The Starter Home

by Bryony Fraser

  I hoped my face didn’t show doubtful panic.

  ‘Just remember that you can come here, whenever you want. Don’t mind your mother – we all know it’ll just be until you can sort yourselves out.’ I opened my mouth indignantly, but Dad went on, ‘I mean, your accommodation. Until you can both sort out your accommodation situation.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  Mum nodded in agreement next to him. ‘What happened, my Zoe?’

  I shook my head and pressed my lips together. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not ready yet. I will though, I’ll tell you everything once I can.’ She brushed her hand down my cheek. I swallowed a sob. ‘Thanks, both of you. And I’m sorry.’

  ‘Zoe!’ Mum looked cross. ‘What could you be sorry about?’

  ‘For … leading everyone on. For having that big wedding only for it to end like this.’

  She looked fierce. ‘You do not need to be sorry. You have done nothing wrong here. I do not want to hear you say again that you are sorry to us for something that happened in your relationship. Do you understand me?’ It was my turn to nod. ‘Alright then, my lovely girl. You do not owe us anything when it comes to your marriage. It is between you and your husband.’

  I squirmed at the word. ‘I just wish we’d never got married. We should have done things like you two.’

  Mum looked at Dad, who bustled me out of the kitchen and tucked me up on the sofa. He brought me tea and cake, and asked whether there was anything else they could do.

  ‘Nothing. Thanks. I’m just …’ I yawned.

  ‘Oh, love, you must be tired. Remember, you can stay here in a proper bed any time you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. For being so cool with everything.’

  He gave me a wink and went back into the kitchen, where I could hear vague whispers I tried to ignore.

  When I asked Benni for the number of a divorce lawyer she was utterly shocked at my request.

  ‘Who do you want this for?’ she said, looking panicked. I looked at my hands, suddenly noticing I still had my wedding rings on. ‘You?’ she yelped. ‘And Jack?’ When I nodded, she looked ashen. ‘Alright, darling, no problem.’ She sat down abruptly on her desk. ‘I thought all that stuff about Manchester was a bit odd. Oh, darling. Gina’s going to be crushed: my poor wife has been raving about your wedding to everyone.’ She tsk-ed, sounding like Mum. ‘Sorry, that’s none of your concern.’ Then she started scrolling through her phone. ‘Right, this is a friend of a friend who helped us with parenting rights and stuff. Nell Anderson. She’s a fantastic family lawyer. I trust her to get you everything.’

  ‘No …’ I took the number she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper. ‘I don’t want everything. I’m not out to get Jack. I just think marriage was a bad idea for me.’

  ‘Oh, Zoe … I’d only suggested to George that you take him out as a friend – I didn’t mean to compromise you and Jack.’

  I laughed abruptly. ‘No! God, no. It’s nothing to do with that.’ I dropped my eyes.

  ‘But darling, it’s only been a few months.’

  ‘Two. And you really do sound like my mum. But when you know, Benni, you know. And I know this just isn’t right for us.’

  I managed to get an appointment with Nell the divorce lawyer after school the next day, thanks to a cancellation. Her office was grey and plain, with family photos turned tactfully away from the clients, who were visiting her to formally dismantle their own.

  ‘So,’ she said, in a practised kindly voice, ‘why don’t you tell me what your situation is?’

  I told her about the wedding, and how we were living now; how I wanted to get divorced the moment the legal year was up. Her face gave nothing away. I thought about the hundreds of stories she must have heard already, and whether it had changed how she felt about marriage.

  ‘Well, we’ve got a couple of options.’ She looked down at her pad, where she’d made a few notes. ‘One of you can move out of the flat and you can be formally separated. Then, within two years of your formal separation, your divorce can be granted.’

  ‘Two years? Is there no way of doing it any quicker?’ I swallowed. ‘And neither one of us is able to move out of the flat at the moment.’

  ‘Ok. In which case, you’ve got another option: adultery.’ I put my face in my hands. ‘As long as one of you is willing to be accused of adultery, the divorce can go through much faster. But you’ll still need to show that you’ve lived apart within six months of finding out, so I’d recommend making the formal accusation once one of you is in a situation to move out.’ She looked down at her pad, and then up again. ‘Is it going to be contested?’

