Caleb reaches over and squeezes her hand. “Don’t think about that, Ruby. Wewerehere. That’s what counts.”
She looks up at him, her eyes shimmery with tears. “Thank you, Caleb.” I know she’s grateful for him right now—I think we all are. If I’ve learned anything from the eighteen months we’ve been together, it’s that Caleb is someone you want around in a crisis. He’s so coolheaded, pragmatic, and dependable. Even just to look at him makes me feel calmer, somehow. A few months ago, we were on a train to Newcastle—my first time meeting his mum and younger stepsiblings—when an elderly passenger across the aisle slumped suddenly over in his seat, his skin completely gray. Caleb was the model of composure—clearing the man’s airway, directing the other passengers to call for help, talking a nearby woman down from her frenzied panic. The man regained consciousness by the next stop, where medical help was waiting, and we found out later that he’d fully recovered. But it made me think Caleb had missed his vocation as a member of the emergency services. It’s quite a skill to be unflappable in any crisis, I think.
By my side, Tash is uncharacteristically quiet. She diverted here on her way to the office, which is why she’s looking so businesslike in her camel-colored coat and dove-gray suit. She seems horrified by what’s happened: at first I thought she might blame me, for leaving the TV plugged in when we went to bed, but she hugged me when I asked and said of course not, that she was just in shock.
I know she’s been struggling with the idea of me moving out oftheir place and into Caleb’s cottage when he goes away, having taken so much pleasure from watching me and Dylan bond over the three and a half years I’ve been living with them. But there comes a time to move on, and I think we both know that time is now. Maybe I’ll use the money I’ve saved up to buy a place with Caleb when he gets home. Or maybe I’ll use it for something a little more adventurous. Anyway, it’s lovely to have options, and I feel a thrill in my stomach whenever I think about my future with this man I love so much.
“Listen, kids,” Mum’s saying now, clearing her throat, “we’ve got something we’d like to talk to you about.”
Next to me, Caleb shifts slightly. “Did you want me to—”
“No, Caleb,” Mum says. “You should hear this, too.”
God, she sounds very serious.
I glance at Dad. He’s looking down at the cup in his hands, and he’s sitting quite far apart from Mum. They’ve been doing that a fair bit recently, and it still looks weird to me. My whole life, they’ve always sat so close together, could never stop touching each other. I’ve lost count of how many comedy vomit faces me and Tash have made behind their backs, over the years.
Mum looks meaningfully at Dad. And then the bottom falls out of my world.
“We were at a marriage retreat,” he says. “That’s where we were, this weekend.”
“A marriage retreat? What’s that?” I say dumbly, assuming he’s going to say it’s somewhere you go to... what? Enjoy being married? Isn’t that what most of us call a dirty weekend?
“I don’t follow,” says Tash.
“We went to... try to save our marriage,” Mum says, slowly. “Our friends recommended it.”
“Our friends John and Roz,” Dad says, pointlessly. “You know—with the barge?”
I can tell you that John and Roz could wander in here with their barge right now and I wouldn’t even blink. I feel as though I’ve just had a knock to the head, that all the words I used to understand are no longer making sense. Maybe I inhaled more smoke than I realized last night. I glance at Tash, desperate for clues.
“What do you mean,save your marriage?” Tash says, like she’s trying really hard to be tactful but would actually quite like to upturn the teapot over both their heads.
Neither Mum nor Dad replies for a very long time, like they’re waiting for us to read between the lines. But it feels like we’re on completely different planets, never mind conversational planes.
Eventually, Mum takes a deep, dramatic breath. She’s fiddling with the silver locket around her neck, the one containing the photo of my grandparents. She’s had her hair cropped recently, shorter than I’ve ever seen it, and she’s wearing a pale pink lipstick with a frosted finish, which for her is a bold move. She usually complains that lipstick makes her look old. “We’re getting a divorce.”
I gape at her, then at Dad. He’s sitting very still, staring down at his knees like a drug smuggler at a press conference. He’s got a new hairstyle, too—but his is long and unkempt, almost like an act of defiance, a statement of something. I look back at Mum.
“What are youtalkingabout?” Tash’s voice is skipping octaves now.
“The idea of the retreat was to try to find a way forward. It was a wonderful, very enriching experience, and the facilitators wereincredible...”
For God’s sake. Mum sounds like she’s talking about the sugar crafting course at her night school.
“...but we’ve decided that the best thing for us is to go our separate ways.”
I stop just short of letting rip with every expletive she’s ever toldme off for, plus a few new ones. “Why would you want to do that? You belong together. You’re... You’re meant to be.”
Next to me, Caleb squeezes my hand, a silent show of support.
Mum looks at Dad, and there is real sadness in their eyes. And for the first time ever, I’m forced to wonder if what I’ve been seeing all these years hasn’t, in fact, been a reflection of reality. If their fairy-tale love story is just that: an illusion. Something they’ve told us to make us feel better, or restore our faith in love, or worse—entertain us.
I look at Dad, the lingering smell of smoke catching the back of my throat. “I know you’ve been having migraines lately, and you’ve got all that redundancy stuff hanging over you, but surely this is—”
He shakes his head. “The migraines... we lied.”
Mum winces. “Sorry, darling. We needed to tell yousomethingwhen... we’d fallen out.” She saysfallen outlike I used to saywomen’s troublesto my boss when I was pulling sickies at my first-ever temp job.
