Falling in Love Again (7 page)

7

ALISON

The hairdresser had been one of Caroline’s better ideas. ‘Fancy a change then, do you?’ said the girl who usually did her hair. ‘Why don’t you have your eyebrows fredded as well?’

It took Alison a while to realise she meant ‘threaded’ but the girl was right. It did open up her face. As for the shorter, almost elfin style with the reddish streaks not unlike Jules’s . . . she didn’t know what to think! Part of her was appalled and part almost liked it. Those wispy, light brown strands on the floor looked as though they had never belonged to her. Nothing seemed real any more. Not even the hefty bill.

When she got back home, something made her go upstairs and take all her clothes off. Just like that. Stark naked in front of the full length bedroom mirror at 11.25am without even the curtains drawn.

What, she asked herself, staring the mirror full in the face, had David seen every night when she’d undressed? What had he observed and maybe internally recoiled from when he’d kissed her on her cheek, rolled over and gone to sleep? Surely she was entitled to clues? Some hint of a reason that had made him want to leave.

Just look at her breasts, or boobs as Jules called them! Not bad, considering. So it couldn’t have been their fault. Flattish stomach thanks to pilates. Sloping shoulders which had always been one of her best features (she used to swear they tanned through the car window during the school run phase) and, if she turned and squinted backwards in the mirror, a smallish pear-shaped bottom plus a certain sparkle in her eyes which looked much better when she smiled.

So why didn’t David find her attractive any more? Perhaps she was boring. That would be the worst insult. Far worse than if he’d gone for a trivial reason such as her body going to seed.

Opening the wardrobe (one of the new ones they’d just had made at great expense), she selected a bra and mis-matching pair of knickers. What a waste! Of the wardrobe, that was. It would have to go, along with the house; not of course, that that was important in the scheme of things. ‘If that husband of yours had done this a few years ago, when the kids were all at home, you would legally have been entitled to stay there,’ Caroline had bossily pointed out.

Frankly, thought Alison, she’d have lived in a rented council flat provided David’s head was on the pillow next to hers instead of that flat, smooth pillow case and the cold half of the bed. And how was she going to cope without a husband OR children? Part of her envied that youngish mum, Lizzie, in the group. At least she had her little ones to distract her.

‘I thought we’d grow old together,’ she’d whispered on the phone when he’d rung the day after leaving. At first, when she’d heard his voice, she had felt a flutter of hope in her chest. He had called to say he had made a terrible mistake. That he’d been upset about Jules going. That . . .

‘I rang to say I need to pick up some more things next week.’ His voice sounded so normal, so ‘everyday-ish’ that she’d burst into wild uncontrollable sobs during which he had said nothing. Just waited for her to finish exactly as he had done when Jules had had one of her teenage tantrums.

‘Is there someone else?’ she asked when she’d finally forced herself to calm down.

‘No.’ His voice was low. ‘I promise.’

Thank God! If there had been, she didn’t know if she could have coped. It had happened to two of her friends, poor things. One had thrown her husband out after his affair but never got over him. The second had kept him but never forgot it, reminding him of his ‘mistake’ at every available opportunity. It made for extremely tense dinner parties.

‘And what about Jules? How are we going to tell her?’

‘She knows already. I explained the situation a few days before she left.’

He’d told their daughter before her?

‘Don’t blame her, Alison. I asked her not to say anything. But I needed to tell her face to face, before she went away.’

‘How could you? No wonder she was so upset when we left. What a terrible way to start her degree.’

‘Actually, she thought we were doing the right thing. Said she’d known – like Ross – that we weren’t suited and that now they were gone, we could do our own thing.’

She’d put the phone down then which was, as Caroline later said, the only thing to do in the circumstances.

‘Appalling! Absolutely appalling, I call it.’ She’d waved the ‘How To Survive Divorce’ leaflet in front of her. ‘Now will you go to this or not? I went to something similar after Carl and it helped. Honestly.’

