‘You OK?’ Jemma tilts her head to make eye contact with me and I realize I must have been staring into the middle distance.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Actually, I’m really tired. I’m going to go to bed.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you stay and watch the end. I’ll see you in the morning.’
It’s clear from Jemma’s face that I’ve upset her, but being so close to her is like being in a lift that suddenly grinds to a halt. I’m struggling to catch my breath.
As soon as I’m on my own, I text Emily. I write, delete and rewrite it over a dozen times. Then, finally, I press send.
Jemma would like to take Alfie to school this week. I hope that’s OK? I’ll still pay you, of course, and I’ll call you to sort out next week x
It’s not what I want to say and I regret it as soon as I’ve sent it.
When her reply arrives, it’s like a punch in the stomach.
No problem.
* * *
‘I like having you home, Mummy,’ Alfie announces after he’s finished gobbling his breakfast.
‘Oh, thank you, baby.’ Jemma looks like she might cry. ‘I like being home too.’
She kisses his cheek, then he climbs down off the stool. ‘When is Emily getting here?’
‘Well, I’m going to take you to school now.’
‘Will Emily pick me up?’
‘No, I’m going to do that too. Isn’t that great?’
Alfie doesn’t look like he thinks it’s great. ‘But when will I see Emily, then?’
Jemma tries and fails to hide the hurt on her face. ‘Well, I don’t know. I …’
I put my hand on Alfie’s shoulder. ‘I’ll call her. We’ll sort something out, OK?’
Jemma glances over at me and I can tell it’s not the answer she wanted me to give, but I can’t just remove Emily from Alfie’s life. And although I can’t tell Jemma, I’m not ready to completely remove her from mine either, at least not without knowing if she wants me to.
‘OK, as long as I can see her really soon. I’m going to go and beat the timer getting ready. It’s got orange sand in, Mummy, my favourite colour. Emily got it for me.’
Jemma gives a forced smile and Alfie runs upstairs, leaving us to listen to the dripping tap, the whir of the dishwasher, the sizzling pan – the current state of our relationship, lingering, unresolved, swirling through the atmosphere between us.
‘Here you are.’ Jemma places the full English breakfast she’s cooked for me down on the worktop and I pull up a stool and tuck in.
‘Thank you. It’s delicious.’
‘Well, you can’t go and face all those teenagers hungry, can you?’
I smile. ‘I suppose not.’
Jemma picks up Alfie’s cereal bowl and puts it in the sink. ‘Oh, I was wondering, do you want to go for dinner tonight? My parents are available. Or we could go at the weekend, if you think you’ll be too tired?’
Although I appreciate her making the effort, it feels like she’s trying too hard, piling on the pressure. I already know what the ‘right’ thing to do is. Mum’s voice is always there: Be loyal. I don’t need Jemma being the perfect wife to remind me that we made our vows, that she’s the mother of my child. That you don’t give up on that unless there’s literally no possible way of salvaging it.
And yet, right now, my head is so full of someone who isn’t my wife that it feels like it might actually explode, just burst open in front of Jemma, exposing its guilt-ridden contents. And doing the right thing feels so much harder than I ever thought it would.
‘Let’s do it at the weekend. Sounds nice.’
Emily
I think he’s called Simon. I can’t quite remember. It might be Steve. I know it was one of those names that make you picture someone with no discernible features. If someone says the name River, or Gabriel, it immediately conjures up an image of an artist or a musician – scruffy hair, a mysterious vibe. Simon, Steve – whoever it is that’s snoring beside me, his mouth open, a small trail of dribble slithering down his chin – he’s as nondescript as the name I can’t remember. He’s neither fat nor thin. Not ugly but not particularly handsome. He seemed nice enough after a skinful.
Careful not to wake him, I wriggle out from under the duvet, pick my clothes up off the floor and put them back on. My mouth tastes of copper coins so I go into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I open the cupboard and am greeted by a white coffee mug with the letters UNT printed on it in large black font and a black handle forming the C. Well, if the shoe fits. I fill it with water, take a few large gulps and leave it on his worktop to welcome him when he gets up.
