My Husband's Wife(103)

No one, unless they have a child like this, can understand. I remember once, when Tom was younger, talking to a woman in a supermarket queue. Her son – about ten with gangly limbs flying everywhere – was in a wheelchair. People made way for her. They were sympathetic when he reached out to knock the tins flying from the conveyor belt.

Although I would never wish Tom to be in a wheelchair, I can’t help thinking that at least it would mean others would be understanding. When my son misbehaves in public – jumping on a wine glass in a pizzeria to see how many fragments he could ‘make’ is one recent example – I receive stares that say, Why can’t you control your teenager? Or even, That kid should be locked up. It makes my blood boil.

My research warns me that as Asperger’s kids get bigger and less ‘cute’, their melt-downs and challenging behaviour can turn others against them. The other day, there was a newspaper story about a cafe owner throwing an autistic-spectrum teenager out of his shop because the kid kicked up a fuss when given coffee with milk instead of without. The teen in question fell awkwardly on the pavement and broke his arm.

I would personally kill anyone if they hurt my son.

After dinner, Ross and I go for a walk with the dog. It’s another ritual. Sometimes Tom begs to come too, but it makes me fearful. The rocks on the edge of the beach are so high; it’s hard to check in the moonlight when he’s scampering on ahead that he’s not going to climb one and then fall. Tonight, to my relief, Tom announces that he’s tired. He’ll have a shower in the morning – he hates baths – and if his special Man United towel isn’t ready, we’ll all know about it. Bit by bit, I have got used to these ‘rules’, which are set in stone.

Difficult as he is, however, I find myself thinking that I am blessed in a manner that not everyone would understand. I might not have a conventional child. But my son will never be boring. He has a constantly enquiring mind. He looks at life in a way that others don’t. ‘Did you know that the average person produces enough saliva to fill two swimming pools during their life?’ he asked me the other day.

‘How are you managing?’ Ross now says as we walk under the overhanging cliff, gazing out at the lights flickering from boats on the horizon. It could be another world. One in which we live normal lives.

‘We’re fine, thanks. Tom’s school, touch wood, seems to be happy with him, and I’m building up quite a decent client base. I’ve also taken up spinning at the gym to give myself “me-time”, like you suggested.’

He nods. ‘Good.’

Something’s up. I can feel it. ‘What about you? How is work?’

‘OK, although to be honest, I feel there has to be more to life.’

‘I know what you mean.’

We stroll on, past a plump seagull pecking at a discarded bag of crisps. Past, too, a couple arm in arm who give us a meaningful nod. They think we’re like them, I tell myself. It makes me feel like a fraud; one who needs to put Ross at his ease so he doesn’t think I have any feelings in that direction.

‘I really appreciate the interest you show in Tom,’ I begin.

‘It’s not just Tom I care for.’

I hold my breath.

‘I’m worried about you, Lily.’

He takes my arm and I feel a slow warmth down my spine. At times, I tell myself that I’ve learned to live without Ed. Sometimes he seems like another life away. Sometimes he seems like yesterday. On those days, I want him here. Next to me.

‘There’s no need,’ I say. ‘I’m fine. I’ve moved on.’

My words are so clearly a lie that even the sea doesn’t believe me. It lashes angrily against the rocks. Liar. Liar.

‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you,’ says Ross.

As he speaks, a plume of spray leaps up. We run ahead – him pulling me – but it catches us anyway. I’m not one of those women who look good with wet hair.

Ross takes my hand and strokes it, like a parent trying to soothe a child.

‘Ed and Carla have set a wedding date.’

Did he really say that? Or was that the sea again? Shh. Shhhh, it’s saying now. Like a soothing lullaby.

‘I’m sorry?’

Ross’s face is looking down at me. How stupid of me. His expression is one of pity, not admiration.

‘Ed is getting married. To Carla.’

Ed. Carla. Marriage. Not just an engagement which can be broken at whim.

So she’s got him. Just like she gets everything she’s ever wanted.

‘That’s not all.’

I begin to shiver from the cold and the wet and the anticipation.

‘She’s pregnant, Lily. Carla’s expecting a child.’

In a weird way, Ross’s news is a relief. Just as it was when I found Ed and Carla outside the hotel. The shock haunts me still. Yet at least it was living proof that I hadn’t just imagined Ed’s behaviour towards me.

And now Ross’s early warning of a definite wedding date – soon to be heralded in the gossip pages – tidies things up. Shows me that there is no chance of Ed and I ever being reconciled, even if I wanted to be. Which I don’t.

That’s the other odd thing about a long marriage ending, at least for me. However bad it was, there were also good patches. And it’s those that I tend to remember. Don’t ask me why. I don’t dwell on the rows when Ed was moody or drunk. Or how he used to hate it because I earned far more than he did, and how he’d throw strops when I was home late from work.