So Alison had gone to the first meeting and it had been surprisingly consoling to find that she wasn’t the only one in her position. She’d even felt sorry for that young man who had been so horrified about his girlfriend going off with another woman. Caroline had thought that was hysterical when she’d come round the next morning to see how it had gone.

‘So are you going to the next meeting?’

Alison shrugged. ‘Maybe. It’s called ‘Moving On’.’

‘Just what you need. Great hair by the way. See, I was right.’ Caroline – who had, lucky her, inherited their mother’s natural blonde locks! – opened the fridge, helped herself to a bottle of unopened wine and picked up a wine glass which she then proceeded to wash first before filling it up (such cheek!). She walked into the sitting room, which was still festooned with newspapers from last month, dated the day before they’d taken Jules back. The day when the world was still all right.

‘Haven’t you got an estate agent coming round to do a valuation? Better tidy up, hadn’t we?’ She filled up her glass again. ‘Get rid of those man’s clothes for a start. No. Don’t look at me like that. It’s psychological. You need to bin his stuff in order to move on. And move the bedroom furniture around so it looks like a different bedroom from the one when he was in it. Trust me. I’m the expert on this one.’

Of course, the valuation was just a red herring. There was no way that David would really go ahead with a sale, whatever he said . . . She was certain, absolutely certain, that once she presented him with two or three formal quotes and they sat down – as they would surely have to, wouldn’t they? – to talk over the practicalities of dividing the furniture and their assets (such an awful word), he’d realise his mistake and come back.

David loved their home; had loved it from the minute he’d found it all those years ago and rung excitedly to say he’d discovered the perfect house (near Amersham) and that although they’d have to borrow a fair bit, it would be worth it in the long run. ‘It’s in a quiet road,’ he had told her excitedly, ‘with enough space in the drive to park two cars; maybe three. And the garden has a willow tree – I know you’ve always wanted one and . . .’

They’d moved in six months later, just before Jules had been born. All their memories were here, thought Alison. The mark on the wall where Ross had thrown a football even though ball games weren’t allowed inside (her rules rather than David’s). The spacious, airy hall where Jules had taken her first steps and she’d excitedly rung a rather stressed-sounding David in the office to tell him. The utility room which was the original kitchen until they had saved up enough money for the extension.

No. He wouldn’t leave all this. She’d just go along with his silly game caused, she was certain, by a combination of his stressful job and their last child leaving home. He’d be back. She’d heard that tremor in his voice when she’d told him the door was still open.

‘Mum!’

Before she  knew it, Alison found herself being enveloped in a young, strong pair of arms (again so like her husband’s). ‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long to come up,’ Ross was standing back now, as though embarrassed by his display of affection, ‘but I couldn’t get back before. You do understand, don’t you?  And what have you done to your hair? It looks . . . different.’

Ross had followed her husband into the legal profession but into a different branch. His firm regularly sent him to Hong Kong and Singapore, where he had been during David’s bombshell. But now he was back! He was so like his father that if anyone could fix it, it would be him. They’d have the shepherd’s pie she’d just made (even though she didn’t feel at all hungry) and sort it all out.

‘Have you seen Dad?’

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt the punch of irony. How had it come to this, that she had to ask her own son for news of her own husband?

He nodded. ‘I dropped into the office on the way back from the airport.’

He’d seen his father first before her? She grabbed his jacket sleeve, fear seeping through her. ‘Is he all right?’

Ross bit his lip. ‘Look, Mum. I don’t know how to tell you this so I’m going to come straight out with it. Dad’s left his job. Handed in his resignation and walked. At least that’s what Brian told me.’

Brian was the other Senior Partner. They’d been at law school together; gone to each other’s weddings; met regularly for dinner. ‘Left? But he can’t. He’d have to give in his notice.’

Ross took her hands in his. They felt cool. Not reassuring. ‘That’s the thing, Mum. Brian said he’d done that. Six months ago. There’d been quite a fuss about it; it’s not easy winding up a partnership.’

