by Beth Miller
‘Don’t be daft!’
I put my hand on his shoulder, but he shook me off. ‘Honestly, Eliza!’ He slammed his book shut. ‘You said you’d be a couple of hours, so I’ve been hanging round waiting for you. Kim invited me over, and I told him no, because I thought you’d be back.’
The mention of Kim reminded me that Alex didn’t have a leg to stand on. How dare he start on me, after what he’d done? The anger inside me bubbled up to the surface. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’m sure it was disappointing for you, missing out on Vicky today.’
‘Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?’
I folded my arms. ‘I saw you.’
‘Saw me what?’ His voice was innocent but I could see from his face that he knew.
‘You and her. Yesterday. On the pier.’ He didn’t say anything, just stared at me. I took a big gulp of air. ‘I saw you kissing her.’
He laughed, which struck me as highly inappropriate. ‘Actually, you saw her kissing me.’
‘Why the hell are you laughing, Alex? What difference does it make who kissed who?’
‘A lot! Look, I should have told you straight after—’
‘Yes, you damn well should! Why do you think I didn’t want to be here today?’ I was shouting, and couldn’t seem to stop. ‘It isn’t funny, it’s horrible. Why didn’t you tell me? There’s only one possible reason that I can think of, and that’s because you liked it, and hope it will happen again – and maybe more, who knows.’
‘Eliza!’ Alex took hold of my arm, not painfully, but firmly, like you’d hold someone who was about to cross the road against the lights. ‘That is emphatically not the reason. The truth is, I didn’t tell you because I was too embarrassed. I don’t know how long you were watching, but if you’d hung around with your binoculars for a little longer, you’d have seen that she pounced on me and that I pushed her away almost immediately.’
‘Almost, huh?’ I stood up, and walked over to the window. I didn’t want Alex to see that I was crying.
‘Christ, Eliza! It took me a moment to realise what was happening. Then I told her to fuck off.’
‘She didn’t behave like you’d rejected her, when me and Kim showed up,’ I said. I rubbed a mark off the window with my thumb. The whole place was dirty, it seemed to me.
‘She thought the entire thing was hilarious. She said she’d tell Kim I kissed her, and then said she was only joking when she saw how angry I was.’ Alex came over to me, and tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away.
‘If that’s all it was, then I can’t understand why you didn’t say anything.’
‘You’re right, it was stupid not to tell you. I would have done soon, anyway. I was just wanting not to think about it for a few days. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience.’
He appeared to be genuine, but I couldn’t shake the image of those white sleeves round his neck.
‘Eliza? Come on. Don’t cry. She’s not worth a single one of your tears. How could you think I’d kiss someone like her when I’m married to someone like you?’
‘You find her very sexy.’ I turned to face him, my arms still folded, a barrier between us.
‘I find her very tarty. You’re the one who’s very sexy.’ He stroked the back of my neck. It didn’t work its usual magic, and I realised that I couldn’t remember the last time that his touching me had made me jump, the way it did when we first met. When he leaned in closer, I moved away.
‘I can’t. I just feel so weird and upset about you and her.’
‘There is no me and her.’
‘I don’t know.’ I shook my head. ‘She’d love the chance to be with you.’
‘Maybe she would. But I do have a say in it, you know. I don’t fancy her, Eliza. I don’t even like her. I think Kim could have done a lot better. And even more importantly, I love you. I want to be with you.’
‘You should have told me. And I think you should apologise,’ I said, surprised at my own daring.
‘You’re right. I’m sorry,’ he said. His eyes looked worried. Worried that I wouldn’t believe him? Or worried that I had found him out? I knew he was a player once: all those girlfriends, that long, intimidating list of them. He might still be. I looked into his eyes; could I trust him? I thought about Nathan’s steady pale eyes.
Then I thought: Can Alex trust me?
