The Torn Up Marriage

by Caroline Roberts

  “So how’s it all going? You going to be okay over Christmas?”

  “Course I am,” Kate took a bite of her mince pie. “I’ve got through up till now, haven’t I?” She plastered on her brave face. She was good at that nowadays.

  “Still, it must be a tricky time.” Mel smiled understandingly.

  “Hmn,” Kate chewed on a sherry-laden raisin, a crumble of pastry. To be honest, she was bloody dreading Christmas. She’d kept going for the girls up till now, bought all the pressies – on a budget, and was going to get a real tree for them to decorate tomorrow. But she felt as if she was on autopilot, determined that their big day would not be spoilt, however hard that might be for her to achieve. Yet, to be honest, the whole thing seemed like a pantomime act without Michael there, with her trying to jolly everything along, with the Ghost of Christmas Past creeping around all the time and the heckling audience constantly shouting “Look behind you!”

  “You know that you’re more than welcome at ours for Christmas Day, don’t you? And the girls. The more the merrier.”

  “Thanks, but it’s all sorted. Me and the girls are going to my parents’ for Christmas lunch. I thought somewhere different might be a good idea. It’s all settled. They’re so excited about having us, they haven’t “done” Christmas for a while, and at least I won’t have to cook that way.” Yes, it would be easier to make a swift exit from there, too, to sneak away home with the girls if they needed to. After the two o’clock turkey dinner, then the Queen’s Speech with the obligatory homemade brandy-laden Christmas cake and cup of tea, Dad would be settling for his nap with an old film on, Mum sleepy herself, and then they could leave with an easy conscience.

  “That’ll be nice,” said Mel.

  “Yes, and I’ve said Michael can pop in with his gifts for the girls first thing in the morning, before we set off. He was desperate to see them. I only thought it fair to let him come round, for a short while, anyhow.”

  Michael; she hadn’t told anyone about their kiss, it still confused and angered her. What would Mel make of it? “He tried to kiss me, you know,” she blurted out.

  Mel looked up, surprised, “What, Michael, recently?”

  “Yeah, well, we did. We kissed, the other week, it just sort of happened… And I didn’t know how to feel, what to think. And then I remembered what a bastard he’d been.”

  “Bloody hell! What a flamin’ cheek he’s got!”

  Kate didn’t add how natural it felt at the time. How it still burned in her mind, even though he’d gone back to Sophie. How lovely it had been. How stupid she now felt.

  “Do you think you can ever go back?” Kate’s tone was touched with nostalgia, perhaps it was the thought of Christmas without him, “That it can ever work again?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Mel was being practical, “Every relationship’s different, isn’t it. But I don’t think it could ever be the same. I don’t think I could ever forgive Kev if he did anything like that.”

  “Nah, probably not. I feel the same way.” And yet a voice, no not even a voice, some kind of instinct made Kate wonder if she ever could? How did George manage to forgive Dorothy and still love her so devotedly. Did you learn to forget? Or was it always there, the betrayal colouring all your lives, like some kind of ugly scar. When did trust come back, and the love you knew you’d never quite lost?

  “No,” Kate continued, “I don’t suppose it could ever be the same.” She took a sip of mulled wine. But could it be something else? Something different? “Anyway, he’s back with her now. Show’s how fickle he is. Good luck to her, that’s what I say.” Yes, that was the reality of it all. He’d chosen someone else, trashed their love, their marriage. Smashed it all up.

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” her tone was harder now, “Christmas Day, I made it clear Sophie would not be welcome at the house. I couldn’t handle that.”

  “God no! That wouldn’t be right, would it, having the Poisoned One over at Christmas? It’ll be hard enough as it is, I’m sure.”

  “Hmn.” Kate had always loved Christmas. The build-up, the whole she-bang. Eagerly shopping from late October onwards, looking out for those special gifts, the decorations, the food to make it all perfect. And since the girls’ arrival, it had been all the more magical. Cheery Christmas songs were playing away in a speaker over her head, and all these thoughts and the mulled wine were mixing up, making her feel dizzy. “It’s just another day, isn’t it?” she said, trying to convince herself. Another day to get through.

