Marshmallows for Breakfast

by Dorothy Koomson

  “Kyle was never there. When he was there his head was at work. And I get it, I really do, he was doing his best to make sure we had a roof over our heads and food on the table.

  “So, day after day, I got lonelier and lonelier, I was in this catch-22. If I told people I wasn't coping, I was scared they'd take away my children; I wasn't coping so I needed someone to talk to. I kept thinking it'd get better when they started school. There'd be other mothers there, right? I could try to find some other like- minded people amongst them.”

  “What, the committee of bitches?” I snorted.

  Ashlyn removed her face from her hands. “You know them?”

  “Oh yeah. They don't talk to me because they assume I'm the nanny and therefore not worthy of wasting conversation on, but are always asking Summer or Jaxon to give me leaflets to give to ‘Mummy or Daddy’ to allow them to apply for this committee or that. Even if I'm standing right beside the kids.”

  Ashlyn's grin was back. I was an outsider, she was an outsider … I could see the rivulet of jealousy that I was doing the school run snaking its way through her eyes, but it wasn't there for long. I was speaking her language. She reached for her cigarettes, slipped one between her lips and picked up her lighter. Her long, tapered fingers turned the lighter over and over in her hand. “Even the mothers who hadn't joined the cliques were brainwashed. They wanted to join the cliques so if I befriended them, they didn't seem to have any conversations beyond extracurricular learning. They're flippin’ six.”

  “I know.”

  “And all this extracurricular learning, is it getting us anywhere? Are we producing the next generation of super-brains? I don't think so. We're putting pressure on kids and parents. Things didn't seem so bad when I could have the odd drink but when I stopped …” She shook her head, defeated, frustrated; started worrying at the lighter even harder.

  “Have you ever looked into a child's eyes and seen that they're relying on you for … for the world? No matter what happens to them, they believe you're going to be there for them. You can make it better, you can make it right, you can hold them until the pain goes away, you can make the sun rise.” She slammed the lighter down onto the table with the flat of her hand. “Kids think you're the universe. They trust you with everything, with knowing everything. To them, you're the be-all and end-all. So what do you do when you know you're not worthy? That all that trust they have is misplaced? You have a drink now and again to take the edge off.

  “When I stopped, it all became too much. The loneliness, the pressure of being perfect. I had no escape, the therapy didn't seem to be working fast enough, Kyle and I were barely talking.

  “I had to get away. For my sanity. So I wouldn't do something stupid. So I left. I missed Summer and Jaxon so much. So much. For all the times I'd silently blamed them for what was wrong in my life, every day became so hard without them. I couldn't cope with them, but living without them has become impossible. I thought… I suppose I thought Kyle would have gone crazy by now, would be begging me to take the children back. He's more stubborn than I thought.”

  “Not stubborn, just looking after them. He's actually pretty good at it,” I said.

  “I'm their mother.”

  “Kyle's their father.”

  “Only because he's had to be.”

  I shrugged in partial agreement. “Maybe. But that doesn't change the fact he's been doing a good job.” After a fashion.

  Ashlyn resheathed her cigarette, slid her lighter off the table, dropped it into her bag, followed that with her cigarettes. She was back. The Ashlyn I'd sat down at the table with. Her mask had come down over her face, her brick wall had come up around her. “It's been nice meeting you, Kendie,” she said, each word lightly frosted. “You're all that Summer and Jaxon talk about.” A small smile crossed her lips. “I did want to meet the woman my children were spending so much time with—you're not what I expected.” The smile faded. “Please tell Kyle that I'm going to have the children living with me. He's going to have to face me sometime. And if not one-on-one then in court.”

  She zipped up her bag. Got up and walked away, leaving the scent of orchids and lilies perfume in her wake.

  NOTHING

  CHAPTER 28

  Are you going to take us to school?” Summer asked.

