The Forever Home by Sue Watson

Chapter Seven

In the early morning, during half-dreams about Erin and a baby, I woke up thinking the smashing sound I could hear was me hitting Erin over the head with something. But it wasn’t in my dream, it was real and coming from downstairs. I sat bolt upright in bed, my chest tight with fear. I glanced at the time: 6.17 a.m. What the hell was going on? As I now lived alone, I felt more vulnerable than usual, and was scared to go downstairs in case someone was there. I waited to hear if there was any more noise, but apart from the thudding of my heart, there was nothing. So after a few more minutes, I grabbed one of Jake’s baseball bats from his bedroom, and slowly headed downstairs, creeping in bare feet one step at a time.

As soon as I walked into the living room, I turned on the light, and saw it. My favourite vase, a huge, handmade one that I’d bought from an art fair in town years ago. I loved that vase; it was more like a sculpture, rough in texture, blue and green and foamy, the colours and textures reminiscent of the sea. Now it was in a million pieces on the floor, and Miss Anderson was sitting daintily by the window watching me, like butter wouldn’t melt.

‘Oh bloody hell, Miss A, I wish you’d be more careful,’ I said, upset about my vase, but deeply relieved. Then I realised I was talking to the cat and I needed to get a grip. My heart rate had now returned to normal, but what was happening to me? I was becoming a neurotic mess.

I was still sweeping shards of blue off the floor when Ryan arrived for work.

‘You’re early,’ I said. It was only 7 a.m.

‘Yeah, I want to make an early start,’ he said absently, while watching me sweep the floor. I looked up and, before he asked, I told him, ‘Miss Anderson, the cat, knocked a vase over this morning, and there are glassy bits everywhere – I’m still clearing it up.’

‘It looks like it was a pretty big vase,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Surely it was too heavy for a cat to knock over?’ By now Miss A was winding around his legs. ‘You didn’t do it, did you, Miss Anderson?’ he said, bending down and picking her up.

‘She likes to be called Miss A,’ I said with a smile. ‘Like me, she finds her full title very ageing.’

He laughed. ‘I’m sure she does,’ he was still holding her, stroking her chin. ‘But she’s refusing to take the blame for that vase. Big vase, little cat? It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, would it, Miss A?’ he joked, putting her back down on the floor.

Thinking about it, he was right, the vase was really heavy and Miss A was very light, and though her nocturnal wanderings had caused some breakages before, it had only ever been a wine glass or something very small. But if it wasn’t Miss A, then how did the vase fall?

We didn’t get chance to discuss it further as I got a text just then from Mark saying he was outside. My heart sank. For months now we’d spoken only through solicitors and I still wasn’t ready to see him in the flesh. But he was already knocking at the door. At least he hadn’t just used his key, but then his manners were never the issue.

I didn’t want him inside the house. I was just beginning to start afresh and I couldn’t bear for him to bring everything into our home, and infect it with his ill-gotten happiness. Apart from the kids, and Ryan, no one had been to the house. I’d kept all the pain outside my door, not seeing people, not answering the phone or anyone’s knock. A couple of friends had, at first, left a cake or a pie on the doorstep, like I was sick and needed nourishment. It was kind of them, but I didn’t need their baked goods, I needed time and solitude to heal. Though we had our problems, Mark had been my husband, my companion for a quarter of a century; he was, I suppose, like all long-term partners, the devil I knew. It wasn’t a marriage, it was a big agreement to differ – but it was still hard to detach myself. Like ripping a plaster off, I suppose.

What hurt me most and made me angry in the wee small hours when I was awoken by something and nothing was that I’d lost my future – the one I’d envisaged anyway. We’d planned for this, our third act in life – we’d talked often about the Maldives, the Canadian Rockies, an Australian odyssey. Anything and everything was possible, we’d bought the guidebooks, made lists of the places we’d like to visit. But first the plan was to go to the US, fly to San Francisco, and drive along the Pacific Coast Highway, landing somewhere near LA where we’d rent a place while Mark filmed the programme. At the risk of sounding bitter – and who can blame me? – Mark still had that future, the only adjustment for him was that he’d be accompanied on his journey by a different woman. But, for me, all those plans, all that big, wide open future, had suddenly shrunk. And it wasn’t because I’d clung to my husband’s career, or defined myself by him. I’d been part of his journey – I was the one who got him there. And here we were now, standing, oceans apart, in the doorway of the home we once shared, where we’d made love, celebrated birthdays, where our babies had become children, the place where we’d kept our secrets for all those years.

