Life was so unfair, Hattie battling to get pregnant, her relationship rocky with the strain.
Dan. The overwhelming hopelessness of it all.
We worked and we hustled and we moved through our days at a frantic pace—for what? To pass each other like worker bees. “I got milk, I picked up bread, have we paid the TV license?” Swapping dull facts about the children, the house (I put a wash on/Miles needs new shoes/is their optician appointment due?/have you seen my red scarf/do we need a water softener though?) and never stopping, looking around, taking the time to appreciate any of it. I have a husband! Children! I found my red scarf! The water does taste better! I was always moving on to the next thing on the endless To Do List that would never fuck off.
These were the thoughts that chased around my head as I meandered around the streets of Soho: left, right, left, what did it matter? A pub, another drink. Left, right. Shivering hours later I hailed a cab, wanting to get home.
I wanted to be: wanted to see my children, I mean, I have children, how bloody lucky am I? Hattie had always wanted to become a mother. And I wanted to cuddle my husband and hold him close and appreciate how bloody lucky I was to live with my best friend, a really decent human.
An hour later though I was not cuddling my husband; I was being frog-marched to the bottom of the stairs by my husband who might generously be described as “displeased.”
“Oh my God, you’re hammered, Emma, what the hell? Don’t let the kids see you like this.” Then I listened to my children almost tear each other’s hair out in the room next door to the one I was exiled in. I’d forgotten the desperate bad mood they’d returned from school in; they were next door in Miles’s room now, screaming at each other.
I crept to the wall that separated our rooms, balancing precariously on my glass-topped dressing table that was a dumping ground for eighteen thousand products I never opened and a tower of books I never read. Three of the books tumbled to the floor as I wobbled on the glass top, straining to listen.
There was crying but I wasn’t sure from whom.
“You need to tell Mum and Dad.”
“No way.
“Well, I will.”
“Don’t, please Miles—they’ll kill me.”
“They’re going to find out anyway.”
“I didn’t . . . I don’t . . .”
“Everyone’s talking about it, saying stuff. Liam said you were going to be expelled . . .”
I swayed from my position on the table, room spinning, unsure if it was shock, alcohol or kneeling awkwardly on a narrow dressing table.
Why was Poppy in danger of being expelled? Oh God. I needed to know what had happened but I knew Dan would be furious if I went through in this state.
As I clambered unsteadily down from the dressing table I could see why. The woman in the tri-mirror was in disarray, a legitimate mess of a human. My makeup had run, my hair was sticking in every direction, my netted skirt had somehow torn and my beautiful new cashmere sweater had a stain down the front which I thought, smelling it, might be vomit. Shame threatened to swallow me whole as I stared back at her.
I took the sweater off, standing in the room now in just my bra and the crazy netted skirt.
And I was so tired all of a sudden, my body heavy, my brain overloaded. Thoughts wouldn’t stick. Thinking about Miles and Poppy and then Dan made me want to clamp my hands to the side of my head and scream.
I almost fell backward onto our bed, leaning sideways to pull at the corner of the duvet, clambering beneath the soft cotton.
And maybe I could just lie there for a second. The pillow felt so nice and my head had stopped pounding quite so much. My stomach gurgled manically, insides uncomfortable, but when I rolled on to my side, legs curled up tight like a fetus, it felt better. And the distant sound of voices faded away and it was fine, really. I would only be here for a few moments and then I would need to go downstairs and see my family and unravel this mess that I was stuck in. For how long I didn’t know. And that thought made the pounding worse so I squeezed my eyes tighter and I disappeared to another place: away from this room, this house, somewhere safe where I didn’t need to think anymore.