‘Um,’ he said, as if he hadn’t even heard this remark. ‘That’s not good.’
‘How was your day?’ I asked, with meaning.
‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘Uneventful.’
‘Ian,’ I said, in an attempt at getting him to stop what he was doing and look at me. But he continued to fiddle in his briefcase, retrieving first his phone and then the charger and then plugging them in.
‘Ian!’ I said again, and when this time he looked at me, I added, ‘I know.’
He froze for quite a long time. I could see him reviewing the possible options. Denial. Incomprehension. Maybe a calculated argument about something else that would give him time to think. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but then closed it. He pushed his tongue into one cheek.
And then I suddenly no longer wanted to hear what he had to say. I didn’t want to discover which of the possible untruths he would choose. I didn’t want to hold back what I knew or stoop as low as attempting to catch him out. It seemed too grubby, somehow. It didn’t seem worthy of our thirteen-year marriage, or of our two beautiful children watching Star Trek in the next room.
‘I saw you leave from Jude’s window,’ I said. ‘I saw her shoes on the floor, Ian. You forgot your tie on the back of the chair, as well. I know, Ian.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Oh,’ he said.
I’ve seen too many films, perhaps, but I expected him to say, ‘It was nothing.’ I expected him to say, ‘It was just sex.’ And I’d been totally unable to decide how I’d respond when he did say those things.
Instead, he simply unplugged his phone and put the charger back in his briefcase. He slipped the phone into his lapel pocket and then gently lifted his keys from the kitchen counter.
‘You’re going?’ I asked, flabbergasted.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘OK . . . Um, where are you going?’ I asked.
‘Linda’s place, I guess,’ he said, flatly, sadly. ‘That’s her name, by the way. Linda.’
‘And what? You’re just . . . going to . . . to leave? You’re going to go there right now?’
Ian shrugged. ‘Well, the cat’s pretty much out of the bag now, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘And you’re going to . . . just walk out?’ I asked again, through a mixture of sour laughter and rising tears. ‘You don’t have anything you want to say to me about any of this before you go?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ And then he swivelled on the smooth soles of his polished brogues and was gone.
That, then, is how my marriage ended. I didn’t get to scream or shout or plead. My husband gave me no explanations or excuses. He simply turned and walked out of our (now my) front door.
I phoned him a few times over the next few days in varying states of mind – sometimes calm, reasonable, placatory even; on other occasions hysterical or raging. But Ian simply never picked up.
I had no answers to any of my questions. (How long had this been going on? Was he ever coming back? Did he want an actual divorce? And who would get the house we lived in if he did?) And I had no real answers for the kids either.
I’d told them that first evening their father had gone away for a while, and because they’re clever kids, they’d pretty much worked out the rest themselves.
This was cruel to them and I think it was cruel towards me, too. But in retrospect, I don’t suppose it was any worse than the traditional months of screaming and shouting at each other with which most marriages end.
Ten days after he’d left, Ian phoned and asked me to meet him for a ‘walk and a talk’ up at Solomon’s Temple, the Victorian folly on the ridge above Buxton. It was about twenty minutes from the house and, other than a few dog-walkers, was likely to be quiet enough for me to scream without being overheard, so I agreed.
It was a cold spring day with a cutting icy wind, but it was sunny and dry, at least.
Ian was dressed in all-new clothes – that was the first thing I noticed. He had new jeans, new trainers, a new jumper and coat. A new partner, too. I remember wondering if he was in any way still the man I’d married.
We said hello timidly.
‘I thought you’d want some answers,’ Ian said, as we started to walk.
‘I suppose I do,’ I agreed.
‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.
And because I was unsure about quite how much I needed, or indeed wanted, to know I said, ‘What do you think I want to know?’
‘If I’m coming back?’ Ian offered.
I laughed out loud at this. It was spontaneous and genuine if rather bitter laughter. Because if there was one thing I had decided, it was that he wasn’t coming back. ‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I think I already know the answer to that one, Ian. You’re not.’
‘That’s right,’ Ian said. ‘Because I love her.’
I gasped at this and turned to look away at the horizon.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ian said, ‘but it’s true.’
‘Right.’
‘I don’t suppose that’s unexpected,’ he continued. ‘I mean, you and me . . . Well, it hasn’t been right for years, has it?’
Even though I had known no such thing until that moment, I said, ‘No, no, of course it hasn’t.’ Because if he’d said it, it had to be true, didn’t it? Shame on me, I thought, for not noticing.
‘I don’t need my share of the house for the moment,’ Ian said. ‘So you can just carry on living there for a while. I guess that’s probably better for the kids.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘But I’d like to come and get some stuff,’ Ian said, gesturing at his attire. ‘While you’re out at work, maybe? If that’s OK?’
I nodded. ‘Monday’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m out all day.’
‘Monday, then,’ Ian said.
‘We need to tell them something. They need to know what’s happening.’
‘Of course,’ Ian said. ‘Do you want to . . . ? Or shall I?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, you can have that honour.’
‘Right,’ Ian said. ‘On Monday, then, I guess. When they get home from school.’
‘I’ll stay out till seven,’ I said. ‘So you’ll have time.’
‘Oh! You don’t want to be there?’
‘No,’ I told him. ‘I really don’t.’
‘Right, then . . .’ Ian said, with a shrug. ‘OK.’
‘I think I’m going to go now,’ I announced, stopping walking and glancing over my shoulder, homeward. A rage was building within me. A storm was brewing and I needed to get away from him before it broke.
‘OK, then,’ Ian said. ‘I am sorry, you know.’
I stared at the ground and nodded. It was the best that I could manage.
‘But we deserve to be happy,’ Ian continued. ‘We both do.’
I was happy, I remember thinking. But, ‘Right,’ was what I said. ‘Of course.’
And then, just before the tears started to trickle down my cheeks, I turned and walked away.