the handset to One and Two.
I’m hovering and they don’t find this odd – in fact, they tilt the iPhone so I can see the screen, which has a photo of a man who’s around fifty. The caption reads: ‘Convicted sex offender Henry Kelly released from prison to address in Wallington.’
Woman Three: ‘Got out a week ago. Living just down the road from Point Lonsdale.’
Woman One: ‘What an ugly man.’
Two: ‘Sick bastard.’
Three: ‘Should tell people when someone like that moves round the corner.’
One: ‘Look at his eyes.’
Two/Three: ‘God’/‘Evil.’
Three: ‘I can’t look at them.’
One: ‘Take it away. He’s making that fudge turn in my tummy.’
Three: ‘Hey, I made that!’
One /Two: ‘I can’t stop eating it’/‘It’s delicious!’
The phone is returned to its owner.
Pause.
‘I have never once left Frederick in the car.’ Woman One.
‘Crazy thing to do.’ Woman Two.
‘Wouldn’t leave Dante even for a minute.’ Three.
As for me, I’ve had enough. I’ve almost escaped when Chloe’s English teacher accosts me at the door. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened. How’s Chloe?’
‘She’s holding up.’
‘If she needs more time off, we understand. I can get her the homework sheets.’
‘More time off?’
‘We can’t imagine how she must be feeling.’
‘She didn’t come in today?’
The English teacher blushes. ‘We assumed . . .’
‘I’ll have a word with her,’ I say, doubling her blush.
*
I admit I part-ruined my daughter by reacting the way I did four years ago. A good mother would have slapped her adulterous husband, yes, but then she would have cried into his arms, which he would have opened – what man wouldn’t open his arms to the crying wife he was just caught wronging? – and spoken softly of ‘our child’. ‘We should stay together for her,’ a good mother would have said. ‘She’s only ten. This will ruin her life! We have to get through this as a family.’
I know he’d have agreed. No matter how filthy and frequent the sex she was giving him, he would have said, ‘You’re right, Lex. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?’ He probably would’ve kept screwing his mistress, but a good mother would have minded this less than destroying her child.
Instead I didn’t even give Chloe the chance to say goodbye to her father, I plonked her in an unfamiliar school and house to be badly fed by a mother who cried each evening into a wine glass.
If I had my time again, perhaps I would cry into Alistair’s chest instead, ignoring the stench of sex on the hairs there.
No, I could never ignore past betrayal and live with the worry that it would continue. I had to leave. The world changed when I found out Alistair had been lying to me. I changed. I wasn’t a best friend any more. I wasn’t the love of someone’s life any more. I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t attractive or clever or witty or fun.
He changed, too: disappeared more like, up in smoke with all my happy memories. Who was this man I thought I couldn’t live without, the one I loved so hard in the early years, and more softly in the latter as is the way with love? Who was this man who had seemed to care about me and obviously didn’t?
But I had Chloe. And that, I told myself when I arrived in Australia with three suitcases and the £3,000 I’d withdrawn from our joint account, was all that mattered, and would never change.
I knock on her bedroom door and wait till she opens it.
‘You didn’t go to school today,’ I say, walking towards her bed and sitting on it. ‘Where were you?’
If I was a better mother, she’d be afraid of me, at least a little. She sits at her desk and types away on her laptop, not even looking at me.
‘Did you go to see your father?’
‘No.’
‘Where, then?’
‘Library.’
‘Why? Stop typing and look at me.’ She doesn’t. ‘Why?’ I almost yell.
‘I can leave home soon and look after myself so it’s none of your
I’m hovering and they don’t find this odd – in fact, they tilt the iPhone so I can see the screen, which has a photo of a man who’s around fifty. The caption reads: ‘Convicted sex offender Henry Kelly released from prison to address in Wallington.’
Woman Three: ‘Got out a week ago. Living just down the road from Point Lonsdale.’
Woman One: ‘What an ugly man.’
Two: ‘Sick bastard.’
Three: ‘Should tell people when someone like that moves round the corner.’
One: ‘Look at his eyes.’
Two/Three: ‘God’/‘Evil.’
Three: ‘I can’t look at them.’
One: ‘Take it away. He’s making that fudge turn in my tummy.’
Three: ‘Hey, I made that!’
One /Two: ‘I can’t stop eating it’/‘It’s delicious!’
The phone is returned to its owner.
Pause.
‘I have never once left Frederick in the car.’ Woman One.
‘Crazy thing to do.’ Woman Two.
‘Wouldn’t leave Dante even for a minute.’ Three.
As for me, I’ve had enough. I’ve almost escaped when Chloe’s English teacher accosts me at the door. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened. How’s Chloe?’
‘She’s holding up.’
‘If she needs more time off, we understand. I can get her the homework sheets.’
‘More time off?’
‘We can’t imagine how she must be feeling.’
‘She didn’t come in today?’
The English teacher blushes. ‘We assumed . . .’
‘I’ll have a word with her,’ I say, doubling her blush.
*
I admit I part-ruined my daughter by reacting the way I did four years ago. A good mother would have slapped her adulterous husband, yes, but then she would have cried into his arms, which he would have opened – what man wouldn’t open his arms to the crying wife he was just caught wronging? – and spoken softly of ‘our child’. ‘We should stay together for her,’ a good mother would have said. ‘She’s only ten. This will ruin her life! We have to get through this as a family.’
I know he’d have agreed. No matter how filthy and frequent the sex she was giving him, he would have said, ‘You’re right, Lex. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?’ He probably would’ve kept screwing his mistress, but a good mother would have minded this less than destroying her child.
Instead I didn’t even give Chloe the chance to say goodbye to her father, I plonked her in an unfamiliar school and house to be badly fed by a mother who cried each evening into a wine glass.
If I had my time again, perhaps I would cry into Alistair’s chest instead, ignoring the stench of sex on the hairs there.
No, I could never ignore past betrayal and live with the worry that it would continue. I had to leave. The world changed when I found out Alistair had been lying to me. I changed. I wasn’t a best friend any more. I wasn’t the love of someone’s life any more. I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t attractive or clever or witty or fun.
He changed, too: disappeared more like, up in smoke with all my happy memories. Who was this man I thought I couldn’t live without, the one I loved so hard in the early years, and more softly in the latter as is the way with love? Who was this man who had seemed to care about me and obviously didn’t?
But I had Chloe. And that, I told myself when I arrived in Australia with three suitcases and the £3,000 I’d withdrawn from our joint account, was all that mattered, and would never change.
I knock on her bedroom door and wait till she opens it.
‘You didn’t go to school today,’ I say, walking towards her bed and sitting on it. ‘Where were you?’
If I was a better mother, she’d be afraid of me, at least a little. She sits at her desk and types away on her laptop, not even looking at me.
‘Did you go to see your father?’
‘No.’
‘Where, then?’
‘Library.’
‘Why? Stop typing and look at me.’ She doesn’t. ‘Why?’ I almost yell.
‘I can leave home soon and look after myself so it’s none of your
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