All We Have Lost (22 page)

‘I
suppose
it’s OK but the boy should decide between the girls.’

‘Why?’

Chloe should be having this conversation with her granny because suddenly, I no longer have the answers. ‘It’s just the way it is.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Connor calls before I can return his text.

‘How are things?’

‘Great,’ I reassure him – because clearly he needs it. ‘I’m a workingwoman, curator of the gallery you bought Modigliani man in. Any day now I’ll be able to buy him back from you.’

‘Do you think you can manage a job right now?’

‘
Hello?
Is this the person who imagined me
running
a gallery?’

‘That was before. What about the kids?’

‘It’s part-time. Doesn’t affect them.’

‘You shouldn’t have to work.’

‘I w
ant
to.’

‘You need someone to look after you.’

‘That is the very
last
thing I need. I
love
being independent again.’

‘I’d like to look after you.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t stop thinking of you, of us…. We’re meant to be together, Kim.’

‘Jesus, Connor. What is
wrong
with you?’

‘I love you.’

‘Well, snap out of it! You’re married. And you’re lucky – Sarah’s great.’

‘Sarah was a mistake. It’s you I love. It’s you I want.’

If it were anyone else, I’d hang up. ‘That’s never going to happen.’

‘It could. You’re free. I could divorce Sarah.’

‘I would
hate
you for doing that. Anyway, I don’t love you. I’m sorry. But I don’t.’

‘You still love him? After what he’s done? After what happened between us?’

‘What happened was a mistake. And you know it.’

‘No I don’t.’

‘I’m hanging up, Connor.’ I do, then throw the phone onto the couch like it’s infected.

It starts to ring. I stare at it, heart pounding. What did I do to encourage him?
What?
Well, the sex obviously. I should have stopped it. Not been so weak. So bloody needy. God.

It rings out, then starts again. Cursing, I turn it on silent.

Out in the garden, I yank the lawnmower out of the shed. At least my pacing will be productive.

I inhale the smell of freshly cut grass and grow marginally optimistic. He knows I don’t want to be with him now. I’ve made that clear. I was firm. It’ll be fine.

Ian returns from McDonald’s with the children.

‘Here, I’ll do that,’ he says.

‘It’s OK. I’m done.’

‘Let me at least put away the lawnmower.’

‘I’ve got it!’

He looks at me strangely.

I look straight back at him. I don’t need his help.

He puts the kids to bed. His storytelling voice floats down the stairs. And I wish – so hard – that he had done this before and that there wasn’t a reason behind it now.

When he finally comes down, I tell him about the lice.

‘OK,’ he says, like he’s not panicking. ‘How would I know if I had them?’

‘You’d be itchy.’

He scratches his head. ‘Shit.’

I smile, get up, go to the bathroom and retrieve the comb. ‘You need to get someone to check your hair with one of these.’

He looks at it like it’s an actual louse. ‘Where’ll I get one?’

‘Pharmacy.’

He looks at me. ‘Would
you
check me?’

I raise a cold eyebrow.

‘Who else can I ask?’

‘Do I really have to remind you?’

He sighs deeply. ‘When are you going to start believing me? It’s over.’ It’s the way he says it, as though exhausted, exasperated, fed up with it all.

And, finally, I believe him.

‘OK. I’ll do it,’ I say. ‘On one condition.’

He looks at me.

‘You do mine.’

‘Deal.’

I go first and talk him through it so he can reciprocate. I part his hair and check his scalp. Over and over. Even if he were still seeing her, he’d never ask her to do this. This is the kind of job for a wife. A mistress is only ever shown the best version of you. The sanitized, sexy, witty you.

‘You’re OK,’ I say, stepping back.

‘Phew!’ He stands up. Then gestures to the seat flamboyantly. ‘Madame.’

I sit down.

I never thought I would let him touch me again. And here he is, methodically parting my hair, like a chimpanzee grooming his mate.

‘Oh oh,’ he says after a few minutes, just when I was beginning to hope I was OK.

‘Oh shit. Have you found one?’ I shiver automatically.

‘What colour did you say they were?’ he asks carefully, his fingers on pause.

‘Browny-grey. Have you found one?’

‘Actually, no.’ He points at me. ‘Got you, though.’

