George had taken the girls out for a wander in the woods, on a mission to search for acorns and pinecones, and to trudge through as many soggy leaves and puddles as possible.
It was a week after Emily’s party. Dorothy and Michael were sitting at the farmhouse kitchen table. Dorothy was booked in for her first infusion of chemotherapy in just three days’ time.
“Shall I come and see you at the hospital, Mum?”
“Oh, no need, really dear. Your father will be there with me. It’s only one day I’ll be in.”
His father, such a solid, dependable man, always there for her, through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, a marriage grown even stronger over time; Michael’s own broken wedding vows silently mocked him.
“And I’ve been warned I’ll feel pretty ropey,” Dorothy continued, “Especially this first time. They might keep me in overnight, just to keep an eye on me. So once I’m in you can check with your dad, see how it’s all going. But I might even be home.” She had a look of longing that Michael recognised, just to be back home, for it all to be over with. “But don’t you worry yourself, you’re bound to be busy at work.”
“No, I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.” He was feeling churned up about it, to be honest. The thought of his mother having to go through all that. All for that bastard cancer. But if the chemo killed it all off, made sure it would never come back, then it had to be for the best. It had to be done. But the poor love… He’d gone and looked it up online: chemotherapy, treatments, side-effects, wanted to understand what she was going to go through, and then he wished he hadn’t. He’d got onto some real-life blog and it sounded fucking horrendous. And there she was, always so bloody brave. He crossed his hand over the dining table, taking hers gently. They shared an anxious smile, her blue eyes the same shade as his, full of courage and calm.
“I’ll be alright, Michael.”
He hoped he might inherit some of that bravery and kindness some day.
“Yeah,” his voice came out a little croaky. He coughed. “I’ll come and see you. I’ll check with Dad. Might you need anything? Chocolates, magazines?” He was clutching at straws.
“A magazine might be nice.” She had a stack of them half unread in the front room, but she knew he just wanted to help. “I might not fancy the chocolates.” She’d been reading the hospital advice and literature. Sickness was highly likely.
“Oh, of course, yeah.” Stupid dick, he told himself.
“Anyway, how are things with you and Sophie at the moment?”
“Well…”
“I’m sorry about your father at the party.”
“Oh, it’s okay. He was just a bit wound up, and worried about you, I’m sure. Probably still cross with me.” Michael paused. “It’s not been easy for me either, Mum. Changing everything, leaving Kate. It was a huge decision, and it still kills me that it had to affect the girls….”
“I know. It’s just your dad sees things in black and white sometimes.” She took her hand out from under his and placed it back over the top of his with a squeeze. It took him back to being a little boy. “Life’s not always easy, son. And the right things are sometimes hard to see, to do.” She sighed softly, “Sometimes you follow the wrong path, and get lost down it.” Her eyes seemed distant for a moment, as though she was remembering something.
He hadn’t ever felt so lost as he did now.
His mother’s eyes looked a little watery. “You haven’t instructed the solicitor yet, have you?” The last she had heard, Sophie was pressing him to get divorce papers sent out.
“No, not yet.” But they were drafted up, he knew. Sophie nagging him to just get on with it, but he wasn’t quite ready. Sophie kept bringing home house details from the estate agents too, wanting something bigger, left them lying around on the coffee table. But just thinking about selling his family home, telling Kate and the girls they’d have to move out, cut him up inside. It was going to be Christmas in a couple of months; surely it could wait till after that. He had a roof over his head with Sophie. They were okay. Michael looked across at his mother; she seemed paler than ever, tired.
“Hey, now don’t you go worrying about me, Mum. It’s you we should be thinking about here. Let’s just concentrate on getting you better, okay?”
Chapter 30
The plastic of the supermarket trolley was cold under her hands. Rain spitting away at an icy slant. She made a dash for the store.
Just pick up something for tea tonight, some cereal and bread, the usual essentials. Funny, she’d given up on making lists since Michael had gone. Those meticulously planned meals and weekly menus slid into the slightly comforting disorder of what might happen to be in the cupboards or freezer, and the occasional shop which depended on what she might fancy at the time or what she thought the girls might enjoy.
