Fred was up early and working in the basement before I even stood up this morning. I don’t get one-day hangovers anymore but a whole week of it. My body temperature hasn’t rebooted yet and as I take a seat at my desk, calling hello to my gem of an assistant, Claire, I’m uncomfortably sweaty.
Without saying a word, she turns on my desk fan and hands me a cup of cold water. I smile gratefully, peeling off my jacket. I could do all this myself—the fan, the water—but when she does it, it makes me well up, as though she’s my mom, even though she’s only five years older than me. I rely on her more than she probably realizes. Every year at salary review time, I put in a word for her, listing her assets. The biggest one, however, is the one I don’t state: that she makes me feel it’s okay to be a hot mess.
I didn’t call out bye to Fred before leaving—didn’t ask if there was anything he needed picking up from town. I work in the council offices on High Street, handy for chores, bad for compulsive shopping. I’m going to have to find a reason to keep away from the shops.
The new eco center on the seafront is overdue a visit. I’ll go there.
Logging onto my computer, I wonder what Fred thought when he heard the front door slam. I’ve never left before without speaking, but today it felt more natural to do so than the other way round. That’s how I know it’s over.
That and the fact that when he tried to spoon me last night and stick me with his penis, I was so horrified and weakened by my hungover state that I lashed out without thinking. “Get off!”
He didn’t say a word, but turned over, taking half the cover with him.
It was a cold night in many ways, but an important one. Tonight, I’m hoping he will move out to the spare room.
I look up as Shaun enters, looking like he’s just got up. Sometimes I get the feeling that by bending the dress code, he’s saying he doesn’t respect me, as though putting on a jacket or combing his hair would give me more authority over him than he’s comfortable with.
We’ve both been working here in this same office for over thirty years. There’s a photo somewhere of us both looking geeky, not long out of school. We used to get along, but when the environmental manager role came up, our relationship deteriorated at record speed. I threw my cap into the ring, thinking it was worth a try, and I got the job. And there’s not a day goes by that he doesn’t let me know what a laughable decision that was.
“Morning,” he says.
I know he’s late. He knows he’s late.
“Morning, Shaun.” I always do this special polite voice for him, the one I used for Will when his room was a mess. It’s like there’s this giant pair of scales in the office and one of them—my side—is unfairly weighted. So through the day, I have to build up his side, adding little treats, compliments, kind words. It’s exhausting.
“Did you have a nice weekend?” I ask.
Claire looks up, waits for his response. “Nope,” he says.
She rolls her eyes at me and I smile, trying not to look too vexed. In fact, I’m glad we didn’t get into a discussion about weekends because I’m not sure what I would have said about mine.
“Actually, Claire…” I say, pushing back my chair, resting my hand on her shoulder. “Do you think you could shift that meeting for me? I’m going down to the eco center today. I’ve been putting it off for weeks.”
“Absolutely,” she replies, smiling.
I spend the rest of the morning lost in a coastal erosion report and then at lunchtime I tell Claire that I’ll be back shortly.
Outside, it’s eerily quiet, a seagull pecking about, barely any shoppers. It’s only five minutes to the seafront, yet time enough for me to become fully absorbed in thoughts of Fred.
And I’m so focused on him that when he manifests in front of me, I’m so shocked I almost fall over my feet.
Diving into an alley, I try to stay calm. Was it him? I’m sure it was.
Why is he in town? I think back to this morning. I assumed he was downstairs; he works from home on Mondays. Has he changed his hours? Even so, he’s a long way from his office.
I straighten my jacket, inching forward, gazing at the deli on the other side of the road—the new deli, the one he mentioned yesterday.
He’s inside, leaning on the counter, talking to the sales assistant. I recognize her: Paige, one of the renters at the end of our road. She came to our neighbor’s summer party, wearing a skimpy dress. I didn’t know Fred knew her.
Withdrawing into the alley, I hold my hands to my face, flustered. It makes sense now: the chocolates, the awkward finger pointing, the mommy mug. He’s either sleeping with her, or trying to.
