‘Is he dying?’ asks Violet.
I can’t answer this without sounding insincere, can I?
‘Looks like he’s got a bad cold or something. Was he really snotty yesterday?’
‘He was coughing.’
As if by cue, he then hacks away like he’s trying to bring up a lung. I’m not sure why but I lunge forward into action with a bin I grab from the corner of the room; force of habit as a parent and a doctor. He opens his eyes. ‘Ems,’ he whispers. I look down at the bin, seeing empty condom wrappers. I promptly put it down and stand over him. ‘You came?’
‘You told me to come and get the girls.’ Against all better judgement, I put the back of my hand to his head. ‘Do you have a thermometer here?’
‘Somewhere.’
‘And what are you using to bring the fever down? Just brufen?’
‘I haven’t got anything else.’
I reach into my handbag, rifle through a toiletry bag and find some paracetamol. ‘Iris, honey. Go get Daddy some more water and does he have any food in his kitchen? Crackers, biscuits?’
‘Yes, we’ve got some Rich Tea Fingers.’
‘Get a big stack of them, put them on a plate. Violet, go and help, baby.’ They scamper off. ‘Simon, I’m leaving you some paracetamol. Make sure you eat before you take these. You know the drill.’
‘I’m sorry about the girls.’ He whimpers, curling up in pain.
I reach down and his feet are like ice. I do a quick scan for rashes, out of habit rather than concern. He seems to be fine. Rooting around a drawer, I find him a pair of socks and put them on him, trying to cover the rest of him with a light sheet. I then bend down and clear up some of the mess, shaking out old jumpers and shirts and laying them by the edge of the bed. A hair tie falls out on the floor. Possibly one of the girls’. Possibly not.
He coughs again, reaching over, and grabs my hand. ‘Have you got a phone on you with a decent light? Can you check what’s going on in my throat?’
I look over at him. ‘You could do that yourself.’
‘Please?’
‘Open up.’ He sits up and I flinch at his morning breath and the physical proximity. I cup his jaw and feel for his glands, prodding harder than I normally would. There are red patches at the back of his throat, tonsils are slightly inflamed.
‘Tonsillitis at a guess? Keep a check, you may need antibiotics.’
‘Thought as much.’
I look over at him. He knew exactly what was wrong but he wanted me to play the doting nurse. You tosser.
‘Then again, it could be syphilis. You never know until you’ve had a proper swab.’
His face reads panic. Geez, Simon. Who have you been cavorting with now? You’re supposed to be a doctor. I sit here for a moment too long. He touches my hand again.
‘Thanks, Ems.’
That touch. He used to touch me all the time, in ways I didn’t notice: a hand at a kitchen counter, the bathroom sink, over a duvet. But it feels different now. It annoys; there is no spark. It’s all friction. My teeth clench.
‘We got the biscuits, Mama.’
I turn and see two little people at the door watching. Both of them smile. I could smother Simon in his weakened state now. But I don’t. I smile back.
I’ve never ridden a horse. In fact, I’ve never ridden an animal, not a donkey, camel or pony. When we used to visit the zoo or a farm as children, I always wigged out at the thought of relinquishing control to another sentient being whose mind you couldn’t quite read. I felt it a recipe for disaster. As a doctor, I saw many injuries involving unpredictable animals, including one poor man who had to have a testicle removed after he was bucked by a donkey. Nothing is worth not having a vital reproductive organ.
Here the horses are all lined up and have names like Blossom and Twinkle. I can’t quite read their expressions but I’m sure they wouldn’t have chosen those names themselves. That one definitely looks like a Diego. Beside them is a line of squealing children set to torment them for the next hour as they ride in endless circles around this London horse riding studio, My Little Pony. I think about how much this party has cost and to that end, about these poor horses that will only be paid in apples.