  “Yeah, just another day.” Mel smiled with her, leaned in a bit, as if to help shore her up. “Another glass?”

  “No, no thanks. Think I’d better set off soon. Got some things to wrap up and organise while the girls are out tonight.” It’d be her last chance to do the secret things, whilst they were away overnight at the Poisoned One’s Palace. Her last chance to sit alone and cry unhindered. It was still happening, though less frequently these days. But she had a feeling that tonight might be one of those that caught her out. She was getting good at bottling the tears and storing them for her days when she was alone, when there was no one to see, tears on tap, it was a bit of a release. She drained her glass, gathered her bags, filled with the last of the stocking fillers, saying their goodbyes at the end of the street.

  “Are you going to the Christingle Service, Christmas Eve?” Mel asked.

  “Yeah, I think so.” They’d gone along for the past two years. “The girls always seem to love it.”

  “Okay, well we’ll see you there, then.” Mel gave her a squishy hug. “And Kate… if it all gets a bit much, you know where I am. Ring me.”

  “Thanks.” She hugged her back.

  She and Mel went their separate ways. It was a nice crisp evening, she’d walk home, it wasn’t far. Fir trees were propped against the wall outside the florists, wrapped in white netting. Late-night opening, smells of pine and cinnamon drawing her in. There was one tree a little shorter than the rest just by the door. She lifted it, testing the weight, she’d be able to carry it for sure. It would save coming out again tomorrow. Then she could have it all set up tonight in its stand; she’d have to dig that out of the loft. Yes, it would be ready then for the girls to decorate when they got back in the morning. She seized the day, marched in and paid for it, thirty bloody quid, no less, didn’t realise how expensive they were – it was always Michael’s job, that one. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the same without a tree, she’d saved on the food costs with going away for the big day, and she’d economised a bit on the presents this year – needs must. She was going to start a voluntary role at the Citizen’s Advice in January, she’d had an interview and they were more than happy to take her on, pleased with her experience. She hoped it might lead to something more permanent and paid, soon.

  She managed the walk home, juggling her carrier bags with the tree hoisted up on her hip until the last two hundred metres or so, when it began to feel like a lead weight. She had to drop it and drag it along the pavement for a bit, then hoist it up onto the other hip, but her arms were aching so much. Now she knew why Michael always took the car. Mind you, he always seemed to buy the biggest tree there, towering grandly above them all, filling the bay window at the front of the lounge. Kate always needed step ladders to get to the top branches. Her tree was a bit smaller, for sure, but the girls would be thrilled when they saw it.

  “Is that it?” Lottie stood with her arms folded tightly against her chest. “It’s tiny.”

  Even little Emily’s pursed face said it all.

  Admitted, once Kate had got the tree into the stand last night, a feat in itself, by herself, it did look kind of stunted. Yes, Michael’s version would no doubt be towering away in the Poisoned One’s Palace right now, but she had dragged this bloody thing all the way home with her own bare hands. Couldn’t they show just a little gratitude?

  However, not wanting to spoil the Christmas spirit, the words never got as far as her lips. Instead she smiled at them, “Oh it’ll
be fine. It’ll look bigger with all the baubles and stuff on. I’ve got the boxes down out of the loft.” Yet another trial on her own. She’d been up in the loft, poised precariously at the top of step ladder, found the Christmas boxes, but then had to get them down. Who was there to pass them to? Precisely no one. She’d suddenly felt sorry for all those singles, those divorced and bereaved the world over, all struggling, in a pre-Christmas trauma, with no one there to hold their ladders. Her legs had been shaking as she tried to slowly step backwards, with one hand on the ladder side, the other awkwardly grasped around a cardboard box. If she fell, who the hell would find her, and when? She might end up a stinking mass, all maggoty, at the top of the landing. Such were her happy thoughts as she made her balancing act all in the name of Christmas.

  And now they were opening the boxes up, the girls greedily delving in, their initial disappointment at the tree swiftly vanishing. There were the silver and coffee-coloured baubles from last year, along with masses of thick gold and silver tinsel that Kate had arranged so neatly on the tree.

