by Sophie King
Ah, here he was.
‘Everything all right?’
He nodded briefly. ‘The Kid had had too much to drink. I’ve seen him in a worse state. They say he’s okay but are keeping him in for observation.’
‘That’s a relief.’
He nodded again. ‘Yes.’
She started the engine. ‘You don’t sound as though it is.’
‘Actually, Lizzie, there is something wrong. I’m sorry for asking but what exactly did you tell the girl on reception?’
She felt a funny little flutter. ‘I asked where you were and she wanted to know if I was family, otherwise I don’t think she’d have let me in – and you had said you wanted me there.’
‘I did.’
‘So I’m afraid I pretended I was your girlfriend otherwise I don’t think she’d have let me through.’
There was a silence. She couldn’t see his face in the dark.
‘I wasn’t trying anything on Ed. I mean I know you probably have a girlfriend or will get one soon and I’m married and . . .’
Why was she gabbling like this?
‘The problem is,’ he was saying slowly, ‘that by some ghastly coincidence that girl at reception is someone who also works for me. I hadn’t realised she had an evening job as well to make ends meet.’
‘You don’t feel bad in case you’re not paying her enough?’
A hoarse laugh. ‘Maybe I should. But in fact, I feel bad because we’ve started dating even though no one else knows it.’
Shit. Sorry. Sugar. ‘So she thinks you’re cheating?’
‘Exactly. Ed sounded glum. ‘Looks like my love life is doomed to failure, doesn’t it? Oh well. At least The Kid is all right. By the way, Lizzie, call this the woman in me, but have you considered extensions? The hair variety, that is. If so, I know someone who might be able to advise you.’
Ed insisted that he’d get a cab from her house instead of her driving him home. That way, she’d be back sooner for her son.
He’d already ordered the taxi from the car so hopefully it would be there when they got to the house. Bugger. It wasn’t. Now she’d have to ask him in. And then Dad would think he was more than a friend. Wrong! Especially after that rude suggestion about extensions.
‘Lizzie, dear!’
She knew it! Marjorie! Complete with white trouser suit and a half-empty glass. ‘How lovely to see you, dear. I’ve been keeping your dad company while your mum’s at the cinema.’
Keeping Dad company? Mum at the cinema?
‘Do come in.’
Marjorie was beaming at Ed. ‘I expect you’d like a cup of coffee, wouldn’t you? Don’t worry, it’s not too late.’ She winked at him. ‘I do hope you’ve had a nice time at the ‘hospital’.’
The emphasis on the last word was so heavy that she might as well have come out with what she was really thinking. Things that a woman of that age had no right to think.
‘Ed and I have been at the hospital to visit his stepson,’ Lizzie said firmly. ‘I mean, stepbrother.’
Why had she said that? Now Dad was giving Ed what she used to call, in the early days when she’d been dating Tom, ‘The Look’. The look that said, ‘Are you good enough for my daughter?’
Lizzie began to stammer. ‘Ed’s got such a complicated family that I get a bit muddled.’
‘Clearly,’ muttered Ed.
‘Ah. Here’s the taxi.’ Thank heavens for that.
‘Taxi?’ frowned Dad. ‘Have you had too much to drink to drive back then?’
‘I don’t drive,’ said Ed quickly.
‘Nor me!’ Marjorie beamed. ‘It’s so much nicer to get the bus, don’t you think? You see more. And besides, when you’re my age, it’s free. Do you know, a friend of mine is travelling, even as we speak, by bus from the north of England to Cornwall. Of course, she stays in some nice hotels on the way.’
‘Bye.’ Ed was already down the path, skidding on the ice. ‘See you next month. Maybe.’
Lizzie didn’t even bother trying to persuade Marjorie and Dad that Ed was just a friend. Clearly they were determined to think what they wanted.
But she wasn’t going to let them get away with it that easily.
‘What the hell is she doing here?’ she hissed at Dad, once she’d run upstairs to check Jack was safely asleep in his bed. ‘And where’s Mum?’
Dad put his hands in his pockets the way he always did when about to make a point. ‘Your mother wanted to go to the cinema with George. So I said fine. I’d ask Marjorie if she wanted to babysit with me. Look,’ he pointed to the board in front of the television, ‘she can even beat me in Scrabble. Your mother was never able to do that.’
How ridiculous! ‘You’re both behaving like a pair of teenagers. Know that?’
‘We feel like teenagers, poppet. It’s absolutely wonderful! You and Tom have made us think. Why spend the rest of your life with someone who’s never been exactly right for you?’
Now she really did feel sick. ‘You don’t mean that? Not really. You and Mum – well you’re an item. You go together. Like Branston and Cheddar.’
Dad’s hands were going to go right through his pockets if he kept on like that. ‘Then maybe my taste buds have changed, pet. It happens.’
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. ‘So are you going to get divorced then?’
‘Course not.’
A huge wave of relief shot through her.
‘But we might be like your Aunty Peg. She’s had a ‘friend’ for years. So has Uncle Dick.’
What?