On the bus to Gardner’s Lane, there’s a young mum with her two little boys, probably about two and six. She’s sitting next to the youngest, while the older boy stands beside them, flying across the aisle every time the bus driver brakes. She taps the screen of her phone while the youngest chews on his shoe, which he has removed from his foot, and the eldest tries talking to her about a film he’s watched. I want to throw something at her and shout, ‘Listen! Because one of these days, and it’ll come sooner than you think, he won’t be there every day, you won’t be the person he wants to share everything with, and the hole he leaves will feel like a cavern.’ But I know she wouldn’t get it.
I pass a Spar on the short walk to the community centre so I pop in and buy a bottle of vodka. The guy serving can’t even be bothered to say the price out loud, so deep does his misery seem to run; instead he just points to the numbers on the screen of the till. I can’t really blame him, stuck in this dingy little shop serving misfits like me all day long. I thank him – not that he acknowledges it – and leave, stuffing the alcohol into my shoulder bag.
In the toilets of the community centre, I open the bottle and slug away merrily. I know that by the time I walk back out, Jake will be sitting in the circle telling the group how wonderful it is that his wife’s come home and how they’re going to be better parents to Alfie and I can’t listen to that shit sober. It’s been four days. He hasn’t called. He sent a couple of texts, one on the day Jemma came home to basically tell me I was out of a job. And one the following day that simply said Are you OK? I didn’t reply and there’s been nothing since. Not that I expected there to be. She’s his wife. Alfie’s mum. And just to add insult to injury, she’s even more stunningly beautiful in the flesh than in the photos dotted around their house. How could little old me compete with that? I manage nearly a third of the bottle, then it starts rising back up into my throat like bubbles in a lava lamp so I replace the cap and put it into my bag.
When I walk into the circle, Jake looks up in acknowledgement so I stare at the floor. I sit by Sharon. Even enduring her is better than being near to him. As I sit down, she smiles at me, but it’s the kind of smile you give someone you really can’t stand, a short sharp twitch of the cheeks. I mirror her and then turn away so there’s no chance of us being trapped in a polite conversation that neither of us wants to have.
It’s not long before Sam taps his stupid triangle and the group members bow their heads. I stay looking up. Sam glances at me and, if I’m not mistaken, he looks scared. Like he can see he’s got a potential bomb in the room that could explode at any time.
Sheltered inside my hazy vodka bubble, sitting in the anger management session feels surreal, like I’m watching myself through a screen.
‘Right, let’s make a quick declaration to our partners, then.’
Keeping her hands in her lap, Sharon mumbles, ‘I promise to listen without judgement and to be honest to myself and to you.’
I snort. ‘What a load of crap.’ All eyes, loaded with unease, turn to me. Jake’s face is filled to the top with pity and I can’t stand it. I don’t want him feeling sorry for me. ‘I mean, seriously, you all judged me the day I walked in with my skinhead. And, come off it, none of us are really being honest. We say what we think you want to hear, Sam; maybe we even manage to convince ourselves it�
�s what we really feel. But the truth is we are who we are and sitting around drinking shit coffee and imagining our happy place is not going to change that.’
Sharon shakes her head so violently it looks like it might topple off. ‘So we’re all just doomed, then? No point trying to change anything?’
I shrug. ‘Looks that way to me.’
She sits on her hands like she’s scared what they might do. ‘Well, you can’t speak for everyone, OK? Some of us here have changed and we are being honest and this group is really helping us, so keep your negativity to yourself.’
Sam raises his hands. ‘Everyone has a voice here, Sharon. We don’t all have to agree with each other but we do have to allow each other a voice. Maybe this is you finally being honest, Emily. Maybe now you will make the progress you feel you haven’t made so far.’
