I curled my lip.
‘I don’t understand it either, Zo. It’s the weirdest dating I’ve ever done, but I’m so happy that he makes our time together so miserable. And our time apart so great, too, of course.’ She shrugged happily. ‘It’s like I’m roleplaying his girlfriend. I fucking love it.’
‘But you don’t even look like you.’
‘I know! It’s like I’m in costume!’ She pulled her hair into a shaggy ponytail, and looked at least half like herself again. ‘Better?’
‘Better. Thank you.’
We ordered, and took long gulps of our long cocktails.
‘And how are you? What’s happening now with Jack?’
‘I asked him for a divorce.’
Her mouth hung open. After almost a minute of me slowly nodding at her, she shook her head. ‘Right. Ok. I’ve accepted that now. Wait.’ She raised her hand. ‘No. I haven’t. I won’t process this for a really long time, but I want to support you right now. Is it ok if I freak out later?’
‘Permission granted. Can I get the same permission from you?’
Liz squeezed my hand. ‘Jesus, that came out of nowhere. Was he shagging someone else?’
‘No. I don’t think so, anyway. I just … don’t think it was working.’
‘After two months?’
‘It was after one month I first mentioned it to him.’
‘Shit! That answers that one then. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so sceptical. I’m just surprised, I suppose.’
‘Not as surprised as Jack.’
She laughed, then covered her mouth with her beige fingertips. ‘Am I alright to laugh at that? Is any of this funny yet?’
‘Not really.’ I put my head down on the table, and shocked us both by starting to cry again. ‘I feel like I’m doing this all the time,’ I sniffed, ‘and I can’t work out why, or how to stop.’
‘Is a divorce actually what you want? Do you want to stay with Jack?’
‘Yes. No! We can’t stay married anymore. It’s just … it’s so awwwfuuu-uuull,’ I wailed, and started crying even louder. ‘The way we’re just on top of each other the whole time – and not in a good way. We can’t be in a room without arguing, if someone wants something off, the other one wants it on … It’s just miserable. Miserable. Everything that was good about our relationship has just … vanished.’ I sobbed harder. A moment later our waitress came, and without a word delivered two more drinks to us, unordered.
‘She gets it,’ Liz said, and slid the end of the straw into my mouth. ‘And I think the nachos are on their way. It’s ok, I’ve heard about this, loads of people have starter marriages.’
‘What’s a starter marriage?’ I sobbed.
‘Where you have a first, kind of practice, marriage. To work out what you want from a husband or wife. Loads of people are doing it now. Then you marry who you really want.’
‘But I don’t want anyone else! I want Jack! It’s just so horrible between us, and I’m terrified that we’ve lost what we had. Forever. And there’s this guy at work – I don’t want to be with him, not at all, but he’s so good-looking, and – I just don’t want me and Jack to be together if I do ever start wanting someone else. What if I ever start thinking about being unfaithful?’ I sighed, hiccupping. ‘I don’t want to put Jack in a position where I ever think about cheating on him, just because being told by a piece of paper that you’ll never want anyone else ever again is some kind of stupid red rag. Being cheated on … people don’t get over that.’
‘And do you want to cheat on him?’
‘No! God, no. But what if I do, one day? What kind of person does that make me?’
‘Oh, Zo. This is all just so hypothetical. You’re not that person, we both know that. You of all people would never do that.’ Liz brushed my hair from my face, so she could see me properly. ‘So what are you going to do?’
I lifted my head from the table. ‘Apparently we can’t get divorced until we’ve been married at least a year. But neither of us can afford to pay a separate rent on top of our mortgage.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You can’t really both live in the flat, can you? You’re getting divorced. That’s a pretty unequivocal statement about how you feel about the relationship, isn’t it? You must really want to get out of there. And what if one of you does meet someone else?’
I put my head down again, and cried until our waitress brought nachos with extra sour cream and guac.
* * *
I psyched myself up on the way home, but Jack was already asleep. The next morning, I cornered him in the kitchen.
