Coming Around Again (3 page)

Eden twisted her lips. “I’ll be honest with you. The majority of
marriages I deal with are people who married on the spur of the moment and they
realise two, five, ten years down the line that they have nothing in common
with the person they married. The worst of it starts from that very same point.
Do you know what it means for someone, your spouse, the person who promised to
love you in sickness and health, to ask you the simplest of questions that
shows you give a goddamn and a half? The world, Stel.”

Oh God. Oh good God.

“If they don’t even care about the eight to ten hours you spend away
from them, or if very simply if you’re okay, then what’s the point? If they
don’t care if you’ve had a client rage at you, or a business deal fall through,
or if you’ve monumentally fucked up and they don’t want to share the bad with
you, then why are you married? If you break everything down to a point score—I
did the dishes, so I’m not making the bed. I had the children, so we’re square
for eternity. I’ve worked since before I could walk, so I don’t owe you a
thing—then that’s not a marriage. It’s a war zone. I wouldn’t expect anyone to
live like that, I know that man, Stel. He loves you to bits and pieces. I can
only think it’s a last straw thing.”

Stella’s gaze travelled between Eden’s sympathy-filled ones to the
divorce papers. But what effort had he made to change her mind? To get her on
side? To explain how he felt? No, he just walked off, bought a house and served
her with divorce proceedings. Why wouldn’t he open his tight, thin Danish lips
and say what the fuck was going on with him?

“He never said,” she whispered. “What do I do?”

“One thing at a time, Stel. Do you want to offer mediation? Counselling?
Try and sort this out between the two of you?”

She sat back. He’d given up on her. He’d sworn on everything going that
he never would. The bastard even teased her that she’d be the one to walk away
from them first. What would she be fighting for? The frail piece of hope, the
one where Niels took it all back and said
let’s try again,
that sickly
emotion Stella had clung to curled up and died. He didn’t love her any more.
How could he and put her through this?

“What’s the point? He’s made his decision, hasn’t he?”

Eden stood up and collected some papers from her printer and sat next to
her. “Remember how bad you felt when your mum was in hospital? Times it by ten,
extend it by months to maybe years, and that is what a divorce is. Really. If
you can avoid this, if you and The Strøm can work this out? Do it.”

Ice wormed its way through her veins; freezing every part of her, until
she felt numb. “He’s done this, Eden, not me. He wants something else entirely
and I can’t give it to him apparently. I’m not
available
for his wants
and needs. So fuck him. And the plane he rode in on.”

Her friend put the papers on the desk and rounded it to reach beneath.
“I’m obviously not allowed to drink on premises, but this constitutes an
emergency.”

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“And?” Eden put two plastic cups on the desk and from a sterling silver
flask, poured out tea-coloured liquid. “It’s my Dad’s thirty-year-old whisky. I
nicked it when I went over for dinner the other day. He keeps the good shit in
his study.”

Stella touched her cup to Eden’s. “To stealing from our parents. At this
age.”

“To not giving up. On anyone.”

Stella threw back her drink and winced at the instant burn. She was sure
Eden’s father would curse her for mistreating such expensive liquor that way,
but such was her need for comfort. “If you say so. What do I need to do?”

Eden blinked several times and lobbed her cup into the bin. “Okay.
Acknowledgement of service. Straightforward enough. You can contest the divorce
if you want to…”

“Nope. Let him fuck off and see how many other women will put up with
him.”

The lawyer made a face and Stella’s eyebrows peaked. “What’s that for?”

“If you didn’t want me to make that face, you shouldn’t have told me all
the BDSM stories about you and him sexually. It’s taken me a long time to look
your husband in the eye without thinking about his packaging.”

Stella snorted. “Sometimes I have to share.”

“No, darling, you really don’t.”

That had been the last thing on her mind, but to think about it… No more
hugs from those wonderfully thick arms. No more fumbles in the middle of the
night. No more offensive pyjamas to induce a sex-fest lasting hours, or teasing
calls, text messages, emails in the middle of meetings that made her cross her
legs and beg God for time to move faster just so she could rush to find him,
make everything he’d promised come true… Coldness, and paperwork and “emotional
unavailability” would now be her bedfellow.

