Daddy’s Little Princess

by Cathy Glass

  On Saturday morning, as arranged, I took Beth home for the weekend. Adrian, Paula and I stayed for about fifteen minutes and admired Beth’s new bedroom and the newly framed photographs in the living room – lovely photographs, of Beth playing and with her father and Marianne. I drove us home, then after lunch I took Adrian and Paula to the park, where I pushed Paula on the swings and then the roundabout, while Adrian worked the seesaw and followed the mini assault course. That evening I cooked dinner and then telephoned my parents as I usually did at the weekend. I told Mum that John was working over the weekend and she suggested we went there for Sunday lunch, but we couldn’t, as I had to collect Beth at four o’clock.

  ‘We’ll come over as soon as Beth has returned home,’ I said. By which time I hoped John would have returned home too.

  On the Sunday morning I took Adrian and Paula swimming at the leisure centre, as John and I did sometimes at weekends. I swam and pretended I was enjoying myself. Then at four o’clock we collected Beth. She’d had a great weekend and didn’t want to leave, but Marianne and Derek explained we all had to follow Jessie’s timetable, and that it was only one more weekend before she could move home for good.

  ‘Yippee,’ she said.

  In quieter moments when I was alone, especially at night, I went over John’s words in my head, time and time again, checking to see if I had heard them correctly, and then searching for a clue as to why. Could I – should I – have seen it coming? Had there been indicators that had suggested we weren’t happy? Not that I’d seen. Which made me think I must have been incredibly insensitive not to notice John’s unhappiness. How cold I must have appeared to him, not to have seen his suffering. How could I have let it get to this point?

  I telephoned John’s work number with the intention of acknowledging my failings, apologizing and begging – if necessary – for John to come home so we could talk about what had gone wrong, when I would promise to change in whatever way he wanted. But of course John wasn’t there, he was on holiday, and a recorded message said he was on annual leave and then gave the telephone number of a colleague who could be contacted if it was urgent. I desperately needed to speak to John, and I willed the days to go quickly so that when he returned I could apologize and hopefully make everything all right.

  Jessie telephoned for feedback after Beth’s first weekend stay, and I told her that it had gone very well. She said she was pleased with the way Derek and Marianne were relating to Beth and managing her behaviour. She also confirmed that, if it continued to go well, Beth would return home for good as planned the weekend after next.

  On the Wednesday of that week, ten days after John’s telephone call, a postcard arrived. I heard the letterbox go, and then found the card lying face down on the mat in the hall with the other mail. I recognized John’s handwriting and my heart set up a queer little rhythm – of hope – until I began to read.

  Hi kids,

  I expect Mummy has told you that Daddy is having a well-deserved rest. I’m staying in a hotel on a beautiful island in the Indian Ocean. You can see from the picture on the front that it has palm trees, blue sea and sky, and miles of white sand. And tortoises! How about that! I bet you wish you were here. See you soon. I miss you both.

  Love Daddy.

  It was addressed to Adrian and Paula only.

  I turned over the postcard to look at the picture. Clear blue sea and skies, miles of white sand and a giant tortoise, just as John said, and beneath the picture were printed the words: The Seychelles.

  My hurt and anger rose, not so much for me, but for Adrian and Paula. How insensitive of him. How selfish and thoughtless to send them a card. They were missing their father dreadfully, and they’d never been abroad. Of course they’d wish they were with him, especially on a luxurious holiday. And why hadn’t John addressed the card to me as well? Was it because he’d already written me out of his life? It appeared so. I reread the card and then hid it away in a drawer. I wouldn’t show the children. It would be too hurtful and would raise more questions than I could answer at present. My eyes filled as I pictured their little faces if I showed them the card – impressed by where their daddy was, but unable to understand why he’d gone on holiday without them.