  “Oh, look, that’s what I made!” Charlotte held up a huge snowflake cut-out, covered in sequins and glitter and thick paint. Emily held some sparkly pine cones that she had dipped in glitter at nursery last year. They were dripping sparkly dust even now. Last Christmas, she’d had them all organised, the baubles put on orderly, with just a few strategic homemade pieces added at the end, so as not to spoil “the look”.

  This year… well… “Set to it then, girls! You put them all where you like.” There’d be no problem for the girls reaching the sides of the tree this year, anyhow, with it being so short, and Kate would fix the star at the top for them. Their faces lit up as they weighed down branches with decorations old and new, adding plenty of their homemade stuff. Then Em was waving a red love heart on a gold string at her, the words “Merry Christmas” written on it. Michael had given it to her years ago. Emily passed it to her, remembering something about it was special. “Here Mummy, you put this one on.” Kate’s hand trembled as she took it, and suddenly she was aching with the loss of it all. She placed it on the tree along with the others.

  Charlotte was pulling out the stockings from a different box then, “Shall we put these up by the fireplace?” There were four nails tucked up under the ledge that Michael had put in; three the year Lottie was born and the last one, two years later for Emily’s first Christmas. There was the teddy stocking for Emily, a Father Christmas one for Charlotte, Kate’s red one with a pretty embroidered snowflake, and then Lottie held up the other and screwed up her face thinking aloud, “But shall Daddy have his here? Will Father Christmas know where to go for him?”

  And there they were, stumbling over memories and family traditions until Kate felt bruised. Her throat tight as she answered, “Well, maybe we should drop it off for him, so he can have it at the flat.” ‘Cause she certainly wasn’t going to be filling it up with lovely goodies like other years; a bomb maybe, arsenic-infused chocolates? And surely bad boys didn’t get gifts, did they? But if it was empty here on Christmas morning the girls would be gutted, the Big Father Christmas Dream spoilt and sullied by the harshness of real life. Oh, yes, the lovely Sophie could fill it for him.

  “Okay,” Charlotte was nodding matter-of-fact.

  Then it dawned on Kate. Who the hell was going to fill hers? So, as well as the bad boys and girls, Santa didn’t come to the separated, broken-hearted and bereaved, either. Damn, she’d have to go out bloody shopping again, to get a few bits for it, and money was tight as it was. No, she just couldn’t face it, trawling about for her own bloody stocking fillers. She’d find a bottle of perfume or something lurking in the bathroom cupboard and chuck it in with a few sweets and a party popper.

  Well, the tree was now laden and in peril of falling over; she hoped she’d tightened the screws in the base enough. Though it was short, it was very fat, now sparkling and chaotically magical. The girls were beaming, standing staring at their handiwork.

  “Well, I think a hot chocolate is called for. With cream and marshmallows,” Kate announced.

  “Ye–es.” “Mmnn.”

  Maybe they could get the craft stuff out this afternoon, let the girls make some paper chains and Christmas cards. She might even go the whole hog and dig out the Festive CDs. Why not? Give the pair of them a nice time, they surely deserved it; only two more days left to go. They were going to pop in and see Dorothy and George tomorrow, and then they might go for a walk or something, perhaps borrow Meggie dog again. Graeme had let them take her out last week for a stroll. Things had got a little easier between him and Kate, though he hadn’t accepted the offer to go with them, guessing that Kate was maybe just being polite. It had gone down well. The girls adored Meggie and fussed her. They should get her a bone or something, really, find a treat for her at the supermarket. Oh, but it’d be chaos there by now, a barrage of trolleys and turkeys. Yes, she was usually there along with all the others, circling for spaces in the car park, and then, huge list in hand, trawling the aisles, buying far too much food and drink for what was, in fact, just two days. She hadn’t even bothered to make a list this year; Mum was doing the roast, so they really didn’t need a lot – a Boxing Day buffet for three and a few nibbly bits. She might just nip to the Co-op on the corner later, a bottle of Baileys, couple of tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and a big box of Quality Street – what more could she possibly need? She wondered if the Chinese takeaway might be open Boxing Day evening? The girls were going to Michael’s mid-afternoon that day, and she’d be on her own again, but it’d be okay. By then it’d all be over, the main event done and dusted. She stifled a sigh. Normally she wanted Christmas to last for ever, loved the whole thing, but now she couldn’t wait to see the back of it. But she’d not show that to the girls, of course. She was determined not to spoil it for them and went to dig out the craft box, going at it head on with the gusto of an accomplished actress.

