The Divorce Club (6 page)

"Why would I wear a ring?" Jamie shrugs. "But
I took off my watch because I thought it best to wear no jewelry so
I could get the very best experience."

"He's too hurt to deal with the agony,"
Simone says.

Lucy inches forward to pat his knee. "If
you're still in pain see me afterwards. We can dull it together
over a few cosmos."

"Lucy!" I hiss.

"What?" she mouths, a leer spreading across
her lips.

The conversation moves back to Simone and her
reasons for sleeping with the soon-to-be-ex, but I'm having trouble
focusing as Jamie keeps glancing at me. He doesn't say another word
until the session's over and the ladies say goodbye.

"See you at your individual appointments," I
call after them, but I doubt Mindy and Shannon can hear me as they
walk away laughing, heading for the nearest pub.

I turn away from the door and twitch as I
notice Jamie standing mere inches away from me, too close for
comfort. A grin's playing on his lips and his eyes sparkle with
humor. "What's so funny?" I ask because it irritates me. "This
isn't going to help you if you're not taking it seriously."

"The Divorce Club—nice name." Bobbing his
head, he hands me another cup of cold coffee and points at an empty
chair. "How did you come up with this idea of helping others get a
divorce?"

"What's so bad about it? Just be grateful I
did because otherwise you'd be on your own out there." I sit beside
him and look away. He always makes me so defensive and I can't help
it. I need to get a grip before I lose a client.

"I never said it's bad. It's just—" he
hesitates "—strange."

"Well, thanks for finding me strange when
you're here because you need help to break up with someone." I
shouldn't have said that. For a moment, we just stare at one
another, his mouth pressed into a tight line. Then he smiles.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Friends?" He holds
out his hand and I grab it.

"Friends," I say, smiling. "Let's set up your
timetable."

Confusion crosses his features. He shrugs.
"Sure."

I retrieve a folder with the butterfly emblem
from my desk and hand it to him. "Save your notes in here. I can
lock them inside a drawer if you don't feel comfortable taking them
home, in case she pries."

Jamie nods. "Yeah, that might be a good
idea."

"What is it that keeps you from telling her
the truth?" I start scribbling on the paper.

"Sorry?"

I look up, realizing my blunder. "Sorry, I
assumed she was female. I—"

Jamie cocks an eyebrow. "I like women. You
assumed correctly."

"Good guess." I laugh uncomfortably because
he's giving me an odd look. I've no idea why he's regarding me like
he's watching a comedy. "Well, I'm glad she's female because that's
less complicated. I always thought a man would never have trouble
breaking up with his partner, but your being here's just proof that
men have feelings too."

"Couldn't agree more on that one," Jamie
says. "He hurt you, didn't he? That's why you came up with this
idea."

"And to pay the mortgage and for the kid's
education." I nod. "Even though it might look like it, I'm not
trying to take revenge on the male population. I just thought my
experience may help others who find themselves in similar
circumstances."

"So you turned your experience into a
business venture." His gaze is so…interested, I've no idea what to
make of it because men don't usually listen.

"Yes." I laugh because I still can't quite
place him. "But we're not here to talk about myself. I want to hear
all about her. I need to know everything to help you figure out the
best approach."

"Sure. Where do I start?" Jamie runs a hand
through his hair and takes a deep breath, hesitating. "We've known
each other for a long time."

I nod, encouragingly. "You were childhood
sweethearts?"

"Sort of," Jamie says. He doesn't seem
comfortable as he shuffles in his chair. So I write 'inexperienced'
on my notebook as he continues, "Anyway, we got on well at times,
but recently things have started to get a bit frosty."

"Does she—what did you say her name was?"

"Chloe."

I jot down 'uncomfortable around her'. "Does
Chloe ever want to get intimate?"

Jamie laughs and shakes his head. I tell
myself there's nothing unusual discussing his private life with a
guy.

"Do you think that lack of intimacy's what
makes you want to get a divorce?" I ask, avoiding eye contact.

"We don't love each other the way partners
do," Jamie says.

