There’s an awkward silence. “Do you think,” Emma says after a while, “that you and Dan are going to get back together? Because even though it’s none of my business, nobody seems to understand why you’re apart, and you know all marriages go through their bad patches, but to make something lasting you have to work at it.”
I look up at Emma in amazement. “Since when did you take a course in marriage guidance?”
“Oh, you know. Marriage counselor. Stylist. Dermatologist. There really is no end to my talents.” She laughs before continuing. “So? Will you get back together?”
“I hope so,” I say before I’ve had a chance to think about it, and the picture of shock on Emma’s face perfectly matches my own.
After she leaves I put Tom to bed, take off my makeup, pull on my pajamas, climb into bed, and switch off the light. I lie there for a while, thinking first about Emma, but then after a while my thoughts go back to where they’ve gone back to every night since last Saturday.
To Charlie Dutton. And again, as I always do, I go over the events of the evening, replaying every look, every word. Thinking again about all the things that didn’t happen but could have. It’s the right thing, I think.
But why do I feel just the slightest hint of disappointment?
26
We do have to talk.
Eleven weeks later Dan and I still haven’t spoken, and now I realize that we have to figure out what is going on in our lives, whether indeed we do have a life together, or whether this separation is going to lead to something more permanent.
I still can’t quite believe what I said to Emma. That my subconscious took over and said those words when I wasn’t even aware of feeling them, hadn’t thought for a moment that I wanted to get back with Dan.
Even now, I’m not sure. But I do know that I miss him. I miss being part of a couple. I miss having him around. I miss having someone to do things with.
Trish asked me whether I missed someone or whether I actually missed Dan, and I suppose I’m still trying to figure that one out.
I had thought for a while that I was missing being part of a couple, but I do miss Dan. I miss the Dan I married, not the Dan of recent months. I miss the Dan who made me laugh, who looked after me, who made me feel there was no greater feeling in the world than being able to wake up and look over at your best friend lying beside you.
I honestly don’t know if there’s a way for us to find our way back to each other. If Dan could be the man I married, I’d go back with him tomorrow. But I am not pretending to be the innocent party here. I think back to when we were married, to how young I was, how naive, and how happy, and I know that I need to rediscover that person as well, need to find that joy within myself before we have a hope in hell.
But one thing remains clear. We do have to talk.
Eleven weeks after I reveal to Emma that I hope we get back together, May nineteenth, to be precise, I call Dan on his mobile—I can’t call him at Linda and Michael’s, am not ready to talk to them. My heart beats wildly as the phone rings. I know he’ll see it’s my number, will have the ability to decide whether or not to answer, but the phone rings and rings, and eventually switches over to voice mail.
In some ways I am relieved. Easier to leave a message than to actually have to speak. And this doesn’t have to mean Dan is avoiding me: his phone is probably, as it usually is, snuggled deep in a pocket, or at the bottom of a bag, somewhere where he won’t hear it.
“Hi, Dan. It’s me. Um, Ellie. Look, I’m really just phoning because it’s been nearly three months since we’ve spoken and I think we need to talk. There’s so much that hasn’t been said, and I’d really like…” Oh, God. Do I do it? Do I put my cards on the table? I take a deep breath. “I’d really like to see whether we can make things work. I mean, Tom misses you so much, and this all seems so pointless somehow. So anyway…” Shit. Was I wrong? Should I not have said it? Too late now. “So maybe you can call me when you get back? Maybe we can talk this weekend?” I have said too much. Way, way too much. I put down the phone and feel utterly miserable.
“How are you?” Fran’s on the phone, and I can tell from the way she’s asking that she knows about Dan and me.
Not that I didn’t want her to know, but I’m just so tired of talking about it. Of trying to explain why when I’m not even sure of the reasons myself. And everyone wants to help. Everyone wants to invite me over, take me out for dinner, gaze at me with sad puppy-dog eyes as they tell me they’re there for me if I ever want to talk.