Twenty-Four
March–April 2016
After Kim took Alex away from our nightmare Easter Sunday lunch, Leah and I spent a weird bank holiday without him. We watched a film together that evening – The Princess Bride, always our go-to film to cheer us up when she was younger. It worked some of its old magic, as I think we both felt a little less wrung-out afterwards; it was also a good thing to do as we didn’t have to try and make conversation. On Bank Holiday Monday she went out with her friends, and I stayed in and worried, and ate most of the chocolate Alex had bought for Leah. I didn’t hear from him, but neither did I try and get in touch with him. I thought it was good, grown-up, that we were giving each other space. Kim, always thoughtful, texted a couple of times to say that Al was OK and they were chatting and chilling.
Alex came home late on Monday evening. He was quiet and apologised briefly for making a scene, but apart from that, he most definitely did not want to talk about it. And I was happy not to, either. Then he plunged headlong back into work, and so did I, and Leah went to stay at Sheila’s for a few days over the school holidays, and when she came back she did her own thing a lot while Alex and I worked, and I thought we’d settled back into normality. Evenings Leah would often be out at a friend’s, and Alex and I would eat supper, watch TV, and not talk much. He conspicuously didn’t drink more than one glass of wine in an evening. We certainly didn’t talk about anything important. Every time I thought about raising it, I thought about his face when we stood in the hall, him saying, ‘It’s not the fucking, it’s the fucking lying.’
The last time we’d made love was Maundy Thursday.
Two days after the end of the holidays, Leah’s friend Macy comes round after school. I look behind her up the street but there’s no sign of Leah. Then I remember that she’s at after-school drama.
‘Is everything OK, Macy?’
‘Yeah.’ She stands there, hesitating.
‘Well, Leah’s not back yet. Do you want to come in?’
She does so, looking worried. ‘Don’t tell Leah I came, she’ll kill me.’
‘What’s going on? Have you two fallen out?’
‘No. Yeah, maybe.’
I make her a coffee and eventually she tells me, with much coaxing, that Leah has been skipping after-school activities and going off somewhere unknown. That she’s become secretive, seems anxious; that she isn’t hanging out with Macy or her other friends. I’m paraphrasing – Macy does her best to express herself but her teen-speak isn’t up to the subtleties she wants to get across. She’s concerned, I can see that, but struggling to explain why. I have to do a reasonable amount of Alex-style detective cross-examination to get even the smallest snippets.
‘How long have you been worried about her?’
‘From before Easter.’
‘And you don’t have any idea where she goes when she’s not at the clubs, Macy?’
‘No.’
‘Any thoughts at all on what’s going on?’
‘No. Well. I think it’s something to do with. Well.’
‘Something to do with… her dad and me?’
Macy nods, relieved I’ve spelled it out for her. ‘I think maybe sometimes she meets her cousin. The boy?’
That little shit, Gidon!
‘I’m very grateful to you for letting me know, Macy.’
‘Don’t tell her.’
‘I won’t.’ I wonder why Macy has told me. It definitely flouts some teen code of honour. A cold feeling stirs in my gut. ‘Are you really worried about her?’
She frowns. ‘I think she might do something crazy.’
‘Oh my god, what do you mean, hu
rt herself?’
‘Oh, no. Not that. Something. Nothing, probably.’ She gulps down her coffee. ‘Better go.’
I see her to the door and thank her again. She steps out on to the path, and over her shoulder, she says, ‘She wants to find her real dad.’ Then she breaks into a run.
At the exact time that Leah would have got back home had she been to drama, I hear her key in the door. She’s in school uniform, her school backpack absolutely bulging with god knows what.
‘Good day, darling?’ I ask, my voice light.
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ve got you a cupcake,’ I say. She trails into the kitchen, and sits on the edge of her seat, so she can keep her suspiciously full backpack on. I guess it has non-school clothes in, so she can hang round the shopping centre without drawing too much attention to herself.
‘The school rang this afternoon,’ I say, not thinking ahead too far because I can’t bear to guess where it might go.