She’d just dropped them off at school and nursery, using the car for a change, the weather being so poor. When she got back home she planned to have a look online about opportunities with the Citizens Advice Bureau. She was considering voluntary work, partly to get her back into some kind of work, even if it was unpaid, and hopefully she might do some good, too. The job search hadn’t really come up with anything for now, though she’d keep looking and trying. And her experience in business and banking might help people. In the past she’d given advice on debt management, starting up and running a business, the accounts side of things. Yes, she had something to offer. It felt like a step in the right direction. It was Mel who’d mentioned the Citizens Advice. It seemed to suit her talents, might be worth a shot anyhow.
Kate whizzed down the fruit and veg aisle, fresh meats, onto milk and cheese. The sight of someone’s back in a red mac made her freeze, a lock of auburn hair springing down over her shoulder as she reached for a carton of milk. She’d dreaded this; living in the same town since Michael had chosen to be with this woman. Thankfully, other than meeting them both in the main street all those months ago, it hadn’t happened again – till now.
Sophie looked up, “Oh… Kate.” The tone was cool.
“Hi.” She didn’t know what else to say, felt herself trembling inside. Wondered whether to just make a grab for the milk she needed and make a dash for it. She scanned her rival. Sophie looked smart, business-like in a black skirt, court shoes and the red coat. Her lips were red and glossy. Kate wondered how many times Michael had kissed those lips by now. Nowhere near the number of times he had kissed Kate’s, for sure. Her own were bare of anything bar lip salve today. She knew she’d look unkempt, casual, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. But she braved a naked smile from those bare lips. It was the only thing she could do as words were failing her.
“I’m on the coffee and tea run. For the office, for Michael.” Staking her claim on him, her role in his life.
Bitch. “Oh, well, he’s got you well trained, running around after him, then.” Kate couldn’t help herself.
Sophie’s face seemed to freeze over then, her eyes cold. “You know he’s going to divorce you, don’t you?”
Kate was taken aback. She couldn’t just come out with that here, in a bloody supermarket chiller aisle. But she had.
“He’s got the papers drawn up with his solicitors,” Sophie continued coolly.
Kate felt as if she’d been verbally shot. Michael had mentioned nothing of this. Could she be telling the truth?
“Well, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. And I think it’s up to Michael to tell me about that, don’t you.” It probably was the truth. And she knew in her heart of hearts that it might happen sometime. Yes, she sodding well knew. But she didn’t need telling, and certainly not here in the middle of bloody Sainsbury’s.
“Right, well I’d better get back to Michael and the office.” Sophie breezed.
Kate couldn’t think straight. Shit! She should come up with some great punchline, or a punch even. Her knuckles were tingling. But she’d never hit anyone in her life. And fist-fighting in Sainsbury’s wasn’t going to help anyone
, was it? So she stood there and watched her husband’s mistress waltz off, click-clacking in high heels. Then picked up her two-litre carton of milk, some cheddar, yoghurts the girls liked, and headed for the wine aisle, adding a bottle of Pinot Grigio and one of Merlot to the trolley. She functioned on autopilot at the till, packing bags, punching in her pin number to pay.
Back home, she put away the groceries and poured herself a large glass of white wine, not even waiting for it to chill in the fridge. Just the one. That would be all. The first gulp was silkily crisp and soothing. Now what? Wait for the letter to hit the mat? Hide it from the girls? An invitation to the end of a marriage sealed in a white envelope. She knew, she knew it was coming, but the reality, the finality of it, would be so harsh. That letter in her hand. The formal words. She didn’t want to have to think about it, that Michael wanted to divorce her, that everything they ever had was over.
