by Low, Shari
The thought made me smile as I flicked the coffee machine off and took out his positively in date (I was going with optimism) coffee. It was all going fine until I reached over to give it to him and jolted with the realisation that I wasn’t wearing a bra. Now, when I was twenty, my 34Cs could hold their own. In my thirties, my 38Ds definitely appreciated support. Now? It shouldn’t matter, because he’d seen my 42 longs braless countless times in recent years. But somehow, in our kitchen, with me making him coffee, wearing daft pyjamas with my nipples pointing at the floor… well, it bloody mattered today.
My body went into some kind of self-protection spasm that involved snapping my arms across my chest just as he was reaching for his mug, which then jolted upward, splashing frothy cappuccino all over his arm and hand, with a spray reaching the front of his jeans – never a good thing when you’re about to get on a flight.
‘Carly, what the…?’ he spluttered.
‘Sorry! Oh bugger, I’m so sorry. I just…’ Panic took over, I leapt into action and before I had the sense to stop myself, I was dabbing the front of his genital area with my finest Lidl kitchen roll.
‘Carly, it’s fine. Honestly, you don’t need to…’
I stopped. Mortified. He was right. I didn’t need to. I was no longer married to this man, so if he was heading off to Heathrow airport looking like he’d had an episode of incontinence, well, it wasn’t my problem.
However, the fact that he was taking my boys definitely was. A pang of devastation crept up from my gut and he must have seen it in my face and recognised it for what it was.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked, moving back to lean against the counter and taking his groin area out of my reach. I appreciated that he was attempting to steer this catastrophe back on to some kind of neutral territory, but his choice of diversion needed work.
‘Oh, you know,’ I said dolefully. ‘Like I did on their first day of school, when I sent them in with my phone number written on their hands and then parked at the end of the road in case they needed me quickly.’
We both smiled at the memory. In fairness to him, he’d stopped by a couple of times to pass me tea and snacks through the car window.
‘I’m trying not to be pathetic,’ I added, ‘but you may need mechanical assistance to prise my fingers off Benny’s ankles.’
As he smiled, his shoulders lowered a couple of inches and his eyes stopped darting to the door, as if he was starting to relax a little. ‘So did you make plans to do anything while they’re away? Are you going anywhere nice?’ he asked, making polite conversation.
I switched the coffee machine back on to make my own drink, looking for a much-needed caffeine boost and a distraction to keep the chat light. ‘Oh, you know… Nothing planned. Thought I’d do a bit of decorating and fumigate the boys’ rooms. The smell of sports kits is pure evil.’
‘I think you can buy Hazmat suits on Amazon,’ he suggested. This was the closest thing we’d had to our old easy banter, and I was about to throw back some other surface-level quip when he burst my bubble. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were still going to see Sam…’
Was I imagining it, or did he stiffen slightly as he said that? I wasn’t sure why. The obvious answer would be that despite our separation there might be a shade of jealousy, but it couldn’t be that because it was a legendary fact that Mark Barwick was officially devoid of the jealousy gene. It didn’t exist in his DNA. We used to joke that I could strut down the high street in a mini skirt and nipple tassels with his entire football team strolling behind me and he’d just ask me to nip into M&S and pick him up some new boxers. It wasn’t far from the truth.
‘No, I don’t think so. If I were to go to LA, I’d feel bad if I didn’t stop off in New York, and you know…’ My vocal cords wouldn’t finish the sentence, but he knew where I was going with that. Sarah had lived in New York. Her amazing children, fully grown adults with their own lives, were still there. I couldn’t cross the Atlantic without visiting them, and that came with a price. One that I wasn’t ready to pay.
He shrugged, and I could hear the sadness in his voice as he murmured, ‘I know.’
I stopped myself from going to him for the comfort of a hug. Old habits die hard.
‘I’m sorry, Carly.’
‘For what?’
‘If this trip with the boys hurts you.’