  The act was failing by the girls’ bedtime. She’d managed to coax them into their beds by eight o’clock, but they were far too excited from a day full of festive preparations and the thought of only “three more sleeps to go” to settle. Exhaustion finally crept over them after three bedtime stories and a mug of hot milk each, the clock now approaching nine-thirty. Kate had reached the knackered stage a good hour before them, her story voice nearly lulling herself off. She was at the point of reaching for the junior Night Nurse, desperate measures she knew, but guilt hit; there wasn’t a sign of a sniffle between them.

  Downstairs, she poured herself a small glass of red wine and slumped down on the sofa. She hadn’t bothered to re-set the fire, so stared at grey ash in the hearth, got up and swapped the festive CD for something more relaxed, finding Adele’s “21” in the rack. Her thoughts drifting back to last Christmas as she sat back down; she and Michael still very much a couple then, or so she had thought, believing that the world was theirs, and that Christmas was a time to celebrate…Or maybe, he hadn’t been thinking that at all, maybe as they sat cosy together by the log fire, he’d been planning his escape and thinking of Sophie. She stared at the three stockings hanging sadly there, the fourth hook empty. Then bloody Adele started up with “Someone Like You”, and the tears were ready, still hungry for her soul. She bit them back.

  She made it through to Christmas Eve. She and the girls had been to visit Dorothy and George the day before, who smiled and greeted them warmly, saying they were doing okay, but the silk scarf around Dorothy’s head and the dark bags under her eyes told their own story. They’d dropped Michael’s stocking off at the flat on the way back. Charlotte going to the door, whilst Kate stood back watching, feeling her heart ache as Michael popped his head out of his new threshold, looked across at her with a small smile and mouthed “Thanks”. She heard him ask dutifully if they wanted to come in, but she couldn’t face that, seeing their love-nest, having to make small talk in the Poisoned Palace over coffee. She was relieved to hear Charlotte saying they had to get back hom
e, Mummy had lots to do; she’d been primed.

  Now sitting on a cold wooden pew at the Christmas Eve Christingle service, lined up next to Mel and Kevin; the children gathered around the crib at the front of the church. Kate wasn’t a regular church-goer by any means, but there was something that drew you there from time to time, especially at this time of year, to remember what Christmas was meant to be about, not just the presents and the glut of food. Something about the solemnity and solidity of the place that made you want to seal your wedding vows there, and funerals, christenings, the rituals of life and death. The vicar was addressing the children directly, asking questions about the roles of the shepherds, the kings and such like. She felt a little nudge in the ribs, Mel passed her a small carrier bag, but warned, “Don’t look in it till later on. It is meant for tonight, though. And whatever you do, don’t let the girls see, okay?”

  “Okay.” She placed it down by her feet. Itching to have a peek inside. Her curiosity was piqued.

  The service over, the vicar shaking their hands at the back of the church, wishing them all a Merry Christmas and then they were outside. Hugs and kisses and the offer of a place to go should she need it from Mel, followed by, “Happy Christmas, sweetheart. You be sure to have a fantastic time.” Kate replying, “Thanks. You all have a lovely time, too. Hope Santa’s good to you.” The children wide-eyed and chattering, their breath frosty in the evening air. The stars in the sky setting themselves brightly for this magical night. The three of them on the short walk home, hands hugging through mittens and woolly gloves. A supper of cheese on toast with a cup of tea. Bath time, story time, she read them The Night Before Christmas, a Christmas Eve ritual, and wondered if they were missing their Daddy, who would normally be the one reading it.

  “Goodnight, petal.” She kissed and hugged Emily first.

  “Night, sweetheart.” Lottie next. Their hugs seemed tighter than usual.

  “Sweet dreams. And remember, if you don’t get to sleep, he won’t come.”