Things don’t settle until after four, when both she and Dave fall asleep and stay asleep. I’ve left Dave on his own in the bedroom and have lain down beside Mica, where I doze on and off until six thirty, which is when I should be driving Thea Ryan to the airport. She’s heading off to visit a friend, not for an acting role, and I feel bad that she’s going to have to get an ordinary taxi.
‘Don’t be silly, Roxy, it’s fine,’ she said the previous night. ‘You have to look after your family. Of course I prefer to be driven by you, but I’m perfectly capable of calling a cab.’
Still, she’s an old lady and I treat her with a certain level of respect that I’m not sure she’ll get from someone who doesn’t know her.
I tiptoe into the main bedroom to see how Dave is. He’s sleeping (and snoring), and I’m relieved to see that the bucket is empty. Tom is asleep too. I go downstairs, rub my hands with the sanitising gel, make myself tea and toast and hope again that the two of us will escape the dreaded bug.
When they eventually wake up, Dave and Mica are much better. I’ve already rung the school to say that Mica won’t be in and that I’m keeping Tom home too. He, of course, is delighted at having a day off. Dave isn’t quite so delighted, as he’s on a bit of a tight schedule for the job he’s doing.
I leave Tom in charge while I go to the supermarket to buy chicken soup for the invalids, and then we bunker down for the day. I’m trying to keep Tom away from Dave and Mica, even though I know the bug probably isn’t airborne. It just makes me feel better. So we stay in the kitchen while the two of them watch TV upstairs in our room.
By the evening we’re over the hump and I allow myself to breathe again. I check all of my messages: WhatsApp, Facebook Messenger and the car app. I can’t believe I get so many of them. Honestly, there are far too many ways for people to get in touch.
My phone pings while I’m looking at it. It’s Dave asking me to make him a cup of tea and some toast.
When I bring it in to him, Mica takes some of the toast but she’s sticking to the flat 7 Up. I suggest she might like to go back to bed and promise her she doesn’t have to go to school the next day.
‘Me neither?’ asks Tom, who’s followed me.
‘You’re staying home too,’ I assure him.
He jumps up and down with glee.
I hope he doesn’t get sick. It would ruin it for him.
Fortunately he doesn’t, and Mica is practically back to herself, so both of them can enjoy their unexpected day off school.
Dave, on the other hand, stays in bed. He spends the day alternating between sleeping, playing games on his tablet and asking for tea and toast.
‘And this is why,’ he says, as he hands me his empty cup, ‘you have to give up that job. How would we manage if you were working?’
‘I am working,’ I remind him. ‘I cancelled all my clients.’
‘Which is no way to run a business,’ he says with a note of triumph in his voice. ‘They don’t make allowances for things like sick children.’
‘No,’ I agree. ‘But I made sure that everyone was looked after. I’ve called them all today to make sure everything was OK.’
And it was. In fact Melisse Grady was very complimentary about how I’d handled things, which is good, because along with having to find another driver for Gina Hayes, I got Eric Fallon to drive one of her other clients this morning. She was pleased at how seamless the switch was – Gina had called her from the TV studio to tell her that a different driver had collected her but everything was fine. I feel grateful to Alison for insisting I go on that small business training course. It helped me to realise the importance of having professional as well as personal backup in place.
I say all this to Dave, but he gives me a knowing look and tells me that Melisse will probably deal with Eric instead of me in the future because he’ll be more dependable. I can’t believe how bloody sexist my husband has become. It’s as though he’s regressed to some 1950s notion of women at home in their aprons, not having a clue about the outside world. As if those housewives didn’t know what was going on. I bet they were all as sharp as tacks. They were just constrained by the times. But I’m not. I’m being constrained by my husband.
I take the tray away from him and stomp down the stairs. I’m not going to drive for the rest of the week, to be sure that Mica is fully recovered and Tom doesn’t come down with the bug, but I’m damn well going to fill my diary for next week. And Dave can feck off if he doesn’t like it.
