by K. L. Slater
You bet it was. It was incredibly important to me and my career.
I say, ‘It’s OK, Mum, it can’t be helped.’
‘Couldn’t Shaun have looked after—’
‘He was out for the evening.’
‘I see,’ she says in a tone that implies she is very aware that things have changed between me and my husband but grudgingly accepts I don’t want to talk about it.
After Maisie went to bed, I ran a bath but was too fidgety to lie there for very long. I took myself off to bed at ten o’clock and forced myself to read. When I realised I’d started the same page for the third time, I gave up and just lay there in the dark, crying in frustration before finally dropping off.
I didn’t sleep well, the words of Joanne’s voicemail circulating endlessly in my mind.
And now, Shaun creeping in at just after midnight will surely put paid to any more rest.
I cock my head to one side and listen as his socked feet pad softly along the landing. They come to a stop outside my bedroom door.
Only a few weeks ago, it was our bedroom, but I already feel an ownership of it. Now, it’s my own private space.
Annoyingly, I see I left the door slightly ajar, and so I keep my eyes closed and my breathing regular as he nudges it open a smidgeon more and light spills into the room from the landing.
No doubt he’ll be dithering over whether to wake me to apologise or to relay an elaborate excuse he’s thought up while driving back to the house from wherever it is he’s been all evening.
I can feel the anger and frustration hurtling around my chest again like a squash ball. My fingernails cut into my palms under the covers but I continue to feign sleep because I don’t trust myself to have a reasonable, controlled conversation right now.
Besides, why should I give him the satisfaction of getting it over and done with so he can have a good night’s sleep knowing he won’t have to face me in the morning?
I wait until I hear the door squeak closed again, until the soft pad of his feet carries him next door and into the spare bedroom where he now sleeps.
I turn over onto my back, hearing him cough. There’s a dull thud as he cracks open the window for a little air.
Only then do I sit up, swing my legs over the side and click on the bedside lamp. The wall illuminates with a soft globe of light and I stare at the faint square of lighter paint on the wall next to me.
This is the spot where our framed wedding photograph hung for eleven years. I’d chosen it for our bedroom; it had been my favourite out of hundreds that the photographer took on the day.
Me in my pearl- and crystal-encrusted white dress, clutching a simple bouquet of calla lilies. Shaun in his navy suit and crisp white shirt with a dusty-pink silk tie that matched exactly the colour of our three small bridesmaids’ dresses.
The photographer had managed to catch an ‘unofficial’ moment where we’d gazed at each other, our faces rapt in adoration.
The photo is in the bottom of the wardrobe now. I took it down a while ago, after Shaun and I had our talk and made our difficult decision.
A sudden thud rattles me back into the here and now as the bedroom door swings open wide and hits the wall.
‘I knew you were pretending to sleep,’ Shaun says triumphantly, leaning on the door frame. ‘I only wanted to say I’m sorry about tonight.’
‘You woke me up coming in, actually,’ I say acidly. ‘It would have been better if you’d stayed out all night, wherever it is you’ve been.’
He sighs, walks into the room and pushes the door closed behind him as if he still sleeps in here.
I fold my arms and watch as he strides over to the window, peers through the curtains at the inky night sky beyond and then pulls them back in place again.
‘I mean it, I really am sorry,’ he says. ‘It couldn’t be helped. It was… completely unavoidable.’
Oh, this is going to be a good excuse, I can feel it. But I’m not going to ask him anything about where he’s been and what could have been so important he couldn’t call or text to let me know.
I’m not going to make it easier for him in any way.
‘Did you think about Maisie at all tonight?’ I say instead. ‘Had it slipped your mind that you’d agreed to look after her… that she might be left home alone?’
He swallows. ‘Is she OK? I mean, you were with her, right?’
He glances at my phone on the bedside table.
‘Oh yes, I was with her. You kindly made that decision for me.’
A muscle flexes in his jaw.
‘The way you said it, I thought something had happened. I know we made an agreement, but—’
‘If you were a single parent you couldn’t just take off and leave her alone like that.’
‘Point taken, but I knew you were home and—’
‘You knew I was home and that I’d change my plans and step in despite our understanding that you would care for Maisie because I had to work. You didn’t give a thought about any commitments I might have, just assumed I’d do what I’ve always done.’
During our marriage, I’ve obviously done a great job of teaching Shaun that my needs are not in the least bit important. I’ve taught him I can be relied upon to change my plans with zero notice, despite what we might have agreed.
I like to think I’m a progressive, independent woman, but clearly I’m fooling myself. I might as well be my mother, treated like something on the bottom of my dad’s shoe for all those unhappy years.
‘Look, don’t be like this, Em.’ Shaun sighs, as if I’m testing his patience. ‘Something came up and I had to go. I just had to go, OK?’
Something came up.
I wonder what her name is, I think wryly, while hoping I’m way off.
‘You knew I had to listen to the webinar to prepare for my meeting tomorrow.’
‘Yours is not the only work that’s important, you know.’ He frowns, pursing his lips. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. Nobody died.’