I close my notepad and turn to face him
because I've heard enough. "You're a nice guy, I can tell." Jamie
grins and opens his mouth to speak when I hold up a hand to stop
him. "Wait, let me finish. The fact that you've known Chloe for
such a long time might work against you because you weren't just
lovers; a friendship developed and you still care for her
wellbeing."

Jamie bobs his head in agreement. "You're
right about that. I don't want to see her hurt."

"For that reason I suggest you move out as
soon as possible to give you both the space to gain a new
perspective. If you keep living together you'll just end up
suffering even more."

"We don't live together," Jamie says.

Oh? Why does he need my help then? "That's a
good start then. Does she live nearby?"

Jamie hesitates again as though fighting with
himself whether to lie or not. "We're neighbors. Moving away is out
of the question."

"You'll have to stay away from her." I lean
forward, reaching out for his hand, then pull back as I realize
what I was about to do. "Don't let her pop over or call until
you've sorted out your mind and heart."

"There's nothing to sort out. I'm ready for
someone new." Jamie sets his jaw, avoiding my gaze. "But I'm not
strong enough to do it on my own."

"We'll be there for you," I say. "It seems
like you have a hard time disconnecting emotionally, so I suggest
we meet up next week and sort out your house to help you draw a
mental line."

"What do you mean?"

I open my diary and skim through the pages as
I search for a free slot. There isn't much on there, but he doesn't
need to know. "What about Monday? I could squeeze you in before the
next group session."

"Not good. I have this regular meeting that
takes forever," Jamie says. "I can do tomorrow."

"On Saturday?"

"Why not?" Jamie regards me amused. "You
don't work Saturdays? Or do you have other plans already?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Tomorrow sounds
good."

We agree to meet in front of his house at
five so I can be home by seven to feed my daughter, then I
accompany him to the door. For a moment we stand in the doorway,
peering at each other awkwardly. The air's charged with something I
haven't felt in a long time. I should move away and show him I've
no intention in getting tangled up in whatever he's interested in
but my head's not giving the signal. I'm single so what's the harm
in a bit of flirting?

He's married.

But he wants a divorce.

He's not divorced yet. How could I have
forgotten that tiny detail?

"Good night," I say, turning my back on him.
He opens his mouth, but I slam the door in his face and lean
against the cold wood, my heart hammering in my chest. I don't
think I could've been serious about anyone during the first three
months after my divorce, so obviously all Jamie could want is a
roll in the hay to get over the missus. I'm not up for that.

Holding my breath, I wait until Jamie's heavy
footsteps retreat down the alley. The phone beeps. I lock up and
hurry to answer, but it's just a text message from the same unknown
number as last night. My heart skips a beat as I read it.

What are u doing with him? U and I belong
together. Don't u c that Sarah?

The guy must've been there, watching us, and
I didn't even notice. I've no idea how I manage to drive home
without causing an accident because I keep looking in the rear-view
mirror to make sure no one's following.

My hands are still shaking half an hour later
as I wash up the dishes while trying to maintain a conversation
with Sam. She's so excited about the goody bag Mel's brought over
so, naturally, I can't spoil her mood. But I'm having major trouble
concentrating on what she's saying.

"Can I have it?" Sam asks.

"Sure, sweetie." She's not usually allowed to
wear foundation, but I don't have the energy to argue over some
makeup, not when our lives could be at stake.

"This too." Sam drops something black and
sheer onto her heap.

The problem with teens is they're too
calculated for their own good. "Let me see that again." I lift the
tiny top and hold it up. "No way, Sam."

"Why not, Mum?" She pouts, eyes sparkling
either with tears or anger. It could go either way now.

"Because you're not old enough. If you keep
arguing I won't let you have anything."

She stomps away, ignoring me for the rest of
the evening. It's just a tactic to punish me. Well, I won't be
manipulated into giving in. We watch TV in the living room, then I
double-check the doors and windows are all locked before I head
upstairs. I stop in front of Sam's room and ask whether she'd like
to sleep in my bedroom again, but my daughter doesn't respond. I
lie in bed awake, unable to avert my gaze from the closed door. The
phone remains silent.