  Three minutes ago I'd been luxuriating in the chance of a weekday lie-in. A weekday when I didn't have to get up and go anywhere in a hurry because I was going to a conference in Yorkshire and I didn't have to check in until the afternoon. Two minutes ago I'd heard the jangling of keys being inserted into the lock of my front door and had managed to get to my bedroom door before the twins had appeared at the top of the stairs.

  They were already dressed in their uniforms—Jaxon in grey shorts, blue shirt and navy-blue sweater, Summer in navy-blue pleated skirt, checked blue shirt and navy-blue sweater. Both of their socks were pulled up to their knees, their shoes shiny. Jaxon's cast was still whitish and had a few more stickers on it. Every morning they looked so breath-takingly cute and pristine I was always tempted to take a picture, hold this image of them on film because it wouldn't last. I was never sure at what point during the day buttons became undone on their clothes, when a sweater got turned inside out, when shirts became untucked, when a lone sock ended up lounging around ankles.

  “I'm going to the conference, I told you,” I replied.

  “But you're not going to work,” Jaxon said. “So you can take us to school.”

  This was the first weekday lie-in I'd had in months. Certainly since I'd come home. This was a rare jewel in my life, something I had unearthed and was keen to enjoy. I'd been dreaming of treating myself to turning off the snooze button on my alarm, to having a long bath, to seeing what happened on the small screen after breakfast television. I loved these two, yes, but at this moment in time, I loved my bed a fraction more.

  “You're going away for four days,” Summer reminded, holding up the number of fingers by turning down her little finger. I smiled to myself, wondering at what age children realized it was easier to hold down the thumb instead of their little finger when doing that. “And you might not come back.”

  “I'll come back,” I reassured them, dressing-gown clad, hair still scraped under my protective night scarf. “Apart from the fact I've got nowhere else to go, don't I always come back?”

  “Won't you miss us?” Summer asked.

  Ah, she'd dragged out the big guns. Nice, effective tactic.

  “We'll miss you,” Jaxon added. He paused and looked down at the space on the floor by his right leg, nodded, then looked at me. “Garvo says he'll miss you, too.” Manipulation in stereo, excellent. I looked from one earnest face to the other. Now they were backing up their quiet assault with patient, innocent silence.

  “I'll go get dressed,” I replied. I had no defense against these two hustlers.

  Once I'd taken them both inside the gates, hugged them, promised I would indeed return to them and got back to the flat, I was too awake to go back to bed. I showered, got dressed and got into my car.

  It was my car now. I'd bought it from Kyle for the same price as I would have bought it secondhand. It'd given him some much- needed cash, and it'd given me another sense of home. I belonged here and I was staying. Every time I got into it, it felt different. Like it was mine now. I'd put new mats on the floor, I'd put pictures of my nieces and nephews on the dashboard, I'd hung a crystal from the rearview mirror. I'd made it my own. Will had a silver car. And it was silly, but every time I got into my car I remembered him driving me back to Sydney city center the morning after we spent the night together. I remembered him reaching out to help me clip in my seat belt, his thumb stroking over the back of my hand as he finished. It was the only time I could think about him nowadays. I'd regressed somewhat in that respect. It was probably Ashlyn's solicitor's letter that did it, but I had big fear now whenever I thought of Will's letter. I couldn't take it out and look at it; I had palpitations if I accidentally cam
e across it when I took underwear from the drawer where I kept it. And if I thought of him too long everything else would fade away and his cry when he heard what she'd done would fill my mind. No, the only way I could safely think of Will was in the moment when I got in the car. Nothing more.

  As I steered my car up the M1, I thought again of my meeting with Ashlyn last weekend. Nothing had been resolved. She'd rung the kids and said she was back in England “forever and ever and ever amen,” as Summer said, so she'd see them this weekend. She'd told Kyle that she wanted to see the kids and nothing else. No mention of him sending me in his place. No mention of solicitors. I guessed that meant that she was going down the court route. Which would unleash a whole new set of unpleasantness upon the family.