I raise my eyes to the ceiling and exhale loudly. I’ve had to listen to this psycho mumbo jumbo my whole life. I can talk until I’m blue in the face but it doesn’t change anything.
Sam turns back to the group. ‘So, as it’s our penultimate session, we’re going to talk about rebuilding any damage that may have occurred as a result of your anger. It might be damage to a relationship with a loved one, it could be difficulties in the workplace, or it might even be damage that your anger has caused within you – maybe it sends you off on a path of self-destruction or you feel guilty all the time.’
I’m not stupid. I know you’re talking to me.
‘Whatever the damage is, I want you to talk with your partner about ways you could fix it. Off you go.’
I cross my arms and look at Sharon. ‘Well, it’s clear I’ve learnt bugger all, so why don’t you share your new-found wisdom with me?’
Sharon’s heels scrape the floor as she adjusts her position in her chair. ‘Fine. OK. For what it’s worth, even though you’re going to think it’s a load of bullshit, I realized that my anger messed up my relationship with my daughter. I felt guilty for not being the best mum in the world. And instead of facing up to that, I blamed her. But she’s right. I probably did give her trust issues. In fact, a lot of the things she blames me for probably are my fault.’
When the veneer of self-righteousness leaves Sharon’s face, what’s left is something decidedly fragile.
‘So I’m going to tell her that,’ Sharon continues. ‘And I just hope she forgives me. Because if she doesn’t, then I guess you’re right, what’s the point?’ Sharon’s hands shake as she pulls at her lip. ‘So come on, tell me it’s all pointless, that the damage has been done.’
I shake my head, picturing Mum’s face. ‘Tell your daughter what you just told me. I can’t say whether she’ll forgive you or not, but either way, it won’t be pointless.’
Sharon draws back her head and examines my features closely, as if she’s not sure who it is she’s talking to. ‘Thanks.’
Sam taps his triangle and the conversations going on around the room peter out. ‘Anyone want to share?’
Bill slowly raises his hand. ‘Actually, I’ve got something to say if you all don’t mind listening to an old bugger like me for a few minutes?’
There is a collective murmur of support.
‘We’d love to listen to you, Bill,’ Sam says.
‘Well, first, I just want to say I’m sorry that you don’t feel the group has helped you, Emily. But you’ve helped me.’
I smile awkwardly, feeling strangely emotional and yet unsure how anything I’ve said could have had a positive impact on anyone.
‘Something you said a few weeks ago really struck a chord with me and I’ve been thinking about it a lot since. You said I was just blaming other people and you were right. I thought I was angry because the neighbours put their bins in the wrong place or didn’t stick to the rules about not hanging their washing in the front garden. But really it had nothing to do with that.’ He wrings his wrinkled hands. ‘I was angry at Else, for leaving before me. That wasn’t the plan. She was younger than me. I was supposed to go first. I was angry at God for taking her. But I’m trying to put things right. I even took round cakes for all the neighbours the other day. I bet they thought they were poisoned.’
Bill laughs and I look around at a room of waterlogged eyes, trying my best to retain some composure.
‘I’ve never baked cakes before. Can you believe that? I’m eighty-two and I’ve never baked a cake. But things were different when we were young. Men didn’t do that sort of thing. Else did everything for me. I don’t think I even realized how much she did until she’d gone. So they probably weren’t the most delicious cakes you’ve ever tasted but it felt like a step in the right direction.’
‘Thank you for sharing, Bill,’ Sam says. ‘It sounds like a wonderful way to repair the damage to me.’
I know if I don’t escape I’m going to burst into loud embarrassing tears so I sneak out of the room and go back into the toilets, sitting in one of the cubicles with my bag on my lap and the bottle in my hand. The burn of vodka on my lips is a welcome comfort, but my head’s starting to spin so much I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it held upright. After a few more swigs, I go to the sink, splash some water on my face and steady myself to go back in.
