All We Have Lost (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I wake at six. And go downstairs. Connor, supposed to be asleep on the couch, is in the kitchen nursing a mug of coffee and looking so miserable it’s almost funny.

‘We need help,’ he says.

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘I’m serious. We need to understand what happened here.’

‘We fucked up. That’s what happened.’ Holding my head, I find juice and a painkiller.

‘What if it happens again?’

‘It won’t.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Connor, I know. For starters, I was drunk.’

‘I wasn’t. What’s my excuse?’

‘I don’t know. What
is
your excuse?’ I turn on him. It’s the easiest thing to do.

‘I have none. That’s why we should see someone.’

‘Then
you
see someone.’

‘Look, Kim. I’ve thought about this all night and keep coming back to the same thing. We won’t be able to stay friends unless we sort this out. And we won’t sort it out on our own. Look at us now, for Christ’s sake. You can’t even look at me. If I walk out of here now and pretend this never happened, I won’t be able to look you in the eye again which means I won’t be able to see you again without Sarah knowing. And that’s not on. It’s not on for Sarah.’

I look at him.

‘Please, Kim. For Sarah.’

This is so weird. ‘When you say help, you better not mean Peter. I’m not going back to him. On principle.’

‘I
was
thinking of Peter. He was great with my… problem.’

‘Not mine.’

‘Because he told you something you didn’t want to hear.’

‘You’re right. I didn’t want to hear that I should forgive and forget so I can be walked on again.’ I go to the sink and clatter around not knowing exactly what I’m doing.

He comes over. Then he’s tearing off a sheet of kitchen paper and handing it to me.

‘Peace offering.’

I take it from him and blow my nose. I look out at my neglected garden.

‘We could go together,’ he says. ‘For moral support.’

‘That would be a first – therapy for a couple married to two separate people.’

‘Will
you
be able to look Sarah in the eye? Because
I
won’t.’

I sigh deeply.

‘He never judges, just tries to understand and help you sort it out for yourself.’

‘That’s not how it felt to me.’

‘Will you give it a try? Just once. Please. For Sarah. For all of us. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. And we’ll know we did our best. OK?’

I look down at the white line on my wedding finger. Then I look up at him. I want one of our marriages to work.

‘All right.’

‘Aw, great.’ He sounds so relieved. ‘Thanks, Kim. I’ll ring Peter.’

‘Warn him not to bring up Ian.’

‘Is, is, is today summa school, Mum?’ asks Sam, who has just shuffled in, rubbing his eyes. The sight of him in all his innocence makes me want to lift him up and say over and over, ‘Mummy is sorry. Mummy didn’t mean it.’ Instead it’s, ‘Yes, pet.’

‘Aw.’

‘Last day, sweetie. Tomorrow’s Saturday and then you’ll have a whole week off before you go back to Montessori.’ I can’t believe that Chloe is starting school – and that her father will miss it. He probably wouldn’t have made it anyway, even if we were still a family.

‘Don’t want Chlo to go to big school. Want Chlo to stay with Sam.’ He looks at Connor and then me.

‘Whay’s my dad?’

‘Guess,’ I say.

‘Wuk.’

A wink is not technically a lie.

‘My dad’s always at wuk.’ His head flops down, as do the corners of his mouth. He kicks the air.

‘Say hi to Connor.’

‘Hi.’ Another kick.

‘Do you want a drink of apple juice?’ I ask to distract him.

‘Yeah.’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What do you want for breakfast?’

‘Poo poo.’

I smile in relief, then offer his favourite cereals. Ian wouldn’t know his favourites if they came up and bit him. I’d like something to bite
him
, something big. Like a killer whale. Or a lot of small somethings (ideally piranhas).

‘Toast,’ says Sam.

I pop bread in the toaster. ‘Is Chloe awake?’

He doesn’t reply. He has found Percy The Tank Engine.

I head upstairs, preparing for objection. My daughter does not like to be woken.

But she is already up and getting dressed. ‘Is Dad downstairs?’ she asks with a hope that pierces my heart.

‘No, sweetheart, he’s at work.’ He probably is by now.

‘But I heard him!’

‘No, sweetheart – that’s Connor.’ Normally that’d be enough to send her running downstairs. Not today.

‘Mum, Dad works too hard.’

‘I know, sweetie. But you’ll see him soon.’
Why
did I say that?

‘Today?’

‘We’ll see. Come on, let’s get brekkie.’ We go downstairs holding hands.

And I feel so guilty that I haven’t been able to hold our little family together.

