In the hospital, the mists of unconsciousness thin as someone close by says my name. Then they say it again, before the mist thickens and I’m back in our family home, with no husband and no job. Completely alone.
* * *
I was oddly calm as I locked the door and switched my phone off. Standing there, I realised, this was it. Rock bottom. And yes, it was my choice to leave my job. I just hadn’t realised how I was going to feel.
Going upstairs, I changed into my pyjamas, hurling my carefully chosen office clothes in the direction of the bin. I must have been living in a dream world to have even imagined Elizabeth offering me a pay rise. And who knew how long before I would have been next in line for redundancy? Far better, I told myself firmly, to take the initiative. To move on, on my terms. But to what?
That was the question that dogged me as, in the bathroom, I scrubbed off my carefully applied make-up and stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the wrinkles and circles under my eyes.
You’re old, Tilly. Old and ugly. No wonder nobody wants you.
Almost immediately I was berating myself.
You’re alive, Tilly. You have a roof over your head. So life hasn’t worked out the way you thought it would, but get over it and stop feeling so sorry for yourself.
Which didn’t exactly help as still feeling wretched, I pulled on my ugliest, saggiest jogging bottoms and a fleece that my son Alex used to wear. Shame filled me that I still hadn’t told my children what was going on. The truth was, I couldn’t face it. Going downstairs, I retrieved a bottle of whisky that belonged to Gareth. I never usually touched whisky, but this afternoon, I didn’t care. I took it through to the sitting room and sank into one of the sofas.
As I sat there, a darkness came over me. I poured myself a glass and took a sip, which instantly triggered a horrendous coughing fit but that didn’t stop me taking another sip. Then I drank the remaining contents of it down in one.
Feeling the whisky start to circulate in my veins, despite my very many sorrows, I giggled. I mean, there I was, truly a divorce cliché, a Bridget Jones surveying the wreckage of her life; the star of my own mini-tragedy. I contemplated that Gareth’s decision had rendered the past twenty or so years of my life utterly meaningless. That this house and its contents, everything I’d poured heart and soul into, would simply be sold off and become irrelevant. It was shit. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
At some point, the sound of the landline reached me. But I had no wish to talk to anyone and I ignored it, just sitting there, unmoving as the light faded.
The house had always felt like a nest I’d woven into being. A cosy sanctuary lined with softness that now felt like a cuckoo had been in and decimated it. Walls that used to echo with laughter were deathly silent; the homely atmosphere reduced to a sense of emptiness by the knowledge of Gareth’s betrayal. My hand shook as I poured myself another whisky I didn’t really want, my head filling with questions.Why this? Why now? Why me?
There really was nothing like a crisis to make you question your entire existence. Then I was thinking back to when Gareth and I met. How happy we were; how carefree. We had all these plans, a whole life to share – or so I’d believed.What happened to your dreams?I asked myself.Remember? The happy-ever-after you were always so sure was out there waiting for you?
But I suppose that was the point of dreams – to stay just as dreams. Cosy little flights of fancy designed to see you through when times got tough. They weren’t real. And meanwhile, I was just Tilly, I reminded myself. I wasn’t particularly special in any way. I was just a small person with an even smaller life, undeserving of anything more.
And sitting there, I knew exactly what was real. It was the husband who had left me. It was getting older, being jobless, and a hundred other things. A mother whose babies had flown the nest. Then as I thought about the boys, I felt my heart break.
Tears cascaded down my face, soaking into Alex’s old fleece. For everything I didn’t know, one thing I was sure of. This wasn’t how my life was meant to be.
But I managed to stop wallowing in self-pity just long enough to give myself a talking-to. Summoned my inner Bridget Jones again. If she rose from the depths like a phoenix from the ashes, there was no reason why I, Tilly, couldn’t do the same.
* * *
The next day followed a similar pattern. I hid away from the world, grieved, cried, ignored all calls. It was interspersed with irreverently playing loud music that Gareth hated and dancing like no one was watching, which made me think of Lizzie then want to cry again, until Robbie called my mobile.
‘Mum? Are you OK?’ He sounded worried. ‘Dad called earlier. He told me what’s happened.’
I imagined the sanitised version Gareth would have put together for his sons.Your mother and I haven’t been getting on. We’ve decided to separate. Of course, it’s sad. But these things happen… Blah blah blah…Skirting around the fact that he’d been shagging someone else and she happened to be pregnant.
‘I’m sorry. I should have told you what’s going on. But I’m fine,’ I said, blinking away my tears and swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘Or at least, I will be.’ I made a heroic effort to pull myself together. ‘You mustn’t worry, Rob. It’s really sad… But we’ll be OK. All of us, I mean.’ Trying to sound more convincing than I felt.
‘That’s what Dad said.’ There was sadness in his voice. ‘I didn’t see it coming, Mum.’
‘For the record, nor did I,’ I said quietly. ‘Robbie? You mustn’t worry. Wherever I end up, you will always have a home.’
‘You’re selling the house?’ He sounded startled.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Gareth had conveniently chosen not to allude to that part, either. And I couldn’t imagine an alternative. I mean, neither of us could afford to buy the other out. For a moment, I wondered exactly what he had said. ‘We haven’t talked about it yet.’ When it was the last thing I wanted to do, I was still hoping we wouldn’t have to. ‘Listen. You just focus on your course. Your father and I will sort things out.’ I wondered if he knew he was going to have a tiny half-brother or sister.
It was as if he read my mind. ‘Dad said – about Olivia being pregnant.’
I was not expecting that. ‘Oh.’ It felt like I’d been kicked in the gut.
‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’ He sounded so sad.