When I rejoin the circle, Sam is just finishing off. ‘It’s our last session next week so if anyone wants to bring some food – crisps, dips, cakes, that sort of thing – we’ll have a little “last supper”, for want of a better phrase.’
There’s some discussion amongst the group about what they might bring and then people start gathering their things, stacking chairs and filtering out. As I pick up my bag, I feel a hand land on my shoulder. I look up and, despite myself, am disappointed to see Sam’s face.
‘Stay here for a minute. Let me make you a coffee.’
I move away from his touch, more aggressively than I mean to. He sits down on the chair beside me.
‘I’m fine. I don’t need babysitting.’
‘I know you don’t. But I don’t think a coffee would hurt.’
I know he’s only trying to be nice but the last thing I need is someone mothering me.
‘Now if you were offering me something stronger, that would be appreciated, but a coffee’s really not going to do it for me. So, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to go home.’
‘OK, but only if you let me drive you. At least let me do that.’
I sit forward and put my bag on my shoulder. ‘Seriously, I’m fine.’
When I stand up, my legs nearly give way. I steady myself using one of the towers of chairs and it screeches across the floor, me sliding with it.
‘I’m driving you home.’
Sam packs up his things. I feel so light-headed that I’m not sure I’ll make it to the bus so I give in and stagger with Sam to his car. Getting in, I bash my head on the door frame. It stings to shit but I pretend it doesn’t bother me.
We don’t talk on the drive home. My eyes keep closing and I think maybe I even drift off a couple of times, but I’m not entirely sure. When Sam pulls up outside my flat, he turns off the engine and puts his hand on mine.
‘Please take care of yourself, OK, Em?’
I have no idea why, but I lean across the handbrake and kiss him. He pulls away, gently manoeuvring me back into my seat.
‘Em, you’re drunk. Let’s talk next week, yeah?’
I snigger, trying to disguise the fact I feel like an idiot. ‘Your loss. I would’ve been an easy lay.’
‘Em.’
Somehow, I manage to open the car door and stumble out and into my flat. I collapse on the sofa, drink some more of the vodka from my bag and eventually pass out.
Alfie
Mummy came home so Emily doesn’t look after me any more. Mrs Young gave me a big smile when she saw Mummy dropping me off at school and said, ‘Isn’t it wonderful your mummy is home?’ and I nodded. I didn’t want to tell her that I was feeling really sad in my tummy because then she’d think that I was mean and that I don’t love Mummy and I do. But in
the morning when I show Mummy that I beat the timer, she says, ‘Well done,’ but she has a sad face, and it’s supposed to be happy, like Emily’s was. Emily always picked me up and spun me around so my legs stuck out in the air like a windmill. I don’t know why Mummy isn’t happy I beat the timer.
I want to show Emily my plan for my new film. I’ve drawn all the pictures and made a list of everything we need. It’s going to have Scuba Batman in it, and Holiday Joker. I got them both the other day. I think Emily would like them, especially Holiday Joker, because he has a rubber ring and an ice lolly so he looks really funny. In my film, they’re going to go to the beach and play chase the waves and Batman can live in a sand Batcave like the one we built when we went together. I’m going to make one with all my yellow Lego. I think Emily would like that. I hope she can help me make it. I keep asking Daddy when she can come over and he keeps saying, ‘Soon,’ but soon never seems to come so I don’t think it’s soon at all. I tried to make a magic spell to make Emily appear, but it didn’t work so I’m not sure I’ve got the right ingredients yet.
Jake
When I arrive at Emily’s flat, she’s in joggers and a T-shirt and there are three empty packets of Wotsits on her coffee table.
‘Healthy tea tonight?’
‘Almost as good as that roast you cooked me.’
She sits down and puts her feet up on the coffee table, her arms crossed like armour.
‘You didn’t reply to my text.’
Emily shrugs. ‘I didn’t have anything to say.’
‘I just wanted to know that you were OK.’
‘Of course I’m OK. Why wouldn’t I be?’
Saturdays at Noon Page 28