  That evening, when all three children were in bed and asleep, I took the postcard from the drawer and read it again. John’s behaviour was so out of character – first the phone call and then the card – that I struggled to believe he was the same person I’d married and lived with all these years. John had never been on holiday by himself before in his life, and he’d said that those who did seemed ‘a bit sad’. A ‘Billy-no-mates’, he’d called them once. While, I supposed, there was a first time for everything, something didn’t gel. I returned the postcard to the bottom of the drawer and then went upstairs and into my bedroom, with the intention of searching John’s personal belongings.

  Like most couples, John and I respected each other’s privacy, so I would never normally have gone into his wardrobe or drawers, unless I was putting away his clean clothes. Now, however, everything was different, and although I felt guilty and degraded right from the start, I needed answers – however hurtful they may be – and possibly I’d find them here. I began by going through his wardrobe where he kept his suits, jackets and trousers, dipping my hand into the pockets and taking out and examining what I found. I didn’t know what I was looking for and part of me hoped I wouldn’t find it – whatever it was. There were receipts from hastily grabbed coffees, chewing-gum wrappers, tissues, Biros and a couple of elastic bands, all of which I returned to the pockets exactly as I found them, loathing myself for being so underhand and sly. Then, about halfway through the rail of hangers, I dipped my hand into the pocket of his leather jacket. It had been my Christmas present to him last year. I drew out a folded receipt and opened it. It was from a jeweller a long way from where we lived and was for a silver bracelet, cost £79. It wasn’t my birthday or Christmas, and I hadn’t received a bracelet from John, although the receipt was dated two months previously.

  I refolded the receipt, returned it to his jacket pocket and continued to the next garment: a pair of corduroy trousers. Both pockets were empty. But in the next pair of trousers I found another jeweller’s receipt, this time for a diamond drop necklace, which had cost him £350. It was a different jeweller, but in the same part of the country as the first. In the other pocket of these trousers I found two torn-off cinema tickets – not to any film I’d seen. Then, in a suit pocket, I found a receipt for a restaurant where the bill had come to £107 and had included a bottle of champagne, together with a hotel receipt for £245, for one night. John stayed in hotels while working away, but not five-star hotels on the coast, as this one was. His company put him and his colleagues in budget motels close to their place of work. It was dated the last weekend John hadn’t come home, when I distinctly remembered him saying he’d been working in Rugby. This hotel was over a hundred miles from Rugby.

  I should have stopped searching then. I’d already found more than enough. We hadn’t drifted apart as John had claimed. The reason he wanted a divorce was because he’d been seeing someone else. I now doubted he was on holiday alone. I don’t know why I didn’t stop searching. It would have been less painful. Curiosity, perhaps – to see what else he’d been up to, and what other gifts he’d bought for her. Or possibly I still didn’t believe that John was capable of this, and I’d discover something to show that I was wrong. I delved into the pocket of the next pair of trousers and drew out a neat little gift card with an embossed picture of a red heart on the front. Perhaps it was for me? I opened it. In a delicate script – not John’s handwriting – were the words: To my dearest John. On our first anniversary, a small token of my undying love. Love you forever. Zara x.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Couple in the Playground

  No words can describe the desperate sadness, the fear of my now unknown future and the sense of abandonment I felt that night as I was forced to accept
John had left me for another woman. I knew who Zara was. John had introduced me to her at his firm’s Christmas party. She was a colleague, the only female in an otherwise all-male team, and ten years younger than John. I’d always assumed I’d be married for life, and that John and I would grow old together, loving and caring for each other into our twilight years, just as my parents did. All that had now gone. I thought of Dr Jones’s praise for my two-parent family and how much Beth had benefited from being part of it. I also thought of all the times I’d defended John to the children when he’d worked away. ‘It’s because Daddy loves us and wants to give us a better future,’ I’d said. How bitterly ironic those words seemed now. Yet while I felt sorry for myself, I felt even more sorry for Adrian and Paula, who would now grow up without their father’s presence.