A cancellation. Connor and I are seen first thing. Our behaviour is analysed, explanations given. I can’t argue with mine: I was feeling lonely, discarded; I needed someone to show me love. Connor needed ‘closure’ on his infatuation with me before he could move on with Sarah. We are lucky – apparently – that we came to him at this stage (he loves himself) because everything can still work out for the newly-weds. Connor needs to get back to London and make it work. And, wait for it, we should
not
confess.

‘But we’d be living a lie!’ Connor says.

My exact thought sounds so melodramatic when expressed.

‘Would you rather wound those you love? What would telling them achieve?’

I don’t know why he’s looking at me. I don’t love Ian. And I’m not telling him a thing. He deserves nothing from me, least of all to know what I do with my time.

‘So you recommend deceit?’ Connor asks, cynically.

‘What you have done is deceitful. But it’s done and you can’t erase it. Telling them about it will only hurt. You are the only two who know what happened. They will never find out. Keeping it to yourselves will be harder on you than on them. Kim!’

I jump.

‘Perhaps now you can understand how easy it is for affairs to happen?’

‘Last night was an accident and we’re here to make it right. What Ian did was ongoing and underhand. He lied to me, repeatedly. He spent our money on her while telling me to cut back. He made me feel small. I don’t know how you can compare them.’

‘If you had not come here today, you might have gone on to have an affair.’

I shake my head.

‘Mistakes are what make us human. I’m sure Ian is crippled with guilt; he has lost his family.’

‘He deserves every bit of goddamn guilt he feels.’

‘But maybe now you can understand why he had the affair?’

‘No. Actually.’ I shift in my chair and tap my fingers. Can we be finished?

‘Do you think the reasons for his affair may have been any different from yours?’

‘Firstly, I didn’t have an affair. Secondly, of course they’re different. Completely different.’

‘Don’t you think he might have been feeling like you felt? Lonely, isolated, unloved, unneeded?’

‘Ian
was
loved. We all loved him. He just didn’t want us. We weren’t enough. If he was lonely it was his own doing – he never came home.’

‘Maybe it was you he was lonely for.’

‘I was
there
.’

‘But were you there for him?’

‘
Yes
.’

‘Not busy with the children?’

‘I was busy. But I loved him. He knew that.’

‘Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he felt you loved the children more. It happens all the time. Maybe he needed to be reminded of your love.’

Why are we seeing a male psychologist? ‘
Look
, Ian got bored. Wanted something new. Like your typical selfish bastard.’

‘How are the children taking the news?’

When I hesitate, Connor lets the truth be known.

‘She hasn’t told them.’

‘I understand that this is hard but, for the sake of the children, can I suggest that you take Ian’s next call? You need to discuss the future, especially in terms of him seeing the children, and financial matters. Both you and the children need certainty in your lives. I wouldn’t let it go on any longer.’

I sigh deeply. Then nod. Because I can kick and scream all I want. The man is right.

We finish up and pay the secretary. Then Connor suggests coffee.

CHAPTER THIRTY

In a nearby café, Connor looks at me.

‘That was great,’ he says like he’s just taken a dump.

‘
Was
it?’

‘Come on, Kim. It was really helpful. He makes so much sense.’

‘So your conscience is clear?’ Men.

‘No. It’s not clear. But Peter’s right. We all make mistakes. It’s life. And we have to learn to live with it.’ He produces a simple smile as if everything has suddenly become that way. ‘How about you?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘What he said about Ian – and the kids – it makes sense.’

‘You see a shrink and suddenly you become one.’ I look out at the people passing and want to be them, any of them. I’m not fussy.

‘What are you going to do?’ he asks.

I turn to him. ‘Arrange for them to see him, I suppose.’

‘Good.’

‘Just wish I could do it without having to face him myself.’

‘Maybe you can.’

‘No. Any other option would seem unnatural to Sam and Chloe. And I want everything to feel as normal as possible.’

‘When are you going to call him?’

‘I’m not. He can call me.’

‘Oh.’ He looks like he’s worried that marriage is more complicated than he thought.

‘Anyway. No use sitting here all day talking about it. You’ve a flight to catch.’

He nods. Then books it on his phone.

Outside the café, he strides to the nearest taxi rank. He doesn’t look back.

I’m walking to the car when my phone rings. I look at Ian’s cheating face on the screen. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and force myself to answer.

‘Hello, Ian.’

‘Oh, Kim. Hi. Thank God. I thought you’d never talk to me.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’

‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’

‘The children?’

‘They’re fine – because I haven’t told them.’

‘Please don’t.’

‘Ian, they’re not stupid. They
do
notice you’re missing.’

‘We could tell them together.’

Like it’s good news. I bite down on a finger.

‘Kim, I need to see them.’

‘
You
need?’

‘I’m sorry but they need to see me too. I’m their father.’

