The Missing Husband

by Natasha Boydell

  But the feelings dissolved again as soon as he got home and were replaced with guilt at the inevitable knowledge that no matter how he packaged it, this deception was his and his alone. When he was with Claire, he had trained himself to ignore it, to lose himself in the moment and forget about everything else, but at home he would battle with it constantly. The way that the girls leapt up at him when they saw him, screaming ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy’ and smothering him with kisses made his heart break. Even Kate, despite her usual indifference towards him, could make him feel like crap. Every so often she would make a wry joke or throw her head back and laugh at something with such carefree abandon that it would transport him back to their happy, early years together. And he would look at her, study her, and wonder if she was still there, buried inside this new, impenetrable version of his wife.

  One Friday evening after a few glasses of wine, he was well on the way to being tipsy and he got a wave of nostalgia. They’d decided to sit at the kitchen table together for once, instead of automatically going to the living room, switching on the TV and sitting in silence, playing with their phones and living their lives through social media rather than each other. He opened another bottle of red wine while she took the lids off the Indian takeaway they’d ordered. Sitting opposite each other, munching away with a candle between them, it felt comforting and companionable.

  ‘Tell me about your day,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, not much to report really,’ she replied. ‘Lily got full marks in her spelling test and Maggie’s teacher said she did really well with her reading today.’

  A typical Kate answer, focusing only on the children and their achievements. But he put his negative thoughts aside and probed further. ‘And what about you? What did you do?’

  ‘Not much. I met the antenatal mums for coffee in the morning, then I went to Brent Cross and took that lamp back that didn’t look right in the sitting room.’

  ‘How are the ladies?’

  ‘Oh fine,’ Kate said, before chuckling to herself. ‘Anna said that she and her old uni mates went back to Newcastle for a reunion at the weekend. She said it looked nothing like it did when they were students – and although they’d talked about having a mad night out, they were all in bed by 11pm! It got me thinking about Leeds.’

  ‘Oh, those were the days,’ Pete said wistfully. ‘Maybe we need to organise a reunion weekend ourselves. I haven’t spoken to any of the old gang in ages. I wonder what they’re all up to? Do you think they’d be up for it?’

  ‘I’m sure they would. I haven’t spoken to them in ages either but I have all their numbers so we could set up a group, put the feelers out and see what they say. I’m sure Erin wouldn’t mind having the girls for a night or two.’

  They looked at each other and grinned, their enthusiasm growing for the idea. They had so much shared history together, the two of them, so many fun times under their belt. We could get our mojo back, he thought, we just need to try a bit harder, to talk a bit more.

  Later that night, when they were in bed and she was lying on her side, facing away from him while reading a book, he curled up against her, stroking her arm before moving his hand towards her breasts. He hadn’t made any moves for so long he felt nervous about how she would react. He’d become scared of rejection from his own wife. But she gently put her book down on the bedside table and turned around to face him, putting her arms around him and starting to kiss him.

  He kissed her back, slowly at first and then with increased enthusiasm. For a minute, he felt twenty years old again, lying in bed with the woman of his dreams. This is it, he thought, this is the moment that will change everything, that will put our marriage back on track. She pushed her body up against him and he felt the familiar stirrings of lust building up inside him. He helped her out of her nightdress and urgently pulled her on top of him, excited and aroused. But then, out of nowhere an image of Claire popped into his head. He tried to push it out of his conscience or at least to the very back of his mind but it wouldn’t go away.

  Focus, he urged himself, focus on the moment. But he already knew that the moment had gone as quickly as it had arrived and he wasn’t going to get it back. The spell had been broken. She sensed it too, the subtle pulling away from her, the slight turn of his head and the inevitable loss of his erection. She looked down at him and he saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes for a second before they were replaced by something else he had come to know well. Resignation. Without saying a word she stood up, walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

  The next morning, he woke up with a splitting headache and regretted opening that second bottle of wine. The events of the previous evening came flooding back to him and he groaned inwardly before rolling over to look at Kate. Might as well face the music, he thought. But the bed was empty. He lay there for a few minutes, contemplating his options. It was entirely his fault, he knew, but he still couldn’t bear the thought of going down the stairs and seeing her hostile expression. All of a sudden, he had an urge to talk to Claire. Before he could overthink it, he reached for his phone and typed out a message to her.

  Hey you. Lying in bed thinking of you. What are you up to today?

  It was the first time he’d sent her a message that didn’t just contain dates and times. He knew he was breaking his own rules but he was craving the thrill of communicating with her. He saw the two blue ticks appear, signalling that she had read the message, followed by the notification that she was typing. He waited for her response, feeling the familiar sense of anticipation building inside of him at the very thought of talking to Claire. Finally, her message appeared.

