‘Oh, Harry, love,’ I said, throwing my arms around him. ‘Did he tell you about her?’ I asked, dreading the answer that I knew he was going to give me.
‘She came too, Mam. Her name is Megan.’
Anger warmed my veins. How could JP do that to him? Surely, he wasn’t that stupid to bring her along so soon?
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’ I cuddled him in close to my breast and felt his warm tears soak through my cotton T-shirt. I guessed Harry had believed JP’s departure to be a temporary thing. He had always seen his parents as a unit and now he was facing the crushing realisation that our unit was shattered.
‘Will you tell Dad that I don’t want to go next time? It’s too weird. Dad is meant to be with you.’
My heart felt as though it was being splintered into tiny smithereens at his innocence. Harry thought I could fix this, that I had some say in what was happening to us. He didn’t understand that I was just as powerless as he was.
Harry
I can’t tell anybody because I’m trying to be brave, but I miss Dad sooooooooo much. We always watch the Liverpool matches together or go out for a kick-about on the green and it’s not the same without him.
Dad still hasn’t come home yet and he’s being really mean because he’s making everyone sad. Dad left us because he wanted a different wife instead of Mam, but that’s not fair on Mam because she didn’t get a different husband.
She’s called Megan, but they didn’t get married yet because he is still married to Mam. She’s really young – even younger than my teacher. She looks a bit funny and she’s really orange, not like when you go on holidays and you get a suntan, she’s actually orange like the fruit. Her nails are really long and pointy, and she always wear loads of make-up and she keeps having to fix it whenever she sees a mirror. Dad was acting all funny when she was around, and she kept calling him ‘babes’, but he’s forty-three so he’s not a baby, and they hold hands (eugggh), even though Mam and Dad never do that. Dad likes her better than us, that’s why he wants to live with her. Robyn is clever, she faked being sick so she didn’t have to go to Paccini’s. I wish I had thought of that and then I wouldn’t have had to meet stinky Megan.
I asked Dad to come back home because everything went wrong when he left, but he said that he can’t, and I said, ‘why?’ and he said, ‘because sometimes mams and dads need to live in different houses’.
I want to make Mam happy again and I asked her if I got her a new husband would she stop crying and then she started crying even more, so I don’t think she wants one, which is good because I don’t know where you get husbands from, so now I’m working on a plan to break up Dad and Megan, it’s called ‘Harry’s Secret Plan to Bring Dad Home’. Step One is that I’m going to pretend I’m sick the next time he comes to pick me up like Robyn did so I don’t have to go with him. Then Step Two is I’m going to annoy Megan, so she will break up with Dad. I just want everything to go back to the way it used to be. I know Mam gets really sad whenever I say that to her, but it’s all because of stupid Megan. I hate her! She made everything go bad.
Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and normally Mam and Dad let us stay up really late to watch the fireworks on TV and we all make a wish, but the only thing I want for the new year is for my dad to come home.
8
January came in raging and roaring. Cold and wet and bleak. Although it hadn’t yet snowed, dark clouds, heavy and threatening, hung in the sky. The kids had gone back to school and I was alone in an empty house for the best part of the day, with only my thoughts and wounded heart for company.
It had been three weeks since JP left and over the last few days it had slowly dawned on me that his departure wasn’t a ‘moment of madness’, but, instead, it seemed to be a new way of life for us. I missed him so much, I was still crying myself to sleep every night. I would wake up in the morning to find my pillow damp from tears and a dehydration headache pounding. I would open the wardrobe and see his clothes still hanging beside my own. Sometimes I would lift out a T-shirt just to breathe in his manly smell and rub the soft cotton along my skin. His photos still hung on the walls, his crime thrillers still sat on our bookshelves, his toiletries still stood on the bathroom shelf – everywhere I went there were reminders of him and the life we used to share together.
The children had amazed me with their resilience. I had contacted their teachers to tell them that JP and I were having marital difficulties so they could be on alert if there were any issues with Harry and Robyn, but thankfully both of them seemed to be coping well with the altered landscape of their lives. They were slowly accepting their changing circumstances with the adaptability that young kids are remarkable at. I was so proud of them.
Word had slowly filtered out to our wider families and friends and what bothered me the most was the silence. Nobody from JP’s family had made any contact with me since that fateful Christmas Day. I was sure they must have heard the news though, if not from him, from somebody else, but they hadn’t picked up the phone. I knew by the way other mums avoided my eye at the school gate that they had heard what had happened too. I even saw friends of ours, other couples that we had gone for dinner or drinks with, turn down a different aisle just to dodge me in the supermarket. I guessed people didn’t know what to say to me, they would rather avoid me than stand and have an excruciatingly awkward conversation. I still hadn’t been able to find the words to tell my friends Linda and Mel what had happened yet because I felt like such a failure.
I had recently logged into our bank account and was relieved to see JP had lodged money to cover the mortgage and our living costs for a few months, but I couldn’t rely on him doing this forever. I knew he might ask for a divorce down the line, after we had been separated for two years, as was the requirement under Irish law. There might even come a time when we would have to sell the family home, I had seen it happen when a couple’s assets got divvied up in the divorce settlement. I loved being a stay-at-home mum, there was no more important job in my eyes, but I might have no choice but to go back to work. It was daunting to think about dusting off my CV after spending so long out of the workforce.