He’d been planning this for six months? Impossible!

‘But where’s he gone?’

‘We’re not sure. Brian said he was talking about travelling; he’d thought you were going too because . . .’ His voice faltered. ‘Because Dad had asked him not to tell you. Said it was a surprise trip.’

David had lied? But he never did that. You could, she’d always thought, line every man up in the world for a truth test and David would be the last one to fail.

‘There’s something else, Mum.’ Ross was making her sit down on a chair. David’s chair. The one he always sank into after supper to watch the 10 o’clock news before going to bed. ‘There was a woman . . . from another legal firm who was working there on some shared project.’

Primrose! She’d met her at the last company dinner. A skinny, earnest, youngish woman who’d talked to her about those beggars in shop doorways and whether you should give them money or a coffee or just walk by. They had both favoured the coffee approach.

‘She left her firm at the same time apparently and Brian says . . . Brian says that people are beginning to talk.’ Ross raised his face and she could see tears stinging his eyes. ‘I’m sorry Mum. I didn’t want to tell you. But I think we’ve got to face facts. Don’t you?’

8

KAREN

‘Box of condoms (used). Needs to be collected.’

Karen stared at the shorthand note she’d just made on the pad in front (the computer system had just crashed again!). When you’d been in this job as long as she had, she warned the new ones, you sometimes took down ads without thinking and it could be easy to make mistakes, especially if your shorthand outline was a bit unclear. ‘Sorry, sir. Would you mind repeating that again?’

The squeaky voice at the other end of the phone sounded irritated. ‘I said box of condoms. Needs to be collected.’

She turned to wink at Sandra, sitting next to her. ‘I see, sir. Can you spell ‘condoms’ please?’

It’s what you always did when you suspected a wind-up. Her old boss had taught her that in the early days. Ask them to spell it out. If they could. Normally, it made the prankster burst into giggles.

‘I see. K-o-n-d-o-m. Don’t they teach you to spell at school any more, dear? And what colour are they?’

There was a peal of adolescent laughter at the other end as the culprit put the phone down.

‘Why do I always get them?’ Karen asked Sandra.

‘You do seem to have a knack! Maybe it’s your ‘aura’ that attracts them.’

‘OK, OK.’

There were times when Karen wished she hadn’t told Sandra about that over a coffee break. ‘It’s the sort of thing you should keep to yourself, Mum,’ Adam was always saying.

But it was a gift! A gift which had started after she had left Paul. After she’d got the stone. Somehow, she began to see soft, coloured clouds hovering over people’s heads; sometimes blue; sometimes purple; sometimes pink. And when she began to research it in the library – her favourite place to go to on Saturday mornings – she began to read up about auras.

Often it made a lot of sense. Sandra’s was yellow right now which meant she was in a good mood.

The funny thing was that she hadn’t seen anyone’s aura at the first meeting. It was a pity that only a handful had turned up. Still, if she had helped them, it was worth it. The question was, had she done any good? She wouldn’t know until the next one – providing they came back.

‘A box of books, sir? Yes, that will go in the ‘Under A Tenner’ column.’

That was Sandra’s call – maybe she might ring about the books herself. You could find some great bargains in the paper. Hang on. Her line was going now. ‘A multi-waste dispenser. £3. Well, yes, you might get someone.’

‘Why do punters go to the effort of waiting in for strangers to look at their stuff just to get three quid?’ demanded Sandra when she’d finished.

‘Because they’re lonely?’

‘Maybe.’ Sandra, whose own social life bleeped incessantly from her mobile, checked her mascara in the small pocket mirror she kept on her desk. ‘By the way, my neighbour said her daughter went to your group.’

Karen had been wondering if Sandra would mention this.

‘What’s her story then?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She pretended to fiddle with her screen.

‘Go on!’

‘I can’t betray confidences.’

‘Auditioning to be the next Denise Robertson are we?’

