Hello stranger, p.26
Hello, Stranger, page 26
After a few more terrifying rides and a go on the dreaded teacups (I actually have to lie down on the grass for half an hour afterwards, I feel that sick), the light begins to fade and Tivoli takes on an even more magical feel as all the lamps dotted around the park light up, reflecting on the water. We grab a couple of beers and sit in front of the outdoor theatre to watch a band. They’re not amazing, but it doesn’t matter. It feels great to be sitting outside, huddled together to keep warm, the alcohol running through our systems and the cosy feeling of being surrounded by all sorts of different people just having a good time. Live in the moment – isn’t that supposed to be the key to happiness? If I can just stop myself from looking back or forward, if I can just stay right here, surely I can be happy?
‘Thank you for suggesting we spend the day here,’ Lucy says, looking up at me. ‘I’ve had an amazing day.’
‘Me too.’
But like all good things, our break has to come to an end, and the following morning, we board the plane home. There’s a family in the row behind us; the toddler keeps kicking Lucy in the back and the baby is screaming its head off, probably because of the fluctuations in the air pressure hurting her ears.
‘God, I don’t know how people travel with kids.’
It’s a throwaway remark, Lucy doesn’t even look up from her magazine as she says it, but for some reason it makes me feel horribly alone. Because although I don’t envy the poor parents trying to keep their two children quiet amongst all the other grumpy passengers tutting or giving them judgemental glares, I can’t help thinking about the adventures they would’ve had in Copenhagen and how so many of the things we did would’ve been enriched by seeing it through our children’s eyes. The visit to the zoo – the children’s faces lighting up as they watched the polar bear swimming up to the screen, its body squashed up against the glass. The sights, sounds and smells of Tivoli – all new, all magical – how the rides would’ve all seemed impossibly big, the candyfloss that much sweeter. The boat trip along the river – the way all the children giggled and gasped when we had to duck under the low bridges. Their first ride on a train, maybe their first trip on an aeroplane – how we’d look out the window and to them the clouds would look like snow, or cotton wool, like you could jump out on to them and bounce back up as if you were on a trampoline.
I try to focus on my book. The parents behind me can’t read a book. They can barely utter a sentence to each other without it being interrupted. Lucy and I are so free. It’s easy for us to jump on to a plane to anywhere, to book a last-minute hotel, to catch a show without having to plan it months in advance to ensure we can get a babysitter. We can focus solely on each other, and on ourselves. And yet I can’t help wishing I was the one having to play endless games of eye-spy just to keep my little girl quiet. The one with my baby fast asleep on my shoulder.
‘So, Lapland next then, yeah?’ Lucy says, looking up from her magazine. ‘Or shall we fit in another few city breaks? If we do it on the cheap?’
‘Whatever we can afford. The more the merrier,’ I say, and I force a smile so that she has no idea about what I’m really thinking: the gaping hole in my chest.
THE DAY OF THE BREAK-UP
Lucy
I drive towards our house, still not sure exactly what I’m going to say. That I’ve realized all we ever have is right now? That in the end nothing else matters? That the thought of wearing anyone else’s ring, of waking up to a face that isn’t yours, of someone else bringing me breakfast and not understanding how I have to have the exact right amount of Nutella … it all makes the future seem so unbearable that I have absolutely no desire to experience it?
I arrive too soon. Unprepared. Turning off the engine, I take a deep breath and then force myself up and out of the car, my legs weak. I make my way to the front door, letting myself in as if it’s any other day and I’ve just been out for a bit. The lounge is empty and I can’t hear any clattering in the kitchen so I wonder if Jamie has gone back to bed, or gone out, but then as I head towards the stairs I hear voices coming from the garden. I feel suddenly terrified that he’s got another woman here even though I know that’s ridiculous (Jamie is the epitome of loyal) so I sneak into the kitchen to see if I can hear more clearly. The patio door is open so I stand and listen, recognizing the second voice as belonging to Jamie’s mum.