She’d been doing so bloody well, too – thinking of a future, looking into part-time work, the voluntary role. This would move it all on, her practical head told her, finalise things. Bring it to an end. How could it ever end, when she still thought of him every day? A huge part of her felt crushed. She felt like crawling into a ball. She took another slurp of wine, sat down at the kitchen table. Maybe, she could just slip back to bed for a while… No, she would not take to the duvet. She looked at the glass, nearly empty in her hand, grabbed the rest of the bottle and poured it down the sink. She’d done enough of this these past months. Sophie would not reduce her to this. She would go and garden. Do the washing. Clean the loos. Offer to walk Meggie dog. Anything.
A half hour later, after she’d put on a load of washing and scrubbed the bathroom until it had gleamed, the phone rang.
“Mrs Armstrong? It’s the school. Charlotte’s taken ill. She’s been sick.”
“Oh dear, how is she?”
“Not too bad, but can you please come as soon as possible and take her home?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be there right away.”
Kate was in the car within two minutes, with an empty carrier bag and a towel next to her, just in case. She pulled up by the school gates and ran down the tarmac pathway to the reception area. Through the window she could see Lottie there perched on a plastic chair, swinging her legs slowly, her face wan.
“I’m here for Charlotte,” she announced to the receptionist, as she was buzzed in through the main doors.
“Ah yes, Mrs Armstrong. Well, she’s not been sick again since, but she really isn’t herself. Best get her home.”
“Of course.” She walked over to Lottie, who was looking pale with dark shadows under her eyes. “How are you petal? Not too good, hey?”
Charlotte just shook her head slowly, as though it hurt to move. She took Kate’s outstretched hand.
“Come on, then, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”
Her palm was clammy and hot.
“Bye, Charlotte. Get well soon.” The lady behind the desk was smiling across at them.
“Thank you,” Kate replied, as they walked out through the swing doors.
“Are you okay? Shall I carry you?”
“No, I’ll be alright.” Her childish voice was brave, but she walked slowly, stiffly.
At the car, Kate popped her booster seat onto the front passenger side, so she could keep an eye on her. As she helped her up she felt the heat from her small body, touched her forehead, which was burning up.
“I think we’ll go get you some Calpol. I’ll be quick, just pop in somewhere on the way home.” She wasn’t sure if there was any of the medicine left at home. Charlotte needed her temperature bringing down and soon, or else they’d be off to the doctors.
“Okay, Mummy.”
“It won’t take long.” Yep, she’d get some paracetamol syrup for her and maybe a carton of chicken soup for later, something gentle on the stomach, to tempt her if her appetite came back.
She pulled back in to Sainsbury’s car park, the earlier incident with Sophie still sharp in her mind. How dare she? How bloody dare she? Coming out with that in the middle of the supermarket. Kate was fizzing with anger just thinking about it.
“I’ll carry you in, Lotts.” She looked so tired, the poor love, but Kate daren’t leave her in the car, fearing she’d be sick again and be frightened, or even choke there on her own. “We’ll be two minutes, that’s all.”
Charlotte just nodded as Kate scooped her up and sat her on her hip. She wasn’t too heavy, but her body felt saggy against her. “Sorry petal. But you’ll feel better when we get you some medicine.”
She found the toiletries aisle and was then looking for the chilled soup, walking past the milk section. The very same spot as this morning. Bloody Sophie. Bloody Michael. They were welcome to each other.
“Nearly done, Lotts.” She checked through the till and paid. The cashier smiled sympathetically at Charlotte, who was obviously out of place in her school uniform, “Not well?” She looked at Kate and the Calpol.
“No, not well at all. Just getting her home now.”
“Yeah, best place.”
Kate got her back onto the booster seat, then dashed round to the driver’s side and got in. Charlotte was just pulling the belt over her. Now she was a bit older, she liked to do it herself. Kate pushed the gear stick into reverse, swung the car back.
The jolt shot them both forwards. A scraping crunch and grind of plastic and metal.
Kate braked hard. A burly man with shaven hair, in jeans and t-shirt, was out of his car in an instant. Even with her window shut, she could hear his shouts.
“You fucking idiot!”
Shit. She’d hit his car.
She looked at Charlotte, “You okay?”