  Beth had one more week with us before she moved, and I didn’t want to ruin her last days with upset and tears, so I didn’t tell anyone that John had left us and continued as best I could. I saved my tears for when I sat alone in the living room at night or lay unsleeping in my bed. Sometimes, during the day, my tears would suddenly well up uncontrollably and I’d rush from the room and upstairs and shut myself in the bathroom until I’d composed myself, rather than break down in front of the children. But as far as Beth was concerned, she’d leave us as she’d found us. And at that time Adrian and Paula were also blissfully unaware that anything had changed.

  When John telephoned after his return from holiday it was Friday – the day before Beth was due to leave us. He sounded relaxed and not at all embarrassed. ‘Hello, I’m back from holiday,’ he said, and then asked if the children had missed him.

  ‘They’ve missed you,’ I confirmed.

  ‘I’ll come to see them next weekend,’ he said, ‘when I’ve had a chance to sort myself out after the holiday.’

  ‘OK,’ I said coolly.

  ‘I’ll get there first thing on the Saturday morning and I’ll take them out for the day, but I won’t stay overnight. Now we’ve decided to separate, it’s not appropriate for me to sleep there any more.’ Which felt like a big slap in the face.

  ‘We haven’t decided to separate,’ I said, no longer able to contain my feelings. ‘You made that decision. And, John, it didn’t have anything to do with us “drifting apart” or “not getting along”. It was your choice to end our marriage because you’re having an affair with Zara.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘No one told me. I found out. Please give me some credit and stop lying. You’ve lied enough already.’

  It went very quiet on the other end of the phone and, just for a moment, I thought he might admit his affair, apologize, say he’d made the biggest mistake of his life and ask to come back, then I would have forgiven him and put the past behind us. But he didn’t.

  Clearing his throat, he said stiffly, ‘I’ve made an appointment to see a solicitor next week. I suggest you do the same.’ Another big slap in the face.

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ I said.

  ‘It’s for the best. And it won’t do the children any good if you blame me. I’m their father and they still love me.’

  ‘I know they do,’ I said.

  I finished the last of Beth’s packing that afternoon. Then Friday evening I made Beth a special tea with jelly and ice cream and cupcakes – a little leaving tea – and then organized some games, with just the four of us. When she went to bed she was excited, but also a little sad and she wanted lots of cuddles, and reassurance that she would still see us, which was only natural. The following morning there was little time for brooding; once we were all up, washed and dressed and had had breakfast, Marianne and Derek arrived – as arranged – at 10.30 a.m.

  It was a beautiful summer’s day, already warm, and with temperatures predicted to soar. Jessie had told us to keep our goodbyes short so that Beth wouldn’t become upset. Marianne and Derek knew I wouldn’t be offering them coffee, and I had all Beth’s cases ready in the hall. We all helped load their car with a bittersweet excitement, for although Beth was starting her new life, she was leaving ours. Once all her cases, bags and boxes of toys were in the car, I gave her a leaving present, which she said she’d open on the way home.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said sweetly. ‘I will still see you at school, won’t I?’

  ‘You certainly will,’ I said.

  Adrian and Paula hugged Beth first and then it was my turn. I swallowed hard as I felt her little arms around me for the last time. After a while I gently eased her away. ‘Bye, love. You’re a good girl.’

  We stood on the pavement as Derek, Marianne and Beth climbed into their car and fastened their seatbelts. Then they wound down their windows so they could wave. We all waved vigorously until they were out of sight and then Adrian, Paula and I slowly filed back indoors. My heart was heavy, not only from Beth leaving, but now I had to tell my children about their father. I couldn’t put it off any longer.

  ‘Can we fill the paddling pool?’ Adrian asked, as I closed the front door. He was referring to the children’s inflatable pool that we filled with water in the garden when the weather was fine.

  ‘Yes, in a while,’ I said. ‘First, I need to talk to you both.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Mum?’ Adrian asked, seeing my expression grow serious.

