You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) (33 page)

At
last, the aircraft began its descent, and the second its wheels thumped on to
the runway I was rummaging in my bag and switching on my phone, ignoring the
disapproving tuts of the woman next to me.

But
when, as I stared at the screen willing it to find a signal, she muttered to
her companion, “I don’t know what people think is so important that it can’t
wait ten minutes,” I was unable to stop myself snapping back, “My daughter’s in
hospital in Bristol with a head injury, that’s what’s so important. So maybe
you could stop judging other people for ten minutes.”

Her
face fell. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she said, and I immediately felt
guilty as hell for biting her head off. “Poor wee mite. What happened?”

“She
fell off a horse,” I said. “I don’t know any more than that. As soon as my
sister told me I got on the first flight I could, and when I spoke to her at
the airport in New York she was in A&E, waiting to be seen.”

“Poor
little soul,” the woman said. “And poor you, how terribly worrying. I remember
when my eldest was eleven, he…” and she embarked on a long and involved tale of
her son’s many skateboarding accidents, while I switched my phone off and on
again in a desperate attempt to get it to find my network. But when at last it did,
and I saw a message flash up on the screen saying that I had four new
voicemails, I realised that my battery was on its last legs. Before I could
listen to them, the seatbelt sign was switched off and in all the fuss of
disembarking, my phone died.

After
that, everything took on the quality of the sort of dream I used to have when I
was dancing, and still do in times of stress. It took ages for our luggage to
be unloaded, and my bag was among the last to thud on to the carousel. I
wandered around the long-stay car park looking for our trusty Ford Focus before
I remembered that we’d come in Jonathan’s new car, which I’d never driven
before.

At
first, I couldn’t even unlock it. I walked around and around its indifferent
silver body pressing buttons on the remote control, until finally I lost my
temper and delivered almighty kick to one of the tyres, shouting, “Come on, you
fucking fucker of a thing!” Amazingly, it worked. On the next press, the car
bleeped and the doors unlocked obediently, as if to say, “I don’t know what you
were making such a fuss about. Woman drivers!”

Then
I had to figure out how to adjust the seat so it was in the right place for me
and not for Jonathan, which took another quarter of an hour and left me
sweating and furious. I was still in the clothes I’d put on the previous
morning to go and meet Felix – I hadn’t eaten or slept for twenty-four hours
and, I realised, I was in no state to drive. But there was nothing for it – I
needed to get to my daughter.

I
gave up on trying to figure out the sat nav. I’d have to get there the
old-fashioned way, using street signs and memory. I carefully reversed out of
the parking space and headed towards the exit in a series of jerks, my knuckles
white on the steering wheel.

By
the time I got to the motorway, I’d reached something of an armed truce with
the car and my breathing had returned to normal. Just take it slowly, Laura, I
told myself – don’t crash, and don’t fall asleep, and it will all be okay. Then
I realised that Darcey might not be okay, and a fresh wave of panic washed over
me.

How
could I have abandoned her, gone chasing off after Felix and left my little
girl in harm’s way? I remembered how, when she was born, I’d looked into her
eyes for the first time, and whispered, “I promise I’ll never let anything bad
happen to you.”

I
remembered how, in the first exhausted confusion of learning how to look after
her, I’d squirted baby shampoo into my own eyes to find out if it really didn’t
sting. I remembered walking the streets for hours and hours with her in her
sling, because that was the only thing that seemed to stop her crying. I
remembered when that didn’t work and I ended up crying too, thinking that I
must be a total failure as a mother if I couldn’t even comfort my own baby.

I’d
failed her now – and it was through my own selfishness.

Right
now, my daughter could be lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by wires and
tubes, in pain and frightened. And I didn’t even know which hospital she was
in, because in my panic to get the latest update from Sadie before I left New
York, I hadn’t asked, thinking I’d call when I landed. And now I couldn’t,
because I wasn’t even competent enough to charge a phone.

