All We Have Lost

by Alexander, Aimee

  The door opens and we’re called in.

  They shake hands.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Ian. I think it’ll be useful.’

  We take our seats when really I want to run.

  He asks us about our marriage.

  Ian talks about how great it was.

  I say nothing.

  ‘We used to be a team. Did everything together.’ He looks at me. ‘We were best friends. Soulmates.’

  ‘And you threw it away,’ I say because – enough. Seriously.

  Ian looks at Peter.

  ‘Did things start to go wrong before you had the affair?’ he asks Ian.

  Ian nods. ‘When Kim gave up work, it changed. It’s like it wasn’t the two of us against the world any more.’ He turns to me. ‘It was like you and the kids against me.’

  I shake my head. I knew this would be a mistake.

  ‘I’m just trying to explain,’ he says to me. ‘You resented me getting out of the house even though I was just going to work. Maybe I’d have liked to quit. Maybe I’d have liked to explore my artistic side, start over, become a writer. But someone had to put bread on the table. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying that you weren’t the only one under pressure. Yes, I was going out the door but I was doing so worried about the mortgage and who’d pay it if I wasn’t kept on. I would have liked for you to understand that it wasn’t just hard on you. Instead, I felt I was being blamed for everything.’

  ‘For what, Ian?’

  ‘For not doing enough housework. For you having a shitty day. For example.’

  I stare at him. ‘I wasn’t blaming you for my day – I just needed to get out of the house. It’s not easy being responsible for toddlers every hour of every day. And why shouldn’t I ask for help when I’m trying to juggle everything on my own?’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to take on all that stuff.’

  ‘Who else was going to do it? Certainly not you. And not an au pair.’

  ‘You felt under pressure, Kim. Is that right?’ Peter asks.

  I look at Ian. ‘I wish you’d just taken me away for a weekend. We could’ve been alone together. We needed it – so badly. But no. No weekends until she came along – then lots of weekends – for you and her. You tried very hard to save our marriage, Ian.’

  ‘What about your weekend with Connor? If you hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have ended up away from home feeling lost, alone, worried... I wouldn’t have…’ He stops.

  As does my heart. So that’s when it started.

  ‘You always got on better with Connor than me.’

  ‘That’s your perception. And don’t blame me because of how you feel about Connor. I didn’t have an affair with him.’ I remember our fling then remind myself that it was over with Ian by then. I will not feel guilty.

  ‘But why did you have to go away when I specifically asked you not to?’ Ian asks, desperately. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh my God. You don’t remember, do you? You were being obnoxious – you were The Man Who Needed The Exact Number Of Sausages At Exactly The Right Time. You were constantly putting me down and pushing me away. I had to get away. Connor wanted us to come. You didn’t seem to want us at all.’

  ‘It’s the other way around. You didn’t want me. I’d get in from work and you’d be out the door. You didn’t care about my day, never asked, weren’t interested.’

  ‘I was tired.’

  ‘I asked you not to go to London.’

  ‘Because of how little you think of Connor. Not a good enough reason. Anyway you were going to be away yourself.’

  ‘So the affair began that weekend?’ Peter asks.

  Ian looks at him. ‘It hurt that she wouldn’t listen, didn’t care, wouldn’t see… Connor has always fancied her. I was miserable, got drunk. Jackie was there.’

  ‘And then you came home and accused me of having an affair. What kind of person does that?’

  He drops his head. ‘A guilty one.’

  ‘You made me out to be the bad guy so you’d feel better? Low, Ian.’

  ‘Not deliberately. I don’t know; everything was upside down, out of control, mad.’

  ‘I still don’t know which is worse – the fact you cheated and lied or that you treated me like a fool. All those put downs, those references to my figure, what I wore…. You even wondered what I could possibly write about apart from cellulite.’

