by Dawn Goodwin
She felt a flicker of joy as she thought about decorating the nursery one more time, but this time for a three-year-old boy with a serious smile and a love of cars. Maybe getting him one of those racing car beds.
No, she was letting her brain fog up again with daydreams, like that day with Mia. It was the wine talking.
She grabbed her phone to distract herself and found her fingers opening Facebook, looking at Greg’s profile again. She opened a post from a few months ago – a photo of him and Gemma on her birthday, posing in London with the Thames behind them and the twinkling lights illuminating their happiness. Looking at them, all glowing and smug, she had a moment where she could imagine a life without them in it, without Gemma’s shadow hanging over everything. Maybe Jade’s crazy idea wasn’t so crazy after all…
She zoomed into their faces, not sure what she was hoping to see. Then she noticed the necklace Gemma was wearing. It was a silver lightning bolt. She’d seen that somewhere before… recently…
Jade had been wearing it the other day.
Maddie sat back against the couch cushions, her mind reeling.
She must’ve taken it from the house. She’d stolen it.
THEN
The parking lot at the swimming pool is surprisingly quiet today. Usually, at this time of the morning, I have to park in a side street and walk over the road because my session coincides with the old biddies doing aqua aerobics in a section of the large pool. I like watching them bounce and jiggle to eighties hits blasting in distorted melody as the instructor cajoles the bobbing swimming caps in front of her to mimic her high-energy moves. The ladies – and occasional man – are always smiling, pleased to see each other and having fun. They look out for each other too. If Joan hasn’t been to a session for a while, they rally round and someone volunteers to check on her; when Sandra had her hip op, they clubbed together to send her flowers. They chat loudly in the changing rooms as they strip down to nothing, not afraid to bear their wrinkly bottoms and sagging boobs while discussing the Chelsea Flower Show and what the frost has done to their allotments.
This kind of community spirit is something I don’t get to revel in much. I still feel hopelessly alone most days and can’t remember the last time someone checked on my wellbeing. Greg says the right things – ‘Are you ok? Can I do anything? How are you feeling today?’ – but there’s an absentmindedness about the questions, as though he’s asking because he knows he should, but he’s too busy with his own grief to hear the answers anymore.
In fact, it feels like that’s all he says to me now.
Are you ok?
There’s no point in answering truthfully, so I just nod.
When I get to the pool entrance, I realise why it is so quiet today. A sign posted to the door says a school has booked the entire pool for a swimming gala, so no adult sessions today, no aqua aerobics. Sandra, Joan and the rest will be disappointed.
I debate going up to the café and having a coffee and a bacon sandwich. The glorious smell of frying bacon wafting down from the mezzanine café must be torturous for the gym-goers after their hard work on the treadmill. My attempts at healthy, plant-based and gluten-free diets ended after Archie and I am fully committed to eating meat again – when I have an appetite.
Life is too short to deny yourself bacon.
Today, though, I’m not really in the mood for it. A swim usually helps me to reach a state of mind where I can get through the day. I don’t often achieve much, but without it I achieve nothing. Today’s disappointment is a setback and I have the overwhelming urge to go straight back home to bed. A voice in my head says I can do that if it’s what I need, while another argues with it, tells me not to give in to the coaxing because that would be a step backwards and I need to think about going forwards.
I spend the whole drive home letting the two voices argue it out.
When I pull up in the driveway, Gemma’s car is parked up next to Greg’s Porsche. I don’t really want to see her – I was hoping Greg would’ve left for the office by now, but he was hanging around longer than usual this morning, faffing over nothing. Overwhelming exhaustion hits me as I contemplate having to pass niceties with her.
While she was friendly to me when she first joined the company, that has worn off and it’s now written all over her face that she considers me to be a drain on the business. Someone who still gets paid, but contributes nothing. An unnecessary expense. That’s a fair assertion, but Greg insists that I remain on the payroll, that the job will still be there for me when I decide I am ready to return to it. More than anything else though, it’s the way she looks at me – like I am germ-riddled and she needs a facemask to be around me in case whatever I have is contagious. I sometimes catch her wrinkling her nose in disgust when she comes over and I’m sitting at the dining room table in sweatpants doing a jigsaw at 11 a.m. But I find the jigsaws as therapeutic as swimming, so she can do one, frankly.
Actually, I’ve started thinking that it would do me good to start getting involved at work again. I mentioned that to Greg over dinner last night. His reaction was muted and I think he is of the opinion that until he sees me sitting at my desk in the office, then he won’t believe it.
That’s ok though. I don’t blame him.
I sit in my car in the driveway, the two voices in my head still debating, but now the sterner voice is saying that instead of swimming, maybe showing my face at work would distract me enough so that I don’t crawl back into hibernation. Just an hour to see how it goes. I can always leave if it gets too much.
It is the sight of Gemma’s car that convinces me in the end. The look on her face if I were to walk in. I bet she’s taken over my lovely office with its big windows looking out over the local junior school. I used to like to throw open the windows and listen to the chaos and frivolity of breaktime. I bet she’s been keeping them closed to the noise. She doesn’t strike me as being child-tolerant. If I returned, she would have to gather up her stationery and move to a desk in the communal area, and the idea of humiliating her like that suddenly becomes irresistible.
