What She Left

by Rosie Fiore

  ‘There was that sushi place we came to,’ I said. ‘That time we came down here with the girls. Do you remember?’

  She nodded. We’d had a lovely family day out in Greenwich a couple of years before. At the time, the kids were obsessed with sushi and wanted to eat it whenever we went out. Helen had found a sushi bar, where we were given huge platters of beautifully made maki and nigiri, and the chef had taught Miranda and Marguerite to make their own hand rolls.

  It was shameless, choosing somewhere we’d gone as a family. I wanted to remind her of what she’d lost. I recalled how the girls had scoffed their hand rolls, and I talked about how they still loved sushi, how we’d gone and done a sushi-making class together and Marguerite had eaten more than anyone else. Helen laughed easily and asked lots of questions about the girls.

  ‘Is Marguerite cycling yet?’

  ‘She sort of was, but we’ve gone backwards a bit lately,’ I said ruefully. ‘It was all going quite well, but now we’re in the flat. . .’

  ‘I guess it can’t be easy, lugging bicycles up and down three flights of stairs,’ she said, helping herself to another California roll.

  ‘No,’ I said, and took a deep drink of my beer.

  It was the strangest evening. For long periods of time we chatted and laughed as we always had – finishing each other’s sentences, communicating in the peculiar shorthand of a married couple.

  ‘You know. . .’ I began at one point, describing a mutual acquaintance.

  ‘Oh God, yes,’ Helen replied. ‘Does he still have the. . .?’

  ‘It’s even bigger now!’ I said, and we laughed.

  It simultaneously filled me with joy and hope, and flooded me with black dread and anger.

  On the one hand, we seemed to be back pretty much where we’d left off. On the other, there were the vast acres of damage done between us. How would we find our way back to each other? Every now and then the conversation would falter as these realizations hit us in waves, and after a while the waves got closer and closer together. It became clear that we were going to have to face the big issues. We couldn’t continue to respond to the enormity of our situation with either small talk or sex. And along with that, I recognized that beer alone probably wasn’t going to get me through the evening.

  I offered to get a bottle of wine, but she declined. ‘I’ve kind of given up drinking,’ she said.

  ‘Kind of?’

  ‘Well, not kind of. I have given up. Completely.’

  ‘Ah, well, I’ve clearly been having your share,’ I said, defiantly waving to the waiter to get another beer. Helen looked at me steadily. She was never one to nag or sulk. If she didn’t like something I was doing, she’d steadfastly ignore it, while setting a higher standard for herself. That was clearly the tactic she was adopting here, but this time I was having none of it.

  ‘Life is, as you can imagine, a little bit crap,’ I said, leaning back in my chair. ‘The girls and I crammed into a tiny flat, no disposable income, a shit job. . .’

  ‘I know that some of that is my fault,’ she said calmly, looking me in the eye. ‘Your responding to it by drinking yourself insensible every night is not my fault.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But you broke me, Hels. You broke me. I have spent every minute of the last few months trying to understand what I did wrong. Why you did what you did. How you could just. . . walk out and leave. And sometimes drink is the only thing that can dull the pain.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m in no position to judge, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I never wanted to cause so much pain.’

  ‘So why did you?’

  ‘Why did I what?’

  ‘Why did you go? Why did you go the way you did?’

  ‘Because I had to,’ she said simply. ‘I wrote it all down. I wrote it in the letter.’

  ‘Where is this letter? When can I read it?’

  ‘I’ll let you have it when you leave tonight,’ she said, and I saw her glance down at her bag. She clearly had it with her. ‘I don’t want to be with you when you read it.’

  ‘And after I’ve read it? Where does that leave us?’

  ‘Where do you want it to leave us?’ she asked, but she didn’t raise her eyes from the tablecloth.

  ‘Back where we were. In our home. Together. A family.’

  She nodded but didn’t say anything. I knew it wasn’t a yes, but at least she didn’t say no.