Lottie was sitting back, eyes wide with shock, but seemed alright. However her belt wasn’t fastened down in the clip but slanted loose askew her. She hadn’t done it up right. She might have whiplash, or more. Kate’s heart pounded anxiously. Mr Angry, whose faced was screwed up like a bulldog, was beating a path to her car door.
“One second, Lotts.” Kate stood out of the car half-closing the door, not wanting Charlotte to hear.
The guy’s hands were up in the air, “You stupid bitch.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t see you there. We must have reversed at the same time.”
“The same time, my arse. I was already halfway out, when you started, you idiot. Don’t you know how to use your rear-view mirror?” He looked over his shoulder; his red Audi was crunched and scraped along the back bumper. Kate’s car was sporting a split bumper and a shattered reverse light. “I’ve just had all new bumpers and alloys. Spent a fortune on this fucking car. I’m not paying for any of this.”
“Look you, my little girl’s in there. Can you just mind the language?”
“Ah, what the fuck, woman! If you could drive properly, I wouldn’t need to be even talking to ya.”
“Look,” Kate was struggling to keep calm, and felt the onset of tears biting in her throat. A small group of shoppers had stopped to watch what was going on. Kate took a breath. “I’ll give you my insurance details. I’ll say it was all my fault.” It may well have been. She probably wasn’t concentrating as well as she might. “I just need to get home, my little girl’s not well.”
Kate leaned back into the car, got a pen and paper started writing down her details. “It’s okay, Lottie, I won’t be a minute,” she hushed.
“Nah, I’m not happy.” The gruff voice set off again. “Not happy at all, missus. What if you don’t claim liability? I’m not paying a huge fucking excess. I’ve got a fair mind to call in the police right now.” He brandished his mobile menacingly. “I’m sure one of these lot will back me up and seen you weren’t looking.” He gestured at the gathering crowd.
She felt like shouting across “Good show?” sarcastically, then remembered the half glass of wine, the taste there stale, acidic in her mouth, and she hadn’t had anything much to eat this morning. Breakfast had been a c
up of coffee. The last thing she needed was for the police to get involved.
“There’s no need for that, I’m sure.” Her voice sounded calmer than she felt. “Look here’s all my details: name, address, telephone.” She found a pen in her bag and scribbled down the information, “And my insurer’s details too. I promise I’ll say it was my fault.” She had to get away from here. She glanced into the car. Charlotte looked sickly, she needed home, or the doctors now to check her out. “Look, my little girl’s really not well. I need to get her home. Please.” She thrust the piece of paper at him, her details written on the back of one of her insurance sheets.
“I’m still not happy…” but his voice seemed to drift. The hardness shifted from his face. “Okay.” He snatched the paper from her.
She quickly asked for, and jotted down, his name, car registration and a mobile number on another scrap of paper.
He was standing shaking his head as she got back in her car. She was trembling, having trouble keeping her foot steady on the pedals, telling herself to concentrate, as she slowly pulled away. She decided to go straight to the doctors instead of home, wanting to get Charlotte checked over for whiplash now, as well as her sickness and temperature. What a sodding morning.
“Hey,” Michael strolled into the kitchen.
She’d heard the doorbell ring, but it had seemed far off, as if it was on the television or something. She hadn’t moved to answer it. He still had a key, had let himself in.
Kate’s face was ashen as she looked up, weariness etched all over it. But that wasn’t so unusual these days.
“Oh, hi, wondered if you were out for a minute there? Had you remembered I’m taking the girls to visit Mum tonight? She wanted to see them before she went back into the hospital.”
Kate looked up, trying to drag herself to the here and now. But the memories of Sophie’s announcement, Lottie being ill, the car park crash, were too sharply ingrained in her mind. The jolt and crunch of the bumpers. The pure aggression of the other driver. What would she have done if anything had happened to Lottie there in the passenger seat? She hadn’t checked her belt was done up properly… She’d had a glass of sodding wine, for Christ’s sake.
The Torn Up Marriage Page 22