I get out of the car with the firm intention of doing just that. I’ll have a shower, get dressed into something a bit more socially acceptable than sweatpants and I’ll go to work, just for an hour, just to see.
The house is quiet. I put my swimming bag by the front door and head towards the kitchen, expecting them to be sitting at the table, paperwork spread out in front of them along with mugs of coffee.
The room is empty. Maybe they’re in Greg’s small home office.
I start to make myself tea, delaying the inevitable now that I’ve decided on it. I hear Greg bustle into the room behind me.
‘What happened to your swim?’ he says.
I turn to face him, saying, ‘The pool is booked for a gala.’ My voice falters. There’s something odd about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but as he draws closer to me and pecks me on the cheek, the feeling intensifies. It’s balanced on the edge of my tongue, teetering, niggling.
He is flustered, his cheeks reddened, and a bead of sweat stands out on his forehead.
Then I notice his shirt is on inside out.
‘I see Gemma is here. Where is she?’ I say.
His fly is down.
‘Er, she’s… in the bathroom.’ He smiles manically and turns away from me.
Then the penny drops, loud in my head, and I almost laugh out loud.
I abandon the tea and walk past Greg, out of the kitchen. The downstairs toilet door is ajar. Greg’s office door is open and the room is empty.
I walk up the stairs calmly, no need to hurry. I know what I will see when I reach the top and turn the corner.
Greg is prancing behind me, asking me if I want a biscuit, telling me to go back to the kitchen and he’ll make my tea for me, anything to stop me from getting to the top of the stairs. I ignore him, can’t really process what he is saying anyway.
I reach the top step and turn the corner without pause.
>
Gemma is in my bedroom, sitting on the corner of my bed. The bed I made this morning when I got out of it, which is now messy, the covers wrangled.
She is buttoning up her blouse, her feet bare and her long, usually sleek hair mussed like the sheets.
I look at her; she looks back. There is no sense of shame or guilt on her face; instead, it looks like victory.
I nod at her. I’m not sure why. Everything seems to have slowed down, the air thickening, until all I can see is this woman sitting on my unmade bed.
I turn around and walk from the room. Greg is poised on the top stair. His face has taken on the colour of ash. He can’t meet my eyes. ‘Mads…’
I walk past him, not giving him the opportunity to lie about this, to try and create a reasonable excuse for why his PA is in my bedroom, why I’m the one getting the wrong end of the stick, that it’s not what it looks like.
I grab my bag from where I left it all of five minutes ago, get back in my car and drive.
I don’t know where I’m going until I get there. I’m at the park, near to the children’s play area and the café where I met Mia all that time ago. So much has happened since then. And yet nothing has changed.
Like a puppet, I go into the café, order a tea to go and a Smarties cookie and head over to the park bench on which I sat that day. I watch the children play, the mothers talking and laughing, the dogs chasing and panting. I can hear my phone ringing in my bag, but I ignore it.
I just sit and drink my tea, not thinking, not feeling. I want to rage, scream, throw something, but I can’t, so I sit and watch.
When my tea is finished, I throw the cup in the bin and walk back to the car park and beyond. I keep walking until I reach the main road. I don’t look at anything around me. All I can see inside my head is Greg’s face as he stands at the top of the stairs, the guilt and admission like a neon sign flashing in his eyes, those eyes that couldn’t meet mine. I think of all those years together, all that hurt, disappointment, sorrow, and I step off the pavement into the road.
I can hear the squeal of brakes and feel a sense of my body not being in control of itself anymore. Then I feel nothing at all.
10
The cup scalded her fingers as she passed it to Greg.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Maddie said with a quiet smile.
‘No worries. It’s nice to see you.’ Greg put the mug down on a coaster on the coffee table. ‘Listen, er, Gemma doesn’t know I’m here, so…’
‘Oh, right, that’s ok. I won’t say anything.’ But inside she felt smug – and curious. Why hadn’t he told Gemma that Maddie had asked him over for coffee? Was this how Greg and Gemma had started? Seemingly innocent chats over beverages that had developed into more than words? She hadn’t answered Jade’s question last night about how she had found out about Greg’s affair, but that was because she was ashamed of herself for how she had reacted.
Looking back on it now, she frightened herself by realising that it could have ended very differently.
As it was, the road she stepped into was a twenty mile per hour zone, so the car that hit her was thankfully not going too fast. But if anyone asked her, she hadn’t done it on purpose. It was just a lapse of concentration. She certainly hadn’t done it because she had realised she had nothing left to live for.
The one thing that had dragged her through the darkest times was the thought that she could always try again; then it was the thought that Greg was still by her side and she wasn’t alone, despite feeling isolated. But once she had realised that he wasn’t there either, well….
But she’d never admit that out loud.
It was a lapse in concentration. Nothing else.
‘So what’s up?’ Greg sipped on the tea and reached for a biscuit, which he dunked into his mug. When he pulled it out, the end dangled soggily, threatening to dissolve before he scooped it into his mouth.
