Casual Cruelties, page 11
It was a catharsis after the unrest I had been feeling for the past few months. As I felt myself relax into the exercise and regular debrief with my friends after the class, I found a contentedness that a few weeks ago had evaded me. I didn’t know if it was the exercise, the self-care or the gradual realisation that I could find happiness in things other than my marriage. When I practised gratitude each morning now, I wasn’t simply paying lip service to it. There was no simple explanation for my more positive outlook; it just seemed I was able to face the future with a certainty that everything would work itself out.
One Tuesday evening towards the end of the month, Vicky couldn’t make the class as she was busy so it was just Claire and me. As we sat together sipping our coffees, she mentioned that she had booked a spa break again with her mum.
‘Going to the Averie again?’
‘No, we’re going a bit further this time, to that new place in Donegal that gets great reviews. Can’t remember what it’s called as Mum has taken care of the booking. It’s a belated birthday treat.’
‘Sounds lovely. When do you go?’
‘The weekend after we get back from London.’
Raising my eyebrows, I thought to myself there would be no way James would allow me to go away without him two weekends in a row.
She obviously knew what I meant, because she shrugged and said, ‘Yes I’m married to a saint, I know.’ There was a distinct trace of bitterness in her tone that was out of character. ‘He works such an odd shift pattern that he doesn’t view weekends the same as the rest of us. With both the girls living their own lives at college the weekends can be quiet on my own.’
She smiled as she changed the subject. ‘I’m so glad you decided to come to the class with me. I hope you don’t mind me saying this but you hadn’t really seemed like yourself for a while there. You seem happier now and you’re looking great. Not that you didn’t look great before; you just seemed, well… sad.’ She looked directly at me.
I steadily held her gaze, taking my time before replying. After a moment, I confided, ‘I have been struggling a bit over the past few months. Not really sure why, but everything got on top of me. Since I started running and eating better, I feel I’ve got a bit of the old me back.’
‘Why didn’t you talk to me about it?’ Her green eyes were warm and concerned.
‘Because I bore even myself with the whole mad meno lady bit.’ I grinned to lighten the mood. ‘Seriously, how often can you talk about hormones, moods, weight gain and hot flushes before all your friends desert you?’
‘Has James been supportive?’ Now her look was probing, as she rested back in her chair.
Just in time I stopped myself from rolling my eyes and said, ‘James is a man who likes his life to be ordered and orderly. Mood swings and rogue hairs aren’t really his forte.’
‘Like most men. I doubt Will would be much better.’ She smiled in solidarity with me. It was nice of her to put Will down so James didn’t seem like such a prat on his own.
Deliberately we moved the conversation away from our husbands, and discussed our upcoming Book Club trip away. We had booked tickets to Mama Mia! The Party, planned cocktails on a rooftop terrace and had made dinner reservations at a riverside restaurant in Greenwich. The others were keen to take the cable car between Greenwich and the Royal Docks, but the thought of swinging ninety metres above the Thames was enough to give me palpitations.
‘Are we going dressy or casual?’ I asked.
‘Have you seen our friends on a night out? Dressy I’d say.’
‘Then I’m going to have to raid my wardrobe for something stylish! And I’ll need to pack a big hat in case it gets above twenty degrees.’ Like a true friend she giggled at that old joke.
We nattered on about our trip and I felt better than I’d done in a long time.
The following Saturday, as James was at Donald’s again, was spent browsing the shops in Belfast city centre. They were brimming with spring colours, fabrics and accessories. Whereas a few weeks ago it had seemed incongruous against the bleak winter sky and frigid air, today it hinted at sunshine, barbeques, cloudless skies and flip-flops. I was so looking forward to our break in London, when the weather should be sunny and warm, anticipating long lazy lunches and cocktails before five o’clock. Friendship and gossip.
After a browse in House of Fraser of all the clothes I couldn’t afford, I decided to cheer myself up with a quick coffee before going home. Distracted by my thoughts, I walked out of the shopping centre and straight into a man walking along the street.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I exclaimed, hitting him on the arm with my handbag.
‘No problem at all,’ he replied. Then quizzically, ‘Laura?’
I looked at the silver fox standing in front of me, unsure who it was. It wasn’t until he smiled that I recognised the dimples. It was Sam, my first boyfriend – the one before James – who had gone to study medicine in Edinburgh.
‘You haven’t changed at all! I’d know you anywhere.’ His smile was wide.
‘You haven’t changed at all either.’ I returned his grin, my stomach doing a little flip.
‘That’s nice of you but I look every day of my age. You don’t.’ Idiotically I kept grinning. Thirty years ago, before the internet and mobile phones, when someone went away ‘across the water’ to university, it was either handwritten letters or a phone call from a pay phone in the street. We had decided to split up, not because we wanted to, but because we knew I wasn’t going to follow him to Scotland.
Then I met James and forgot about Sam.
‘I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to; I don’t suppose you’d have time for a coffee?’
‘I was about to get one,’ I answered without thinking. ‘Are you back for a holiday or living in Northern Ireland?’
