‘Tea?’
‘Lovely,’ said Robyn, sitting on Beth Broadwood’s elegant grey sofa with her hands in her lap. It was Tuesday afternoon and she had succumbed to her own desperate curiosity. Can we talk? she had texted Beth, finding her number on a list of PTA members’ contact details that one mum had helpfully pulled together some time ago. What the hell, Robyn had thought grimly. This was sure to be humiliating, but she was already way past the point of trying to avoid losing face. Besides, before she set about confronting her husband, she needed to have the facts. She needed to know just how angry with him she should be.
Sitting in a dusty-pink button-back armchair, Beth leaned forward to pour the tea. There were framed photos all around the room of her beautiful daughters with their neat plaits and wide smiles, and a large black-and-white print of Beth’s wedding, where the bride and groom gazed into each other’s eyes with complete adoration. Beth seemed to have the perfect life, Robyn thought miserably, unable to help comparing it to the current mess of her own.
‘So,’ said Beth pleasantly, passing her a cup and saucer. ‘How are things?’
Robyn stirred her tea, fingers trembling on the spoon. Here we go. ‘Things,’ she replied in a rather strangled voice, ‘have been better.’ She attempted a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. Deep breath. Get it out. ‘Listen, Beth, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got something I need to ask you. I’m just going to get straight to the point. What do you know about John getting sacked from the university?’
Beth blanched at the direct question. ‘Well . . .’ she began carefully, pausing for just a fraction too long.
‘It’s all right, you can tell me,’ Robyn assured her. ‘I know it’s something terrible. I know there’s this woman he’s been seeing on the sly. A very young woman, by the looks of things, too, maybe even a student. But I don’t know the details.’ She gritted her teeth, cringing to find herself in this predicament. She and Beth had once run a stall at the school Christmas fair together, and they’d exchanged chit-chat at university social events or in the school playground, but that had been their limit. Until now. ‘I feel really embarrassed to be asking you, and I’m sorry if this makes you feel awkward or . . . or on the spot,’ she went on. ‘But John’s been . . .’ She swallowed, lowering her gaze. ‘He’s been lying to me about this, all along, and I just want to hear the truth now. However awful it may be.’
Beth nodded gravely. She was a tall, rather horsey woman with a mid-length brown bob, pinned back with a clip. The sort who had been head girl once upon a time, no doubt, form captain, sports prefect. Maybe all of those things. But at least she was kind enough not to kick a person who was down, so she didn’t pretend not to know what Robyn was talking about. ‘Okay. Well, from what I can gather, there was something of a cheating scandal this summer in terms of the second-year exams,’ she began slowly, and Robyn’s ears pricked up, remembering having vaguely heard something about this herself. ‘The students suspected of cheating were questioned, and allegations were made about John – namely, that he had supplied copies of the exam papers to one of the undergraduates, who went about selling them for a profit.’
Ka-boom. Robyn hadn’t seen that coming. Give him his credit, her husband still knew how to surprise her. ‘Oh God,’ she croaked, twisting her hands together.
‘The student in question is a rather attractive young woman called Naomi Ellis,’ Beth went on, with an apprehensive glance across at Robyn, as if she really didn’t want to say the next part. Robyn, meanwhile, was torturing herself with visions of the woman she’d seen in the café with John: that long coppery hair, the pierced nose, the creamy skin. Was that her, Naomi? ‘And Naomi has complained to the university that . . . ah . . . that apparently John seduced her, promising her the exam paper if she would sleep with him – I’m sorry,’ she added unhappily, seeing the agony on Robyn’s face. ‘Should I go on?’
Robyn nodded without speaking. Let’s hear it, the full mortifying works, she thought. Give me the worst you’ve got.
‘Then, before term ended, I gather her father turned up on campus, making threats against John, as well as alleging that his daughter had been taken advantage of, and demanding that she be allowed to continue the course,’ Beth went on, with an apologetic grimace.
Robyn put her head in her hands. Great. A whole soap opera played out in public. She could just imagine how the gossip had gone whipping through the corridors and around the lecture theatres. Have you heard? Oh my God, have you heard? No wonder Gabrielle had sounded so peculiar on the phone.
‘So it’s a bit messy, really,’ Beth said. To put it mildly. ‘John has been . . . his contract has not been renewed, as you know, and as far as I can tell, the situation with Naomi, in regards to the uni, is ongoing.’ She flushed suddenly, seeming to remember herself. ‘Um. Whoops. It goes without saying that this is all confidential. I probably shouldn’t have told you that last bit, but . . .’
‘It’s fine. I’m not exactly going to spread it around,’ Robyn replied dully. John, cheating. John, seducing a student. John, turfed out ignominiously. John, receiving threats from some furious, ranting dad. She wasn’t sure which of it was worse. The whole saga was so horrifically tawdry from start to finish.