Fifteen minutes later, he sends me another message asking for a cup of tea. Then the phone pings again. He’s added that maybe he could manage another slice of toast. With butter this time. I wonder savagely what his last slave died of! Nevertheless, I’m not going to fight with him while he’s unwell. That would be horrible.
‘I’m going back to work next week,’ I say when I bring him the tea and toast. ‘I’ve got bookings.’
‘Roxy—’
‘And I don’t want to hear any more guff from you about having to be at home, or babies, or selling cars or anything.’
‘Give it a rest.’ He groans. ‘I’m sick. I can’t cope with this right now.’
‘I’m telling you now,’ I say. ‘So that you’re prepared.’
‘You’re still hell-bent on punishing me, aren’t you?’ he asks. ‘I wish I’d never set eyes on Julie bloody Halpin.’
Julie bloody Halpin. The catalyst. But I can’t blame her forever.
What happened happened, and yes, I can think that Dave is the one most at fault (because he bloody is), and maybe I threw myself into work to prove to him that I could live without him. I know now that I can. It’s not all his fault. I have to shoulder some blame too.
But we both need to fix it. Not just me. And not just him.
With a sudden jolt, I realise that I don’t care about fixing it.
I look at him without speaking.
I’ve loved him for most of my life.
I don’t love him any more.
I don’t say anything right away. I don’t say anything until he’s well again. And then I sit down with him and say I want a divorce.
He looks at me in utter bewilderment.
‘Why?’ he asks.
I’ve thought about it. It’s not because of Julie Halpin and I say so. It’s because I’ve changed.
‘Because you’re being selfish,’ he says. ‘We took vows, Roxy.’
‘And you broke them.’
He doesn’t have a comeback to that.
‘You can’t want a divorce,’ he says. ‘You’re being . . . It’s still your dad, isn’t it? Upsetting you. You need time. It’s coming up to Christmas. You can’t break us up before Christmas. The children will hate you.’
Yes, they will.
‘You love me, Roxy. You’ve always loved me. It’s been you and me from the start.’
‘I loved you,’ I say. ‘I’ll always care about you. But I don’t want to live with you any more.’
‘This is crap.’ He’s getting angry now. ‘I suppose you want me to move out. You want to take everything for yourself. You want the house and the kids and the job, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because you’ve got yourself into the mindset of those rich people you drive around. You think you can have a life like them. But you can’t. You’re my wife. That’s what you’re good at. Everything else is play-acting.’
Does he really think that? Did he always?
‘You’re not some superwoman. Or some ball-breaking feminist icon. You’re a mother and you’ve been doing a part-time job. You need to look in the mirror and see yourself properly.’
I remember Thea Ryan asking me if Dave was the teeniest bit jealous of me. Now I wonder if she’s right.
I put the question to him.
‘Why would I be jealous of you?’ he asks. ‘You’re nothing without me.’
And that’s the nail in the coffin. He doesn’t respect me. Maybe he never did.
‘I want a divorce,’ I say. ‘And I w
on’t be changing my mind.’
We look at each other in silence. I thought that I’d cry. But I don’t.
The next day, Dave moves out.
He moves next door.
Chapter 33
Mica’s birthday falls on the third of January, which has always been a bit of an issue as it’s the tail end of the Christmas celebrations. This year, I organise a party for her. Owing to the fact that it’s been the coldest winter in living memory – it snowed on Christmas Day – I don’t have to bother with the whole bouncy-castle scenario, which is almost obligatory in the summer. I have a much better plan anyway. Leona Lynch has agreed to come and talk to Mica and her friends about clothes and make-up and other girlie things, as well as some tech stuff. But, she says, in an empowering way that doesn’t make them feel they have to conform. When I tell Mica this, she puts her arms around me for the first time in ages and tells me she loves me.
‘And Dad too,’ she adds.
‘Of course Dad too.’
Dave is coming to the party. I’ve no problem with that, but I’ve told him that I don’t want Julie in the house.
‘At some point you’ll have to accept we’re in a relationship,’ he tells me.