Her head jerks up. ‘Why?’ she says, mouth full of cake.
‘They said you haven’t been going to your after-school clubs.’
‘Fucking liars.’
‘Leah…’
‘Oh fuck off, Mum.’ She puts the cake down and storms upstairs.
I make supper, listening to the stomping and loud music upstairs, a parody of stroppy teen behaviour. When Alex comes in I pour him a (small) glass of wine, and tell him what Macy said. I am completely unprepared for his solution.
‘Our situation’s having a bad effect on Leah,’ he says.
‘What does “our situation” have to do with it?’
‘She’s devastated that we’ve been fighting.’
‘Well, other than that lunch’ – I can’t bring myself to say ‘Easter Sunday’, as it’s associated with such an awful feeling – ‘we haven’t been fighting at all.’
‘That’s because we’ve barely been speaking.’
‘Let’s speak now, then.’
‘I’m not ready.’
‘You’re still so angry with me?’
He shrugs. ‘I’m working through it.’
‘Christ, Alex!’ I sit down. I feel very tired. ‘I know it was bad, but it was one time, fifteen years ago.’
‘You lied to me about it for fifteen years, Eliza. If Leah hadn’t have started digging I would never have known. You would never have said.’
‘You don’t have to know everything.’
‘Can you hear yourself?’ He sighs. ‘I do sometimes wonder if you are a bit stunted, psychologically, when it comes to relationships.’
‘What an absolutely appalling thing to say!’ My eyes fill with angry tears.
He pushes his glass of wine away, untouched. ‘Liza, I don’t want to fight any more. You’re tired, I’m tired. We need to put Leah first.’
‘I thought we always did.’
‘We haven’t lately.’
‘So, what do you want to do?’ I play my trump card. ‘I don’t know if I can bear to have counselling, but I will if you want.’
‘I’m already seeing a counsellor,’ he says, taking the wind right out of my sails.
‘You are? Since when?’
‘Since after I went to Kim’s, the Easter weekend.’
‘How often have you seen him?’
‘Her. Twice a week for the last three weeks.’
‘Oh. What does she think?’
‘Counselling isn’t about what the counsellor thinks. It’s about what I think, it’s about working it through.’
‘So what do you think, Alex?’
‘I think we need a little space from each other for a bit.’
‘God, what are you saying?’
He goes over to the sink. With his back to me, he says, ‘The counsellor thinks I’m too angry with you to have a proper discussion right now.’
‘You just said it wasn’t about what the counsellor thinks.’
‘OK then, I think I’m too angry to have a proper discussion right now.’
‘Don’t you think it would help you stop being so angry with me if we could talk about it?’
‘I’m not ready.’
‘Please, Al, will you look at me?’
He turns round, and his face is so sad. Perhaps I’ve made him more miserable during our marriage than I’d realised.
‘So how do you think we should facilitate this “little space”?’ I say, trying not to emphasise the inverted commas.
‘Last time our marriage was in trouble,’ he says, ‘I went back to my family.’
‘Er, yes. We both did. What’s your point?’
‘I went first. This time, it’s your turn.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Just for a short while.’
‘We take turns to leave each other?!’
‘Let me handle Leah for a bit,’ he says. ‘She’s rebelling against you much more than me. And she’s furious with you for not being straight about whether Nathan could have been her father.’
‘Nathan is not her father, OK? And you’re the one who’s furious, not her!’
He gets up. ‘I’m going to go talk to her.’
I let my head sink into my arms, and listen to him going upstairs. I stay like that for ten minutes, not really thinking about anything at all. Then I go upstairs too, and pack a bag. When I hear Alex come out of Leah’s room and go back down, I tentatively knock on her door. She is standing at her dressing table, the drawers all open. She turns round and pulls her backpack closer to her.
‘Leah,’ I say gently, ‘I’m going to go away for a few days.’
She turns big, wet eyes on me. ‘Why?’
‘I just need a little break. A holiday. I haven’t had one for ages.’
