Coming Down (11 page)

I don
’t know what to say. I open my mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. He’s treating me like I’m his daughter.

“
You know what I was expecting? To hear that you were lying in a ditch somewhere, or being rushed to hospital in an ambulance.” His face twists before he makes his final confession. “I think I would have preferred that.”

A tear
rolls down my right cheek. I reach up and wipe it away angrily, not wanting to be accused of using waterworks to soften him again. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know how many times I can say it.

“
I’m not sure it’s enough, not anymore. I bloody hate this, worrying about you, not able to sleep until you get home because I’m scared you could be hurt.”

“
I’m fine, Simon. I promise you I can take care of myself.” I try to stroke his arm but he shrugs me off.

“
How do you know one of them isn’t going to pull a knife on you one day? That some crazy boyfriend isn’t going to walk into the clinic with a grudge and a handgun? It isn’t the place for you, Beth. It isn’t the place for
my wife
.”

“
But I love the clinic.”

“
More than you love me?”

I hesitate for a second too long.

“No, of course not.” It isn’t the same. He’s asking me to compare apples and pears. “But they need me. The kids need me.”

“
I need you, Beth.
I need you
. And I have to know you’re safe when you’re out of my sight.” He takes his glasses off and rubs his eye sockets with balled-up fists. “This has to end.”

“
What has to end?”

“
The clinic. I don’t want you to work there anymore.”

A flash of anger licks at my belly.
“That’s not fair. It’s everything to me.”

Putting
his glasses back on, he sits upright, swinging his legs onto the pale wooden floor.

“
I thought I was that.” Simon stands up, letting the covers fall back onto the bed. “I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight.”

10

By the time I get up the next morning, Simon’s gone. I walk downstairs in my pyjamas, switch on the coffee machine and check my watch. It’s seven o’clock; too early for the office, but maybe he has a breakfast meeting. I frown, knowing I’m kidding myself. It’s avoidance, plain and simple. He doesn’t want to see me, definitely doesn’t want to talk. This hurts me more than I thought it would.

The coffee machine shudders and steams, and I grab a mug and some cream. If Simon were here he
’d make a joke about how I like my coffee just like my man: sweet and rich. What happened to us? Did we get swallowed up by this thing called life, spat out on the heap like all the other marriages that fail? I didn’t marry him for us to become a statistic.

Sitting down on a stool, I
grab my iPad, and get to work on clearing up my own mess. First I order an expensive flower arrangement for last night’s hosts, with an appropriately worded card expressing my regret. Then I make a reservation for dinner on
Toptable
, choosing Simon’s favourite restaurant—a pretty bistro just off Upper Street. Finally I turn to Google, and type in “marriage guidance counsellors”. If I make an effort, then maybe he’ll forgive me.

But he needs to give a little, too. I can
’t leave the clinic, they’re my second family. The kids I’ll never have. As much as they drive me crazy, I need that feeling, crave it, even. It’s not as if I’ll ever be able to lavish affection on a child of my own, so I choose to do it on them, instead. They need to feel love and I need to give it. It’s a relationship that works.

Possibly my only one.

I’m on my way to the clinic when Lara calls. I ask her to hold as I walk out of the dark, dank Tube station stairwell and into the crisp morning air. The rain has dried up since last night, leaving a London that positively basks in its absence. Trees are starting to bud, daffodils are starting to bloom and the sun is trying her best to push through. It’s one of those spring days when everything feels a little brighter. People smile a little more, step aside when you are walking toward them. In the gardens across from the clinic, cherry trees wear candy-floss hats, the blossom slowly drifting down in the light breeze.

“
Hey.” I lift the phone to my ear. “Everything okay?”

“
I was going to ask you the same question. What the heck happened last night? I had all manner of men calling me and asking where you were.” Lara sounds appropriately intrigued.

“
Two. You had two men calling you,” I say.

She has this way of making everything sound
as if it has more meaning than it has. It may be something to do with her training; perhaps she’s looking for a way to prise out the truth without actually asking me. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

“
They were very frantic men. Well, Simon was. I don’t know that Niall could do frantic if he tried.”

Niall
can
do frantic, that much I remember. Frantic and hot and desperate. Long fingers digging into hips, lips pressing down until they almost hurt. He may have matured—hopefully we both have—but I don’t believe that fire can be doused completely.

