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Michelle shifted Rosie to a more comfortable spot on her hip and craned her head so that the phone was out of reach of her daughter’s grasping, monkey-quick hands.
‘Virginia, this isn’t a great time.’
She spoke the words without any real hope of deflecting her mother-in-law from her purpose. Michelle could be beating down flames or fending off a ninja horde and Virginia would expect to be heard.
‘Chad is not returning my calls,’ Virginia began. ‘I have left several messages.’
Michelle could imagine. She could also imagine Chad deleting said messages without listening to one word. It was something she could never have pictured before now. Until recently, Chad would have always taken his mother’s calls unless there was a very good reason not to. And as Virginia’s idea of a very good reason was limited to unconsciousness or death, Chad had been known to speak to his mother during meetings with important clients, on the golf course before a crucial putt, and even, until Michelle made her views on the matter crystal clear, while he and his wife were having sex.
Now, Chad’s separation from his home city seemed more than a matter of physical miles. Michelle had suggested that Lowell and Virginia sign up to Zoom. Unsure of what social protocols should be at play, Virginia found communicating by any new technology disconcerting. By contrast, Chad’s father, Lowell, had been all for it, excited by the idea of being able to see and talk to the whole family. But Chad had so far declined to join Michelle, Harry and Rosie on any of their twice-weekly Zoom sessions with Gin-Gin and Grandpa Lowell, choosing instead to limit his contact to a Sunday night phone call. Initially, at least. If Virginia now felt compelled to phone Michelle, it was because Chad must have skipped more Sunday calls than Michelle had realised.
‘Chad is seriously busy.’ Rosie had begun to squirm. Michelle jiggled her on her hip to temporarily distract her. ‘The new job is very demanding.’
She did not add, ‘and I’m going out of my mind with loneliness and boredom.’ Michelle knew that Virginia had spent her entire life doing her duty to her own parents, her husband and society. The idea that she might have forged an identity or life of her own was inconceivable. If Michelle was bored and lonely, it was because she was putting her own needs first, which Virginia would no more consider than she would expose her midriff in public or wear white shoes after Labour Day.
‘His father’s birthday is in just three weeks’ time,’ said Virginia. ‘I have as yet received absolutely no confirmation of whether you will be returning home for the celebrations. I simply cannot keep the caterers waiting much longer.’
Michelle felt a surge of irritation, not at Virginia but at Chad. The invitation, gilt-edged and embossed, was in plain sight on the kitchen table, propped up against the fruit bowl. Chad had seen it there every morning for a week. Michelle knew full well that they would not be attending Lowell Lawrence’s seventieth birthday party, but it was not her job to say so. It was Chad’s father, damnit! It was his responsibility! She refused to do his dirty work for him.
Rosie gave a piercing, eldritch screech right in Michelle’s ear. It was her usual opening gambit to command attention. It would shortly be followed by her next move, which involved grabbing bits of Michelle’s face with her sharp-nailed and surprisingly vice-like little fingers.
‘OK, OK!’ Michelle hissed at her daughter, jiggling her again to buy time. ‘Virginia, I have to go. As you can hear, Rosie’s about to detonate.’
‘Very well,’ said her mother-in-law reluctantly. ‘But I must insist that Chad calls me today.’
She could can insist all she liked, thought Michelle as she put down the phone. It would make zippo difference.
She jerked her chin to avoid Rosie’s lightning-fast lunge for the soft flesh of her cheek and grabbed hold of her daughter’s small fists to prevent any further assaults. Thwarted, Rosie gave another furious screech.
Michelle stared down into her daughter’s smudgy dark blue eyes. Her own eyes. Chad’s were like Harry’s, a speckled gold-brown, such an attractive contrast to their blonde hair. Harry’s and Chad’s eyes were softly lit. Hers and Rosie’s flashed like stormy skies.
‘You,’ she told her daughter, ‘are a menace.’