  He looks baffled. ‘If you say I said those things, then I must have. But I never set out to hurt you. I might have been worried for you, not wanting you to turn into something you never wanted be. I was worried that you’d end up unhappy. But you’re right; I was out of line. I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.’ He bows his head. ‘I was insecure and stupid. A bloody fool.’ He looks at me. ‘But I love you, Kim, more than anything. If you would just give me a chance to make it up to you…’

  ‘To trample all over me, you mean. I’m starting to remember who I am. I’m starting to like who I am.’

  ‘I love who you are.’

  I look at him. ‘But how easily you forgot.’

  ‘Well, I think we’ve made good progress here today,’ Peter says, looking at the clock.

  Progress? It feels as if something that was beginning to settle has been stirred up and swirled around like grime at the bottom of a lake.

  ‘I could come again if you think it would help,’ Ian suggests.

  Peter glances from Ian to me. ‘You might like to decide that together.’

  Ian looks at me hopefully.

  I get up and leave.

  Outside, Ian catches up with me. He touches my arm. ‘Kim...’

  I pull away and look into his eyes. ‘You could have had a bit of faith in me. In us. You could have tried, Ian. Instead of falling so easily into her arms.’ I turn and go before I break down in front of him.

  How can that have been progress?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I go to collect the children from Mum’s. They’re out the back, chasing each other with plastic watering cans. Their innocence breaks my heart.

  We stand watching them.

  ‘Have you given up on the hose?’ I ask Mum.

  ‘Well, they’re supposed to be watering the plants.’

  I smile. ‘Were they OK?’

  ‘Wonderful. They love to potter around together, don’t they?’

  You see? I’m not the only one.

  ‘Coffee?’ Mum asks.

  ‘I’m not staying,’ for five hundred questions.

  ‘Did you make any progress?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he explain?’

  ‘Can we not talk about this?’

  ‘He has ended the affair, though?’

  ‘How do I know? His word means nothing.’ He means nothing.

  ‘Is he sorry?’

  ‘Mum. What did I just say about his word?’

  ‘But does he still want to come back?’

  ‘Enough, OK? I’m not you. I deal with things differently. It is allowed.’

  ‘You have to think of the children. It’s not just about you.’

  I am not a bad mother. I am not a bad mother. I hurry across the grass and retrieve my soaked children, becoming drenched myself in the process. They’re disappointed at my lack of reaction.

  ‘Come on, guys, we’re going home.’

  Somehow, they know not to argue.

  Unfortunately, we have to get out through the house.

  ‘Say goodbye to Granny.’

  They run to hug her. Which is when I realise how much better they know her now. They have a relationship.

  I soften. ‘Thanks for minding them.’

  ‘Anytime. Bye, love. Sorry for nagging, it’s just that…’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘OK. OK. Sorry.’ She puts her hands up.

  ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  I feed the kids, skip their bath and get them to bed early. I’m crawling into my own when the phone rings.

  ‘Have you been avoiding me?’ Connor asks
.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You never called me back.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ I can’t remember a call where I promised I would.

  ‘What about the message I left? Didn’t that remind you?’

  I remember now. ‘Sorry. I meant to get back to you.’

  ‘Not like you to forget.’

  ‘I’m having a few problems, Connor. I think I can be forgiven for not returning a phone call.’ Jesus.

  ‘Sorry.’ A beat. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I keep thinking about you.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m grand. Still seeing the shrink,’ I joke.

  ‘What’s the story with Ian?’

  I fight the urge to hang up. ‘He’s seeing the children.’

  ‘How often?’

  ‘I don’t know, most days.’

  ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘Who knows what’s wise? Everyone but me it seems.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It’s just that it might be better if you didn’t see him so much. You need a clean break.’

  ‘Connor, I would love nothing more than a clean break. He’s the children’s father. What they need matters. I’m not going to be selfish about this.’

  ‘Just don’t be fooled by him. He’s probably still sleeping with her.’

  ‘Despite appearances, I’m not a complete eejit. I can look after myself. OK?’

  ‘OK.’ There’s a silence. ‘It’s just that I care about you. I care what happens to you.’

