Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect

by Knights, Sarah Catherine

  Wouldn’t it be good if life was like reality TV? If you cry enough, have a good back story, you get chosen.

  Well, real life isn’t like that, is it, Simon?

  Chapter Four

  So here I am, a month after the big revelation. It’s no easier – in fact, it’s getting more difficult by the day. Marriage is a state of mind more than anything. It’s been ‘we’ for so long … now it’s ‘I'.

  Being single when you’re twenty is fun – all those hopes and dreams, all those future relationships and adventures to look forward to. Being single at fifty-five is just … sad. All you’ve got to look forward to is drawing your pension, varicose veins and incontinence pads. Not the same at all.

  I did pull a sickie on that Monday – I just couldn’t face school.

  I couldn’t face Life, either. I lay in bed all day, just occasionally getting up to go to the fridge. Unfortunately, I still seemed to have an appetite – I obviously wasn’t going to be one of those women who lose loads of weight, in a crisis. In fact, I found myself comfort eating: toast with loads of butter; chocolate digestives that were hiding at the back of the cupboard and a whole tub of chocolate chip ice cream.

  By the evening, not only was I feeling sick from over-eating, but I was also feeling guilty about my classes – I have, despite everything, a deep-seated desire to do a good job. I went in on Tuesday, avoided the staffroom, kept my head down and left on the dot.

  *

  When he walked out that night, all I kept thinking about was Holly and Adam – although they’re ‘adults’ now and have their own lives, this was going to be devastating news for them. Particularly for Holly – she worships her Dad. Adam and David, on the other hand, fight like male lions, tearing each other apart, at every available opportunity. David just doesn't understand Adam and Adam thinks his father is a ‘dickhead’ (his words, not mine – but come to think of it, a pretty apt description.)

  Adam had been staying with a friend, the night before that Saturday, leaving the coast clear for David to do his evil deed. Holly lives in London, so was out of the picture, anyway.

  They’re so different, Adam and Holly. She’s so focussed and hard-working; Adam’s more of a free-spirit and hasn’t got a clue what he wants to do – he thinks that surfing is a great career choice and that his ‘A’ levels are irrelevant. None of us are sure he’ll pass any of them – he’s a bright boy, but doesn't apply himself to anything that involves sitting down.

  Adam texted late Saturday night; I was still staring at the television, unable to drag myself to my solitary bed. It read: Staying over again. See ya tomoz.

  When the phone vibrated, I thought for a mad moment it was David – Soz, bad joke, I know. Convincing though!

  But no, of course, it wasn’t him.

  Adam was always good at letting me know what he was doing and I was grateful that he’d done so this time. I had no energy left to worry about him that night.

  When he eventually wandered in at two o’clock on the Sunday afternoon, he didn’t even comment on the fact that David’s car wasn’t there – he probably didn’t even notice.

  I was still in my pyjamas and Gaz was looking extremely hard done-by.

  “You look rough, Mum … heavy night?” he said, as he dumped his bag in the middle of the floor.

  “Thanks. You could say that, yes.” I opened my mouth to tell him the news, but nothing came out. I was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by empty crisp packets. I stood up.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the day, Adam?”

  “Not a lot. I thought I’d have a kip now – didn’t get a lot of sleep last night or the night before, for that matter. Got a cracking head.”

  “Can I have a word …” I said, as he was making his way to the stairs.

  “What?”

  “I thought you should know … your Dad’s left.” I wasn’t sure how to tell him. Blunt, seemed the best way.

  “What d’ya mean? Where’s the old git gone?” Adam was always one for showing respect for his elders.

  “He’s left us. He’s gone to live with Mrs Barton, the PE teacher.” As I said it, it was like I was part of some awful sit-com.

  Adam’s face was a picture of incredulity. A smirk came over his face and he said, “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, Adam, I’m not. He told me, in great detail, which I could have done without, to be honest, how she and he have ‘fallen in love’ and that he’s left … for good, it seems.”

