Coming Around Again (2 page)

Will and Danny stared at her, then up at Niels, and burst into tears.
Stella walked back into her bedroom and closed it behind her, resting her back
against the solid oak. She heard Danny scream, “You can’t go! You just came
back!”

“Daddy, please don’t leave,” Will begged, his voice breaking from the
onslaught of tears. Stella pressed her ear to the door, trying to make out what
their father said in response.

“Listen, both of you.” He raised his voice over their questions and
their tears. “Come on, back to bed. I am staying right here until you fall
asleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

Their voices quieted and the door clicked closed. Stella slowly dragged
herself to her feet and padded to the bathroom. Her reflection shocked her. “I
look like I’m having an episode,” she murmured, reaching over to pick up her
toothbrush. In minutes, her hair tamed under a silk scarf, teeth clean and face
even cleaner, she pulled on pyjamas, the same ones Niels found so offensive the
last time he fucked her for two hours.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she sat on the bed and gave into tears
that had threatened to take over her whole body the minute Niels had said her
name. Drawing her knees to her chest, she let the sobs take over. She had no
idea how long she cried for, or when she fell asleep. The next thing she knew, Niels
covered her with the duvet.

“Don’t touch me,” she croaked. He crouched by the side of the bed and
lifted the knot of her scarf from her eye.

“They’re asleep.”

“And you came in here to tell me that why?”

His eyes were red, she noticed.
Good! I hope this is cutting you the
fuck up inside!

“Because you don’t want them hurt any more than I do.”

“Funny way of showing it. Breaking their mother’s heart.”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that. I’m not enjoying this.”

“Then why do it at all?”

He sighed, leaning forward to press his mouth to her cheek. “It’ll be
worse if I don’t.” He kissed her again and straightened. “I promised the boys.
I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No, you won’t,” she whispered. He hesitated and she shook her head. “If
you do this… Don’t hang around. Go. You go. Everything goes with you.” Stella
jerked at her wedding and engagement rings, but they steadfastly remained on
her fingers.

“Higher power telling you to leave them be. It’s not important.”

Cold slithered its way through her veins. “It is. First stage of the
Niels Strøm exit plan, where I erase every single bit of you from my life. Now
get out.”

“I will always be in your life, Stella. Past, present, and future.”

She sat up, ripped the bedside lamp from the table and threw it at him.
It clipped his cheek and smashed against the wall. He stared at her in shock.

“I’ll say it again, for the deaf one at the back of the room. Out.”

He took a dangerous step towards her, but Danny saved him—or her. He
jumped up and down outside the door, crying out, “What’s going on?”

With an inscrutable expression on his face, Niels turned from her and
collected Danny in his arms. “Muma’s redecorating. Back to bed.”

Left alone in her room, Stella stared sightlessly at the ceiling. She
vowed to throw out the bed and replace it the next day. The eradication of
Niels Strøm from her life would begin in earnest.

He started it. She’d finish it.

***

Stillness reigned in the house. At six thirty in the morning, Stella
expected nothing less. She hadn’t slept. Why would she? Her marriage was over.
Her husband was leaving her.

Last year, she’d cleaned out their house. Spring cleaning. For a day,
she hung out her wedding dress, a long confection of the purest white Italian
lace. In a time when everyone else had been obsessed with satin and flounces,
the lace stood out as vintage, to the point of old-fashioned. Now everyone wore
lace. So, to take advantage, she took a few pictures of the dress and put it up
on an auction site at a reasonable price and watched as women bid outrageous
sums for it. After all, she’d worn it once, not spilled even a tear onto it and
it had been hand-stitched by a then-relatively unknown Selene Reyce. The
included cathedral-length train whacked the price up even more.

Niels came home and asked her what she was doing.

“Selling my dress.”

“Your wedding dress?” he asked, his eyebrows arched into a frown of such
disapproval, she nearly started laughing.

“Yes, that old thing. It’s just taking up space. Look. It’s up to a
grand.”

“Take it off that site, right now.”

Stella took her gaze from the increased bid to her husband’s face.
“What?”

“You sell that dress, what does that say about our marriage? Disposable.
Unimportant. A memory you have no use for. That it means nothing to you. So
little you’re willing to give it to a stranger. For money, no less.”

His passion threw her off balance. Of course she loved the dress and
every single memory that went with the most perfect of days in her whole life.
But it was just a dress. “Well, no… All I’m doing is…”

“Don’t sell it.”

“Niels, I—”

“You sell it and I won’t forgive you.”

His cheeks were flushed with anger and before she could reply, he
stormed from the bedroom. Stella immediately removed the dress from the website
and packed it away once more.

She found her husband sitting in the office, tapping irritable fingers
against the table. Moving his hand out of the way, she eased herself onto his
lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m not selling it, so stop
sulking.”

