All We Have Lost (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

‘Look, Chloe, a fish!’ exclaims Sam, clenching his fists and jumping up and down. ‘A fish, look, look! It’s owange!’

I wondered how long it would take them to notice the surprise I got them, the little distraction.

‘Wait – let me see.’ On her tiptoes, Chloe peers up at the bowl on the worktop.

‘Sit at the table and I’ll bring him over.’

Chloe runs to the table. Sam continues to stare at the bowl, following me as though in a trance as I carry it to the table.

‘Is it poisonous?’ Chloe asks as I sit Sam into his seat.

‘No,’ I reassure.

‘Aw,’ Sam says.

‘Why didn’t you get a poisonous one?’ Chloe asks on his behalf.

‘They don’t sell them.’

‘Why not?’

‘People don’t want to be killed when they’re changing the water.’

‘Why didn’t you get a piranha?’

‘Look, I got this little guy because he’d looked lonely. I thought we
could be his friends.’

They peer into the bowl. ‘OooKay,’ they both say together.

‘But I’ll feed him,’ rushes Chloe.

‘No, I feed him.’

‘No fighting or he goes back to the shop. You can take it in turns. What are you going to call him?’

‘Someting scaywee,’ says Sam.

‘How about Boo?’ I suggest.

‘Boo!’ they shout.

‘Careful. Don’t frighten him. He’s very delicate.’

‘What’s delicate?’

‘Little things frighten him. And when he gets frightened he might have a heart attack or something.’

‘What’s a hawt attack?’

I explain (somehow) then tell them it’s time for bed. Negotiations begin immediately. They end with Sam, Chloe and Boo sleeping in the same room so that Boo won’t get lonely and have a heart attack.

‘So where did you go today?’ I ask, tucking them into the same bed.

‘Tara, Mum,’ says Chloe.

No. He’s supposed to bring them somewhere generic like the zoo. Or McDonald’s. Not somewhere special to us – all of us.

Sam sits up. ‘Yeah and we fed da hawse. And we wan wit da sheep.’ Which means he ran
after
the sheep. ‘And we saw’d dogs chasing a wabbit. We’d gweat fun.’

‘Did you have a picnic?’ Please say no.

He nods enthusiastically.

Apparently, they had gherkins and pickles and salami and olives and rice cakes. Ian remembered everything – all their favourites.

‘Oh,’ I say, forgetting to hide my disappointment.

‘We missed you, Mum,’ Chloe says, sitting up.

‘I missed you too, sweetie.’ My little sensitive soul.

‘Why didn’t you come?’

‘I just had a few things to do. Do you like my hair?’

She nods. ‘Will you come the next time?’

‘We’ll see, honey.’ I kiss them both on the forehead. ‘Now, go to sleep.’ 

The house is quiet. I’m restless. I look out at the jungle that is the garden and suddenly I know what to do.

I fly around like a mad thing ripping up, cutting, shredding, snapping. I stuff the results of my blitz into large sacks. Then, I stand observing the result. It’s a big improvement. But better than that, I am calm.

I lie down in the grass and gaze up at a sky that is fighting to hold its colour after the sun has left. Swallows scoot and dart through the air, reminding me of Egypt. We couldn’t get enough of each other; it seemed a physical impossibility. In seven years, he was always there, could always cheer me up, make me laugh; he always wanted to. Now a wind blows through me. I am hollow.

Bats and stars join the swallows. I watch them until I grow cold.

I go inside.

Hoodie and socks do little to warm me. And though it’s still August, I light a fire. I flick on the lamps and curl up on the couch. A dog would be nice.

I gaze at the paintings I’ve collected over the years, remembering the time I bought each one, where I was, whether I had to save up, borrow or beg, who I was with, if anyone, what I was working at or studying. Each one has its own story. My eyes fall on the one Ian and I bought in Piazza Navona after a particularly liquid lunch. He saw us coming, the artist – giggling and walking a crooked line, in love and in Rome. The painting reminded us of how we’d met – sailing. We couldn’t leave it behind.

And I can’t stop remembering. I am back to the day we met. On an introduction to sailing course, we were teamed up to right a capsized boat. Into the freezing water we were tipped as the dingy turned on its side. As we struggled to get it back up, it ‘turned turtle’, flipping over completely. It was Ian who started laughing first. Looking at each other only made us worse. An instructor had to jump in to help us. Success came as our lips turned blue. Sitting in the training boat watching the next couple have a go, the laughter continued. Then, as if by magic, we stopped and looked at each other, knowing that, from that moment on, we would never be apart. We had something. We really had. Never thought it would be so easy to lose.

He comes on time. Takes them swimming. Returns on time. In the afternoon, I try to outdo him by bringing them to a movie. This is what our family has become.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

‘Does Dad
sleep
in work?’ asks Chloe at bedtime.

It would be so easy to lie. But my childhood was one.

‘Well, Dad’s staying in a hotel at the moment…for a little while.’

She sits up, wide-eyed. ‘Does it have a pool? Can I stay too?’