  I took my hands from my face. ‘No. At least, I hadn’t thought so. But I don’t know what this adultery angle will do to him.’

  She smiled gently. ‘You can take away these leaflets, just to give you a very rough idea of what we’re talking about here. No one else needs to be named in the proceedings, no one else needs to know about it – it’s just the accusation in the petition that we need. Do you understand?’

  I couldn’t speak. I was trying to breathe, but the air was coming in more and more jagged waves, crushing my chest as I tried to tell myself to stay calm. Suddenly Nell was sitting beside me, offering a box of tissues. She spoke again.

  ‘Divorce is always a difficult situation, Zoe, and in the cases I’ve dealt with, sometimes it can be even harder when there’s no one to blame – when it seems like it should have worked, but it didn’t. And I know that talking about adultery, when it’s someone you’ve loved very much, is a very hard, very brutal way of ending things. The UK laws on divorce are crazy, if you ask me, and force people into very tough situations. But, if divorce is what you both want, I’ll do everything I can to make it as easy as possible for both of you.’

  I know she was trying to be kind, but adultery? She said I should take some time to think about what I wanted to do. She gave me some print-outs, and said I could call her any time I wanted, even if it was just to go over my options again.

  As I dangled from the Tube handles on my way home, I replayed our conversation in my head and felt like a slowly deflating balloon.

  Jack was there when I got back. ‘So,’ he said flatly, ‘how did it go?’ He was on his laptop at the coffee table, and didn’t look up at me.

  ‘It was fine,’ I said in an emotionless tone. ‘She was nice. She said … that to get the quickest divorce, one of us would have to petition on the grounds of adultery.’

  Jack looked up then. ‘What?’

  I flopped down on the armchair. ‘She said that’s the easiest way, if we don’t want to wait at least two years after a formal separation.’

  ‘And have you committed adultery?’ Jack asked, staring at me.

  I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Well, isn’t that what she said?’ he persisted.

  ‘No! Jack! Jesus Christ!’

  He folded his arms.

  ‘What? Have you?’

  ‘No! For fuck’s sake, Zoe. Of course not.’ He looked sickened, like he didn’t recognise me at all. Yet in the middle of this awful, nightmarish conversation, I was at least glad of his indignation and his denial, in some buried spot in my subconscious.

  ‘Right. Well then. So do we … toss a coin, or something?’

  Jack looked at me, stunned. ‘No, Zoe. I am not going to toss a coin with you over who gets to be named as the adulterer in our divorce papers. If you want this to go ahead, there’s only so much cooperation I’m willing to give you, I’m afraid.’

  School was my main distraction, split between the upcoming exams and watching new teacher George around the Science office and much of the Technology building. It was like a Mexican wave when he walked past – heads just followed him.

  On a drizzly Thursday morning, distracted by thoughts of class 10C, it took me a moment before I realised he was heading for me again.

  ‘Hey, Zoe! I don’t know if you remember, I’m George, from the Manchester school?’

  I s
miled, wondering how many hits his page on the school website had racked up. ‘Oh, hi, George. How are you doing?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, good. It’s just, we’re all headed out after school, just for a few drinks round the corner, and wondered if you fancied it?’

  I hesitated. ‘Are we … all going?’

  ‘I’m in, sounds great,’ Miks piped up from his cubby.

  I tried to ignore George’s nerves, his interest. ‘I’m sorry, George – I’m shattered at the moment. And I’ve got tonnes of marking tonight. But we will find time one day, I promise.’ I might be dismantling my marriage, but I didn’t want it to actually explode in my face. Despite George’s magical face, I was nowhere near ready to actually start seeing someone else, even if it was only in a harmless group.

  Jack and I still shared the same bed, for god’s sake.

  We just slept in it on alternating weeks.