“I’m fine,” I say curtly, softening as I realize that this isn’t just anyone; this is Fran. Lovely Fran, whom I probably should have phoned. “You know, don’t you?”
“I did hear something,” she says sheepishly. “And I didn’t believe it. You know how rumors are, so I thought I’d better phone and see first, if it’s true, and second, if it is, if there’s anything I can do.”
“Well, yes. First, it is true, and second, no, there’s nothing you can do, although I would love to see you.”
“So he was beating you up, then?” Fran says as I gasp in horror.
“God, no! That’s terrible. Is that what people are saying?”
She snorts with laughter. “No. Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I just heard you were separated. I couldn’t believe it, Ellie. I mean, I thought you and Dan were so happy together.”
“Not really,” I sigh. “We hadn’t been for a long time, but I’m sure it’s not permanent. Actually, I probably shouldn’t say that. Who knows what’s going to happen, but I hope we’ll find a way through it. Who told you anyway? Sally?”
“No. I don’t even think Sally knows. It was Charlie Dutton, actually. He was here for supper last week. I have to say it was a bit embarrassing. He was asking all about you and I didn’t want to tell him that you’d dropped off the scene and hadn’t returned any of my calls. I had to pretend I knew all about it.”
“I’m sorry, Fran,” I say. “Really. I’ve been crap at keeping in touch with people. After the accident, life became so confusing, and I just hid away from everyone. But I’ve missed you.”
“We miss you too. We’d love to see you. Charlie Dutton would love to see you too,” she adds, and I can practically picture the mischievous grin on her face.
“What do you mean?” I feign innocence in a bid to find out more.
“Nothing,” she says lightly, all innocence herself.
“Oh, come on,” I plead, not that I’m interested, but if he’s interested, it would be a lovely boost for my ego, which may sound selfish, but God knows my ego could do with a boost right now.
“He said he bumped into you the other night and you ended up spending the evening together. He also said he thinks you’re incredibly sexy.”
“He didn’t!”
“He did!”
“But I’m not sexy!” I’m grinning like the Cheshire cat. No one’s called me sexy in years. I’m not sexy. I’m a mother. A dowdy mum who spends most of her time makeup free in Gap sweatpants and trainers, apart from when I made the effort to meet Lisa and ended up bumping into Charlie Dutton.
“I know!” she laughs. “I tried to tell him you’re not sexy, but he wouldn’t hear any of it.”
“Oh, thanks a lot!”
“I’m just joking. But seriously, he seemed to really like you. He was bombarding me with questions about you.”
“Such as?”
“He wanted to know everything.”
“God, how flattering.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you. Are you interested in him?”
I pause, trying to lay the flattery aside for an instant, trying to figure out the true answer. “You know, if I were still single, I’m sure I’d be interested, and yes, I do think he’s very attractive, and in different circumstances I could definitely fancy him, but I’m really not ready for anything. I’m only separated, and if Dan and I get back together, I’d never forgive myself if anything had happened.”
“So y
ou don’t fancy him even a little bit?”
“Oh, okay,” I grumble, remembering the surge of desire I felt when I was with him. “I do fancy him a little bit. But I’m not going to do anything about it, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, happy that she finally got it out of me. “So if Marcus and I insist you come out for dinner with us on Thursday, should we bring Charlie or not?”
“Not!” I practically yell. “Definitely not. I’m not going to see him again. Honestly. I’m not interested.”
“Okay, okay, calm down. I only asked. But does that mean you’ll come out for dinner with Marcus and me, then?”
“You don’t mind my being the spare wheel?”
“I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
“Okay. Let me see if I can sort out babysitting, and, providing I can, I’d love to. But no single-man surprises, okay? Charlie Dutton or otherwise.”
“Okay, okay,” she grumbles. “No single-man surprises. It will just be you and Marcus and me.”
