We look through theglass-paned window at Liam who is sitting in his seat smiling, talking to his friend Jake. Jake and Liam are quite alike – both quiet children. Jake hasn’t been round to see the house, I realise, except that one afternoon when his mum dropped by. I should organise more play dates. I haven’t been thinking.
‘Ms Abalone,’ says Ms O’Reilly, ‘just ... er, your little girl is going into another classroom.’
‘Blast,’ I say and run off and grab Teddy, who has decided that she will go into one of the bigger classes because that’s where she’s obviously suited to be. I carry her giggling out of the school.
‘I know there’s a kitchen for playing,’ she said mutinously. ‘They’re hiding it somewhere, I know they are. Liam said if I go in there he would be able to be with me in the playground and we’ll have loads of fun and you can swap lunches.’
‘Swap lunches?’ I say, shocked, thinking that I make such an effort with the school lunches.
‘Liam says your lunches are the best, but everyone swaps, so you have to swap.’
Pride restored.
I bring Teddy to Little Darlings,semi-explain the circumstances and leave her delightedly in the care of Babs where she happily explains about being screamed at and how she had to hide in a shoeboxwith beetles. Back in the car, I ring Lexi’s school and explain why she was late in or a limited version of it.
‘Just a little mishap in the house this morning, really sorry she’s late, all my fault,’ I say. And then I sit in the car outside Little Darlings and sob because it’s half nine and look at what I’ve managed so far today.
‘You really hit that one out of the park,’says Mildred,‘go big or go home.’
Listen Mildred, I say, just shut up. Why do some people have inner voices that tell them they are fabulous and wonderful. Why am I stuck with you, who bitches at me the whole time, tells me I’m not good enough and makes me think I am a prime candidate for imposter syndrome?
Mildred does not answer this. Your inner voice doesn’t really answer. It’s only there to tell you that you’re useless, unless you have been doing shedloads of mindfulness in which case it tells you that here and now is precious; you are a wonderful spiritual being whose very presence on life gives light to other human beings. Oh yeah, and that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
‘Mildred,’ I say out loud, ‘why couldn’t I have gotten one of those inner voices?’
You never did the mindfulness,she says.Don’t blame me. Why do you think Buddhists are all so happy?
Damn it, she’s right.
Dan is on the phone to me almost as soon as I get home.
‘What exactly happened?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘I, I just, I just turned into the bitch from hell, I don’t know why,’ I say and as I say it, I know exactly why. It’s because I’m so stressed and anxious and I haven’t let anyone in and I’m lying to my husband whom I don’t lie to. Have been lyingnon-stop. I hate myself for this.
Sure, occasionally I’ll buy another pair of shoes – not expensive ones – and I’ll secrete them in my big shoe library and not mention them to Dan. But neither of us lie over the big things, that’s not the way to have a marriage. You need kindness, respect, truth – my mother would always have said that’s what it took when we were growing up, that’s what she had with Dad.
She gives him kindness and love now, but truth ... there’s no truth to be had in sitting beside a man whose mind may or may not be there and saying, ‘I don’t know how long you’re going to last, darling and I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to look after you.’
No, truth is sometimes kinder left unsaid.
But in a living breathing marriage between two living breathing and aware people, truth is important; I know that and yet I can’t bring myself to tell him. So I lie.
‘I’m trying to do without the sleeping tablets,’ I say. And even as the words come out of my mouth I feel like a heel.
‘That’s great, darling,’ he says and he sounds so hopeful.
‘I can’t stay on them any longer,’ I go on. Once you get started on a lie, it just grows and grows, but I am beginning to hate this version of myself. ‘I was tired last night and I snapped because Lexi was all made up ...’
I can barely finish telling him exactly what happened because I am so ashamed.
‘Lexi messaged me,’ he said, ‘and told me she’d sent a photo of herself to Elisa ...’
I can’t help it: I shudder.
‘She told you?’
‘She told me,’ he said ‘and she’s really upset. She thought it was OK, that you didn’t mind her seeing Elisa and now, now she knows you do.’
