After the Party (44 page)

Beautiful man.

Father of her children.

But.

She looked from Ralph to her sister to her mother to her baby. She looked at Ralph's father, her daughter, the registrar.

A silent scream began to build beneath Jem's rib cage.

She wanted to escape.

She couldn't breathe.

She did not want to be here.

She did not want to do this.

Her heart raced and she tried to bring herself back under control.

Of course she could do it, she thought, of course she could do it. She was just nervous, that was all, nervous and hungover.

She moved herself forward toward Ralph's side and smiled
tightly at him. He smiled back at her and clasped her hand. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. “That dress looks stunning on you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back and squeezed his hand for reassurance.

But still it was there, a panicky feeling in the pit of her belly, a feeling growing stronger by the second that she shouldn't be doing this. She thought of the dead-again orchid on her windowsill, the baggy dress in her wardrobe, she thought of the ugly paintings in Ralph's studio and the baby she'd chosen not to have. And then she thought of Ralph in a dank room at the Maygrove, calling out crazed prayers to Lord God Our Savior.

She thought of the few days she'd spent at the pool with Lucas, that sense that had opened up in her head that there might be another ending for her, not just the one she'd written for herself when she'd kissed Ralph for the first time eleven years ago on a blue sofa in Battersea, but something new, something not already written in the pages of her book of destiny. Another happy ending.

And it was while these thoughts were stampeding through her desiccated mind like barefoot feral children that something altogether unexpected happened: Ralph put his hand to Jem's cheek, then leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips. He smiled at her sadly and he said: “It's okay. We don't have to do this.”

She looked at him, sharply.

“Let's not,” he whispered, his nose pressed gently against hers. “Let's not.”

She continued to stare at him, mutely.

“Go,” he said. “I love you. I can wait. Just go.”

“But I don't want to go,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said simply, “you do.” And then he kissed her again.

13 July 2008

Dear Rosey,

I'm really sorry I never replied to your last email. I've been finishing off for an exhibition and getting ready to get married and also been going to a lot of prayer meetings. I did get in touch with Sarah and I liked her very much. The group is great and the meetings have been amazing. They've really really helped me. I've been going through quite a tough time.

I don't know quite how to say this so I'll just come out and say it: Jem jilted me on our wedding day. Seriously. Well, it's not so much that she jilted me, rather that I let her go. She got to the altar and I looked at her and I just knew. It was all wrong for her. We'd had a big conversation two nights before and I'd told her all about the group and about finding God and she just totally didn't get it. I didn't expect her to. And she didn't. We talked about other stuff too, about the ways we've both changed and how our love for each other has changed. At the end of it, it felt like we'd reached a good place, that we both knew where the other was coming from. Things were fine for the next day or so and then she walked into the registry office on Saturday afternoon and I looked
at her and I just knew. I KNEW. She looked trapped, she looked terrified. The funny thing is, it didn't surprise me. It was almost as though I'd been expecting it all along: like a déjà vu in reverse, I saw it happening before it did. So I just said to her: we don't have to do this. And she just kind of looked at me, her eyes were full of tears, looked at me and nodded, very gently, and she kissed me and then she went. She just walked out of there, in front of everyone. There was this kind of gasp. It was an utterly shocking moment. Like a soap opera come to life. And as she left I just felt myself saying: Good-bye, Jem. Like I was letting her go. Like I had no choice. Everyone thought I was being so calm about it. Everyone was saying, wow, you're taking this so well. And people were saying that they'd go and talk to her, get her to come back, that it was just nerves, that she'd come round and I was just saying: no, no, don't talk to her, just leave her, she won't come round. And she didn't. So that was a week ago and obviously I've seen her since, I mean, we're still living together. I'm hoping that we can pull back together, that it won't go as far as either one of us moving out. I'm hoping that Jem will find whatever it is she's looking for and realize that it's me.

I can hardly believe it. I honestly thought Jem and me would be together forever. Everybody thought we would be together forever. We were one of those couples. But something happened to us, I don't know when, maybe when we started our family, maybe after Blake was born, maybe when I went off to America in April, maybe when I found spirituality, maybe when we lost the baby, the last one, particularly the last one. I don't know when it happened, but it happened. And I have never felt so sad in my life, Rosey.
It's the worst thing that ever happened to me. But I think she'll come back. I really do. This isn't just about me and the group, me and God. There's more to this than that. I think there's something she needs to do before she can come back to me and she just needs to find out what it is.

Anyway, I didn't mean this to be quite such a rambling and misery-laden missive. I just really wanted to say that I'm sorry not to have been in touch before and to say a big thank you for introducing me to Sarah. It's been brilliant having them in my life these last few weeks and especially since the wedding fiasco.

Love,

Ralph

J
em flopped down onto the small beige sofa in Lulu's spare room and sighed deeply. She felt shell-shocked. The children were downstairs with Lulu, and Jem, surrounded by suitcases and holdalls and shopping bags full of toys, was only now feeling the full truth of her situation. She had moved out. She no longer lived with Ralph. Her children no longer lived with their father. This was now their home.

This wasn't, in any way, what Jem had expected.

She had expected to marry Ralph.

Regardless of what he had told her about finding God, regardless of anything that had been said between them that unexpected night two months ago, and in spite of the sick feeling in her gut as she stumbled toward her nuptials, Jem had thought that she would go into that room in the registry office and marry Ralph. How could it possibly be any other way?

But then he'd said those words,
just go
, and she'd known he was right. Because it wasn't just the fact that Ralph had found God that was wrong on that damp July afternoon. Everything had been wrong that afternoon. The dress, the weather, the mood, the nagging, aching suspicion in Jem's heart that she might have another fate. She should not have been thinking of another man on her wedding day.

