Tales From a Hen Weekend (33 page)

‘I’ve moved on. It was tough while the kids were little, but they’re nearly grown up now and I’m on the verge of freedom again. It’s a good feeling, having the world at my feet, just as some of my friends who left it all a lot later are struggling with toddlers’ tantrums or trying to balance their careers with the school run, sports days, bouts of tonsillitis and ear infections.’

‘Yuck!’ I laughed. ‘You make it sound so appealing.’

‘It is – at the time,’ she replied, seriously. ‘But in retrospect, you’re dead right. Yuck! I certainly wouldn’t want to go back.’

The fact that we laughed about this together probably tells you all you need to know about my take on having kids. You might think it very weird that Katie and I hadn’t really talked about it. I suppose it is; but the fact is that it’s never interested me much at all. Maybe in time, if Katie had started all the stuff that women do, about her body clock ticking and needing to be fulfilled, I’d have gone along with it. A bit like I did with the wedding idea – to make her happy. I’d have probably done anything to make her happy. But not yet. Not now. And when I was with Claire, listening to her vision of freedom – of waiting until her boys were finished college and then taking off to travel the world, with no responsibilities or ties and nothing to hold her back apart from the rucksack on her back – I found myself thinking:
No – no kids. Not ever.

I don’t care what you say. It
is
possible to love two people at the same time. Why shouldn’t it be? Think about it logically. How many people are there in the world? How many of them will pass through your life? Is it really rational to imagine that you’ll only ever love one of them at a time?

‘Of course it’s not rational,’ Claire told me calmly. ‘
The One!
It’s the great romantic myth.’

You see?
Romance
. It causes nothing but trouble.

While Claire and I were having conversations as serious and frightening as this, I was having almost daily arguments with Katie about my stag trip to Prague. Look, it wasn’t my idea to go away for ten days. But I could understand Sean jumping at a bargain when he saw one, and to be honest, the more fuss Katie made about it, the more I was looking forward to it. I still don’t understand what her problem was. I wouldn’t have cared less if she went away for a week, two weeks or a fucking month for her hen party, for Christ’s sake, as long as she had a good time and came back in a better mood. In the end, I got the stag cancelled anyway; but I didn’t tell her until the very last minute. And I didn’t cancel it for her benefit, but so that I could go away with Sean on our own and try to get my head sorted out. It was also because I was already trying to pluck up the courage to cancel the wedding itself. I was in an complete mess – wanting Claire, but at the same time, wanting Katie back the way she used to be, before the whole wedding and stag party scenario seemed to have robbed her of her sense of humour.

It wasn’t as if cancelling the wedding was an easy option. For a start, it was such a waste of money. I don’t want to sound mean, but when you’ve forked out more than you really wanted to on caterers and flowers and stuff, it’s a bit of a double whammy when you don’t even get what you’ve paid for. To be fair, Kate’s mum had paid for a lot of it and that made me feel even worse. She’d hate me forever for not marrying her daughter
and
crippling her financially, all in one fell swoop. And more to the point – what about my parents? I’m an only child and my mum was looking forward to this wedding. She’d told me it was going to be the
best day of her life
. Being responsible for such a huge disappointment wasn’t doing anything to make me feel any better.

‘Cancelling the wedding isn’t exactly the way to make Katie happy again, either,’ pointed out Sean tersely. Sean thought I was having a nervous breakdown, and he probably wasn’t far wrong. ‘It’ll destroy her.’

‘So what am I supposed to do? Go through with it even though I’m not even sure if I want to be with her any more? Put the ring on her finger, smile for the photos and
then
finish it?’

‘Look, mate – this thing with Claire…’

‘There isn’t any
thing
with Claire! We’re not having an affair. I just ... I just really like talking to her,’ I said miserably. ‘It feels good being with her. She doesn’t nag me about being romantic, looking at her in a certain way or pretending to be perfect. We’re… kind of good friends.’

Sean frowned.

‘Are you saying you and Katie aren’t good friends?’

‘No. We’re lovers. We never went through the friends phase.’

‘It shouldn’t be a phase. Emily and I are still best friends.’

For some reason, this made my heart hurt.

Like I say, I was a mess.