The phone flashed, indicating another call. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Sandra, stuffing the last bit of Kit Kat down her. Karen nodded, grateful for the interruption. She’d say this much for the so-called credit crunch: it didn’t stop people from buying and selling stuff. Far from it! She’d got a few bargains herself, this way.

Take Orlando and Jemima. Well how could she have resisted? ‘
Two cats in need of new home. Owner emigrating.
’ They’d settled in beautifully despite Oscar’s initial hisses and Adam’s disapproval.

‘If they had a child in the ‘For Sale’
column, you’d have it!’ he would say, giving her a cuddle. Well of course she would. A soft heart. That’s what she had. A soft heart that had got her into trouble more times than it should have done. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gone out with half the men she had done since Paul. All they had to do was tell her their sob story and before she knew it, she’d agreed to have that dinner or sometimes lunch, just because she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

‘That’s as far as it goes,’ she’d exclaimed to  Adam when he had once accused her of ‘putting herself around’. ‘How dare you? And I don’t sleep with them either if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

Adam had gone quiet then, realising he had overstepped the respect mark. ‘I’m just saying, Mum, that you need to be careful.’

And she was. It was true that she hadn’t slept with any of them. But it was nice to have the odd kiss and cuddle provided it didn’t go any further.

‘Four Georgian chairs and matching table, only ten years old,’ she could hear Sandra saying seriously.

Waving her hands to attract her colleague’s attention, she mouthed ‘mock-Georgian’ but Sandra just frowned. Never mind. She’d get her to change it later. She and Paul had owned a rather nice Georgian armoire but it had had to go along with the other things. Still, she’d learned to see it as cathartic: a letting go of the past and an embracing of the future. Only occasionally did she feel a small wince when she thought of the old house with its chestnut tree, especially now it was conker season. But a house, she reminded herself, was only a home when you were with the right person.

Here we go again! Another flashing light . . . A child’s paddling pool! Not the right time of the year to sell but it might be perfect for Josh next summer.

At last! A quiet lull. Sandra was on the phone which meant Karen could take a quick look at her ad which had come out for the fourth week running. (The fourth week was always free.) She’d changed the wording this time so it looked a bit fresher. Might get a few more readers ringing in.

The ‘How To Survive Divorce’ Club

Feeling low after a relationship breakdown?

Need someone to talk to?

Lost touch with your other half (yourself)?

Then come along to our friendly monthly meetings and get your wife back on track.

Telephone . . .

Wife
back on track? It should have read ‘life’. And even worse, the last digit of the phone number was wrong! How could that have happened?

‘Sorry,’ trilled one of the subs when she called. ‘You can have it free next week instead, if you like.’

Karen never got angry. It was one of the things she had found so difficult about Paul. But even so, she felt let down.

Sandra was nudging her in the ribs. ‘Ring the wrong number,’ she was hissing, cupping the receiver with her hand while taking another ad. ‘Explain the situation and ask them to give out your number if someone rings.’

Not a bad idea – except that it was an answer machine. ‘Hi. This is Karen from classified ads on the local paper. I’m afraid that your number has gone into the paper by mistake.’ What a fool she was making of herself! ‘So I was wondering, if someone rings for a group called The ‘How To Survive Divorce’ Club, could you give them my number? It’s the same as yours but with a 7 at the end. Thanks.’

Maybe she should have explained what they were all about!

‘Hi. It’s me again. I just thought I ought to explain. The ‘How To Survive Divorce’ Club – the group I mentioned – it’s a sort of self-help group for people on their own. All above board, of course. Nothing funny. Well we try to have some laughs and a bit of a singsong too actually, but . . .’

Click. The machine had cut in. Well done, Karen, you’ve really made a hash of it, haven’t you? In fact it was so toe-curling that she might as well have a bit of a giggle.

Her landline started to ring just as she got back from work. Karen fished for her
I Love Gran
keyring and just picked it up on time.

‘Is that ‘How To Survive Divorce’?’

‘Yes!’ She was gasping with relief at having got to the phone in time
and
having another possible participant.