Without needing to discuss it, we headed into a coffee shop nearby and he insisted on buying. As he stood with his back to me at the counter, I studied him from under my eyelashes. He was tall, that goes without saying. I’m tall so I’ve never been into short men. He had blue eyes, but unlike James his were a darker shade of sapphire with thick black lashes. His hair was cut in the short back and sides that I’ve always found irresistible. And he was fit. So fit. How could I have forgotten that?
We chatted in the way that old friends can, even if they haven’t seen each other in years. He’d married his university girlfriend but they had divorced and had no children, so he moved back home a couple of years ago and was a doctor in one of the local hospices.
Attractive, self-depreciating and altruistic.
And those biceps! I couldn’t take my eyes off his arms. What was wrong with me? I basked under his interested gaze in a way I hadn’t done for years. Actually, make that decades. He genuinely wanted to find out all about me, my family and my life. And he made me laugh. I realised that I had missed him, his easy company and his decency.
We reminisced about the year we had dated, me watching him play rugby on cold Saturday mornings, so proud to be the girlfriend of the first XV captain. It reminded me of carefree, joyful times when the future lay ahead teeming with possibilities.
The time flew past until I needed to leave, as the Book Club was getting together to finalise details of our trip. But I didn’t want it to end and I found myself in a bit of a quandary. I knew I should say goodbye and leave. That to keep in touch would be a bad idea.
But aren’t bad ideas good for you sometimes?
‘Are you on Facebook?’ he asked, as we gathered up our belongings.
‘Yes, under my married name of Remmington.’
‘I’ve finally given in and joined. Would you mind if I sent you a friend request?’
The perfect excuse to keep in touch, as I was friends on Facebook with lots of people I’d gone to school with. So innocent and harmless. No one would ever think anything of it. He sent through the request and I accepted it before we parted.
‘It’s been so lovely to bump into you. I’m really glad we had a chance to catch up.’ He smiled that cute, boyish smile again.
‘Lovely to see you too.’ I knew I was smiling too much, but couldn’t seem to stop.
He leant forward for a hug and as those biceps wound around me, it didn’t even feel a teeny, tiny bit wrong to hug him back.
I managed to prise myself away and with a final wave, I turned in the direction of the car park with the smile still on my face.
And it was still on my face in the car on the way home as I replayed our meeting over and over again. I felt attracted to him in a way I had forgotten you could be attracted to someone, in that way that makes your insides contract each time you accidentally brush his foot or his hand.
In a dangerous, exciting way that a woman aged fifty-two and married shouldn’t feel.
But I didn’t care.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Easter was at the beginning of April and school always takes a fortnight’s break to give us a chance to recharge our batteries before the summer term. Robbie was only going to be home for a few days as he needed to study for his finals, but I was delighted to be able to spend any time with him. He had a list of things he wanted to cram into his visit home, so I knew it would pass in a flash.
I was a bit concerned that he would feel the distinct coolness between James and me. Arguing with myself how best to respond if he commented, one minute I felt we should be (almost) completely honest, the next I wanted to protect him as long as possible. Robbie was not a child and he has a few friends whose parents have separated, but I was still worried about breaking up our family.
If we didn’t talk about it, we could pretend all was good.
By the time he was due home, James and I had agreed long enough to plan the next few days together. We would spend Saturday afternoon at his parents, hopefully without the Dimmocks this time, and then my parents had planned a barbeque for all the family on Easter Sunday.
Robbie arrived home on the Friday afternoon, which was a sunny, still day with a light breeze. Such a contrast to when he had arrived home for Christmas. Watching the ferry dock, I thought back to that freezing day and how low my spirits had been. It was as if a completely different person had been waiting for him then.
Just then my phone screen lit up with a Facebook Messenger notification. Instinctively I knew it would be Sam. He’d sent his first message a short time after we’d parted, a simple:
Great to have bumped into you and to catch up, maybe we could do it again some time?
I’d messaged back without a second’s hesitation to say that would be nice. Nice. Such a bland little word that meant so much more to me that day. Nice that someone made me feel young, attractive and interesting. Nice that there had been no disparaging remarks.
Nice that when I closed my eyes, I could feel the warmth of his smile on me.
It barely crossed my mind that a mild flirtation with an old flame could be considered cheating on my husband. Not in the proper sense of the word. Cheating is not sending teasing messages or having coffee or going for an innocent walk. Is it?
I messaged Sam back to say I was waiting for Robbie to disembark, and that we had a busy few days planned. He told me he had volunteered to work over the Easter weekend and perhaps once Robbie was back in Stirling we could meet up for coffee. We arranged when and where and I felt exhilarated as I got out of the car and waited for my son. Harbouring my secret within me, I suppressed a smile. All I seemed to do these days was smile. I felt a stone lighter and twenty years younger. Surely that couldn’t be a bad thing?
Easter Saturday was the first time I had seen Donald since Christmas. I would meet up with Heather occasionally for lunch, but I had no time for my father-in-law and preferred to see as little of him as possible. After we arrived, Donald led us through to the back garden, where straight away I was confronted with the reason James had been spending so much time at his parents.
Pride of place in the back garden was a brand new garden room. Exactly like the one I had been trying to persuade James to buy for the past couple of years, but which he had stubbornly been refusing. I was suffused with rage.