  Unpleasantness. Ha! I thought as I moved out of the fast lane. Court was going to unleash a new and previously unexperienced type of hell upon all those concerned. All their dirty little secrets, scurried away into the smallest, remotest spaces of their lives, would become public knowledge. Would become weapons to use against each other.

  The thought of this troubled me for most of the journey. What I should have been doing is worrying about how I'd lied to the kids. Despite my best intentions, the Kendra they knew was not going to be coming back.

  The conference was being held at a vast country manor estate set in blankets and blankets of Yorkshire greenery. For the next two days delegates from all over the country would hear about all the latest developments in the recruitment industry, changes in employment law and how to increase profits.

  I arrived early. Gravel crunched under the wheels of the car as I drew up outside the hotel. The estate had been beautifully and meticulously restored. When I'd showed Kyle the Web site he'd pointed out that wherever possible the original, sand- colored, roughly hewn bricks had been used, the original dark slates had been relaid on the roof, and most of the beams were original or wood from the same period. He'd told me to look for lots of nooks, some of which would be hollow behind because they'd once been entrances to secret passages. He'd also recommended looking down in the cellars if I could get the chance. “I don't think so,” I told him. Damp, musty, confined spaces might be for some people, but not me.

  I couldn't check into my room until after two, so I gave my car keys to the concierge to park, gave my bags to reception and went for a wander. I wanted to explore the hotel before it became full of noisy, uptight delegates in their pristine suits all gagging to make everyone believe they were confident and successful.

  The wide reception squelched with the footsteps of my flat driving shoes as I walked over the polished stone slabs. To the right and opposite of the dark wood desk was a dark wood staircase with ornate banisters that swept up to the first floor. Coming down the stairs were two people. A couple.

  They weren't holding hands but had the air of being “together.” It was most likely their first holiday together. They'd probably spent the morning breakfasting in bed, and now were going to go for a walk to work up another appetite. I smiled at them. He was telling her a story that involved gesticulating wildly, which made her laugh at every other word. My smile widened. After living in the midst of a divorce, it was nice to see two people at the other end of the spectrum who were doing the good stuff. Dating, holidaying, making love. It did work, it was worth it.

  As I continued to openly stare at the happy couple, another person appeared at the top of the staircase.

  He seemed to occupy the whole space behind the couple. He seemed to fill up the entire first floor. He seemed to be capable of filling up the entire hotel with his presence.

  Him. The man from every one of my nightmares.

  “I like you, Kendra, I like you a lot, but it's not going to work out between us.” Tobey, my first boyfriend, the first man I'd ever kissed, was finishing with me and part of me didn't quite believe it. We'd been in love these past six months and now he was saying this.

  “But you said you loved me,” I whispered, ashamed to be saying the words. I had only just turned twenty, was still in college, and he was my first, but I still noticed how he flinched at my words.

  “I did. But I don't anymore.”

  I wanted to ask him what had changed, what I'd done wrong, if it was because I was inexperienced and I hadn't been good enough. I was also going to say I could change. Ask him to give me another chance. But I kept my peace because the words got stuck in my throat. I had some pride. Even though my heart was breaking, maybe because my heart was breaking, I couldn't do it. I couldn't beg.

  “Kennie,” he said quietly, “it's not you. It's not you, it's Penny. We're getting back together. I like you, but I love her.” I didn't see it coming didn't know he was still in love with his ex, didn't even know he was still in touch with her. “I'm really sorry,” he said to my shock. “I've got to go.” He left, never to return a phone call again.

  I cried. I wallowed. Emotionally bruised and battered, I obsessed about Tobey Was convinced that he'd see the error of his ways, would remember why he and Penny had broken up in the first place. I found it hard to understand how someone could love you one day and then not the next day. And if they were slowly not loving you, shouldn't you have some idea, an inkling that they were pulling away from you and towards someone else? Shouldn't you know?