  ‘Come and sit down, please.’ I led the way into the living room, my eyes already filling. I knew I had to stay calm and in control for the sake of the children. I sat on the sofa with Adrian on one side and Paula on the other. Toscha was asleep in the sun falling through the patio window. Stretching out, she lazily turned over without waking.

  ‘Is it about Dad?’ Adrian asked, looking at me anxiously.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I said.

  The colour drained from his face.

  ‘Daddy is safe and well,’ I quickly reassured him. ‘He’ll be seeing you as planned next weekend. But there are going to be a few changes, and one of them is that he won’t be staying the night any longer.’

  ‘Why not?’ Paula asked.

  ‘Sshh. Listen,’ Adrian said.

  I took a breath. ‘Sadly, like the daddies of some of the children at your school and playgroup, your daddy is now living in another house, and not with us any more. He will still see you both regularly. He’ll come here and will take you out for the day.’ Adrian and Paula were so young that I thought it was best to concentrate on the practicalities. ‘Daddy loves you loads and that will never change,’ I said.

  There was a moment’s silence before Adrian asked, ‘Are you getting divorced?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Why?’ Paula asked.

  ‘Because it’s what Daddy wants,’ I said. I wouldn’t criticize John to the children, but I certainly wouldn’t lie for him. I was relieved Paula didn’t ask why he wanted a divorce, for I wouldn’t have known what to say.

  ‘Is that why Dad hasn’t been coming home much?’ Adrian now asked, his little face sadder than it should ever have been. ‘Because he wants a divorce?’

  ‘Yes, and work,’ I said. ‘He has been working away a lot.’ Although in truth I no longer knew how much of his absence was due to work and how much was due to Zara.

  I slipped my arms around their shoulders and drew them close. ‘If there was anything I could do to change this, then I would,’ I said. ‘But I’m afraid there isn’t. We’ll still be a family, just a different one. Please try not to worry. I’ll look after you. You two are my world and I’ll never leave you, ever.’

  ‘Have you told Nana and Grandpa?’ Adrian now asked.

  ‘Not yet. I’ll phone them this evening. I thought you two should know first.’

  Adrian nodded solemnly and his brow furrowed. I hated John for what he was doing to the children.

  ‘Can we go to Nana and Grandpa’s tomorrow?’ Paula asked, not fully appreciating the enormity of what I was saying but feeling this might help.

  ‘Yes, if you’d like to,’ I said.
<
br />   ‘I’d like to,’ Adrian said.

  I looked at him, suddenly old beyond his years. ‘What are you thinking, love?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing much.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose if Dad has made up his mind there’s nothing we can do. And we’ll always have you, Mum, won’t we?’

  ‘You will.’

  He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. So too did Paula. We sat on the sofa for some moments, hugging and in silence. Sometimes a hug can say a thousand words. Then I said gently, ‘Do either of you have any questions?’

  Adrian shook his head, and Paula copied him.

  ‘If you do think of anything, promise me you’ll tell me. I’m here for you and I always will be.’

  ‘I’ll always be here for you too, Mum,’ Adrian said, and the tears in my eyes fell.

  I knew the telephone call to my parents that evening would be difficult, although as it turned out they weren’t as shocked as I’d expected them to be.

  ‘Your father and I thought John was working away too much,’ Mum said. ‘You couldn’t see it, but we’ve had our doubts for a while. I’m sorry this has happened to you, of all people. You really didn’t deserve it. You gave that man everything he needed.’

  ‘Clearly not,’ I said cynically.

  ‘How will you and the children manage?’ Mum asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘But we will.’ In truth, I didn’t know how we were going to manage – financially, emotionally or on any level. There seemed so much to think about.

  ‘You won’t have to move house, will you?’ Mum asked.

  ‘I hope not,’ I said.

  Dad, who’d been listening in the background, now asked to speak to me. He said how sorry he was and then – ever practical – offered me a loan. ‘You only have to ask,’ he said, ‘and we’ll have the money ready. I don’t want you and the children wanting for anything.’ Which made me cry again.