In the end, the fact that it was Katie who suggested cancelling the wedding was such a surprise, I still find it hard to comprehend. When I told her the stag was cancelled and that Sean and I were going away on our own to talk things over, I expected her to be shocked, confused, maybe even frightened and angry. Instead, she seemed so relieved – almost excited – that I’d suggested I was having doubts, it was quite bizarre. She had doubts herself, she said. Since when? It was news to me. One minute she’s trying on the wedding dress, the next minute she’s suggesting calling it all off. I was worried about her state of mind, to be honest. All this talk about us being too perfect together, and needing to forget about the wedding so we could go back to the way we were – the perfect couple in love – it sounded hysterical and a bit unhinged. I wanted to tell her she ought to change her job and stop reading those bloody novels – but it obviously wasn’t the time.

In the end it was this last conversation with Katie that stayed in my mind the whole time I was in Prague. Talking endlessly to Sean over too many cheap beers, trying to make sense of my feelings and work out what I really wanted – I kept coming back to how easily she’d decided to ditch the wedding plans and how little regard she’d seemed to have for how this was going to affect our families and friends – what a shock and disappointment it would be for everyone – as well as how excited she’d sounded about getting back to being the
perfect couple
. Something about it made my blood run cold. I realised with a sudden certainty that I didn’t want to play a part in Katie’s personal romantic fiction for the rest of my life. I’m not her real-life hero. It was easy in those first couple of years of desperate passion, but when that wears off, what’s left? Two cardboard cut-out characters with no real life in them. It was no good pretending. I had to finish it, the sooner the better, and if it hurt her at least she’d be feeling something genuine
.

Once I’d arrived at a decision, I wanted to come straight home. Sean was all for waiting, giving it time, making sure I wasn’t going to change my mind. I know he wanted me to. He’s a lovely guy, Sean – very straightforward. He had a hard job following the ramblings of my mind during the week in Prague. But we came home, in the end, on the day the girls were due back from Dublin. Of course I was dreading telling Katie: do you think I’m some sort of a monster? But I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. A clean break. No twisting of the knife. I’d pack and move out the very next day. We could talk about the flat, the mortgage, the furniture, all that stuff, when we were both calmer.

But she didn’t come home. At first I was worried. I checked the Ryanair website – no delays, no security incidents or terrible, unimaginable accidents. I tried her mobile. No reply. I tried to ring Emily and got Sean – who was equally worried but pretending not to be.

‘Look, they didn’t expect us yet. They’ve probably decided to extend their stay.’

‘And turn off their phones? Aren’t
any
of them back?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t got numbers for any of the others.’

So I tried Lisa, who turned out to be at home. She sounded irritated. Why was I back early from Prague? And whose fault was it – mine, she supposed? – that the wedding had been cancelled so inconveniently close to the date, with the dresses finished and everything? Had I got any idea how upset her mother was? Did I even care? And was I aware that Katie and Emily had now taken leave of their senses completely and gone tripping off to Kinsale with Jude? I couldn’t even get a word in or I would have said of course I wasn’t aware, you silly cow, why did you think I was phoning you?

Kinsale? What the
hell
was she playing at?

I shouldn’t have kept trying to phone her while I was cross. I should have waited. But the more times I tried, without getting an answer, the crosser I got. What was she doing? I left four messages, and came to the conclusion she must have lost her phone. It made me even angrier. Silly cow – why couldn’t she be more careful? I know it sounds bad. But I was only cross because I was shit scared of what I was going to do: hurt this girl, ruin her life, when not so very long ago I was planning to promise to love her for ever. But what could I do? There was no point going on with a lie.

When I finally got through to her I was expecting tears, hysterics, maybe anger and abuse. I couldn’t have blamed her. Instead, it was the most incomprehensible thing: she started talking about having a baby! I think she must have completely flipped. A baby –
now
? When we’d already called off the wedding because we both had doubts? When I’d just told her it was all over? What the hell had been going on in her mind while she was away – while I was out in Prague tearing myself to shreds trying to stop myself from hurting her?

If anything could persuade me one hundred per cent that I’d made the right decision, this was it. Far from being the mythical perfect couple, I don’t think we ever really knew each other at all.

