Michael, he must have told me and I forget … I am so sorry for disturbing you …’

  And she is gone, poor woman, hurtling out of the glass doors and making Pansy stare.

  As the lift slides up to my apartment my mobile rings. I walk down the corridor to the window to get a signal. It is Mike.

  ‘Hi Gabby, I’m on my way to Islamabad Airport now. We’ve just finished, thank God! I should be back in the hotel about nine thirty tonight. Noor will meet me. I‘ve arranged a nice little weekend for us.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Are you okay? You sound a bit … strange.’

  ‘Do I?’ I don’t want to do this on the phone but I can’t help myself. ‘Perhaps it’s because I’ve just met Fatima Khambata in the lobby looking for you. She told me the conference finished the day before yesterday, Mike. Everyone else is home from that conference. So you are lying to me. Now, why would you do that?’

  There is silence on the end of the phone. Mike is unable to summon an instant reply. He recovers pretty fast, however, having done a rapid assessment.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Gabby,’ he says, ‘it was stupid to lie. A few delegates decided to stay on and walk in the hills. It was so tempting after being cooped up for so long. I didn’t tell you because I felt guilty. I know I should have come straight home to be with you … but we’ll have a nice weekend … Listen, I have to go, we’ve reached the airport …’

  I go back into the apartment. It would take less energy to believe him.

  A kite is perched incongruously on the rails of the balcony. The large bird views me with a jaded eye. Is it hurt or resting on a journey somewhere? Not long ago, Mike’s smooth voice would have melted my heart. For the first time ever, it leaves me cold.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Karachi, 2010

  Was it only yesterday that Charlie brought me up a bunch of flowers and a bottle of white wine? He said it was a small gift from the hotel staff, to make me feel welcome again after all the violence. He would not come in. He just wanted to make sure I was all right.

  I open the bottle now and pour myself a huge glass. I look in Mike’s desk drawer for the cigarettes he occasionally smokes and I go and sit out on the balcony cross-legged on a cushion. Karachi lies before me in mellow ochre light.

  The sun has sunk behind the buildings and catches the gold on a distant mosque. I can smell sewerage and herbs and heat rising from the buildings.

  I stare out over Karachi and I wonder what happened to the time when the boys were little and life seemed joyous and safe and charmed. Maybe it was only golden and charmed for me.

  What on earth made me believe that our marriage was so strong that being apart for years and years would not change us? Why did it never occur to me that Mike might outgrow me, or get bored of the life that we had together? Papa did. Dominique did. They felt it deep in their guts.

  The sky breathes fire and the dome of the mosque stands out like a crown, glinting sparks of gold into the bleeding sky. I am not the person I once was. Dominique’s letter has changed everything. Something precious has gone and I question the value of what I have left.

  There is a long, shivering call to prayer echoing across the city, a haunting ripple of sound, a reminder that some things can never be compromised. It catches in my throat, guttering across the evening air of a city I will now never know.

  As I wait for Mike a buried anger is rumbling up from the depths of me. I was unaware I could feel this fury. As dark approaches, I realize with rare clarity that I do not want to be part of Mike’s life of work and rampant ambition. I do not want to go on being unloved or not loved enough. I will not spend the rest of my days waiting for him to come home. I no longer want to live this sort of life.

  The blessed relief of not holding on by my fingertips, of letting the whole charade and pretence slide from me like a painful birth, is so profound, I shake.

  What is happening to Dominique and me? I see the beautiful fourteen year old reaching out to touch my curly hair. I see us floating together on our backs in the sea, shrieking with laughter. I miss her. I miss her and the children we were and the lives we had. I shiver with loss for the father who made me feel that the world was a wonderful place and I was special and unconditionally loved.

  Mike comes through the door, armed with white lilies and all the apologetic charm he can muster. Incensed, I throw the flowers in a satisfying arc across the room.

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid? How dare you waltz in with a smile as if everything is going to be fine? Do you really think I don’t know what you’ve been doing or who you stayed on with in Islamabad? You really think you can have an affair and try and mollify me with lilies? You obviously imagine it does not matter how badly you treat me, that I will always come back for more. Well, I can tell you, Mike, this marriage is well and truly over …’

  Mike stares at me. ‘Don’t be silly and dramatic, Gabby. Of course our marriage isn’t over.’

  ‘It’s over. You lied and lied and lied.’


