“Well, what else can I do? Take you out for a drink?” Mel eyed the empty bottle again, “Maybe not such a good idea! Tea and cake at the castle café? You name it!”
“Soon, maybe, but I’m not quite ready for any of that just yet. Don’t feel up to the big wide world somehow.”
“Okay, well I’ll see you at nursery and I’ll pop in here and catch up with you again tomorrow. Promise you’ll let me in. Yep? It was bloody freezing out in that flower bed.”
“Yep.”
“And ring me if you need anything. Any time, honest, even if it’s two in the morning and you’re feeling shitty. I’ll be there for you.”
More tears gathered in Kate’s eyes. She wiped at some snotty stuff on the end of her nose with the corner of the duvet.
“And if you don’t feel up to going far, then just come round to mine. Bring Emily one afternoon. We’ll let the kids play and we can sit and slag off men and eat piles of chocolate cake and hob-nobs.” Kate glanced across at her friend, still unsure about having to cope with anything outside these four walls. Mel continued, “Well, if no one’s going to see you naked for a while, then you may as well eat what you like and make the most of it.”
Kate teetered on annoyance. How could Mel make a joke of it, when her life was falling apart around her? But, then, there it was, in spite of herself, a small smile turning up the corners of Kate’s mouth.
“Only trying to cheer you up, hun. Look sorry, but I’m going to have to go now. I promised Kev I’d get something sent off in the lunchtime post, something to do with his work. And then it’ll be time to pick up at nursery. Do you need anything in town? Shall I get you some milk?”
“Ah, milk. Thanks, yes… Ooh, and I don’t think we have any bread.” She remembered guiltily that it was all green and mouldy this morning. No toast, the girls were moaning, only cereal left, and then only boring Cornflakes at that, ones that Michael had left. Her plans of being the perfect single parent had drifted again.
She glanced at her watch. Not long till nursery finished. Where the hell had the morning gone? She’d need to shower, get dressed. She had a suspicious feeling she was back in pyjamas. Looked down at herself, yep, there they were. When had she put them back on? She really hoped she hadn’t gone to school in them under her coat. The rumours would be flying by now. The old gossip pants no doubt spreading the word about how Kate Armstrong had really let herself go, coming to school looking like a bag lady. And in a few days they’d not be surprised at all by the news that her husband had left her.
“Mel? This morning, I wasn’t wearing these, was I?” She stood up revealing her grey-and-pink-trimmed fleece pyjamas.
“No, hun,” her tone matter of fact, as though it wouldn’t have really mattered if she was, “I’m sure you were in jeans. Though it might just start a new trend.”
“Ah, thank God.”
Mel smiled, “Sorry, I’d really better go.” She stood beside Kate, adding firmly, “You’re going to be okay, Kate. Really you are. Whatever happens from now, you can get through it. And you’re not alone, okay?”
“Okay.” She wasn’t too sure, to be honest, but it seemed easier to agree. She’d better get herself showered, dressed and off to the nursery. She dumped the duvet down on the sofa.
“I’ll see you in a little while, then, and I’ll fetch those things from the shops for you.” Mel was heading for the hall. “Catch up with you at the nursery. Unless you want me to fetch Emily for you?”
“No, no that’s okay. I’ll get myself together. The fresh air’ll do me good.”
“Okay, see you shortly. I’ll see myself out.”
“Mel,” Kate stopped her.
She turned, “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Any time, hun. Any time.”
Kate managed a fragile smile. There was someone on her side.
Chapter 13
There was some soap opera droning away on the telly, a glass of white wine in her hand. Oh, a young girl was about to give birth, stuck in some dingy bedsit on her own. Nah, she really didn’t want to watch that. She flicked channels, settling on a soothing repeat of Friends.
But then her mind raced. Young Mum. Babies… periods. Something niggled. When did she have her last period? It seemed an awfully long while ago. But then life had got so mixed up, and time had had its own schedule lately, dragging slowly, then getting lost in chunks, maybe it just felt like ages. In fact, how long had Michael been away now? Two weeks? Was that all it was? He’d left on a Wednesday and today was? What was today, a school day, but which? Thursday – it might be Thursday. Charlotte had taken her PE kit with her this morning.