His laughter is a reminder of what we had. Once.

‘You’d better keep going,’ I say flatly.

He carries on in silence.

I hear his breathing – loud and through his mouth, as always when he’s concentrating. Something else hasn’t changed – his smell – so familiar, so Iany. No more aftershave, then.

He rubs the top of my hair and taps my shoulders. ‘All done.’

I stand up. ‘Thanks.’

‘Kim?’

‘You should probably go now.’

He nods. ‘Yeah.’

I close the front door behind him and lean against it, my hollow heart aching. Safe now to cry. 

I lock up and go get my phone. It vibrates in my hand. When I see who it is, I explode. Right! Enough!

‘Connor, what do you want?’

‘Why did you hang up on me?’

‘Why do you think? You weren’t listening.
I don’t love you. And Sarah is my friend.’

‘But that night must have meant something…’

‘Well it didn’t, OK? If you call me again as a friend I’ll be happy to talk but if you even
mention
the other thing, that’s the end of our friendship. We go back a long time, Connor. But enough is enough.’

‘We’re meant to be together.’

I hang up.

This time he doesn’t call back.

I go upstairs. What is
wrong
with him? I wrap my arms around myself and go check on the kids.

I sit on Chloe’s bed gazing at her little face, soft and relaxed, her hand curled up but fingers loose. It doesn’t seem like five years since Ian, his hand on my tummy, sang rebel songs to the tiny person she was becoming. I told him that the baby would be born a rebel. He smiled and said, ‘like her Mum’. Feels like such a long time ago.

I touch Sam’s flushed cheek with the backs of my fingers and smile remembering the names I genuinely considered for him when I was pregnant. Cosmo. Denzel. Frodo. Ian didn’t dismiss any. He said nothing until Sam was born, then simply asked, ‘How about Sam?’ I looked down at his tiny wrinkly face and saw that he was Sam. Samuel Denzel Kavanagh.

‘I love you,’ I whisper. I kiss him gently on the forehead and head to bed, a bed that seems incredibly large tonight.

In my next therapy session, Peter asks if I’ve managed to put the Connor incident behind me. I hesitate. B
ecause Connor goes to him too. But there’s no one else I can ask.

‘Actually, I’m a bit worrie
d
….’ I tell him about the phone calls.

He takes it seriously. Which is good (I’m not paranoid) and bad (there
is
something to worry about).

‘I should talk to him,’ he says.

‘Don’t tell him I told you.’

‘What you and I speak about is between us, Kim. And what I discuss with Connor will have to be the same. I’ll just call him to check progress and take it from there.’

‘Thank you.’ I feel my shoulders fall in relief.

‘If he calls you with the same intention, don’t talk to him. Hang up. That’s important. Let me talk to him, hmm? And don’t worry. I’ll see you next week.’

There are three messages from Connor when I switch my phone back on after work the following day, all of them going over old ground, his voice growing increasingly frustrated. Remembering Peter’s advice, I turn off my phone and try to stay calm as I go to pick up the children.

We go to the park. And I try to put it from my mind.

When we get home, Chloe tells me there are messages on the answering machine.

‘I’ll get them later,’ I say cheerfully.

She insists.

So do I.

Ian arrives. ‘You’ve messages,’ he says passing the answering machine.

‘She said she’ll get them later,’ Chloe says. Then shrugs like I’m weird.

‘Busy,’ I explain.

‘Want me to rewind them for you?’ he asks.

‘No!’ I bark.

He looks at me strangely.

‘I’ll get them later,’ I say calmly.

The phone rings. I swivel in shock. If I don’t pick up, the machine will click on and everyone will hear.

‘You go on into the kitchen,’ I say lightly.

I run to the phone, pick it up, listen, then drop the receiver. I delete the messages and take the phone off the hook. Just to be on the safe side, I plug the phone and answering machine out altogether.

Heart pounding, I go back to the kitchen. When is he going to stop? What do I have to do? What do I have to say?

The kids are out the back. Ian is standing at the door, arms folded, watching them. He turns. Then squints at me.

‘You OK?’

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I busy myself making coffee, which in itself is suspicious – me making him coffee – but if I don’t do something I’ll lose it.

‘You
would
tell me if there was something wrong?’