One morning, I was in the bathroom undressing to get into the shower when, in some sort of perverse self-flagellation, I made myself stand and face my reflection head-on in the mirror. Usually, I averted my eyes to avoid looking at my body, but that day, I forced myself to look at the image staring back at me. I hated the way the loose skin from my mum-tum hung over my underwear and how the silvery grooves of my stretch marks made my stomach look like elephant skin. I placed my hands on either side of my abdomen and stretched out the loose skin to try to remember what it had looked like before. Then there were the dimples of cellulite on my thighs and the way my breasts had gone south after feeding two kids – to me, my body was revolting. I had let myself go. I should have tried harder to stay in shape. I had joined a gym when Robyn had begun playschool and I finally had a few hours to myself again every morning, but I hadn’t gone back to it after the first week. Was it any wonder JP had left me?
Suddenly, I heard Robyn crying and calling out for me. I quickly threw on my dressing gown and followed her small voice down the landing.
‘What’s wrong, pet?’ I asked, hurrying into her bedroom.
‘I’m sorry, Mammy, I got sick.’ She was standing looking at her soiled carpet in dismay.
‘Hey, don’t worry, sweetheart. Are you okay?’
She nodded.
It was the second time in as many weeks that I had woken to find she had vomited. I guessed there were a lot of bugs doing the rounds at this time of year and children Robyn’s age seemed to pick up everything. I knew half of her playschool class had been out sick with various illnesses recently, but she had been complaining of not feeling well a lot lately and I was starting to think her illness was psychosomatic. It worried me that she could be doing this at just four years of age.
She had made excuses not to go the last two time
s that JP had called to collect them, and then Harry had tried it too and I knew JP thought it was my fault. I had mentioned it to Fiona, and she had suggested that the kids might need counselling. That had been a shock to me, I had always thought I would be able to protect them from whatever life threw at them, but my daughter had clearly been affected by our break-up.
I got her cleaned up and as I set to work scrubbing the carpet, she asked me if she could have Cheerios for breakfast. I was baffled at how she still had an appetite.
We went downstairs and, after she had finished her cereal, she raised the bowl up to her lips to drink the leftover milk, leaving a big milky moustache behind on her face.
‘Can I wear my princess dress to playschool?’ she asked.
‘You want to go to playschool?’ I was dumbfounded, but that was the thing with kids, they just bounced back. They were so resilient.
‘I feel better now,’ she sang as she ran off towards the playroom to find the dress.
Even though she did seem to be fine again, the playschool’s sickness policy meant I would need to keep her at home. Although I was probably being overcautious, I decided to make an appointment with our doctor just to put my mind at ease.
I had tucked Robyn up underneath her duvet on the sofa; she was sucking her thumb and snuggling Mr Bunny as she watched Paw Patrol. I was relieved to see that she had managed to keep her breakfast down and had been in great form since she had been sick that morning. I guessed it was some sort of bug she had picked up in playschool.
I had called Fiona and asked her if she could take Harry to school for me so I didn’t have to disturb Robyn. Thankfully, as a freelancer, she had a lot of flexibility with her hours. I had just seen them off and was standing in the utility room, loading Robyn’s soiled bed sheets into the washing machine, when I heard the doorbell ring and, when I answered it, I saw that it was my mother-in-law, Joan. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas Day, and I had wondered when I was going to hear from her.
‘Sarah,’ she said curtly, casting a critical eye over my greying fleecy dressing gown.
‘Come in, Joan,’ I said, feeling mortified that she had caught me still in my pyjamas. She was wearing a rose-coloured tweed two-piece suit with matching court shoes and her white hair was carefully styled. She was always dolled up as if she had somewhere important to go to. A former air hostess during the glory days of airline travel, she had never lost any of her glamour.
She made her way into the living room. I watched her eyes as they landed on the toys scattered around the room and Harry’s pyjamas that he had left in a pile on the floor when he got dressed for school earlier. I hadn’t had a chance to pick them up.
‘Oh, hello, Robyn,’ she said in surprise.
‘Ganny!’ Robyn tossed the duvet aside, jumped up and ran to hug her grandmother.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you, darling girl,’ Joan said, lifting her up and kissing her cheek.
I realised that JP leaving us had repercussions for them too. They hadn’t seen the children since Christmas when usually they would have seen each other every week.
‘Why isn’t she in playschool?’ Joan asked me.
‘She was sick earlier this morning,’ I said.
‘Well, she seems fine now.’ She looked at Robyn, who was grinning in her arms.
‘You know what kids are like,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. ‘Anyway, the playschool has a forty-eight-hour exclusion policy when a child has vomited,’ I added, because I knew she felt I was being overcautious. I should cancel my appointment with Dr Peters, I thought. I didn’t want to waste his time… ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee?’ I offered.
‘A tea would be lovely, thanks.’
She followed me into the kitchen and took a seat at the table as I began to boil the kettle.
