But it seemed that he could ‒ leave us, that is. Well… me, at any rate. At the end of ten days of being away in India, Nick suddenly arrived home mid morning without warning, tired, irritable and in no mood to sit down to listen to my desperate apologies and how much I loved and needed him. He was blank faced, impenetrable. All the barriers were up. And how.
‘Nick,’ I’d pleaded, ‘we have to talk about this. It’s not going to go away. I can’t pretend it’s not happened. You have to forgive me.’ I was in despair.
‘I can’t at the moment,’ he’d said. ‘I just can’t be here. I just can’t get out of my head the image of you and – him – together in his apartment in Manchester. I’m assuming that’s where you met up with him.’
I nodded.
‘Anywhere else?’
‘Why? Why do you want to know? What difference does it make?’
‘Of course it makes a difference,’ he’d snarled. And then a thought… ‘So was this all going on when he gave you a lift down to the wedding?’
There was no point in lying. I nodded again, ‘Yes.’
‘So I suppose that’s why you were so late getting down? God, all that baloney about not wanting to drive the bus – you just wanted to get in his car with him.’
‘If you remember, Nick, it was you who rang him.’ I protested. ‘You who asked him to give you a lift.’
‘Yes, but you then didn’t put up much objection to going off with him, did you?’ Nick snapped.
I had to accede that he had a point there. ‘Everything you say is right, Nick. I’m not trying to justify anything. I just want you to forgive me.’
‘But, Harriet, even if I forgave you, how could I ever forget? Do you know,’ he went on, ‘you’d think I’d be delighted he was dead, wouldn’t you? Think it’s only what he deserves. But I can’t go and have him up against a wall now. Can’t put my fist in his face.’
‘Thank goodness,’ I said, attempting humour. ‘He was ex-SBS. You wouldn’t have stood a chance.’
Wrong thing to say. ‘Obviously,’ he snarled. ‘Didn’t stand a chance, did I? Not with you and him cavorting round the countryside in his Porsche, and in his fancy apartment in Manchester.’
‘Well, it was you sent him over to Harvey Nicks,’ I protested. ‘Your fucking ex-girlfriend that conjured up all this mess in order to get you back…’ I trailed off as I saw the look of absolute fury on Nick’s face.
‘Cheap, Harriet. Cheap and shabby. I expected better of you.’ Nick looked at me as if I were a stranger. ‘I don’t know you, Harriet. Don’t know you at all. And if you are trying to blame me for your shagging around, well, get over it. It’s not happening.’
Nick went upstairs and came back, twenty minutes later, with the huge family case we used for going on holiday.
My heart lurched. ‘Oh, God, Nick. What are you doing? Where are you going? Don’t do this.’
‘Harriet,’ he said tiredly, ‘I just can’t think straight. David has offered me Seb and Grace’s farmhouse. I have to be near my children. I just can’t be near you, at the moment.’
‘But what do I tell the children?’ I said in panic. ‘What shall I say to them?’ I felt sick.
‘I’m quite sure you’ll think of something. You’re a master – or should I say mistress – of subterfuge these days.’
And with that he left.
*
How on earth do you explain to your children that their father no longer wants to be with their mother? All the rest of that day, while the children were still at school, I rehearsed what I would say, tried different ways of saying it. With a smile? In tears?
Over tea, I had to explain to Liberty, Kit and India that their father and I had decided to have a little break from each other and that Nick would be having a sort of little holiday by himself at Grace’s farmhouse. I had to bite my tongue as I nearly said Grace and Seb’s farmhouse. That certainly wouldn’t have won me any Brownie points with Liberty when, more than anyone, I needed my eldest daughter on my side. Always a daddy’s girl, I knew she would want explanations over and above what I was prepared to give at that stage.
‘So, are you saying you’re splitting up?’ she asked coldly.
‘No,’ I said, carefully, ‘I’m saying that Dad and I are just having a little break from each other.’
‘Why? What’s going on? Is it Amanda again?’ Both Kit and Liberty had unfortunately been aware of my conviction that Nick was having an affair with Amanda when he’d first started working with David Henderson, when together they’d set up the fledgling L’uomo. Having front row seats to the spectacle of Amanda’s dousing in red wine by their Aunt Christine at Christmas had done absolutely nothing to rid them of their suspicions that she was not to be trusted with any passing man.
‘No, Liberty, this has got absolutely nothing to do with Amanda.’
‘But when’s Daddy coming back?’ India raised her big brown eyes and looked accusingly at me over her spaghetti carbonara.