I nod again, unable to say, ‘I don’t need you,’ because there’s a big risk I might not sound convincing.

‘Kim, I’m still here, you know. If you need me.’

‘I don’t.’

‘OK,’ he says, quietly.

In the hall, on his way out, he looks at the phone off the hook, then at me, but says nothing.

I make dinner, bathe the kids and put them to bed. Or at least I try. Sam wants to play Mr Cushion Mountain.

‘What’s that?’ Never heard of it.

‘Da new game Dad showded us,’ he announces proudly. ‘It’s gweat fun. I show you.’

This I’ve got to see.

They collect pillows and cushions and pile them up on my bed. They fight over who will be Mr Cushion Mountain. Sam wins on the basis that it was his idea to play. Mr Cushion Mountain climbs the mountain of pillows.

‘Wedy.’

‘Feeling lucky, punk?’ Chloe shouts then tries to knock him off the mountain with a pillow.

He screams in delight and clings on.

‘Take that, Big Boy,’ she shouts.

My laugh is loud and hearty and surprising me as much as them.

Can I allow myself to believe that he’s changing? I would so love him to be around to see them grow – to witness Sam putting toothpaste on the brush by himself, Chloe learning to read, spell and ask for real earrings, and Sam eating with a fork (kind of).

My phone starts to vibrate. I tense. And ignore it.

‘OK, bedtime.’

They complain, of course.

It takes a while – and three stories – before they finally settle down.

Downstairs I take my phone out. And try not to scream. Hasn’t Peter spoken to him? Or has he just not made a difference? When is this going to stop? What will it take to convince Connor that this is getting weird?

I pace the sitting room, searching my mind for a solution.

I stop as one forms in my mind. It involves a lie but it’s the only way.

Then I’m texting:

Stop calling me or I’ll go to the police. This is harassment. I love Sarah. And I’m back with Ian. So just stop.

I hate threatening him with the police. And I hate lying about Ian. But how else can I make him wake up to himself? He is becoming a borderline stalker. And he needs to know it.

CHAPTER FORTY

At eleven, I’m locking up when the doorbell rings. I squint through the peephole. It’s Ian. And he doesn’t look happy. I open up.

‘What is it?’

‘I’ve had a call from Connor. You
hypocrite!
’

I feel my cheeks burn. ‘Come inside. You’ll wake the children.’

He follows me into the sitting room. I close the door behind us.

‘You’ve been at it all along!’

‘What?’ I whisper.

‘You watched me beat myself up, beg for forgiveness… while you were with him all the time!’

‘No!’

‘You came to my office and
humiliated
me. Have you any idea what that was like? I had to face those people every day until I left. But I accepted it because I deserved it. And I wanted us all to be together again. But you were with him all the time!’

‘No!’

‘Did you enjoy watching me grovel? Did you?’

‘Can I speak?’

He stops. Finally.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask.

‘I want the truth.’

‘OK but you have to let me speak. You can’t interrupt. It’s not black and white.’

‘Nothing is,’ he says pointedly.

We stand facing each other.

‘All right, give me your side.’ It’s like a dare – give me your side and I’ll see if I believe it.

‘OK. Firstly, he’s lying. I didn’t have an affair with him. When I went to London nothing happened. Of course nothing happened, I still loved you. And, like I’ve told you so many times, it wouldn’t have even crossed my mind to think of Connor in that way. But. BUT. When I found out about
you
, something inside me snapped. The most important thing in my life had been ripped apart. I was devastated, lonely, abandoned…’

‘But it was you who kicked me ou
t
.’

‘Please don’t interrupt me, Ian. I’m trying to explain. I was here on my own one evening after a particularly bad day. I was drinking. Connor showed up. He said he loved me. I reminded him we were both – technically – married. He seemed to back down. Then he wanted a kiss. Just a kiss. I thought what harm would it do, one kiss. But then, I don’t know, things just took ove
r
…’

He puts up a hand. ‘Enough! Jesus.’

‘It happened once. It was a mistake. Not some sordid affair. Our marriage was over – you’d made sure of that. My guilt was for Sarah. Not you. Connor went back to London. That was it.’

‘Why would he say you were having an affair?’

If I tell him that Connor has gone borderline psycho, he’ll throw it back in my face, say he was right about him all along.