  TWELVE

  Five years earlier

  They were lying in Zoe’s bed together one Sunday morning, relaxing away from the blissful grown-up world of post-university first jobs. Jack had already gone out and returned with papers and breakfast burritos, Zoe taking the burden on herself to stay in bed and keep it warm for him. They swapped burritos halfway, reading the supplements and lying against each other, occasionally kissing as one of them came to the end of an article, trying to keep the noise down for the benefit of Zoe’s silent Finnish housemate. Zoe offered Jack a piece on a new parade of shops opening in North London.

  ‘Any good for a potential shop?’

  Jack skimmed over the article, taking another bite of burrito. ‘I don’t know, Zo. The few designs I’ve had out have sold well, and the orders have been going up, but … it still seems too soon. I don’t want to rush into committing to something like that if a year later I’m just going to be economically and professionally hollowed out.’

  ‘I’ve literally never been so turned on. I think it’s your go-getting spirit that does it.’

  Jack laughed. ‘I have to admit that the place does look good. I just don’t want to fuck up something that’s so important. We’re talking about something I want to do for the rest of my life. I want to get it right.’

  ‘Well. Speaking of doing something right,’ Zoe gulped, ‘how about, in the meantime, we commit to not taking the bus every time we want to see each other?’

  ‘Meaning …?’

  ‘If you don’t fancy opening a shop right now, how about you come and put all your stuff with my stuff? Well, maybe not in this flat, which really only fits us both if we’re lying down. But in the same flat. Without a … roommate,’ she mouthed. ‘Like … we live together.’

  Jack threw his newspaper over his shoulder and pulled the blanket over them both. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You and me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Living together?’

  ‘By jove, I think he’s got it.’

  ‘Yeah, alright then.’

  Zoe gave a whoop and kissed him. Then he kissed her, in a way that made her think she could probably wait for them to start house hunting for at least a few hours.

  THIRTEEN

  Now

  I got home from school feeling exhausted. I’d completed my marking, but still had lesson plans to do for the next day. Even so, I’d just got an invitation to William’s third birthday party, with subsequent promises from Esther and Kat about the food Mum had promised to make. I was smiling merely at the thought of it.

  Jack was in the kitchen, dressed up for a night out, sternly slicing up a massive ham before he left. My glow lessened a little as I saw him carefully knifing each piece into a large Tupperware box. No ham for Zo. Fair enough.

  ‘You not eating either?’ I called.

  He looked over his shoulder. ‘No, I’m out tonight. This is for the rest of the week.’ He looked at me again, then turned around completely to face me. ‘You look well. You look really well.’

  ‘Thanks. No need for such a surprised tone.’

  He shrugged. ‘You just look really … happy, I guess.’ He sounded hurt at the word he’d come up with.

  I shrugged back. ‘Maybe I am,’ I said, thinking of the feast awaiting me at Esther’s house in a few weeks.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I didn’t know I was.’ I reached up to touch my mouth.

  ‘You were,’ Jack said, frowning. ‘You look happy, and you were smiling.’

  ‘I promise not to do it again.’

  ‘Have you … met someone?’

  ‘No! Not …’

  ‘Not what?’ he demanded. ‘Not anyone I’d know? Not anything serious? Not that you’d want to talk about with me?’

  I folded my arms. ‘Sorry, how is this any of your business? Even if there was anything to tell. Which there isn’t.’

  ‘Fine.’ He turned back to his ham. ‘Fine, it’s nothing to do with me, even if we are legally married. Forgive me for wanting to know if my wife was seeing someone.’

  ‘Fine.’ I took off my coat and dumped my keys. ‘Where are you off to tonight? Is this … for your birthday tomorrow?’

  Jack gave a snort.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me. I was just trying to be polite.’

  He finished carving, clicked the lid on the box and put it in the fridge, then washed his hands, dried them, and got to me, standing in the doorway. ‘Excuse me.’ I stood aside, watching as Jack pulled on his coat and picked up his wallet and keys. ‘Don’t wait up.’

  ‘Happy birthday!’ I called out, but it sounded too sarcastic. Fortunately, he’d already slammed the door.

