The Choir on Hope Street

by Annie Lyons

  Dan arrived five minutes before the session was due to start. He seemed surprised that I was already there. I was known for my lateness, whereas he was always on time. He leant down to kiss me on the cheek. His face felt chilly and I caught the whiff of his scent. He didn’t wear aftershave. It was the smell of him and it made my heart ache.

  ‘You’re on time,’ he teased.

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, ‘this is important.’ He glanced at me and I gave him a small smile. I was determined to do this properly. I was a woman who would joke her way through anything but this didn’t feel funny somehow. This was where it got serious.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Garfield?’ said a female voice. I felt my spirits drop as I turned to face an attractive young girl, who was probably in her mid twenties. As wrong as it may sound, I wished that she were a balding man in his fifties with life experience and less-impressive breasts. I rose to my feet as she held out her hand for me to shake. It felt tiny, like a child’s. She ushered us towards the door with a smile. ‘We’re in room thirteen just down the hall.’

  ‘I hope that’s not a portent of doom,’ I joked. Shut up, Natalie, we’re taking this seriously, remember?

  As we entered the room and took our seats in front of her, I started to feel sick. How had my life reached this point? How could this be happening? Positive thoughts, Nat. Go to your happy place. I looked towards Dan. He saw my fear and reached out to squeeze my hand. I noticed the woman glance at this gesture. He moved it away as soon as he saw her looking.

  ‘My name is Abigail Waters. I’ll be your counsellor over the course of all our meetings. Today is about me trying to understand what you need, to assess your expectations and see what it is you hope to get out of this. Then we can discuss a programme of sessions. Is that okay?’ I glanced at Dan, who was nodding, so I joined in. ‘Great, so maybe we could talk about what brings you here today. Who would like to start?’

  Dan and I exchanged glances. I could see that he was unsure of what to say and it irritated me. He was the one who had suggested this, for crying out loud. Did I have to do everything? I turned to Abigail. ‘He told me that he doesn’t love me any more.’ It sounded ridiculous – the kind of thing a child would say to their mother because another kid was being mean to them.

  ‘I see. And have you had any discussions about the reasons for this?’ she asked.

  I turned my gaze to Dan. For a moment he looked unrecognisable – shrunken, dejected, ashamed. I felt a rising sense of panic as I looked back at Abigail. ‘The thing is, we still get on just as we always did. We talk about our days, share time with our son. Nothing has changed except Dan’s not living with us at the moment and for some reason, he can’t tell me what’s wrong.’

  Abigail nodded but didn’t comment on what I’d said. Somehow this annoyed me. Instead she turned to Dan. ‘Do you have anything you’d like to add?’

  He stared at his feet and nodded. He couldn’t look at me. ‘Everything that Nat says is true,’ he confirmed.

  Abigail nodded again. She was so calm and measured.

  I wasn’t. ‘Is that all you can say?’ I cried. ‘Are you just going to sit there barely speaking? Are you going to continue to ignore my feelings with your pathetic silence?’ I spat the words.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  ‘Natalie, I can see how angry you are. Could you tell me what you would like to get out of these sessions?’ asked Little Miss Reasonable.

  Mrs Unreasonable glared at her. ‘I want my life back!’ I raged. ‘I want to know what the fuck this is all about and I want to get my life back. For the sake of my son and me.’

  She nodded. ‘I understand and I will do all I can to help you. What I am seeing is a communication problem.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ I hissed. ‘Sorry,’ I said with immediate regret.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she replied. ‘I am going to suggest a series of individual and pair sessions so that we can get both parties communicating properly. Do you think that will work for you both?’

  Dan glanced up and nodded. I shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘So I am going to give you a couple of questionnaires to fill in confidentially and return to me. Then I’ll set up the necessary appointments, okay?’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Dan.

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  As I read the questions in the waiting room, it occurred to me that my marriage was now being determined by the kind of quizzes I used to pore over with my friends as a teenager.

  Q6: The most important thing to keep a relationship fresh is?

