Coming Clean

by Sue Margolis

  “But I’ve changed. It’s taken me until now to realize what an arse I’ve been and that I cocked up big-time. I was a slob. I took you for granted. I tried to make it look like you were a madwoman for wanting a clean, tidy house. I’m so ashamed, you’ve no idea.”

  “You know what really gets me?”

  “What?”

  “That you were able to change for Roz, but not for me. Why wasn’t I worth changing for?”

  “It wasn’t that you weren’t worth it. I just didn’t get it. It was only when I began living with Roz that I realized what an arrogant arse I’d been. It was Roz who pointed that out and, cow that she is, I’ll always be grateful to her for that. The moment I moved in with her, she made it clear that I was expected to pull my weight around the house. There was no room for protest or debate. I either respected her rules or I was out. And you know what was odd?”

  “Go on.”

  “I started to enjoy it.”

  “Oh, please. Next you’ll be telling me you found it healing. You didn’t enjoy it. You got in with it because you were scared to death of Roz and she beat you into submission.”

  “Look, Roz can be hard going, but she did not beat me into submission. And, OK, maybe it wasn’t the actual housework I enjoyed so much as seeing the results. I realize now that a home needs to be more than somewhere you go to eat and sleep. It needs to be clean and comfortable, a place where you can relax. I fucked up, Soph. I will spend the rest of my life being sorry for that. You were the love of my life and I pushed you away. I destroyed so much.”

  “You did and that’s why it’s too late. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being angry with you for how you treated me.”

  He nodded. There were tears in his eyes. “I can understand that. So, you and Huck … Do you think you’ll make a go of it?”

  “Actually, I think I’m about to end it. Things haven’t worked out.”

  His eyes lit up. “So that means we could—?”

  “Greg, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Do you honestly think that after everything that happened between us, you can simply apologize, tell me that you’ll load the dishwasher and empty the trash now without being asked, and I’ll let you waltz back into my life?”

  “I waltzed into your life once. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember. But like you say, you destroyed all that.”

  “You’re right. I guess I made my bed …”

  “I guess you did.”

  • • •

  That night Huck didn’t come home. I’d texted him just after midnight, but he didn’t reply.

  When I got back from work the next day, he was in the kitchen unwrapping a frozen pizza.

  “Sorry about last night,” he said by way of greeting. “I crashed at Mint’s. I was too tired to drive any farther.”

  “Oh, cut the crap, Huck. We’re a five-minute drive from Araminta’s. Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m knackered. I’d appreciate you being straight with me. Are you and Araminta having an affair?”

  He gave me this little-boy-lost look. Then he came over and tried to put his arms around me. “Don’t be angry,” he whispered. “Why don’t we go upstairs.” I pushed him off.

  “You know what I’ve realized?” I said. “One of the reasons I didn’t make a play for you at university was because I knew you’d let me down and that there was no point. I was wiser at nineteen than I am at nearly forty. Can you believe that?”

  “I haven’t let you down.”

  “Huck, stop this. I’m getting really angry now. For the last time—”

  “OK … I admit it. Mint and I have been having a thing.”

  “A thing. You mean you’ve been sleeping together.”

  “Yes. Look … you and me … we had our fun. We kept each other company for a while and you have to admit the sex was amazing. But maybe it’s time we both moved on.”

  I let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe I fell for your line about how you’d changed and didn’t play the field anymore.”

  “That was true. In the wilds of Africa there was no field.”

  “But now you’re home, and one has opened up again.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You know, it beats me how somebody like you, with such a highly developed social conscience, could treat women the way you do.”

  “I’m flawed. What can I say?”

  “You could say that you’re nearly forty and that maybe it’s time you got unflawed.”

  “Actually, I think Mint and I could make a go of it. We think so much alike. She’s a great girl.”

  “And suddenly you don’t care that she’s a toff.”

  “I was being shamefully narrow-minded. She’s made me realize that I am as prejudiced about the upper classes as they can be about the poor. She’s not responsible for the class she was born into. None of us are.”

  “How easy it is to change your tune, once you’ve got your leg over.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Whatever. Like I said, it’s been a long day and I can’t be bothered to argue. Just do me a favor and go.”

  He said he would go upstairs, pack a bag and come back for the rest of his things.

  While he was packing, I opened a bottle of wine and sat at the kitchen table trying to read the paper.

  Twenty minutes later he was back. He put the door keys I had given him on the table. “So, no hard feelings, then?”

  “What? Of course there are hard feelings. But don’t flatter yourself. I will get over you.”

  As he turned to go, he noticed the copy of The Stranger lying on the counter. “If you’re not going to read this, would you mind if I gave it to Mint? It’s right up her street.”

  “But you gave it to me. It was a present.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not really your thing, is it?”

  “Probably not … Oh, for God’s sake. Take it.”

  “Cheers.”

  With that he was gone. I picked up his frozen pizza and put it in the oven.

  Chapter 17

  Since Greg had taken the kids to Brighton, it seemed only fair that I should pick them up, but Greg said that he would prefer to go as he felt that Ken and his wife could do with some space. “Plus I need to tell the kids about Roz and me splitting up.”