We rushed here having left Simon’s pretty quickly after he tried to fake some sort of impending death. I hope it’s a virulent bacteria that’s taken him over. Not something that would kill him obviously but maybe something that would cause temporary impotence or control of his sphincter in social situations. In any case, along with not being able to find parking and London traffic, we’re a few minutes late and I know this will be all that anyone remembers about our attendance at this party.
‘Emma and Violet! So lovely to have you here, we were expecting Simon I thought?’
‘Oh, Simon is ill so I’m afraid you have little ol’ me,’ I reply.
Leah is Pippa’s mum. She’s the scanning sort who makes snap judgements just by giving you a quick glance up and down. It makes me want to kick her especially when she does it over a small child. Violet grabs my hand tightly. Leah studies her yellow Hunter wellies and leggings.
‘I love those wellies.’
I look over at the children already lined up. It’s a mixed affair of trainers, wellies and one lad who’s wearing football boots but Pippa looks like she’s about to compete in a serious equestrian event. She even has a riding crop. I think the horsiest thing we own is the sweatshirt Violet’s wearing. I mean it has a unicorn on it but same gene pool, right? Violet stands slightly behind me which is standard, she’s been using me as a shield since the first day of nursery. She’s not her sister who throws herself into social situations, not giving me so much as a second glance.
‘So, you’re welcome to stay Emma and I don’t know your name…’ she gestures at Iris.
‘My name is Iris.’ Iris looks up at her disapprovingly as Leah’s eldest, Jasper is in her class. She should know this information.
‘Iris, lovely. I’ve laid on caps and croissants so you can just stay and watch. They are also taking photos so you can buy them afterwards if you want?’
Or take them on my own phone? I smile and see the assorted group of mums already convened in the café area. I know most of them from school events and the gate. They are the few I don’t quite care for as they seem to talk in cliques and spend an eternity on the WhatsApp class chat debating the school lunch options. I don’t know if the salmon is breaded, Karen. However, Violet’s fingers are fully intertwined with mine. I get a sense of her reluctance. Have I passed over some inherent fear of live animals that one can ride?
‘So, Violet… if you want to go with Matilda here who’s one of the stable-hands and we can find you a helmet?’
Violet looks up at me and shakes her head. Leah doesn’t look impressed. I bend down to Violet’s level and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
‘What’s up, kiddo?’
‘What if I fall off?’ she whispers.
Iris rallies around and throws an arm around her sister.
‘I don’t think you’re riding like in a race. I think someone is there all the time and holding the horse,’ I tell her. ‘Just listen to what they tell you and hold on tight?’
She won’t let go of my hand. Leah hovers over us. She has obviously paid for this by the hour and didn’t account for any of these kids potentially being scared of the pretty ponies.
‘I can come with you?’ says Iris.
Leah steps in. ‘Oh, I didn’t account for siblings.’
‘I don’t think Iris meant that. Maybe just for some reassurance?’
‘Oh well, she’ll miss the safety briefing then. We do need to get this thing started.’
‘That’s fine. Go ahead.’
‘Well, maybe if you left then she wouldn’t be so clingy?’
I glare at Leah. The ‘throw them in the sea and watch them swim’ approach to parenting.
‘I’m not going to force her to do something she doesn’t want to do.’
/> I stroke Violet’s head as her eyes glaze over with tears. ‘You not feeling it, V?’
‘Can I watch for a bit?’
I nod my head. ‘Sure thing.’ I turn to Matilda. ‘Could she maybe meet the ponies and get to know them first?’
‘Sure, I have a pony that needs feeding and you can help me.’
‘Can Iris come?’ asks Violet. Matilda nods and Violet takes her sister’s hand and they wander off. My heart crumbles seeing Iris resting her head on her sister’s to reassure her.
I can hear Leah sighing behind me like I should have asked her permission first. ‘I guess she can possibly join in later if the party technicians are OK with that?’ she says.
Don’t create a scene. Don’t say a word.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. ‘Has she been like that since the divorce?’ Leah’s words make my head swing around.