  I wasn’t hungry any more. I didn’t even want my beer. I reached across the table and took her hand, her dear, smooth hand which fitted mine so well, and I rubbed the place on her third finger where her wedding rings used to rest. She squeezed my hand in return, clutching it hard, as if she needed me to hold her steady. I felt my eyes fill with tears.

  ‘I love you so much, Helen.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  We sat like that for a long time, and then she spoke suddenly.

  ‘What’s your address?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The flat. What’s your new address?’

  I told her. She nodded. Hope leapt in my heart. Why did she need the address? Was she thinking of coming to see us, to begin the process of coming back to the family? I smiled at her. She smiled back and then said gently, ‘You should get back to the girls.’

  ‘I know. I don’t want to leave you.’

  ‘Me neither. But we have to. Tomorrow is another day.’

  She gave me her brightest, most heart-breaking smile, and I remembered the day she’d met me on the stairs at work and sat down to talk to me and smiled like that and I’d fallen in love with her.

  I went to the counter to pay the bill. When I came back to the table, I saw Helen slip something into her bag.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Your letter.’

  ‘Can I have it?’

  ‘In a bit,’ she said, standing. ‘I’ll walk you to the station,’

  We walked to the station entwined like a pair of teenagers, our arms round each other’s waists, stopping every now and then to kiss. I felt like my heart would burst. Just before we got to the station, she stopped and drew the envelope out of her bag. ‘Can you promise to wait until you get home to read this?’ she said.

  I thought about having to go to Lara’s and the conversation we needed to have. Could I wait until after all of that? ‘No,’ I said truthfully.

  ‘I thought not,’ said Helen, and in one swift motion she turned and dropped the envelope into a post box. I hadn’t even noticed that we were standing beside one.

  ‘What? What the fuck?’

  ‘It’s got a first class stamp on it, and your address,’ she said calmly. ‘You’ll get it on Monday.’

  I shook my head. ‘You’re mad.’

  She silenced me with a kiss. It was the longest, sweetest, sexiest kiss I had ever experienced. It turned my bones to jelly and my brain to mush.

  ‘Go home,’ she said. ‘I love you, Sam.’ Then she turned, waved, and disappeared around the corner.

  I went down into the station and caught the train in a haze of joy. What a day. What a day. It had been beyond my wildest dreams. We’d made love and talked, she’d told me she loved me. The time I had spent with her had dispelled my crushing anger, but I was under no illusions – we had a long way to go. I would feel angry again, and so would the girls. We’d also have to address the issues that had made Helen leave in the first place. I felt much better equipped to face them now I knew about her previous life with Lawrence. We could work as a team and she could seek professional help.

  I could see that working had become vital to her, so we would have to factor that into our plans too. She wouldn’t be able to stay at SSA – the commute to Stratford from north London would be punishing. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t find a good role at a company closer to home, as long as the hours were flexible. And my hopes for another child would have to be shelved, for now at least. It would all be about compromise. And I wanted to compromise. I was happy to. Helen hadn’t ev
en given me the chance to enter the negotiations before.

  I changed trains at Bank and rattled towards home, daydreaming about our future, a future reframed in sunlight. With Helen earning as well, we’d definitely be able to get the house back. Our tenants’ lease was up in a couple of months, and I could opt not to renew it. I thought of us all back around the table together, our beautiful home made clean and new again, and my eyes filled with tears.

  Before any of that could happen, though, I needed to sort out my personal life, which had got a little complicated, to say the least. I should have gone with my instinct and broken up with Lara as soon as I first saw Helen. I’d been dishonest. And what had happened between us the other night on my sofa had been. . . unfortunate. When Helen came back, I’d have to come clean about Lara. And I’d do my best to avoid any out-of-town sexual mishaps. It was too risky. It wouldn’t do to start our marriage again with any secrets between us.