  They arrived home about two. Greg didn’t stay. We both knew that it would feel awkward if he hung around. I followed him to his car and told him that Huck and I were over and that he’d moved out.

  “He was seeing somebody else.”

  “Miserable sod,” he said. “Some people never change. You OK?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m not sure it was ever that serious.”

  He told me to take care and kissed me on the cheek.

  • • •

  Ben took off his coat without speaking to me or even making eye contact and then ran up the stairs. I called after him: “Ben, you OK?”

  “No … Dad and Roz have split up, which means I won’t see Dworkin ever again. I can’t believe they did that. And Amy and I won’t get to go up in a hot air balloon like they promised us at Christmas.” I heard his bedroom door slam.

  I turned to Amy, who was kicking off her boots. “So, how do you feel about Dad and Roz splitting up?”

  “Roz was OK, but in the beginning—before all the fights started—they were always smooching and kissing. I hated that. At least now I don’t have to share him.”

  I gave her a hug. “I get that.”

  “Suppose I’ll have to get used to sharing you with Huck, though.”

  “Actually, you won’t.” I raked my hair with my fingers. “God, this has all happened at once rather. Dad and I really didn’t plan it like this. Huck moved out. He found a bigger place. He realized that he needed more room.”

  “What you’re saying is, he dumped you.”

  “It was sort of mutual.”

  “So now that you’re both on your own again, couldn’t you and Dad at least think a
bout getting back together? He’s really changed, you know. He even irons.”

  “You’re kidding. Your dad irons?”

  “Yeah. He does all his own shirts. Sometimes he even ironed Roz’s stuff. He’s not like he used to be. Honest.”

  “I’m glad to hear he’s changed, but the thing is that before we split up, your dad and I were making each other very unhappy. If we got back together, the fighting would probably start all over again and that wouldn’t be fair to any of us.”

  “But at least you could try. What’s the harm in trying?”

  “The harm is if it all breaks down again, you and Ben would go through a second trauma.”

  “Well, I’m prepared to risk it. Roz says if you don’t take risks in life you live to regret it.”

  “Good for her.” I suggested Amy get herself a snack while I went upstairs to try and calm Ben down.

  I was halfway up the stairs when Amy called up to me: “Oh, and by the way, I never really liked Huck. He hated SpongeBob. Who hates SpongeBob? It’s, like, the most hilarious thing on TV.”

  • • •

  Greg e-mailed me the next day. He said he would do whatever it took to win me back and could we at least discuss it some more? I e-mailed back to say that I couldn’t see the point.

  No sooner had I told Gail about Greg wanting me back than my mum was on the phone. “Oh, darling, think of the children. They need a father. And deep down Greg’s a good chap. Couldn’t you find it in yourself to forgive him? And it would make me feel so much better, knowing you were back together. The palpitations haven’t got any better, you know.”

  I told her that, as concerned as I was about her palpitations, I really didn’t think I could forgive Greg.

  Gail, Annie, Phil and Betsy all said the same—that of course my relationship with Greg was none of their business and of course I had to make my own decision about whether or not to give our marriage another go, but that people did change and that surely it could do no harm to keep the lines of communication open.

  Amy and Ben hadn’t the slightest idea that their father wanted to come home.

  Having been so certain, I eventually got to the stage where I didn’t know what to think. It didn’t help that work was taking it out of me. I was still putting in long hours at the office. Women’s Lip was doing far better than anybody had expected, but I didn’t dare take my eye off the ball and I was beginning to feel the strain. Amy and Ben picked up on my stress and reacted by getting irritable and telling me that I was neglecting them.

  When I should have been asleep, I lay awake grappling with the Greg question. How did I know that he wasn’t making overtures simply because he was unhappy and on the rebound from Roz? On top of that, I’d just split up from Huck. I was miserable and vulnerable. I was equally capable of falling into the rebound trap. I kept on reminding myself how unhappy Greg and I had been and how angry I still was with him.

  • • •

  Spencer’s bar mitzvah was the first Saturday in April. My sister arrived at the synagogue, all froufrou feather hat and double air kisses and eyeing up the other women’s outfits.

  Mine didn’t present her with much competition. Over my dress I was wearing a black PVC trench coat. Amy insisted it was really cool, but I was beginning to wish I’d taken it back to the store on the grounds that it, along with the red beret I’d bought to go with it, made me look like a Parisian hooker.

  Greg took one look at me and burst into “Bonnie and Clyde,” but I could tell from his expression that he approved. That cheered me up.

  Murray wore a fuchsia tie and a weary, resigned look that seemed to be saying, “Do you know how much this event has cost me?”

  Spencer looked splendid in his bar mitzvah suit, which of course had been tailor-made.

  Mum and Dad, who had been persuaded to make the trip because Phil and Betsy and the boys were coming, wore heavy coats and complained about the cold and the damp and the lack of parking. “They should have valet parking,” Dad insisted. “In Florida, it’s all valet parking. On the High Holy Days, even the synagogue has valet parking.”