  When, a month after we finished, I bumped into Lance, Tobey's best friend since childhood, in a bookshop in Leeds city center, I thought fate was rubbing my face in it. “He's gone but here's his friend, make polite chitchat talk with him like a good girl,” fate was saying. I turned and ran out of the shop, not wanting to let how badly I was doing get back to Tobey. Lance chased after me, got me to stop by gently touching my arm. They were very different and very similar, Tobey and Lance. Tobey was quiet and reserved until you got to know him, he had the same offbeat sense of humor as I did and he was beautiful. He had the most amazing, cocoa-brown skin and big, mahogany eyes, and lips that knew how to weaken legs with a kiss—I couldn't believe it when he'd asked me to dance in the club where we met. Lance was white, was more forthright and gregarious, even with people he didn't know. Lots of women thought he was good looking and in the time I'd been with Tobey we'd gotten on well because he always made the effort to include me in their activities. He was a natural-born socializer.

  “I'm really sorry about you and Tobey,” Lance said, standing in front of me and looking uncomfortable. “If it makes any difference, I told him I thought he was mad.”

  “You did?” I asked. I didn't think men said things like that to each other.

  “I did. You two were so good together. He was crazy to give you up. And if it makes you feel any better, I don't see much of Tobey and Penny now. I didn't like her before and she hasn't changed.” This was what I needed to hear. My flatmates had all been fabulous about it, but to know that other people didn't like Tobey's old new woman and thought he'd made a mistake vindicated me. I wasn't a bad girlfriend, he was simply going through a period of temporary insanity and he'd come to his senses soon. Lance asked for my number, mentioned that he could arrange work experience for me on the paper he worked on if I was still interested in journalism and said he was sorry again before he had to dash off to meet his girlfriend.

  When Lance called me a few days later to see how I was I thought nothing of it. We'd met so many times when I was with Tobey, we'd talked, we'd chatted, we'd become friends, so it was sweet of him to care. We even met for a drink a couple of weeks later because he was over in Leeds from Harrogate where he lived.

  Every morning I'd wake up wanting to see Tobey, to talk to him, to hold him, to hear him whisper that he loved me. If I couldn't have that, a friendship with Lance would do.

  We talked, went to dinner, sometimes he came out clubbing with me and my flatmates. We had fun together. About three months after the breakup with Tobey, Lance and I went for a pizza and he walked me back to my place in Burley Park and we stood on my doorstep for a while finishing our conversation. As it became clear the conversation was wi
nding down, I got my keys out of my pocket and suddenly Lance's lips were on mine and he was pulling me towards him. I was startled. I'd only ever kissed Tobey so this was different. Our lips didn't fit together like mine and Tobey's, he put both his hands on my face instead of around my body, he smelled of aftershave, his blond hair brushed my cheek, his mouth tasted of the coffee he'd drunk earlier. I hesitated at first, then let myself go with it. Kissed him back a little but in the main just didn't resist. Eventually Lance stepped back and said, “I've wanted to do that for ages.”

  I smiled a closed-mouth smile back, not sure of what to say. I hadn't wanted to do that for ages. I hadn't even thought of him in that way, so to spare us both the awkwardness of me having to say that, I said good night and escaped inside.

  The next time I saw him, I went over to Harrogate for an interview for work experience on the newspaper where he was features editor. Afterwards we went for a drink and he walked me back to the train station. As we stood on the concourse I said good-bye quickly, keeping my head lowered and turned to walk away.

  He pulled me back, kissed me again. This time I couldn't go with it. I liked Lance, he was a friend I didn't want to alienate, especially when I had to see him every day at the paper, but I couldn't allow this to carry on. I pressed the flat of my hand against his chest and gently yet firmly pushed him back. A physical “let's not.” Actions, after all, speak louder than words. He immediately stepped back, understanding straight away what I meant. He smiled at me a little sheepishly. Of course he understood.

  He didn't see me. I'm sure he didn't see me, I said to myself as I turned on my heels and walked away into the heart of the hotel where the receptionist had told me the restaurant and bar were. On the way, I saw a small discreet sign for the women's toilets. I turned towards it, pushed open the door and walked in.