‘Excuse me?’
‘She was always such a bright little girl, so bubbly and now… a little different?’
I freeze, not knowing how to respond. How often does she see my daughter? For fifteen minutes each day? Have I dropped the ball somewhere between work and my divorce where I hadn’t seen a change in my own daughter? My instinct is to take my girls and leave but that would just make it worse. Violet is just intimidated. She did the same at a party last year with the man dressed up as a low rent Captain America who lunged so hard clutching his shiny shield that he split his tights and we all saw far more than we needed to.
Leah gives me an awkward smile like she’s trying to sympathise. It’s a smile I get a lot in that school playground. Oh, you’re divorced. How sad. I’ll pretend to know how that felt and how your life fell apart for a while. Her words feel all at once rude and exposing. I do not want any part of her luxury coffees and pastries, despite a desperate need for caffeine.
I leave her to sort the children who have behaved as expected and I take myself away from the crowd. That barb, twinned with facing Simon this morning in his flat, half naked, means I can’t catch a breath. I find a park bench overlooking the riding circle and sit. She’s just one person, one opinion, I tell myself. It means nothing, but in the course of a divorce, those words all creep in somehow, they all meander through your consciousness, penetrate, burn and become an inescapable part of this new divorced reality. I watch as Leah returns to the mums in the café and I can sense she’s reporting what’s just happened. Shaming a six-year-old girl to a group of adults. I hope one of those horses launches a cannon of hot piss at her when she’s stood near them.
‘I see you’ve escaped the coven too?’ It’s a male voice. This man seems to be hiding behind a tree to escape the scene. I eye him curiously as he comes to sit down next to me. He’s obviously smarter than me as he got his free cappuccino before fleeing. He looks familiar, definitely one of those cool dads. He has one of those designer beards complete with denim shorts, Caterpillar boots and a bright orange cagoule. Shorts in September means he at least deserves some respect.
‘I’m Leo. I’m Freya’s dad. I think you know my eldest too, Giles.’
I remember him from my school run the other morning.
‘You’re the parking rebel.’
He laughs. ‘They’ve given me a nickname already?’
‘I have, don’t know about the others.’
‘Is Violet OK?’
‘I think she might be scared of horses. Which is always good to find out at a horse riding party… Leah’s not impressed.’
‘Is she ever impressed though? Really?’
I laugh as he glances over at her. She’s gone to town in the café with the giant metallic helium balloons and what looks like a cake in the shape of a horse with liquorice for a tail. The party bags will be immense today. None of this sweet cone nonsense. I won’t be surprised if we get a proper pony to take home. I hope mine comes house trained and with a Gucci saddle.
‘I’ll profess to not really knowing her that well so I can’t really say…’ I reply, admiring how polite I’m being.
‘Well then you’ve lucked out. She’s very good friends with my ex-wife.’
‘Oh.’ My ears prick up at the term ex-wife. We may be bonded by something in common.
‘She’s a judgemental old bint but hey, maybe one of the pros of being divorced is that I got rid of her too. So you are… Emma?’ I nod. ‘Dr Emma?’
‘Is that my nickname?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. You are handy though. When we had that chicken pox outbreak and you identified it on WhatsApp, it saved a lot of people a trip to the doctors.’
‘Is that all I’m good for?’
‘You’re not the mum who makes the good chocolate brownies at the cake sales, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Then yeah.’
I smile. Leo is not my type at all but there’s a conversation here that is, for once, not painful. The school gate is such a strange social scene and it feels nice to make an alliance instead of eking out small talk about the changing of the seasons and second-hand uniform sales.
‘How long have you been divorced?’ I ask.
‘Decree absolute went through six months ago. World of joy ever since.’
‘I bet.’
‘I mean between kids, and sorting the house, it’s drama after drama. I’m freelance too so can only take work around the children now and my ex is… what’s the best way to describe the mother of my children, difficult?’
