‘Kate – what do you want?’ he hisses. ‘I’m out with Vicky!’ Or maybe not.
‘I don’t care who you’re out with. Put me on speaker why don’t you, Harry? Then I can tell her all about those little love messages you send me, and maybe share those pathetic dick pics as well!’
He doesn’t respond, and I suspect he is, to phrase it politely, shitting himself. Despite everything we’ve gone through, all the suffering he has caused me, I have never once spoken to him like this. He laid my self-confidence so low that it was practically non-existent, had me brainwashed into thinking that everything that went wrong was my fault. I’ve never raised my voice at him, or called him names, or held him accountable for what he did. That seems to have changed too, like so many other things about my life. I’m now gripped by such rage that if I could teleport to Basildon, I’d find him and choke the last breath out of him.
The background noise fades, and he’s clearly gone somewhere more private. A flush sounds, and I shake my head as I realise he’s now hiding in the toilets. Pure class.
‘Okay, Kate,’ he says once he’s relocated, trying to sound assertive. ‘What is it you need to say to me so urgently?’
It’s funny how I recognise now that he’s onlytryingto sound assertive – that he’s shaken, that I’ve called his bluff and he doesn’t really know how to handle this version of me. How could this man have held me in his thrall for so long?
‘Did you lie about our fertility tests?’ I ask simply. Rage aside, I don’t really want to spend more time than I have to on the phone to him. I want to erase him from my heart, from my mind, from my memories. Even talking to him makes me feel soiled and full of regret for the way I allowed him to treat me.
He is silent, and I can almost picture the shocked look on his face. I can also imagine the weaselly expression that it will segue into, as he tries to bluster his way out of it. If past patterns are anything to go by, he’ll now try and convince me I’m going mad. He’ll tell me I’m crazy and that I’m imagining things. By the end of the conversation I’ll be the one apologising to him, while he goes back to the bar and complains about his psychotic ex-wife to his current girlfriend.
No.
I’ve been down that path before, and I’m grateful to my time in Bonnie Bay for helping me learn one important lesson – I’m worth a hell of a lot more than that.
‘Before you answer, Harry, I should tell you that I know you did. I know because I’m pregnant, and because the doctor told me nobody even uses the phrase “inhospitable womb” any more. I’m guessing you found it on Google?’
More silence, and I can picture him so clearly. I spent years studying this man’s facial expressions, looking for signs that he was about to start an argument, or say something that would hurt me. I was so finely attuned to his moods and needs, I barely paid any attention to my own. Now, I’m fully expecting a smooth speech that puts all the blame on my shoulders. Instead, I get something I never could have predicted in a million years. Honesty, in all its unpleasant glory.
‘Congratulations, Kate. That’s… that’s great. And yes, I did lie.’
I’m so taken aback by this bombshell that I can’t even speak. Rosie, listening in, widens her eyes, and makes the universalsign for ‘dickhead’ with her curled fist. I’d normally find that amusing, but right now I barely notice.
‘Why?’ I ask simply.
He sighs, and there’s a loud bang. I think he might have just punched the cubicle wall.
‘Because when I found out the problem was mine, I couldn’t handle it. I don’t just have a low sperm count, I have no sperm count. Pretty rare, apparently, but you know I always liked to be a high-flyer. Do you know how it made me feel, being told that I couldn’t perform the most basic of male functions properly?’
He sounds bitter, upset. It would have devastated him, any slight imperfection always did. He was vain and arrogant and always assumed he was going to be the best at whatever he set out to achieve. This news would have made him feel less of a man, no matter how outdated a notion that might be. I steel myself against the temptation to sympathise with him, because he doesn’t deserve it. Not after what he did.
‘Yes, Harry,’ I reply firmly. ‘I do understand how it made you feel – because I’ve now spent years feeling exactly the same about myself. You could have told me. I wouldn’t have blamed you in any way, not the way I’ve blamed myself at least. But did it not occur to you to tell me at any stage after we split up? You didn’t think it might be relevant somehow?’
‘I should have told you, yes. Except I’d halfway convinced myself it was true, that the problem was yours. It was a lie I’d told so often it didn’t even feel like a lie any more. Plus you know how things were between us. It didn’t end well. There never seemed like a good time for that conversation.’
I shake my head in disbelief. He really is incredible. There were so many times he could have found a way to tell me – he just didn’t want to, because it would make him face up to what he’d done. He’s an idiot and a coward and a liar, and again I can’t quite believe I stayed with him for so long. That I clung on sohard. Even when things were terrible between us, I was so weak and desperate that I held on – and being under the illusion that I couldn’t have children might have contributed to that weakness.
‘Well, I was always good at accepting the guilt, wasn’t I, Harry? Always good at mopping up the punishment. As for when or how, there’s a world of ways to communicate out there. Maybe you could have just tagged it onto one of those Friday night messages you’ve been sending?’
A thought suddenly occurs to me. ‘Does she know? Does Vicky know you probably can’t have children?’
I can’t bear the thought of another woman going through what I’ve gone through, even if it’s one who stole my husband. Not that I really wanted him anyway, I now realise. If she stole him, it’s because the door was wide open and there was a sign on it saying ‘burglars welcome’.
‘She doesn’t want children,’ he answers, sounding defensive.
‘That’s not the point, Harry. You need to tell her. I know it doesn’t fit with your master of the universe image, but you need to tell her.’
‘Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it. And Kate? I’m sorry, I really am. And I’m pleased for you. You’ll make a great mum. So, I take it you’ve met someone else?’
‘That’s none of your business. It could be a one-night stand for all you know – because I’ve been under the impression that I didn’t need to take any extra precautions for all this time. You sent me out in the world thinking I was broken, thinking that this could never happen. It was… it was a cruel thing to do, Harry. Cruel and so bloody irresponsible.’
I’m saying these words, and meaning every single one of them, but my anger has drained from me. I find that the new thing I’m feeling is annoyingly unwelcome, and that fury was easier to handle than this. Than compassion.
‘Right. Yes. All I can do is say I’m sorry.’