Bright rays spill through the tiny gap in the
curtains when I wake up to clattering echoing from downstairs. I
sit up groggily, unable to form a concise thought.

"Sam, could you stop that, please?" I shout,
but I doubt my daughter can hear me through the noise. After a
quick shower, I put on my dressing gown and join her in the
kitchen. A steaming cup of coffee's already waiting for me, black
just the way I like it. Something's up, and I'm going to find out
what.

"You look fantastic, Mum. There's not one
dark circle under those gorgeous eyes," Sam says.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, sweetie." I
smile. "Okay, so maybe a little. What do you want?"

"There's a million deals at the shopping
center this weekend. Kendra and I want to check them out." Sam's
not even glancing at me, so there's more to it than spending
money.

"Sure. I can drop you off and pick you up if
you want me to. Afterwards, Kendra can stay for dinner."

Sam peers at me. "I want to go to Kendra's
house and hang out. She said she'd help me with my math."

My gaze narrows. "And she can't help you
here?"

Sam squirms in her seat, averting her gaze
again. "Her mum is making spaghetti and meatballs. We're going to
chow down and then study big time."

"I can cook your favorite dish, too." Which
isn't such a bad idea since I feel as though I've neglected her
recently.

"It's not the same," Sam says. "I need
someone my own age to help me with math."

Let me do the math. One thirteen-year-old
girl plus another talking about algebra, minus Mum, on a Saturday
night, equals nothing but trouble. I might be in my thirties, but
I'm not stupid. Besides, I still haven't figured out who the text
message weirdo is. Until that's not sorted out my daughter's not
safe. "You can go shopping together, but no sleep-over."

"Why not? Just because you don't have a
social life doesn't mean I can't have one." Sam's voice is rising
into a furious crescendo. She is morphing into the demon-possessed
child from
The Exorcist
and could start throwing dishes any
time now.

"Because I—" What could I tell her? That a
stranger's been sending text messages and I'm worried? She's gone
through so much already, I don't want to send her into therapy for
the rest of her life.

"You don't even have a reason." She crosses
her arms over her chest. "You're just mean and bitter. No wonder
Dad left you."

I'm gobsmacked. She's never said anything
like this before. Is it what she thinks? Am I mean and bitter? "I
want you to call me once you leave the shopping center and then
again when you get to Kendra's place. No going out, no boys."

She shrugs. "Oh, shoot. Now Kendra's mum's
going to have to cancel the keg party."

"What?" My mouth drops.

"Kidding! Thanks, Mum. You're the best." Sam
chuckles as she kisses my cheek.

"Have fun," I whisper, "and no parties until
you're fifty." I lean in to give her a brief hug before she heads
for the door, then stops.

"Sorry about earlier. I didn't mean it."

"I know." I smile even though it's the last
thing I want to do. "Thanks for the coffee. Call me."

***

It takes me thirty minutes longer than
anticipated to find Jamie's place, probably because I've never been
to this posh part of the city. From a distance, the house looks
large with two stories and countless windows. A CCTV sign proclaims
24-hour surveillance. I kill the engine in front of a tall gate and
press the button on the intercom.

"Sarah, come on in," Jamie's voice says.

I stare at the black dot. It must be a
camera, but it's so tiny. And there I thought it might just be a
speck of dirt. The gates slide apart and I drive through, marveling
at how huge the garden seems. After years of living next to two
trees and a thirty-inch patch of grass, I feel like I'm driving
through the Canadian countryside.

Jamie's waiting in front of the house when I
finally pull up and get out. "You've found it," he says, smiling.
He looks good in blue jeans and a shirt, his hair in disarray again
as though he couldn't be bothered to run a brush through it.

I try to focus on his inviting smile, but my
gaze keeps locking on the imposing building behind him. It seems so
huge compared to my two-bed semidetached house that I can barely
afford. I can't be caught staring because he might think I'm easily
impressed by something as irrelevant as wealth.