Sean didn’t realise it, but he’d said all he needed to, when he told me he and Emily were best friends.

That’s what I want, you see? With
Claire
.

If I’m honest I’m not sure who I’m crying for most: Matt, myself, or the baby that’s not going to happen now. I know Emily thinks I’m being absurd, about the baby – that it’s too sudden a decision to be sensible or reasonable or even fair to any child – but you see, I think the idea of starting a family has actually been lurking there in the shadows of my conscientiousness for quite a while now. Maybe Lisa was right all along that it was, subconsciously anyway, the reason why I wanted to get married. It probably would have stayed subconscious, too, if it hadn’t been for what I’ve heard this weekend. Not just Auntie Joyce’s story, although of course that’s what’s brought it so powerfully to the forefront of my mind; but also everything else that’s come out. Mum covering up, for all these years, how badly my dad treated her; Lisa pretending to have a wonderful marriage when it’s just a sham and she’d rather be with someone else… it’s scary. It’s made me realise that nobody’s relationship is really safe and secure. As far as love is concerned, there’s only one absolute certainty that I can see and that’s the way a mum loves her children. Nobody seems to raise an eyebrow when marriages break down, families fall apart, lifelong relationships come unstuck; but if you ever read anything in the papers about a mother deserting her children, the shockwaves are terrible. You feel disgusted. It’s unnatural, unforgivable. Nobody can imagine how she could do it. You see? A mum and her babies – that’s one hundred per cent real solid enduring love. That’s what I want: my own family. I wanted it with Matt. Why did it take me so long to realise it? Why didn’t I tell him before he fell out of love with me?

I’m sitting on the hall carpet, still holding the phone, crying to myself when Emily comes looking for me. She kneels down on the floor next to me, takes the phone out of my hand and puts her arms around me without even asking me what’s wrong. For a long while she just holds me, murmuring soothing noises like she’s rocking me to sleep.
Ssh, ssh, it’s OK baby, shush now, don’t cry, don’t cry.

‘He doesn’t love me,’ I blub, wiping my runny nose on my sleeve. ‘He doesn’t want me any more. He thinks I’m off my head!’

I feel Emily’s arms tighten around me protectively.

‘You’re not. Don’t listen to him. If anyone’s off their head, it’s him. He’s a total fucking dickhead and he didn’t deserve you.’

Her anger on my behalf startles me as much as it warms me. It only takes a few more minutes, a few more sobs before I put two and two together.

‘You knew, didn’t you!’ I push her arms off me. ‘When he told you he was
confused
and
mixed up
– it was because he was thinking about dumping me, wasn’t it?’

I get up, shakily, staggering to my feet, holding onto the wall. Everything’s spinning as if I’ve had too much to drink.

‘Sit down, Katie. You’re very pale – you’ve had a shock. Come and sit in the lounge and I’ll make you a strong cup of …’

‘I don’t want a strong cup of anything. I want you to tell me the truth. Christ! Is there
anyone
in my life who hasn’t been keeping secrets from me?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She hangs her head for a minute, but when she looks back up her eyes are defiant. ‘No, what am I saying? I’m
not
sorry! I only arranged to meet Matt because I was worried about you, and you’re my friend, and I care about you. Yes, he told me everything. What was I supposed to do? He was going away with Sean and I was hoping to God that Sean would be able to talk sense into him. At least there was a chance that everything would be fine when he came back. If I’d told you, there’d have been no chance. As soon as you’d heard about Claire you’d have finished with him, and I wouldn’t have blamed you, either.’

‘Claire?’

I’m sliding back down the wall, sitting down with a thump that actually hurts my bum.

So it was another woman, all along.

Look at Emily. She’s covered her mouth with both hands, as if to stop the words escaping; too late. Too late!
Claire
. I wonder who she is? We used to joke that it wouldn’t be possible for either of us to meet anyone else because we were hardly ever apart. She must have worked with him. He was working late a lot, recently. An affair with someone at work. How unoriginal, how dreary and trite and predictable. He might at least have managed to fall for someone at a bus stop, or in a supermarket, crashing into her trolley. Or in the pub, stamping on her sausage. Why am I crying? I’m obviously well rid of him. The cheating, lying, bastard!