Her period must have been due around about the time Michael had left. It was usually early in the month, she was always pretty regular. But it hadn’t happened then, she was sure. But if not then, when was it? Come on Kate, brain into action, this is important. Focus. When would it have been? Was there anything significant about it? They’d got heavier of late, especially since she’d had Emily. There was a blurry image of her knackered, tucked up on the sofa, with a hot-water bottle shoved between her pyjama bottoms and dressing gown. Michael was definitely about. And they were talking, something to do with the next day. She hoped she’d feel better. There was something they had to go to…Her mother’s birthday. That was it. They’d made it for afternoon tea and cake. So that was… the 3rd March. And today was? April the something. She didn’t know… She didn’t even know the bloody date now. Not the day of the week or the flippin’ date. She was going nuts. She raced to the kitchen, looked at the family wall calendar, traced a finger along the days in April. It was Thursday, April the 19th. Not good. Not good at all. Nuts, and maybe… pregnant.
Shit.
No, surely not. They’d hardly had sex in the past few months. And now she knew why. She wandered back to the comfort of the sofa. But there was that night, the theatre. Michael’s parents had had the girls as there was a showing of Equus at the Alnwick Playhouse. They’d stopped at the Bistro for some supper on the way home, walked back hand in hand. It had felt a little like old times. And they had made love, for the first time in ages. A glimpse of their former life as a couple, before the children. Then it struck her cold; he was with someone else now. In love with someone else.
She slumped back further into the settee, hugging her wine glass, taking a slurp, spilling some down her fleece top. Surely fate couldn’t be that cruel to her, giving her a child amidst all this chaos. Maybe it was just all the stress, all the havoc of these past two weeks sending her body out of sync. She’d heard of that. It could happen. She took another glug of wine. Then sat up abruptly, setting the glass down on the coffee table. What if she really was pregnant? She shouldn’t be drinking for a start.
And how would she tell Michael? Could she bring a child into this wreck of a family? Would she really want to have it? But then, how could she not? How could she not? Their two beautiful girls, upstairs asleep. It wasn’t the child’s fault, for Christ’s sake, that its father had turned into a complete bastard, that a marriage had fallen apart.
She exhausted herself with such thoughts, left the glass of wine half drunk, found her way upstairs and tried to get some sleep. She’d taken to sleeping in the spare room; the smaller bed being more of a comfort, not so empty, not filled with the memories of him, of them. She remembered that night, though, her mind drifting back to that other room, that other bed. They had recaptured something that night. A tender passion of old, like things used to be. Made love, not just the act of sex, or so she had thought. Maybe it was the red wine in the bistro fooling her, or the mere embers of love.
But all the while he must have been with her, his mistress. The day before, the week before? Having sex, with her. Kate punched the pillows, kicked down into the mattress, like a toddler in a tantrum. Damn, she mustn’t wake the girls. She bit down hard into the pillow to stop the scream that was surging in her chest, to stop her crying out.
She was on the Pill,
for Christ’s sake, they hadn’t wanted another child yet. Give them chance to see if two was right, enough. Then she remembered the tummy upset, Emily had had it too – a bug going around the nursery. She bit harder into the pillow, suffocating her sorrow, her fear. It had seemed such a lovely night. The show, the wine, the slow walk home, the making love. It had all been a lie.
So, she had to get to a chemist’s, get a pregnancy test. She’d go crazy if she didn’t find out one way or another. And then what? She wouldn’t think of that right now. All she had to do was find out.
She walked fast, going straight from the school and nursery into the town centre, past the old railway buildings of Barter Books, the Percy Tower, the Playhouse, trying so hard not to dwell on that night again. She made her way under the stone arch that led into the high street, Bondgate Within. A traditional market town centre, the buildings old, of honey-coloured stone, a cluster of shops, WHSmiths, the Co-op, Iceland, a smattering of banks and building societies, and a Boots the Chemists. The honk of a horn, the chatter of passers-by, a pram, gulp. All she had to do was get to the chemist’s.