  Hey yourself. Also lying in bed. Wishing you were here with me. No great plans today, the weather is rubbish so I’m going to hibernate with M&S supplies and some box sets. Later I’m going out x

  Going out? Going out where? With who? He found himself wondering if Claire was seeing other people. They’d never discussed it and of course he could hardly tell her she wasn’t allowed – he was, after all, a married man. Still, the thought of her going on a date with someone else made him feel irrationally jealous. She’s mine, he thought, I want her all to myself. But he couldn’t tell her that because at best he’d look possessive and at worst he’d look like a complete psycho. Either way she’d probably run for the hills so instead, he composed a more measured response.

  Going out, lucky you! Anywhere nice?

  Her response came quickly.

  A birthday thing for a friend at a new restaurant in Mayfair. What are you up to?

  The truth was most likely soft-play hell, followed by a child’s birthday party later, followed by a tense evening with Kate while he watched Netflix, she played on her laptop in the kitchen and they both ignored what had happened the previous night – and each other. He realised he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Before he’d had a chance to think it through, he typed:

  Fancy some company?

  Her response was instant:

  On a Saturday? Well that’s a treat. Sure, come on over.

  He was up and in the shower within seconds, humming to himself as he lathered up and planned what he would say to Kate to explain his absence on a weekend. The familiar feeling of guilt and shame niggled him, a voice inside him warning him: you’ve taken it a step too far, you’ve let it encroach on family time, you’re being careless, you need to stop this, but he turned his mind away from it, refusing to acknowledge it and instead allowing himself to get lost in the pure excitement at the thought of getting out of this house and being with Claire in the next couple of hours. It was amazing how easy it was becoming to banish those guilty thoughts. By the time he got downstairs, he was fully prepared.

  ‘I’m so sorry, love, Angela from work has just called. There’s been some crisis with a client and it’s all hands on deck. I’ve got to go in for a few hours, I’ll be back this afternoon, okay?’

  She didn’t even turn around. ‘Fine,’ she said.

  7

 
Kate

  Within forty-five minutes of Nadia’s departure, Kate’s phone started beeping with messages. All in the same vein – So sorry to hear about Pete! How are you doing? I can’t believe it, do you need anything? She ignored them all. But now that word was out, Nadia and some of the others would probably be gossiping about it at the school gates and when Rachel returned, she knew immediately from the look on her nanny’s face that she’d overheard something. Sending Maggie into the living room to play with Lily, she sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for Rachel to join her.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip,’ she began. Rachel interjected at once: ‘I don’t listen to gossip, Kate, your personal life is your own and you don’t need to tell me anything. Just let me know what I can do to help.’

  Kate’s eyes filled with tears at Rachel’s lovely response and before she knew it, she was sobbing uncontrollably. It was the first time she had cried since this whole sorry situation kicked off and once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Rachel, who it seemed was not even fazed by hysterical jilted wives, enveloped her in a big hug and held her tightly, allowing Kate to cry as much as she wanted. When the tears finally slowed down she sat back and wiped her eyes, looking quickly at the door to make sure that the girls were still in the other room.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘I needed that.’ She took a deep breath and started talking, filling Rachel in on the events of the last forty-eight hours.

  When she was finished, Rachel gave her another hug. ‘It’s going to be tough for you, Kate, but you’re a strong, capable woman and you’ll get through this. And whatever you need, you let me know, I’m here to help.’

  Rachel to the rescue again, picking her up when she was down, stepping in to save the day. It was just like when Kate had first met her, she’d been a nervous wreck then too. BC, as she liked to call it – before children – she loved her job at a big PR agency. Imposter syndrome was not a concept that Kate was even aware of in those days. She worked around the clock, always the last one standing at work socials and the first one in the office with a bacon sandwich and a coffee the next day. She’d loved her job and had known she was pretty damn good at it. So, she had assumed that she’d be pretty damn good at parenting too and it came as quite a shock to her when she wasn’t. Having children was always on the cards for them and as soon as they hit their thirties it was operation conceive. They’d had plenty of fun in their twenties but she’d started to feel the biological clock ticking and knew it was time to start the next chapter in their life. They were fortunate, within a few months of trying the two blue lines appeared before them as they sat together in the bathroom, holding hands and waiting in anticipation for the results. They’d both grinned at each other, giddy.

  ‘I think it’s a girl,’ Pete had said. ‘I’m getting girl vibes.’

  Kate had giggled, caught up in this special, shared moment. ‘Me too, definitely girl vibes. I wonder what cravings I’ll have. Marmite on marshmallows anyone? Oh, Pete, we did it! We’re having a baby!’

  Kate had stroked her stomach as she envisaged the next nine months – a life-defining time as she wore floaty maternity dresses, bonded with the baby growing inside her and glowed with the joy of pregnancy. The reality was somewhat different.

  Pregnancy was boring. She knew how lucky she was to be carrying a healthy child and she was grateful for it, but she couldn’t help but feel resentment when Pete continued to live his old life, going out for client weekends away and Christmas parties, coming home full of booze and stories, while she stayed at home feeling knackered, bloated, nauseous and left out. She knew she was being selfish, but she just couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was making all the sacrifices, not him. It’ll be different when the baby comes, she told herself. Then Pete will be able to bond with it and our parenthood journey will really begin, together.