And
Jonathan wasn’t there. The one person I needed, I trusted to be by my side, a
loving, steadying presence, talking me down when I was being ridiculous, making
me laugh when I was at my lowest ebb. The person who loved our children as much
as I did. If Jonathan had been there, he would have reassured me that it wasn’t
my fault, that there was no point panicking, that Darcey would be looked after
by professionals who saw children with bangs to the head every day. But he
wasn’t there. He wasn’t there because only one of us really needed to be,
because he had other responsibilities, and because however much he wanted to,
however much he longed to rush back to our little girl, he’d had to do his duty
for his employer, trusting me to care for our family.

But
I hadn’t – I’d placed it all in jeopardy in the worst, most selfish way. I was
alone in this crisis, without my husband, and the horrible magnitude of the row
we’d had made me doubt he would ever be with me again. Thinking of Jonathan
made me start to cry again, and the road ahead of me blurred with tears.

I
was still crying when I drove through the red-brick gateposts and on to the
crunching gravel drive that led to Sadie’s house. I forced myself to pull over,
blow my nose and compose myself – I didn’t want Owen to see me in this state. I
sipped water, snatched a few deep breaths, and drove up to the house, ready to
find out the full horror of the news that awaited me.

The
first person I saw was Owen, riding a yellow toy tractor across the lawn. As
soon as he spotted the car, he jumped off and came running over.

“Mummy!”

“Hello,
Muffin,” I picked him up and pressed his solid little body to my chest, trying
not to cry again. “I’ve missed you so much. Have you had a lovely time?”

“I
got a tractor,” he said. “It’s a toy one but I rode a real one with Uncle
Gareth. When I grow up I want to be a farmer too.”

“He
can have a job here any time he likes,” Gareth said, emerging from the house.
“Hello, Laura. You must be exhausted. We’ve been trying to call you but your
phone was off – was the flight okay?”

How
was the flight? Never mind the fucking flight, I thought, how was Darcey?

“Sadie
spoke to Jonathan earlier,” Gareth went on. “I’m awfully sorry we gave you both
such a fright. We tried to reach you but you’d obviously boarded the plane
already. Sadie and Darcey are down at the stables.” 

“What?”
My voice rose to a shriek.

“Yes,
when the hospital checked her over they assured us there was no harm done,”
Gareth said. “She gave us all a bit of a scare, falling on her head like that,
but riding helmets are pretty tough, and she’s tough too. We can go and find
them, if you like.”

Dazed,
I followed him round the house and through the avenue of trees that led to
Sadie’s domain.

She
was leaning on a fence post, watching a chestnut pony trotting round a paddock
in circles.

“Heels
down, Darcey,” she called. “That’s better. Back straight – oh, hello, Laura. We
were expecting you to ring.”

“Sadie,
what the fuck is my daughter doing on that horse?”

“Rising
trot,” Sadie said. “She’s going to make a lovely little rider, you know. What
happened yesterday wasn’t her fault at all, or Bumble’s. A bird scarer spooked
him – bloody things should be banned – and he took off. He’s normally pretty
bomb-proof but you just never know.”

Fury
and relief fought for the upper hand in my mind, and relief won.

I
climbed through the post-and-rail fence, and walked over to Darcey, trying to
assume a calm I didn’t feel.

“Hello,
Pickle.”

“Mummy!
Look, I can ride! Auntie Sadie said after you fall off you should get straight
back on, so I did. I went to hospital, you know.”

“I
know you did,” I said, through clenched teeth.

“Bumble
got a fright and bolted. He jumped over a log, but I only fell off afterwards,”
she said proudly. “Auntie Sadie says I’ve got a good seat.”

“It
certainly sounds like you do,” I said faintly. “Come on, why don’t you get off
and give me a hug?”

“Don’t
you want to watch me do rising trot?”

“I
did just now, Pickle,” I said. “You looked great.”

“Come
on, Darcey,” Sadie said. “I think Bumble’s had enough for one afternoon. Show
Mummy how you dismount.”

