‘And you, Tab. It’s nice seeing you.’
I walked down the path to my car feeling a sense of emptiness that I hadn’t felt in years.
Before
Christy was standing there on thedoorstep when I opened the door. ‘Are ye all right? Red was waiting…’ His face changed as he looked at me. ’What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘We’re all fierce worried about you.’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I said. ‘Nothing. I just want…’ What did I want? Just to be on my own. It seemed like the only thing that might keep me going was if I just didn’t see anyone. ‘Tell Red I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But I don’t wantto see him.’
Christy’s eyes were full of empathy. ‘Tabitha, I think…’
‘Please, I don’t want to,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to see him again.’
Christy, bless him, tried again, more desperately this time, for Red’s sake, I knew. But also for mine. He was such a good soul. ‘Tabitha, you don’t look well,’ he said. ‘Who’s here? Is your Mam here? Who’s looking after ye?’
‘Everything’s fine Christy.Everything’s fine.’ And I closed the door on him and after a few weeks, the phone stopped ringing and there were no more knocks on the door. And I got what I wanted, to be alone.
*
When Rosie was six, I left Michael and we moved into Nora’s house, my old home, and Michael arrived home to find me pushing boxes into a car.
It was then or never. Any later and Rosie would have been too aware, therepercussions of divorce too hard for her to deal with. It was a miserable marriage, the loneliness of two people sharing a home and a daughter but nothing much to say to each other.
‘Michael, I’m not happy,’ I said. ‘Let me go.’
‘It’s not a question of happiness,’ he said, shaking his head at me, as though I hadn’t grasped something fundamental, as though I was slightly stupid and he had toexplain what life is all about. ‘It’s a question of just staying married. That’s all people have to do. We don’t have an awful marriage. We have a daughter. How bad is it, really?’
‘I want to be loved. Taken care of…’ My words sounded immature and stupid.
‘Taken care of? Whatever do you mean? I thought you feminists didn’t want that kind of nonsense. I thought you could stand on your own twofeet.’
‘I do and I can. That’s not what I want…’Oh God, what did I want? I was beginning to lose confidence in everything. I didn’t know what was the right thing to do? I had been so sure and now… now, it felt like I was the last person to make the right decisions as to my and my daughter’s future happiness.
‘So you don’t want to be taken care of?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m confused. Ihave no idea what you want or what you are even asking for. And you don’t even know.’
‘I just want you to bring me a cup of tea,’ I said, lamely. ‘I want you to know how I like it, how much milk I like in it and which is my favourite mug.’ I felt tears welling up at the corners of my eyes.
‘What?’ He almost laughed. ‘You’re joking? But how would I know those things?’ he went on, angry at mefor crying, and my confusion and what he saw was weakness, ‘You don’t even know how I like mine.’
‘I do!’
‘How then?’
‘Full-fat milk, in second, colour of dark toffee, served in your Royal Tara bone china mug.’
‘Yes, well… but tea is just tea… it doesn’t actually matter how you like it. You can’t expect me to go to Mammy and tell her that you have ended our marriage because I didn’t know howyou liked your tea?’
‘It’s a metaphor! A symbol,’ I said. ‘A boiled-down microcosm of our marriage.’
He shook his head and spoke quietly, ‘Mammy was right when she said I shouldn’t marry you.’
And so, I picked up my case and I went and he didn’t stop me. But Celia did. She knocked on the door.
‘Tabitha,’ she said icily.
‘Hello, Celia.’
‘I was wondering…’ Her tone was icy, imperious, ‘…whenyou were going to return my granddaughter to her father?’