“
I’m sorry. Simon calling was totally my fault. I should have let him know where I was.” Niall, on the other hand, was not my fault. He knew exactly where I was. He was sitting outside the station, for goodness sake.

“
Do you want to talk about it? I’ve got no clients for the next hour; we could grab a coffee somewhere.”

I have a few calls to make, plus some materials to order before the children arrive, but I think I can fit this in. I love talking with Lara
; it’s something we don’t get to do as much anymore. “Yeah, coffee sounds great. I’m just walking up to the clinic now.”

“
And I’m walking out.” A moment later, Lara is standing in front of me, her battered brown handbag slung over her shoulder. We both press the buttons to end our call. “Hey.” She reaches out and hugs me tightly.

We head to the
cafe around the corner from the clinic. It’s mostly empty, in that lull between the breakfast rush and lunchtime patrons. Grabbing a table, we wait for the waitress to bring us over our coffees. They’ve not long had a proper machine put in. We used to have to put up with tepid instant, barely dissolved granules. Now it’s all lattes and mochaccinos. Even the cafe has been gentrified.

I open a sachet of sugar and stir it into my cappuccino, completely ruining the bean design the waitress created with powdered chocolate.
“How’s things?” I ask.

“
I was going to ask you the same question.” Lara takes a sip. “And I bet your answer is more interesting.”

It isn
’t, not really. It’s boring and tedious and not something I want to talk about. “But I asked first.”

She wrinkles her nose, making
her freckles all squeeze into each other. “Not good.”

“
Oh no. Why?”

“
They’re making redundancies at Alex’s work. He might be out of a job by next month. He reckons he’s on the hit list; his boss really doesn’t like him.” Alex works in the print at Wapping. It’s a pretty well-paid job, and I know they rely on his money.

“
That’s awful, poor Alex.” I catch her eye. “Poor you, too, it’s horrible seeing somebody you love go through that.”

“
That’s the worst bit—he thinks it’s wonderful. Gives him carte blanche to pursue his dreams of stardom. I’m not sure how he thinks we’re going to pay the rent or put food on the table.” She rolls her eyes. “And he knows I want us to try for a baby. There’s no way we can afford to do that on just one wage.”

I didn
’t realise they’d got that far in their planning. I feel a bit of heaviness in my chest at the thought of it. Though I love Lara to the ends of the earth, I can’t help feeling envious at the concept of a baby. It’s something I’ll never have, and I thought I’d come to terms with it, but since I’ve been thinking about the past, it’s made me change my mind. Maybe I just wasn’t ready for a baby until now. Could it be that my biological clock has finally started ticking?

Am I going to feel like this forever?

“Does Alex not want a baby?” I ask.

“
I thought he did. But now I think he’s going through a midlife crisis. He says the threat of losing his job has given him a chance to re-evaluate things. He wants to see if he can make a go of music before we try for a family.”

She looks pissed off, and I
don’t blame her. Lara is thirty-one and I know she’s been wanting a baby for a while. The problem is, with London rent and rubbish salaries, there’s never going to be a good time for them to try. They can’t really afford a baby, as much as they want one. While Simon and I can afford it, it’s something we’ll never have.

“
Maybe if you let him try it, he’ll realise it’s not for him.”

“
He’s so excited, though. He’s even got Niall designing the cover sleeve of their new CD. Reckons that’s guaranteed sales just for the artwork.”

“
Niall Joseph?” I clarify. I nearly said “my Niall” but managed to stop myself in time. I need to be more careful.

“
Yeah. They really hit it off that night we all went out.”

“
I didn’t realise.” I don’t know how to feel about that. Part of me is excited there’s another connection between us, since I’m friends with Lara and he’s friends with Alex. I find myself wondering how I can invite myself over to their place more often. I’m also a bit jealous that they get to spend time with him, and they’re all having fun without me. It sounds childish and selfish, but I can’t help it.

“
Why would you? It’s not as if we all run in the same circles. Although I sometimes think Niall is more suited to yours than mine. He is a successful artist, after all. Not a starving one like Alex is going to be.”

