by Carol Thomas
Bath time and bedtime were a special part of the day. Abby watched as her girls played happily together, half-submerged in a mountain of white frothy bubbles, giggling at the funny beards they had made. Joining in, Abby picked up a clump of froth and blew it into the air. Jessica and Grace squealed with excitement as ‘snow’ splodged down onto their heads and all over their bath toys. Repeating it over and over again, Abby soaked up the normality of it all.
After the bath it was time to calm down as quiet time ensued and they all relaxed together. With brushed teeth and pyjamas on, the girls took it in turns to cuddle into Abby’s lap as she brushed their hair; both so similar, beautiful blonde wavy hair which they got from neither her nor Simon.
After stories it was lights out and time to sleep. Finding it increasingly hard to walk away, Abby sat at the top of the stairs and waited until she heard Jessica and Grace’s voices subside into gentle hushed breathing before going downstairs to carry out the parts of her evening routine she enjoyed less. Vacuuming (who knew one dog could lose so much hair?), tidying, emptying lunch boxes, making lunches for the next day, sorting the washing… All monotonous tasks made tiresome by having nobody to share the load with, nobody to talk to.
Eventually slumping onto the sofa Abby checked her phone. There was a voicemail from Kerry, Simon’s sister. Abby knew Simon had been staying with her since they split up, and curiously she pressed play.
“Hey it’s me, how ya doing? Look, it’s none of my business but Si is pretty cut up. This has hit him hard. He wanted to come see you tonight but said you said no. Will you please just talk to him? I’m worried about him.”
Staring at the phone with a mixture of disbelief and anger, expletives tumbled freely from Abby’s mouth. Why the hell should she waste what little energy she had making Simon feel better? It was beyond her comprehension. There were days when she felt she could barely function. Days when going into the supermarket was too hard. Days when all she wanted was to be swallowed into a deep dark hole. Who was there to help her when she sat stranded on the roadside, unable to drive because all she could do was sob herself senseless? Did Simon’s family care that she was tumbling over a precipice from which she didn’t know if she would ever return? Honestly, what did Kerry expect her to do? Placating Simon was clearly not just habitual for Abby; it was quite literally a role she was expected to fulfil no matter what the circumstances. She wasn’t going to do it, she couldn’t! And what was the point anyway? Surely Simon’s actions had made his feelings clear.
Abby decided to text back. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what she might say. Incensed, she typed, You’re right, it is none of your business, but since you feel the need to interfere I suggest you speak to your brother. Maybe he can give you the number of the woman he slept with and you can ask her to make him feel better!
She pressed send, then instantly started another message: And since you asked, I am bloody well not alright!
As she pressed send for the second time she fought the urge to re-read and analyse the messages, and threw her phone onto the sofa where it would be less tempting. She had been having a good evening, she had felt calmer than on previous days but now all this had agitated her. It had thrown a bone to the dark side of her mind, which was leaping and bounding with excitement, eager to be let loose.
Abby felt restless, uneasy in her own skin. Unable to keep still, she strode into the kitchen. Gripping the edge of the sink with white fingertips, she stared out of the window into the darkness, her own reflection gazing back. Bramble stood by her side, ears pricked, sensing her tension. Anger and frustration grew inside her, possessing her. Unable to contain it any longer, she flew into what could only be described as a tantrum. A full-blown tempest of a temper tantrum! She pulled at her hair, hit her head repeatedly, kicked at the kitchen cupboards, stamped her feet and flailed her arms, all the time letting out a noise which sounded purely primal; a noise akin to that she had only ever heard herself make in childbirth. Bramble shrank back to a safe distance and watched, thoroughly perplexed. Abby felt utterly crazy, but at the same time she was enjoying it, relishing her great big self-pitying, self-satisfying temper tantrum. It felt so good to let it all free. To own her anger and let what she felt must be the crazy person inside her vent the way she really wanted to.
When she could sustain it no longer, when the noises turned to sobs and the hair-pulling, head-hitting and flailing turned to hugging herself, she sunk onto the hardwood floor in the corner of the kitchen. Bramble gingerly moved closer and lay down, resting his head on her feet with a whimper. Big brown eyes stared up at her, attempting to take away her pain. She sobbed big, long, loud sobs, arms cradled around herself, her head throbbing. Her mind didn’t focus on any one thing; she just felt engulfed by it all – stranded in a loss too vast to contemplate and completely alone. The sound of her own sadness rang out into the stillness of the house as she continued to give in to her basic and desperate urge to simply be downright and abjectly miserable.
As time passed, and Bramble nodded off at her feet, Abby’s focus began to settle on the noise, her own noise. She became increasingly aware that nothing was actually going to happen to make her stop. There was nobody to come and scoop her into their arms, nobody to tell her to pull herself together. She realised, as she pondered this, that she was observing the sound as if somebody else was making it. No longer the outlet for her frustrations, it was just a noise, a silly, rhythmic noise. She decided to stop, just like that, and as abruptly as it had all started the tantrum and the tears were over. She wiped her hands across her sodden face and dried her palms on her jeans. As she went to stand her whole body felt stiff; she was exhausted from the physical exertion. Her head pounded as if suffering the aftermath of a great trauma, but she felt strangely better for it.
