Back in Dalston, Clare was still waiting for me to answer her question. If I didn’t do it soon, she would think I was trying to hide something. I was trying to hide something.
My mind flitted through the list of reasons for my split with Jaimie, deciding which one to select. For although the realisation that I was still in love with Mark came firmly at the top of the list, there had been many other things I hadn’t been happy with in our relationship. Although without my graveside epiphany, Jaimie and I probably would have stumbled along together for a while longer.
Could I tell Clare how tired I’d felt of having to constantly struggle to fit in? How displaced and overlooked I’d felt, living in Ely? That I couldn’t really be me living there with Jaimie?
“Richard’s death made me realise how much I missed my family and friends in London. I’m not a country girl, not really. I tried to be, but . . . My tenants had recently left, so the flat was vacant, and then my old job at Dalston Vets became available again. I don’t know, everything seemed to be working to make me move back here. It was sad to break up with Jaimie, but I suppose I just realised Ely and our relationship weren’t right for me.”
Clare looked up from writing in her notebook. My heart began to pound as I waited for her to say, What if you realise adoption isn’t right for you after a child has come to live with you? Or something like that.
But she didn’t. Instead, to my absolute horror, she said, “I’ll need to speak to Mr. Faulkner, if that’s all right? We always speak to ex-partners where there are children involved.”
Holy shit.
“Is that a problem for you?”
I did my very best to keep the dismay and blind panic from my face. She wanted to speak to Jaimie. Which meant she’d very likely discover I hadn’t been completely honest with her.
“No,” I said, “I’m sure that will be fine. When do you want to speak to him?”
“As soon as possible. Although, obviously, I know it might be difficult, as it’s almost Christmas. Perhaps you could let me know when you’ve had the chance to speak to Mr. Faulkner about it so I know when to call?”
I fiddled with the corner of the table. “What if . . . what if he doesn’t want to speak to you?”
“Is that likely?”
I thought back to that final conversation and the way Jaimie had humiliated himself, trying to get me to change my mind.
“I’ll speak to the girls, make sure they’re nicer to you. We can do the things you want to do instead of what the girls want to do all the time. We can drop the naturism. Whatever it takes, Beth. Please. Don’t do this. I know I could have tried harder. I will try harder. I promise. I love you; we’ve got something good together. We’ve had some happy times, haven’t we?”
We had, along the way. Just not consistently enough of them. Certainly not enough for me to feel my life away from the places and people I loved—from Mark—was enough.
“I know how much you miss London. We’ll make sure we go there more often. And I’ll do all I can to help you to find another vet nurse job. Limit the amount of time Olivia does her drumming.”
He sounded so desperate to make me stay. Yet in my heart I knew he didn’t love me. Not really. We had used each other, Jaimie and I. I wasn’t completely to blame. I may have plunged myself into our relationship to try to get over Mark, but Jaimie had done exactly the same thing to get over his split from Harriet. It hadn’t worked for either of us. One day Jaimie would probably see that, but right now, he wasn’t going to be convinced unless I told him the truth. So I did. Or part of it, at least.
“It’s not just those things. I do miss London. And my job. And I do find it hard sometimes with the girls, and not having my own space. But . . . there’s something else. Someone else.”
Jaimie froze. “You’re seeing someone else?”
I shook my head. “No, but . . . I do have feelings for someone else.”
“Who?” He fired the word at me like a bullet.
I lied. I had to. “It’s no one you know. And . . . and nothing has happened.”
“Yet.”
The short word dripped with venom. Before my eyes, Jaimie had transformed from someone desperate to change my decision into someone who hated me.
“Well,” he said, “you’d better fuck off, then, hadn’t you?”
“What about the girls?” I asked.
“What about them?”
“Well, will I . . .” I was going to ask whether I’d ever see them again, but of course I wouldn’t. “Can I say goodbye to them?”
“No fucking way. Forget it, Beth. Just fucking forget it.”
“I’m not sure whether he’ll be prepared to speak to you or not, to be honest,” I said to Clare.
She looked at her watch and closed her notebook. “Well, as I say, if you could let me know as soon as possible?”
26
I knew I should call Jaimie straightaway. Get it over with. If I brooded about it, the terror would only increase.
But before I could, Mark rang me.
“Beth. Hi. Sorry not to have called you back before. How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Sure? You don’t sound it.”
I closed my eyes. Talking to Mark was always wonderful and terrible mixed up together in a cocktail shaker. Bliss and torture on the rocks. And all I seemed to do lately was pretend. Capable Beth. Happy Beth. In-Control Beth.
“I’ve just had a session with my social worker. You know, about the adoption? I’ve got to phone Jaimie to see if he’ll agree to speak to her. I was just going to do it.”
“God, that’s tough. Good luck.”
Mark had been there with me in Ely when Jaimie’s eyes were lasering hatred, so I knew he really did appreciate how bad the phone call was likely to be. “Thanks.”
“Why does your social worker want to speak to him?”
“To get an idea of how I interacted with his girls.”
I heard him sigh. “It’s not supposed to be this difficult, is it? Having children.”
Had Grace told him about seeing me at Kenwood Place? I couldn’t tell. So I just said, “Still no joy for you and Grace?”
“No. It’s really getting us both down. I feel like a failure, you know? And Grace . . .” He sighed again. “Well, Grace seems determined to take it out on me. All we do is row these days. It’s hardly a recipe for making a baby, is it?”
“Not really, no.”
“She’s always out somewhere these days too. Home late, weekend appointments. And then, when she is home, nothing I do is right. Or enough. Did you make that phone call? Get that new contract? Haven’t you contacted so-and-so yet?” He sighed. “To be honest, some days I just want to stay in bed in the morning, not sit at my desk in a shirt and tie to have video conferences with clients.”
“You’re probably still grieving.”
“Yes. But how long’s that going to go on for, Beth?”
“I don’t know. As long as it takes, I suppose. I don’t think there’s an exact time span for grief, is there?”
Another sigh. “I suppose not. But anyway, I’ve decided to do something positive about it.” His voice sounded suddenly more positive. “So I’m getting us a puppy.”