‘Invite me in, Carly,’ he asked without making eye contact.

‘I can’t.’ I shook my head, my eyes so full of tears, I thought they might land on him.

‘Please, let’s not talk here. I need to see you. We need to work all this out.’ His face was pleading.

‘There’s nothing left to work out.’

‘Hey, Carly,’ he said in that warm sing-song voice he used when he wanted something.

‘No.’

But I knew I was being petty, so opened the door, turned my back and trudged down the hall like a sulky teenager. He followed behind. I plonked myself on one sofa while he sat down on the other.

‘So what have you been up to?’ he asked, like we’d met the previous week, like he hadn’t ripped up my life and handed my future to another woman.

‘This and that,’ I said, with a tight smile. ‘Oh, I had a lovely note from one of your fans, telling me I was basically going to be murdered in my bed, now I lived alone. That was nice.’

‘Oh dear. Erin’s getting weird messages on her Instagram too.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said in a fake bright voice. ‘Did she tell you we bumped into each other, stopped for a nice chat?’ I said sarcastically.

‘She mentioned something. And then there was the message you left on my phone about it.’

I smiled. ‘My God, Mark, all the years you’ve tried to hide things, and in a matter of moments that girl will get you into all kinds of trouble.’

‘Don’t,’ he said, and put his head in his hands.

‘Oh dear, what a nightmare for you,’ I said, my words laced with sarcasm. ‘Is she not keeping to her script like I did?’ What sweet justice that would be. ‘You had something to hold over me, but not with her; she will sell you down the river the first time you cross her,’ I warned, shaking my head. ‘One false move and she’ll be on that phone singing like a canary to the Daily Mail. And there you’ll be, global at last – on the sidebar of shame.’

He sighed. ‘Oh, it’s all so hard, I don’t think she understands what it’s like for me.’

‘For you?’ I almost fell off the sofa. ‘She tore me into shreds, in front of a whole café. I was mortified.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry about… whatever happened when you two bumped into each other yesterday,’ he said, wafting his hand dismissively.

‘So am I. She was vile, Mark.’

‘Yes, well in her defence, it might be her… condition. And she’s very stressed about these anonymous Instagram messages she’s been receiving.’

‘Oh no. There weren’t any nasty swear words in them, were there? I mean, she’s such a delicate flower.’ I covered my mouth with my hand in mock horror.

He shifted in his seat, clearly not amused. ‘Look, don’t take this the wrong way, Carly, but we wondered if… do you know anything about them?’ He spoke gently, tipping his head to one side and adopting the ‘pity’ face others had recently when asking how I was.

‘Piss off, Mark,’ I spat, turning away. ‘Of course I don’t, I’m not twelve.’ I could imagine them whispering about me, the two of them lying in bed wondering if I had lost it and started sending sweet little Erin cruel messages.

‘I had to ask; it’s an anonymous account, we don’t know who—’

‘Can you just stop?’ I said, raising my hands, palms up. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have let you in. You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already accusing me of—’

‘Carly, I’m so sorry… it’s just that we—’

‘No. No you’re NOT sorry,’ I roared, stinging at the way he now used ‘we’ to mean her and him, not me and him, as it had always been.

‘Carly… I—’

‘Please don’t speak, Mark. I need a minute to calm down.’

He did as I’d asked, and I got up and walked through to the kitchen area where I made some coffee. He followed me through and sat in silence, like a stranger in our kitchen, the one he’d built with his own hands.

‘Why are you here anyway? I thought we were talking through solicitors?’ I asked.

‘I came to see if you were okay, if you’re coping,’ he said softly, like he cared.

‘Coping? Without you, you mean?’ My wall came right up. ‘I’m doing great thanks.’ I set three mugs on the kitchen worktop and spooned coffee into them while waiting for the kettle to boil.

‘Have you seen the kids?’ he asked.

‘They call most days; they came for Sunday lunch last week.’

He nodded. ‘All good?’

‘As good as they can be. But I think it’s time you made contact with them.

‘It’s a bit difficult…’

‘You have to see them, Mark.’

‘It’s just… Erin would find it uncomfortable.’

‘Wow,’ I turned around and stood facing him, shaking my head, hand on hip. God, he was insensitive, and so selfish. How did I ever think this man was kind? He couldn’t even put his kids before his new girlfriend.

‘She would find it uncomfortable? She doesn’t have to be there!’ I hissed angrily. ‘In fact I’m sure the kids would prefer that she wasn’t, imagine how uncomfortable it would make them to have her there?’