‘All right, believe Connor. Doesn’t matter to me. I know the truth. I know what happened. I don’t need to defend myself to you. It’s late, Ian. I’m tired.’ I start to walk to the front door.

He follows in baffled silence, all sense of indignant purpose gone.

And as I close the door behind him I think: I don’t care. I don’t care what he thinks. What I care about is Connor’s deception. Our friendship is over. Which probably means I’ve lost Sarah too – because nothing can ever be explained.

I’m crawling into bed fully dressed when my phone rings. It’s Sarah. I panic. He’s told her. Or she’s found out. Wouldn’t be hard – one look at his phone… I stare at the screen, debating whether or not to answer. Then I do. Because I owe it to her.

‘He’s left me!’ she sobs.

‘Oh, God.’

‘He came home and started shouting. Said he didn’t love me.’

‘Oh, Sarah.’

‘He called me all sorts of things. Said I was a slut and that I cared only for myself and that I treated men like shit. It’s not true, I’m not like that.’ I hear her taking a long pull on a cigarette. ‘He said he doesn’t know why he married me.’

‘I wish I was there with you.’ But that would make me a hypocrite, being there, comforting her, when I cheated on her. If only I could wipe out what happened, make it go away.

‘He hit me, Kim.’

I go cold. ‘Are you OK? Oh God, Sarah? Tell me you’re OK.’

‘I’m OK.’

‘
Are
you?’

‘No.’

‘Do you need a doctor?’

‘No but I could do with a hit man.’

‘Are you injured?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘He hit me hard across the face and I fell. Then he shouted at me over and over. Said it was all my fault. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I just crouched on the ground where I landed. Said nothing. Didn’t even look at him. I was so afraid, Kim.’

‘He’d been drinking.’ It’s not a question. It’s an answer. And I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.

‘Yes.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He stormed out.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In the apartment.’

‘Get out, now. Don’t be there when he comes back. Where can you go?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve contacts over here but no real friends. I’m so embarrassed. And I’m scared, Kim. Really scared.’

‘Get out of the apartment. Get a taxi. Check into a hotel, ask them to get a doctor. Then book the first flight home. Come stay with me, please, Sarah.’ I have to make it up to her, make this right.

‘But I love him.’

Who invented love? Because they messed up – completely.

‘Has he told you about his problem?’ I ask.

‘What problem?’

‘He has a problem with alcohol. He can’t drink. If he does and gets upset, he can get violent. He can’t help it.’

‘He never told me that. Why didn’t he tell me?’

‘Maybe because he never planned to drink again. Maybe because he thought it was in the past.’ Like I did.

‘Why didn’t
you
tell me? Warn me?’

‘Sarah, I didn’t know you were even going out with him not to mind marrying him. As soon as you got together, it was up to Connor to tell you. Anyway, I didn’t think it was a problem. He had it under control. For years. And it only ever happened once in his life. He went to a psychologist, gave up booze and got it under control. He can do that again. But that won’t happen in a few hours and it won’t happen without him getting help. For now, you need to get away. Where is he? Did he say where he was going?’

‘I don’t know. He said he was going to see the only woman he’s ever loved and make her see sense. He said he was a fool not to do it before no
w
.’ She breaks down completely.

I feel fear, real fear, creeping up my spine.

‘That hurt more than the knock, Kim. That he doesn’t love me. He loves someone else. And I never knew. Just like in my book. Ha!’ I hear her light another cigarette. ‘I didn’t know he loved someone else. Did you?’ She sounds so suddenly young and innocent.

‘Sarah, get out of there now, I mean it.’ I should be offering myself the same advice. But where can I go with two children in the middle of the night? I could go to my mother’s. But so could he. ‘Sarah, are you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘What you said.’

‘OK. Good. Will you call me when you’ve seen the doctor?’

‘If it’s not too late.’

‘Call me. I won’t be asleep. And don’t go back to the apartment.’

‘OK.’ She sounds defeated.

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘And Sarah? I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault I married a psycho.’

‘He’s not a psycho. He just can’t drink.’

‘Still not your fault.’

I want so much to tell her. And I will. As soon as she’s safe. ‘Sarah, leave now.’