She loitered for a while next to the make-up counter, staring blankly at lipsticks and foundation. What on earth was she doing? She was bloody thirty-three, not thirteen. The quicker she got this done, the less chance there was of anyone she knew seeing her. God forbid that bloody Rachel woman from school would catch her at the till. She was such a gossip. Okay, then, find the right aisle, she sensed it would be near the back of the shop. She finally found the tests near the condoms and pleasure gels. Felt her face flush and a hot sensation up her neck as she took hold of the Clearblue package, spotting the words “reliable” and “results in seconds”, and walked with it half-hidden in her palm to the pharmacy counter. As she lifted it to be scanned at the till, she noticed the results now came written on the little screen, with the number of weeks pregnant, no less. How different this all was from when she’d found out she was pregnant with Charlotte and Emily, so desperately hoping for that blue line. The excitement, anticipation. How happy she and Michael had been.
And now there might be another child, one perhaps not so wanted. Confusion and pain welled behind her eyes.
“That’s £11.95, please.” The young woman at the till was smiling at her.
Kate blinked back the tears that threatened. Blimey, she hadn’t even looked at the price. Were they that expensive? She fumbled in her purse to find a note. She took the change and grasped the bag.
Yes, a child that might be brought up in a single-parent household, with a visiting Daddy. She felt a little sorry for “it” already. But there might not be an it after all, she told herself – just wait and see. Out on the street, she checked whether you could see through the thin plastic of the bag, but the test wasn’t obvious. She’d go straight home – get it over with. A spasm of panic gripped her insides. The “what if’s” flying left, right and centre through her brain. She clutched the bag guiltily, protectively, as she walked back along the high street, past the row of banks, towards the art gallery, the tea-rooms.
Two figures stepped out from the café ahead. Something struck her about the taller one, the build, his dark hair, smart suit, the familiar way he walked. He was leaning in towards the other figure, seemingly deep in conversation. They were holding hands.
Michael. And, it had to be… Sophie.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. It was them. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I… DO… NOT… WANT… TO… BE… HERE. Kate ducked into a doorway for a second or two. I… DO… NOT… WANT… TO… SEE… HER. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. What does she look like?
Kate poked her head out to swipe a glance up the street, an old lady passing by gave her a strange look. They were still walking towards her. They’d come out of the café, it was early in the morning. Breakfast? Is that what you did when you had no children to worry about? Go out for breakfast, have cappuccino and croissants before starting work at a leisurely hour. How nice for them, how sodding nice! So they were out cavorting, while she struggled to get the girls ready in the mornings, making packed lunches, organising school bags. She hardly had time to brush her own hair, let alone put on make-up and go out for a coffee.
So why was she in a shop doorway, hiding? She had done nothing wrong. It was his guilt not hers, his blame. She stood stalwartly back onto the pavement. They were only metres away. The bag with the test in began to burn in her hand.
He looked up, caught her eye, his face lost all colour. His eyes flicked away nervously. Then he muttered something to the woman, his lips mouthing “Kate”. He shifted a fraction away from his partner, but still held her hand. Sophie looked up then, too. Kate stared. So, Sophie was medium height, not as petite as Kate had painted her in her mind, with a curvy figure. As she got nearer, Kate could see that her eyes were dark brown, laden with mascara, set above a pert nose and a pout of a mouth, red and glossy with lipstick.
She was pretty, no doubt about it, but not a stunner, just normal pretty. The hair was auburn, how had she guessed? But a slightly duller tone than Kate had given her. It fell to just below the shoulders. She was wearing black trousers with a red jacket, a spotty scarf knotted at the neck. Smart. She’d definitely had time to put full make-up on this morning.
Sounds became too loud inside Kate’s head. Her pulse pounding just behind her ears, the loud gulp of her swallowing. They were nearly there, four metres apart, two, one. The three of them. She saw Michael drop their joined hands lower.
