Driving home, Abby’s breathing felt too shallow against the tightness in her chest. She couldn’t face him. She didn’t want to speak to Simon. It was all too confusing. Clearly never seeing him again would be a far easier option, if only that wasn’t so totally and utterly impossible. They were not only bound by their marriage, or at least they were supposed to be, there were also the material things: The house, cars, bank accounts – so many things to be undone.
And then there were their beautiful girls. Their dear sweet, innocent, unknowing girls, little bundles of love and joy whose world was changing and they didn’t even know it yet. Abby knew because of their children she and Simon would always be bound together; their own genes merged in their little girls’ very beings. Living and breathing, undeniable evidence of the love they had shared and the life they had together. If only she could still feel certain about that life; if only it hadn’t all gone so horribly wrong.
Abby peeked at Grace in her rear view mirror. She was giggling as the breeze from the open windows buffeted her wayward blonde curls. Watching her Abby felt consumed with guilt as she remembered how in the dark depths of the night before, when her mind was left unguarded, she had thought how much easier it would have been if she and Simon had never had children. As if not having the girls would have ameliorated the whole situation, allowing her to simply walk away – start over in a new Simon-less life with only herself to think about. She hated the horrible depths to which her mind would plummet, especially when she was tired and less able to control it. Now, in greater, if not complete control of her faculties, Abby knew the girls weren’t the reason she couldn’t just walk away – in fact they increasingly felt like her only anchor to sanity. She knew being strong for them was sometimes all that kept her going.
Simon would have to see Jessica and Grace. She would have to face him. Abby knew she couldn’t keep putting it off. But she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure how she would cope. She actually hadn’t seen or spoken to him properly since that night. The night everything changed. Sitting in her driveway, she sent a text back: Of course you can see the girls, but not tonight. We’ll sort a time soon. Sorry. She pressed send and read it back three times. Sorry? Why was she saying sorry? She annoyed herself with the way she always tried to placate him. It was a habit she knew she had to stop.
Throwing her phone into her bag she scooped Grace out of her car seat and took her inside. It was milk, biscuit and cuddle time. There was something reassuring about adhering to her usual routines. This was her world. She knew this. Its familiarity soothed her fractious mind. There was something so utterly calming about a cuddle on the sofa before the bedtime routine kicked in. This was special time shared between her and the girls – and sometimes Bramble who, despite his size, considered himself a lapdog. As Simon’s work often meant he wasn’t about, this was Abby’s domain.
Grace sat snuggled into her mummy’s lap, avidly listening to her favourite story. She loved to hear it over and over again, and to join in with all her favourite parts. As the doorbell rang Bramble barked and Grace leapt excitedly to her feet shouting, “Tiger! Tiger!” hoping desperately, as she always did, that this was the day the tiger had come to her house for tea.
“Not today sweetie,” Abby responded automatically, her heart pounding rapidly at the thought that Simon might not have got her message. Face flushed, she tentatively opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it wasn’t him. Without stopping to say hello Jessica beamed up at her mum and instantly launched into a full and excitable account of her time at Lara’s house. Abby shouted “Thank you!” and waved at Lara’s mum as she drove off – her charge safely delivered.
Bath time and bedtime were a special part of the day. Abby watched as her girls played happily together, half-submerged in a mountain of white frothy bubbles, giggling at the funny beards they had made. Joining in, Abby picked up a clump of froth and blew it into the air. Jessica and Grace squealed with excitement as ‘snow’ splodged down onto their heads and all over their bath toys. Repeating it over and over again, Abby soaked up the normality of it all.
After the bath it was time to calm down as quiet time ensued and they all relaxed together. With brushed teeth and pyjamas on, the girls took it in turns to cuddle into Abby’s lap as she brushed their hair; both so similar, beautiful blonde wavy hair which they got from neither her nor Simon.
After stories it was lights out and time to sleep. Finding it increasingly hard to walk away, Abby sat at the top of the stairs and waited until she heard Jessica and Grace’s voices subside into gentle hushed breathing before going downstairs to carry out the parts of her evening routine she enjoyed less. Vacuuming (who knew one dog could lose so much hair?), tidying, emptying lunch boxes, making lunches for the next day, sorting the washing… All monotonous tasks made tiresome by having nobody to share the load with, nobody to talk to.
Eventually slumping onto the sofa Abby checked her phone. There was a voicemail from Kerry, Simon’s sister. Abby knew Simon had been staying with her since they split up. Curiously she pressed play.
“Hey it’s me, how ya doing? Look, it’s none of my business but Si is pretty cut up. This has hit him hard. He wanted to come see you tonight but said you said no. Will you please just talk to him? I’m worried about him.”
