The Soulmate(61)

It was a Friday afternoon. Kat had offered to host the party at her place because her walls were painted in shades of blue and green that went perfectly with the Under the Sea theme, and Mum had decorated the house with sea creatures and sparkles and made the girls the most adorable matching squid costumes the world has ever seen. I’d attempted a mermaid cake but changed it to a sea urchin once I’d realised the level of difficulty.

I’d invited the eight little three-year-olds from my mothers’ group, together with their parents – though it was mostly the mothers who could make it. Gabe had promised he’d try to be there by three, but he was nowhere to be seen. At three thirty-one I tried calling and texting, but his phone was switched off. When I called his office, the receptionist acted strange. She put me on hold for quite some time, and when she returned she just said, ‘No, he’s not here. Sorry.’

I’d told everyone he was on his way, just stopping for ice, which wasn’t the wisest cover because it meant that Dad didn’t bother to get ice and we spent the afternoon sipping warm drinks and glancing at the door.

‘Do you think he’s got into an accident?’ Mum said eventually.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m sure everything’s fine.’

But I wasn’t sure. I imagined him at a bar. Perhaps with a barmaid. The truth was, Gabe could have been anywhere. With anyone.

Why hadn’t I forced him to go to the follow-up appointment with Dr Ravi?

An hour and a half later, we ended up cutting the cake without him. I remember the hot flush of irritation, combined with an icy undercurrent of dread. Where was he? Had he got into an accident?

‘Is everything all right with Gabe, darling?’

Mum and I were in the kitchen, cutting slabs of urchin cake and placing them in turquoise napkins. I could see how difficult it was for her to ask. Mum, who’d had her own interfering mother-in-law, prided herself on never interfering in her children’s marriages. The fact that she was asking made me suspect I hadn’t hidden our troubles as well as I’d thought.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Good,’ Mum said. ‘Good. Because I did wonder if . . .’ She trailed off, but then she frowned as if deciding that she was just going to go ahead and say it. ‘It’s just that he can be a little up and down, can’t he?’

She didn’t look at me as she said it, which was how I knew she was really worried.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

She looked at me then, placed a hand over mine, and said, ‘I think you do.’

It’s hard to describe the humiliation of realising that, after pretending harder than you’ve ever pretended, no one believed you. It was like dressing up in high heels and lipstick to get into a nightclub only to be told, in front of a long line of other club-goers, that your ID is clearly fake. I felt so exposed. If Mum knew, who else did? Did Dad? Kat? What about our guests, standing around awkwardly waiting for their cake? Did they know what was going on too?

Eventually I pretended to take a call from him, and then said loudly how sorry I was that I didn’t get his message, and did he need me to come home? When I ended the fake call, I told people he’d come down with a terrible stomach bug and was at home in bed. I said that he’d texted, but I hadn’t seen it. It was clear Mum didn’t buy it, and I presumed that Dad didn’t either. As for the guests, I had no idea. But what else could I say?

Later, when we’d cleaned up, I packed up the car and took the girls home. Gabe still wasn’t there. I put the leftover sausage rolls and cake in the fridge, fed and bathed Asha and Freya, and then put them to bed. Still no Gabe. I found homes for the new toys Asha had received. Then, when there was nothing left to do, I went to the garage for a couple of suitcases and began to pack.

I’d go to my parents’ house to begin with, I decided. I’d been working part-time for the past year, but I’d be able to increase my hours and put the girls in child care for another day. Even if Gabe didn’t pay child support, we would survive – financially, at least. I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to survive emotionally without him.

I had filled one suitcase when he walked in the door. He was missing his suit jacket and his shirt was untucked. His knuckles were raw, and his sleeve was covered in blood.

‘Oh my God. What happened to you?’

He looked around, as if surprised to find someone home. But his surprise quickly turned to annoyance.

‘Work,’ he said. ‘It’s bullshit. I’m practically running that place. No one else can do what I do, no one else spearheads the campaigns. I’m sick of working for someone else.’

He was speaking fast. Almost too fast for me to understand what he was saying. It could have been alcohol or drugs, or it could have been the voices in his head.

‘What happened to your hand?’ I asked.

‘I’m done. I’m starting my own company and I’m taking the clients with me.’

‘Did you hit someone, Gabe? Is that what happened?’

He nodded. He kept nodding. I didn’t know if he was nodding at my question or something else, something inside his head.

‘I need to go back to the office,’ he said suddenly.

‘I think you need to go to the doctor,’ I said. ‘Why don’t I call –’

‘I have to go, Pippa!’ he yelled, suddenly right up close to me. His face was red, his eyes bulged. He looked like an entirely different man – a stranger. I let him go. I just wanted him out of the house.