  The smile slipped from his face. He sat down on the sofa with a thump and looked at me with a face that reminded me of him when he was a little boy.

  “I don’t believe it. What a stupid, fucking twat he really is. How could he?” He jumped up suddenly and in a display of kindness that was pretty well unheard of from Adam, he came over to me and put his arms around me and hugged me hard. Having him show such raw emotion, set me off and tears now coursed down my face.

  “Oh Mum. How could he? He’ll be a laughing stock … everyone knows what she’s like. All the sixth form fancy her – there’s rumours she had sex with one of the guys in last year’s Sports ‘A’ Level classes.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” I said, wondering if it was. “Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

  We were standing together, still with arms around each other. Suddenly, he broke away and went and kicked the fridge door so hard, he actually dented it and then hopped around on one leg holding his foot.

  “Look, Adam – that won’t help. Your father’s made his decision … he may live to regret it but … he loves you both … very much.”

  “Yea, right … so much that he doesn’t even bother to tell me he’s leaving home. When is he planning to talk to me, then?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve got his mobile number – give him a ring, if you want.”

  “I’m not going to ring that pillock. Thank God I’m going to Australia – sorry Mum, I didn't mean ... but I really feel I might do something I’ll regret if I see him. God, when I think about all his lectures to me – about ‘knowing what you want in life’ and ‘focussing on your future’ and all that shit, it makes me sick. Some role model he’s turned out to be.”

  I couldn’t really disagree with him. There was part of me that thought I should be sticking up for David in front of this onslaught – no son should talk about his father in that way – but there was another part of me that thought, yes, what a bloody hypocrite you are, David McCarthy. How do you expect Adam to now ‘knuckle down’ as you kept saying? You’ve given him the incentive to go completely off the rails. Thanks for nothing.

  Adam did go upstairs to have a nap and the rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence, in front of the box. I was so pleased to have him there and realised it would only be a couple of weeks before he left. If this hadn’t happened, I would have been excited for Adam, loving the fact that he was going off with his best friend, Jake … having an adventure. Now, everything seemed ruined. I selfishly wanted him to stay, to be permanently ‘my little boy’ – but he’d stopped being that long ago.

  He told me later that he’d stormed into David’s office on Monday and had an almighty row with him. I bet the secretaries in the adjoining office enjoyed that. Serves him right. When Adam came home that evening, he told me that the whole school seemed to know – quite how, no one knew. Maybe they’d driven to school together, in the morning – gossip travels fast in that place. Adam said everyone was on ‘my side’, not David’s – quite how true that was, I don’t know, but it helped me decide to brave everyone the next day.

  As for Holly, I rang her late on Sunday night after Adam had kissed me goodnight, more lovingly that he’d done for years. I always spoke to her late in the evenings – Holly’s a great socialite and is out most nights, in clubs and bars. She’s one of those people who can be both conscientious and great fun, at the same time. She’s gregarious, loud, outspoken even, in social situations, but give her a job to do and she gets on with it, qui
ckly and efficiently.

  She’s very close to her Dad, so I knew her reaction would be quite different to her brother’s. I was, in fact, worried about telling her. I didn’t want this to come between them; after all, it had nothing to do with their relationship – it was between him and me. So I picked up the phone, with my hands already sweating. I was lying on what was now my bed, not ours, with just the bedside light on. I was in my pyjamas and was snuggled under the duvet.

  “Hey, Holly, it’s Mum,” I said, trying not to let my voice give myself away. “How was your day?”

  “Yea, great thanks. Three of us went off on Boris bikes and had Sunday lunch in a pub down by the canal. We’ve only just got back. Turned into a bit of a ‘sesh'. Met some great guys too. Got my eye on one – Greg. Gorgeous. I deliberately, but casually, managed to mention where I work, so maybe he’ll get in touch. There was definitely a bit of a ‘frisson’ between us. Sorry to witter on. How was your day?”