  I looked over at Dan, who was staring down at the questions and making the occasional mark on the paper. In a time before this, I would have nudged him and quipped, ‘Oi, is the answer to Question 6 “clean pants”?’ We would have chuckled and all would have been well. However, there was nothing amusing about this situation and by the time I had filled out both questionnaires, my boiling anger had been reduced to a simmer and I felt exhausted. I handed my paper in to the receptionist, who promised that Abigail would be in touch. I nodded and headed towards the exit without looking back.

  I heard Dan hurrying after me but kept walking. ‘Nat, wait!’ he called.

  I walked out of the front door, onto the street. He caught up with me, grabbing my arm. ‘Please, Nat.’

  I turned on him. ‘That was humiliating!’ I hissed. ‘YOU wanted to come for counselling, Dan. YOU. Not me. And so we go, but you don’t speak. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he implored. ‘I’m so sorry. I know I’m not being fair but I’m just struggling at the moment. Nat, please.’

  I looked into his eyes and realised that he was crying. I wanted to stay angry, really I did, but he was still my husband and I still loved him. I put my arms around him and held him, like a child. I wondered at the pair of us, standing on the street like this, a weeping man and a confused woman. ‘Why can’t you just talk to me, Dan? Why can’t you tell me how you feel?’

  ‘Honestly?’ he replied, pulling back from our embrace.

  ‘Honestly,’ I said.

  ‘Because the truth is, I don’t know how I feel at the moment.’

  I patted his shoulders. ‘Okay. Okay then. Talk to that woman-child in there,’ I said, gesturing behind us. ‘See if she can’t inject some youthful wisdom into our lives.’

  He nodded weakly. ‘Thank you. I think it will really help.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Listen, I would suggest a coffee but I’ve got to go and meet someone, so—’

  I nodded. ‘You go. Are you still okay for Thursday?’

  ‘Absolutely. I look forward to Thursdays.’

  Me too, I thought, but not for the same reasons. I watched him head off along the street, worrying that what I thought was a bump in the road of my marriage had turned into a bloody big pot-hole. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket with a call and pulled it from my pocket. That was a mistake.

  ‘Natalie! Where are you?’ barked Caroline.

  I glanced back towards the centre. ‘I’ve just left the counselling session and I’m off home to work.’

  ‘How quickly can you get to Croydon?’ she asked, ignoring everything I had just said.

  ‘Er, why?’

  ‘Because, Radio Croydon want to interview us at noon about the community hall campaign.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Yes! They want to talk to me because I’m campaign manager and you because you’re Natalie Garfield. So I’ll see you there at 11.45, okay? I’ll text you the address.’

  And with that she was gone and apparently I had just over an hour to get to Croydon. On reflection, I should have phoned her back and told her that I couldn’t go. In fact, I should have said ‘no’ to Caroline right at the start of this whole community hall debacle. I had too much going on, too many balls juggling above my head and I was starting to lose my grip on a few of them. Actually, I was starting to lose my g
rip full stop. Unfortunately, ‘no’ wasn’t a word that Caroline understood, which is why I found myself hurrying along the street towards the Tube.

  I spied a coffee shop on a corner by the station and decided that I needed a shot or six of caffeine to get me through the next few hours. And that was when I saw them. Dan had his back to me but I could see the woman. She was beautiful with wild, curly hair and huge eyes. She must have been in her late twenties and she was staring into my husband’s eyes as he held her hand. I froze. This was the moment when I was supposed to react, when I was supposed to storm in there and confront them. I was meant to stand in front of them, furious and magnificent, demanding to know what the fuck they thought they were playing at.

  I, Natalie Garfield, was the wronged party and I would seek my revenge. It’s strange because that’s what I always thought I would do. In the film of my life, I am tough – I am Wonder Woman, smart, kick-ass and in charge. In reality, I am really quite tired, usually in need of caffeine and keen to let someone else take charge. Which is why I turned and ran away. I sat on the Tube, feeling numb and bruised, my mind racing again. This was obviously what Dan was trying to work out – it was a clear ‘her’ or ‘me’ kind of situation.