‘I’m sorry,’ Beth said again, biting her lip. ‘That’s all I know, I promise.’ There was a moment of miserable silence while they both stared at their teacups, no doubt wishing to be elsewhere. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked after a few seconds. ‘I mean, I’m sure you’re not, but . . . Can I help at all? Can I do anything? If you want to talk, I’m a good listener.’
Robyn wasn’t sure anyone could help her right now, unless they had discovered how to rewind time. ‘Maybe you could murder my husband for me,’ she replied, trying to make a joke, but the words just came out sounding really angry and bitter. Then she groaned and shook her head. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For being straight with me. But I guess I’ve got to work the next bit out all by myself. Somehow or other.’
Beth nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but I’m here if you need anything.’ Her grey eyes were sincere and sympathetic. ‘And by the way, I’m pretty good with a spade. If you do decide on the murder option and need a hand digging a shallow grave or anything . . .’
Robyn made a noise that was mostly laugh, but with some element of sob. She gulped down her very nice tea, blew her nose and tried to compose herself. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to say after a moment. ‘You never know, I might just take you up on that.’
The conversation with Beth drummed around Robyn’s ears for the next few hours – while she was picking up the children from school, while she was preparing dinner, while she somehow navigated her way through all the usual bathtime and bedtime routines. She gave it her best shot at acting completely normally, but inside she was shell-shocked and battle-weary; numb that all this had been going on in John’s world and he’d deliberately kept her at arm’s length the whole time. Her husband, the man she loved, and he’d been leading this sleazy double life without a single glimmer of guilt, as far as she could tell. She felt so bitterly disappointed in him. So let-down. How could a couple come back from this? Was it even possible?
By nine o’clock that evening the children were in bed, the dishwasher was taking care of the dinner plates, and John was stretched out on the sofa, his hair wet where he’d showered after a run. (Had he been for a run, though? she found herself wondering upstairs, paranoid that everything he told her was now a lie.) Robyn peered at her pale face in the bedroom mirror, putting on some lipstick and brushing her hair, wishing she didn’t look quite so frightened. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it, prettying yourself up when you were about to have a showdown with your husband, but these tiny things felt like the application of armour. I am worth more, she reminded her reflection. I deserve better. He can’t treat me like this and get away with it.
‘Glass of wine?’ she called through to the living room, where John was still acting the part of everyday spouse with impressive aplomb.
‘Love one,’ he called back, swinging his bare feet up on the coffee table.
Me too, she thought darkly, sploshing cold Sauvignon Blanc into two glasses and knocking back half of hers in a single gulp. Dutch courage – bring it on. She topped up the glass, her insides clenching. If what Beth had said was true, then their whole way of life here was in jeopardy. But she really couldn’t ignore the facts any more. Who could?
‘I was wondering,’ she began, walking into the living room and lowering herself into the armchair opposite her husband. ‘Is there anything you would like to tell me, John? Anything that you need to get off your chest?’
He was laughing at something on his phone. ‘God, have you seen this on Facebook, the dancing-dog video that’s going round? Dad would love it.’ He took the glass from her. ‘Thanks. Sorry, what were you saying?’
Robyn gritted her teeth. Somehow the words seemed even harder to get out a second time. ‘I was asking if you had anything to tell me,’ she replied, and then her voice cracked with emotion. ‘And if our marriage has ever meant anything to you, then you really need to tell me the truth this time.’
The laughter left his face, replaced by a wary expression. ‘What do you mean?’
She held his gaze unhappily. ‘Don’t make me spell it out,’ she said. ‘I mean you getting sacked from work, the cheating, this Naomi woman . . .’ Then all of the hurt and embarrassment and anxiety took hold of her, and her voice rose. ‘What the hell is going on with you? Why did I have to hear this from another person? How do you think that made me feel?’
He swallowed, shifting uneasily in the chair. ‘Well . . .’
‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Were you hoping to just get away with it?’ The questions kept bursting from her with increasing shrillness as he sat there, head lowered, his expression worryingly blank. She thought of the children upstairs in their beds, their faces rosy and soft as they slept, and felt an ache inside that she was having to ask these things, that John had steered them onto such a narrow precipice. Why had he gone and lit this great big bonfire in the middle of his life, for everyone to witness? ‘John! Talk to me!’ she cried, unable to bear his silence. ‘What happens now?’
He twisted his hands in his lap, his shoulders slumped. ‘I . . .’ he said, eventually, staring down at the carpet. ‘The thing is, I love her. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is. I love her.’
Robyn, who’d been expecting a grovelling apology and the promise of John being able to put everything right, felt as if her breath had been snatched away from her. ‘What?’ she replied.
