The Torn Up Marriage

by Caroline Roberts

  He stood up, headed for the kitchen. Emily started to follow him. He turned, his voice gentle but firm, “Just two minutes, Emmie. Okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  “Good girl.”

  A lump lodged in his throat. He watched her follow Lottie back to the lounge. Turned to enter the kitchen, where Kate was loading the dishwasher.

  “Kate,” his voice was gentle. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say next.

  She half-turned. She looked dreadful, pale and drawn. Her eyes rimmed with red. He’d better be honest, keep it simple, “I’m just here to collect a few things.”

  She didn’t speak; just looked at him coldly.

  “I’ll pack a bag and then I’ll be off. Just for a couple of nights, for now.”

  “What are we going to tell the girls?”

  “Oh… I’ll just say I’m away with work for a day or two. Then we’ll sort something out.” His voice faltered. How did you tell your two little girls that you didn’t want to live with Mummy any more? In fact, how did you tell Mummy? “I’ll go and get some things sorted.”

  Kate couldn’t speak.

  Michael turned and headed up the stairs. He felt such a bastard. Stood for a second or two in the calm of their bedroom. But there were too many memories crowding in. Her nightie on the bed, her perfume on the dressing table, her hairbrush with strands of her blonde hair through it. He gathered his nerve, took a large overnight bag and began to fill it: pairs of socks, boxer shorts, a belt, a wash bag with some essentials in it. He then found a suit carrier and placed inside three work shirts, a couple of ties and a suit. He’d need something casual too: a couple of t-shirts, a black v-neck jumper, a pair of jeans. An extra pair of shoes. That’d do. He’d come back soon. He just needed a few days to clear his mind. Be with Sophie. Really think about what next. But he had a feeling he had already made his choice.

  When he left today, he was rewriting his future.

  How could you walk back in and slip back into your old life, when you had already damaged it beyond recognition?

  It was awful to know how much he had hurt Kate. It was hard even to look at her when he’d come in, to see the pain he’d caused so evident across her features.

  It’s done now. He sighed, zipped up the overnight bag, picked up the carrier. He headed back down the stairs, left the bags in the hall, took a deep breath, then walked in to see the girls in the lounge. “Girls,” they looked up from the television, “Daddy’s got to go away for a couple of nights. So he’ll not be here for a little while…” He was talking softly, using the third person. That was odd, he realised. But, in fact, he felt like a stranger to himself right now. “I’ll be back very soon. Okay?”

  It wasn’t that unusual, him going away. He often had meetings that took him all over the north of England.

  “Okay, Daddy,” Charlotte, all grown up and serious.

  “Aww, you’re only just back,” Emily, was indignant. Then she gave him a huge hug that nearly floored him. He hugged her back, crouching low. Lottie moved in, too. His arms around them both. Tears threatened, but he held them back, didn’t want to upset them. Didn’t want anything to seem unusual. He rose to go, then spotted Kate there in the doorway. She had been listening, watching. Her own eyes glinting.

  Shit. He needed to get out of here fast. Couldn’t hold it together much longer.

  He stood up. “Bye, Kate,” his voice trembled as he picked up his bags.

  She didn’t answer. Not with words. But her green eyes held his with whole host of emotions: hurt, pain, anger, love and much more. Should he kiss her cheek? Give her a hug? What are you meant to do when you are leaving someone you have loved for a long time? When you’ve shared dreams and lives, had children together?

  He placed a hand gently on her shoulder as he passed. She flinched, then seemed to relax a little, dropped her head until her cheek rested gently on the back of his hand. Just for a split second. Then she tilted upright and drew away, her stare icy.

  He walked, out of their house, out of their marriage.

  It was all she could do to stop herself from clinging to him. An image flashed in her mind of herself there on the floor holding onto his legs like a frantic child, desperate to stop him.

  Don’t go. Don’t go!

  Instead she clung on to a last shred of dignity… The girls were right there, for God’s sake. They should never, will never, be witness to stuff like that.

  Michael slowly slipped his hand from her shoulder, walked to the door. One last glance at her before he pulled it to a close behind him. She thought she saw the tremble of a silent “I’m sorry” hover across his lips.