He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Divorce is so messy. We leave that up to you lot. Now off you go to bed. I’m going to walk Marjorie home. By the way, we finished off that half bottle of wine you left in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind but I didn’t want you to find it missing and then think Jack had got it. There was a piece in the Mail again today about all these kids that drink. Terrible, isn’t it? Oh, and Sophie rang. Says she’s been trying to get hold of you.’
No, Sophie said on the phone. She didn’t want to come home that night but she might at the weekend. Lizzie tried very hard not to burst into tears during the conversation, saving them instead for afterwards.
‘Something wrong?’ asked Dan gently the following day when they were doing an afternoon shoot. This time it was a piece on how to keep children happy during the summer holidays, for the August issue which, as usual, was months ahead. Dan had scattered sand on the studio floor – even though it was a howling gale outside – and had constructed some paper sandcastles which looked quite realistic through the lens. All they needed now were the models to arrive, along with their mothers. But they were late, which was why she somehow found herself telling him all about last night – even down to her last mistake at Casualty.
‘Your friend Karen is right. Your daughter will come back. Just give her time. My sister in Sydney had that trouble when she got married again but it worked out in the end. As for your friend’s girlfriend . . .’ He chuckled. ‘You’ve got to see the funny side. But all you need to do is go back and explain the truth.’
She’d thought of that. In fact, tonight would be a good time. Jack was at Cubs and she could just about shoot over to the hospital and hope the girl – September, Ed had said although that seemed a really weird name – was on duty.
Blast. There was a middle-aged woman there instead. ‘Can I leave a note for the girl who was here last night?’
‘What was her name?’
‘September.’
‘September?’ The woman frowned. ‘We don’t have anyone with that name.’
‘Can you tell me who was on, then?’
‘I’m sorry. We don’t divulge personal details.’
‘But she had auburn hair. Very pretty. She was here at about 10 or 11pm last night.’
‘If you want to leave a note, I’ll see what I can do.’
A note? This could be difficult.
Dear September,
This is the gir
l you met last night who said she was Ed’s girlfriend. Well I’m not. I just said that because I thought you wouldn’t let me in otherwise. I’m just a friend whom he met through a sort of group. A kind of self-help group. Sorry to have caused any problems. If you want to talk to me, you can get hold of me on this number.
Yours, Lizzie.
He’s starting to look through the local paper, pointing out houses that I might be able to afford.
His eyes are cold. ‘If we do this sensibly, without involving the lawyers, we’ll save money.’
Lawyers? He’s never got this far before.
My common sense says I need to see a solicitor to check on my legal rights. I’m scared. If I do, it means it’s real. But that little voice inside me forces me to make an appointment with a firm near Holborn.
It wasn’t easy to get to but I managed.
I could tell it was expensive from the mahogany table we sat around and the lumped sugar in a silver bowl. It was a woman solicitor. Kept talking about clean breaks as though we were in a fracture clinic. Told me to write down all the reasons why I might say my husband had been unreasonable.
One of her clients had apparently got a divorce because her husband had pulled out the cabbages from her vegetable patch.
It was when she told me that story, a smile on her lips, that I decided I wouldn’t mention all the things I could have said.
Instead, I leaned forward in my chair and said I’d changed my mind and that I didn’t want to know my rights because I didn’t want a divorce at all.
And then her expensive silver earrings smiled and she said that her clients sometimes say that but that they often change their mind and that the bill would be in the post.
Session Seven
So sorry everyone – I’ve got to cancel due to something unexpected that’s come up.
See you next month.
31
ALISON
She almost didn’t get home in time to change. One of Caroline’s clients had rung when she was still in ‘the office’ as her sister called it although it was really just the spare room of her sister’s flat, piled high with papers that she was trying to file in some kind of order.
Her sister might be good at telling others what to do but paperwork clearly wasn’t one of her skills. And then the phone had rung from someone called Natasha who wanted to know where the new press release was. Was this how David had felt at work? Continually harassed. For the first time, she was beginning to get a small glimpse of office pressure, although it still didn’t excuse his behaviour.
‘Press release?’ she had repeated, feeling as though she was back at school.
‘For the teenage acne cream!’ This Natasha’s voice was ice cold. ‘Caroline promised she would send it over by tonight.’
And so it would be, she found herself reassuring the girl and somehow – by a stroke of luck – she found some scrawled notes in her sister’s handwriting about an acne treatment; a subject she happened to know quite a bit about thanks to Jules.
She’d tried to ring Caroline but her phone was still off so she took a deep breath and typed a few sentences out, taking care to add the name of the cream and the price at the end and where you could get it from – because when she read about products like this in magazines, she always wanted to know this – and emailed it off.
If it wasn’t right, Caroline could sort it out when she got back and blame the ‘temp’.
After that, it was a real rush to get home. Part of her was hoping he might have rung to cancel. But no messages! Part of her felt like cancelling herself. But that would be chickening out.
She opened the cupboard door – the same one that David had been promising to fix for ages – to get a tea bag. It had come off the bottom hinge completely now! Where did he keep the screwdrivers? And why had she always left the DIY to him before? Maybe this pair of kitchen scissors would do. Alison stared with flushed success at the screw which she’d put back in. She could do it! Just as she could start dating – all over again . . .
