I have to go. I have to get out of here. I pull myself to my feet as the black-painted walls of the cubicle close in on me. The wine I drank before I came to the nightclub was a mistake, beyond reckless. I should have made sure to keep myself hydrated. I was dancing non-stop, until the floor shifted off-kilter. What was I thinking?
Holly and Josh are all I can think of, as I come shakily out of the toilets, desperately longing to be where I belong: at home with my babies, with Jason… But my husband doesn’t want me.
My hook-up isn’t too bothered about hanging on to me either, I realise. As I make my way to the exit, I see he’s already hitting on a hot young thing, dressed appropriately for her age. That’s okay. He’s not my type anyway – too tanned, blonde and blue-eyed. Too arrogant. Not Jason.
Men half my age, no more than boys, look me over as I flag down a black cab. They don’t comment. One of them even smiles. I don’t flatter myself they like what they see. They’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, a woman of my age, wearing spaghetti straps and lace and boots that belong on the thighs of a teenager.
Do you know why you’re here?Sarah whispers.
After almost missing the seat as I get in, I give the taxi driver my address, right myself and close my eyes.Playing the dating game.But I’m not sure I’m winning, I answer, wishing I could sleep as I listen to the rhythmic swish of the windscreen wipers. Sleep until my nightmare is over. Or else forever.
Fifteen minutes later, I ask the taxi driver to keep going and stop a few houses past my own, take several slow breaths and try to still the wooziness in my head. I note as we pass that, apart from the mellow glow from the children’s nightlights, all the lights are off. I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that Jason appears to have gone to bed. Sometimes he waits up for me, even though he doesn’t know when I will be back – whether I’ll be back. I have no idea why he does it, since he obviously cares nothing for me. I am disposable, interchangeable. He’s bored with the marriage, the monotony, the responsibility; ready to reclaim his freedom and move on. Is it so wrong of me to want him to realise that I can do the same, if I choose to? If I want to. But I don’t. I swallow back the grief that’s now lodged like a stone in my throat. How will I bear it, having half of my soul ripped again from inside me?
The taxi driver’s expression, as I fumble my purse from my pocket and thrust the fare into his hand, is one of ill-concealed disdain. ‘You need to take more water with it, love,’ he comments, as I turn to shove my door open and stumble to the pavement.
Steadying myself, I quash down my irritation. How dare he make assumptions? He knows nothing about my life, who I am.Idon’t know who I am. When I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t recognise the person looking back. The photos I posted online, they’re not me, but facets of me. In some, I look like Sarah, with her cropped hair and feisty attitude. In others, I can see my fun-loving, free-spirited self – someone who’s got lost along the way. I’m fractured, falling apart. Will I recognise the body that lies on the ground when everything stops?
The house is still when I finally manage to manoeuvre my key into the lock and let myself in. After negotiating my way along the hall, I drop my holdall in the downstairs toilet until I can stow it away. My need to check on my children more urgent than satisfying the thirst that grips me, I go straight back to the stairs. I have no doubt Jason is looking after them; he will do that above everything else. Above temptation? Not that. Clearly, not that. He’s already succumbed; will continue to succumb to whatever his online woman is offering him. How far might he go to distance himself from his past life? From me, or who he imagines me to be? From his children? I’m pushing him, but surely he must know that I want him to push back. I need him to. I desperately need him to realise he wants to.
Fear tingling my spine – fear of the unknown, of what my future might hold; fear of falling further into an endless abyss on my own – I climb the stairs, willing the floorboards not to creak. I have to open his eyes. I have to make him see the person he’s forgotten exists inside me. I have to make him realise he doesn’t want to loseher.
Finding Holly’s door ajar, I nudge it further open and slip into her bedroom. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the form of my daughter in the pale light of her nightlight. Her pink Build-A-Bear – her childhood comfort toy – clutched to her chest, she is curled into a foetus-like ball, looking lonely and fragile and small.
Oh, sweetheart.My heart squeezing inside me, I wipe a tear from my face, lest it land on my baby girl’s cheek to mingle with those I have no doubt she has silently cried, and lower myself to crouch down beside her.We’ll fix this, my darling.Gently, I brush a strand of her beautiful blonde hair from her eyes, press a light kiss to her temple and ease the duvet up over her.Mummy will make things right, make Daddy stay. I promise you, angel, I will make all of this go away.