‘What do you think of our little surprise?’ he asked, appraising my reaction with frosty eyes, while barely concealing his smirk.
It was then that I understood this had been deliberate. His punishment for embarrassing him in front of Tom and Will at the party. That particular axe had finally dropped.
With difficulty, I controlled my temper, instead making some appropriately pleasant comment as I went to take a better look. It had a pale-grey exterior, with sliding glass doors along the entire front and whitewashed wooden decking that matched the interior floor and walls. A sea-green linen sofa stretched the full length of the space, and tasteful knick-knacks from Heather and Donald’s many travels were displayed on floating white shelves. It, of course, was the epitome of good taste and James was bursting with self-congratulations.
I detested it. Detested everything it stood for and at that moment detested my husband and his underhand plotting.
I hid my distaste, lavishing compliments on him and Donald for doing such a great job and on Heather for the impeccable décor. Donald reached for a chilled bottle of bubbly from the wine fridge nestled in the corner, and we toasted it as if it were a royal ship.
Robbie immediately made himself comfortable on the sofa and asked, ‘Isn’t this a bit like the one you’ve been wanting, Mum?’
‘A bit,’ I managed to reply evenly, ‘but I don’t think we’d have the room in our garden.’
‘We don’t,’ answered James imperiously. ‘This is nothing like what you wanted, Laura. You were after some twee little playhouse.’
Ignoring that barb, I turned to my mother-in-law and we discussed the garden. There was an abundance of multicoloured spring flowers in pots edging their patio, early hanging baskets and I admired the well-tended flowerbeds.
I presented a calm and agreeable front throughout the whole torturous afternoon. Heather served a delicious array of canapés followed by roast lamb studded with rosemary and garlic then a summer fruits trifle. We chatted about the Dimmocks and Donald boasted about how well the children were doing at fencing, dressage and surfing. They were spending the Easter holidays at their holiday cottage on the north coast. I didn’t even have the heart to play Snob Bingo today, as I just wanted to get the day over and done with. To go home, get into my slippers and watch television. Thankfully Robbie was going out to a concert with his friends, so we could make our excuses and leave early.
At home as soon as Robbie had left, James again raised the subject of the garden room, prodding at what he assumed would be a sore point.
‘Isn’t Mum and Dad’s garden room amazing?’
‘Very nice,’ I replied firmly. ‘Luckily it didn’t aggravate your arm pain.’ That you’ve been moaning incessantly about, I thought to myself. I wasn’t going to rise to his bait, so sat with my tongue touching the roof of my mouth, a new trick I employed when I was nervous my mouth would open without engaging my brain.
‘A bit like the one you’ve been nagging me for years to get.’ He observed me, like a spider with a fly caught in its web.
‘Like I said earlier, yes, a bit like it. But I’d rather get an arbour for the gable end of the house. Don’t you think it would be perfect there on long summer evenings? I could grow wisteria and honeysuckle up it and we could light the fire pit under it when we have friends over.’
He sneered a little at that. I had no intention of getting an arbour, but was quite enjoying sparring with him, and would not give him the satisfaction of letting him see I was upset by his deception.
‘I shouldn’t think so and you’ve never been successful at growing wisteria before. The best you could manage would be something artificial.’ Getting up from the sofa, he said he was going to watch the World Tour cycling in the living room and left me in peace.
The following day Robbie offered to drive up to my parents for the barbeque. By the time we arrived the garden was filled with the sound of my many relatives gossiping and laughing together. Thankfully the weather was dry and warm, and we could sit outside under the carport while the kids bounced on the trampoline and kicked a ball about. My nieces were huddled together stalking handsome boys on Instagram.
James considers himself an expert at barbequing, so without discussion, appointed himself head cook while ordering my brothers around.
My sister Sarah sat beside me watching him flip the burgers and sausages. ‘How are you, Laura?’ she asked quietly. She had been visiting that Sunday when I’d confided in Mum.
It’s like the bush telegraph in our family and nothing remains secret for long.
‘I’m okay. I take it Mum had a chat with you?’
‘She’s the soul of discretion and didn’t say much when I asked her about your red eyes the other week.’
My youngest sister is so different from me in many ways. While I am tall and pale, she is small and dark with caring brown eyes and a gentle nature.
‘We’re going through a bit of a rough patch,’ I disclosed. ‘It isn’t the first time and it probably won’t be the last.’
‘All marriages have good times and bad. But remember when the bad outweighs the good and it doesn’t change, you don’t have to stay.’
Normally such a comment would have me scrabbling about making excuses for James, concealing what was really going on in our relationship, but I no longer wanted to do that. Sarah is a counsellor and has an abundance of empathy. I knew the fact she had initiated this conversation meant she had been thinking about it since I last saw her.
‘I’m beginning to realise that.’ I smiled at her to hide the depth of my feelings. ‘I won’t make any rash decisions when there’s Robbie to think about too.’
‘I know this is hard to accept but Robbie isn’t a child anymore; he’s a fully-fledged adult who I’m sure would prefer two happy parents who are apart than two unhappy ones who are staying together for the wrong reasons.’