‘Jack, we need to sort this out.’
‘Sort what out?’
‘Living arrangements. We can’t live on sofa rotas for the next year of our lives.’
Jack made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Well, the good news is, it’s more like nine months, eight days annnd … about sixteen hours.’
‘I’m serious. We need to talk about what we’re going to do with this flat.’
‘What do you mean “do with it”? I think I’m quite busy living in it, right now. What are you talking about?’
‘We can’t both live here, Jack.’
‘Have you lost your mind? Have you seen how much rent is these days?’
‘We can sell this place—’
‘The value of this flat might have gone up, but we still wouldn’t get anything with half each.’ He threw his arms up. ‘Sorry, can we just slow this conversation down for a minute – how the hell am I debating with you what homes we could find with half the sale proceeds of this flat? This is my home, Zoe. It’s your home too. And it’s been our home for three years. It’s not just … some investment!’
‘I know! I’m fully aware that it’s my home! I remember painting every square inch of it when we moved in!’
‘And I remember sanding every single surface down. And plastering the bathroom. You weren’t the only one who contributed, Zo.’
‘I plastered the bathroom. You did the kitchen.’ For a moment I thought of us, two years ago, in overalls, radio blasting, bacon sandwiches from the greasy spoon, playing at being grown-ups. It never felt like that anymore. Adulthood was creeping up on us like mildew, along with all the disappointment and disillusionment that seemed to go with it.
‘Yeah, that’s right. We’ve both put a lot of work into this place.’
‘And we’ll get more for it, because of that,’ I persisted.
Jack looked crushed. ‘I didn’t mean that.’ His voice dropped. ‘We put a lot into making this our home, Zo.’
I spoke gently back. ‘I know. But things change. And we have to be realistic.’
His face hardened. ‘Sorry. But I’m not going anywhere. I can’t afford it, and I don’t want to. You’ll just have to wait until your year is up.’
‘Jack—’
‘Don’t worry.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Only nine months, eight days and fifteen hours to go now. It’ll fly by.’
FOURTEEN
Four years earlier
At the bar, Jack was waiting impatiently with two drinks. He took a slug of his aged artisan rum and winced slightly – what was the point in £18 cocktails if Zoe wasn’t there with him? She was never this late usually. And what was the point in living together if they couldn’t come to a party together? A woman heading for the bar bumped into his hip – he drew away, saying, ‘Sorry,’ giving her an apologetic glance.
At which point he had two thoughts that were almost, but not quite, simultaneous: that this woman might just be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, let alone bumped hips with; and that this woman was Zoe.
She was laughing. ‘Hello, roomie.’
‘Whoah. You look nice.’
She laughed even harder. ‘It’s the surprise in your voice which really makes me value that compliment.’
‘No, I mean … you …’
‘It’s fine, it’s fine. God, a woman
puts on a little bit of lipstick and a pair of earrings and suddenly it’s like a Hollywood makeover scene. It is literally just some lipstick, you know.’
‘And your hair looks different.’
‘Fine, and I’ve combed my hair out. Hence my ever-so-slight delay.’ She looked pleased. ‘Thank you for noticing.’
‘Well whatever magic your womanly wiles are enchanting me with, it’s really, really nice to see you.’
Zoe smiled at him. ‘You too. It’s really nice to see you. I’ve missed you since this morning.’ She took a sip from his rum glass, and winced too. ‘What is this?’
‘I know. I paid almost twenty quid for that.’
‘Is it artisanal?’
‘You know it is, baby.’ He pursed his lips sexily and took a sip himself, before spitting it back into the glass. ‘God, that really is utterly vile.’
‘What did you get me?’
‘Gin and tonic.’
She took a sip. ‘Oh yeah, that is much better. Here, halves on the gin?’
‘Let’s leave the rum for an unsuspecting stranger.’
‘Don’t you think we have a responsibility to warn them?’