‘Oh, he won’t be long there,’ I said, feigning a jollity I certainly didn’t feel. ‘He’s just so busy, and sometimes, with all the noise here ‒ you know, with the twins crying and everything ‒ he just needs a bit of peace and quiet to think.’
Liberty looked at me with such incredulity I nearly broke down and told India the truth. That I’d been a terribly bad mummy, and Daddy couldn’t live with me any more. Or, in Liberty’s case, that I’d been shagging around and her father, as would any other cuckolded husband, had upped and left her slut of a mother.
‘So when will we see him?’ Kit asked, puzzled.
‘Well, when he’s not away – I know he’s got a lot of visits abroad to do – you’ll be able to see him whenever you want. He’s just down the lane. You’ll be able to walk down and see him. And he’ll be up here all the time to see you.’
‘But if he’s going to be up here all the time… why isn’t he staying here, then? I don’t get it.’ Kit appeared more perplexed than upset. ‘So is it a bit like we’ve got two houses now? That’s cool. Can I go and stay some of the time down there with him? You know… all boys together sort of thing?’
‘So are you two splitting up?’ This from Liberty, ignoring Kit.
‘No, of course not. In fact, another reason he’s there – apart from wanting some peace and quiet so he can concentrate on his work – is to help David out. David has bought out Grace and Seb’s share of the farmhouse, as I’m sure Seb has told you, Liberty.’
She nodded, but said nothing.
‘Well, it helps David to have someone there, to look after the place.’
Liberty snorted in disbelief, but India giggled, ‘A bit like an Alsatian?’
‘An Alsatian?’ I said. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, darling, Daddy’s taking a bit of a turn at being an Alsatian. It won’t be for long. In fact, you know, if I hadn’t told you this you would have been none the wiser. Dad’s away so much at the moment, you’d have just thought he was in India, or, or… China.’
‘Or down the lane?’ Liberty said with raised eyebrows. There was no fooling this girl. ‘Is he there now? I’m going to go down after we’ve eaten and see him.’
‘Me too,’ said India, shovelling spaghetti down her throat in an effort to be ready to go with her big sister. ‘I want to see the Alsatian.’
‘Leave it, India,’ Liberty snapped and, in a voice that brooked no argument said, ‘I’m off to see him by myself.’
*
Children are not stupid, but they do seem to be fairly accepting of family situations, adapting to whatever is going on in their parents’ lives. I’d always been amazed at how one minute a child in my class could be living at one house, and the next be living with another parent somewhere else. I suppose, as adults and parents, we are more than willing to accept children’s apparent flexibility ‒ making light of the little nuances, the little tummy ache here, the new little twitch there, that might signify an unconscious inability to deal with what is going on in their lives. As the warm, sunny days of June turned into a wet and miserable July, Liberty, Kit and India appeared to accept that their father was still very much a part of their lives, but not, unfortunately a part of their mother’s.
With Nick continuing to be away so much – I wasn’t quite sure what was happening with the Italian side of the business now that Alex was no longer there to run it – life went on for the children in very much the same vein as in the previous two years or so. When he was away, Nick would call them daily, speaking to Libby and Kit on their mobiles and then asking to be put on to India so that he could chat with her too. When he was at home, the children simply walked down the lane to see him, and very often stayed overnight or for the weekend. By the time they broke up for the long summer holiday they were becoming quite the masters of their double life, almost accepting it as the norm.
I rang Nick on a daily basis: I’d ring him during the day, at night ‒ on occasions, somewhat the worse for alcohol. I’d plead, I’d grovel and sometimes I’d get cross, telling him I couldn’t wear my hair shirt forever and he needed to forgive me and get over it. The first time this happened he wouldn’t speak to me for a week. Often he simply refused to take my calls.
Lilian continued to be my rock, scooping up the twins and taking them off for long walks with the dog, and sometimes with India. She simply listened when I cried, I ranted, I raved. She and Grace were always there for me. Of course, everyone knew that Nick and I had split up. Sylvia said very little, but was convinced it had something to do with Anna’s turning up at Nick’s birthday party. That I had asked Nick to leave because I thought there’d been something going on between him and Anna once they’d been reunited at her wedding. My sister, Di, was one of the few, along with Lilian and Grace, who knew the truth. She’d shouted at me for an hour, called me all the names under the sun, said I was no better than our brother John, but had then poured us both a huge glass of wine and been determined, from then on, to be chief mediator in getting Nick and me back together. Which didn’t seem to be happening.