What did one wear on a first date for nearly thirty years? Alison eyed herself critically in the bedroom mirror, holding up a pair of sage green silk evening trousers that were (amazingly) at least one size too big for her since she’d worn them last time. That was what the Divorce Diet did to you, someone had remarked at the last meeting. A quick squirt of something from a square-shaped bottle on her daughter’s bedside table – mmm, nice! – and she was almost ready.
Physically, that was. But inside, her head was spinning. What did one do – or rather not do – on a first date nowadays? The thought of kissing someone apart from David was so absurd that her reflection laughed out loud.
David . . . She could remember all too clearly what she had worn for their first date all those years ago. A pair of bell bottom jeans with pretty embroidery up the side which had taken her weeks to save up for. Ironically, they seemed to be coming back into fashion – Jules had an almost identical pair! If only children realised that their parents had been through the same clothes, not to mention situations.
The doorbell! He was early. Alison began shaking as she made her way down the stairs. ‘Jules?’
Alison stared in disbelief at the glamorous young woman on the doorstep with a scarf woven elegantly round her neck and black leggings merging into ankle boots.
‘Hi Mum.’ Jules strode in as though she’d only just left the house half an hour ago, instead of five months. ‘What’s for supper? I’m starving.’
This was disastrous! Hugh would be here any minute. ‘But you didn’t say . . . you didn’t ring.’
Jules dumped a smart purple overnight bag, that she hadn’t seen before, in the middle of the hall. ‘I don’t have to, do I? It’s my home.’
Hang on. ‘That’s not what you said when I saw you last time. In fact, if I remember, your words were ‘I’m living with Ross now and I don’t know when I’ll be back’.’
‘Yes, well I was stressed, wasn’t I? I’m allowed to be.’ Jules threw her a look which made her feel as though she should be apologising instead of the other way round. ‘It’s not every day that your parents split up. No wonder I couldn’t deal with uni.’
This wasn’t fair! ‘But you said it had nothing to do with that. You said you didn’t like your course.’
‘I didn’t. But I don’t like what’s happening at home, either.’
‘It’s not my fault that your father decided to leave.’
There! She’d said it! And in exactly the kind of tone she shouldn’t have.
‘Isn’t it?’ Jules was already halfway up the stairs, yelling down. ‘You were always nagging, Mum. Nagging him. Nagging me. Fuss, fuss, fuss because you didn’t have enough to do.’
What? Alison could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘But I chose to be at home so I could look after you.’
‘Did you? Or was it just because it was easier. So you could do your flower club and your tennis and whatever else you did while Dad worked his fingers to the bone, unable to follow his own dreams.’
That wasn’t fair!
‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it now.’ Jules scowled. ’You’re impossible. And don’t start blaming your hormones again. I’ve been working hard all day and I’m going to my room.’
HER hormones? What about her daughter’s? Not for the first time, did she wonder how unfair it was that some mothers went through what she jokingly referred to as the ‘meano-pause’ at about the same time as their teenage daughters began to discover what their parents had lost.
‘Jules . . . Jules . . .Wait!’
She should have told her. Too late, Alison knew she should have said something about Clive’s friend who was renting the smaller room just for a month. But Jules had said she wasn’t coming home so . . .
‘What the hell has happened to my room!’
‘I was going to tell you, Jules. I had to rent it out. I’m sorry but I couldn’t manage on the money that Dad . . .’
‘YOU LET MY
ROOM OUT!’
Jules’s eyes were blazing as she flew down the stairs. Alison almost flinched; her daughter looked as though she was going to hit her. ‘How dare you? Ross said you’d got a lodger for the spare room but he didn’t say you’d done the same to mine!’
The doorbell. Please no. Not the doorbell.
‘Alison! How lovely you look! Sorry I’m a little late.’
Hugh was dressed in beige trousers, topped with a navy blue blazer which contrasted nicely with the bunch of yellow roses he was holding.
‘Not at all.’ Alison’s voice was shaking. ‘Please come in. This is Jules, my daughter.’
‘Don’t bother about me.’ Jules was already slinging her bag onto her back. ‘I’m just leaving. No, don’t try to kiss me, Mum.’
Her eyes flashed first at Hugh and then back at her. ‘First a lodger and now a boyfriend. I have to hand it to you, Mum. You’ve really moved on. Clearly Dad didn’t mean much to you, after all.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Alison said for what had to be at least the sixth time that evening. It was such a lovely restaurant – a new Italian that she’d been wanting to go to for ages – yet she already felt she had spoilt it for both of them.
‘Honestly, I understand. Totally.’ He called over the waiter to top up her glass and Alison made a mental note not to drink it. She’d said far too much already. All that stuff about David which she hadn’t revealed at the meetings (like not having had a ‘full’ relationship for some months because her husband ‘just hadn’t felt like it’) had somehow come tumbling out, partly because she was so embarrassed by the Jules scene.
She was worried too. Her daughter had truly been furious. No, Ross had texted, she hadn’t gone back to his place. So where was she? Alison had visions of her stomping the streets or getting drunk. If only she’d answer her mobile!
