‘No.’
Luke’s just as bad as lying as I am, so I know he’s telling the truth. So how did he … ?
‘Oh, my God! You’ve met up with her!’
His face says it all.
‘Behind my back?’ I get up because, suddenly, I have to move, I have to … I run my hands through my hair, not even caring a hair grip or two go flying. ‘I can’t believe you!’ I pace some more. Luke watches me nervously and I turn to him and laugh. ‘She sucked you right in, don’t you see? She’s got you feeling sorry for her, but it’s all part of the game. A game I refuse to play anymore!’
‘Jess, I don’t think so. I truly think she—’
I hold up a hand and he falls silent. ‘You want to know why I can’t give her another chance? Because she used them all up. She used them up falling down the stairs naked when I was fourteen and I had to drag her onto the living room sofa and cover her up with a blanket. When she missed my university graduation because she found some drinking buddies on the train down. When she went to rehab, because she wasreallygoing to do it this time, and then four months later I found her secret stash of tequila hidden in the laundry hamper. Each time I have given her “one more chance”, she stomped all over it!’
Luke’s eyes are wide. I’ve talked a bit about what my childhood and teenage years were like, but I don’t think I’ve ever let the ‘naked falling down the stairs’ thing slip before.
‘It was like living with someone who’d pulled the pin out of a grenade and was just walking around with it. You’re just waiting for the moment it slips from their fingers – and it always does slip, or get dropped, when they’re too wasted to care anymore. I couldn’t live like that any longer. That’s why I had to go no-contact. I thought you understood!’
I stare at my husband, my rock – or so I thought – silently begging him to come up with a reasonable answer.
‘You’re still angry with her.’
‘You think?’ Uh-oh. Sarcastic Jess is coming out to play. This is never a good sign. I try and form a more sensible reply. ‘Yes, I’m angry, but that’s just the top layer. Underneath I was disappointed with her. And not just the “Oh, well … better luck next time” kind of disappointed. I was crushed, Luke.’
Saying those words pops the bubble of my current anger, and it begins to drain away, threatening to no longer do its job of holding back the tidal surge of sadness. He’s braced against the kitchen counter, solid and still, but I need to move again, so I walk back towards the French doors.
‘I expect it from her,’ I say quietly, and I can hear the threat of gluey tears that are currently stuck in my throat. ‘The one person I didn’t expect to let me down was you.’ I turn and look at him. ‘But you have, Luke. You really have.’
CHAPTER FOUR
JESS
Luke’s face falls and he takes a step back. I know my words must sting, but it’s the truth – he has let me down – and I don’t know how else to make him understand that he’s just set a bomb off inside our marriage.
I give him a couple of moments to process, hoping a light bulb might switch on inside his head, that he might even apologize, but he looks away, frowning. A short while later, I see the muscles around his jaw twitch and flex. Far from seeing the error of his ways, he’s pissed off.
Well, so am I.
But I know one of us has to make an effort to de-escalate things, so I zip my mouth shut, go to the fridge, grab a bottle of Pinot Grigio and pour us both a glass, before heading for the living room. Luke follows. I flick on a couple of lamps and plonk myself down in an armchair, while he takes one end of the deep-red sofa I bought at a boot fair and had re-covered.
I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth and reject the stream of caustic words I really want to spit out at him. When I feel I’m calm enough to carry on, I say, ‘It wasn’t yourplace to invite her to the party. At the very least you should have discussed it with me first.’
Luke gives a grudging nod then lets out a sigh. ‘I wish I had now.’
Not exactly an apology, or a signal that he understands the gravity of what he did, but at least he’s admitting there might be another way rather than Luke’s way. That’s a start.
‘I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure about getting in contact with her. I just … ’ He trails off and looks into the cast-iron fireplace with Art Nouveau tiles that we spent months searching for in reclamation yards.
‘You just thought you knew better,’ I finish for him. It’s the truth, and he doesn’t deny it. ‘But why think of doing it in the first place? I don’t understand why it’s so important to you that I reconcile with my mother.’ If he knew it had the potential to go sideways, why did he take that risk? There has to be more to this.
It takes a full five minutes of Luke staring into his wine and frowning before he answers again. I don’t break the silence. I’m not going to make this easy for him. Luke always wants to be the fixer, putting things right for everyone? Then he needs to fixthis.
Finally, he looks up. ‘You want to know why I invited your mum?’
I nod.
‘I see how your broken family relationships hurt you, how they’ve scarred you, and I wanted something different for you. I suppose … I suppose I got desperate.’
‘Desperate?About what?’ Even when we were still in contact with my mother, Luke always found her challenging. I don’t think he’s been missing her charming personality and thoughtful gestures.