I’m unable to move, fascinated and terrified in equal measure by what I’m going to hear.
‘I don’t know. I just can’t imagine ever being happy without her,’ Jamie says and it makes me want to run outside and jump into his arms.
‘That’s how you feel right now and I totally understand that. But I really believe that one day you’ll thank her.’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘Well, I think she’s right.’
‘She’d love to hear you say that,’ Jamie says and I can almost hear the slight smile in his voice.
‘You know, you are going to make the best dad one day and I can’t wait to see it.’
‘Maybe. Thanks, Mum.’ He pauses. ‘Can you imagine it? Granny Bateman!’
‘I am not being called Granny. Let’s get that straight right away.’
They both laugh and I wish I could run and hide but my feet feel welded to the spot. Then I hear the movement of chairs and suddenly panic that they’re going to come out and find me, that they’ll know that I’ve been listening, so I rush back through the house and outside, trying not to make a sound. Once I get to the road, I run to my car, jump in and drive to Amy’s on autopilot, tears flooding my vision like rain on the windscreen.
When Amy answers the door, I fall straight into her arms, my body shuddering as she holds me. I finally pull away and Amy takes my face in her hands. ‘What happened?’
‘He’s better off without me, Amz. Like genuinely, truthfully better off.’
Amy rubs her thumbs down my cheeks and then pulls me back into a hug, speaking quietly into my ear. ‘Oh, sweetheart. Then although it might not feel like it right now, that means you’re better off without him too.’
BEFORE
Lucy
I hate unpacking after a holiday. I always feel such an intense sadness. It’s not that I don’t like our home – I love our home. But it’s like the reality of life hits me again – the monotony – unstacking dishwashers and putting the washing machine on and going to work and paying car tax and doing the Tesco order.
And particularly at the moment, the dynamic between Jamie and me is very fragile. The trip away definitely achieved what I intended it to. We are much closer, the future together much brighter. But I also get the sense that it’s hanging on a knife edge, and I’m scared that being back in the place where we shared all the negativity, where we said all those painful things to each other, will taint things between us, send us back into shadow.
Jamie’s pottering about in the kitchen, putting away the few bits of essential shopping we picked up on the way home, when his phone starts ringing on the bedside table beside me. I glance over at the screen.
‘It’s Matt calling,’ I shout down the stairs.
‘Thanks. Just coming.’ I hear the fridge shut and then Jamie runs upstairs and answers the phone, walking in and out of the bedroom as he chats. He never stands still when he’s on the phone. I wonder what he would’ve done before there were mobile phones. I expect he would’ve been a doodler, or a tapper. I catch bits of the conversation as he paces.
‘Amazing place, mate. Yeah, I’d highly recommend it.’
And then Matt must start talking about work because Jamie says, ‘Not looking forward to it at all. Back to reality with a bump, hey.’ A pause. ‘Yeah, no problem. I’ll get it done, don’t worry.’
And then Matt talks for quite a while and when Jamie wanders back into the lounge, he looks pale, like he’s just heard some devastating news. But by contrast, he says, ‘No, don’t be silly. That’s absolutely amazing, mate. I’m so happy for you.’ And then, ‘Yeah, well, you can delay the wedding a bit, it won’t hurt,’ and ‘don’t worry about that. Loads of people do things a different way round these days. Both your families know you’re totally committed to each other. I mean, you might as well be married already.’
And I have a sinking sense of dread as I put two and two together and feel fairly sure that Mia is pregnant. And although of course I’m happy for her and Matt, the timing really couldn’t be any worse. And if Jamie’s face is anything to go by then this has just sent us spiralling backwards after all the progress we made on our trip.
I go back to my unpacking, preparing my face for when Jamie reappears – the forced happiness that I’m sure will be reflected in his own. And sure enough, when he comes in, he has a smile plastered on to his face that looks like it’s been drawn on.
‘How’s Matt?’ I ask.
‘He’s good.’
‘Good.’
I wonder if he’s going to tell me about Mia or whether we’re going to go back to hiding our feelings from each other.
