Falling in Love Again (20 page)

Session Six: Don’t Blame Other People – Including Yourself!

It’s too easy to blame everyone when a marriage or a relationship goes wrong.

It’s his or her fault, you might say. He was too critical. She was always nagging.

It’s also easy to blame yourself.

If only you had done things differently, you might still be all right.

But blame is destructive. Every time you find yourself doing it, make yourself think of a positive thought instead!

Every night when you go to bed, think of a good thing that you HAVE done! Try it – it really works!!

26

LIZZIE

So she’d won! Sort of. Thanks to Dan’s ‘surprise’ visit to make him feel jealous (it had been really good of her friend to go along with that), Tom had finally agreed to spend Christmas day with them.

Up to 6.30pm that was. Then he was off, back to The Slut. What, she wanted to ask, had he given Sharon for Christmas? Maybe that new ‘
How To Trim Your Thighs
In Ten Minutes A Day’
book or a new pair of purple Mickey Mouse socks to match the slippers. Now, she’d have to go onto Stage Three in Getting Tom Back. And if that wasn’t complicated enough, she had to save Mum and Dad’s marriage too.

Dad had been right. On closer investigation (‘Tell me what happened, you two, or there’ll be no more violin practice ever again’), it turned out that Sophie
had
been behind it after all. With a little help from Jack of course. Left to themselves, Mum and Dad would never have found the On and Off switch let alone Grandparents Reunited.

‘Granny said she was fed up with Granddad always going on and on about how he could have been married to someone who appreciated him,’ said Sophie hotly when she’d forced her daughter to stop sewing on her own school uniform labels for a minute. ‘Said she’d always wondered what had happened to this bloke George who used to live next door. So I told her about this site that someone at school told me about (
her
gran’s just got married again – imagine that!) and we went on it together.’

Went on it?

‘The computer, Mum.’ Sophie sighed giving her the
‘Mum’s an idiot’
look, carefully cultivated over time. It didn’t help that Sophie was now taller than she was and could look down both physically and mentally on her mother.

‘Then Granddad made Jack show him how to do it too and up popped Marjorie.’ Sophie shrugged as though to reinforce the point that really none of this was her fault.

Right. Round the corner. How’s that for coincidence?

‘It happens, Mum. ‘Sides, haven’t Gran and Granddad lived here for years?’

Right. And exactly how many years into their marriage had Granddad known this Marjorie?

‘Calm down, Mum.’ Sophie unwrapped a piece of gum and stuck it in her mouth. ‘Loads of kids at school have grandparents who are getting divorced. Ellie’s granddad’s third wife has a villa in the Carribbean. We’re all going next year.’

In your dreams! Besides who said anything about divorce?

‘It’s what happens, innit?’

‘ISN’T IT.’

‘Stop being so proper, Mum. The English language is evolving. What we speak now would be real crap to the Victorians.’

Don’t rise to the bait, Lizzie told herself. She’s only doing it on purpose to wind you up. Any minute now and she’d pick up that violin bow, just on purpose. She was almost tempted to hide it.

‘Anyway, I don’t know why you’re going on at me.’ Sophie sniffed, adjusting the music stand.

No. Please NO. Not that caterwauling again.

‘Talk to Gran and Granddad instead. They’re the ones who are doing it.’ She frowned. ‘Ugh. What a sick thought. Did you know that Granddad practises yoga in the bathroom without any clothes on? Gran says so. Do you think all those wrinkly bits get in the way?’

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried, thought Lizzie when the kids had finally gone to bed (although not to sleep if the tell-tale Facebook ping was anything to go by). Both Mum and Dad had told her that George and Marjorie respectively were just good friends. But she still felt sick when she thought of last week’s meeting.

‘He’s got all his teeth, you know!’ Mum had hissed excitedly in the kitchen.

Great. No chance of him falling over them, like Dad, then.

If she’d met them on any other ground, she might actually have liked them both. George was a smallish man (a bit shorter than Mum actually) with a little grey moustache, who had flown for the RAF. She could see Dad bristling at that one – he’d been turned down for it because of his eyesight.

As for Marjorie – well the awful thing was that she could really like Marjorie if she wasn’t a threat. She was the kind of woman who actually seemed to enjoy being large and she took a great interest in the children. Jack couldn’t do enough for her.

‘Would you like some more water?’ he had asked and Marjorie had roared with laughter.

‘Water, dear? That’s not water! That’s vodka.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Virtually neat without anything in it to muck it up. That’s how I’ve always liked it, isn’t it, Jimmy?’

Jimmy? On the rare occasions when Mum hadn’t referred to her other half as ‘your father’, it had always been Jim.

Dad had looked a bit awkward at this, as well he might, considering Mum was shooting him daggers. Any minute now and they’d be having swapsie zimmer frame parties.

Meanwhile, what was she going to do about her own life? Lizzie glanced around the kitchen which looked as though the rent-a-kid mob had hit it. If Tom had been here, he’d have been helping her to clear up and maybe suggesting he got the Hoover out. She’d got mad with him about that, she seemed to remember, taking umbrage at the suggestion she didn’t do enough round the house. In fact, she’d told him that she couldn’t do it all if he expected her to work too. Then he’d said . . .

Shit. Sorry. Sugar. What did it matter now? Time to put Stage Three of Getting Tom Back into action.

‘Hi there!’

The woman at the school gates looked at her suspiciously as well she might. Lizzie had never spoken to her before; in fact, she only vaguely recognised her because Jack was on/off friends with her son. Other-mother-chit-chat simply wasn’t on her already bulging spreadsheet.

‘I’m Jack’s mother.’

The other woman was looking even more suspicious now. ‘I thought Sharon was his mum.’