Staring at the phone with a mixture of disbelief and anger, expletives tumbled freely from Abby’s mouth. Why the hell should she waste what little energy she had making Simon feel better? It was beyond her comprehension. There were days when she felt she could barely function. Days when going into the supermarket was too hard. Days when all she wanted was to be swallowed into a deep dark hole. Who was there to help her when she sat stranded on the roadside, unable to drive because all she could do was sob herself senseless? Did Simon’s family care that she was tumbling over a precipice from which she didn’t know if she would ever return? Honestly, what did Kerry expect her to do? Placating Simon was clearly not just habitual for Abby; it was quite literally a role she was expected to fulfil no matter what the circumstances. She wasn’t going to do it, she couldn’t! And what was the point anyway? Surely Simon’s actions had made his feelings clear.
Abby decided to text back. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what she might say. Incensed, she typed, You’re right, it is none of your business, but since you feel the need to interfere I suggest you speak to your brother. Maybe he can give you the number of the woman he slept with and you can ask her to make him feel better!
She pressed send, then instantly started another message: And since you asked, I am bloody well not alright!
As she pressed send for the second time she fought the urge to re-read and analyse the messages, and threw her phone onto the sofa where it would be less tempting. She had been having a good evening, she had felt calmer than on previous days but now all this had agitated her. It had thrown a bone to the dark side of her mind, which was leaping and bounding with excitement, eager to be let loose.
Abby felt restless, uneasy in her own skin. Unable to keep still, she strode into the kitchen. Gripping the edge of the sink with white fingertips, she stared out of the window into the darkness, her own reflection gazing back. Bramble stood by her side, ears pricked, sensing her tension. Anger and frustration grew inside her, possessing her. Unable to contain it any longer, she flew into what could only be described as a tantrum. A full-blown tempest of a temper tantrum! She pulled at her hair, hit her head repeatedly, kicked at the kitchen cupboards, stamped her feet and flailed her arms, all the time letting out a noise which sounded purely primal; a noise akin to that she had only ever heard herself make in childbirth. Bramble shrank back to a safe distance and watched, thoroughly perplexed. Abby felt utterly crazy, but at the same time she was enjoying it, relishing her great big self-pitying, self-satisfying temper tantrum. It felt so good to let it all free. To own her anger and let what she felt must be the crazy person inside her vent the way she really wanted to.
When she could sustain it no longer, when the noises turned to sobs and the hair-pulling, head-hitting and flailing turned to hugging herself, she sunk onto the hardwood floor in the corner of the kitchen. Bramble gingerly moved closer and lay down, resting his head on her feet with a whimper. Big brown eyes stared up at her, attempting to take away her pain. She sobbed big, long, loud sobs, arms cradled around herself, her head throbbing. Her mind didn’t focus on any one thing; she just felt engulfed by it all – stranded in a loss too vast to contemplate and completely alone. The sound of her own sadness rang out into the stillness of the house as she continued to give in to her basic and desperate urge to simply be downright and abjectly miserable.
As time passed, and Bramble nodded off at her feet, Abby’s focus began to settle on the noise, her own noise. She became increasingly aware that nothing was actually going to happen to make her stop. There was nobody to come and scoop her into their arms, nobody to tell her to pull herself together. She realised, as she pondered this, that she was observing the sound as if somebody else was making it. No longer the outlet for her frustrations, it was just a noise, a silly, rhythmic noise. She decided to stop, just like that, and as abruptly as it had all started the tantrum and the tears were over. She wiped her hands across her sodden face and dried her palms on her jeans. As she went to stand her whole body felt stiff; she was exhausted from the physical exertion. Her head pounded as if suffering the aftermath of a great trauma, but she felt strangely better for it.
Composing herself, Abby poured a glass of water and greedily drunk in the cold, soothing liquid that eased her burning throat. Feeling steadier on her feet she turned and added the words martini and lemonade to the shopping list on her fridge. She needed that. It was her drink of choice whenever comfort was sought, having acquired a taste for it while sipping from her mum’s glass in her early teens. She liked the deep, dark colour and the warm, sweet taste as it slipped down her throat, warming her from the inside, numbing her senses. Oh, how she needed that!
Settling with her feet tucked under her amongst a pile of cushions on the sofa Abby shakily took out her notebook and pen and wrote, not somebody else’s words but her own: I am going to stop wasting my life. I have cried too many tears and I have cried myself beyond senseless! Also, I am going to stop needlessly searching the Internet. It just adds to my bloody frustration – the loss of time is ridiculous and I am not going to let them keep imposing on MY LIFE!
She read it back and with a nod of her head assertively placed the lid on her pen. About to close the book she hesitated, looked around the room, removed the lid and added, And I may be going a little bit crazy; I think I might need help!
Not stopping to read that part back, she closed the book and tucked it away.