“I’ve never sulked in my life,” he muttered, before pressing his mouth
to her shoulder. “You in that dress… Reminds me of everything we started out
with. And how much more we have together. Don’t. All right?”

“I won’t.”

Knowing he could break his promises so easily, made it easier for her to
open her laptop and reload the dress. An hour later, the boys stirred for
breakfast and school. Niels didn’t disturb her, only prepared them for the day
and packed them into the car. Stella walked around the house with a pad of
paper and pen, noting everything he needed to take with him. Clothes, shoes,
skiing equipment, that gratuitous fifty-inch flat screen TV, speakers, his
fucking filing cabinet… That horrible reclining chair.

The door closed and she stiffened.

Niels leaned on the doorway and tapped his key against the wall. “Shall
we try this talking thing again?”

“No need.”

His deep breath drew nothing more than irritation from her. “I really
think we need to.”

She flicked him a look over her shoulder. “Whatever it is… I don’t
care.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The tone in his voice made her look up. “I’m not going to be your wife
any more. Means I can do what I want. You don’t have any rights to my truth. My
faithfulness. Nothing. It’s not your concern any more. What I do and who I do
it with.”

His face flickered with anger, and it stoked a flame of satisfaction in
her. “Oh really. That upsets you? Me getting on with my life. With someone who
won’t make a pretence with me for years on end? Like I said. Not your concern
anymore.”

“Will you listen, you stubborn woman!”

“To what? What do you want to say? What could you possibly say that will
even start to undo what you’ve done to me?”

“You don’t feel you can trust me anymore?” he suggested, bitterness
sharpening his voice. “Welcome to my world. If you don’t want to talk, fine. I
can’t force you to listen. But know I have tried. You want to live in your own
land, where you rule, and everyone else is your obedient subject. Forgive me if
I want to relocate.”

“No,” she retorted. “I don’t
forgive
you. I will never forgive
you for this. Why are you still here? If I’m so terrible, why haven’t you
gone?”

He breathed out, the sound harsh and loud in the room. “I promised the
boys I’d be here.”

“That’s it?”

“What more would there be?” he asked bluntly. “I’ll be upstairs
packing.”

As soon as he left the room, she collapsed into the nearest chair and
struggled to regulate her breathing. She kept expecting any minute to wake up,
with Niels beside her, asking her why she kept tossing and turning, keeping him
from his precious sleep.

“This is really happening,” she whispered. Who could she call for help?
She couldn’t cope with this. Her mother would be horrified. Friends could only
offer sympathy, but she had an idea a few of them would be quite pleased.
Stella had been undeniably smug about her perfect husband, perfect twins, and
her perfect job. She wouldn’t be able to stand the falsity. No, she had to deal
with this the way she dealt with everything in her life. Alone.

By the end of the week, her first as a separated woman, the dress would
be sold for over four thousand pounds and packaged to a starry-eyed girl in
Lancaster, who had no idea of the cruelties marriage would expose her to.

The money of the sale went straight into the pocket of her solicitor.

One Year Married

“We haven’t even furnished the place properly yet,” Stella protested.
Alwine Strøm, Niels’ mother, would be descending on them in mere minutes.
Barely married a year, she and Niels were still trying to find their feet as a
couple. Her feelings crossed between the surreal and fear, always blanketed by
the intensity of her love for her husband.

What-ifs
worried away at her in unguarded
moments. If he didn’t contact her during the day. If he didn’t even attempt to
grope her when he fell into bed after a day at work. If they didn’t have plans
for their weekend that didn’t revolve around the house, redecoration, and
furniture shops. She worried that maybe they should have just lived together;
much to her mother’s disgust. Maybe the wedding had been overwhelming and they
had spent an obscene amount of money entertaining and hosting all two hundred
guests. The come-down from the day itself had only been marginally assuaged by
the honeymoon in Bora Bora, organised by Niels to the letter. They hadn’t done
much in their two weeks in the sun. Slept. Made love. A lot. And swam like
mer-people. If only they could have stayed there. Shunned reality. Because the
moment they returned, all anyone wanted to know was whether she was pregnant
and why it was taking so long.

For her mother-in-law to come for a long weekend, on top of the pressure
Stella felt to reproduce to her entire family’s timetable, was unnecessary.

“There’s a bed for her, a working shower, she’ll be happy.” Niels
assured her, kissing her on the head to reach past her for the coffee press.
“You worry too much.”

“I just don’t want her to think I’m neglecting you.”

He sent her an amused glance. “How do you define neglect?”

Ooh, flirting!
Good distraction
,
she thought, a smile curving her lips. “I don’t know... You look a little too
well rested for a recently married man.”