Lizzie forced herself to give a little laugh. ‘Sharon? Goodness no. She’s just . . . well a sort of mother’s help. Gives me a hand every now and then. I work, you see. So I don’t normally have time to do the run. Well, not hang around at the gates that is and have coffee or do whatever everyone else does.’

‘I work myself actually.’ The woman spoke stiffly. ‘Part time.’

‘Really? What do you do?’

‘Stockbroker.’

Oh!

‘Actually, I was wondering . . . ’ Lizzie tried to lower her voice and glance round at the same time to make sure The Slut hadn’t arrived yet. She’d purposefully bust a gut to get there early. ‘I’ve been a bit worried about Sharon recently. She hasn’t . . . well she hasn’t been quite her usual self.’

The woman eyed her coldly. ‘She’s pregnant. It can make you different, you know.’

‘Yes. I do.’ Lizzie tried to smile. ‘I have another child too.’ In kennels, she felt like adding. ‘Actually, I was wondering how much you knew about Sharon. I mean, I was told . . . that she had quite a few boyfriends. Do you know if that’s right?’

Oh dear. Oh dear. Not a great question, judging from this woman’s look.

‘You’d need to ask her that yourself.’

‘So you don’t know then . . . ’ Lizzie was getting desperate now. ‘You don’t know whose the baby is?’

‘No.’ The woman moved away as though she might be catching. ‘And if you want a bit of advice, I wouldn’t go asking questions like that to people you don’t know. What are you, a journalist?’

OK. So that hadn’t worked. Onto Plan Number Four.

‘Where are you going?’ demanded Sophie as Lizzie emerged down the stairs, wearing a sparkly green dress that she’d discovered at the back of her wardrobe. Thankfully it was a stretchy material so she could still – just – squeeze into it.

‘You look lovely, Mummy,’ said Jack.

Lizzie’s eyes almost filled with tears. ‘Thanks darling.’

‘Tarty, you mean,’ Sophie sniffed, giving her a
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
look. ‘I suppose you’ve gone and got yourself a date, like Granny.’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t she say? She’s off to bingo tonight with George, dressed up to the nines like some GILF.’

Gilf?

Jack piped up. ‘It’s a granny version of MILF. You know. Mother I’d like to f . . .’

‘STOP! What about Dad?’

He’s going too. With Marjorie.’

Too much information. She’d have to have words in the morning.

Lizzie glanced at her watch. ‘Your father’s late to pick you up.’

Sophie jerked her head towards the kitchen. ‘No he’s not. He’s been waiting ages.’

What? Right. This was it.

Taking a deep breath, Lizzie walked in. ‘Hi Tom.’

Good. He was looking surprised.

‘Are you OK, Lizzie?’ His eyes travelled downwards. ‘I mean I know you had problems with your hair but you’ve put on a bit of weight, haven’t you?’

‘Have I?’ She smiled brightly. Sod it. She’d have to start laying off the chocolate. ‘If you want to keep the kids overnight, you can. I’ve got a date and I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

Great. He was looking worried now. Definitely worried.

Her heart beating, she kissed both children. ‘See you tomorrow darlings, when I pick you up from school. Byee!’

Waving gaily from the window, she watched them go down the path. Ten minutes later, when it was safe, she peeled out of the dress (blast, the zip had gone) and opened her laptop, heart pounding. Work. That was what she needed to do. Work, just to forget everything in the hope that she hadn’t gone too far.

‘Mum?’

Who on earth was that? Well, obviously, a ‘Mum’ meant the speaker could only be one of two people but where was she?

‘I knew you’d be in?’

Lizzie was still looking round the room. Why could she hear Sophie but not see her? ‘What do you mean?’

‘That stuff about going out tonight. It was just to make Dad jealous, wasn’t it?’

‘Don’t be silly, Sophie.’

‘I’m not being silly. I can see you right now. Standing in your pyjamas in my room.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘You’re on webcam, Mum. That’s right. That little thing on top of my desk that’s winking at you. So I know you just pretended to go on a date unless you were planning to wear your pyjamas. And by the way, you’ve streaked one leg browner than the other. I’ve told you before, Mum. You need to exfoliate first.’

‘I did . . . I mean I wasn’t.’

‘You’re nuts, Mum. Know that?’

‘Thanks.’

‘So that’s why I’m not coming back.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Jack wants to but I’ve had enough. Sharon says I can stay for a bit.’

What?

‘I’ve told her about you screaming and crying and she says it’s weird.’

‘I didn’t mean to . . .’

‘Sorry, Mum. But I don’t have to take it any more. Sharon says so. And so does Dad. They’re really angry about you talking to some woman at school. Parents are meant to be there for their kids. But you’re a kid yourself. That’s what Sharon says.’

‘Wait! When are you coming back?’

‘I’ll text you.’

Karen’s lights were out. Call any time she’d said. Was 11.20pm too late? Of course it was. Stupid question. Stupid idea.

‘Who’s there?’

The door opened and a woman in a cosy pink dressing gown opened the door. ‘Lizzie? Are you all right?’

It was so comforting to feel a pair of arms around her. Not Tom’s or even Mum’s. Just a woman who until a few months ago had been a complete stranger.

‘She’s left me.’ The words bubbled out of her mouth like panicking froth. ‘My daughter’s left me. Gone to The Slut. Gone to her father. It’s all my fault for neglecting Tom. I should have realised Sharon wasn’t to be trusted.’

Unable to help herself, she began to wail. Blood curdling wails that sounded as though they came from someone else. Someone dangerously on the edge. ‘What am I going to do now? My baby. My BABY!’

‘It’s all right, love.’ She was being rocked now. Back and forth by those arms; the arms of a woman who had been through it herself. Not like her mother who couldn’t really understand. ‘Come on in now and I’ll make a nice cup of tea. There’s nothing that can’t be fixed eventually. You’ll see.’