‘I love her,’ he mumbled again, his eyes still fixed on the carpet as if it held the answers to everything, rather than a red-wine stain hidden under the rug and some waxy blobs left by a dripping Advent candle three Christmases ago.
Robyn could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘John, she must be half your age!’ Love? Was he serious? ‘She’s practically a child. Are you sure this isn’t just some mid-life crisis you’re going through, some—’
‘I’ve never felt like this before,’ he said, not seeming to care how these words might bruise Robyn’s heart. ‘And she feels the same way. We’re going to elope. We want to be together.’
Now he had to be kidding. ‘She’s using you!’ Robyn told him, shock turning to disbelief. ‘Can’t you see that? She used you to cheat on the exams, and now she’s using you as an excuse – John, that’s not love. This is insane!’ She stared at him, willing him to see the light, desperate for him to realize what an idiot he sounded. ‘Hang on a minute – I thought she was the one who got you sacked anyway, telling tales, landing you in it? That’s not exactly loyal, is it? How can you say you love her, after that?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Robyn. I should have told you earlier. But . . . I can’t help the way I feel. And it was my idea for her to blame me. ‘
‘It was your idea?’ Robyn blinked, trying to take this in. Had he really jettisoned everything – his family, his career – for this woman, in so cavalier a fashion? ‘You’re infatuated, John, that’s all. Flattered that this girl has even looked twice at you. It’s called a crush, a massive great crush – and fair enough, I saw her myself, she does look gorgeous—’
‘What do you mean, you saw her yourself?’ His head whipped round. ‘How do you know about this anyway?’
She snorted. ‘How I know is hardly the point,’ she told him. ‘The point is that all of this was going on and you didn’t think to mention it to me. Me, your wife! Instead, you’re carrying on with this . . . this teenager—’
‘She’s twenty-two.’
‘Oh, twenty-two! That makes all the difference. Christ, John, will you just listen to yourself? Can you not hear how this sounds?’ She shook her head, anger rising, but he merely shrugged again, seemingly unmoved.
‘You might as well know, we’ve decided to head up to Edinburgh together for the summer – I was going to tell you,’ he said quickly as Robyn gave a startled squawk. ‘She’s got some friends there, they said they’ll put us up for the time being, just until we can get our own place.’
‘John, stop,’ Robyn said, putting up a hand. Was he having some kind of breakdown? ‘Stop saying these . . . these crazy things. You can’t just . . . What about the kids? You seem to have forgotten them. Are you seriously saying you’re just going to abandon—’
‘We’re in love,’ he said again, with the simplicity of a drunk, or somebody brainwashed, who wouldn’t listen to reason.
‘She’s stringing you along, more like,’ Robyn cried, still reeling from the turn the conversation had taken. Love? Elopement? Edinburgh? He couldn’t mean it, could he? He couldn’t genuinely think this was a good idea, to move all the way up to Scotland with his twenty-two-year-old crush? Staying with some of her mates, it would be like regressing to student years: tie-dyed Indian throws hiding naff old furniture; awaiting your turn to use the shower in the morning; bitching about who had finished the milk. She shook her head, trying to assimilate the image, but found it impossible. ‘I think you’re making a big mistake here,’ she told him, voice shaking.
Her words simply rolled off him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said once more. ‘It’s all happened really quickly, I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you, but . . .’
‘But guess what, there isn’t a right time to tell your wife that you’ve been sacked, you’re having an affair with a student and you’re leaving her and your children while you hop over the border to set up a love-nest. Strange, that. You would have thought it would be so easy, too.’ Her sarcasm gave way to rage suddenly, sheer boiling rage that John could do this, wreck everything on such a stupid, selfish whim, and that she was a mere afterthought. ‘And your brothers know all about it, I’m guessing,’ she added, remembering his lying alibis of recent days. Her cheeks burned with the humiliation. ‘Does everyone else know, then? Been having a good old laugh behind my back? God, John!’ Her voice rose to a shout. ‘Come on! Do you really think this is a good idea? I mean, seriously? Genuinely?’
He sat in silence for a moment and she felt a brief flare of hope that he was about to come to his senses at last, see reason and apologize. But then he rose to his feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I can see you’re upset. But I know how I feel. And I’ve been given a chance at something amazing, with Naomi. I’d be mad to turn it down.’
Robyn’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out. She seemed to have run out of words, used up all her arguments.
‘So I’m just going to go, okay?’ he said, somewhat apprehensively. ‘And then we can talk in a week or so. Decide what we’re going to do about the kids, and everything.’