I’m tempted to lie down beside my little girl, curl my body around her and never let her go, but I caution myself not to. Holly needs to sleep. I need to check on Josh, who will be as bewildered by all that’s happening as his sister. Easing myself up, I walk quietly to the door, pulling it to behind me, and creep along the landing to Josh’s room.
Stepping inside his partially open door, my gaze goes instinctively to his bed and I stop dead. The duvet is thrown back and tangled. There’s a soft hollow in his pillow, an empty space where my little boy’s body should be. My eyes shoot to his bedside table, my panic subsiding a little as I realise his glasses are there. His iPad, too. He wouldn’t go far without either of those. He’s with Jason. Has to be. Backing out, I turn on my heel and fly to the main bedroom.
Please let him be there. Please, God, let him be there.My heart battering against my chest and terrifying scenarios screaming in my head – my ten-year-old son, wandering the cold, unfriendly streets on his own – I press down the door handle, and then I start breathing again. Relief flooding through me, I move quietly towards the bed. My husband is lying on his back, one arm thrown across his forehead. Tucked safely in the crook of his other arm is Josh, sleeping soundly, his head pressed against his father’s chest, listening to the reassuring thrum of his heartbeat. As I so often did, feeling secure and needed and wanted.
Was that really such a short while ago?
I won’t let him go. Can’t allow him to. I have to make Jason see that, whatever it is he craves, whatever he thinks is missing in his life, he will find it right here, with his family. As long as we have each other we can survive. We can do more than survive; we can fly, if only I can open his eyes.
Thirty-Three
DIANA
Robert looked bleary-eyed when he came down to the kitchen – unsurprising, given the time he’d come in last night. He’d obviously been hard at it at work, which had necessitated time to de-stress at the golf club, the bar of which had closed a good hour before he’d arrived home. He’d driven, of course, despite the weave to his walk and the fact that he’d reeked of whisky when he rolled in. Diana curtailed her rising contempt, preferring to remain calm until she was certain her suspicions were correct. She’d been the epitome of calm throughout their marriage, skilled in the art of maintaining a composed façade. As the wife of a prominent businessman who liked to move in the right social circles, she’d played her supporting role well, tolerating his behaviour at first. After losing Sarah, she was so broken, and she didn’t have the strength to walk away. Starting over, fighting him in court – it had all seemed too daunting a task. She’d stayed rather than cause any further upheaval in Karla’s life. And then, once Karla was married, she stayed because it suited her to do so until she was financially secure. The bonus of being with a wealthy man who didn’t care to notice her was that she could do exactly as she liked, which meant seeing Michael whenever she wanted, a fact Robert would wake up to one day. One day very soon.
‘You’re dressed early,’ he said, blinking and looking slightly disorientated. Possibly because Diana hadn’t dutifully brought him his cup of tea that morning, or his newspaper, the headlines of which he would browse before taking his shower and going off to his office to make his staff’s lives completely miserable. She’d made a mistake in staying with him. A dreadful mistake. Robert’s final cruel attempt to destroy Jason’s life, thereby robbing his daughter of her happiness, had brought that sharply home.
Diana regretted not having the will to walk away sooner, but there was nothing to be done about it. She couldn’t undo her life and get the years back. All she could do now was set her plan in motion. It was a pity, though, that she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing Robert’s face when he realised the headlines were about himself.
‘I had some things on my mind. I couldn’t sleep,’ she informed him, walking across to the work surface to fill up the kettle.
‘Oh?’ Robert said, behind her.
He sounded guarded, Diana noted. Clearly, he thought she’d been up half the night tearing herself apart about where he’d been until the small hours, and who with. That she might be about to demand explanations. As if she hadn’t given that up years ago.
‘Tea?’ she asked him.
Glancing behind her, she noticed a flicker of surprise cross his face. Robert didn’t take long to recover himself though. He rarely did. He was a man whose confidence bordered on intolerable arrogance. Diana often wondered whether he realised the young women he bedded wouldn’t look at him twice if he wasn’t flaunting his wallet.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ he said, an exasperated edge to his tone, indicating his disgruntlement at not having his tea served to him in bed. The bed he’d made for himself, and which, Diana had decided, it was high time he was left to lie in.
‘I had some things to do, so I thought I might as well come down,’ she said, turning to face Robert as he seated himself at the breakfast table.
