Page 58 of You Were Always the One

‘I do get that he’s scared,’ I say.

‘Holly, don’t you dare make excuses for him,’ Rita warns. ‘It costs nothing to show a little consideration and gratitude. I mean, after what he’s put you through, he should be bending over backwards to make things up to you.’

But it wouldn’t make any difference, I’m realising as I stare at Rita. ‘I think we’ve gone past that. I’m not sure I even want him to try.’ Too much damage has been done. All these years of being patronised and talked down to. Of not having any emotional connection. ‘I don’t think there’s anything left between us.’

‘Oh, Holls,’ Rita says sadly. Then she looks at me curiously. ‘Was he really that different at the start?’

‘It was very different,’ I say defensively. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have married him.’ It’s what I want to believe. Have to believe. ‘The thing is now, I don’t want what we’ve become. Marriage shouldn’t be like this.’ I gesture around the kitchen. ‘I don’t want all of this, either.’ But isn’t wanting this part of what got me into this mess? Wanting a life where I could afford all this?

‘What do you want?’ she asks.

I pause. It’s simple. ‘I want love that comes with freedom, rather than trappings.’

Rita gives me a look. ‘I seem to remember you had that once.’

With Riggs. ‘I was a fool,’ I say. ‘I didn’t appreciate what I had. And I didn’t really know what I wanted. I just jumped in the wrong direction. And fucking Riggs…’ Breaking off, I can’t talk all of a sudden.

Rita frowns. ‘Fucking Riggs what?’

‘He didn’t come after me.’ A lump lodges in my throat. ‘When I broke it off, he should have come after me.’ Leaning forward, I try to contain my sobs. But it’s like I’m drowning in the strain of the last few weeks, if not months. And I can’t blame Riggs. It was me who chose to walk away and leave him. I gather myself together. ‘Sorry,’ I snuffle through a handful of tissues. ‘I’ve no idea why I’m so upset.’

‘Oh, Holls.’ Rita sounds worried. ‘It isn’t surprising. You have so much going on. But have you thought that maybe the universe is sending you a message?’

I look at her, slightly stupidly. ‘Like what?’

‘I’d say it’s along the lines of you need to leave Miles. Give Riggs a break. Give him a second chance, even.’ She pauses. ‘Maybe. I’m just saying.’

‘We’re different people,’ I say. ‘We’re older. Stuff has happened to us. It wouldn’t be the same.’

Rita shakes her head at me. ‘I think the point is something needs to change,’ she says. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re not meant to be with either Miles or Riggs. Maybe this is about you realising that.’

I blink at her. ‘And what about Max and Grace?’

Rita rolls her eyes. ‘Holly. Did you see your son tonight? He’s worried about you. In small ways, he’s already trying to look out for you. It won’t be long before Grace notices. In fact, she probably already has. If you go on the way you are, it’s only going to get worse for them.’ She pauses. ‘You’re my oldest, dearest friend, Holls. And a wonderful mother. But don’t you think they want to see you be happy? Right now, they can see how you and Miles are together. It’s already defining what their normal is. Is that really what you want for them?’

My brain feels knotted as I lie in bed that night. But the following morning, I’m beginning to see the faintest hint of a way through this; if not instantly, in stages. When I go downstairs, Rita is on her way out.

‘Thanks for a great evening,’ she says.

‘More like thanks for listening to me.’ I hug her. ‘You’re the best. It helped. Things feel less overwhelming this morning.’

‘Good.’ Her eyes hold mine. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go, Holls. If I don’t get to the station soon, I’ll miss my train. But keep me posted, won’t you?’

As she drives away, Max comes downstairs. ‘Has Rita gone?’

‘She just left.’ I look at my son. ‘Did you sleep OK?’

‘Yeah.’ He still looks bleary-eyed. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes.’ Going over, I hug him briefly. ‘You mustn’t worry about me, Max. I’m fine. There’s a lot going on. It’s just how life is sometimes.’ I wonder if I imagine his face lightening a shade. ‘Breakfast?’

I call work and put them in the picture. They agree that I can cut my hours back for the foreseeable future.

With Miles home, as much as it can, life goes on as before. When Max’s birthday comes, I take him and some of his friends out for pizza. Miles rarely leaves the spare room, while our communication is strained, all of us treading on eggshells.

One afternoon when I go upstairs, I hear Miles talking on his phone. It’s impossible to make out what he’s saying, but from the tone of his voice, it’s clear he’s unhappy. I wait until he stops talking before I knock, then push the door open.

‘I brought you a cup of tea.’