‘I know, I know, but she’d probably want to be there, she’s a bit… insecure, with the pregnancy and everything.’

‘I can imagine, poor lamb,’ I turned back to make the coffee, unable to even look at him.

‘Don’t be like that, Carly,’ he said dismissively.

‘No, honestly. I’m genuinely sorry that my children make your woman-child feel so insecure. If it’s any comfort to her, the new baby will, I’m sure, make your other children equally insecure.’

He didn’t speak, and I began wiping down the kitchen counter wordlessly, as inside I raged.

‘I don’t want any – problems when the baby’s born. I really don’t want to hurt the kids,’ he said eventually.

‘I’m afraid that train has gone, Mark,’ I sighed.

I turned back to the mugs, straightening them in a line unnecessarily. I couldn’t bear to hear any more information regarding his new baby. I couldn’t get over how much it stung, even now, when I thought I’d come to terms with the situation. But it was the kids I hurt for – my kids. No one hurts my kids. And for that I would never forgive him.

‘I’ve dreaded coming to see you,’ he said, as I poured boiling water onto coffee grains, wishing I could pour it on him.

‘After what you did, I’m surprised you’ve had the bloody nerve to dare come here.’

‘I didn’t expect you to make me coffee either,’ he remarked, taking the cup from my hands.

‘You’re lucky I haven’t thrown it on you,’ I said. The grateful victim act might wash with young, infatuated women, but I wasn’t in the mood, and it was old. Very old.

‘I forgot how feisty you can be.’

‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t waste good coffee on you now.’

‘Charmer,’ he said, and I couldn’t help it, I smiled.

He saw this as his way in, his path to forgiveness. Mark had to be loved, by everyone, even me now after all he’d done. ‘Let’s talk this through like friends, not enemies, Carly. It will be so much harder if we hate each other – after all we had, we should be kind.’

‘Kind? Did you just say kind?’ His audacity was beyond my anger.

‘I’m sorry, that was probably the wrong word—’

‘I don’t think kindness was on anyone’s agenda when you and that… girl jumped into bed together.’

‘No, I… It’s just that everyone’s using it, hashtag be kind, hashtag kill with kindness, and you know what a whore I am for a hashtag.’

‘Hashtag whore?’ I suggested, with a smile. ‘Seriously though, Mark, have you any idea how ridiculous you are? You’re the human embodiment of a midlife crisis.’

‘I am only too aware of that,’ he sighed.

His calm acceptance of what he was made me angry again. I wanted to lash out at him.

‘You’re superficial, materialistic, shallow, fake. Feel free to use all the above hashtags, you dickhead.’

‘Do you feel better for getting that off your chest?’ he said, seemingly unmoved by my attack.

‘Yes, I bloody do.’

‘Good… for a moment, I was impressed by your vocabulary, and you had to spoil it all with dickhead.’ He had a pained expression on his face intended to amuse.

Once, that would have made me laugh, but not now. I ignored his attempt at humour. ‘I have no feelings left for you, you do realise that?’

‘I think you may have hinted at it, my love,’ he joked.

‘I’m not your love,’ I snapped. It was too soon, and I’d been too humiliated for our bad marriage to become a good friendship.

‘Why have you made an extra cup of coffee?’ he suddenly asked, intrigued by the third mug sitting on the counter.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ I said, reaching for the mug. ‘It’s for Ryan Jarvis, he’s doing some work – on the house.’

‘The house doesn’t need any work,’ he said, bristling; he didn’t like his territory being invaded by other men. How ironic.

‘There are cracks all down the exterior – Ryan says it probably started years ago. You were too busy to notice,’ I added, knowing this would sting far more than ‘dickhead’.

‘You should have asked me, I could have come over and filled it in, or at least got one of my contractors to look at it.’

‘But you don’t live here now, Mark. It’s not your responsibility, so why would I?’

He shrugged, but I saw his jaw tighten; this had angered him. Good.

I left him to stew and carried Ryan’s coffee outside to him.

‘Aren’t you going to join me for my coffee break?’ he asked. It felt like he was flirting.

‘No – Mark’s here.’ I rolled my eyes slightly, and he mirrored it, pulling an ‘awkward’ face.

I headed back into the house, but couldn’t resist turning round to watch Ryan wandering down the garden to sit in the sunshine and drink his coffee. His T-shirt fit his firm, muscular body, and I realised I liked the way he walked, as though he had all the time in the world. How I longed to drink coffee outside with him, away from Mark and all the tension and resentment that he’d brought into the house and stirred up in me.