Sophie looked uncomfortable. Michael face to face with Kate now. He had a glow about him despite his evident nervousness. He was the first to speak, “Hello, Kate,” his voice was a little stilted.
“Ah… hi.” And so, they met. She was on autopilot now, polite formality masking the knife blade in her guts. “So, this must be…” Her throat went dry.
“Sophie… yes.”
The other woman gave her a timid smile, “Hello, Kate. Nice to meet you.”
Well, wasn’t this awfully nice? Meet the fucking lover. Kate felt the Boots bag swing from her wrist. Oh shite! She lowered it swiftly. Her brain buzzed with the craziness of it all, a knot of tension flaring into a headache.
Kate nodded at Sophie, bitch, bitch, bitch, then looked again at Michael, unable to hide the hurt from her eyes. “I–I’d better get on.” Get out of here. Right now.
“Okay.” Michael’s tone was soft, relieved no doubt that she wasn’t going to make a scene. “I’ll see you tomorrow when I come and collect the girls.”
Kate looked at him blankly.
“Tomorrow, after school. You said it would be alright.”
Had she? She just nodded, ready to go. Get away from all this fake fucking politeness, when all she really wanted to do was kick Michael in the balls.
“Bye, then,” her mouth was dry.
“Bye,” his voice seemed sad, loaded with a tone of guilt, pity. They parted ways, walked on, Kate briskly. She realised she was trembling.
She didn’t need his pity. All she had ever needed was his love.
PART TWO
“The hardest thing to do is watch the one you love, love someone else.”
Anonymous
Chapter 14
“We’re in!” He pushed wide the white-painted front door. “It’s ours. It’s really bloody well ours!”
They bounced together like a couple of kids in the empty hallway. Then she was in his arms being swung around.
At last! All those months of house-hunting, offers, mortgage applications, solicitors, the problems with the chain further down the line, the crisis when the old lady nearly pulled out on them. This house seemed like a dream they were never going to achieve. But here they were, the proud owners of No. 6 Percy Walk, a lovely stone townhouse on the edge of Alnwick.
Michael set her down to the floor again, but still held her hand, the key in his grasp, within hers, too. Grins plastered onto their faces. The furniture van was due to arrive shortly.
“Come on, Kitty.”
&
nbsp; He led her around the downstairs rooms, one by one. The lounge with its big bay window overlooking the street and Victorian tiled fireplace, the rear dining area with French doors that opened onto the walled garden – walls of the same honey-grey stone as the house, roses rambling and weeds crouching at their base. The garden was in need of some TLC, admittedly. But it had potential, and plenty of shrubs and grass that would easily tidy up. It was a family home, a family garden – a place to start their family.
Back out to the hall. They dashed on into the kitchen, where he pressed her to him against the units, his body firm, animated. They laughed, then he kissed her, full on the mouth. She pulled apart just a little, surprised by the passion of it, caught his eyes, which were smiling mischievously. Then she drew back in again, their lips slower now, hers welcoming his.
“Well, then, Mrs Armstrong. Welcome to your new home!”
“Well, thank you, Mr Armstrong.”
“To the garden or upstairs?”
Katie felt almost tipsy as she grasped his hand in answer and led him upwards. The stairs creaked here and there as they skipped them in twos. They investigated the bathroom, the small third bedroom, a large double and then paused in an even larger double, the one that looked over the back garden. She had already decided on an earlier visit that this would be theirs. Yes, she could picture their queen-size bed there and the new duvet covers and curtains she had yet to pick. Something simple, white cotton maybe, with an embroidered trim. She stood alone looking out of the window for a few seconds, watching a tabby cat lying high on the wall, sunning himself, imagining the tulips and lupins she might plant in the borders. Michael had stopped in the smallest bedroom, still wondering which room might be best as an office space.
His breath then tickled the back of her neck. His body so very close behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder to look out at the garden, too. His arms snuggling around her.
“It’s really ours, isn’t it,” she whispered, still finding it hard to believe. “I love it. It feels so right.”
The Torn Up Marriage Page 8