I tiptoe quietly into Tom’s room to check on him before I go to bed. His night-light casts a soft glow, just enough to illuminate his toys. I walk over to where he lies, smiling as I look down.
The smell of vomit is undeniable, and I see Tom, fast asleep, lying in a pool of dried vomit.
“Shit!” I whisper, panicking slightly as I turn on the light and Tom stirs, opening his eyes and starting to cry.
I feel his forehead, but there’s no fever, and kissing him softly I soothe him as I take him into the bathroom to sponge him down.
“It’s all right, darling,” I croon, unsnapping his sodden sleep suit and peeling it off, lifting his vest over his head, trying hard not to make more of a mess than there is already. “Mummy’s here,” I say, and I try not to let his cries pierce my heart as I wash the vomit out of his hair.
I bring him back into the bedroom and lay him on the changing table, getting him quickly dressed again. He’s wide awake now, chattering away, and I sit him in his bouncy chair on the floor to change the sheets.
“Bleeuurgh.” I turn around and Tom is throwing up again—one huge projectile covering his new clean pajamas, covering the bouncy chair, covering the carpet.
“Oh, shit.”
He starts to wail again, and I pick him up, take him back to the bathroom, and start all over again.
By two o’clock in the morning he has thrown up three more times, and I am rocking him to sleep in my arms. I’m exhausted. I can’t decide whether to call the doctor, but there’s no fever, nothing else apart from the sickness, and I can’t bring myself to disturb the doctor in the middle of the night for something that probably isn’t serious.
So Tom and I rock together in the chair, and eventually he falls asleep in my arms, both of us too exhausted to move.
I bring him into my bedroom and place him on the bed next to me. I’m frightened he’ll throw up in his sleep again, so I turn the television on softly and stay awake until almost dawn, when sleep eventually gets the better of me and I drift off, sitting upright against the pillows.
This is so hard, I think, just before I drift off. Doing this all by myself is just so damn hard.
Fran hugs me very tightly. She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t need to—her hug reassures me more than words ever could.
And then Marcus hugs me, and we three pull apart and grin at one another.
“Good to see you, Ellie,” Marcus says. “We were beginning to think there was something wrong with us.”
“Nope. I’m just a poor friend. Sorry,” I offer.
“Don’t worry,” Fran says, elbowing Marcus. “God knows you’ve had enough on your plate to deal with.”
“So. We thought local, yes? The Chinese restaurant in Belsize Park? Is that okay?”
“Fine,” I say, grabbing my jacket from the hallway. “Perfect. As long as I can be in bed by nine, I’m happy.”
“I’m glad our company is that good.” Marcus raises an eyebrow as we walk out to his car.
“Don’t take it personally,” I laugh. “I’d feel that way even if I were having dinner with…” I struggle to think of someone.
“Charlie Dutton?” Marcus offers with a sardonic grin.
“Oh, shut up.” Now it’s my turn to shove him. “Especially with Charlie Dutton,” I say in a bid to defend myself. I turn to Fran. “Will you please stop bringing up Charlie Dutton? And, by the way, if he should by some huge coincidence just happen to stop by the restaurant tonight and find us sitting there, I will leave. Okay? Just for the record.”
“Bugger.” Marcus laughs. “You foiled my evil plan.”
“Don’t worry.” Fran links her arm through mine. “We have no evil plans. It’s just that you’re our friend and Charlie’s our friend, and it would be so nice, that’s all. If you were ready,” she adds hurriedly. “Which of course we both know you’re not.”
“So no more teasing about Charlie Dutton?” I ask.
“Fine.” Marcus shrugs. “I’ll stop if Fran stops.”
“Fine,” Fran says. “My four-year-old husband and I now promise to stop teasing you about Charlie Dutton.”
I am so used to being the third wheel with Fran and Marcus, having known them for so long before Dan ever came on the scene, that we fall straight back into the easy friendship we always had, and for a moment I forget that I am no longer the woman I was when I last had dinner with just the two of them, that I now have a child, a husband, a different life.