Before Rosie could shriek again, Michelle swung around on her heels, whirling them both in a giddy circle. Harry despised any movement that was fast or that put him off balance. He hated swings, barely tolerated seesaws, and on his first, and last, ride on a merry-go-round, Chad had been forced to step onto the platform and lift him off. Harry liked sandpits, train sets and the television. They stayed put.
But Rosie, as Michelle knew she would, cackled with glee as she spun.
‘Come on,’ Michelle brought the spinning to a halt. ‘Let’s go and see if Harry has woken up from his nap. If he has, we’ll go to the playground.’
And with luck, Michelle thought, it would fill the afternoon gap until their dinner at five-thirty and another long, lonely day would be that much closer to the end.
Michelle tried very hard not to look at the illuminated digital face of the clock next to her bed. She had waited until ten-thirty to give up watching television and trudge to the bedroom. Before children, she would have considered it early. These days, she’d be lucky to make it to nine.
Tonight, though, Michelle had decided to stay up because it had occurred to her that, since they’d moved, she had no idea what time Chad had been coming home. It could be, she realised, any time between her usual bed time and six in the morning when Chad got up to catch the bus into the city. Michelle could not get to grips with Chad choosing to commute by bus. He’d always taken his car when they lived in Charlotte and that was only a ten-minute drive. Now, he had a forty-minute trip each way courtesy of Golden Gate Transit.
‘Why not drive?’ she’d asked.
‘I like the bus,’ Chad had replied. ‘I can work on it.’
‘Don’t your colleagues give you beans for catching the Loser Cruiser?’
But Chad had only shrugged.
Michelle gave in and glanced at the clock. Eleven fifty-three. She felt her stomach churn with a toxic mix of anxiety, resentment and outright fury. What the hell was he thinking, she fumed? How does he expect to function on this little sleep? What’s he eating? And is he usually this late? What if he’s not, and something’s happened? How would I know, he never tells me when he expects to be home! How dare he put me through this!
She knew the simplest solution was to call his mobile, but pride trampled the idea into the dust. I’m not calling him, damnit, Michelle decided. It’s up to him to call me! Yes, even at — what is it now? Eleven fifty-goddamn-five!
Then she heard the click-thump of the front door being unlocked, and for a moment didn’t know whether she wanted to rush down and hug him or deliver a right hook to his jaw. She decided instead to wait and see what he did. If he came up to bed promptly, she might feel more lenient.
Ten minutes later, the muted babble of television voices lifted into the bedroom. Right, fumed Michelle. That was it!
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded as she rounded into the living room.
Chad was laying full length on the couch. His tie and jacket had been thrown over the back of a chair. His shoes were still on, propped up on the arm of the couch. He had the television remote in one hand and a can in the other.
‘What the hell is that?’ Michelle pointed at the can. ‘Is that beer?’
Chad looked up at her finger and back down at the can. ‘Seems so.’
Michelle had never given the phrase ‘hopping mad’ much thought, but she realised that was exactly what she was doing now — bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as if galvanised electrically by rage. There were so many phrases battling for supremacy in her head that all that came out of her mouth was a small, inarticulate squawk.
‘Don’t,’ said Chad.
He aimed the remote and the television fizzed to black. Slowly, he swung his feet off the couch and stood up. At just five foot five inches, Michelle found herself staring at his chest.
‘Don’t,’ he said, as she opened her mouth again. ‘Not now.’
His voice was quiet and neutral, and his face as he stared down at her was equally expressionless. He upended the can and took a swig. Then he left her and walked off towards the kitchen.
Michelle found her rage stopped in its tracks. Her brain was telling her that he had every right to ask her to leave it alone and that he’d also been polite about it. But her gut was swilling with fear. His response had shocked her. There’d been no connection there at all. Chad had always tolerated her remonstrations, even when, she had to admit, she had less justification for being angry with him than she did now. He’d always listened to her, if not with pleasure than at least with patience. That’s because, Michelle realised with a start, what upsets me, no matter what it is, how big or how trivial, had always been important to him. It had always been important to him to make her happy . . .