  Of course, at this stage I really should have gone straight home. I should have asked Doly to collect Woody, shut the front door, watched a weepy movie, eaten my body-weight in chocolate digestives and given in to a fit of hysterical crying. So it was strange when I found myself getting on the train to Croydon. Apparently, my heart wanted to give in but my head had decided that even spending an hour or two in the company of Caroline ‘less empathy than my fingernail’ Taylor was better than letting me wallow in self-pity. Bloody brain.

  As we left the radio station two hours later, I could see Caroline watching me. I knew what she was thinking.

  Is Natalie okay or should I phone a mental health professional?

  I was wondering the same thing myself.

  ‘I need a drink,’ I said, crossing the road, not waiting to see if she followed me. She did follow me and moments later we found ourselves in one of the more unprepossessing pubs on earth. The carpet was brown, the walls were brown, the bar was brown and sticky. ‘What do you want?’ I asked as I approached the bar.

  ‘I don’t usually drink at lunchtime,’ she replied.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ I said. ‘A large gin and tonic please, not too much tonic.’

  The barman, whose neck was the same width as two of my calves put together, glared at Caroline in a way that could only be described as hostile. ‘Just a diet tonic for me, please,’ she offered.

  He fetched our drinks and placed them on the bar without a word or a smile. I looked up at him. ‘Three eighty,’ he growled.

  ‘Please,’ corrected Caroline. I almost laughed at her gumption but she held the man’s gaze as he scowled back at her.

  ‘Please,’ he added.

  ‘Manners maketh man,’ she murmured, as I led us to the least filthy table I could find, ignored the crumbs underneath it and sat on a chair facing the rest of the pub. It was a huge place with half a dozen screens showing sports news that no-one was watching. An elderly couple sat by the window eating what looked like fish and chips. There was a scattering of unhappy-looking lone drinkers, mostly men, nursing pints and crosswords. It was a depressing scene. I took a large swig of my drink and welcomed the anaesthetising sensation of alcohol.

  ‘So,’ began Caroline, watching my face, ‘how do you think that went?’

  I shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess.’ ‘Okay’ may have been a tad inaccurate. ‘Car crash’ or ‘bloody disaster’ were probably more appropriate, but then the world always looks brighter after a sip of gin.

  She nodded. ‘I mean, I appreciate why you decided to break into song. It illustrated our point very well, but you were a little pitchy.’

  Everyone’s a critic. I took another gulp of my drink and looked her in the eye. ‘Well, I’m sorry. I was nervous and the DJ put me on the spot by asking us what we like to sing.’ In truth, I was very wound up and hadn’t even meant to sing – it had sort of come out, like a nervous reflex. I was just relieved that no-one I knew was likely to hear it. ‘Okay, so it wouldn’t get me a place on The X Factor but it was entertaining. The DJ loved it.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she observed. ‘However, I do think it would have been better if you hadn’t sworn.’

  ‘I only said “bollocks”.’

  ‘On live radio.’

  ‘No-one listens to Radio Croydon. And anyway, you didn’t tell me that MP was going to be there. He was bloody patronising.’

  ‘I know, but you probably shouldn’t have called him a supercilious twit.’

  ‘I don’t agree with his politics and I hate the way his government insists on selling off everything that makes life better, like refuges, libraries and community halls. He annoyed me,’ I added, folding my arms.

  ‘I think we all heard how much he annoyed you, Natalie,’ said Caroline, her face serious. ‘It’s just that you need to keep calm in situations like these. Otherwise we lose popular support.’

  All right, Alistair Campbell. It was Radio sodding Croydon, not Question Time. Enough of the spin-doctor act. I glared at her. ‘If you don’t like what I say then don’t ask me to come. In fact, just don’t ask me at all. I’ve got too much shit to deal with at the moment. I haven’t got time for this.’

  She stared at me in surprise. She’d touched a nerve and for once she seemed to realise it. ‘Did the counselling not go as you hoped then?’