‘How much are you paying him?’ Mark asked when I stepped back into the house. He’d obviously been watching from inside. I hoped he’d seen our flirty encounter too – not that I cared, but I had an urge to hit him back. I wanted him to know that being flirtatious wasn’t only for middle-aged men and younger women, it worked the other way round too. He’d done so much damage, and at times I just wanted to hurt him. I was surprised at my own feelings. Was I really so lacking in self-control that I wanted to throw hot coffee on him? Looking at him now, he seemed tired and old. How ironic that he’d swapped me for a much younger model in a vain attempt to recapture his youth. But Erin was no old man’s darling, and after her previous day’s performance in the tearooms, I could only imagine how high-maintenance she was, and how she had him dancing to her stiff little tune.

‘So, how much are you paying him, the Jarvis lad?’ Mark repeated.

‘It’s none of your business what I’m paying him.’

‘I assume it’s coming from our joint account?’

‘Yes, the same joint account you use to pay that obscene monthly rental on the country house you’ve put your new child in. And her baby when it arrives,’ I added.

‘It’s a tiny cottage, not a country house,’ he snapped, but Phoebe told me she’d googled his new address, and it wasn’t a tiny cottage. I guess it suited their ‘narrative’. It would justify their ‘Carly is rattling around that big house’ trope they kept wheeling out.

‘Oh yes, Erin made quite a thing about how small your rented cottage is when I saw her. And apparently I’m a selfish old cow for not just handing my house over to my husband and his lover.’

He looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, she shouldn’t have said that.’

‘No, Mark. You shouldn’t have told her it was your house. I know exactly what you’re up to, lying to her, lying to me, and we fall out with each other. Meanwhile, you sit shaking your head on the sidelines at woman’s inhumanity to woman. You’re such a manipulative bastard.’

‘Ouch, Carly,’ he said, playing the victim. Again. ‘Anyway, she’s right, our rented cottage is going to be far too small for three of us,’ he went on, ignoring me.

I’d forgotten about that, how he never really listened, or paid me any attention. I hadn’t noticed, I’d just grown accustomed to it, I suppose.

‘Erin says she has some really happy memories here,’ he continued. ‘You remember how she loved playing in the garden, staying over… and look, I know you like living here, but what about somewhere new, somewhere a bit smaller that you can manage on your own?’

I simmered, just hoping he didn’t say anything else because I might just boil over.

‘Please don’t even go there…’ I started.

‘Where?’ he asked, playing the innocent.

‘The land of make-believe, that’s where! Don’t ever think that you or her are coming anywhere near this house. We’ve already agreed that as soon as this divorce is finalised, I’m getting your half back as part of the settlement,’ I said, with a warning look. ‘And let’s just rewind that last comment, shall we?’ As sick as this sounds, I was actually starting to enjoy myself; this had been a long time coming. For years I’d just had to sit back and let things slide, for him, for the sake of his career, but not any more. ‘Your girlfriend has some “wonderful memories”? I’m sure she does, of “kind, old uncle Mark” giving her piggybacks, throwing her in the air, teaching her to play cricket along with the other kids?’

He was about to smile in recognition of all this, then realised I was being sarcastic, and scowled.

‘You have to admit, it’s bloody weird. Do you think you might have… issues?’ I asked.

‘No, I don’t,’ he snapped. ‘Erin’s grown up now. I don’t see the child, I see the woman.’

‘I’m sorry, Mark, but I see only the child,’ I said, wanting to hurt him, humiliate him as he had me. ‘How do you wake up in the night, look across at the person next to you and not see that child?’ I asked as I continued to twist the knife. ‘You used to read her bedtime stories – honestly, it gives me the creeps.’ I added a shudder for good measure, although in truth it wasn’t much of an act.

‘Oh Carly, you really do sound like some old fuddy-duddy now.’ He rolled his eyes.

And I was so incensed by his dismissive attitude, he should have been so ashamed, I said, ‘I was talking to a reporter, and he said the whole thing creeped him out too.’

The colour instantly drained from Mark’s face, and all I could think was, Bull’s eye!

‘You haven’t spoken… you didn’t tell them…?’ He could barely say the words.

I gave it a few seconds to torture him, then answered, ‘No. Not yet anyway.’

‘Don’t threaten me.’

‘Moi?’ I put on a fake innocent face.

‘You’re being poisonous, Carly, it doesn’t become you,’ he spat. I’d finally touched a nerve; his public persona was all he really cared about, and for once, I held his fate in my hands.

