Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (11 page)

We ate French bread and cheese, drank cheap, warm, red wine and licked a hundred cooling lollies on endless beaches.  We meandered along that coast from Montpellier to Sète to Angelès-sur-mer, loving each other on different campsites, on different beaches.

That’s how I remember it.  Do you ever think of it now?

*

Our anniversary passes with no acknowledgement from David.  Of course, there wouldn’t be, would there?  He would hardly send me a card … what did I expect? 

To my Darling wife of twenty-nine years, whom I’ve left for a younger, sexier version.  With all my love, David.
 

It wasn’t going to happen, was it?

The only communication I had, was a text from Holly:

Hi Mum – This day must be awful for you.  Thinking of you, as always.  Can’t wait to see you on Saturday.  I’ve heard from Jed.  Wha-hoo!  Love you, Holly xxx

She’s so good, Holly – so thoughtful.  I wonder if Adam has even registered … I get my mobile phone and click on the Facebook icon.  I haven’t heard from him at all, but I wasn’t expecting to, was I?  We’d said Facebook was enough (I’m beginning to regret this now.)  I scroll quickly down my timeline … a picture.  There he is, with Jake, both with wet hair, the Pacific behind them, with the comment:
First surf.  Shit, they’re bigger than Newquay!  Legs still in tact – no sharks.

I study his face – already he looks tanned and healthy … and I’m happy for him.  He knows the shark reference is going to wind me up – he probably did it for that exact reason, so I don’t rise.  I simply write:
Amazing – you look so brown!

I think this is non-committal and can’t be regarded as embarrassing.  Surely?  I wish I could write more and then realise I could send him a private message; no one else need see what I say and he can private message me back.  Why hadn’t I realised that before?  He might be prepared to write short messages here, even if emails are too much.  I press Message:

Hi Adam – it’s great to see your photos here.  You look as if you’re having an amazing time.  Where are you staying?  Do post some more photos, so I can imagine where you are.  Are Jake’s relatives nice?

Life here’s pretty much the same.  I’m going to stay with Holly in London next weekend, so that should be fun.  Gaz doesn’t know yet.  He’ll hate going to kennels.  I’m enjoying the holidays; trying to get fit (swimming) and went shopping in Bath – so, getting out there!  Haven’t seen Dad but if I do, will tell him your news.

I’d love to hear from you if you can.  Love the ‘legs in tact’ comment.  Joking aside, keep safe, Love you loads.  Mum xxx

I read it through and hope I haven’t been like a pushy mother.  I haven’t mentioned our anniversary – it hardly seems relevant any more. 

I hover my finger over the Send button – and then press it.  If he doesn’t want to reply, he doesn’t have to, does he?

*

I walk Gaz everyday; I’m quite boring with my routine, I go one way in the morning and another in the afternoon.  He doesn’t care, though, the smells are always different and the possibilities for finding balls in the undergrowth, are boundless.  It means I don’t have to think, I can just simply walk and let my mind shut down, something that I want to do a lot, these days.  The weather is lovely and I become a sentient being – a bit like Gaz, smelling the air, breathing in the oxygen of summer.

I’ve nearly finished my walk, I’m on the homeward stretch.  Gaz has chased hundreds of imaginary rabbits, widdled on a every conceivable bush and emptied his bowels twice.  For him it’s been a satisfactory walk and for me … well, it’s just been another one in a line of hundreds, stretching into the far distance of his future with me.  I wonder if David misses dear old Gaz?

I see a familiar figure walking towards me.  We’re still on the rec, there are a few people dotted about, but I can pick out his walk and the shape of him, as if he’s part of me.  He’s a way off yet – I consider turning and running away from him, as quickly as I can … because I see a small child running just in front of him and … Suzie, by his side.

This is like my worst nightmare.  I’ve lain in bed and envisaged this exact scenario and now it’s happening for real.  My feet are rooted to the ground; I stare at their slow approach and know there is nothing I can do to stop it.  He registers me – I can see the slight change in his stride and awkwardness of his head position; he’s deliberately not looking my way.  He’s talking intently to Suzie.  They’re probably wondering what on earth to say.