We talk, and laugh, and I know that I will not let such a long time pass before I see them again, that they are unquestionably within the category of closest friends, and that I was wrong to let our friendship slip because the four of us—Marcus, Fran, Dan, and I—never seemed to gel in quite the same way that the three of us do.
Not that Dan disliked them. He always said how nice they were, but the dynamic was always different, somehow more formal, and it’s something of a relief to see them without him.
Halfway through our second bottle of wine—which I have to say Fran and I are polishing off almost single-handedly—I get up to go to the loo, and as I weave my way through the busy restaurant, I glance around at all the people, everyone talking animatedly, everyone having a good time, and I think how good it feels to be back in the world again.
Because that is how it feels: as if I have been removed from real life. And now the clouds that kept me separate, that distanced me from everything for all those months, have finally lifted and I’m able to take my place in the land of the living, to feel happiness again.
I know it’s not because I’m on my own. I know that I am not happier because Dan is not with me, but that somehow his leaving acted as a form of catalyst, jolted me back into life, forced me back to reality.
I smile as I enjoy the feeling, and then I see them. Tucked into a corner I notice a girl, and I only notice her because she’s so pretty. Long glossy brunette hair, big green eyes, and she’s gazing adoringly at her date.
And of course my eyes wander over to see her date, knowing he will probably be a tall, handsome model type, and I freeze. It’s Dan.
I stand in the middle of this busy restaurant as time stands still, and I watch the brunette laugh and lean forward to say something. I can’t move. I just stand there staring at them, and she clearly feels my gaze and raises her eyes to meet mine, questioningly.
And Dan turns around, a smile still on his face from some private joke they shared, and he searches for what she is looking at, and he sees me, and I swear all the color drains from his face, exactly the way it did in the south of France.
So we stare, Dan and I.
I can’t move, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do. Eventually the girl places her hand on his, and he turns to her and says something—I’m guessing “It’s my wife,” unless of course she doesn’t even know he’s married—and then starts to rise, and I know he’s going to come over but I can’t deal with it. Not now. Not here. Not when I’m liable to throw up at any minute.
I walk quickly back to Fran and Marcus. “I have to go,” I say, barely pausing by the table to say the words. “I’ll see you outside.”
“Ellie? Is everything okay?” Fran gets up as I walk out, but I don’t stop to say anything, I just walk out into the night air.
The phone is ringing as I walk in the door. It’s 9:45 P.M. Far too late for any of my friends to phone, given that all of us have children and know that it is incredibly bad manners to call parents of young children after 8:00 P.M., 8:30 at a push.
I ignore the phone as I thank Rachel for babysitting yet again, and at such short notice, and I pay her off, noting that whoever is phoning doesn’t leave a message but phones again a couple of minutes later.
Whoever is phoning. Of course I know it’s Dan. Who else could it be? I pick up the phone wearily, not sure I want to hear what he has to say, just feeling numb, and sick, and tired. So very tired.
And embarrassed. After the message I left on his voice mail. The message to which he never responded. I could kick myself for doing that. I knew at the time it was wrong, knew I shouldn’t have let him know how much I cared, how vulnerable I was. He didn’t return my call, but I figured he might be away, and I’d see him on Saturday morning when he came to pick up Tom, that he’d bring it up then.
Although part of me hoped that he wouldn’t.
“I can explain,” Dan says as I pick up the phone and hold it to my ear.
“There’s nothing to explain,” I say dully. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me anything. We’re separated.”
“Ellie, it wasn’t what you think,” he says. “That was Lola Smith; she’s presenting the new series I’m doing. It was a work thing.”
That was no work thing. “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “She clearly didn’t think it was a work thing, and anyway, you’re entitled to have a date, or a girlfriend.” I almost choke on the word, but continue nevertheless.
“She’s not a girlfriend. She’s not even a date.” Dan sounds miserable.