  ‘I’m sorry. It was crass and cowardly. I knew it was pretty unforgivable of me to stay on to go walking in Islamabad …’

  ‘Oh, Mike, stop it. I just don’t care any more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going back to London and the boys.’

  Mike looks shocked and gets a glass and pours himself some of my wine. ‘I don’t want you to go, Gabby.’

  ‘Why? Are you getting some perverse pleasure out of treating me badly?’

  ‘Gabby, don’t be silly.’

  I round on him. ‘Don’t say that to me again. You’re a bastard Mike. You begged me to leave a perfectly good life in London, for a lie. You never really wanted me with you, you were trying to stop yourself doing something stupid …’

  ‘Gabby … It wasn’t like that at all. When I asked you to come to Karachi, I really meant it. I needed you … I didn’t want … I thought …’

  I push past him and go and refill my glass. My hands are trembling. ‘For God’s sake, stop lying! You regretted asking me here the moment I stepped off the plane. I’ve lived with your blistering indifference for months. Stop and take a good look at yourself and the person you’ve become, Mike, because I don’t recognize you any more …’

  ‘I think this has all got out of proportion, darling. You’ve been on your own too long … We’re both tired. Let’s go to bed and …’

  Fury grips me. ‘Why the fuck can’t you just, for once in your life, be honest and tell me you are sorry but you no longer feel the same about me? Why don’t you tell me that you fell in love with someone else and you haven’t got the energy to go through my family traumas at this stage in your life? Don’t insult my intelligence, Mike, if you still loved me you couldn’t bear to treat me like you’ve been doing since I arrived in Pakistan. You’ve always been selfish and moody but you have never been deliberately cruel or uncaring. What’s happening to you? If you had any decency or courage you wouldn’t hide behind work, avoiding me and pretending nothing is wrong. I don’t deserve this. At least treat me like the friend I’ve always tried to be to you, and tell me the truth …’

  I stop, choking. I have his attention and a genuine flicker of interest.

  He stands with his back to the French windows. Lights glitter across the city like a warm spider’s web and I am shocked to see the naked fear in his eyes.

  ‘It’s true, I don’t recognize myself … I don’t know who I am any more. Half the time I don’t know what I’m doing … I’m exhausted … fighting it all … I can’t sleep …’

  ‘Fighting what, Mike? Yourself?’

  Mike takes a step towards me, spilling his wine. ‘For God’s sake, Gabby, why don’t you yell and fight for me? Why can’t you scream and rant that you’re my wife … my wife … and you are not going to leave me or let me fuck up my life … and what the hell do I think I’m playing at …’ He is wild-eyed. ‘Okay … okay, I’m desperately, stupidly, madly, in love with Zakia Rafi. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now? I don’t want to leave my job in Karachi. I don’t want a ruined reputation … I don’t want an end to my career …’ He hits his chest. ‘I’m in pain … with the impossibility of it all. I feel desperate … I can’t see a way through … I need you to make me see sense. I need you to prevent me from disaster. Can’t you see that? If you protect me from myself … we’ll be all right. If you stay, Gabby …’

  I am hit by a wave of contempt and shock. Knowing, and hearing, a confession of love are not the same.

  Before I can speak he starts again, his words becoming slurred. ‘You know what, Gabby? You know what? You’ve always been such a bloody contained woman. No passion, all suppressed emotion. The best you can do is raise your voice. You’re not even going to put up a fight to keep your own husband, are you?’

  I am aware, for the first time, that Mike might be having some form of nervous breakdown. He has certainly lost the ability to think clearly and his obsessive self-regard takes my breath away. I do not even raise my voice.

  ‘No. Why would I want to fight for a man madly in love with someone else? You are not sad or sorry for behaving badly or hurting me, Mike. You are not grieving for the end of our marriage or our family. You’re just nakedly afraid, for yourself and your career …’

  Mike stands, swaying slightly. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘I am afraid. God only knows, I’ve pushed you into leaving me but I … still have feelings for you. You’re my wife. I don’t want it to be the end of our marriage. I need you somewhere in my life.’

  He shivers. I shiver. The scent from the lilies is overpowering. I look at him and suddenly realize the truth of it.

  ‘I see. You were hedging your bets. You wanted a fling, with me waiting in the wings, but Zakia Rafi wants to marry you.’

  Mike is silent. I have my answer. How dare he?

  ‘I’m not your mother,’ I say angrily. ‘I won’t be your comfort blanket. I won’t be there to catch you when you fall.’