  I got off the Tube and checked my watch. It wasn’t all that late – 10 p.m. The kids would definitely be asleep. A good time to talk to Lara. I set off to walk to her house, my pace fast and determined. Clear, unequivocal, polite. That’s how it needed to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Lara

  Getting four kids into bed was no mean feat, not least because Marguerite and Miranda regarded me with wary suspicion. They hadn’t seen me at all for a week, and Miranda at least is quite grown-up enough to know that that wasn’t accidental. They’d just been told that I would be picking them up from school and they were coming back to mine to stay. Sam had said he didn’t know what time he would be back, so I half expected that he’d take a moment to ring and say goodnight to the girls, or at least text, but there was nothing. That put me on edge, and Marguerite’s incessant whining before bedtime made me even tenser. Miranda was good and did what she was told, but at one point, as I brushed Jonah’s teeth and yelled at Frances and Marguerite to get their pyjamas on, I caught Miranda looking at me with such resentment it stopped me in my tracks.

  ‘It’s not my fault your dad is such a flake,’ I wanted to say. ‘I’m not the bad guy here.’

  Eventually, though, they were all in bed and asleep – in Miranda’s case, restlessly so. She’d kicked off her covers within half an hour of going to bed, and every now and then let out a small moan, obviously in the grip of disturbing dreams. I went downstairs and slumped on the sofa. Mum was sitting doing the crossword, with the telly burbling on in the background. I was exhausted, and happy to sit in companionable silence. Mum had other plans, however.

  ‘So Sam’s kids are back here, are they?’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said. I thought that by keeping my answers monosyllabic, she might get the hint that I wasn’t too keen to pursue this conversation.

  ‘Where is he this evening? I forget,’ she said innocently. She hadn’t forgotten. I hadn’t said.

  ‘A work thing.’

  ‘At nine o’clock on a Friday night?’

  ‘He’s been on a course. They went for drinks and dinner.’

  She nodded, and I saw her write something into her crossword.

  ‘I offered to have the kids,’ I burst out. ‘We’re all going to have a nice weekend together.’

  She looked up at me over her specs and said calmly, ‘I’m not the person you have to persuade, Lara.’

  That did it. I jumped off the sofa and stropped off to the kitchen like a sulky teenager. I sat at the table and fumed. I lived with my mum and we were arguing about my boyfriend. I was hiding in another room rather than having an adult conversation about things I knew to be true. I may as well have been sixteen. Only I was bloody thirty-five years old.

  I knew what I should have said to her. I should have said that I had made my choice. That however badly he behaved sometimes, Sam was a good man. He’d had a shocking time of it, and he and his daughters were in need of help and support. I could give that to them. It was a gamble that I believed would pay off for me and my children, in the long run. So this was my choice and could she please respect it. That’s what I should have said. That’s what I would say. I resolved to go back into the living room and say it. Just as soon as I could get the words out with some real conviction. In the meantime, I continued to sit at the kitchen table and stare at my hands, which looked thin, bony and surprisingly old on the wrinkled tablecloth.

  I was saved from having to lay out my manifesto by a knock on the door. Sam, home at last, I thought, and I jumped up with relief to let him in. Maybe he’d swoop in with flowers and apologies, win over my mum and convince me that I’d made the right decision to stick with him.

  As soon as I opened the door, I could see that this wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t holding flowers. His clothes were crumpled and his hair was all over the place. He looked flushed and agitated. Not drunk – well, probably a bit drunk, but that wasn’t what was firing him up. There was something else. Something big and cataclysmic. I was tempted to shut the door in his face and never hear what blow he’d come to deliver. But then what? What would I do? Keep his kids forever?

  ‘Lara,’ he said, and took a breath. Whatever he had come to say, he clearly intended to blurt it out on the doorstep, where the rest of the street could listen in.

  ‘You’d better come inside,’ I said quickly, and then remembered my mum in the living room, and all the children upstairs. ‘Come into the kitchen,’ I said. We can go through into the back garden.’

  As we passed the living room door, I sang out, ‘Sam’s here, Mum!’ so he would know she was there.