‘I just wanted to see how you’ve been,’ she began as I placed the mug down in front of her and took a seat opposite her.
I was touched by her concern because JP was the apple of her eye and, for her, could do no wrong. JP had lost his younger sister, Ellen, when she was ten years old, after being knocked off her bike in a road traffic accident on her way home from school. JP had become an only child overnight and, understandably, his mother had been very protective of him ever since. I had been wondering how she had taken the news of his departure. As a devout Catholic and a regular mass-goer, I knew it would have been a huge blow to Joan to learn that her son had walked out on his wife. Even though JP and I had both been raised as Catholic, we weren’t very religious. Although we had got married in a church and had chosen to baptise our children, we rarely went to mass, and Joan called us à la carte Catholics.
‘I miss them, you know,’ she added, and I could see water gather at the corners of her eyes. ‘Richard too – both of us – we’re not used to going without seeing them for so long.’ Her voice quivered.
‘Joan, I know this is hard on everyone.’ I placed my hand over hers on the table and gave it a squeeze. ‘But you can see them whenever you want, you know that.’
‘It’s not meant to be this way,’ she continued, shaking her head.
‘This isn’t my doing, Joan – JP walked out on us – he left me for a younger woman.’ I wondered exactly what version of events JP had told his parents.
‘But all marriages have their ups and downs, Sarah, you just have to try a bit harder. Men have been having affairs since the year dot and women just quietly turned a blind eye to it for the sake of keeping the peace. Once the men were discreet, their wives ignored it and just went about their business as normal, but it’s only now, since all these bra-burning feminists have come on the scene, that everyone has to make a big song and dance about it. You aren’t the first woman to be wronged by an errant husband, Sarah, and you won’t be the last.’
‘JP left me on St Stephen’s morning! He didn’t give me the option to “turn a blind eye to it”. Do you think I want this? I’m devastated! I begged him to stay, but clearly his feelings for her – this Megan woman – trump his family. Did he tell you that they’re living together?’ My voice snagged as emotion caught up with my anger. ‘I still love him, Joan, but I don’t have a say in it,’ I explained sadly.
‘Well, if I were you, I’d be asking myself some deep questions.’
I was stunned by the vitriol in her words. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I mean why did he stray in the first place? As a wife, there are certain things you can be doing… Keep yourself looking well, for a start.’
I automatically fingered my hair, which I knew was wild and wispy around my face, but I would have tidied myself up a bit if I had known she was calling. My mother-in-law had never approved of my casual dress sense. Over the years, I had lost count of the times she had passed comment when she would call round and I would be wearing a tracksuit. Or if I didn’t turn up to a family occasion with a fresh blow-dry and a full face of make-up, I would see disapproval in her eyes. For Christmas every year I was gifted make-up palettes in lurid colours, with names like ‘Scarlet Siren’, presumably in the hope that I’d start to up my game in terms of my appearance. I would donate them to the charity shop the following week. JP and I used to laugh about it. I was able to let it roll off me. I was comfortable enough in my own skin for it not to bother me, but now, when I was at my lowest ebb, her criticism stung.
I stood up, indicating that this conversation was over. ‘I don’t think that’s very fair, Joan.’
She stood up too, holding onto her handbag and heading down the hallway towards the door before stopping and turning back to face me. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah, I’ve said my piece, so I’ll go now, but please just try to work things out with John-Paul – you have to try and save your marriage – for all our sakes.’ She nodded towards the living room. ‘Tell Robyn I said goodbye. I hope she feels better soon.’
9
I sat stunned at my kitchen table for a long time after Joan had left. It was clear that she was pinning the blame for the disintegration of
my marriage squarely on my shoulders, but surely she knew, I loved JP. If there was anything – anything at all – that I could have done to save my marriage, I would have done it, but I was powerless. Her words had been like salt in the wound; Joan seemed to think JP had left because I had let myself go and, now, I was questioning myself yet again. Was it really all my own fault that JP had walked out? Could I have done more to stop him leaving? If I had dressed better or lost some weight maybe? And it had been months since we had had sex – why had I said I was tired whenever JP tried to make love to me? Why hadn’t I ever been the one to instigate it, instead of always leaving it up to him? Now I wished more than anything that I had tried harder.
I hadn’t told anyone, but I had looked up Megan’s Instagram page a few days ago. Her account was set to public, so it was easy to find her. I had tortured myself by flicking through photo after photo of her posing and pouting with her friends with strings of hashtags underneath that I didn’t understand. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back and she looked as though she had bathed in fake tan. I had stared at this woman – well, she didn’t look much older than a girl really – with her perfect teeth smiling back at me; this woman, who had stolen my husband and taken my children’s father away from their home. This woman who had broken down the foundations of my life. I wondered what she saw in a man that was almost twenty years older than her. Was it all a game to her? Did she comprehend the gravity of what she had done to my family? I had swiped through her photos, feeling so frumpy and out of touch. So old. I couldn’t help but think it was no wonder he left me – how could I even possibly compete? I would have left me too if someone like Megan came along.
The Last Days of Us Page 5