‘No, sweetheart.’ I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

‘Oh.’ She looks down and starts fiddling with the sleeve of her pyjamas. ‘Will his holiday be over soon?’

I can answer this. ‘Well, ho
n
…’ I press her nose gently. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’ Is that
it
? We’ll
see
? I try again. ‘But the good thing is, you’re seeing your dad so much now, more than you did when he was sleeping here. Isn’t that great?’

She throws me a thunderous look. ‘He’s Dad. Don’t call him “your dad”.’

‘Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Of course he’s Da
d
. And you do lots of great things with him now, don’t you?’

‘But why don’t
you
come with us?’

‘Well, I can get some jobs done.’

‘I can help with the jobs,’ she says hopefully.

Heart breaking here. ‘Thanks, sweetie. We’ll see.’

Her thumb slips into her mouth. A little frown appears. Something else is brewing. Now would be a good time to bolt.

‘You still love Dad, don’t you, Mum?’

I look at her little face and see him in it, so much of him. It is like being forced to face a truth I’ve been denying myself. Of course I love him. It wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t.

‘Yes, Chloe. I still love your dad, I mean Dad.’ That doesn’t mean I don’t hate him too. Because I do.

‘And Dad loves you, Mum.’

What can I say – no he doesn’t or he wouldn’t have done what he did? My alternative is, ‘I know sweetie. Come on, let’s snuggle.’

I lie beside her until she sleeps.

And that is how I end up back at the psychologist. I don’t know what else to do. And I have to do something.

Weird thing is, I find myself talking about my parents. Specifically, The Deal.

‘How does that make you feel about your father?’ he asks so calmly – like he’s seen it all in here, in his 1970’s office.

I shrug.

He waits.

‘I don’t know. Like he was an illusion? And he made our lives one?’

‘Do you hate him for that?’

I grimace. ‘Isn’t hate a bit strong?’

‘Are you angry with him?’

‘Yes, I’m angry. Of course, I’m angry. Especially at how he treated Mum.’

‘What about how he treated you?’

I shrug. ‘You cheat on your wife, you cheat on your family.’

‘But you can’t hate a dead man, is that it?’

‘I’m just going to have to accept it, right? Otherwise everything Mum has sacrificed will have been for nothing.’

‘You’re allowed to feel, Kim. In fact, you should. It’s healthy.’

‘So, it’s OK to hate him?’ I ask doubtfully.

‘It’s OK to be honest with yourself. When someone we love dies, it’s natural to remember only the good in them. No one is all good.’

That is when I realise: I made him a better father than any other. I canonised him.

‘I’ve a suggestion and I want you to think before you answer.’

I look at him warily.

‘I’d like Ian to attend your next session.’

I tense. ‘
Why
?’

‘To help you understand what happened to your marriage so you can move forward.’

‘He’ll make it my fault. And I’ve had too much of that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter why. He did what he did.’

‘Sometimes, to move forward, we have to look back.’

‘He wouldn’t come anyway.’

‘If he doesn’t want to, we’ll manage. But we’ll manage better and make more progress if he does. You deserve this, Kim. Why don’t you ask him, see if he’ll come?’

I hesitate. ‘He’ll think I want us back together!’

‘Then be clear about that with him. Tell him why he’s coming – for you.’

I sigh. ‘OK.’

Later, Ian phones.

‘How are you?’ he asks.

‘Spectacular.’

Awkward pause.

‘Kim, can I come over? There’s something I want to ask you.’

‘Ask now.’ He can’t just come over anytime he likes.

He clears his throat. ‘Right. OK. Um. Chloe tells me next Tuesday is her first day at big school.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Would you mind if I came along? I’d love to be there. I could take the morning off.’

‘It would be an hour of your time. Not a morning.’

‘So it’s OK then?’

‘You know she’d love you there.’

‘And you?’

‘It’s not my day.’

‘I know. Thanks, though. I appreciate it.’

I take a deep breath. ‘I’m going to a psychologist. He thinks it’d be good for my “progress” for you to come to my next session. I told him it would be a waste of time…’

‘I’ll come.’ His voice sounds crumbly. ‘I w
ish I’d gone when you first suggested it.’

‘This is not to get back together. It’s so I can move forward. You need to be clear about that.’

‘I am. But I’d like a chance to say sorry. Officially.’

‘As long as you’re not expecting anything.’

‘I’m not.’

‘It’s just for one session. Then I can get on with it on my own.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘I don’t know why you’re thanking me.’

‘I don’t either,’ he tries to joke.

I give him the date and time. ‘It’s OK if it doesn’t suit.’

‘It suits. It’s fine. I’ll see you then.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Ian is in the waiting room when I arrive. He looks as nervous as I feel. I want to cry. For all we have lost.

He stands. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’

We sit at exactly the same time.

He smiles.

Mine is a reflex. I remind myself to be on my guard in future.

Apart from us, the waiting room’s empty.

I check my watch. ‘I usually don’t have to wait long.’