So she'd gone. Walked out of the registry office and out into
the street, her chest rising and falling, hyperventilating, nauseous.

And then they'd gone home and waited. Neither of them was sure what they were waiting for. Waiting for normality? Waiting for an answer? Waiting for Ralph to change his mind about God? But they waited and they waited and nothing changed. They just felt awkward and uncomfortable. Jem drank more, ate less. Ralph spent more and more time at group meetings and painting with Gil. They grew further and further apart. The moment in the registry office had changed everything and it was impossible at such close quarters to work out how to come back from the shock of it.

So Jem decided to do something about it. She decided to move out.

Maybe, she thought, if we live apart, we can grow together.

It was the hardest decision she had ever made in her life, but she was doing it for them, for her and Ralph, to give them a chance to find a way back to each other.

Now she was here, in her sister's house, the place she used to come to for tea and sympathy, but this time she wasn't going home.

This was her dream come true, living with her sister, a sprawling, unconventional communal family. Here it was. She was in it. But she didn't feel like she'd made her way here in a gentle and measured manner; she felt like she'd been hauled up by the big fat hand of fate and dropped here, unceremoniously, from a great, great height. And she had never felt so miserable in her life.

She remembered Ralph's face as he'd said good-bye to them at the front door an hour earlier, the fake smiles and jollity as they tried to keep everything light for the children, pretend
they were off on a great adventure. But there'd been one tiny, excruciating moment when their eyes had met across the tops of their children's heads and Ralph had looked so lost, as bewildered as a small boy. At the sight of him, so beautiful, so scared, something buried deep down inside Jem suddenly bubbled up to the surface and she had to physically stop herself from jumping into his arms and saying, “It's okay, it's okay, I love you, I love you.” But it wasn't the right moment for I Love Yous. Just as it hadn't been the right moment to get married. Jem had tried to smile at him reassuringly, but the smile had faltered and he'd turned away from her, tears shimmering in his blue eyes.

And then they'd gone.

And Jem had not looked back.

23 August 2008

Dear Rosey,

Well, it happened, Jem moved out. I never thought it would come to this. I think I'd kind of assumed that we would get to grips with all this eventually and make it work. But if anything, Jem seems even more distant from me than before.

She's going to stay with her sister and I am going to stay here. And the children will move between us, half and half. It should work out fine. Jem will need more time to herself now anyway, as one of her clients is about to finish his soap contract and she'll be focusing on his career, and then in November she's off to Sydney for one of her other clients who's going to be in a reality thing in the jungle. (Top secret, though—not that you know anyone who would give a shit!) And I guess I can take a break from working
crazy hours now that the show's in the bag and I've got some money in my account. I'm not ready to start a new series anyway. Everything's changing so much, not just my life, but the way I feel about everything, the way I respond to the world around me. I've been spending more and more time with Gil. He's this old guy from New Meaning, salty old Scots boy who paints scratchy old seascapes and growls a lot and asks blunt questions. He's very open and real. He reminds me of you in a way (as weird as that might sound) but just in that you don't have to wonder what he's thinking. You can just be with him, just relax. And I feel like I'm starting over with my artwork, kind of regressing back to square one, a little like a Shakespearean actor pretending to be a tree in the wind, you know. It's really liberating and I'm keen to see where it goes. I guess it could just end up with me doing graphic design for travel brochures again, but I just know that I can't go back to where I was. It's time for a new approach.

Anyway, I'm holding up well. The night after Jem left was probably the worst night of my life, wandering all those empty rooms, remembering. To be alone, to know that my family was torn in half. I spent the whole night praying and I got through it to the other end. By morning I was feeling better about things. Feeling positive. Because I have to. Because I have to assume that this has happened because it is the right thing to have happened. I have to assume that, in the end, I will know why this happened and that I will accept it.

Right now I'm just taking one day at a time.

Thanks for your support and write soon.

Love, Ralph x

21 September 2008

Dearest Rosey,

First of all, I'm so sorry I've gone off radar. I moved into my new flat last week and it's taken me an age to get reattached, as it were. Sorting everything out's been a nightmare. We decided to rent out the house. I couldn't stand being there anymore, without Jem, without the kids half the week. So we've rented it out and I've got a new place. Two bedrooms, plenty of space for the kids, all their toys and stuff. No garden but they've got a massive one at Jem's sister's place. I feel better for getting out of the house. The flat's pretty cool. It's a conversion in a big house just round the corner from Scarlett's new nursery. She started a couple of weeks ago, such a big girl now! So now it's just me and Blake all day long on the days I have him. He's nine months old now, coming up for ten. Crawling, at last, which is a blessing and a nightmare. It means he doesn't need so much entertainment to be laid on, but it also means I can't just put him down in one place and get on with stuff—he's off in a flash! But he's a lot of fun and it's good for me to have to take so much responsibility for him. I let Jem do everything when Scarlett was little, I regret that now, I really do.

Relations between me and Jem are fine. We see each other twice a week. She looks good. I think she's blossoming—it hurts me a lot to say that. She's got a kind of glow. She didn't have that when we were together, not for the last few years, anyway. She certainly had it when I first knew her. I'm glad she's happy, but I can't say that I am. I feel lonely. I really do. x

I
t was a dark November afternoon. The streetlights had come on and the pavements glowed dull gold beneath her feet. The children were with Ralph and she was on her way back to Lulu's to get ready for a night out with Lulu and her girlfriends. No nursery run tomorrow, no hungry baby needing porridge. She could drink, stay up late and then lie in bed tomorrow until lunchtime. She hadn't been out at night since she'd moved out of the house on Herne Hill, been feeling too bruised, but she was ready now, ready to make the most of her small freedoms.