Jack shrugged. ‘You never know. There might be someone out there who loves the taste and scent of wet soil and hot dog fur.’
Zoe retched.
‘Anyway. Let’s go and wish Iffy a happy birthday at least.’
‘Hold on. There’s something …’ Zoe looked thoughtful. ‘I’m forgetting something …’
‘Peanuts? Crisps? Because they probably only have sundried organic beetroot here.’
‘No … it’s … oh yeah. That’s what it is.’ And she pulled Jack into a huge embrace, kissing and kissing and kissing him, and he kissed her back until Iffy came over to greet Zoe, and asked if Jack would now be willing to join in the celebrations. He was getting complaints, he said, and it was his birthday, so really, shouldn’t they actually be kissing him? And he pointed to his cheeks where they both dutifully kissed him too, then he danced with them onto the dancefloor, holding their hands, where they stayed until the bar closed and it was somehow morning.
‘Mum, I know, I know … Well, what can we bring? No, let us bring something. Mum, this is supposed to be a party for you and Dad. Can’t I do something for it? Drinks or food or a cake or something? Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum, I know it’s your anniversary, but no one will think less of you if your son brings the cake. You don’t have to bake for – how many people are you expecting? Seventy? Mum, no one expects you to make a cake for seventy people yourself, particularly not if you won’t even let me help with the food or drinks. Well, what’s Dad doing for the party? No … No, I suppose not. Listen, there’s a cake maker just around the corner from us, I’ll ask him if he’s got space that weekend, ok? And I can send you a picture of some of his other cakes, and you can just tell me what you want doing, alright?’
Jack sighed and Zoe could only wonder at the sudden feeling in her gut that he would be a great father one day. ‘Yes Mum, of course I’ll let you know how much it costs. Alright? Good. Thank you. No, Mum, it’s my pleasure. Alright. Talk to you soon.’
‘Party planning going well, then?’
‘Oh, Zo. A thirtieth-anniversary party seems like the least fun of all the parties.’
‘I hate to break this to you, but we don’t have a cake maker around the corner. Do we?’
‘No, and I won’t ever tell her how much a real cake maker charges in these parts either, but I’m sure I can find one that will meet her exacting standards.’
‘You’re a good son.’
‘Now I just need to hear that from both parents and I can save myself thousands in future therapy bills.’
Zoe rubbed his hair. ‘Are you really dreading it?’
‘I’m not dreading it. I suppose it’s quite nice that they’re still together after all this time. I’m just …’
‘Surprised they are?’
Jack looked surprised himself. ‘No. Why. Are you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘No, just … It’s never that much fun hanging out with the pair of them, is it? I don’t know if I can bear to watch Dad being steamrollered by Mum for another evening, particularly in front of all their friends.’
Zoe sat beside him on the sofa, and swung her legs up into his lap. ‘I’ll be with you. We can supervise everyone’s behaviour, make sure both your parents are having a nice time—’
‘Are you suggesting we’re the chaperones?’
‘Yes! Exactly. Pulling snogging couples out from the bushes, that kind of thing.’
‘Checking the punch isn’t spiked.’
‘Or spiking it ourselves.’
‘I don’t imagine Dad’s friends will require any additional spiking.’
‘Alright then. And if we have no other job besides getting a cake from our fictional cake-making friend, we can make sure both your mum and your dad have a great time at the party. With or without each other. Ok?’
Jack held her face in his hands, and kissed her mouth, softly. ‘I do love you, you know.’
She beamed at him, and kissed the end of his nose. ‘I know.’
FIFTEEN
Now
Esther was in her kitchen, spooning ice cream into plastic bowls for the birthday boy and his guests while I attempted to decant various dips into other bowls at the same time as describing the latest developments with Jack. Mum and Dad were heroically trying to entertain a gaggle of three year olds in Esther’s garden – I didn’t want them to hear this conversation, even though the process of family osmosis would mean they’d know most of it anyway, somehow.