  She stood staring at the white paint of the closed door.

  What to do now? What did anyone do when the one you loved had left you?

  She turned, walked back to the kitchen and finished loading the dishwasher. Smudges of baked beans and sausages on white plates. Smudges of tears misting her eyes. And then she poured herself a really large glass of wine.

  It was later when it hit hard. She’d managed, somehow, to get through the girls’ bath and bedtimes with a semblance of normality. Watched some mindless drama on the television, had an early night, exhausted from the emotions of the past 24 hours. She’d even managed to doze. It was when she woke, in some dark hour of the night, trembling, shaking all over as if she’d caught some awful chill, sobbing uncontrollably into the pillow.

  Michael had gone.

  Michael had left her.

  Michael was, at this very moment, lying in the arms of another woman.

  Sleep was never going to happen now, not with her mind full of junk like that going on. So Kate got up quietly, shuffled past the girls’ room in her slippers and her towelling robe, down the stairs, closing the door of the kitchen behind her, then made a strong, sweet cup of tea. She didn’t normally take sugar, but if she couldn’t bloody well have a spoonful in tonight, then sod it.

  How was she going to cope with tomorrow? How could she carry on, take the girls to school, see friends there, yet not say a word? But the girls couldn’t know anything yet. It was all too soon. Everything could still change? He was taking a couple of days to think things through. And friends, family – what if she told them? It would all be too final. Just having to find and say the words, that would hurt too much.

  And what if he changed his mind after all? Would she be glad? Would she want him back? After the pain of these past hours, she wasn’t sure.

  Chapter 8

  Another door. He didn’t have a key to this one. Yet.

  “Are you okay?” Sophie was there waiting for him, her lovely face smiling, yet concerned.

  “Yeah,” his voice was drained, “No… not really. It was pretty crap, to be honest.”

  “Oh, of course. It was bound to be difficult for you, darling. How…did it all go?”

  “How does any of it go, Sophie?” He was pale-faced, crumpled in his work suit, tired. “How do you leave your family?” He ruffled a hand through his dark hair.

  She came towards him, put her arms around his shoulders. He allowed her to hug him, but hardly responded. It was all too soon. Too real. She pulled back a little, sensing his need for space.

  “Can I get you anything?” They were in the hallway, Sophie’s flat. A narrow beige space of guilt and promise. “A drink. Wine?”

  “Ah… just a coffee. Thanks.”

  She went through to the small, modern kitchen, styled in chrome and dark wood, switched the kettle on.

  Michael followed her, hovering at the kitchen doorway, “Look, I’m sorry. It’s not you… I want to be with you, so much. It was just tough, you know. It’s hard to have to do that. To walk out. To see… no, to cause all that hurt and confusion. Especially for Lottie, Em… their little faces…” he trailed off.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay, my love.” She was beside him, a hand on his shoulder, “You don’t need to explain. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if I thought you were the sort of g
uy that could do this without some sort of conscience… without it hurting.” She held his gaze.

  “I think I’ll go take a shower. Is that alright?

  She nodded, understanding. “I’ll put that coffee on hold.”

  “Thanks.”

  The water was hot on his skin. Michael put his head under the spray, found some of Sophie’s shampoo, rubbed it over his scalp, then closed his eyes to the stream of suds and water.

  Jesus! What a day. But there was a sense of relief there, too. He’d actually done it. Made the break. Changed the pattern of his life. Given himself and Sophie the chance to make a go of it, be happy. He’d do his best to limit the damage to his girls, to Kate.

  Kate, oh bollocks… Was he just a selfish bastard? He knew there was still some love there between them, had always been, but it was more like a memory. It had all got so hard lately. Broken down. He laid his forehead on the cold of the tiles then head-butted the wall. Sometimes love just wasn’t enough.

  His body was sweaty, exhilarated, the blood still pumping through his veins. Sophie’s head nestled tenderly against his chest. In her bed, tangled together in cream-coloured cotton.

