I fell for her. Of course I did. She was dazzling, and outgoing, and super smart, and I got entirely too wrapped up in the package she represented and in the version of our relationship the press adored so much. A showy proposal in Positano and an enormous wedding at The Montague, attended by the great and good of London establishment and society, were almost foregone conclusions.
If someone asked me now, after five years of marriage to her and almost two years without her, after lockdown and single parenting and the close to one hundred therapy sessions my mother insisted on, what went wrong, I’d say the answer is clear as day. The rot was there from day one, and I wasn’t evolved or interested enough to care.
I wouldn’t change anything in my life that gave me Bea, but the undeniable probability remains that Allegra is a narcissist. Or a sociopath. And I don’t use those words flippantly. I’d give a great deal to have her properly analysed anddiagnosed. Somewhere in the makeup of what appears to be one of the most genetically blessed women you could meet, something is missing. And it’s something no human should be without.
She genuinely loves Bea. I believe that. And she genuinely loved me, in her own way, even if the thing she loved most about me was how well our marriage reflected on her. I can’t even blame her for that, because there was a pair of us in it.
But the crux of the matter is that she doesn’t love anyone elseenough. Not as much as herself. Not enough to lay down her life for them or even to do the hard stuff.
Like parenting a toddler.
Like choosing the mundanity of marriage and motherhood when something shiny and novel catches your eye.
She was a fair weather mother, and I suspect I knew that from a very early stage of Bea’s existence. And so I compensated. Maternity nurses. Nannies. Psychiatrists. Of course. It was I who insisted on it. Allegra was finding things hard, and we had the means to give her all the support she needed, so there was no problem with laying on the help.
But as Bea turned one and then two, it became apparent that Allegra was only interested in a certain element of motherhood. Bea as a sweet little pet. A toy. An accessory. Dressed like mummy. Pretty as a picture. Another family member to reflect back favourably on Allegra as far as the press and her Instagram followers were concerned. Hashtag-Mummy-and-Bea.
The relentless drudgery of processing a small child and dealing with her endless tantrums was not what Allegra signed up for. She simply wasn’t interested. The nannies took on more and more of that burden. It began to feel like every occasion Allegra and Bea hung out was little more than a photo opp. And when she crossed paths with Josh Levine, a Californian guru turned entrepreneur, there was no contest. Thereality of our little family couldn’t compete with this shiny, new and glamorous opportunity.
Of course, Allegra being Allegra, everything came down to optics. Sacking in your two-year-old kid for a nice new life doesn’t go over well with Instagram. So she reframed everything. Told her followers I’d refused her custody, had seized her baby, and that she was heartbroken.
The funny thing is, I actually wish that were true.
I wish she’d tried to fight for Bea, even a little. I would never, ever have let her take Bea to the US, but she went so fucking gladly. As if she was shrugging off an enormous ball and chain and was finally free to fly.
I know now who my ex-wife is.
I found out the hard way.
She’s not evil. She’s just selfish. Lazy. Image-obsessed. She’s fixated on perception, and disinterested in the real stuff. In the nuts and bolts of life. The quiet moments of love, and intimacy, and human connection aren’t showy enough to do it for her. And I’m damned if I’m letting someone that bankrupt in those nuts and bolts have free rein over my little Bea.
I can’t wait to hear what tale of self-justification and self-pity Allegra has concocted. I open a bottle of wine. I’m going to need something to take the edge off this conversation. Not that I’m scared of conflict, but arguing with Allegra has always been like arguing with a child. She’s irrational, and she’s delusional. So normal tactics don’t apply.
I dive right in. ‘What are you doing here, Allegra?’
‘I’ve decided to come back for good. Obviously I would have come back earlier to see Bea, if the US routes hadn’t beendown?—’
I put a hand up. ‘Save it. What about your venture?’
‘I sold my stake back to Josh. It wasn’t working out with him, romantically, so… And I missed Bea too much.’
What a load of bullshit. At no point in the eighteen months since she left has Allegra expressed any torment over missing Bea, beyond her brief, shallow-as-fuck calls with her each week.
‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out. What are your plans now you’re back?’
‘I don’t have any.’ She looks down at the wine she’s swilling. ‘I’ve purposely come back with no agenda, except for reconnecting with you and Bea.’
Reconnecting?Is she serious?
‘She’s a little girl, Allegra. Not a fucking laptop. You do not reconnect with your kid. You fucked off and left her. Moved to the other side of the world, just like that. She will never, ever get over that. Don’t be fooled by how happy she is to see you. You’ve scarred her for life, because nothing else in your universe ever seems as real as your own perceived needs.’
Tears spring into her eyes. Literally spring. It’s almost comedic. ‘I know I messed up, Miles. I know how selfish I was. I—I didn’t know myself back then. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I definitely didn’t realise how lucky I was to have you both. I won the lottery, and I didn’t even see it.
‘But I’ve done so much self-work in Cali, with therapies and hallucinogens, and, like, a whole world of stuff, and I understand things better now. I’m just asking for a chance to prove myself to you both.’
The person I love most in the world is one half made up of this woman’s genes. If she wasn’t, Allegra would be out on her ear before she could sayayahuasca. Who knows, she may truly believe she’s changed. Maybe she actually has. It’s not for me to judge. The only thing that will alter my view of her is time. A whole lot of time, where she proves herself again and again.
‘Look. As far as you and I are concerned, we’re dead. The only relationship I’m willing to entertain with you in future is the one where we parent Bea and try not to fuck her up any more than you already have. Theonlyperson I care about here is Bea. And she’s the only reason I’m even considering letting you back into our lives.