  I really didn’t want to break this bubble of excitement and happiness. I always loved hearing about Holly’s life; she was so enthusiastic about everything and she managed to convey it to me. She always cheered me up with her tales of London life and boyfriends. Greg was just another, in a long line of potentials. It was great the way she felt she could talk about it to me – I felt honoured that she trusted me enough.

  I paused before I said anything. How could I tell her, without making her Dad out to be the bad guy? “Holly, I’ve got some news …”

  “That sounds ominous – your voice tells me it’s not good news …” She was always very perceptive, my daughter.

  “No, it isn’t, I’m afraid. I … I mean your Dad and I …”

  “WHAT? You’re worrying me now …”

  “Your Dad and I are … separating.”

  I could hear a loud intake of breath at the other end of the phone. “You what?”

  “I said, we’re separating, Holly. I can’t say it any other way.”

  “But Mum … you and Dad are rock solid … all my friends always look at you two and say you’re the archetypal happy oldies. What’s going on? This is just a blip, isn’t it?”

  “No … Holly … I’m so sorry, but it isn’t ‘just a blip’ … it’s permanent – Dad’s already gone.”

  “WHAT? WHEN? Why didn’t you tell me, for God’s sake. Does Adam know?”

  “Yes, he knows …”

  “Why am I the last person to know?”

  “You’re not, not really – it’s just that Adam was here and … life’s been a bit difficult …”

  I could now hear sniffing at the other end of the line. Oh God, I wish I could have told her in person, but then she really would have had to wait to hear. “Look, Holly, he only went on Saturday evening … it was yesterday. I’ve been in a bit of a state, since then. I’m sorry I didn’t ring you.”

  “Sorry, Mum – I’m being selfish. I’m meant to be all grown up now, but I suddenly feel like a four year old, never mind a twenty-four year old. You’ve always both been there for us … you’re both everything to me,” she said. “You’re my role models … I thought you’d be there, together, forever.”

  “So did I, Holly. I thought I’d grow old with your Dad, but it seems he’s got other ideas.”

  “What do you mean? Tell me everything … tell me what’s happened.”

  So I had to tell her everything. I tried not to harp on about Suzie Barton; I glossed over her age – Holly didn’t know her from school; she’d left before Suzie flounced into the staffroom, for the first time. She’ll no doubt hear soon enough from Adam.

  “I can’t believe it, Mum. Why hasn’t Dad been in touch with me? When was he ever going to tell me?”

  “Look, Holly, don’t cry … it’ll all work out in the end. Dad’s feeling guilty … he probably doesn’t know how to tell you. Why don’t you ring him tomorrow and have a talk to him?”

  “Of COURSE I’m going to ring him. How could he? Are you okay, Mum? Do you want me to come home?”

  “Well, I won’t lie, I’ve been better, Holly, but no, you mustn’t come home. You’ve got work tomorrow and there’s nothing you can do, honestly. Adam’s here for a couple more weeks, so I’ve got company.”

  “He’s about as useless as a …”

  “Actually, Holly, he was really sweet to me, tonight. Don’t do your brother down. He’s very angry at your Dad, though.”

  “Yea, sorry … Adam can be quite caring, when he puts his mind to it. I wouldn’t like to be in Dad’s shoes when Adam confronts him.”

  “No … anyway, it’s late now, Holly. You go to bed and get some sleep. I’m so sorry to give you the news.”

  “Okay, I’ll go now, Mum, but I’ll ring tomorrow. Night night … try to get some sleep.”

  I put the phone down and lay back against the pillows, going over the conversation in my head. I hoped I’d broken it to her as well as I could. Suddenly, there was a loud buzzing sound, which nearly made me jump out of bed. It was only the mobile vibrating, but it was on a wooden surface and the house was so quiet – it scared the life out of me. I picked up the phone.

  Message from Holly: I love you, Mum. Try to stay positive. xxx

  She was such a sweet, kind girl … so thoughtful. Her message made me feel momentarily better, somehow.