  He peers at me, abruptly sober. I wait.

  His voice cracks. ‘If you really loved me you would be breaking your heart at this moment, but you’re not. You’re dry-eyed, Gabby. I haven’t seen one bloody tear. You don’t care enough to fight to save our marriage.’

  I push the French windows open. Cicadas start up in the dark below. I breathe in the heat and pulse of Karachi and consider the truth of Mike’s words.

  Once I would have fought tooth and claw to keep him. Not any more. I’m spent. I see with eyes no longer blind and a heart no longer charmed. I turn and look at him, dry-eyed, until he sees for himself how right he is. There is nothing worth fighting for.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Karachi, 2010

  I go to bed. I can hear Mike on his mobile in the sitting room walking up and down and talking. On and on; to her, I suppose. I feel strangely calm but I know it is shock. I am exhausted but I cannot sleep. I close my eyes and drift home. Down to the beach with Dominique. There is a rough sea and the surfers are out and the café is full. The sky is reflected in the wet sand. Dom and I are walking on clouds. She takes my hand.

  ‘What’s up, Titch?’ she asks. I tell her what’s up and I add, ‘You always saw it coming at some point, didn’t you?’

  It is a while before she answers. ‘I’m sorry, darling …’

  She pauses. ‘This is such an abrupt end to your marriage. Can you be sure it’s what you want, Gabby? You are raw and hurt at the moment.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m also angry with myself for letting him treat me like this, for not confronting him before.’

  Dominique is quiet and I wonder what she is thinking.

  ‘You have spent your whole life with Mike; it is going to be hard. Tell me, if I had not sent that letter, if I had not pulled your world from under your feet, would you still be ending your marriage in this way?’

  I can’t answer that. I don’t know.

  ‘Dom, I’ve had enough. Mike let me give up my life and my work for a lie. He was already in love with another woman. Then, once I was here, he made me feel unreasonable and ageing and unloved. There is no way back from this. He’s hurt me too much. I won’t survive if I stay.’

  ‘Then, you are doing the right thing, the only thing you can do. I wanted to be sure. I wish I had been wrong about him, Gabs. Mike has always had charm and beautiful manners. Dropping endearments in to lull and woo. I am sure he loves you and the boys but he loves himself so, so much more. Come home, darling …’

  The beach and the clouds and the roaring surf fades. Dominique is gone. Mike is bending over me with a cup of tea.

  ‘I thought you might like one. I did not think you would be sleeping.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Four o’clock.’

  I sit up. My mouth is dry and I take the mug. ‘Thank you.’

  We eye each other. Mike is red-eyed but calm again.

  ‘Do you mind if I go out for a while later?’

  ‘To see her?’

  ‘Ye
s …’ He sits on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m sorry I got mad at you. I had no right to, in the circumstances …’

  He looks down at his mug of tea then at me.

  ‘When I came back to London, when you were in the middle of your crisis, I wanted to take you away for the weekend to remind myself of all we had together. I felt our marriage was sliding …’

  ‘You were the one who chose to work away from home.’

  ‘I know. I could not face life back in the UK. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s where your marriage and your children are.’

  ‘Yes. Anyway, that’s why I was so angry when you wouldn’t leave London. I know you were busy, but you didn’t seem to realize how important it was to me. I’m not blaming you, but life might have been different if we had been able to get away together.’

  ‘Saving my business was quite important to me,’ I say quietly.

  I’m weary of his hypocrisy and endless need to vindicate himself. ‘Mike, you had already met her. You knew what you were going to do. If I had been free it would have made no difference. It was a betrayal. You know that.’

  He doesn’t answer.

  ‘I’m confused,’ I say. ‘Last night you told me you were madly, passionately in love with Zakia Rafi, but then you tried to give me the impression that it was just a fling and if I waited in the wings all would be well. Which is it, Mike? Love or just a fling?’

  Mike puts his mug down and holds my eyes. He hesitates, but at last he is wholly truthful.

  ‘Gabby, I’m sorry. I love her with all my heart. I want to be with her. I don’t think I can live without her. But, it’s so hard …’ His hands are shaking. ‘I care for you. You’re the mother of my children and marriage is a hard habit to break. You’re all that is familiar and safe and Zakia’s world is riven with uncertainty and danger and impossible odds …’

  He clears his throat. ‘Last night, I had to come to a decision. I was being unfair to both you and Zakia. I needed to accept I can’t have it all. You are right, our marriage has slid to an end …’