‘Interesting how you remember that now.’

‘Can I come over this afternoon?’

‘No.’ I pause. ‘You can come at seven. See them for an hour. Then, when they’re in bed, we can talk about custody and finances.’ I hope I sound cold, factual and detached because I feel the opposite. These are our children. We were a family.

‘Seven’s fine,’ he chokes. I’m about to hang up when he jumps in with, ‘Kim, what will we say to them? How will we tell them? We should sing from the same hymn shee
t
…’

Hymn sheet, Jesus. ‘You think of something, Ian. You’ll be doing the talking.’

‘I’d like to tell them I’ll be home soon.’

‘You want to lie to them? I don’t think so, Ian.’

‘I was hoping…’

‘Well don’t. I’ll see you at seven.’ I hang up. My hand is shaking and when I reach the car, I steady myself with it.

‘Is it seven yet?’ Chloe asks for the hundredth time.

I nod. ‘It’s seven.’

She and Sam race to the front room. Sam climbs up on the couch and stands peering over its back, giving him a view of the driveway. Chloe takes up position at the window. Their enthusiasm is heartbreaking.

I know he’s arrived when Sam starts jumping up and down. And Chloe runs to me.

‘It’s Dad! It’s Dad! Open the door, Mum.’

‘It’s OK, sweetie. He has a key.’ Then I think: If he uses it, I
will
kill him.

The doorbell rings.

‘Mum! Mum! It’s Dad.’ They run out into the hall.

I must have raced to the door too when I was young. For my cheating father.

I get up slowly, breathing deeply and repeating the mantra, I can do this. Last time I saw Ian – at the office – I was all drama and emotion. Today, I will be dignified.

Chloe runs in, grabs my hand and tugs me forward. ‘
Mum!
’

‘I’m coming.’

In the hall, Sam is jumping to reach the catch on the front door. He is calling his father.

What are we doing to them?

Before I have the door fully open, they dash out and grab his legs. They cling to him, each trying to outdo the other with their ‘Dads’ and stories.

I stand, holding the door. I’m aiming for dignified but it’s hard.

He looks up from where he has hunched down to hug our babies. Days ago, this man was my husband. A week ago, everything was normal. Or at least I thought it was.

He looks shaken, like he did when he lost his father to leukaemia. His eyes are so sad that I have a moment of weakness. Luckily it passes and I return his look with one of ice.

He lifts them up, one in each arm. I want to ruin the moment for him but can’t because I would ruin it for them too. And as he kisses each of them on the forehead I look on like I’m watching a scene from a movie that isn’t my life.

He looks at me as if to say: Can I come in?

I stand back. He lets the kids down and they torpedo in, Chloe grabbing him by the hand to make sure he comes.

‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,’ I say.

He gets the message but the children don’t.

‘Mu..um. We want you too.’ It’s Sam.

Chloe says nothing but looks from Ian to me then back to Ian again.

They know. Somehow, they know.

So I give them what they want, my presence in the room. But I pick the chair furthest from the happy family scene.

‘Look Dad, Thomas is bwoken,’ says Sam, referring to his tank engine.

It’s as if nothing has happened, as if I’ve imagined it all. And I wish… No I don’t.

‘Hmm. Let’s see. Maybe he needs new batteries.’ Ian looks at me as if to say, ‘have we got any?’

The old me would have jumped into action. The new me keeps her eyes blank. Let him work it out.

He’s stuck. Can’t go tracking down batteries without trespassing.

But Sam is looking at his dad, The Fixer, with a mixture of admiration and impatience.

Damn.
‘They’re in the kitchen in the third drawer,’ I say looking away. Then I remember Connor. I directed him to the same drawer only last night.

Ian disappears, the children in his wake.

My phone starts to ring. I check the screen.

Oh God. It’s Sarah.

I am halfway up the stairs before I answer.

‘Hey!’ she says cheerfully.

And I breathe again.

‘How are you?’ she asks.

Guilty as hell. ‘Fine. Thanks. You?’

‘
So
glad to have Connor back. We were apart one day,
one day,
and I missed him so much. He’s
so
special, Kim. How could you have kept him from me all this time?’

‘Sarah, this isn’t a great time.’

‘Oh sorry. I was just calling to see how you are. Everything OK? You poor thing.’

Downstairs, Ian, playing with the children, laughs out loud.

I sigh.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing. Ian’s here.’

‘You didn’t take him
back
, did you?’

‘No. He’s here to see the children. And to sort out custody.’

‘Good. Don’t let him push you around.’

‘Yeah, I’ve got to go, here.’

‘Hang on a sec. Connor wants a word.’

‘Tell him I’ll call him back, OK?’

‘Oh. OK.’