‘Is it because of me?’
‘Oh god, no darling!’ I move towards her and she steps back. I sit on the bed so she doesn’t think I’m going to pounce. ‘The fact is, me and Dad need a bit of space from each other. We’re getting on each other’s nerves.’
‘Will you come back?’
‘Yes, of course!’ I make my voice sound as definite as possible. ‘Want a hug, Leah?’
This time she does come to me. She moves into my arms and I hold her tight.
‘I’d like a little holiday too,’ she says.
‘Would you? But you’re not long back from Granny’s.’
‘I want to go somewhere I’ve never been. Like somewhere up north.’
‘Well, you know what, let’s do that soon. May half-term, maybe?’
She nods, her head moving up and down against my neck. Finally, she breaks away, and goes back to her dressing table. ‘Text me.’
‘Of course. Text me back?’
There is no such flowery send-off with Alex. He tells me he’ll rearrange his work for the rest of the week so he can be around properly for Leah. Flexibility is, as he has often said, one of the perks of running his own business.
‘I’ll talk to her about sagging off her after-school commitments, though I’m not that bothered about it,’ he says.
‘Me neither, but I think it’s a symptom of something else,’ I say. ‘Could you try and dig a bit around whatever is going on in her head about…’ I hesitate, ‘her “real dad”?’
‘Shame we can’t get her real dad to lend us a hand with the parenting, eh?’ Alex says.
He walks me to the front door, as if he is actively seeing me off the premises. It feels all a bit over the top, but as I start to say something, he says, ‘Bye, Eliza,’ and walks back into the house, leaving me to close the front door behind me. Vicky’s words to Alex come into my mind: ‘You’ve always been a pushover when it comes to Eliza.’ Is Alex trying to show that he isn’t a pushover any longer?
I was going to go to Dov’s, the obvious first port of call. But my feelings about him are less crystal-clear than usual, muddled up with thoughts of Gidon and Nathan. I ring Deborah instead. Yes, yes, she says. Come now.
Twenty-Five
November 2000
Alex once told me about Ca
rolyn, a girlfriend of Kim’s, who he was involved with long before Vicky. It turned out that Carolyn was addicted to gambling, but Kim didn’t realise. He knew she liked fruit machines, the sort I played on when we were in Brighton. If Carolyn went anywhere that had one, she always had to have a go on it. But Kim didn’t know that when she wasn’t with him, she was in an amusement arcade, putting in endless coins, using up all her money. It got worse and worse, till she didn’t care that he knew, till she lost her job, till she was even stealing money from him. It ended when she was arrested for stealing from someone she didn’t know: she took a woman’s purse out of her bag in a supermarket. I was so shocked when Alex told me. I couldn’t understand her behaviour at all, how she could have got so out of control.
But I ought to have felt a bit more sympathy towards her, because I was in the grip of a compulsion myself. It was no less strong than the one I’d had a year ago, when I first saw Alex and knew I had to be with him. My compulsion now was the exact opposite: I was being pulled back into my old life. But I didn’t think of it in that way, not till Alex accused me of becoming addicted to leading a double life. Then I remembered Carolyn, and wondered if we weren’t as different as I’d thought.
The day I came back late from building the sukkah, Alex finally showed how upset he was by my mysterious absences, though his concerns got sidelined by the much bigger Vicky-kiss row. I vowed to myself then that I would slow things down. But the truth was, I couldn’t seem to help it; after that, my going out actually increased. I was out nearly every other evening, and much of the weekend. I added an evening class in history to my roster of Genevieve outings and Zaida visits – I got the idea from Genevieve herself, who was the one actually doing the class. And on Alex’s work days I’d go to the annex early, to make Nathan breakfast.
Things were much more relaxed between Nathan and me; he even allowed me to pass him various breakfast items now he knew I’d make sure not to accidentally touch him. Our conversations were still a little stilted, but I reckoned that would improve, given enough time.