‘It’s fine. It’s good to get out of the office.’

I think of her. And want to punch him.

The door opens and we’re called in.

They shake hands.

‘Thanks for coming, Ian. I think it’ll be useful.’

We take our seats when really I want to run.

He asks us about our marriage.

Ian talks about how great it was.

I say nothing.

‘We used to be a team. Did everything together.’ He looks at me. ‘We were best friends. Soulmates.’

‘And you threw it away,’ I say because – enough. Seriously.

Ian looks at Peter.

‘Did things start to go wrong before you had the affair?’ he asks Ian.

Ian nods. ‘When Kim gave up work, it changed. It’s like it wasn’t the two of us against the world any more.’ He turns to me. ‘It was like you and the kids against me.’

I shake my head. I
knew
this would be a mistake.

‘I’m just trying to explain,’ he says to me. ‘You resented me getting out of the house even though I was just going to work. Maybe
I’d
have liked to quit. Maybe
I’d
have liked to explore my artistic side, start over, become a writer. But someone had to put bread on the table. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying that you weren’t the only one under pressure. Yes, I was going out the door but I was doing so worried about the mortgage and who’d pay it if I wasn’t kept on. I would have liked for you to understand that it wasn’t just hard on you. Instead, I felt I was being blamed for everything.’

‘For what, Ian?’

‘For not doing enough housework. For you having a shitty day. For example.’

I stare at him. ‘I wasn’t
blaming
you for my day – I just needed to get out of the house. It’s not easy being responsible for toddlers every hour of every day. And why shouldn’t I ask for help when I’m trying to juggle everything on my own?’

‘I didn’t ask you to take on all that stuff.’

‘Who else was going to do it? Certainly not you. And not an au pair.’

‘You felt under pressure, Kim. Is that right?’ Peter asks.

I look at Ian. ‘I wish you’d just taken me away for a weekend. We could’ve been alone together. We needed it – so badly. But no. No weekends until she came along – then lots of weekends – for you and her. You tried very hard to save our marriage, Ian.’

‘What about your weekend with Connor? If you hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have ended up away from home feeling lost
, alone, worried..
. I wouldn’t have…’ He stops.

As does my heart. So
that’s
when it started.

‘You always got on better with Connor than me.’

‘That’s your perception. And don’t blame me because of how you feel about Connor. I didn’t have an affair with him.’ I remember our fling then remind myself that it was over with Ian by then. I will not feel guilty.

‘But why did you have to go away when I specifically asked you not to?’ Ian asks, desperately. ‘Why?’

‘Oh my God. You don’t remember, do you? You were being obnoxious – you were The Man Who Needed The Exact Number Of Sausages At Exactly The Right Time. You were constantly putting me down and pushing me away. I had to get away. Connor wanted us to come. You didn’t seem to want us at all.’

‘It’s the other way around. You didn’t want me. I’d get in from work and you’d be out the door. You didn’t care about my day, never asked, weren’t interested.’

‘I was
tired
.’

‘I asked you not to go to London.’

‘Because of how little
you
think of Connor. Not a good enough reason. Anyway you were going to be away yourself.’

‘So the affair began that weekend?’ Peter asks.

Ian looks at him. ‘It hurt that she wouldn’t listen, didn’t care, wouldn’t see… Connor has always fancied her. I was miserable, got drunk. Jackie was there.’

‘And then you came home and accused
me
of having an affair. What kind of person does that?’

He drops his head. ‘A guilty one.’

‘You made me out to be the bad guy so you’d feel better? Low, Ian.’

‘Not deliberately. I don’t know; everything was upside down, out of control, mad.’

‘I still don’t know which is worse – the fact you cheated and lied or that you treated me like a fool. All those put downs, those references to my figure, what I wore…. You even wondered what I could possibly write about apart from cellulite.’

He looks baffled. ‘If you say I said those things, then I must have. But I never set out to hurt you. I might have been worried for you, not wanting you to turn into something you never wanted be. I was worried that you’d end up unhappy. But you’re right; I was out of line. I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.’ He bows his head. ‘I was insecure and stupid. A bloody fool.’ He looks at me. ‘But I love you, Kim, more than anything. If you would just give me a chance to make it up to you…’

‘To trample all over me, you mean. I’m starting to remember who I am. I’m starting to
like
who I am.’

‘I love who you are.’

I look at him. ‘But how easily you forgot.’

‘Well, I think we’ve made good progress here today,’ Peter says, looking at the clock.

Progress? It feels as if something that was beginning to settle has been stirred up and swirled around like grime at the bottom of a lake.

‘I could come again if you think it would help,’ Ian suggests.

Peter glances from Ian to me. ‘You might like to decide that together.’

Ian looks at me hopefully.

I get up and leave.

Outside, Ian catches up with me. He touches my arm. ‘Kim...’

I pull away and look into his eyes. ‘You could have had a bit of faith in me. In us. You could have tried, Ian. Instead of falling so easily into her arms.’ I turn and go before I break down in front of him.

How can
that
have been progress?