  But there was a nag, a dart of guilt. What the hell was he doing? What had he got himself into? But he couldn’t give her up, not now. Maybe it had been infatuation at the beginning. The feeling of being eighteen again, when falling in love was free and easy. But it was so much more than that now. He breathed in her hair, her perfume, revelled in the softness of her freckled skin. Brushed his fingertips across the downy blonde hairs of her upper arm, into the dip of her elbow. She sighed gently, her breath warm on his chest.

  The miracle was she gave it all back so readily, seemed to adore every part of him, loving him so openly, sensually. Even out of bed, her face lit up every time he walked in the room. He smiled, thinking of that. It had been such a long time since Kate had shown that sort of affection for him.

  Lying there, stroking the silky strands of her auburn hair, he thought back over the past months. Sometimes he’d seemed able to do nothing right for them, well, for Kate. Coming in too late after work, being told off for waking the girls when it was past their bedtime, when all he’d wanted was a goodnight kiss, or to read them a few pages of their storybook. What harm was there in that? His beautiful girls. His heart felt a chill.

  But this with Sophie. It was powerful, the emotions too strong. Not that he hadn’t tried, these past few months, tried to stop it all. The looks, the glances, the pull of adrenalin, draw of sensuality. He had tried to avoid being in the office alone with her, steered clear of any chance of intimacy. But it drew him in, like a drug. No excuse, no way to justify his actions, he knew that. Then that one day, when holding back became too much, that touch, the passionate kiss, and two weeks later, that night. He’d hoped it would burn itself out, that initial sexual contact. Fantastic though it was, he hoped it would get it all out of his system so he could go back home and carry on. But that never happened. He just wanted Sophie even more, yearned for her, creating a distance between him and Kate that was too wide.

  He kissed Sophie’s forehead, then held her naked body to him with a hug. She was sleepy but responded, lifting her face to his, kissing him back with lips that were tender, tasting of red wine, sex and his future.

  Chapter 9

  “Bbrrrrrring…”

  Oh, Christ! The doorbell. It was seven in the evening. Who the heck was it? Should she go?

  The girls were upstairs in their pyjamas, out of the bath, ready for bed.

  “Bbrrrrrring…”

  Jeez. It might be Michael. She’d better let him in. But why was he ringing the doorbell? Wouldn’t he use his key? Or maybe that would seem wrong after walking out last night.

  “Bbrrrrrring…” They were bloody persistent, whoever they were.

  Her mother? A friend? Whoever it was, she really, really didn’t want to face them, but if the bloody bell went again, then the girls would be down and she’d never get them settled again.

  “Okay, coming,” she called.

  Kate opened the lock and peered around the doorframe. A man was stood there, dressed in shiny t-shirt, shorts and trainers. It was just into April! Ah, running gear… Graeme, their neighbour.

  “Hi,” he smiled. “Michael running tonight?”

  Kate must have looked bemused.

  “Oh,” Graeme explained, “It’s just, Michael had said he might like to try out the running club… He was thinking of joining. It’s every Wednesday.”

  Ah, yes. There’d been some mention of it a couple of weeks ago.

  Graeme was in his early forties and worked at the accountants’ in the town, they didn’t know him particularly well, just the usual neighbourly stuff, but he seemed a nice enough bloke. She had heard from Julie, next door, that his wife had left him with the spaniel, no kids and a broken heart. “Michael? Yes, Michael. Sorry, Graeme,” Kate stalled for time. Of course, Graeme wouldn’t know that Michael wasn’t here. “Oh, right, well, he probably didn’t get chance to tell you…He’s away.”

  Graeme paced there at the doorstep, trying to keep his warm-up going. “Ah, no worries.” He smiled at her with hazel eyes, kind eyes, yet they looked lonely.

  “Yes, sorry, Graeme. He’s away… on business. It was all rather sudden.”

  “Ah, okay. I’ll be off, then. Sorry to bother you.”

  “ I’ll let him know you called.

  He gave a brisk wave as he jogged off down the path. He was tall, rangy, in an athletic kind of way. “Right, I’m off. Just six miles tonight.”

  “Have fun.” Kate closed the door.

  “Dad-dy?” Em stood halfway down the stairs.

  “No, sweetheart, I already said, he’s not home tonight.” Kate managed to draw on a smile. “No, it was Graeme. You know the nice man from over the road.”