She could hear Chad in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. There was the rustle of a plastic bag, the bread, she guessed, and the soft thunk of the door closing. A cupboard was opened and shut. Peanut butter? Harry and Chad both adored peanut better. Michelle remembered a small rant when a new child joined Harry’s playgroup and the mother had announced that due to her son’s nut allergy, all peanut products and any other food items manufactured within at least fifty-five miles of peanuts were henceforth forbidden. At least the kid wasn’t gluten-free as well, Michelle had muttered to Chad. I would have had to suffocate him in the ball pit.
Chad and Harry used to make peanut butter sandwiches together . . .
To her horror, Michelle felt her breath quicken and tears began to well. Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. Don’t be such a baby. She was a grown-up. Chad was a grown-up. Go and sort this out now.
Chad was leaning against the kitchen bench, chewing slowly on a sandwich. As Michelle entered, his eyes slid to her. Usually, on the rare occasions he’d made a small stand, there had been in his expression a wary plea for Michelle not to come down too hard on him. There was none of that present now. If not openly hostile, Chad’s face was certainly not conciliatory. Michelle had been thinking about going up to him and giving him a hug. She decided instead to keep her distance.
‘I won’t say anything now,’ she told him, ‘but we have to talk. So — when?’
‘I can’t help the hours, Mitch,’ he said. ‘It’s just how it’s going to be.’
Michelle counted to ten. ‘Well then, if we want to continue being husband and wife, and you want to continue being a father, we need a plan. You need to schedule in time with Harry and Rosie, and we need to find time for us, too.’ Her voice rose; she couldn’t help it. ‘I mean, Jesus! We haven’t had sex for freaking weeks!’
Chad finished a bite of sandwich. ‘You’re always asleep.’
‘That’s because you’re always home at bloody – whenever!’ Michelle sucked in a calming breath. ‘I’m not asleep in the morning. I wake up when you do. On weekdays and Saturdays at least. On Sunday mornings, may I remind you, it’s you who’s dead to the world! We’ll have time,’ she went on. ‘Harry and Rosie usually last till seven.’
‘I can’t miss the bus,’ he said after a pause.
‘I’m not asking for ten hours of tantric bloody pleasuring! Set the alarm for fifteen minutes earlier. Surely that’s not too much to ask!’
The last piece of sandwich went into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. ‘Every morning?’
‘No! Pick a morning! You choose!’
Chad stared at her. ‘Scheduled sex.’
‘Currently, we have no sex,’ Michelle said. ‘Or is that what you’d prefer?’
Her husband didn’t reply. He moved over to the sink and began to wash his hands. Michelle felt the tears again threaten to emerge. She swallowed hard to prevent them.
Chad had taken a dishtowel from the rack and was wiping his hands. His mother would not approve, thought Michelle. She would not approve of any of this.
Michelle had not moved further than the kitchen doorway. Chad had replaced the dishtowel and was heading her way. He could not go past without touching her. For that brief moment she felt the warmth from his body and his familiar smell, and she had a sudden urge to grab him and cling to him and bury her face in his chest.
As it was, Chad was the one who paused. His expression as he stared down at Michelle seemed to her to be one of academic puzzlement, detached curiosity. With a sudden, jerky movement, he bent and kissed her. The kiss was almost too hard, bordering on aggressive. He tasted of peanut butter and beer. He pressed up against her, and Michelle could feel him becoming aroused. She’d always loved that moment, when she knew he wanted her. She had always enjoyed working Chad up to a fever pitch of lust. Trouble was, she couldn’t exactly recall how it had felt the last time she’d done that. She wasn’t sure it had felt like this.
He broke the kiss and bent his mouth to her ear. ‘Come on,’ he murmured, and led her by the hand.
In bed, he spent more than fifteen minutes, but when it was over, he stroked her hair and kissed her gently, then rolled on his back and went straight to sleep.
Michelle did not. She lay there, eyes open, staring at the dark.
She’d got what she wanted, she told herself. So why did she feel as though she’d lost?