  Despite Jack’s hostile departure, I somehow slept that night for the first time in weeks. I didn’t even hear him get home.

  At seven thirty, I was eating breakfast at the counter when he stumbled into the kitchen, trying to make the coffee machine work.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I greeted him. ‘Looking for a hot cup of hangover?’

  ‘Glad someone finds this funny,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. Do you want some coffee?’

  ‘Coffee’s perfect, thanks. Any chance I could get a fucking DECREE NISI WITH THAT?’ he reared round and bellowed at me.

  ‘Oh, we’re going down the Al Pacino route this morning, are we? That sounds like fun. In the meantime, I’ll be in the shower and leaving for my day of actual sanity in the outside world. I invite you to join me there.’ I thought for a second. ‘Well, not in the shower. That’s not a birthday invitation. I meant in the world. Without me.’

  He suddenly looked extra drunk. ‘Shoulda jus’ stayed wherewas. Wass fuckin’ point.’ Then he staggered into the living room and collapsed sideways on the sofa. I watched him for a while, as I finished my breakfast, then I tucked his legs up, turned him sideways and went for my shower. When I came back out and found that he still hadn’t moved, I covered him with a blanket and got dressed. Before I left, I put a mug of birthday black coffee and some birthday buttered toast on the coffee table in front of him, and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a birthday kiss, like a distant aunt gives a child; just a meaningless habit that I could innocently, momentarily get away with while he was in this state.

  As I walked out of the door, closing it quietly so I didn’t wake him, I said to myself over and over, it’s just a habit. I didn’t mean anything by it. A habit that came from years together, years of being in love, of being in a relationship that led to marriage. If I thought about it anymore, let myself dwell on the smell of his hair in my nose, I’d realise that my heart was about to break. That we were over. That our relationship was done.

  This was the first of his birthdays without me since we’d been together. I didn’t even know what he’d done last night, where he’d been and who he’d been there with. I wasn’t sharing today with him, making a big deal of it in the way I knew he loved – just as he knew how much I loathed my birthdays. I didn’t have a gift for him
, nor a card, and I definitely couldn’t opt for the birthday shortcuts I’d used in the past, which mainly involved various levels of nakedness. I was out of his life. That’s what I’d wanted, wasn’t it?

  I was struck by the thought that divorce meant a new start for both of us: a new place to live, packing up all our stuff, and moving it to a whole new building, new street, new neighbourhood. New city? New … country? Would Jack move abroad? Would I? Is that what I needed?

  But buried somewhere beneath everything else, I realised that I still felt hopeful. After the end of something, there was another beginning. Heartbroken and hopeful, optimistic and overwhelmed. The future seemed bright, possibly, eventually, if I could actually shift my weight from the reality of just get through this minute to let’s make plans for tomorrow. It was the best thing to do; I just didn’t know if I could do it. And I didn’t know if I could do it alone.

  On the Tube, I went for a seat at the same time as another woman. We both stopped and looked at each other, and she laughed a little and said, ‘Go ahead, I need the exercise,’ and motioned to the seat. I swallowed, and thanked her, and when I took it I noticed she was looking at me oddly. The other people opposite were looking at me too, giving me little ‘don’t really want to get involved’ glances, like I might actually talk to them or something. Eventually, the woman leant down to me and said, ‘Are you ok?’ When I touched my face, it was wet – my eyes, my cheeks, tears dripping off my chin and spattering my top.

  ‘I’m … crying?’ I don’t know which of us was more shocked, but it was my stop, and I couldn’t stay to talk through my disastrous non-marriage.

  Yes, I told myself, I’ve just got to push through all this. Something that feels this horrible has got to be the right decision. Nothing voluntary feels this bad without having some greater good, does it?

  Liz was waiting for me at the restaurant, looking very un-Liz, with huge blown-out hair and shiny beige nails. I hugged her, wide eyed.

  ‘What’s … happened?’

  ‘Henry likes his woman to be well groomed.’ She laughed. ‘It’s deranged. I am having so much fun going out with someone I dislike so intensely. Even the sex has got better – it’s added a real frisson.’