“
You won’t starve. I won’t let you. I’ll hand you coupons for McDonald’s or something,” I tease. It coaxes a small smile from her, but not enough to plump up her cheeks or crinkle her eyes. “Seriously, Alex will get some redundancy pay, enough for you to get by while he sees if it all works out. Maybe you should agree a time limit on his attempts for stardom. A year or something.”

“
That’s a good idea.” She stares off into the distance, as if she’s thinking it through. “Maybe we need to sit down and write it all out, like a calendar. If I know we can start trying in a year or so, I might be okay with that.”

“
It’s not as if you have to worry about time running out yet. Plus it gives you some time to get as much drinking done as possible, because you’ll have to give all that up when the baby comes.” I’m teasing again. Lara’s not a heavy drinker. A shandy here, a Spritzer there. She’s mostly high on life.

“
I’ll have to read fifty things to do before you have a baby.”

“
Don’t joke, I bet somebody’s written it. Travel to the Taj Mahal, eat kangaroo dung, see if you can turn your husband into a rock star.”

She laughs and it sounds genuine.
“Thank you.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “For letting me spout off and then cheering me up.”

“
It’s a pleasure.” I return her smile.

If only my own problems were as easy to solve.

* * *

Two weeks later, it feels
as though everything in my marriage is wrong. I measure my failure in bitter asides and pointed silences; in broken gazes and absences that taste like dust.

Simon
’s still not talking to me—nothing more than pleasantries and the necessary exchange of information. “I’m going to be late tonight,” “Can you get me some more deodorant?” and “What’s the capital of Namibia?” were among the more notable interactions we’ve had this week. The latter was him trying to finish the
Times
crossword, something that seemed infinitely more preferable than having to spend time with me.

The
longer it goes on, the worse I feel. It’s with that sense of shame that I call up a relationship clinic in St. John’s Wood and make an appointment for Simon and myself. When I mention it to him, he doesn’t refuse to come. That has to be a good thing. Maybe if we can actually talk things through, we can move on. There has to be a way we can compromise.

Yet, I find myself sitting in the pale
green waiting room five minutes after our appointment is due to start, making stupid excuses for why he hasn’t turned up. Maybe he’s tied up with a client, or his taxi has broken down halfway across London. I play with a dozen different scenarios in my mind, all of them preferable to the one I’m trying my best to ignore.

He
’s making a point.

I suppose I could call and leave messages on his answerphone, or send texts he never responds to. I could scream and shout and rail at him and let him know he
’s hurt me all over again. But I don’t. Instead, I turn off my own phone and push it deep down in my handbag until it’s buried under half-ripped tissues and balled-up pieces of paper and Maltesers that’ve spilled out of a half-opened packet. Then I zip it up firmly and follow the receptionist’s directions to Louise Norton’s office, hoping I’ll find some sort of salvation there.

Louise is
sitting on an easy chair when I walk into her room. She looks up at me with a welcoming smile on her red-painted lips. Her black, bobbed hair falls into her eyes and she smooths it away, standing up as I walk over to greet her.

“
Beth? Please come and take a seat. Is Simon on his way?”

This is what a hundred pounds per hour gets you. A friendly face and somebody who has enough time to read your history before you walk into your appointment. I sit down in the soft
, comfy chair opposite hers.

“
I don’t think he’s coming. I’ve tried ringing him but there’s no answer.” It’s stupid, starting out by lying, yet it feels preferable to pitying stares. “I’m so sorry he’s not here.”

She tips her head to the side and looks at me.
“Do you think he’ll get here soon?”

“
I don’t know. I don’t think so.” This is what gets me most of all. I’m all riled up and ready to talk. I’ve been fixating on this for days. It’s a kick in the gut. All the words I have stored up to say are floating around my mind, making me dizzy.

“
Would you like to rearrange? I can ask the receptionist to make another appointment for you?” She’s still smiling, and it doesn’t look forced at all. I wonder at her ability to seem so open and approachable.

“
Actually, can we talk, just you and me?”

For the first time Louise looks surprised.
“I offer individual counselling as well as couples’ therapy, but I’m afraid I can’t mix the two. If you want to talk to me now, you’ll need to find another therapist to treat the two of you together.” She must notice the way my face falls, because she continues, “Sometimes that can work out for the best. Often I ask couples to go away to get individual therapy before they come back to me. And I can refer you to another relationship counsellor when you’re ready.”