‘Faith? She’s your ex, right?’
When their divorce happened, Facebook told me she had an actual party in a bar. There were strippers and streamers and a cake involving a topper of a bride and groom, except the groom didn’t have a head. I didn’t go despite the open invitation. I always wondered how someone’s heartbreak could end in a celebration especially when mine left me feeling like I’d been steamrollered into a bad wife pancake.
‘The very one. And not because I’m prying but you are also divorced, I believe?’
‘I am. Separated for almost two and divorced for a year now. My ex is Simon.’
‘And you call me the parking rebel. He parks in the head teacher’s space.’
‘That I did not know.’
‘I only try to annoy Hetty. She told everyone I had an affair and that’s why Faith and I broke up. So when I see her in her hi-vis, it’s like red to a bull.’
I smile politely. In divorce you need to reach for those small victories sometimes.
‘How are things with you and Simon?’
‘I haven’t pushed him off a cliff yet…’
‘Wow. That bad?’
‘He has his moments. Can I ask what you heard happened between us?’
‘I just heard you split up. But can I be honest?’
‘I’ve just met you, why not?’
‘He always came across as a bit of a…’
‘Dickhead?’
‘I don’t need to be honest then.’
I smile. I think about a husband who used to show up to parents’ evenings and sports days and walk around like people should have been bowing at his feet.
‘He was a terrible husband. Serial cheat. I guess I finally found the balls to say enough was enough. I mean it took me years but hey…’
‘Wow. That’s bad. Worst thing he ever did?’
‘I found a video of him in a threesome on our family computer.’
‘Oh.’ Leo’s eyes dart around. That was the worst example to go with. Too much for the horses. He studies my face as I seem to project a certain calm about everything.
Last year, it had been a different story. Going through that awful phase of lawyers and financial arrangements… I would have hidden behind these trees from the fatigue, the shame. Now the shame is Simon’s and it would seem I can talk about it plainly to people I’ve just met.
‘Well, I’ve told you mine. What happened with you guys?’ I ask.
He looks at me, wondering whether to invest his trust in me. I shrug my shoulders. I just told him about sex stuff and I’m he
re, not over there in the coven with the other mums. He takes a deep breath, his eyes seeming to change colour as he begins the story.
‘We were best mates at one point but it just went to pot. Stresses of real life and money and kids. We had a lifestyle to upkeep and I couldn’t give that to her so we fought all the time. Like, all the time. The turning point was when she went vegan and found reiki. She started talking in New Age riddles. I once brought a pint of milk into the house and she said I was shitting all over her energy.’
He looks over at Freya at this point, riding a pony at 0.5 miles per hour. The pony has an excellent fringe. He waves at her animatedly and throws a thumb up at her.
‘For her it was all about appearances. I had nothing in common with her anymore. It turned into a really toxic environment for the kids too. I just felt like they were breathing it all in.’
We sit there for a moment, letting the information wash over us. I look across the way and see my girls brushing a horse’s tail. Violet giggles as the horse sneezes and it vibrates through his whole body.
Leo’s words haunt me. Maybe that was the best thing I did, taking the girls away from a family dynamic that was steeped in lies and insincerity. Even though, for the longest time, I thought the best thing was to keep our family glued together, I was wrong. Now was the chance to model something positive for them.
‘How’s his game?’ Leo asks.
‘His game?’
‘Divorce was once described to me as tennis. Just back and forth, forever and a day. Sometimes they’ll smash something right into your half, someone will drop the ball. But it’s a game that will never stop.’
‘That’s depressing…’
‘Faith is also the most competitive woman in the world – it’s exhausting. So tell me of Simon’s game.’
‘We have a routine, we stick to it. I give good game face for the kids. I am civil.’
‘I hate that word. The only time it’s ever used is to describe a war.’
Can I Give My Husband Back?: A totally laugh out loud and uplifting page turner Page 7