I tried to bluster, determined not to let my true feelings show. ‘Not at all. I think it’s great that you’re finally taking time off.’ Okay, I’m not proud of getting the slight dig in with that one, but he’d have known that I was faking nice if I didn’t, and I softened it with a smile to show I was teasing.
He didn’t take the light-hearted bait.
‘It’s just that…’ he went on, ‘it should have been all of us heading off on this trip. I’m sorry about that. We talked about touring America for so long, and it was my fault that it never happened.’
This was a moment of conciliation, the first time since the split that we’d acknowledged each other’s feelings. There was a palpable overtone of regret, of care, of tenderness and it required delicate handling.
So, of course, I blew it by panicking yet again and blurting out a bad joke that could understandably be interpreted as a dig. ‘Yeah, by the time we’d actually have got round to it, I’d have needed special permission to get on Space Mountain with my Zimmer.’
His jaw set into a firmer line as the cosy moment instantly evaporated.
Damnation buggersome fuck. Why had I said that? And had he forgotten that inappropriate humour is my fallback in moments of anxiety? It’s why I don’t get invited to many funerals.
‘I’m kidding!’ I exclaimed, making it ten times worse.
Once upon a time he would have rolled his eyes and laughed because he found my bad jokes funny. I’m not sure when that stopped, but it was a dim and distant memory.
‘Hey, Dad, we’re just about ready,’ Benny said, arriving just in time to rescue me. My relief was short lived. If he was here and ready, then he’d been leaving soon. I swallowed back another sob.
It suddenly felt like someone was holding a Dyson to my body and sucking out my guts. My boys were leaving. For twenty-two days, ten hours and approximately thirty-five minutes, depending on the traffic back from Heathrow in just over three weeks’ time. It’s amazing what you can work out when you’re lying awake at 5 a.m.
Don’t cry. Do not cry. It wasn’t even any consolation that the month they’d planned had now been cut short by a few days due to some big case that Mark was working on. In fact, it made it worse because, oh, the screwed up irony of it, now they were going on a date that was significant to us both. I wasn’t going to mention it and I was fairly sure that he’d forgotten. Wouldn’t be the first time.
‘All right, bud,’ Mark greeted him, and my anxiety dipped a little. I told myself again that this would be good for all of them. Although they were only eighteen months apart in age, Mac and Benny had completely different personalities and lives that didn’t overlap much, so this would allow them to build a friendship. And the fact that I wasn’t there to be a communication link between them all would make Mark stay in the moment and build experiences and memories that would last a lifetime.
Mac came in a few moments after his brother. Benny had managed to pull off an illusion of organisation, but that was a step too far for Mac. He was wearing shorts, a Kobe Bryant T-shirt, a baseball cap and a pair of Prada sunglasses he’d persuaded his Uncle Callum to part with. His Beats dangled around his neck, the volume so loud that we could all hear Drake’s dulcet tones, he had a basketball under one arm and he was wearing a pair of trainers so huge it wouldn’t surprise me if a customs officer detained him under the suspicion that he was smuggling a consignment of crack in the soles.
To Mark’s credit, he didn’t make a comment about the fact that Mac was late, or that he had obviously just rolled out of bed and pulled on the first clothes he’d found – both of which would almost definitely be making Mr O
CD Fastidious Punctual Lawyer’s teeth grind.
‘Have you got everything?’ I asked him, raising my voice over the sound of Drake.
He shrugged as he gestured to his backpack. ‘Think so: iPhone, PlayStation, chargers, ball, extra pair of boots.’
‘Hang on – didn’t you tell me you’d finished packing last night?’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘Got this stuff sorted,’ he pointed again to his backpack.
Sigh. I should probably have checked. Rookie error. Clearly my separation anxiety had temporarily blocked my mamma skills.
‘Excellent. And what about the frivolous stuff like underwear, socks, toiletries, clothes?’ I asked casually.
He put his muscly big arm around me. ‘Don’t worry, Ma, I’m travelling light. I’ll borrow from these two or pick up stuff at the mall.’ With his incorrigible grin and laid-back attitude, that boy could get away with anything. All that mattered to him was that he had the stuff he needed to have a good time. As the girl who went off to Amsterdam at sixteen, with just a duffel bag and a big bucket of optimism, I could relate.