“This is awkward …” I say, as they are now within speaking distance.  “What are the chances … ?”

“Hello, Anna,” he says, “we’re just out for a breath of fresh air.”

I look at Suzie and she looks at me.  “Hi,” she says.  I deliberately don’t reply.

Gemma, at that moment, comes up to her mother and clings on to her legs; Gaz is wagging his tail and is trying to lick her face and Gemma begins to cry.

“Don’t worry, darling, the doggie won’t hurt you – he’s trying to kiss you.”  She picks Gemma up at this point, which I feel is the worst thing you can do with a child who appears to be frightened of a blatantly friendly labrador.  Why doesn’t she leave the kid alone and let her get used to him?

“This is Gemma,” Suzie says, pointlessly.  “Say hello to Mrs McCarthy.”

The child refuses and buries her head in Suzie’s neck.  “Come on, Gemma, be nice …” says Suzie, but now the child has her hands tightly wound round Suzie’s neck and refuses to show her face.

“Will you come to me?” says David, reaching forward to prize her off her mother.  “Come to David.”

Gemma’s face appears and she reaches both arms forward, stretching them towards him.  He takes her and says, “Gemma’s not used to dogs, are you?  Gaz loves children, don’t you, ol’ chap? Come and say hello, then.”  Gaz obligingly comes over and David crouches down, showing Gemma how to stroke his head.  “There you are, you see, he’s nice, isn’t he?”

All this conversation about Gaz is a wonderful diversion from the reality of the three adults having to face each other.  I’m desperate to say something to Suzie, to show her just how much I’m hurting, but Gemma brings me to my senses.  It’s hardly her fault and I don’t want to frighten the little thing.  She’s a beautiful child with rich, brown, curly hair, chubby cheeks and blue eyes; she’s now patting Gaz confidently and he’s beginning to regret his friendliness, as she begins to chase him across the grass, holding onto his tail.  Suzie yells, “Don’t do that!”

“Have you heard from Adam?” says David.  “Has he got there okay?”

“There’ve been no reports of crashed airliners, so I assume so,” I say as sarcastically as possible.  Suzie gives me a filthy look.  I feel guilty and add, “I’ve seen a couple of photos on Facebook and he seems to be having a great time.  Have you got his email address?”

“Yes, I’m going to write to him,” says David, apologetically.

“I think he needs to hear from you, David, so please
do
that,” I say.  “He was very upset, you know.”

“I know … but he’s a grown-up now and he’ll survive,” says David.  I can’t believe how dismissive he’s being of his own son.  I feel my blood begin to boil but again, I stop myself saying anything.

“Holly tells me you’re going up this weekend?” he says.

“Yes, I am.”

Suzie is now chasing Gemma and Gaz across the green expanse – there seems to be a lot of laughter and whoops of delight.  Then, suddenly, Gemma falls and the delight turns to crying and Suzie picks her up and starts walking back towards us.

“I think we better take her home, Dave, she’s getting tired.”  She gives him a hard stare, a stare that cannot be denied. 

David has now become ‘Dave’ – that just sounds ridiculous.  If there was
ever
a David who was
not
a Dave, it’s David.  “Nice to see you, Anna,”  she says, stares at David again and starts walking away, holding Gemma’s hand.  I don’t say ‘nice to see you too’ as it isn’t
.

“I better go, then,” he says with a half-grin.

“Yes, you better.”  I couldn’t resist adding, “You better do as you’re told.”

He just blinks at me and toddles off to join them.

Well, Dave,  I would say you’re thoroughly under the thumb … serves you right.

I stay where I am, until they are out of sight.  I call Gaz, who is now right over the other side of the rec.  He looks up when he hears my voice, and to give him his due, he waddles back towards me, looking expectant.

The whole episode has left me wrung out.  They look such a close-knit little threesome – Gemma’s so pretty and young; Suzie, so nubile and sexy.  Even ‘Dave’ has taken on a young look about him, as if she’s given him a new lease of life.  He may look guilty whenever I’m around, but to an outsider, he must look like an attractive and vibrant ‘older’ man with his young wife and newly-acquired child.  They leave me feeling old, past it and boring … and above all, alone.

