If there’s one thing that will frighten the living crap out of someone it’s seeing cops outside their house. Which is what I’m looking at now. Two of them getting into their car having just walked out of my garden. What the hell is going on? Did Tom contact them about the intruder in the garden? I doubt it. He was too against me doing it. Or maybe they’re following up my call. They didn’t seem that interested. Still, my chest tightens.
Breathe, Sally, breathe. Cian and Aaron, strapped into their car seats, watch the big police car driving on down the road around the corner and out of sight. I want to run after them, flag them down and ask them but then I remember Sunday, Tom’s accident. The cops must have called to clarify some information he’d given them or something like that. But do they do that? Knock on your front door without any warning and drag your good name to the attention and judgement of the neighbours? Maybe they do. I’m not familiar with their routines. All I know is my heart is beating a lot faster than it was five minutes ago.
Eventually I park the car into a tight spot in front of the house and release the boys from their seats. They both jump out of the car and race towards the door.
‘Daddy’s home,’ Cian calls out when he spots Tom’s car in the driveway.
The weight of the crèche bag drags on my shoulder, getting heavier and heavier as the years go by. I thought when the nappy stage ended things would get a lot easier. But no. Now they have to have a change of clothes for this, a T-shirt for that, a pair of slippers for something else. Ensuring they get full marks from their minders takes a lot of organization.
I follow the boys, rummaging in my handbag for the key. Before locating it, the door opens. Taking both boys under his arms, Tom swings them down the hallway into the kitchen.
‘What’s for dinner?’ he asks, placing Cian and Aaron down, so they can scurry off into the playroom.
What’s for dinner? Is the man gone mad? What about the cops, Tom? Is he going to continue like nothing has happened? Pretend two policemen didn’t just walk out of the house. Maybe he thinks I didn’t see them. That’s it, he thinks they were gone before I pulled up in the car. I’ll say nothing, give him the benefit of the doubt, he might be waiting for me to take my coat off before he drops the bomb.
I’m wrong again. Two hours have passed and he still hasn’t mentioned the fact that the police were at the house. With the boys fast asleep in bed and Amber at Sarah’s, he’s had ample opportunity. I even tried to introduce the subject, asking how his day went? Was he feeling okay after the accident on Sunday? But Tom just gave the usual information-free replies. At one point he seemed a little jittery, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Maybe he just doesn’t want to bother me if it’s not important. Maybe he’s mad that I went ahead and phoned in about the intruder. Shit, I don’t know what to think, but I’ll wait until Amber is home and in bed before mentioning it.
I don’t have to. He brings the topic to the table and in a tone that makes me nervous. Tom is holding my hand, sitting beside me on the sofa, looking into my eyes. His expression is unfamiliar: concern? Fear? I’m not sure, but the man is definitely about to tell me something I don’t want to hear and I’m worried. Amber had no sooner closed the bedroom door when he asked me to sit down.
‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ he says.
So here I am, sitting, waiting for my world to be turned upside down. There is no other explanation for the scene setting. This is serious. Losing all my money was serious too, but that bombshell was disclosed in front of the kids, out in the garden like he was commenting on the disappointing results of a football match. This, I’m afraid, is a lot more critical.
‘Sally,’ he starts. I nod, holding my breath, my past, my future, huddling them all into a safe place in the corner of my mind before he destroys them. ‘I don’t know how to say this.’
I pull my hand from his grip. ‘Just say it, Tom.’
‘Before I say anything, I need you to know that I’ve only just found out about this myself.’
Here we go, exonerating himself before he even tells me what’s going on.
‘I hate having to tell you like this… but…’ Tom stands up and walks over to the wall, leaning with one hand against it, the other on his face. The fucker has got another child.
That’s what he’s unable to say. I know it.
‘Sally, there is another child, a boy, Kenny...’ I let the pain sting me. Ouch. Sitting silent on the sofa my insides somersault and blood rushes to my head. My body feels weak, my mind, not so much. Part of me wants to jump up out of this chair and hit him, scream at him, shove him out the front door. Tell him never to come back, that it’s over, I hate him. Another part of me wants to cry. I do neither.
Tom continues. ‘He contacted me two months ago… I promise you, I knew nothing up to that moment.’
Two months ago! I thought he was going to say last week. He’s been lying to me for two months! Kissing me, making love to me, though I think that might have just been the once. Our sex life has taken a battering since the boys arrived. I shake my head in despair as tears start to fall down my cheeks.
Tom moves away from the wall, slowly turning to look at me. Feeling braver, now that he’s told me and I haven’t hit him over the head with the nearest suitable object. I quickly brush my tears away, unsure if they are tears of hurt or anger. I don’t speak, I want to hear his whole lame story about why he kept it from me. Why he didn’t admit it when I questioned him on Saturday? Why did he hide it from me then? Why did he have to lie?
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, what would happen to us, how I would react, since the possibility was put in my head. Since seeing the photograph. And now, here I am trying my best to stay calm on the outside while I’m burning on the inside. Say nothing Sal, wait until he tells you everything.
His voice becomes less wimpy. ‘I had to wait for the DNA results. I didn’t want to upset you if it wasn’t true.’
‘What fucking DNA results?’ I hear myself scream at him.
‘Let me finish. Please, Sal.’ He’s searching to make contact with my eyes but I turn my head away. ‘Sal, you have to understand, I was under fierce pressure, I didn’t know what to do. I planned to tell you as soon as the time was right… as soon as the moment was right and then, when you mentioned it on Saturday you… you caught me off guard, I wasn’t prepared and I… I just panicked.’
It didn’t look like panic to me. In fact, he was pretty relaxed as far as I can remember. If I was asked for my honest opinion in a court of law, I would say Tom thought the problem would go away. That this boy would be happy to have a distant relationship with him and Sally Cooper wouldn’t have to know a thing about it.
So what has gone wrong? Why is Tom telling me now? And why were the cops here? Maybe it’s time for me to ask a few questions.
‘Were you with me at the time this son was conceived?’ I can’t hide my bitterness.
‘No, Sal, it happened before I met you.’
‘What age is he?’
‘Sixteen.’
I want to vomit. My heart is about to explode. If the kid is sixteen, which ties in with what Charlie said: Tom was with me; Amber is fifteen. Does he think I’m a fucking idiot, that I can’t do the maths?
‘Tom, you were with me,’ I say, working hard to keep my voice even.
He’s taking deep breaths now.
‘Not really, Sal, I’d met you but we weren’t going steady or married so…’ He takes a few steps closer to me. ‘We weren’t together, Sal, I was never unfaithful to you.’
Standing to avoid any pathetic attempt he might be dreaming up to soothe me, my face creases with anger. He steps closer, I can smell the woody scent of his aftershave and it turns my stomach even more. Lifting both my hands in the air I take a step backwards to warn him off. I will need the exact dates to work out if Tom and I were going steady at the time: if we were, it changes everything; if we weren’t, he’s a liar and a dickhead.
‘When were you planning on telling me all this? If I hadn’t seen that photo would I ever have known?’ And then I remember what started this all off. ‘Why were the police here today, Tom?’
Tom rubs his chin looking up at the ceiling and letting out what I can only describe as a sound an animal might make, a squeaky groan. Something tells me this is going to get worse.
‘Well… that’s the thing,’ he says.