I do accept it. I wonder if he lied to me when he said that he’d never noticed her before Rodeo Night. I wonder if he lied when he told me he’d never even speak to her afterwards. If she lied when she told me she was seeing someone else. I wonder how it was he was able to move in with her so quickly. What was said between them. I wonder about it but I don’t care about it. It’s almost frightening how easily I’ve accepted that Dave and I aren’t together any more. How he’s completely lost the ability to hurt me. The day after he moved out, I looked at our wedding photos and I felt the same sort of nostalgia that I felt when Mum and I looked through Dad’s old photos. But I didn’t feel ripped apart. My heart wasn’t broken. I hadn’t fixed it, but it didn’t matter to me any more.
Though I wish he wasn’t next door. At the same time, it makes it easy for him to see the children, and as they’re my biggest priority in all of this, my feelings about where he lives and who he’s with (and what gossip fodder it is for the neighbours) don’t come into it.
They were upset when we sat down and had the conversation with them. I tried to be as even-handed as I could, but Dave – possibly unsurprisingly – said that he would rather we weren’t splitting up but that there was nothing he could do about it because I didn’t love him any more. They cried at that. Obviously I had to spend a lot of time telling them how much I loved them , and that of course I loved their dad too but we’d decided we couldn’t live together.
I don’t stop Mica and Tom going into number twenty. But I’m not sure how much Julie actually wants them to be there when they do.
Anyway, we’ve settled into a life that’s liveable if not perfect. And it’s proved to me that even if you can’t fix things, you can live with them in an altered state.
Thea Ryan was very pleased when I said that to her. She told me it proved that I was in touch with my inner self. Maybe I am. Maybe before, when I wanted to make everything right all the time, I was being the person I thought I should be. Not the woman I am.
Although it’s a children’s party, Mum and Diarmuid are coming. They (like Julie and Dave) are now very definitely in a relationship. I try not to think too much about Diarmuid spending the night in what was Dad’s home, because even though I really like him and Mum is happy, the idea still makes me a bit wobbly inside. I think that I was worried Mum was erasing Dad’s memory, but she hasn’t and she wouldn’t. Their wedding photo is still on the living-room wall. The picture they had taken on holiday shortly before he got sick is still in the kitchen. She’s moved to another chapter in her life, but the part of it with Dad in will never be forgotten. And the part of mine with Dave will never be forgotten either. It’s just not a part of my future and who I am now.
Emma, Andrew and Oladele arrive first. Even though it’s Mica’s party, Tom has been allowed to ask some friends too. Mica has also invited Jamie Shore and Killian O’Carroll, two boys she practises her soccer with, so it’s a good mix of girls and boys.
The excited chatter level has risen to fever pitch by the time Mum and Diarmuid arrive with the birthday cake, which Diarmuid has made. It’s shaped like a football and Mica loves it. Dave arrives a few minutes later. His present to her, chosen after discussion with me, is a pair of football boots. Mica insists on wearing them straight away. I watch her put them on and lace them up. I don’t say anything about the studs marking my wooden floors.
These last few months have changed my daughter. Leaving aside the fact that she’s shot up an extra couple of inches, there’s a seriousness about her that wasn’t there before. After Dave moved out, we had a long discussion about being married, and she reiterated her view that she wasn’t going to bother with it herself. I told her that she might feel differently if she found the person she loved, and she pointed out that I’d found the person I loved but that I’d changed my mind. And so we talked a lot about how your feelings can change and how you can still care about a person and not love them. She doesn’t know about Rodeo Night. I will never be the one to tell her about that.
Tom was quiet and withdrawn at first, but when he realised that he would still see his dad every day, he seemed to cope better. Two of his friends have divorced parents so it’s not a new thing in his experience. But I’m sad that it happened to him. I can’t help feeling I let both of them down.