“What else do I need to do?” she asked, determinedly topping up her
paper cup with more whisky.

“Do you agree with the arrangements for the children?”

“Fuck, no. They’re staying with me. Full time.”

Eden winced. “That’s going to be a battle.”

“I’m their mum.”

“And he’s their dad. This isn’t the eighties. The courts are daddy-friendly
now. Especially with boys. Split it between you. One week on and one week off.
Alternative Christmases and New Years’.”

“No,” Stella flatly refused. “Doesn’t work like that. We flip a coin and
I don’t see my children over Christmas? Fucking Christmas? No. They’re staying
with me and he sorts himself out.”

Eden drank straight from the hip flask. “All right. I’ll fill out a
residence order application.”

“And make sure he can’t just ship them off to Denmark as well.”

“And a specific issue application.”

“And I’m keeping the house.”

Eden’s head thumped against the desk. “Jesus. You know this is going to
be dirty? Guerrilla-warfare dirty?”

Stella lifted her cup. “That’s the only way I play.”

Three years married

Stella closed the door behind her and rested against the wood. Last time
she did a long shift. Ever. There was no way she could sustain it. Her life had
changed beyond all recognition from the woman of three years ago establishing a
salon. She had a husband. Two babies to come home to and a quarter of the same
energy.
You’re old, bitch
, she told herself.

“Stella?” her mother’s voice hissed from the living room. She put down
her bag and toed off the orthopaedic shoes she wore to do massages and popped
her head around the door. Niels had hold of both babies, nestled in each arm
and all three of her men were fast asleep. Stella’s heart melted into utter
goo. Judith Burnham opened her mouth to continue talking and Stella put her
finger to her lips, beckoning her to the kitchen instead.

With six-month-old boys, Niels and Stella agreed for Stella to return to
work. The salon fielded complaints from usual clients not getting their tip-top
service. Her worry between what that sound meant when either Will or Danny
moved strangely and her assistant calling and asking what she should do about
Mr. Macclesfield who needed his traditional shave for his wedding the next
week, boiled over and pushed her to the brink of a mental breakdown.

Niels told her simply, “Choose one. You can’t do both from here. In your
pyjamas. By the way, you need to get rid of those.”

She tugged at the hem of her rabbit-printed cotton shirt. “Why? What’s
wrong with it?”

“Notwithstanding it is covered in young William’s vomit, it is by far
the most unattractive thing you have ever deigned to dress yourself in.”

“Cheers for that. Anything else?”

“You look beautiful today,” he said with a smile, leaning over Will’s
head to kiss her on the lips. “The pyjamas have to go. I can work from home for
the next few weeks. If you’re ready and your mind is half in the salon, go.”

With that she’d packed herself off to work, asked her mother to pull a
shift so Niels didn’t end up putting one or both their children into the
washing machine through tiredness. Like she almost had… My God, she’d been so
close to unbundling Danny from his caboose and slotting him into the machine
with his poop-splattered blanket. So scarily close.

Stella’s mother took it with pride that finally, Stella of many badges
to her uniform, needed her help.

“Have you eaten?” Judith asked, tapping the oven door with acrylic
nails. Stella looked down at her own. Bare of any colour and simply buffed by
the lovely Becky from East Anglia, looking for a job in beauty. Maybe in a few
months, when the twins didn’t insist on putting everything available in their
mouth, she could upgrade to a nice simple polish.

“No, Mum. Barely had time for a sandwich and most of it’s in the bin at
work. How was it?”

Judith eyed her beadily. “You’re lucky. Do you know how many men would
have sat at home with one baby, let alone two, so you could go to work?” Stella
opened her mouth to answer and was overridden. “None. Don’t take advantage of
that.”