  ‘Well don’t. You’ve your life. And you’ve Sarah. She’s thrilled to have you back.’

  ‘I know. I’m lucky.’

  ‘So sound it. Thanks for calling, Connor, but I need to do this my own way, OK?’

  ‘OK. Goodnight, then. Talk to you tomorrow.’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  ‘I’d like to check up on you. Make sure you’re OK.’

  ‘I am OK. I have to sort this out for myself – without discussing everything I think and feel, OK?’

  Silence. Then: ‘OK.’

  ‘Is Sarah there? Can I’ve a quick word?’

  ‘No, she’s out. As usual. Goodnight, Kim. Take care.’

  I collapse onto the bed and put the phone on silent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Chloe’s first day at school and Ian arrives at 8.20. Having him in the kitchen first thing, dressed for work, reminds me of how life used to be. Except for one thing. He no longer looks at home, standing awkwardly inside the kitchen door, arms folded. I’m swallowing back Solpadeine for a headache.

  ‘Our little girl is growing up,’ he says, smiling over at her.

  ‘Look at my uniform, Dad.’ She jumps down from the table and performs an amateur but heart-warming twirl. Her delight at Ian being here for her special day is obvious.

  ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘Look at you.’

  I glance at Sam who is, after forty minutes, finally finishing his one Weetabix. He is unusually quiet. I kiss the top of his head so he’s not feeling left out.

  ‘My man,’ I say to him. It’s the same innocent term of endearment I’ve used since he was a baby but suddenly it takes on a new significance, as if I’m sending a message to Ian that he isn’t my man any more.

  ‘Back in a sec,’ says Ian, disappearing out the door.

  He returns with presents – a new suspension bridge for one of Sam’s train sets and a pair of Barbie roller skates for Chloe. I haven’t bought them anything. Damn.

  ‘Nifty,’ says our almost five-year-old and I can’t help smiling.

  The doorbell rings. Chloe rushes out ahead of me.

  It’s Mum, arriving unexpectedly. Am I the only one not to have bought presents? Chloe drops to the floor and starts to rip off the wrapping paper. Then she is flinging herself at her granny in gratitude.

  ‘Have a wonderful day, pet,’ Mum says, a little teary.

  ‘Thanks Gran and thanks for the paints.’

  ‘You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’ve a little something for Sam, too.’

  ‘He’s in the kitchen,’ Chloe says, sitting back on the ground with her first proper paint set.

  ‘Oh! Ian!’ Mum says on reaching the kitchen. She turns to me with a big smile and sparkly eyes, then goes to give him a hug. ‘It’s good to see you. How are you?’

  Traitor.

  ‘I’m fine, Florence, thank you. How are you?’ He pats her back affectionately. Ian always did love Mum.

  ‘Oh, Ian, I’m well.’

  Then comes an awkward moment. Where does the conversation go now?

  Sam saves the day. He, too, loves his present, a kaleidoscope.

  Chloe arrives to check it out.

  ‘Well, love, I’ll get going,’ Mum says to me. ‘Just wanted to wish Chloe luck.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming with us to the school?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I’ve got to…. rush off.’

  ‘OK, well, thanks so much for the pressies. You know how Chloe loves art.’

  ‘Like her mother.’ She smiles, then goes over to Chloe, stoops down and kisses her. ‘Have a great day. Have fun.’

  ‘Bye Gran and thanks for the paints. They’re great.’

  ‘And tanks for my kliidascope. It’s bwill.’

  She ruffles his hair. ‘Bye, gorgeous.’

  And then she’s gone. Leaving more awkwardness. How do we get to the school – all together or separately? For obvious reasons, I’d prefer separately. But maybe this can be my present to Chloe.

  ‘You may as well come with us, I suppose,’ I say to Ian.

  His eyes say, ‘thank you.’

  Mine say, ‘I’m not doing this for you.’

  We drop Sam at the Montessori. He puts up a fight because he’s used to his sister going in with him. I promise a train ride. And have to shake on it before he’ll budge.