As I walk home, I imagine them walking hand in hand back to the flat, cuddling on the sofa together with a bottle of wine, having bathed Gemma together and tucked her into her snuggly bed.  I’m jealous of them, there’s no getting away from it.  Jealous as hell.

I open the door of the house, sit in its silence, and look around me.  I don’t even feel part of my own house any more.  I feel like I’ve just been squatting here, with no past, no future.

Oh Gaz, what the hell am I going to do? 

As if he can read my mind, he comes and sits next to me on the sofa, flops down, with his head on my lap and looks up at me with his big, brown eyes.

You’ve still got me,
he says. 
You’ll always be able to rely on me, whatever happens.

Chapter Ten

I hear a faint ping coming from my mobile, which is hiding in the depths of my rather large handbag.  4G is everywhere now and I realise I can use the internet sitting on the train. 

I’m on the 11.30 am to Paddington – it’s great to be going to London and I relish the feeling of rushing through the countryside, towards the metropolis.  I’ve bought a coffee from the buffet car and I’m munching my way through a packet of nuts and raisins, convincing myself they’re a healthy snack.  Every time I reach into the packet, I try to hide the fact that I’m constantly nibbling, by not rustling the plastic bag they’re in.  The man opposite me, however, keeps looking up and staring at me, as if he disapproves, and if I’m honest, I tend to agree with him.  I put them back in my bag and consciously bury them beneath all the other stuff. 

I bring out my phone – the ping was different from the usual message – more of a
ding
than a
ping pong
– and I realise it’s a Facebook message.  Hoping it’s a reply from Adam, I press the icon. 

It is …

Hi Mum.  Thanks for your message.  Didn’t realise you knew about Facebook messaging – you’re becoming quite techy in your old age! LOL! We’re staying with John’s cousin – he’s called Bruce, would you believe?  His wife isn’t Sheila, it’s Jo.  They’ve got this mega house in Double Bay overlooking the ocean – it’s bloody huge.  Why can’t we have relatives like that?  They’ve got a yacht and some jet skis and we’re staying in their self-contained apartment.  Bruce does something to do with computers in the city.  They’re both awesome.  They let us come and go – we don’t see them much, as we’re always out.  We’ve met some really cool people out surfing – the waves are incredible.  Favourite beach so far … Bondi.  Someone was attacked by a shark a few days ago – don’t worry, it wasn’t me.  Ha Ha.  Still haven’t heard from the Dickhead that is my father.  Glad you’re getting out there – we’ve been to a couple of clubs in Kings Cross – mental!  Have fun with Holly.  Love, Adam.  PS  Don’t message me too much, I haven’t got time to reply – too busy drinking, taking drugs and having sex.

Well, that’s reassuring, then.

I stare at my iPhone … furious with David for still not writing to him … worrying about sharks attacking people on jet skis – imagining dark nightclubs, with cocaine being snorted through Australian dollar notes and … huge waves.  I shouldn’t fall for Adam’s joke ending, but can’t help wondering if there’s an element of truth in it?  Anyway, there’s nothing I can do about it, I tell myself, so I turn away and watch the passing scene through the grimy window.  It’s getting more urban; I check my watch – only fifteen minutes till Paddington.

Holly’s shown me an app that tells you exactly which tube to catch for any journey, so it’s with a certain amount of confidence that I get out of the train and make my way down the platform.  I’m surrounded my hurrying people, who all seem to know where they’re going. 

It’s true what they say about big cities – I suddenly feel lonely and vulnerable amongst the hordes and my confidence wavers.  I’m dragging my suitcase on wheels behind me, my large handbag is digging into my shoulder and I’m clutching both my iPhone and my Oyster card in my left hand.  I feel like a country bumpkin, compared to all these sophisticated people – I realise I haven’t been to London for two years and have always had David to usher me about.  I have no idea if my Oyster has any money on it.  I’m just going to see what happens at the gate.