Laughing, he caught her by the waist and pulled her in between his
thighs as he perched on the lone breakfast stool they’d inherited from Niels’
old home. The other had broken in transport. “Mrs Strøm,” he said gently, and
she melted.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m happy. Because you’re my wife. And when I wake up and see you still
beside me, it makes me even happier. Hence the well-rested look. Now, if you
want to exhaust me...” His palms roved over her bottom, squeezing both globes
with intent.

“No,” she said firmly, lifting his hands from her arse and stepping
away.

“What do you want in return?”

Stella nearly knocked over the coffee pot. “Really? What do I want in
exchange for that?”

He lifted his eyebrows suggestively. “Anything you want.”

“Don’t think you can afford it,” she warned, quickly moving out of his
reach. Niels got to his feet and trapped her between his body and the kitchen
counter.

The one thing Stella never worried about was their connection. Strong as
it had ever been since the day they met. She couldn’t ever imagine a day when
she wouldn’t want him. Underneath her. On top of her. Behind her. Testing her
limits, pushing her boundaries, making her scream and cry and beg.

“I want every part of you,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent
tremors through her body. Lifting a hand, he traced his thumb from her jaw
line, to her collarbone, over the rise of her breast to flick over her nipple.
“Every single inch. When you let me—and you will let me—you’ll only ask
yourself why you didn’t let me earlier...”

His hand delved underneath her T-shirt, a firebrand touch across her
heated skin. “Some things,” she murmured, leaning away from his mouth, “are
worth waiting for. You’ve got a long way to convince me.”

The smirk on his face acknowledged her challenge, and with slow, deliberate
movements, he unzipped her jeans, not taking his eyes from hers for a second.
She couldn’t catch her breath as he knelt in front of her and gave the denim a
firm tug. He brushed the tip of his nose over her belly, pressing his lips to
her flesh.

“Let me know if this is working,” he suggested, a devilish grin lifting
his features.

“Ooh...” she gasped, his tongue flicking against her.

“Open for me,” he ordered and despite the restriction of her jeans, she
parted her thighs further as commanded. Her mind drifted blissfully free of any
concerns. Shudders upon shudders overtook her, with each brush of his tongue,
the nudge of his lip against her clit, the feathered touch just below his
mouth.

The doorbell rang. A cold bucket of water in a single sound. “She’s
early!” Stella gasped. Niels groaned, resting his head against her stomach
briefly. He got to his feet and righted her clothing.

“You answer the door and I’ll clean up.”

“Good idea.” Straightening her clothing, Stella forced a smile to her
face and opened the door to her mother-in-law.

“Hello!” Stella beamed.

“Good morning, Stella.” Alwine sounded quiet and grave. She always
sounded quiet and grave. Before the wedding, Alwine visited Stella in her hotel
room.

“Niels said I could come and say hello.”

“Of course. Is he okay? He hasn’t run off, has he?” Stella asked,
instantly worried.

“No, not at all. I just wanted to ask you something.”

Stella thought it really wasn’t the time to make requests of a bride,
but hey. New mother-in-law. “Sure.”

“Can you... Just, please, look after my son.”

Stella raised an eyebrow.
Love, he has all-day access to my vagina.
I’m more than looking after him
. “Going to promise that in front of a
priest.”

“Just promise me.”

“I promise, Mrs. Strøm.”

“Better to call me Alwine. You’ll be Mrs. Strøm from now on.”

If anything warned her to be careful around her mother-in-law, it
centred on those words.

“Can I take your bag, Alwine?” Stella offered, leaning forward to reach
for the suitcase.

“No, no. I can manage.” The older woman picked up her case and crossed
the threshold, taking a cursory look at the house. “I suppose it’s a work in
progress.” She sent Stella a soft smile. “Something for you and Niels to work
on together.”

“That’s the idea. Shall I show you to your room?”

“Where’s Niels?”

Sigh. “Just cleaning up. Come upstairs, then I can make you a hot
drink.”

Stella winced at the creak of every step and tried not to focus on the
plaster still drying on the walls. Niels had a specific vision for the house.
One she shared entirely. And even though he’d told his mother that they were
renovating, Alwine decided a brief holiday was in order, since her eldest son
had been too busy to pay a visit.

“How’s Mr. Strøm?” Stella asked as they reached the corridor.

“He’s fine. He’s gone to stay with Niels’ sister for a few days, while
I’m here. I did tell him he could come with me, but...” She shrugged. With an
understanding nod, Stella opened the bedroom door and set Alwine’s suitcase
inside. Stella had made the effort to lay out brand new bed linen, wedding
linen, and clean towels, also bought as wedding gifts. Niels had bought a large
bouquet of flowers and set up a tea service in the room for Alwine as well.
Just like a bloody bed and breakfast
,
Stella thought distastefully.

“It’s lovely,” Alwine said, approval muted in her tone. She strode to
the window which overlooked the large garden. “It’s a very quiet area you’ve
chosen.”