‘And if somebody had died, you wouldn’t know about it because you made sure you were completely uncontactable.’
He actually smiles then and shakes his head, looks away as if he can’t believe my drama. I scrunch my toes into the carpet. I feel so angry, I want to roar at him.
I open my mouth to let rip, and he puts up his hand.
‘Wait,’ he says. ‘Just listen.’
I watch as his whole demeanour changes. His face is animated, his body tense with excitement.
‘I accept I went back on our agreement, but if truth be told, I have no regrets,’ he says simply, his cheeks flushing pink.
‘What?’ I shake my head at him. He’s not drunk, but he’s acting as if he is.
He steps forward and perches on the end of the bed. My bed.
‘It’s hard to know where to start, Em,’ he says softly.
If he thinks I’m going to make it easy for him, he’s sadly mistaken.
‘Emma, I…’
I roll my eyes. Life’s too short to dither like this.
‘Just say it. I promise I won’t judge you. We all make mistakes.’ If he’s been on some kind of dating site and taken someone out for a drink, then who am I to complain? So long as it’s not anything serious. It’s the upheaval to Maisie I’m worried about.
‘Has someone said something?’
I frown. The back of my neck prickles. ‘Said something about what, exactly?’
He takes a moment to breathe in, and then he speaks clearly and slowly.
‘Emma, I’m seeing someone and… well, it’s serious.’
My heart seems to leap into my throat and I stand up. I feel light-headed.
‘Since when?’ I manage.
‘You’ve gone pale, Em,’ he says. ‘Sit down.’
I do as I’m told.
He walks over, sits next to me on the bed. Reaches for my hand.
‘I know it must be a shock, but it was only a matter of time until we both moved on with other people, right? That�
�s why that silly arrangement of yours was so unrealistic, keeping our lives on hold like that.’
‘Silly arrangement of mine? We both agreed it was for the best and you know it.’
I snatch my hand away, fury coursing through my veins. I knew he was up to something. I bloody well knew it.
‘Exactly how long has this been going on for you to call it serious? Who is it?’
‘It’s only been the last couple of weeks. Since we split. I… I was never unfaithful to you,’ he stammers. ‘I didn’t plan for this to happen; it was just one of those instant attractions that knocks you for six.’
‘Instant attraction,’ I say faintly. ‘Like we always said happened to us.’
I feel a pang of something in the middle of my chest: sadness, regret, jealousy… I’m not sure. Maybe all three.
‘What’s her name?’
His face turns grey, and it scares me; he’s trying to hide something.
‘Who is it?’ I’m shouting.
Shaun stands up and takes a few steps away from me. He turns his hands over so his palms are facing upwards in front of him, as if I should back off because nothing can be done about it.
‘It’s Joanne Dent,’ he says.
Chapter Eight
‘Emma!’ Shaun dodges the pillow I launch at him. ‘For goodness’ sake, calm down!’
‘You sly, underhanded…’ I reach for a paperback and brandish it above my head, but my hand is shaking too much to throw it.
‘Look, I didn’t see the harm, OK?’ He holds his hands up in the air to ward me off. ‘The Post sent me to photograph some legal lunch and we just clicked. I’d seen her before at the dance school and… Well, at first it was just a chat and a coffee, and then…’
‘And then what?’
‘And then things moved really fast. Both of us were shocked. I felt out of control.’
I let out a bitter laugh. ‘But not out of control enough that you’d just slow down and think about the consequences of you shagging my boss, is that right?’
‘Emma! It wasn’t like that. I’m truly sorry. I… I can’t really explain it.’
I feel… violated. A strong word, perhaps inappropriate, but that is honestly the feeling that floods through me before other emotions swiftly follow.
‘You do know Joanne’s daughter is the exact same age as Maisie? What are the other dance mums going to say?’
‘I don’t care about them.’ He is suddenly sure of himself, a quality he had when I met him but that’s been missing for a long time. ‘Surely it’s a good thing that Maisie and Piper already know each other? There’s more chance of them getting along.’
‘Piper Dent is a spoiled little brat, and for your information, Maisie can’t stand her.’ I spit out the words like bitter pips. I don’t care that I sound churlish, and that adults aren’t supposed to speak that way about kids. It’s true.
Shaun shakes his head slowly, as if there’s no hope for me.
I take a breath and speak very slowly.
‘Your selfishness could cost me my career, you do realise that? What woman wants the ex-wife of her new boyfriend hanging around the office? She’ll fire me, employment law or not. They can always find a reason if they want to.’
‘No! She thinks a lot of you, thinks you’re very capable.’
‘You’ve discussed me?’ I snarl. ‘Now that really is pillow talk at its worst.’
‘It wasn’t like that, Em. She said you’ve already told her we’re not together as such.’
‘Whatever.’ I fold my arms and stare at the blank wall, rueing the day I confided in Joanne Dent. ‘I have to get some sleep so I can try and squeeze some work in tomorrow morning. I was too busy making sodding fish fingers for tea, you see, so our daughter didn’t go hungry. Just go. Please.’