  We drive to the school, Ian making small talk with Chloe.

  As we’re about to go in, Ian starts taking photos. He takes a few shots of Chloe, more with Chloe and a friend from the Montessori, then one of Chloe and me.

  ‘Let me take one of the family,’ says a passing Good Samaritan.

  ‘No thanks; it’s OK,’ I rush.

  ‘Thank you; that’d be great,’ Ian says, at the same time.

  We look at each other. She looks at us.

  Then I see Chloe’s face.

  ‘Sorry. Thank you. That would be lovely,’ I say.

  We squat behind our daughter and smile. I think of the photo of my father with James and me and am ambushed by a range of emotions, none of them good.

  Cheese!

  As I drive him back to the house to get his car, I feel him gaze on me.

  ‘I miss you. I miss our life,’ he says.

  I keep my eyes on the road. There’s no point having this conversation.

  ‘We haven’t spoken about money,’ he says.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What if I just keep my salary going into the joint account?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m changing firm but there won’t be a problem with the account. It’s all set up. But if there is a problem of any sort, just let me know and I’ll sort it.’

  ‘So you’re leaving?’ I confirm looking straight ahead. Does this mean he really has left her? Do I care? Unfortunately, the answer is yes. But I’ll work on that.

  ‘Yeah. At the end of the month.’ He sighs deeply. ‘I’d been trying to for a while. Kim, I know you’ll find this hard to believe but I hated what I was doing. I hated myself. I wanted to end it. I thought that if I got another job, it would be easier. I received an offer just before going into that board meeting. I’d handed in my notice and ended the affair before you arrived.’

  ‘How did she take the news?’ I ask coldly.

  ‘I meant nothing to her. I was a distraction.’

  I think of a cat toying with a mouse. Two mice, though. Because she toyed with my life too. Ruined it, actually. So, f
our mice. Because… the kids.

  I pull up outside the house. Suddenly I have to know. I turn to him, look right into his eyes.

  ‘Did you love her?’

  ‘No,’ he says simply. ‘It was never about love. I was lonely.’ He looks at me. ‘I only love you. I’ve only ever loved you. I can’t believe that it has taken this to make me realise how great you are, how great my life was.’ His voice breaks and he starts to cry. ‘I’m sorry, Kim.’

  I get out of the car. Go inside.

  I pace the back garden, trying to empty my mind. Connor was right. A clean break would be so much easier. The phone bleeps. It’s a text from Connor wondering how I’m doing. Doesn’t he listen? Doesn’t he know when to leave a person alone? I switch the phone to silent and go back into the house. I start to clear up after breakfast. Wiping the counter, I knock into the lilies. Great clumps of pollen rain down on the fish bowl.

  ‘Oh God. Don’t eat it, Boo, please don’t eat it!’ The last thing we need is a dead goldfish.

  I swipe the vase away then race to the drawer for a spoon. When I get back to the bowl Boo is at the surface, gulping great big fishy mouthfuls of bright yellow pollen. Oh, sweet Jesus. I scoop out what’s left, then ring the pet shop.

  ‘Hi, it’s me again.’ I’ve been on a bit.

  ‘Hi, Kim.’

  ‘Is pollen poisonous to fish?’

  ‘Gosh, that’s a new one on me. Couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘He’s just eaten a load of it.’

  ‘What type?’

  ‘Lilies.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Is that bad?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘I’d probably change the water. And… try not to worry.’ OK, so the guy’s laughing at me. He has to get his kicks somehow.

  I do as recommended. Then peer into the bowl. Boo looks OK. I wonder when we’re out of the woods.

  Rather than watch a life-or-death struggle, I head for town. There’s a gallery owner who needs an answer.

  In trying to explain my ‘no’ to Fonsie, it all comes out. Well not all. But most.

  ‘The children have lost their father and don’t even know it. I need to be there for them.’

  ‘Sounds to me like you need a diversion,’ he says calmly.