Mark put what was left of his coffee in the sink. ‘Right, lads, let’s get moving then.’
As we trooped out to the front door, I swallowed, desperately hoping that whatever blockage was choking up my throat would shift itself pronto.
‘Are you going to cry, Mum?’ Mac teased me.
I rolled my eyes as if the notion was ridiculous. ‘Nope. I’m just worried that you’ll hang about much longer because Snoop Dog, his posse and two hundred ravers are invited round in half an hour for a party. I don’t want you to get in the way.’
My boys laughed, and I ignored Mark’s glance of pity.
Benny came in for a hug. ‘Yeah, right. You’ll be on your phone tracking us on Find My Friends before we leave the end of the street.’
‘Nope, I won’t.’ I so would.
His eyes were questioning as he looked at me suspiciously. It was no secret that I was the overprotective mother who checked on them on a regular basis despite the fact that most criminals would have to stand on a ladder to mug them. ‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because you know they’re with me and they’ll be fine,’ Mark interjected confidently.
‘Nope, because I put a tracker in their food last night. Even if you switch off your phones, I’ll find you.’
The boys knew I was joking, but I could see Mark wasn’t 100 per cent certain. Obviously his sense of humour was still in the gym doing forty-five reps on the ab cruncher.
‘I’ll just take these to the car,’ Mark said, going down the path with the boys’ bags.
Grateful he’d been diplomatic enough to give me a private moment to say goodbye, I hugged them both tightly. ‘Okay, I want a daily text of more than just emojis, a FaceTime call every second day, and once a week just humour me and tell me you miss me,’ I said, holding it together. ‘Have an amazing time. And if you happen to see a huge pot plant moving around everywhere you go, I’m probably behind it. Just saying.’
Laughing, Benny gave me another hug. ‘We knew that already. Love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too, son. I’m going to miss you both so much. Please take care of each other. And your dad.’
‘We will, Mum, don’t worry. Love you.’ That reassurance, and another hug, came from Mac. ‘Don’t be crying when we’re gone.’
I shook my head. ‘I won’t. Snoop Dog hates it when I cry.’
As they strolled down the path, I fixed my face into a set smile, determined to hold it together until they were gone. Maybe another minute. I could do this. I could. They climbed into Mark’s car, a Volvo estate. It was a long-standing joke that it fitted his personality perfectly. Steady. Sensible. Definitely not prone to racy sexiness or wild rides. His office had a parking contract at Heathrow, so I knew the discounted rate would be far less than taxis each way and it made the logistics of going back and forward from two households much easier.
Smiling. Still smiling. I was waving too, but it was an awkward elbows-in, wrist-movement-only gesture, because my folded arms were holding my boobs up.
Okay, bags were in the boot. Mac was in the front passenger seat, Benny was in the back. Mark just had to climb in, drive off, and I could close this door and wail.
He shut the boot, took a few steps forward and… stopped.
My heart was thudding like a drumbeat as the agony was prolonged. What was he doing? Had he forgotten something? I watched his brow furrow as if he was thinking hard, then he turned, met my gaze and came back up the path.
‘Is everything okay?’ I asked as he reached me. Was there a problem? Or had he changed his mind about going. Yes! That one. Please make him have decided it was a crazy idea and now he was going to tell me he was just going to take them to the nearest Burger King for a quick snack instead.
He ran his fingers through his hair, in a gesture that I once found crazy sexy.
‘Yeah, it’s just that… em…’ This couldn’t be good. Mark Barwick didn’t do hesitation. He was confident, solid, always sure of himself, but in a quiet, understated way. ‘Look, maybe when we get back you and I could… em… talk.’
‘Of course. Is something wrong? You know you can call me any time,’ I replied, a bit concerned.