He stands up, runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. Behind the bravado he looks dishevelled, his skin already shadowed with faint stubble. But he is still lit from within by a glow that, to my fury, my vitriol cannot dim.
‘I want to be on my own,’ I say before he tries to talk further.
A few minutes later, he’s in the spare room. The door closes behind him and I hear the light switch click off on the other side of the wall.
Finally I let out the breath I’ve been holding onto like a safety blanket.
Joanne Dent. Joanne Dent!
Of all the women he could have chosen to start a relationship with, it had to be my boss. Just when my career is finally taking off after all those hours of studying, of making sacrifices and slow, steady progress. This happens.
A month ago, I remember loitering at the kitchen window, washing and drying a few glasses just so I had a reason to stand and watch as Shaun chased Maisie around the garden.
It was such a joy to witness the wild abandon of our daughter, squealing, half choking with laughter as her dad mimed clumsy ape-like moves, purposely moving slowly so that Maisie could escape each time he drew near.
Just a few weeks before that, Shaun seemed to have his head constantly in a photography book, spending hours each evening perusing online photo libraries, researching the best place to bank his own photographs to maximise the pittance he received each time one was used.
The most Maisie could hope for was for him to sit next to her, still engrossed in his own activities but pretending to watch The Simpsons with her. Maisie wasn’t a massive fan of The Simpsons, but I noticed with an aching heart that she would put it on to tempt her dad to spend a bit of time with her, as she knew it was one of his favourites.
I was never in any doubt that Shaun loved Maisie with all his heart, of course he did. But his interest in photography always seemed to shout loudest and overtook his time with her.
I understood how being consumed by work felt, but as I had always been the parent who stayed home each night with Maisie, I had to curtail my time spent studying and working.
Our new arrangement had changed all that. It had given me more time for myself, and at the same time had gifted Shaun and Maisie the time to get to know each other again. And the real joy of it was that both of them had wholeheartedly embraced the chance to do so.
That’s why in my moments of doubt, when I questioned the unconventional nature of our home life, I still had the unswerving conviction that our decision had been the best thing for all three of us.
That day, when I’d wiped the last glass and set it on the shelf behind me, I stood a moment longer, smiling as Shaun finally captured Maisie in a bear hug after deliberately wrong-footing her near the trampoline.
I watched as they laughed together, hugged, stood still to get their breath back.
As Maisie buried her head in Shaun’s chest, I saw his face change. The smile melted away and an expression of pain took its place.
Now, I would admit that the arrangement to call time on our marriage was initially my idea but Shaun had readily agreed back then. He agreed with everything I suggested.
If it was what he wanted then, how could he do this? His actions will have consequences for all of us.
That day, when I’d watched my husband and daughter for a while out of the window, I’d forced myself to turn away, swallowed down the sour taste in my mouth.
Little did I know it was a portent of far worse to come.
Chapter Nine
Joanne
If she had only realised exactly who the rugged, slightly nervous photographer was, Joanne would have approached the entire situation differently.
But she hadn’t known. Not two weeks ago, anyway.
She shuffled paperwork around on her desk, just reorganising it, not actually processing any of it. She hated feeling distracted like this when there was so much work to get through.
She had been a full partner at Walker, Dent and Scott now for four years, and the time had flown by. It had always seemed to be the case that either very little happened in her life or, without warning, major events sprang up in super-quick time.
That was how it ha
d been when she met the photographer, as it still amused her to call him.
She had no reason to complain about anything, told herself every day that life was good. She was now secure financially and Piper was growing up into a clever, gregarious young person whom Joanne felt proud to parent.
On top of this, she truly loved her work and, without wanting to sound boastful, knew she was damn good at it. Her rapid rise in the legal profession was testament to this.
She had built a first-rate team around her at Walker, Dent and Scott. The support team of paralegals and administrative staff served all three partners, but in reality, they all had their preferred staff.
Roy and Dan, the other two partners, often worked with men but Joanne, understanding that the glass ceiling really did exist in the legal world, found satisfaction in giving other talented females a chance to shine where she could.
As a result, she got to know some of her staff better than others, particularly the women. She had her own private office on the second floor but tried to move around the building as much as she could, not least because her personal trainer told her to do something active for at least five minutes of each hour for the sake of her thighs, if not her workload.
So she often heard the staff talking about their personal lives. It was hard not to take bits in as she walked around the office. Some of them seemed to do nothing but gossip all day long, but she tried not to get dragged down into disciplining staff like a schoolteacher. Anya was both the office manager and the partners’ PA and that was her job.
Also, there was an unwritten policy that directed that the three partners should endeavour to separate themselves from everyday office affairs.
One of the functions of Anya’s role was to relay any rumblings of discontent or personal problems the staff were experiencing so the partners didn’t personally get drawn in but could be made aware.
Anya also liked a little gossip now and then when she brought Joanne’s coffee through.
Joanne was vaguely aware that the newly qualified paralegal, Emma Barton, had a husband and a little girl, Maisie, who was around the same age as her own daughter. The girls attended the same dance school in town, in one of Joanne’s own buildings, in fact. They often nodded to each other at drop-off or pick-up, but that was about it.