Oh, now he mentions the kids. Now that he’s about to walk out the door, he finally thinks about the kids, Robyn fumed. How dare he treat them – and her – like non-priorities? How dare he? ‘I can’t listen to this any longer,’ she said shakily. ‘You go and live out your deluded little fantasy in Edinburgh, if you must. But do me a favour and don’t bother crawling back here when it all ends in tears.’ She stared at him, hating him, but still desperately hoping that he would change his mind.
He didn’t, though. He merely gave her a sorrowful look, raised his hands in an All right – calm down! sort of gesture and walked out of the room. Then, as she sat there, dumbfounded, she heard the front door close and she knew that he’d walked out of the house, too.
He’d come back, Robyn said fiercely to herself as his car started up outside. Of course he would. This was his home, this was his family, this was where he belonged!
Her heart started banging as panic set in. But what if he didn’t? she thought fearfully. What if he didn’t come back, what if he genuinely meant all those crazy things he’d said and their marriage was over? Her breath rasped shallow and fast, her head began to ache with all the terrible questions that were swirling there. Was it really the end? How was she going to explain this to the children? How ever would she cope?
Mum, what would you do? Frankie thought that evening, washing up the dinner things as a quiet, anxious mood settled upon her. She and Craig had been to see their solicitor today, who had strongly advised mediation as a first step, but Craig seemed adamant that he wouldn’t go along with anything Julia wanted, claiming that he’d rather go straight to court to settle the issue. Frankie, who disagreed with him, had been left feeling helpless, as if her opinion counted for nothing.
Her mum had always been so brilliant at talking through a thorny problem, she remembered with a pang: listening carefully and weighing up the balance, before offering practical suggestions and advice. Sure, Frankie had friends she could talk to about the Julia situation, but they were Craig’s friends too, and it would have felt disloyal, confessing her private thoughts to them. She had her stepdad, Gareth, but he was living out his retirement in Spain and always seemed to be in some bar or other when she called, the sports channel blaring in the background. Plus, his advice tended to be ‘Chin up, love, it’ll be all right’, which, although cheering, wasn’t exactly specific.
This was the downside of having a small family, she mused, rinsing a saucepan: not enough people to turn to in a crisis. You always wanted a brother or a sister, didn’t you? her mum had written in that final letter, and Frankie thought guiltily again of her dad, Harry Mortimer, and those four mystery half-siblings, who might hate her now. She still hadn’t managed to write any kind of letter herself, what with all the drama of Julia’s arrival. Oh, hi there, Mortimer gang, I’m Frankie. Christ, it’s a nightmare when someone bursts into your happy family unannounced and stirs everything up, isn’t it? Sorry, guys. Any advice, by the way?
Scrubbing at the burned-on cheesy sauce bits around the rim of the lasagne dish, she thought about Julia and Fergus and Craig, and the seemingly impossible tangle they were in. What would her mum have said about it, had she still been around to advise? Frankie had the strong feeling she’d have been more generous to Julia, for starters. Kathy had been a staunch supporter of women in general – when Frankie was growing up, there was always a steady stream of her female friends dropping by for tea and sympathy, and sometimes even a place to stay when the going got tough. If Kathy was alive now, Frankie was sure she wouldn’t have been so quick to cast Julia as the villain of the piece; she’d have responded with compassion rather than fear. ‘Poor woman,’ Frankie could imagine her saying. ‘Sounds like she’s had a rough time. Why does Craig think he has to punish her for it? Why can’t he give her a break?’
Why indeed? Frankie thought, putting the dish upside down on the draining board. In her position, her mum might even have gone behind Craig’s back, telephoned Julia, tried to sort it out, woman-to-woman. Knowing Kathy, she’d have talked her round as well; they’d have come up with a plan that suited everyone, before popping open a bottle of wine and drinking to the future. But Frankie was not so bold and brave as her mother had been. Was she?
She washed up the last saucepan and gave the salad bowl a rinse, still thinking. She could hear Fergus giggling hysterically from the bathroom where Craig was giving him a bath, and felt her heart soften for them both. She remembered one of the first columns Craig had ever written about Fergus, which had essentially been a love-letter, a promise: I will never let you down, son, he had written. I am on your side, fighting your corner, come what may.
She knew, at heart, that this was why he was puffing up like a cobra whenever Julia’s name was mentioned, because of his deep-rooted instinct to protect his child, to keep him safe. Craig was a good person, he believed he was doing the right thing here – but somehow his actions were coming across as aggressive rather than kind. Whatever happened next in this saga, however she and Craig negotiated with Julia, they had to keep remembering that this was about Fergus, the small, exuberant person they all adored. They had to act out of love, in other words, rather than from misguided vengeance or rivalry. But could she make Craig see this, before they found themselves trading insults in a courtroom and making everything a hundred times worse? Or was he too blinded by his own convictions to listen?