Maddie just held her mug in her hands, watching the steam rise, feeling shame warm her cheeks as she remembered the thoughts she’d entertained the night before.
‘You remember I mentioned Jade, who lives upstairs?’
He nodded around a mouthful of biscuit.
‘She’s having some issues with an ex-partner and I said I would speak to you to see if you could help.’
He paused mid-dunk. ‘Me? How could I help her? I don’t even know her.’
‘I know. It’s just… Ok, let me explain. She has a son, Ben, who is three. Long story short, she was going out with the dad, he took a job on the oil rigs and dumped her by text. Then they briefly got back together, kind of a one-night stand, and she found out she was pregnant. He was away then, but she told him she was pregnant, sent him photos and stuff, and whenever he was off the rigs, he would come and see Ben, spend time with him. Now he’s got a new job and wants a more permanent custody arrangement, but Jade can’t afford a good lawyer. She’s a single mum on benefits. He could win custody and she’s terrified he will take Ben away from her.’
‘Ok, so what can I do?’
‘Well, I thought maybe you could help her by giving her a loan to pay for a good lawyer or something?’ Maddie said in a low voice.
Greg was thoughtful for a moment, chewed quietly, then set his mug down.
‘You hardly know her. Why are you so keen to help her?’
‘No reason. I just… Ben is a really sweet kid.’
‘I know, but if you ask me, the dad isn’t doing anything wrong. In fact, he sounds like he’s doing everything right. He wants to be involved in his son’s life, even though it would be easier to walk away.’
‘I know that, but I think for Ben, he should have both parents in his life if he can.’
‘And what makes you think the father doesn’t want that too?’ Greg was watching her closely. ‘Is there something else going on?’
‘No, I just want to help, that’s all.’ She looked away. She didn’t want to admit that she was worried what Jade might do if she lost custody. That she might take Ben away.
‘What is she like? This Jade.’
‘Um, complicated. Stressy. Quick temper. A typical exhausted mum, I think.’
He nodded. ‘Look, Mads, you know I will always have your back, regardless of, you know, us… but I’m not sure about this. You hardly know her. How do you know she’s not spinning you one just for money? How do we even know she can pay it back? What if she does a runner or something?’
‘Then I will pay you back.’
‘No offence, but how exactly? You’re not working right now. You’re still dependent on me for everything.’
‘Hang on a minute. That’s not fair. You know what I went through.’
‘Yes, I know better than anyone and I’m sorry about that—’
‘Besides, I’ve made a few decisions lately. I’ve decided to start my own business. Bookkeeping – I did it for our business and it’s something I can do from home easily. I want to start living again, being more independent. This morning I sent out a few emails offering to do people’s books.’
‘That’s great, but it won’t happen overnight.’
‘No, but it will happen.’ She looked at his face, a face she knew so well. ‘Sometimes I think you don’t want me to sort myself out,’ she said in a quiet voice.
‘Why do you say that? Now that’s not fair.’
‘Because you can play the big hero if I am dependent on you. You like being the man on the white horse who gallops in and saves me time after time. It boosts your ego.’
‘Maddie, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not. I’m being honest for a change. You’ve made sure you’ve stayed in charge of my life, even when you moved me out of my house. All those texts and inviting me to lunch, sending me flowers, just keeping me hanging on the end of the line, not quite letting me go completely.’
‘You’re being ridiculous and I’m not going to listen to you when you’re like this.’
‘And that too. Making me out to be unstable, on the edge all
of the time. I bet you and Gemma love sitting and talking about how fragile I am. I heard you the other day at lunch! Well, not anymore. I think it’s time I stood on my own two feet.’
‘You won’t last five minutes before you run out of money, Mads. Be realistic.’
She got to her feet. ‘I think we should get a divorce.’
He looked up at her, frowning. ‘Is that really what you want?’
‘Yes, it is. Gemma will be thrilled.’
He stood too, but it was sadness reflecting back in his eyes. ‘You know I never wanted to hurt you, don’t you? That this was never my intention. I still love you, Maddie, and I always will. I wish things could’ve been very different for us. You would’ve made an amazing mother. I see how you are with Jemima, so natural and caring, and I think… well, you’re more suited to it than Gemma, anyway. You have a natural softness for kids and I wish…’ He looked like he was about to start weeping. ‘I want you in our lives, in Jemima’s life.’
Maddie approached him and put her arms around him tightly. She still fit in his embrace comfortably, like a jigsaw piece. His arms wrapped around her back and she leant into him, breathing in his familiar smell.
He pulled away a fraction and reached with one hand to push her fringe from her eyes. ‘I just want you to be ok.’
‘I’ll be ok,’ she said more convincingly than she felt.
He pulled her back into the hug, his hands tight on her back, holding her like he didn’t want to let go.
*
The scrape of the key in the front door woke her and she sat bolt upright. It was still daylight outside, but not for much longer. She didn’t know how long she had been asleep. She looked over to where Greg lay, still asleep himself, and she put her face in her hands.
‘Maddie? You here?’ Jade’s raspy voice shouted down her hallway.