  After a twenty-seven-hour labour and emergency caesarean, Lily arrived in the world and shattered all of Kate’s preconceived ideas about being a mum. She loved Lily with every ounce of her being from the minute she was born but she didn’t understand her at all. Gazing into her daughter’s beautiful eyes she thought, How on earth am I going to look after you? I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. She couldn’t stop crying and although everyone reassured that this was normal, the baby blues that every new mum got, this loss of control over her emotions completely floored her.

  She was sleep-deprived, anxious and desperate to please this tiny little person who seemed furious about her lot. The more she tried to get it right, the more she got it wrong. Pete seemed so confident, handling Lily with ease, cooing at her and suggesting pub lunches and meeting up with friends but she was terrified to go out in case she couldn’t stop her crying or she had a nappy explosion and there was nowhere to change her. Breastfeeding was a nightmare but she was so worried that people would judge her for bottle feeding – or that she wasn’t giving her baby the best start in life – she persevered through the pain and frustration, crying every time Lily latched on and sobbing that she couldn’t even feed her baby properly. Whenever Pete suggested a bottle, she shot him down immediately.

  One day she was out walking in the park with two of the antenatal mums, Nadia and Abi, and they were discussing the joys of parenthood.

  ‘It’s SUCH hard work, but isn’t it just SO rewarding,’ Nadia enthused.

  Abi nodded. ‘I know, I just can’t stop staring at his gorgeous little face. I could sit there for hours just staring at him. I don’t even mind the middle of the night wake-ups as it’s just another opportunity to hold him and give him a cuddle.’

  They had looked at Kate expectantly, waiting for her to agree. But she was too tired to play along. ‘It’s fucking hard,’ she said. ‘Way fucking harder than I thought it would be. Sometimes I really hate it.’

  Nadia and Abi had stared at her, speechless, eyes wide in shock, and she had immediately regretted her honesty. Quickly she added: ‘But it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever done, of course.’ The two women smiled and nodded, and they carried on their way. Kate never spoke of her true feelings again.

  But the reality was that she felt overwhelmed and incompetent at the biggest job of her life. Her parents, who had moved to Devon a few years previously to enjoy their retirement, visited a few times but seemed genuinely terrified at the prospect of looking after a baby again so they were of little help, except to look away nervously whenever she got a boob out or to enquire as to what their daughter – messy-haired, bleary-eyed and covered in baby vomit – would be preparing for their dinner that evening. She had never felt more alone and out of her depth but no one seemed to get it. Her only beacon of hope throughout those first few months was Erin. But as lovely and supportive as she was, she didn’t have children of her own and didn’t really understand what it was like. And she worked full-time anyway, so she was never around during the long, lonely weeks when everyone else was at work.

  Pete tried, he really did, but he didn’t get it either. He seemed to think maternity leave was a holiday. As she insisted on exclusively breastfeeding, she was the one who had to keep getting up in the night. At first, he would get up too, keeping her company and trying to help soothe a fussy, writhing Lily back to sleep. But when he returned to work after two weeks’ paternity leave, he was shattered and the cracks were beginning to show, so she suggested that he move into the spare room, just for a few weeks, so that he could get a good night’s sleep and be refreshed for work. He took her up on the offer gratefully. Weeks turned into months and those long, dark, lonely nights on her own were the worst of her life.

  The days weren’t a great deal better either. Lily grew into a clingy baby who cried when anyone else held her but Kate. If she put her down, even for a minute, she would wail and kick her little legs in frustration. It was relentless and Kate had no idea how to soothe her. As her anxiety worsened, so did Lily’s tears. Kate became convinced that everyone thought she was a terrible mother, and her fears were made w
orse when she met up with the other new mums and they all seemed to be doing a brilliant job. They’d talk about adventures they’d been on at the weekend – popping their offspring into a sling and getting the Tube into town for a day of culture or going away for a couple of nights with a big group of friends – when the idea of simply going to the local park brought Kate out in a cold sweat. Each day felt like a new battle and over time, she became less and less able to face it.

  She knew she was hard to live with in those days. Pete would return from work and offer to have Lily for a while but the minute he took her she’d find some fault – he was holding her wrong, or he was making her overexcited and she’d never sleep, or how dare he suggest giving her a bottle? She sounded neurotic, she knew, and she hated herself for it afterwards, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  Looking back, it was obvious now that it was far more than ‘just the baby blues’, which is what she called it when Pete had gently suggested that she seek some help. She’d clearly had postnatal depression but she’d never allowed herself to admit it as it seemed like another admission of failure. If only she had, she might have got some much-needed help and found a way to navigate through the long, dark, lonely tunnel of hopelessness.