  Emily screwed her face up quizzically.

  “The one with the spaniel,” Kate explained.

  “Meggie dog,” Lottie chipped in from the top of the stairs.

  Emily’s face broke into a grin, “Meggie dog.” She nodded. They liked Graeme. He always let them stroke the dog or give her the biscuits shaped like bones that he kept in his coat pockets. “Oh, ye-ss.” She nodded her head, then her shoulders shrugged back down. It was good, but not as good as Daddy being home.

  “Where is he, then?” Lottie again.

  “Graeme? Oh, he’s gone. He came to see if Daddy was running. But of course Daddy’s not here. So he’s gone again.”

  The girls nodded, absorbing the information.

  “Right, come on, then, you two. Back up to your room. Time for bed.” Kate rounded them up and tucked them in to bed.

  “So, when is Daddy coming home?”

  The words hit like a hammer the next morning. Kate looked down at Charlotte’s puzzled face, tried to smile. Already it had been two days. Two days of hidden hell.

  Maybe never.

  “Oh…uh…soon, sweetheart. Soon.”

  What was she meant to say? Until she knew it was absolutely final between them, how could they involve the girls in all this? But it had already been two days, two nights apart.

  It was Friday now, FRIDAY. It had all kicked off Monday night with that bloody phone call. Tuesday, Michael home, the truth out. The hell of Wednesday alone; the fear of him leaving. Him leaving; Wednesday night. Thursday, no-man’s-land, he’d really gone…supposedly for a few days. She’d had a brief phone call last night from him, asking how the girls were, saying he’d arrange to see them soon. He’d wanted to chat with them, but they were already in bed, asleep. Kate thought it better not to disturb them. He’d sounded disappointed, but agreed. He said he’d give them all some space for a short while. Space, huh, the space for her mind to torture her. The space for her to hide from her friends and family, not knowing what to say.

  Charlotte, standing in her school uniform, wasn’t buying it, “Well, he’s only just been away, and he always talks to us. Has he rung?” Five go
ing on fifteen.

  Kate sighed, “Yes, he phoned last night, but it was too late, sweetie. You were asleep. He’s fine. He says he’ll see you soon, okay? Anyway we’d better get you and Emily ready for school.”

  “Maybe he’ll ring tonight. Or is he home tonight? He’ll have to be home for the weekend.”

  “Yes, probably.” Ring earlier tonight, you bastard, or come home, even just to see them. It’s not just me you’re hurting. Kate raised her eyes to heaven for strength, then shouted up the stairs, “Em, are you getting dressed up there? Do you need a hand?”

  Her youngest daughter appeared at the top of the stairs, “No socks,” her bare feet curling over the top step.

  Socks. Socks. Oh shit, she’d not done any washing since Monday. She took in the debris lying around her in the hall, in the kitchen. Not a lot had been done in the house at all. Cups and plates were mounting up on the side above the dishwasher. She’d managed to feed the three of them somehow with whatever they’d had in the freezer and the cupboards. But she hadn’t dared go back to Sainsbury’s.

  “Oh, sorry. Can you just pop yesterday’s on again, Em? I’ll do the washing today. Sorry, petal.”

  She’d have to get a grip. Today she’d do the washing, pick up around the house, hoover. It’d stop her moping about anyhow.

  Lottie was in the kitchen, putting out the cereal and bowls, finding the milk in the fridge – at least there was still some left. Kate watched. Normally she’d be down there ten minutes before them, setting the table, putting the juice out, making coffee for her and Michael. This was all wrong. The girls weren’t meant to that know anything was different. They weren’t meant to be getting breakfast by themselves. Michael was meant to be here, for Christ’s sake. None of this should be happening at all. Em appeared, old socks on, their browned soles accusing her as she pulled out a chair and climbed up.

  “Mu-um, can we go and see Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow?” Charlotte again.

  Oh, God, another no-go zone! Her parents had left an answer message yesterday, seeing how they all were. Just the usual, but Kate couldn’t bear to phone them back, to make idle chit-chat, or to have to tell them the truth. How could she possibly see them face to face?