About an hour after the last guest has arrived, Leona Lynch turns up. Eric drove her here today and will drive her home. Eric and I have pooled a lot of our clients and cover for each other all the time. I used to be afraid of him poaching them from me (Dave was actually right about that), but he pointed out that it would be a futile thing to do and that we would be better off working as an unofficial team. It’s good to have Eric to fall back on, and I know he feels the same way about me.
Leona is brilliant with the girls – and the boys, too. She can talk make-up in one breath and tech in another. Clearly, though, while the girls are interested in both, the boys only want to talk about the app she’s developed. I’m not sure exactly what it does, but it’s all to do with friends and groups and (she tells them) it’s very inclusive. Whatever. They’re happy as anything talking to her.
Dave and I don’t speak very much to each other. Although we are as hands-on and practical as possible when it comes to parenting our kids, he hasn’t forgiven me for asking for the divorce, and I don’t think he ever will. We haven’t sorted out the practicalities of the house yet and I know there are going to be some hard words between us, but I’m hopeful it will work out in the end. I’m not trying to fix it by myself, though. Alison put me in touch with a good divorce lawyer, a fiercely competent woman who takes no guff from anybody. So I’m leaving it all up to her.
The noise level in the dining room has become almost intolerable. I leave the children to Leona and go upstairs. I sit on my bed and for the first time since that fateful day, I don’t think of Dave and Julie in it. I open my driver’s app and look at the schedule for the week ahead. I’d thought it would be quiet with people coming back to work after the Christmas break, but I’m busier than ever. Nevertheless, I’m coping. Between Mum, Natalie and Dave (some evenings), I’ve got it covered. And even if there’s another incident like Mica being sick, I know that Eric has got my back.
Everyone, in fact, has got my back.
Even Dave.
I know I did the right thing. I still feel guilty about it, but surprisingly, it was Melisse Grady who told me that I had nothing to feel guilty about. We’d met for a coffee one day when she wanted to book me for a series of jobs. I’m not sure how the conversation turned to our personal lives, but I ended up telling her about me and Dave and how it had all gone wrong. I said it was my fault we ended up separating, because I wanted to drive. She looked at me in utter disbelief and told me that it wasn’t. He was the one who’d
slept with someone else, she said. He was the one who broke our trust. And if the result of that was me finding a different part of myself, well, tough luck on him. She was quite animated about it and I left her feeling a lot better about myself and my choices. All the same, it’s hard not to feel a failure if your marriage breaks down. Regardless of whose fault it is.
Debs, of course, has been a brick. So have Michelle and Rachel and Alison. There’s something about female friendship that’s strong and empowering. Dave used to tease me about us getting together and bitching, but actually we don’t. Except, very occasionally, about Julie. And even then without venom.
I click from the schedule to the accounts, but I know, even before looking, that December was a spectacularly successful month. I’ve brought people to lunches and dinners and parties, all of them dressed up and excited for the holiday season. All of them leaving big tips too, even though the majority pre-paid on the app and so could have spilled out of the car without a thought.
The biggest tip was from the father of a girl from Castleknock. He’d paid for the car for her and her friends to be brought to a party and home afterwards. A clever way, I thought, of making sure they were safe. She left a pair of shoes behind. They were crystal-encrusted Manolos, with four-inch heels. It was the first time I’d ever held a pair of Manolos. They were a thing of beauty.
I brought them to her house the next day and her dad, who answered the door, was disparaging about girls who wore shoes they couldn’t walk in and left behind in taxis.
‘You’re only young once,’ I told him, and he shook his head in disgust. But then he laughed and said he supposed I was right and that she was a good girl really, and then he handed me the generous tip. I told him it wasn’t necessary and he told me how much the Manolos cost and I pocketed the money without another word.
I glance at my watch. There’s still at least an hour’s worth of party left. I know I should go downstairs but I’m enjoying my moment of solitude in my room. I repainted it when Dave left and the walls are now a midnight blue, startling in their intensity. But I like it. I like my midnight-blue duvet cover too. I always slept in light-coloured rooms before, but I seem to sleep better in darkness, although I still wake up ten minutes before the alarm.
Mistake Page 36