‘I’m going.’

‘Good. And call me when you get to the hotel.’

I hang up and remember her words. He’s coming. To make me see sense. I race to the bathroom to throw up. Leaning over the loo, I realise with great clarity that I have to check every lock in the house. I have to make sure he can’t get in.

I tear around the house, checking doors, locking windows I never usually lock. I close every curtain, turn off every light. I check on the children. Sam’s mobile of trains casts shadows on the wall and across his face. Chloe looks like she fell asleep dancing, one arm stretched up over her head, the other bent to her hip. It makes her seem more vulnerable than ever. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk him coming here. I have to do something.

I could have thought of Mum. I could have thought of the police. I could probably have thought of quite a number of options had I not immediately thought of Ian.

The doorbell rings and my heart booms. I steal downstairs by the light of my phone. I peer through the peephole. I can’t make out who’s there and can’t put the light on in case it’s Connor. I can hear my heart; at least that’s how it feels.

‘Kim? It’s me,’ comes Ian’s voice.

My body deflates in relief. I hurry to open the door, then immediately bolt it behind him. I turn on the lights.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks.

‘Come inside.’

In the sitting room, I explain everything.

His face softens. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, earlier, that he was hassling you?’

‘Because I thought you’d rub it in.’

‘What?’

‘Say you were right about him all along.’

He smiles. ‘I might have but I’d have still wanted to help.’

‘I wouldn’t have wanted you to. I wanted to handle it. Then he hit Sarah and I couldn’t risk him coming here. I had to think of the children.’

He nods, looks around. ‘Have you locked everything?’

‘Yeah and double checked a million times.’

‘Has he rung?’

‘No.’

‘OK.’ He sits on the edge of a chair, leaning forward, reminding me of the time he asked my father to marry me. And I think: all the things we shared. He looks up from examining the floor. ‘Sorry about earlier, about believing him.’ He shrugs. ‘It made sense. He’s always had a thing for you. And I just got so angry, the thought of him with you...’ He looks at me with such hurt in his eyes.

‘So you know how I felt, how I could have gone to your office.’ I bite my lip. ‘I did regret it…when I calmed down.’

He looks at me for the longest time. ‘I wish we could go back.’

My smile is sad. I feel so tired. So defeated. All the mistakes we made. We sit looking at each other in the sitting room that was ours, the home that was ours, thinking of the life that was ours.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘I’ll have a coffee though. Might need a stimulant.’ He smiles.

I smile back. I give him that. Then I head for the kitchen.

‘Do you think he’ll come tonight?’ he asks, following me in.

‘I don’t know but, from what Sarah said, if he can get a flight he probably will.’

He nods.

‘I think it’ll be OK. Once he sees you’re here.’

He looks doubtful. ‘Might help if I’d ever been to a gym.’

I smile. ‘It’s not that. I told him we were back together – so that he’d leave me alone.’

‘Oh.’

‘If he sees you here, he’ll probably wake up to himself and stop drinking.’

‘So you want me to pretend we’re together?’

‘If you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind.’ The look he gives me makes me turn back to the kettle. And I wish – so hard – that I could just hate him.

‘What if he turns up tomorrow?’ he asks.

I turn and put my hand to my forehead. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’

‘I can sleep on the couch, take the day off work, stick around.
I’m winding things up in there anyway. I have a few days due.’

My shoulders fall in relief. ‘Thanks, Ian. I really appreciate it.’ So formal.

From the kitchen table, he picks up one of Sam’s trains. Percy. His favourite. He runs his finger over it. Then he looks at me.

‘This is my fault. If I hadn’t been so bloody stupid, none of this would have happened.’

‘Maybe we should forget about faults.’ Whoa. Where did that come from?

He looks at me with such hope that I panic.

‘Ian, just so we’re clear… If Connor comes and I say I love you that doesn’t mean it’s true.’

The hope dies in his eyes.

And I’m sorry again. Confused. ‘I better go call Sarah. See if she’s all right.’

He nods. ‘OK if I take the couch?’

‘Do you want the sleeping bag?’

‘Yeah, I’ll get it.’ He smiles sadly. ‘Night.’

‘Night, Ian. And thank you.’ In the hall, I turn back.

He’s running the train over the table.