  ‘Hi,’ Sam called to her, and I was surprised at how calm and normal he sounded.

  I opened the kitchen door so that the light would spill out on to the patio beyond. It’s nothing like the beautiful, wide patio at Sam and Helen’s old house, just a few square feet of cracked paving, with weeds poking up between the stones, and a set of grubby white plastic patio furniture. It’s just a place to be outside, for those few short months of the year when we can actually use our garden. The lawn is long, but it was littered with Jonah’s toys, and Frances’ bike lay tipped on its side. It wasn’t the most glamorous of spots, but it was as much privacy as we were going to get.

  The delay had somewhat taken the wind out of Sam’s sails, and he stood awkwardly, as if he couldn’t decide how best to proceed. I chose a chair and sat down, then looked up at him expectantly. Eventually, he too drew up a chair and sat, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. I don’t know what I expected him to say. That he wanted to end it? That he’d lost his job? I didn’t anticipate what he came out with though.

  ‘I’ve spent the day with Helen.’

  ‘What?’ I said stupidly.

  ‘Helen. I found her.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A week or so ago.’

  ‘A week?’ I said incredulously. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone. The girls don’t know, or my parents.’

  ‘Where. . .? What. . .? How?’ Somehow, I was only capable of blurting out single words. I had so many questions, I didn’t know where to begin. He’d said he’d found her. Did that mean he’d been looking for her? When?

  I didn’t need to interrogate him. The words began to spill out of him.

  ‘I saw her on the Tube, you see, at Canary Wharf, and then I searched online and found where she worked. Then I followed her home. Then we talked, and we agreed to spend today together, and—’

  ‘Hang on,’ I interrupted. ‘You agreed when?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When did you agree to spend the day together?’

  ‘I don’t know. . .’ he said evasively. But I knew I had him.

  ‘You do know. When was it? When did you agree to meet up?’

  ‘Wednesday, maybe?’ he said cautiously.

  ‘So before Wednesday evening, when I came to your flat and we had sex on the sofa?’

  ‘I. . .’

  ‘You fucked me, knowing you were planning to see Helen thirty
-six hours later?’

  He raised his hand. At first I thought he was trying to placate me, but then I realized he was shushing me. My voice had started to get loud. As more pieces began to fall into place, it became clear that I wasn’t going to get any quieter.

  ‘So you fucked me on the sofa and then palmed your kids off on me today so you could go off and see Helen in secret? Did you fuck her too?’

  He didn’t answer, but he didn’t even have the grace to deny it.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I said, and I stalked off down the garden. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him.

  ‘Lara, I’m sorry,’ he said pleadingly. ‘This isn’t how I wanted things to be. But Helen is my wife. . .’

  ‘She was your wife on Wednesday too,’ I spat. ‘Didn’t stop you then, or at any time in the last few months. . .’

  ‘Lara, you came on to me, to be fair. . . And anyway, I bet you put out for Marc the other day, didn’t you? I saw you together. You didn’t bother to tell me he was in town, did you?’

  ‘Fucking hell!’ I exploded. I was way past caring if the neighbours could hear. ‘I didn’t tell you about Marc because I didn’t want to upset you, or upset Frances any more. She was in bits after he left. And anyway, absolutely nothing happened between us!’ This was true, but my own protestations sounded hollow. I couldn’t believe he was throwing this back on me. I was ready to scream.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath and a small, unnatural cry. Miranda was standing in the kitchen doorway. She looked slight, clad in pink pyjamas which had got too short for her, and her long feet and ankles stuck out, skinny, pale and vulnerable. She was looking at her dad, her eyes big in her pale face. Sam followed the direction of my gaze and turned, seeing Miranda.

  ‘Sweetie, it’s fine,’ he began. ‘We were having a discussion. . .’ He took a step towards her. She cried out, a mixture of disgust and misery, burst into tears and fled away from him. We heard her bare feet thumping up the stairs, then the door to Frances’ room opened and banged shut with a thud.