I just shook my head. There were no words.

‘It wouldn’t be in your interests either for anything to come out in the papers,’ he sighed. ‘Remember, you’re not exactly perfect yourself, are you?’

For a few seconds we just stared at each other across the kitchen, both keepers of each other’s secrets. How long would this go on? Would there always be this stalemate?

‘Anyway, now we’ve established that no one is running to the press, I’ve come to talk to you about far more interesting things.’ He settled back in his chair, relieved I hadn’t sung like a canary to one of Britain’s tabloids. ‘Firstly, the producer of the US show has sent me some scripts – but they’re a bit… American?’

‘And why are you telling me this?’

‘Well, I could probably do with adding something of myself to them, you know, my personality, my little jokes… light and shade.’ He shifted slightly as he said this; he knew what he was asking of me, and I was going to make him ask.

I laughed. ‘You mean my personality, my little jokes… my light and shade?’

‘Okay, okay. Anyway, I wondered if you’d mind looking over them, just a quick glance – see if there’s anything… you’d include?’

So that was why he was here. He wanted something from me. I should have known, and to think I half-expected some kind of apology, atonement, but this was low, even for him.

I stood up, and walked across the room to take myself away for a moment.

‘So? You know the way the scripts work – this is important, Carly. And I hoped you might just take a few minutes to look at them?’

‘No,’ I said, watching Ryan walk back up the garden, not even bothering to turn round and address Mark.

‘What? Why?’

‘For the same reason I haven’t asked you to weatherproof the house – we aren’t together any more, Mark! You aren’t my responsibility now, you are someone else’s – get Erin to give your scripts the once-over – I’m sure she’d be happy to.’

‘You know she doesn’t write. You had to virtually write her essays for her when she had homework from school.’

‘Yeah, and look at the thanks I get.’ I almost smiled at this myself.

He ignored my attempt at humour and continued, a little more tentatively. ‘Thing is – she’s tired all the time.’

‘Well, as much as it kills me to be on team Erin, she is pregnant.’

He sighed. ‘Yeah, but as you know, this is a really important time in my career – this is make or break. I need her to be at events with me, gladhanding the press, the producers.’

‘I don’t think “gladhanding” is Erin’s forte.’

‘I’m not sure what her forte is to be honest with you. She just spends an awful lot of time sleeping.’

‘Oh no, she’s not putting her unborn baby before your career, is she?’ I shook my head in mock outrage. ‘I always knew she was selfish! Next time you impregnate a young woman, ask to see their CV first. Looks like this one’s absolutely useless.’

He made a grunting noise. I wasn’t doing what he wanted; he’d thought he could sweep over to the house, ask me to write his scripts and I’d just do it. But in his absence, I’d grown, I used to be his support, the loyal wife he knew he could rely on, but now I was a loose cannon and it scared him. I liked it. I was now seeing him objectively, observing the dynamic of our marriage through his new relationship. Mark expected so much from his partner, assuming they’d feel the same as him, that his career was the apex of everything, including family. And when we were first together, I’d not only accepted this, I’d embraced it, put my own career on the backburner and gave everything to his. I realised now everything I’d sacrificed, everything I’d lost, was so he could gain.

‘So you won’t go over my scripts, even though this deal is the most important in my career?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said in a small voice, luring him in. I now had something he wanted, and realised that us being apart had put me in the driving seat for the first time ever.

‘Carly, please,’ he said, then his voice changed. ‘I need to impress them. We’re almost inking the deal, but a couple of execs on the US side are still not sure, but if I have a good script…?’ He sighed. ‘I’ve already told the UK company that I’m going. They’re looking for someone else now, I’m at the point of no return.’

‘I know it’s supposed to be a good thing, ambition, but it can also be a monkey on your back. It’s a curse, you’re never satisfied. What happens when you get to LA and you don’t like the view, Mark?’

‘I… I will, and the money will be amazing.’

‘Yeah, I guess it will,’ I sighed, ‘but it isn’t everything.’

‘This time it’s going to work out, it’ll be everything I always wanted,’ Mark replied.

I shook my head. I’d heard it all before: the next time would be the one, just one more bet on the horses, one more drink, one more ambitious career move. ‘What’s the phrase, this time next year we’ll be millionaires?’

‘Something like that,’ he said with a smile.

‘Good luck to you,’ I said, and meant it. I didn’t care about the money, I just wanted enough so I could keep my home. I wasn’t going to pander to Mark’s needs. This was my time now, and I was going to make sure I got what I wanted.