He takes some of the clothes he didn’t wear out of the case and starts putting them away in his drawer.
‘Actually, he had some news. Mia’s pregnant.’
‘Ah, that’s amazing,’ I say and I sense from his eyes that he knows we’re both playing a very careful game.
‘I know. They’re going to delay the wedding until after the baby now. Mia apparently is desperate to fit into the dress she’s chosen.’
‘Well, she does look amazing in it.’
Jamie nods. ‘Right, I better go and iron my shirts for work. Do you want me to iron anything for you?’
He knows my clothes have never seen an iron in their life, which makes his offer feel unnaturally polite, and confirms for me that this isn’t going to be something we can just gloss over. That we might as well not have bothered with the trip away as we’re right back to square one.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ I say, trying to make it sound as upbeat as possible. ‘Remember we’ve got Mum’s birthday dinner at Amy’s at five. I’m sorry, I know it’s a bit much on top of a day’s travelling, but if we don’t all make a fuss on the exact day of her birth then Mum gets her knickers in a twist.’
‘No problem. It’ll be nice to see them all.’ When he leaves the room, I feel the tension deflate like the air in a paddling pool when you’ve got a puncture. It’s horrible really. How it suddenly feels easier to breathe when Jamie’s not near me.
I decide the only thing to do is to try to carry on as we were, as if Matt and Mia’s news has no bearing on our life (because to be honest it doesn’t really, does it?), so I shake myself off, jump in the shower and put on a new outfit, ready to start the day afresh.
In a stereotypically gendered division of roles that I don’t quite feel comfortable with, the men are gathered in the lounge drinking beer and probably talking about cars or sport (I actually have no idea what they’re talking about) while us women are in the kitchen preparing the food and talking about my upcoming wedding.
‘So you’ve booked the venue? I would’ve liked to have seen it in person really before you committed, but the photos look amazing,’ Mum says, not attempting to hide the slight annoyance in her voice that we’d ever dare to make a big decision without her. We found this cute rustic barn that we liked and were all ready to book for next spring but then the whole pregnancy thing happened and neither of us has dared mention the wedding since.
‘We haven’t booked it just yet.’
‘Oh, I thought you were going to book a couple of months ago.’
‘We wanted to show you first,’ I say, sickeningly sweet, deciding on an excuse that also wins me favour.
‘Well, yes, I’d love to come and see.’ The gratitude on Mum’s face is actually quite touching and I try to imagine what it must be like to be a mum, being the centre of your child’s world for so long and then gradually drifting to the outskirts.
‘Great. I’ll book an appointment.’
‘But you’re still aiming for the beginning of next year, yes? Nothing’s changed between you and Jamie?’
I focus on cutting the spring onions for the duck pancakes. ‘No, of course not. Nothing’s changed.’
Mum smiles, a look of relief on her face, but when I look at Amy, I can tell that she spots something in my eyes, a reservation.
When we’ve finished preparing the salad bits and the duck is in the oven roasting, we take a bottle of wine to the dining room table and sit down. Then Mum gets up, nips into the lounge to get her bag and comes back with a load of bride magazines.
‘Right, dresses. Come on, ladies, let’s get looking.’ She hands us each a magazine and we begin to flick through, Mum regularly showing me photos of dresses she likes and me rejecting them. And then Otto and Lauren run over with a pile of books in their hands.
‘Story, story,’ Otto whines.
‘Sorry, darlings, but we are very busy finding the perfect dress for Aunty Lucy. She’s finally getting married,’ Mum says, as if I’m some middle-aged spinster. Then she looks at the men lounging on the sofa. ‘One of the men will read you a story,’ she says loudly enough for them to hear. ‘They’re not doing anything useful.’
I notice Jamie is the one to stand up and take the pile of books off the kids. ‘Come on then, where shall we go?’
‘To our den.’ Otto points to the hallway. ‘It’s in the playroom.’
Jamie follows the children past us to the staircase.