  She’s right, I must stay positive – but then all the negatives of being fifty-five and alone, came piling into my head and I tossed and turned for most of the night.

  That’s why I pulled a sickie on that Monday. I really did feel dreadful.

  Chapter Five

  So, thank God the school holidays have started now and I can stay away from David and ‘Love’s Young Dream’. The previous weeks, since he told me, have probably been the worst of my life. I had to force myself to go to school every day. People were actually very kind to me – too kind sometimes, to be honest – giving me those sympathetic glances and offering me cups of tea. John Blair, Head of History, even took me to one side and asked me if there was anything he could do, in rather a creepy way – quite what he was offering, I’m not sure.

  Suzie kept well clear of me – we were almost forced to sit at the same table one day in the cafeteria, but I gave her a filthy look and she backed off and forced herself in, somewhere else. I did consider deliberately chucking my lunch at her, but thought that wasn’t such a good idea. We have, as yet, not spoken. This may be surprising, but I don’t trust myself to go anywhere near her. I’ve had a few encounters with my husband – but that’s another story.

  I’ve worked at the school for ten years now; David joined the year before me. It was only three years ago that he got the Headship – we were so excited for him, at the time. He’s one of those teachers that I’ve always admired – totally dedicated, a natural … and he loves the kids. I, on the other hand, went into teaching because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Seriously, I wracked my brains and couldn’t think of anything to do with an English degree, apart from teach English.

  It wasn’t like it is now – today, there are so many choices for women. Then, when I left university, most of us went into teaching or nursing. Nowadays, I could do marketing, events, branding, recruitment, underwater basket weaving … mind you, if I had my time again, I don’t think I’d do English at uni at all. Why study books for three years, when you can just read the damn things in your spare time?

  So … getting back to my career choice, when I started, I was terrified of the children, useless at discipline and felt completely out of my comfort zone. The only way I survived was to work twice as hard as David and prepare every minute, of every lesson. This was exhausting and after a time, I did relax a little, but it was always stressful for me. Teaching was not what I should have been doing all these years. Unless you’re in total control of your classes, it’s a hell-hole.

  Why couldn’t I swan into school, like him? He was universally liked by pupils and staff alike, seemed to do his marking in his free periods and was hardly ever seen pr
eparing lessons, but he got brilliant results. How did he do it? I’ve no idea … but hence, the fast track to Head. I, however, floundered around, barely coping, with a reputation for being a push-over. When the kids told me their dog had eaten their homework, I’d believe them. If they arrived late to class, I’d believe some half-baked story about another teacher keeping them late, in a previous lesson. If someone in my class wasn’t wearing the correct uniform, I didn't demand that they left the class, I’d say lamely, ‘make sure you’re wearing it tomorrow’, and of course, they never were.

  I was too trusting to be a teacher – you have to question everything a kid tells you and believe nothing. You have to pretend you’re angry, when you’re not. You have to start the way you mean to go on, not go into a class like a right old softie. You also have to like kids – and for the vast majority of my career, I’ve disliked them intensely.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love my own children, but other people’s children, en masse, are another thing altogether – like marauding pack animals, who’ll eat the weakest one alive – and I was the weak one. You try teaching ‘Black Beauty’ to a classroom full of fourteen year old boys, half of whom can’t really speak English. To be fair, that didn’t happen at this school, but it happened on my teaching practice, all those years ago. I was told to read a book about a girl and her lovely black pony, to a load of kids who lived in the roughest area in Birmingham and whose relations were often living at her Majesty’s pleasure in the prison, opposite the school. Not a good start – and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from it. I was set on a path towards a career where I was permanently … bewildered, for want of a better word.

  So, all things considered, I wasn’t cut out to be a teacher, but I’d done it for years … and survived. My results were average, my attendance was good and I was conscientious – David had helped me through … bolstering me up when I’d had a particularly bad day, telling me I was a good teacher, even though I wasn’t.