“We got more bang for our buck here,” Stella said with a shrug. “Bit
more space for us.”

“And children?”

“If and when they come, yes. There are some great schools in this
catchment area. It’s easy for Niels to commute to his office and for me to get
to my salon.”

“Oh, that’s doing well?”

“Keeping me busy, yes. I’ll need to go soon, and you and Niels will have
lots of time to yourselves today.”

Alwine twisted her lips, and looked out of the window once more. “Are
you sure you want to be working so much? You’re only just married. This is the
hardest year.”

Lord. She’d endured the same lecture from her own mother. “Have to.
We’ve got plans together. Doesn’t happen without money.”

“You know how traditional Niels is…”

“Yes, but he didn’t marry a fembot. He married me. Working me. Driven
me. Want everything I can possibly give my family… Me.”

Alwine clasped her hands in front of her primly. “I know my son. When
you have your own children, you’ll know them in a way no one else ever will. He
will want to look after you. He will want to feel needed. Like the man. Trust
him, that you don’t have to do everything yourself. No, Stella. As a woman who
has been married for almost forty years, believe me. A husband and wife each
have their role to play. Like a fulcrum. If you don’t do what you are supposed
to, it will all fall apart. There’s no shame in a little dependence.”

Niels walked into the room and embraced his mother. They spoke in
Danish, their words floating over Stella’s head. All Stella could think of, was
how little Alwine understood Stella. Dependency could never be an option.
Watching her mother’s marriages fall apart one after the other only ever taught
her to have an exit strategy. A plan should she ever be husbandless. Her friend
Eden told her of all the horror stories of woman who relied on their husbands
for everything and once he left, they were at a loss of what to do with matters
as simple as utility bills. Niels appreciated her independence. Of course he
did! Why else would he marry her, unless he wanted to break her?

Niels edged his mother out of the house. “Do you want a drink? Stella’s
going to work and we can have brunch.”

“Yes, I’m just going to get changed.”

“We’ll finish that discussion later, Stella,” Niels said, his voice full
of promise. It made her giggle. Moreover, it made her forget her
mother-in-law’s words of warning.

How those words would seek to haunt her in nine years’ time…

***

“This is a joke. It has to be,” Stella fumed, thrusting the divorce
petition towards her friend. She’d always amused herself about the fact that
she’d surrounded herself with professionals for close personal friends, but she
never once considered she might need any of them.

Eden held up her hands for patience. “Just calm down there. Let me read
through and I’ll explain it to you.”

As if Eden could be rational about what was happening to Stella. She’d
just met
the One
. Some sleepy-eyed bloke called Henry. He sounded like a
right barrel of laughs. Reclining on her cloud of love, Stella fully doubted
that Eden would display objectivity–or rather for Stella’s bruised and battered
ego, female solidarity.

“Okay, well, Stella, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Why? He’s saying I was emotionally unavailable. That I eliminated him
from my life. That I, me, his wife, made him feel unwanted and unable to meet
my expectations of him and our family. Is he fucking joking?”

Eden once again pleaded for calm as the rush of fury began to sweep
Stella into a second wave of frenzy. The minute the papers arrived, she became
a tornado of emotion, spitting bile and bursting into tears. In black and white
for the world to see—her husband’s damning assessment of their marriage.
Everyone would see. The humiliation competed with grief, shaking her from the
inside out.

“There’s no such thing as a no-fault-based divorce in this country. It’s
just a matter of who gets in there first to push the blame.” Her friend gazed
at her with sympathy. “When did you two stop talking?” Stella immediately
opened her mouth to launch a full-on Iraq War protest, but had to stop.

She couldn’t say. But then again, Stella had never been the type of
woman to wait around for things to be done. If a tap leaked, she’d get out her
own tools and tighten it. She arranged their mortgage payments, building
insurance, and dental insurance for their children. It fell to her to remember
when their cars needed their tax renewal, joint insurance to be paid.
Mattresses? Flipped. Cleaning? One hired, twice a week, to meet Niels’ exacting
standards. Fridge stocked with everything and anything he and his refuse sack
sons wanted? Naturally.

What did she need him for? They didn’t talk. Even if he began to talk,
she felt instantaneously resentful. He didn’t understand how exhausted she
nearly always was. The boys ran her ragged. Work drained her, physically and
mentally. Every day. In the midst of a recession, she dragged clients in with
promotions and discounts, to make up numbers and to keep her staff intact. Each
word felt like a criticism. Avoiding talking altogether seemed the best way to
sidestep arguments. Not as an excuse to hand in her “wife” card and privileges.

“Do you remember the last time you asked him how his day was?”

“Well that’s not a reason to divorce me! I was in labour with his sons
and heirs for twenty-three hours, I don’t owe him a
how’s your day darling
!
”