‘You’ll probably just about squeeze in,’ Amy says, laughing, as they walk past. ‘You just have to curl up your legs a bit. There are some cushions in there to make it a bit more comfortable.’
‘No problem.’ Jamie smiles and Otto takes his hand and leads him upstairs, Lauren following behind.
We go back to looking at the bride magazines for about half an hour and then the oven beeps and Amy goes to check on the duck.
‘I think I better go and see if Jamie’s OK. He’s been up there quite a while.’
‘Just tell the kids to let him out, Luce. Sorry, I’d totally forgotten he was there. Food will be ready in about ten.’
I head upstairs and when I get closer to the playroom, I slow down and stand in the hallway, listening to Jamie reading a story. He’s doing all these funny voices and the kids are giggling away. Then he finishes and I hear him close the book.
‘When are you and Aunty Lucy going to have a baby?’ Lauren asks and I feel a tightness in my chest at the thought of what Jamie’s going to say.
‘Well, we’ve decided we’re not going to have any children, which means I’m just going to have to borrow you two lots instead.’ I can hear Lauren and Otto giggling and imagine he’s tickling them or something similar.
‘But why aren’t you going to have any children? We want a cousin to play with.’ Lauren sounds so confused and I wonder whether I should be the one to step in and explain, but I don’t want Jamie to know I’ve heard their conversation and I’m also quite intrigued to hear what excuse he’s going to give.
‘I guess not everyone wants children.’
‘Why? Don’t you like us?’ The sadness in Otto’s voice makes me want to cry.
‘No way, it’s not that at all. You two are the most awesome people I know. And I’m thirty-three so I’ve met a lot of people and you are the best by far. In fact, I think that’s probably it. Your Aunty Lucy and I realized that no other child would ever be as good as you two so there’s no point having one.’
It’s a far better answer than I ever could’ve given them, and Lauren and Otto seem satisfied as they ask for another story, which Jamie quickly starts. I leave it a few moments and then peer in through the door and just watch them. They’re in the tent I bought them one Christmas and Jamie’s got a child under each arm, their heads resting on his chest, and he looks so content. I thought he’d be desperate for me to come and save him, but he looks like he never wants to leave. All of a sudden, he notices me standing there. And the look on his face says everything I’ve always feared – everything he tries so hard to keep hidden from me most days – and I feel so very sad.
I sleepwalk my way through the rest of the evening. We eat and drink and talk about Copenhagen and the upcoming wedding, despite the fact Jamie and I never talk about it when we’re alone any more. And when we’ve finished our meal, Amy brings out a cake (of course she’s made one, putting me to shame as usual) and Mum hugs her with such love and gratitude that I wish, not for the first time, that I was more like Amy and that I had what they have. We all sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and toast Mum, and Jamie is the perfect boyfriend, showering Mum with affection and compliments. To all intent and purposes, it’s a very successful evening.
‘Hot chocolate before bed?’
I nod and sit down at the dining table and Jamie makes us both a drink, neither of us speaking the entire time he does. It seems crazy to think this morning we woke up in Copenhagen feeling close, happy, and now it feels like the Berlin wall has been reinstated between us.
Jamie brings over our drinks and sits down at the table beside me. And I could just drink my hot chocolate and then go up to bed with Jamie. Maybe we’d have sex, more likely we’d just watch something on the laptop. And then we’d get up and do it all over again. And it would be fine. But then ten years would pass and I’m sure some of that time would be great but I also know that for a lot of it Jamie would be sad – like when we spent time with Matt or my sister or all our other friends yet to have kids – where Jamie would do his best to hide the fact that seeing them with their families was like a knife to his heart, but I’d be able to see it. I’d know. And he’d wake up one day and wonder why he’d wasted all those years when he could’ve been raising his own family, seeing them grow. He would realize that I really wasn’t worth the sacrifice. That I wasn’t that special. And he’d leave before it was too late. That’s the thing. He’ll leave one day anyway. Me leaving now is just a way to prevent all those wasted years. The outcome would be the same either way.