Darcey
took her feet out of the stirrups, swung one leg over the pony’s hindquarters
and slid to the ground, looping the reins over her arms like a pro. Only when
she’d taken off its saddle and bridle and fed it a carrot would she let me hug
her.

The
sun had brought out new freckles on her nose and lightened her hair. She
smelled of saddles and fresh air, and she looked completely happy.

I’d
promised to protect my baby girl but, I realised, it simply wasn’t going to be
possible. However much I longed to wrap her in cotton wool and keep her safe
like the precious treasure she was, I wouldn’t be able to. She’d have
accidents, she’d fail at things she desperately wanted to succeed in, she’d
make bad decisions. One day, hopefully a long time in the future, someone would
break her heart. But for now, she was confident, courageous and glowing with
pride – I couldn’t let my own fears for her show.

“Can
I have riding lessons when we go back to London, Mummy? Please, please can I?
I’ll never ask for anything again, ever.”

I
looked at Sadie and we exchanged a smile. I wanted to wring my sister’s neck,
but I also loved her for being part of Darcey’s discovery of something she
adored.

“I’ll
have to talk to Daddy,” I said.

I
did indeed have to talk to Jonathan, but it proved to be harder than I
expected. Not to get through to him, but to communicate about what, now I knew
Darcey was safe and well, was troubling me.

“Laura?
Is she okay?” he said, answering his phone on the first ring. “I talked to
Sadie while you were flying, but…”

“She’s
fine,” I said. “Absolutely fine. She fell off and hit her head, and she was a
bit woozy afterwards, Sadie says, so they took her to be checked out just in
case. But there’s nothing wrong with her at all. She was back on the fuc— back
on the horse today when I arrived.”

“That’s
my girl,” Jonathan said. “Can I talk to her?”

I
passed the phone over to Darcey.

“Hello,
Daddy,” she said, suddenly shy.

I
hovered and listened while she told him everything she’d told me about how
wonderful Bumble was, and how it hadn’t been his fault she’d fallen off, and
launched an impassioned plea for a pony of her own. Half an hour before it had
just been riding lessons – clearly our daughter could sense the thin end of the
wedge.

Then
Jonathan wanted to talk to Owen, and I heard one side of a long conversation
about tractors.

“It’s
like a fire engine, only better,” Owen said, and I wondered how on earth
Jonathan and I, the most urban couple in the world, ever, had given birth to
two children whose spiritual home seemed to be the countryside.

For
a moment, I imagined moving to a little cottage in a village somewhere, with
roses growing up the wall and an apple tree in the garden. I’d learn to make
jam and cheer my daughter on from the sidelines at gymkhanas. Owen would join
the Young Farmers. Jonathan would – no. It was unthinkable. No one needed
management consultants in the country. And besides, right now I didn’t even
know whether I had a marriage any more.

“Can
I talk to Daddy again, darling?”

Owen
handed my phone reluctantly back.

Sadie
said, “Come on, you two, let’s go and see how the kittens are doing,” and the
children ran eagerly after her.

“So,
yeah, they’re fine, as you can hear,” I said. “Listen, Jonathan, we need to
talk about stuff.”

“We
do,” he said. “But right now isn’t the time, Laura. I’m sorry, but I don’t have
the headspace for it right now. Things are crazy here. There’s – just one
second – okay, Wanda, I’ll be right there. I have to go. I’ll be home on
Thursday, we’ll speak then.”

I
said, “Okay, we’ll speak then.”

He
ended the call and I looked at my phone for a moment, wishing that its smooth
blank screen could communicate Jonathan’s thoughts to me across the miles that
separated us. But it couldn’t, of course.

And
then Sadie came bustling in and said, “Tea’s ready, Laura, you must be
starving,” and I realised that I was.

Over
sausages, buttery mashed potato and peas, I gave the edited highlights of my
adventures in New York, telling the kids about the subway and the skyscrapers
and the horses that took tourists around Central Park in carriages. I didn’t
mention Felix at all – the time I’d spent with him felt like it had happened to
another person in another lifetime. Which, in a way, it had.