  His elderly cousin Arnold overheard the valet parking remark. “What do you mean, the synagogue has valet parking? It’s against Jewish law to drive on the Sabbath and on the High Holy Days. What kind of a Nazi synagogue to you belong to anyway?”

  “Ach, the Americans don’t take all that not-driving nonsense seriously.”

  • • •

  Spencer read his portion without a single slipup. Araminta had sent Gail a note saying how distraught she was that she couldn’t be there. It seemed she was busy helping Huck prepare a presentation on ending child poverty, which he had been invited to deliver on Monday morning to David Cameron and his cabinet at No. 10. The hope was that the government would at least lend an ear to Huck’s thoughts on ending child poverty, but most of all he wanted them to increase their grants to children’s charities like the one that ran the youth club at the Princess Margaret Houses.

  After the service, everybody gathered around a very relieved Spencer to slap him on the back and wish him mazel tov. Whiskery old aunts that the poor child hadn’t seen since his circumcision pinched his cheek and drew him to their bosoms. Gail went around saying, “My son’s a man now. Can you believe it?” Even Murray had cheered up and was back in form, making jokes about the bar mitzvah boy whose parents wanted to do something a bit different and insisted on holding the ceremony in space. “So they schlepped everybody to the Mir space station. And when they got back the boy’s bubbe said she hadn’t really enjoyed it because there was no atmosphere!”

  • • •

  Immediate family and friends—a hundred of us, at a guess—went back to Gail’s for a buffet lunch.

  We were met by waitresses with trays of champagne. (Of course, the whiskery aunts wanted cherry brandy and their husbands demanded Scotch, so Murray was dispatched to find some.)

  The canapés included sushi and sashimi, all presented on Asian-style soup spoons. These, too, didn’t go down well with the elders.

  “What’s this? Raw fish? Who invites a person into their home to eat fish they haven’t bothered to cook … Sidney, go see if you can find some mushroom vol-au-vents. And if there’s no cherry brandy, ask one of the waitresses to put the kettle on.”

  Even some of Gail and Murray’s friends looked down their noses. But that was only to be expected.

  “Of course, we had tuna niçoise skewers at Josh’s bar mitzvah,” Sharon Shapiro said, looking down her not-inconsiderable nose.

  • • •

  Lunch was Cajun-style salmon. “Burnt-style, if you ask me,” was my aunty Minnie’s verdict. This was followed by a few hours’ break, during which most people went home. After a change of clothes, they would return in the evening for the main event: the dinner and dancing. This was being held in a tent that had been erected in Gail’s garden.

  By now the florist had arrived with the centerpieces, the tables were being laid and the band was setting up.

  Greg and I—and a few of the elders—stayed. I was going to get changed in Gail’s bedroom. While Gail plutzed about the table plan—“Thinking about it, I’m not sure if I should have put the Levys next to the Golds”—Murray went to get some Pepto-Bismol and the football score, Mum and Dad went upstairs for a nap and the kids went to watch TV.

  “Don’t suppose you fancy stretching your legs,” Greg said to me.

  Since I’d had too much wine and was at risk of dropping off in the armchair, I said, “Why not?”

  We put on our coats and headed for the park, which was just around the corner.

  “Greg, can we not talk about getting back together? There really is no point.”

  “But surely there’s something I can say to change your mind. I mean, think of all the good times we had.”

  “I do. Often. But they’re in the past.”

  “I know, but if we worked at things, there could be more good times. Soph, I love you. I’ve never stopped
loving you.”

  “What about Roz? You said you loved her.”

  “I was infatuated. I was on the rebound. The feelings I had for her never came close to what I felt and still feel for you.”

  “I think you’re on the rebound now. I’ve told you—you’re panicking, that’s all. You don’t really want me back.”

  “I do. You and I are meant to be together. I know that.”

  “How?”

  “I dunno. I just do. We’re the right fit.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning we get each other. We make each other laugh.”

  “We used to. Not recently.”

  “I know, but we’re still the same people. I bet I can still make you laugh.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “What? I can’t be funny to order.”

  “You just said you could.”

  With that he started doing a perfect impersonation of Sharon Shapiro. I burst out laughing. “Idiot.”

  “See, I’ve still got it. I think you do still love me.”

  “What, because you made me laugh with your Sharon Shapiro impersonation?”

  “I think it means something.” He grabbed my arm. We stopped walking and he stood looking straight at me. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

  “Greg, you were my first real love. You’re the father of our children. Of course I love you. I’ll always love you. But alongside that is all the hurt and anger I still feel. I don’t think I can get past that.”

  He looked so sad and lost, I thought he might cry. “Is that your final word?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK, I don’t think there’s much more to be said. I don’t fancy going to the park anymore. Let’s head back.”

  • • •

  Of course, Gail sat Greg and me next to each other at dinner. He told me I looked lovely in my off-the-shoulder emerald dress. I thanked him and then struck up a conversation with a pharmacist named Benny who was sitting to my left. For most of the evening he lectured me on the dangers of long-term antibiotic use. At least I think that’s what he was talking about. The Abba medley coming from the band was so loud that I struggled to hear him.