“It’s been one day,” Stella argued. One very long, very fractious day. She’d
sent Niels text messages throughout her shift, at every single free minute she
had to whip out her phone, she contacted her husband.
How are you? How are
my little monsters? Have they eaten? I left some chicken and tomato in the
fridge for them. There’s some hock ham as well for you. I miss you all. This
was such a bad idea. Are you okay? Do you hate me?

To which Niels replied, calmly and swiftly to ease her concerns, every
single time.
We’re fine. We love you. They’ll never remember this, they are
far too concerned with what everything tastes like. They have eaten. I have
eaten. Your mother is here. Don’t worry. I still love you. This is important.
Everything you’ve worked for. Don’t feel even a bit guilty. I love you. Go back
to work. We’re absolutely fine.

“As I said,” her mother continued, taking the remnants of a roasted
chicken from the oven. “Don’t take advantage. I can warm up some potatoes for
you?”

“Mum, don’t worry. Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No, your stepfather is on his way to come and collect me in a minute.”

Stella looked at the counter longingly. She could sleep right there. And
wake up the next day. Had work ever been so hard?

Judith folded her arms. “If you’re not hungry, then if I were you, I’d make
sure you’ve got some food ready for tomorrow. Niels found it easier if food was
ready prepared.”

“Mum, I said it’s been one day. And he’s a better cook than me,
especially where the twins are concerned. It’ll be fine.”

Her mother tutted. “Your father wouldn’t put up with that.”

“Really? Which one?” Stella sneered, referring to her mother’s three
marriages. “My husband loves me and our kids. I’m not going to push him away to
anywhere if, after a fourteen-hour day, I don’t stand up and cook, all right?”

The doorbell rang and Judith picked up her coat. Both boys decided the
doorbell was their ultimate enemy and only by screaming could it be defeated.
For God’s sake
, Stella thought, sending
her mother a disgusted look. “You should have told him to call your phone.”

The older woman shrugged. “Not my fault. Should I come back tomorrow?”

“Let me talk to Niels, see what we want to do,” she interrupted, before
her mother could set up camp in the spare bedroom.

“I’m serious, Stella. Don’t take any of this for granted. As much as
he’ll help you now, if you don’t show any gratitude, it’ll come back on you.
Then you’ll remember you should have listened to me.”

Stella nudged her toward the door. “Thanks, Mum, see you!”

Without ceremony, she edged her outside into her husband’s arms and
closed the door. She turned back to the living room where both Danny and Will
looked at her, accusingly.
Where the hell have you been,
their big dark
eyes demanded.

She leaned down and kissed them on the top of their overly curly heads. “Hello
my darlings,” she murmured, kissing them again and again until the wailing
stopped and the cooing began.

“Just as I was about to tell your mother how well we coped today,” Niels
murmured to his sons. “You betray me.”

She glanced up at him. “Did I say thank you for doing this?”

He shushed her. “I’m their father. I’m supposed to look after them.” He
beckoned to her and she leaned down to receive his most welcome and soothing
kiss. “You’re my wife. I’m most certainly supposed to look after you. Put them
in their chairs, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Oh, darling, I’m not hungry. Honest.” She sat down next to him and
pulled Will from his lap. The calmer of the twins, Will snuggled against her
breast with a sigh of contentment. “I just want to close my eyes a little.”

“Then sleep. We’re not going anywhere.”

Cuddled up on the sofa, she did feel briefly like the luckiest, if not
the most exhausted, woman in the world. And mostly how this, her, Niels, the
boys, could never, ever be better.

***

Stella hid behind her wine glass, trying not to
shame the poor man attempting to chat up an unrepentantly irritable Eden.
“Look, nothing about you says you’re any different from the idiot who already
takes up far too much time as my boyfriend. Thank you. But no, thank you.”

The banker glanced in Stella’s direction and Eden
quickly put paid to that. “She’s married.” It didn’t make him move. “Seriously
do one. Now.”

“Eden,” Stella chided. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Like you’ve never done worse! I remember a bloke you
utterly decimated. He’s probably still in that same bar wishing for death
rather than the extension of yet more torture.”

“Oh,
that
guy. Come on, he deserved it.”

Eden topped up her glass with more red. “How are
you, really?”