‘No, nothing’s wrong, but, em, this isn’t a phone conversation. It’s just that, I’ve…’
Oh fuck, he was going to tell me he was getting engaged. Or married. Or he’d got someone pregnant. Yes, I realised I’d just transferred that particular thought from the panic I had about my sons on a regular basis. My range of potential catastrophes clearly needed to be expanded.
I think I stopped breathing as I waited.
Finally Mark continued. ‘I want to talk to you about us. I’ve realised some things. Some mistakes I made. Maybe we could… have dinner?’
My cardiovascular system kicked back in with a major gulp and managed to splutter out, ‘Yes, sure. Of course.’
About us? We’d been married for almost two decades. What sudden realisations could he possibly have had? And why did he want to talk now, and not a year ago when I was reaching the end of my tether with our life together?
I wanted details, but this wasn’t the time. The boys were waiting, and he had a flight to catch.
He took a step backwards and then stopped again.
‘And, you know, if you’ve got nothing on while we’re away you’d be really welcome to come over and join us for a while.’
He was saying now. On my doorstep. As he was leaving for the airport. Clearly that was a total last-minute pity offer because he was feeling bad.
Despite the fact that I was feeling extremely sorry for myself, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking I was about to spend the next twenty-two days drowning in loneliness. That was between me and the well-stocked ice cream drawer in the freezer. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got some things planned, so I’ll be fine. You enjoy your time with the boys. I think it’ll be great for you all.’ I’m pretty sure the lie made my eye twitch. I was never great at duplicity.
My stomach flipped when I saw what could have been a flinch of disappointment. Or maybe pity offers made his eye twitch too.
‘Yeah, of course,’ he said, uncomfortable and backing away now. ‘Well, erm, take care. And I’ll make sure the boys keep in touch.’
‘Thanks. Lov…’ I bit down on my tongue. Bloody hell, I almost said ‘Love you.’ What the hell was I thinking? Force of habit, I told myself. And his surprised eyebrow arch turned to something like puzzlement when I fudged it to, ‘Lov… ing your jeans!’
‘Eh, thanks,’ he said tightly, as he turned away.
I wanted to bang my head off the door frame until I fainted.
He was halfway down the path for the second time, when he stopped again. Dear God, what now?
‘And Carly… happy anniversary.’
He’d remembered.
For the first time, I really wished it had slipped his mind.
‘Yeah, you too.’
Nothing more to say, he walked away.
I plastered on an inane grin in case the boys were watching us, and did a bit more boob-supported waving.
Only when the car finally pulled away and turned out of the street did I stop, step back, slam the door, then slide down the wall, some weird strangled sound coming from my throat.
Devastation, sadness, and a ridiculous longing to phone my boys and tell them to come back hit me first, and it was only after that had passed that I replayed Mark’s words in my head.
What did he want to talk about? What had he realised? What did it mean? And why the hell had he wished me a happy anniversary?
Shit, how had we got to this? We were once the happiest couple I’d ever known.
Still on the floor, I pulled up my legs and rested my head against the wall. As I did, my eyes fell on the photograph on the console table on the opposite wall. Mark and me, on our wedding day, nineteen years ago today. Our love was all-consuming, fun, crazy and I truly thought it would last for ever. That woman in the picture, flushed with happiness and excitement, had absolutely no idea what was to come.
5
New York, Friday, 28th July, 2000
Fallin’ – Alicia Keyes
‘Okay, how do I look?’ I asked my bridesmaids, as I smoothed down the ivory satin on the bodice of my dress. ‘Only, I think Kate’s pierced at least two of my ribs lacing up this corset, so I want it to be worth it.’
‘Definitely worth it,’ Jess said, from her prone position on the bed, where she was sipping champagne in a bathrobe and full make-up. ‘If an asteroid hits New York today and wipes us all out, at least you’ll always know you died pretty.’ She took a sip of her drink, then realised that we were all staring at her. ‘What?’ she yelped, indignantly. ‘It could happen.’
‘Thanks for that little snippet of optimism,’ Kate retorted. ‘I think I prefer you when you’re boring us to death about manifestos.’