‘It’s me. Ed. Look I’m sorry but I don’t think I can come any more. I don’t feel like I fit in so I thought I ought to give you notice so you could give my space to someone else.’

He couldn’t do that! There would hardly be anyone left in the group. ‘Please. Don’t make any hasty decisions. Give it another chance. Lots of men cry. I mean it’s a sign of strength, not weakness. Tell you what. Why don’t we meet for coffee. Tomorrow afternoon after work?’

Thank heavens he’d agreed. She couldn’t have forgiven herself  if she’d made Ed feel worse rather than better.

‘Hiya!’

There was the sound of the door opening. Not now! Normally Karen loved it when Hayley came round, which was why she’d given her a key in the first place. It had become a sort of unspoken routine at about this time when she and Josh popped in on the way back from nursery. Over the years, she’d found herself becoming increasingly closer to Hayley, especially after her grandson’s birth. In another life, she’d have loved a daughter. But tonight, she’d really been looking forward to a bit of time on her own. One of the joys of being single, she often reminded herself.

‘Granny!’

There was a rush of air as Josh flew into her arms. ‘Ouch, darling. That hurts!’

Grinning, her grandson continued to weave his chubby little fingers into her hair.  There was something gooey on them – goodness knows what!

‘Leave it off, Josh,’ Hayley said, unwrapping a stick of gum (her latest attempt to stop smoking). ‘Nan’s been at work all day. She’s tired.’

Karen had long given up trying to tell Hayley that really, she’d prefer to be called Gran than Nan. But that was the kind of family Hayley came from and really, did it matter? When Adam had first brought home this very pretty, blonde, bubbly girl who didn’t speak particularly well but who clearly had a heart of gold, she’d had her doubts. The wrong kind, she’d told herself. The snobby ones. But within minutes, she’d been charmed by Hayley’s laughter and kindness (‘No, Adam. You make your mum a cup of tea. It shouldn’t be the other way round’). And even though she wouldn’t necessarily have chosen Hayley as the ideal wife (or partner as they all were nowadays), she had grown to love her as a daughter. Maybe one day, a daughter-in-law but she wouldn’t push them. Not even when Josh had arrived sooner than any of them had expected.

‘How was nursery, poppet?’

Josh leapt up next to her, flourishing a sheet of crayon scrawls in front of her. ‘It’s my name,’ he announced importantly.

Really? Hayley had had Josh’s name tattooed on her ankle after he’d been born and Karen had had to bite her own tongue to stop herself saying something.

‘Take your shoes off before you get on that sofa, Josh. I’ve told you before.’

Something was wrong! Hayley was never usually sharp like that and her face was unusually peaky. And her aura – usually blue which indicates balance in life –was grey.

‘Feeling all right, dear?’

Hayley looked away. ‘Not really. But if I tell you, you mustn’t tell Adam. Promise?’

Karen found herself nodding before thinking it through.

‘I’m . . . ,’ Hayley glanced at Josh who was now playing with the remote. She pointed to her stomach. ‘I’m – you know.’

Another baby! Part of Karen wanted to ask how they were going to manage. Two little ones with both parents under twenty five! But then again, a new life! A brother or sister for Josh! Another grandchild to spoil!

‘But I’m not having it. I can’t!
We
can’t. It’s too much especially now Adam’s lost his job.’

What?

‘Wondered if he’d said anything. Probably didn’t want to worry you. So you do see, don’t you?’ Her beautiful green eyes were searching Karen’s face. ‘You don’t think bad of me, do you?’

Somehow she found her voice. ‘What does Adam say?’

Hayley shot another look at Josh who was sitting cross-legged in front of a children’s TV presenter who hadn’t learned to speak properly. ‘He doesn’t know, does he? And he mustn’t. Things haven’t been that great between us. If we have another baby, Karen, I don’t think we’ll cope.’

Her voice wobbled. For as long as Karen had known her, Hayley had never cried but here she was, shaking and reaching out for her hand. ‘You will help me. Won’t you?’