Composing herself, Abby poured a glass of water and greedily drunk in the cold, soothing liquid that eased her burning throat. Feeling steadier on her feet she turned and added the words martini and lemonade to the shopping list on her fridge. She needed that. It was her drink of choice whenever comfort was sought, having acquired a taste for it while sipping from her mum’s glass in her early teens. She liked the deep, dark colour and the warm, sweet taste as it slipped down her throat, warming her from the inside, numbing her senses. Oh, how she needed that!
Settling with her feet tucked under her amongst a pile of cushions on the sofa Abby shakily took out her notebook and pen and wrote, not somebody else’s words but her own: I am going to stop wasting my life. I have cried too many tears and I have cried myself beyond senseless! Also, I am going to stop needlessly searching the Internet. It just adds to my bloody frustration – the loss of time is ridiculous and I am not going to let them keep imposing on MY LIFE!
She read it back and with a nod of her head assertively placed the lid on her pen. About to close the book she hesitated, looked around the room, removed the lid and added, And I may be going a little bit crazy; I think I might need help!
Not stopping to read that part back, she closed the book and tucked it away.
4
Hot chocolate in hand, Abby started to download her emails. Having mostly stuck to her promise of not wasting time with needless Internet searches she hadn’t turned her laptop on, in the evening, for several days. And she wouldn’t have succumbed now if Melissa hadn’t insisted on emailing her the following week’s Literacy plans, to check over the weekend. Once she had printed them off, Abby scrolled down the remaining twenty-three items in her inbox. They were mostly advertising, discounts and special offers – the usuals, Abby thought as she looked at the list (Amazon, Tesco, Mothercare, eBay…). She deleted all those that didn’t interest her as she worked her way through, stopping suddenly when she spotted a message from Simon. It was sent the day after her tantrum. The day after she had been so abrupt to Kerry. Abby stared at Simon’s name and the subject line, that gave nothing away, for too long before she felt brave enough to open it. Putting down her drink and folding he
r arms, she leaned towards the screen and read:
From: Simon Turner
Time: 06:37
To: Abby Turner
Subject: Please don’t delete this
Abby,
Please, please don’t delete this. I need you to hear what I have to say and since you can’t or won’t speak to me I thought I’d email you. Please read to the end and then read it again, if not now then later. Please Abby, you need to hear this.
Kerry showed me your messages. I didn’t ask her to contact you. I hope you know that. What she said to you, it wasn’t fair. I am so sorry you are not alright. I am so sorry for the hurt I’ve caused you. I’ve been unbelievably stupid. Stupid in so many ways I can’t fathom it.
I was stupid in the way I ignored you and the girls. (Oh God, our beautiful baby girls!!!) When it looked like the business was going under I panicked; I know I should’ve spoken to you more, but we’d just had our little Grace and I thought if I threw myself into it I could make it right without giving you more to worry about. You had already been through so much with the loss of your dad. I wanted to keep you and the girls safe, to make sure you had everything you needed. I’m sorry but you know part of me can’t help the way I feel about that.
And I know that makes what I did in Washington seem even more stupid. I wish I understood it but honestly Abby, I don’t. I know you deserve more of an explanation but when I think about it I don’t even recognise the person I was in that moment. I am so sorry for how that has hurt you – hurt us. I wish more than anything it hadn’t happened. I’ve tried to stay away and give you time, but Abby it’s been almost two months now.
What you saw on my phone, those were her feelings, not mine. I never said I loved her. I told her to stop contacting me. And I shouldn’t have run away that night, when you found out, but the things we were saying... Anyway, I should have stayed and told you then how much I love you. I shouldn’t have left before you knew that. You’ve no idea how I wish I could take it all back.
Abby, it’s always been you. I have never stopped loving you and I know that sounds ridiculous under the circumstances but it is true! You mean everything to me.
Please Abby, without you I have nothing. Please forgive me. Let’s just talk, no pressure, I promise. And please, I need to see the girls. It’s been too long. I miss them – I miss you all.
All my love, now and always, Simon xxx
Simon Turner
Company Director, Turner Advertising
Abby sat back trying to take in what she had read. In some ways it was exactly what she’d wanted to hear and in others it simply confused everything. She had spent the last seven weeks trying to comprehend the finality of it all; to adjust to the fact that her life with Simon was irrevocably over. And now Simon’s words were churning up the small path she had begun to make through the mess of it all. It was true that she had only seen messages sent by her to Simon but nevertheless, she had seen enough to know it couldn’t all just be taken back so easily.
Sitting alone in her living room, Simon’s words glaring at her from her laptop, Abby looked at the photographs around the walls. Each one seemed like a snapshot of a different life, a different existence, a time when she felt whole, a time when she and Simon had been totally together. Abby felt saddened that she was no longer the same person as the one staring back at her. With the breakdown of her relationship something inside her had broken too. She had lost her strength, her sparkle, her sense of self and she didn’t know how to get that back. Looking at the pictures she also knew that the person she was then was completely unaware how precious the life she had was. How special it had been.