I don’t know why I’m so upset, shocked. I knew this was going to happen. I just didn’t know how or when—didn’t know it would be right under my nose, near my office. Somehow, when it happened before with Daisy Day, it was in another universe, one that I didn’t have to visit.
Standing with my back against the cold wall, I hug my arms around my waist, gazing upward at the sliver of sky, unable to stop the tears flowing.
My upset breaks my resolve, cracks it, and like an addict I have to hear from Alice. I pull my phone from my pocket, dialing her before I can stop myself.
“Mom?” she whispers. “You okay?”
Her voice brings me to my senses. I stare at the wall, watching a wood louse making its way along the line of cement. “I’m fine. I just—”
“I’m in a lecture. I only answered because I thought it was an emergency. Call you later.” There’s a click as she hangs up. I lower the phone, looking at the faint moisture of my tears on the screen.
This is the new Alice. She’s really left home for university, just like I wanted her to, because I didn’t, couldn’t, do it myself.
I breathe in, inhaling the dank air of the alley. Hemmed in on both sides, a puddle by my feet, a shiver rattles my frame. The fear is overpowering—the prospect of being fifty, alone. But I always knew the facts: knew I’d have to be strong to cope with an empty nest and a cheating husband.
Maybe someone else could handle this, turn a blind eye, but nothing about that phrase ever sounded comfortable to me. Creeping forward again, I watch him. It takes five minutes, but when I get what I’m after, I bury my face inside my jacket, casting my eyes down as I set off along the road again. At the seafront, a gust of warm salty breeze meeting me, I take a deep breath and set my shoulders back.
He rubbed her arm, kept his hand there.
* * *
I used to love sitting by the pool on warm evenings, when the kids wanted to let off steam after a day at school. I’d pour a glass of wine, sometimes throwing a hoop for them to dive for, but mostly just sitting, watching.
I always thought those times were about being with them, yet I’m enjoying it almost as much tonight on my own, listening to the palm trees shaking. Palm trees can bend to the floor and not break. I planted them in the back garden when we moved in—thought they would remind me to be resilient, a survivor.
But bending isn’t always great. Sometimes a straight spine’s called for.
Picking up my wineglass, I cross the lawn to the summer house, going inside where the air is warm, stagnant. There are dead spiders and flies on the windows. Shuddering, I stand still, the gloom embracing me.
Fred’s car isn’t in the driveway, but I glance that way just in case and then up to the top floor of the house, scanning for a light, even though he won’t be there. He’s somewhere else, again, and now I have to be brave enough to put an end to this the only way I know how.
I scroll down to her name, my heart racing. As the phone rings, I take a long drink of wine, justifying myself. This isn’t my fault, what I wanted. If it weren’t for seeing him with Paige, I wouldn’t be doing this. But something’s broken now that can’t be fixed and my desperation is real.
To my disappointment, I get voicemail. Hanging up, I nibble my thumbnail, wondering what to do.
I ring again, listening to her greeting.
This is Ellis.
That’s all she says. It is so short, I’m caught off guard, blurting my message. “Hi, Ellis? It’s…it’s Gabby. Can you call me back? It’s about… Well, you know what it’s about. I’ve changed my mind. And I…I want to go ahead or at least—” There’s a beep as the phone cuts out, her voice storage full.
Damn. I didn’t want to leave it like that. I could text? I drink more wine, thinking, and then decide to leave it. She knows how to reach me.
Sitting back down by the pool, I feel cold. Sometimes, I can hear the roar of the sea from here, but tonight the trees are rustling loudly, a thousand dry voices whispering.
The sky darkens, pink tinged clouds racing by. I pull my cardigan closer around me, looking all around me again, feeling unsafe. I don’t want to be out here anymore but inside the house where I can turn a key.
As I close the French doors, checking the lock twice, I think about how strange it was that Ellis appeared on exactly the same day as Alice left—so neat a handover, almost as though it were planned.