  It was my turn to be surprised. Do I detect a note of actual concern in her voice? Surely not. I sighed. I needed to talk to someone about this and in the absence of Oprah, Caroline Taylor would have to do. ‘The counselling was okay but on my way over here I saw Dan with another woman.’

  Caroline didn’t seem surprised. ‘And who was she?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘What do you mean? Surely you confronted them?’

  I did confront them but only in my mind. Does that count? ‘Er no, not exactly.’

  ‘Natalie! Why didn’t you go right in there and demand to know what was happening?’

  ‘I don’t know, okay? I just don’t know! I’m scared or stupid or weak. Or probably a combination of all three.’

  Caroline fixed me with a look. ‘Shall I tell you what I’m going to do?’

  – Contradict my damning assessment of myself?

  – Beat up Dan and his floozie for me?

  ‘What?’ I asked, feeling a little scared.

  ‘I’m going to come home with you, help you pick out an outfit – you know, the one that makes you feel powerful?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Caroline, my Wonder Woman outfit is at the dry cleaner’s.’

  She fixed me with a stern look. ‘Natalie, if you want to save your marriage, you need to start taking life seriously.’

  I shrugged my shoulders in reply.

  She seemed satisfied as she continued. ‘I will collect Woody from school and look after him while you go and meet Dan. Don’t give him a get-out. Just tell him when and where you’re meeting and then stride in there and demand to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Because I think going home and hiding under the duvet until everything’s sorted is a better option.

  ‘Do you want to save your marriage or not?’

  Well, when you put it like that. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then this is what needs to happen. You have to know where you stand before you can solve it. Trust me. This will work.’

  We were interrupted by my phone ringing. ‘Oh, crap,’ I said as I noticed the caller ID. It was my agent. ‘Hi, Barbara,’ I answered, wincing, ready for a telling-off.

  ‘Dear heart!’ she boomed. ‘I have good news.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. You’re an internet sensation, my cherub. Calling that MP a fascist chump could be the best thing you’ve ever done. You’re a heroine of the peop
le.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ This was an unexpected turn of events.

  ‘So you’re probably going to be quite interesting to the media. I shall do my best to police but you can expect to feature in Metro, Mail Online and quite a few others either this evening or tomorrow. Congratulations. I’ll give them your number, okay. And Natalie?’

  ‘Mhmm?’

  ‘Next time you plan to take a political stand, do me a favour and give me a bit of effing notice, will you? I don’t like surprises.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry.’ I hung up.

  ‘What was that about?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘Apparently my interview has hit the media – must be a quiet news day.’

  ‘Oh, but this is wonderful,’ cried Caroline, leaping up and almost knocking over our drinks. ‘Well done!’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, feeling anything other than jubilant.

  ‘Right, onwards and upwards! We need to get you spruced up before you go and meet Dan.’

  ‘Are you sure this is the right thing to do?’ I asked, staring at her imploringly. Please say, ‘No, going home and eating an entire tub of Cookie Dough ice cream is far more sensible.’

  ‘Of course. You have to keep fighting, Natalie. You can’t give up.’

  Can’t I? Why do I have to keep on fighting?

  Hearing that your husband doesn’t love you any more is heart-breaking but realising that he loves someone else instead of you, that you have been effectively evicted from that place in his heart and replaced, is devastating. Who wants to rake through that steaming pile of dirt, to receive formal confirmation that your love is no longer required?

  You are no longer the one and only. You’re just alone and lonely.

  ‘Come on, chop, chop,’ breezed Caroline as we made our way to the tram stop. I could see that she wasn’t going to let me get out of this. ‘Face the fear and do it anyway,’ she said.

  Facing the fear was just about right, as well as dreading what I would find out along the way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CAROLINE

  The pub was quite busy as I arrived with Zoe and Amanda. I was grateful for their support. I had known them both since Matilda was small and we shared a similar sense of what was important. Plus, they both had impeccable taste in clothes and furnishings. Amanda was an interior designer by trade and always happy to give advice on the latest styles. We approached the bar. Tony the landlord smiled as he recognised me.