The Half Sister(42)
Every one of Justin’s six texts today has grown in urgency, begging to see her, and she’s fast running out of excuses.
It’s been weeks. When can I see you again? he’d texted.
Maybe next week, she’d replied, as frustrated as he was that she’d not found a way for them to spend more time together.
I can’t wait that long, he’d written back.
She didn’t think she could either, because when she wasn’t texting him, she was thinking about him; remembering his hand on her neck, the closeness of his lips and imagining how different her life could have been if they’d stayed together.
‘I’ve got a job on Thursday night,’ says Simon as he comes down the stairs after putting Noah and Emmy to bed. Jude is lying on his blanket on the floor, kicking his legs as angrily as a five-month-old baby can, whilst screaming his head off. Lauren refers to this stretch between six and nine o’clock at night as his cranky period.
‘Great,’ she says, finding it difficult to concentrate.
‘It’s a shop fit in town, so I’ll be out late.’
Suddenly her ears prick up, as if sensing an opportunity. ‘Oh, okay,’ she says, as casually as she can, though her brain is speeding ahead of itself. ‘What sort of time will you be home?’
‘The job doesn’t start until eight, so I’ll probably work through most of the night.’
There’s a flutter in her chest as she allows her mind to wander, fantasizing about the hours at her disposal, and the possibilities that abound. But then she’s hit by an overwhelming wave of guilt. She’s tried so hard to ignore the very real physical tug of needing to see Justin again, concentrating all her energy into being the mother her children need and the wife Simon deserves. Or used to deserve.
Just the other night, she’d cooked a nice meal and put the children to bed early, so they had a chance to talk. But he’d taken one look at the kitchen table, adorned with last year’s Christmas tablecloth, and laughed.
‘What the hell’s that?’ he’d smirked.
A cinnamon tea light, that she’d found at the bottom of the decorations bag, confused the senses into thinking that the summer’s evening was in the wrong season. But she’d thought it was a nice touch – a romantic gesture.
‘I thought we could have dinner,’ she’d said.
‘You’d have been wise to call; I’ve just had a battered sausage at the chippie.’
She should have been disappointed, but she couldn’t help but feel relieved that they wouldn’t have to make small talk over a dinner that neither of them really wanted; literally or metaphorically.
That doesn’t give me the right to embark on a relationship that’s only going to hurt the people I love, she says to herself now in an attempt to quell the excited queasiness circling her stomach. Because, for all Simon’s faults, she does still love him. She chooses to ignore the voice in her head that says, If you did, then you wouldn’t feel the need to go and see another man.
‘I might go and stay with Mum then,’ says Lauren, knowing that she’s already lining her nest, ready to take flight, and hating herself for it. But she already knows that she can’t call on her mother again – not after last time, when she lied about where she was. Little did Rose and Kate know that the lie was upon another lie.
‘Might be best,’ says Simon absently. ‘I don’t like the thought of you being here on your own. I hate working nights.’
‘The money will be good though,’ says Lauren, encouragingly. ‘More than a day job, right?’
‘What?’ says Simon, cupping a hand to his ear as if it will drown out Jude’s high-pitched cries.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Lauren, going to Jude and scooping him up into her arms. He stops for a moment before screwing his face up and letting out another blood-curdling scream.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ asks Simon, as he gets himself a beer from the fridge.
‘He’s fed, changed and watered,’ says Lauren, propping Jude up on her shoulder and rubbing his back. ‘He’s probably just got wind.’
‘Well, can you take him somewhere else for a bit? The football’s just about to start.’
Lauren looks across the tiny ground floor of the house, unable to see where she can possibly go that will make a difference.
‘I might just take him out in the car,’ she says. ‘See if that settles him.’
Simon barely looks up from the TV as she picks up her bag and heads for the door. Tears of frustration threaten to fall as she pulls away, not knowing where she’s going to go, just knowing that she needs to get out just as much as Jude does; away from the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia that’s bearing down on her.
Just as she gets to the end of the street, her mobile rings on the passenger seat and she snatches a quick glance at it.
It’s Jess; another problem that coils its way around Lauren’s insides. She answers it and puts it on loudspeaker.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ says Jess. ‘Can you talk?’
Lauren laughs sarcastically. ‘I can talk, but I doubt you’ll be able to hear me over the din of my darling child.’
‘Is he okay?’ asks Jess.
‘He’s fine – just grouchy. How are things with you?’