*
One beautiful warm evening in August, I walked down the lane to see Nick. I wasn’t sure if he’d be home or not, but Liberty seemed to think he’d returned from a trip to Italy the previous day. Kit had gone to Portugal for a week with Tom Prescott and his parents, India was having a sleepover at Megan’s and Libby was out with Seb. The twins were exhausted, having played in the paddling pool with Jonty all afternoon ‒ and were already fast asleep in their nursery, the balmy, sweet summer evening air drifting in through the open window, ruffling the yellow curtains. Di, who’d taken a couple of days off work, had been with Grace and me and the toddlers in the garden and, once we’d eaten, encouraged me to go down to see Nick. She’d babysit the twins, she said ‒ and be there to hold my hand, if necessary, on my return.
Feeling nervous, I showered, put on a simple summer shift dress, a slick of lipstick. I was ready.
I’d not actually seen Nick for a couple of weeks, apart from one day the previous weekend when he’d collected the twins and all their paraphernalia and taken them down to the farm for the day. I missed him so much, but had come to the conclusion I had to back off somewhat. Had to leave him alone, to make him want to come home without me overwhelming him with my tears and despair. I remembered how Anna had rung him constantly, in tears, pleading, in that first year Nick and I had been together: it had done her case no good whatsoever.
Nick’s car was parked outside the farmhouse, and the new French windows leading from the kitchen were flung open wide on to the garden. I felt like someone going out on their first date and had to stop to calm my breathing before going through them and into the kitchen. Nick was standing by the kitchen island, pouring himself a glass of wine and looking out of the open window above the sink. He started as I said his name and turned from the view.
‘Hi,’ I said.
He stared at me for ages and then held up the bottle of wine. ‘Do you want one?’
‘Please. I mean, if that’s OK,’ I said stupidly.
Nick frowned, but reached for another glass and filled it. He took both glasses in his hands and indicated the French windows. ‘It’s too nice to be in. Do you want to come and sit in the garden?’
We went outside and sat on the patio. One of Derek’s cows, grazing up to the fence that separated her field from the farmhouse’s garden, looked up with some interest but then carried on with her solitary chewing. I looked at Nick from underneath my sunglasses. He’d obviously managed to sit in the sun in Italy: his hair had lightened to the colour of ripe corn and his face and hands were tanned a deep brown. He was wearing a navy T-shirt tucked into faded Levi cut-offs, and I wanted to reach over and touch the golden hairs on his brown legs.
‘You look well,’ I said.
He smiled. ‘I feel it,’ he said. ‘I managed to spend a couple of days in the sun once I’d done what I had to do in Milan. I stayed in a fabulous villa with some friends of David and Amanda.’
‘Oh? Anyone I know?’
‘No, you wouldn’t know them.’ And that was all he said. I felt so left out of his life. He was staying with people I didn’t know, enjoying himself. Making a new life for himself.
‘Nick,’ I said, ‘I never meant to hurt you.’
He smiled. ‘Well no, I don’t suppose you did. I don’t suppose you woke up one morning and thought “Hmm, what shall I do today? I know… I’ll set out to hurt Nick. How can I do that? How about an affair? How about sodding off, leaving the children and shagging his workmate?”’
‘God, Nick, I hate that word.’
‘Which one? Nick? Children? Affair? Which one?’
‘You know which one,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘Shagging.’
Nick smiled again. ‘Well, Harriet, I’m really sorry if it offends your sensibilities, but if you are going to shag around I guess you have to be prepared to accept the word for it.’
When I didn’t say anything, but kept my eyes on my glass of wine, Nick said gently, ‘I’m sorry. That was a bit below the belt, wasn’t it?’
I looked up surprised, not just at his words but at his tone of voice. It was the first time in almost three months that he’d spoken to me without the accompanying sarcasm and anger.
‘Only what I deserve,’ I muttered, looking away.
‘It can’t have been easy with me away all the time, with five children to see to and with Alex Hamilton determined to win his challenge.’
I sighed. ‘No excuse, Nick. You know that.’
‘No, you’re right. No excuse.’
Silence as we both looked at Derek’s cow. She obviously wasn’t used to such attention. With an embarrassed whisk of her tail, she moved out of sight.
‘I want you to come home, Nick.’
He sighed and took my hand, stroking it gently. It was warm, familiar. ‘I know you do, Harriet. I know…’
‘But you can’t?’ I wanted to cry, but instead I smiled.
‘Not at the moment, Hat, no. Not just yet. Give me time.’ He smiled and kissed my cheek briefly.
It was a start.