Murray kicked up when I chose to keep my maiden name after we married.
‘I’ve always been Julia Marshall,’ I reply. With hindsight, it was the right thing to do. I don’t have to worry about changing names now the divorce is underway.
‘When did you and Murray actually separate?’ David looks down at me.
‘Last July,’ I say. ‘Saturday the fifteenth at three twenty p.m.’
‘That precise, huh?’ He tugs on my arm. A belated gesture of sympathy.
‘It was the exact time the locksmith finished changing the locks. Murray wasn’t even around. He was at . . .’ I stop. Not yet. Don’t colour David’s picture of me with the stain of Murray’s drinking. ‘Well, he just wasn’t there, that was all. It was for the best.’ I remember Murray at the bar, the look on his face when I approached him. By then, he didn’t even know who I was, let alone that he was supposed to have picked Alex up from the ice rink.
‘Have you ever been married?’ I ask. David’s been carefully protective of his past. He’s more interested in finding out about me, my childhood, than revealing his own story.
‘No,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’ve always managed to put it off, wriggle out. There have been women . . . a woman.’ He swallows and his pace slows; drags almost. ‘But the time has never come.’ He stops walking. ‘It obviously wasn’t meant to be.’ I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. We are beside a bus stop. He turns me to face him. ‘I think we have a lot in common.’ A breath, a pause, and then he leaps. ‘I’d like to see you again.’ Then, ‘I want to know all about you.’
‘That would be nice,’ I say far too quickly, without even considering what it all means. I grip his forearms, giddy with pleasure, because they are the nearest things – strong, supportive, just where I need them – and suddenly his hands are holding me in return. In a flash, I am seventeen again, when Murray and I finally got together properly. He was strong. He was there. He was everything I’d ever wanted.
‘I’m not quite thirty,’ I say absurdly, perhaps thinking of all the roadblocks that we will encounter. I am completely unable to remove the grin from my face. He wants to see me again. Surely he knows there’s an age difference. It’s ridiculous but the only thing I could think of to say.
‘Lucky you,’ he says, laughing. There is no shock.
‘But it’s OK. I like older men,’ I say, grinning back. And it’s true. As of now, I do, because when he walks me back to my car, he kisses me. Just a dusting of skin, his lips missing mine by a fraction. I feel the heat in them anyway, his warm breath on my cheek, the passion I know he’s holding back. He stays there for a beat too long, causing my heart to kick up in my throat all the way back to the children.
MARY
After my visit to the surgery, after all the words I wanted to scream got wedged in my gullet, the woman that I’d become over the decades quickly unravelled and fell apart. The result was silence. I couldn’t speak a single syllable. It was self-preservation of the highest level. There was no one immediately available to talk to anyway, and by the time I got home, a few hours later, the vile bung that was trapped in my throat was as stubborn as a blocked drain. And it stank as much.
Everything I ever feared had come right back at me; a full circle of horror. And this time, I had more to lose.
Initially, I don’t think Brenna and Gradin even noticed my silence. Of course, they knew that something was wrong but their already troubled minds made it impossible for them to grasp what needed to be done. They were barely able to function normally themselves. My condition certainly made them unsettled, but ultimately, they were simply content to be out of their abusive home. They still took guesses at what I’d got them for Christmas, shrugging when I didn’t reply; they still squabbled and left the bathroom in a mess and ate up all
‘I’ve always been Julia Marshall,’ I reply. With hindsight, it was the right thing to do. I don’t have to worry about changing names now the divorce is underway.
‘When did you and Murray actually separate?’ David looks down at me.
‘Last July,’ I say. ‘Saturday the fifteenth at three twenty p.m.’
‘That precise, huh?’ He tugs on my arm. A belated gesture of sympathy.
‘It was the exact time the locksmith finished changing the locks. Murray wasn’t even around. He was at . . .’ I stop. Not yet. Don’t colour David’s picture of me with the stain of Murray’s drinking. ‘Well, he just wasn’t there, that was all. It was for the best.’ I remember Murray at the bar, the look on his face when I approached him. By then, he didn’t even know who I was, let alone that he was supposed to have picked Alex up from the ice rink.
‘Have you ever been married?’ I ask. David’s been carefully protective of his past. He’s more interested in finding out about me, my childhood, than revealing his own story.
‘No,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’ve always managed to put it off, wriggle out. There have been women . . . a woman.’ He swallows and his pace slows; drags almost. ‘But the time has never come.’ He stops walking. ‘It obviously wasn’t meant to be.’ I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. We are beside a bus stop. He turns me to face him. ‘I think we have a lot in common.’ A breath, a pause, and then he leaps. ‘I’d like to see you again.’ Then, ‘I want to know all about you.’
‘That would be nice,’ I say far too quickly, without even considering what it all means. I grip his forearms, giddy with pleasure, because they are the nearest things – strong, supportive, just where I need them – and suddenly his hands are holding me in return. In a flash, I am seventeen again, when Murray and I finally got together properly. He was strong. He was there. He was everything I’d ever wanted.
‘I’m not quite thirty,’ I say absurdly, perhaps thinking of all the roadblocks that we will encounter. I am completely unable to remove the grin from my face. He wants to see me again. Surely he knows there’s an age difference. It’s ridiculous but the only thing I could think of to say.
‘Lucky you,’ he says, laughing. There is no shock.
‘But it’s OK. I like older men,’ I say, grinning back. And it’s true. As of now, I do, because when he walks me back to my car, he kisses me. Just a dusting of skin, his lips missing mine by a fraction. I feel the heat in them anyway, his warm breath on my cheek, the passion I know he’s holding back. He stays there for a beat too long, causing my heart to kick up in my throat all the way back to the children.
MARY
After my visit to the surgery, after all the words I wanted to scream got wedged in my gullet, the woman that I’d become over the decades quickly unravelled and fell apart. The result was silence. I couldn’t speak a single syllable. It was self-preservation of the highest level. There was no one immediately available to talk to anyway, and by the time I got home, a few hours later, the vile bung that was trapped in my throat was as stubborn as a blocked drain. And it stank as much.
Everything I ever feared had come right back at me; a full circle of horror. And this time, I had more to lose.
Initially, I don’t think Brenna and Gradin even noticed my silence. Of course, they knew that something was wrong but their already troubled minds made it impossible for them to grasp what needed to be done. They were barely able to function normally themselves. My condition certainly made them unsettled, but ultimately, they were simply content to be out of their abusive home. They still took guesses at what I’d got them for Christmas, shrugging when I didn’t reply; they still squabbled and left the bathroom in a mess and ate up all
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