‘And tell me again why you can’t move out?’
I’d explained the difficulty of the situation, how until we could legally separate our lives for good, neither of us felt we could afford to move out, so we were stuck with each other for the rest of the year. Esther gave William his spoon and looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
‘So you are absolutely stuck there? With Jack? For eight more months?’
I raised the spoon up in frustration. ‘I know! That’s divorce, I guess.’
She folded her arms. ‘So there’s absolutely no escape for you?’
‘Have you seen how much rent is these days?’ I insisted, realising too late I was echoing Jack.
‘Zo, all of us live a bus ride away from you. Ave probably lives closer to your school than you do. If you really wanted—’
‘I can’t live with you guys for eight months, Es. It’s not fair on any of you.’
‘And you’re sure you’re not trying to find an excuse to stay with Jack?’
‘I just asked him for a divorce! I don’t think I could be accused of that.’
‘What about Mum and Dad? They wouldn’t mind you going home.’
I folded my arms too. ‘Yeah, that’s what I need. To be the almost thirty-year-old divorcing her husband and moving back in with her parents. My god, even Mum said that was a bad idea.’
Esther came over and put an arm around me. ‘Alright, alright. Sorry. It’s not an ideal situation—’
I snorted.
‘—and I’m sure you’ll do the best you can with it.’
‘It’s going to be fine, I’m sure. As long as we can remain pleasant and mature with each other, I don’t see why it has to be that hard.’
Esther squeezed me. ‘Ok. If you say so. Now keep being a helpful waitress and I might let you take some leftovers home.’
‘You have got to be kidding me.’
‘What’s the problem?’
I was standing over Jack as he lay reading in bed, late one Saturday evening. I’d been out all day with Liz, and was now pulsating with rage, clutching a wadded mass of snot-green cotton.
‘What. Is. This?’
‘Bedding. Don’t you remember? We got it from my old boss for our wedding. If you can bear to recall such a hideous occasion. I put it in the washing machine. Sorry it isn’t quite dry yet.’
‘It wasn’t green when I left this
morning.’
‘Ah, see, there’s always that risk when I do the laundry. Haven’t I always tried to warn you? Still, at least it was only sheets. At least it wasn’t your wedding outfit or anything,’ he called cheerily to me. ‘Although I expect that’ll be in a bonfire any minute.’
I stomped back to the sofa and wrapped myself in a blanket. So that’s how you want it, is it, Jack? Ok. But you’re going to regret it.
The next weekend, I was tucked up on the sofa, reading the papers and enjoying the fresh cup of tea I’d just made – carefully squeezing out the teabag then placing it exactly in the centre of the empty sink – when I heard Jack’s key in the lock. The sofa’s back was to the door, so he couldn’t see me, but I hunkered down lower just in case, hoping I could make myself entirely invisible. But with him, I could hear a woman, one who seemed very giggly and eager to look around Jack’s flat. He’s brought another woman back here? I thought. Well, at least I’d have my adultery grounds. Jesus Christ.
I waited until Jack was about to show her the bedroom before I piped up from my hidden position on the sofa. ‘Hi, guys. I’m Jack’s wife. Did he tell you about the time he accidentally called out his grandmother’s name during sex? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’
Jack was biting his lip. ‘This is Jenny. She’s Iffy’s new girlfriend. Iffy had recommended that she come to see our flat because she’s doing hers up. But thanks for making her feel super welcome – I know Iffy will be really grateful.’
Jenny looked like she was really hoping there might be a freak earthquake any minute, and I waved silently at her while sinking slowly back into my hiding place on the sofa.
A few days later, seriously premenstrual and in desperate need of some dark chocolate, I remembered my luxe emergency stash in the back of the cupboard. Mmm. It wasn’t behind the pasta, or the rice, or hiding behind the spices or stock cubes or the jars of mystery chutney. I was beginning to panic.
‘Jack! Have you seen that bar of chocolate that was in the back of the cupboard?’
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