The only real downside of having a friend deal with
your divorce was the constant questioning every time a stinging letter arrived
from Niels’ solicitor.

“I’m good. Ish. I suppose.”

“I know you spoke to your mum the other day.”

God, how disastrous that had been. “She wasn’t happy
that I hadn’t tried hard enough to stay married.”

Unhappy being an understatement. Eden sighed
heavily. “She’s worried about you.”

“She has no idea. I’ve been married ten years.
Better than she fucking well did. And I’d have stayed married longer, but Niels
decided otherwise. Bastard.”

“Speaking of my other lovely-looking friend…” She
trailed off suggestively. “Have you talked to him about the house? There’s
still a substantial mortgage on it. He hasn’t said anything more than he’s more
than happy to make periodical payments.”

“I don’t need that jackarse’s money,” Stella
declared boldly.

“Well, quite, but you really should understand his
current situation…”

“Are we talking shop? I thought we were out so I
could have a break and not think about what the hell that arse is telling my
sweet babies.”

“You’re getting drunk. Best way I can get things
out of you these days,” Eden said, without a hint of repentance.

“That’s my house. He’s got a house. Why are we
fussing?”

“Because from the gist of what his solicitor says,
the situation for both of you is pretty tenuous and you have a large mortgage
on your house. If you stay there, you need to show you can afford it.”

“Course I can.”

“The thing is, Stel…”

“Niels is sitting in a mortgage-free house. He’s
such a cunt,” Stella spat. “Tell him he can pay for it, but I am staying put.”

“Fandabidozy,” Eden muttered. “Anything else?”

“He’s got naked pictures of me.”

“Erm…”

“You know what? Lemme tell him.”

Eden reached for her phone, but Stella snatched it
out of the way. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Stella burped loudly. “It’ll be fine.” She’d
changed Niels’ number on her phone from Husband to The Prick.

What’s happening with the house? Why haven’t you
said I can have it?

Good evening to you, too, Stella. What do you want
to happen with the house?

Obviously I want to stay in it.

And?

And just tell your solicitor so she can back off.
You’ve got your own house.

True, but the house you’re in is larger. Five
bedrooms. You don’t need five bedrooms.

I am not selling the house.

You don’t need that much space.

Fuck. You. I earned that house.

Whatever do you mean by that?

“Oh my god, he’s so fucking frustrating!” Stella cried,
reading through the messages with Eden. Her friend covered her eyes with her
hands.

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

“He’s such a bastard.”

Stella typed faster, her fingers flying across the
keyboard of her phone, venting her fury and feelings where Eden had told her
not to communicate anything to Niels in writing. Nothing that she wouldn’t be
embarrassed by a judge seeing. She lost her patience.

There had never been a time when she hadn’t been
able to vent to her husband before, and after three glasses of wine on the
emptiest stomach in the Western Isles, she wasn’t about to start now. His reply
to her rounded her eyes and she turned her phone off.

“He’s, erm… a little stuck on the details. But
there’s no reason to sell the house when he has his own.”

Eden didn’t lift her hands from her eyes. “What did
you say to him?”

“I may have mentioned something about him owing me
for anal sex.”

“And what was his response?” Her friend’s voice was
barely audible, above the chatter of the bar. Stella guessed Eden muffled her
voice with her embarrassment.

“That I needed to refresh his memory. And that’s
not happening, so…” Stella painted on a brilliant smile. “Onward with writing
to his solicitor and laying it out that the house is mine.”

Eden’s head dropped to the table top. “I knew I
should have passed this job to my boss.”

***

Four years married

Skin pearled with sweat, her heart rattling against
her rib cage, Stella closed her eyes to centre herself after the third
tremulous orgasm. Exhaustion puffed her breaths from her swollen, bitten, and
spanked flesh. She turned away from the mirror, shamelessly reflecting the
tight arcs of Niels’ arse driving between her parted thighs. Reaching up, she
placed her hands on his hips and held him away from her. His cock glistened
with her cream, pulsed with power as he withdrew from her to a shiver.