Of course Abby knew Simon’s upbringing meant he would always want to keep them ‘safe’, and she knew she should have pushed more to get him to speak to her when the business was in trouble, but none of that excused what followed. At least before Washington any problems they’d faced were only about them, their relationship, their issues and the two of them facing them, or not facing them, together.
In truth Abby knew she had loved and trusted Simon totally. And she had liked how important she had been to him, how he had made her feel so special. She never thought anybody could break that, undo the special bond they shared. But now it was all so different. Simon had let another person into their lives; in fact he had not only let her in, he had willingly invited her and let her trample over the things Abby held dear.
Spotting their wedding picture on top of the bookshelf Abby began to wonder what that day had meant. Why stand in front of family and friends and make promises you can’t keep? Why make public declarations only to undo them with public humiliation? She looked more closely at her own bright, self-assured, beaming face – then suddenly unable to bear the sight of herself on that day, in that dress, with that happy, unknowing face, Abby put the laptop to one side. Holding the picture in her hand she momentarily considered smashing it, before putting it away in a drawer. No matter what the future held she was sure her wedding day would never mean the same again. Everything that had happened, everything she had read and all they had said on that night, the night she found out, could never be undone. In that moment her life had changed, she had lost something she hadn’t really appreciated she had and even if she wanted it to, she wasn’t sure it would ever come back.
It was all so horribly confusing. Attempting to understand why and how it had happened had become an obsession, and now throwing in the possibility of whether they could survive as a couple was beyond overwhelming. Abby had no idea what to do with this information. With her mind frequently in turmoil she felt unable to trust her own thoughts with any certainty; the voices in her head persistently fought a battle she didn’t have the energy to overthrow. Increasingly she simply chose to give in, let the voices rage on and attempt to go numb to it – feel nothing, trust nothing. It was a strategy she found helped her cope, but it also meant that she actually had no idea how she truly felt about Simon beyond numbing hurt and mostly, with the exception of her major temper tantrum, quashed anger. Could she still love him and allow herself to be loved by him? How would that work? She had no idea. Almost dizzy from the speed at which rounds of juxtaposing thoughts spun through her head, Abby grabbed her laptop and impulsively decided to reply.
From: Abby Turner
Time: 23:45
To: Simon Turner
Subject: RE: Please don’t delete this
Simon,
I got your message. I didn’t delete it. I read it. I am just so confused right now. I have no idea how I feel about you, about what happened or how to begin to deal with any of it.
You need to be patient. In truth my heart feels numb, like it has no feelings…
Abby stopped. Realising she was actually going to start paraphrasing Gary Barlow and the chorus to Patience if she wasn’t careful, she stamped her feet in frustration. Oh God! Why can’t I just say what I mean in my own bloody words? She deleted the last line and continued.
I need to know what I want. You will have to give me time to work this out. My head is a mess.
But of course you can see the girls. It has been too long. Come over tomorrow after lunch if you’re not too busy. I can go out and give you time with them.
Abby
About to press send, Abby hesitated, unable to resist adding a final sentence. It was a small point but one that always annoyed her.
(And please turn off your company signature when you email me!)
Abby pressed send and cursed herself for not re-reading the whole message. Panic rising in her chest, she stared in dismay as a reply sprung into her inbox, her hand trembling she clicked to open it.
From: Simon Turner
Time: 23:48
To: Abby Turner
Subject: Tomorrow
Of course I am not too busy. I’ll never be too busy for any of you again. I’ll see you at one. Thank you xxx
(Sorry!)
What was I thinking? Abby instantly started to question her hasty response. It
was as if answering by email had given her false confidence. Now she was actually going to have to face him. Attempting to rein in her racing mind and gain control of her quickening pulse she reminded herself that she could use the opportunity to ask him to have Jessica and Grace while she went on the year six residential. It was drawing ever closer and yet she hadn’t mentioned it. Sticking to that when he was actually there would give her focus. And he couldn’t possibly expect her to have any answers regarding his declarations in his email; it was simply too soon.
Though as Abby re-read his original message, she knew that Simon’s promise of no pressure was about as likely as her remaining in control of her faculties when tomorrow came.
5
Sixteen years ago, when Simon first came into her life, Abby was in the final year of her degree and wading her way through essays on modern women poets. She had heard a great deal about her roommate’s ‘best friend’ and if she was honest she was a bit unnerved about Simon’s impending visit. As their parents were close friends, he and Rachel had grown up together. Subsequently Abby had heard a wealth of stories ranging from them sharing potties as giggly toddlers to them comparing notes on first kisses as spotty teenagers. Rachel and Simon’s was the kind of friendship Abby had always envied. It wasn’t that she didn’t have friends; it was just that she had never really found a forever friend. The type you shared everything with and could always rely on. Abby’s school friends had all been mates who were important in the moment. None of them were ever destined to be chief bridesmaid at her wedding or godmother to her children.
