Page 97 of The Fall-Out

‘Come on, you two,’ I urged as cheerfully as I could. ‘Hurry up or we’ll be late.’

‘I need a wee, Mummy,’ Meredith whined.

‘Well go upstairs and have one then. Come on.’

‘Mummy, I’m hungry,’ complained Toby.

‘Serves you right for twatting your breakfast on the floor,’ I said under my breath, then, ‘I’ll put an extra cereal bar in your bag. Let’s make a move.’

But by the time we made it to the nursery gates, my exasperation had been replaced with a deep sadness. These were my children – only slightly larger versions of the tiny babies I’d carried inside me and loved so much I wanted to lick them from the moment I first saw their furious, scrunched-up faces.

I was tearing their world apart. Everything they knew – the corner of the kitchen where Meredith sometimes curled up in the sunshine like a cat, nodding off on the floor and needing to be carried upstairs to finish her nap; the young apple tree in the garden Toby still studiously watered with a can even after it had rained; their bedroom, their climbing frame, their parents – all of it would be left behind.

And it was all my fault: my urge to unmake past mistakes, my desire to get a job and a life outside of motherhood, my refusal to forgive and forget my husband’s transgression.

You could just suck it up and stay, Naomi, I thought.

But the prospect of that was intolerable. I couldn’t imagine ever sleeping with Patch again, knowing what I knew now. I could already feel the resentment I harboured over his selfishness, his assumption that anything to do with the house and the children was my problem, his prioritisation of his own ambitions over mine, emerging from the place where I’d kept it submerged for so long.

If I stay, I’ll end up hating him, I realised.

‘Are you okay, Naomi?’ I’d barely noticed Bronwen taking the children’s hands from mine and their bags from my arm. ‘You look miles away.’

‘Sorry.’ I forced a smile on to my face. ‘Monday morning, you know. Just getting through it on autopilot.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ She laughed. ‘You have a good day, now.’

I bent down to kiss the children, feeling the first hot tears on my cheeks mixing with the cool rain. Somehow, I managed not to cry properly until they were out of sight, but as I walked away the street in front of me went all blurry and I couldn’t catch my breath for sobs.

Then I heard hurrying footsteps on the pavement behind me and felt a warm hand on my arm.

‘Hey, Naomi.’ It was Princess Lulu, once again in her sleek work attire instead of her sleek sportswear.

‘Morning, Imogen,’ I managed. ‘Sorry. Having a bit of a bad day.’

‘I can see that. Come on, let’s go for a coffee.’

Part of me wanted to tell her to leave me alone, brush off her concern, head home and lick my wounds in peace. But suddenly, the company of another adult, another woman, felt like a promise of much-needed comfort.

‘But won’t you be late for work?’ I asked.

‘I’m the boss. I can be as late as I like. Let’s do this.’

Firmly grasping my elbow, she led me down the road and pushed open the door of a coffee shop – a chichi new place I’d been meaning to visit but never found the time, all artisan espresso and avocado on sourdough toast.

‘Hello, Imogen.’ The bearded young man behind the counter beamed at her like she was his long-lost sister. ‘Your usual? Extra hot oat milk latte?’

‘Yes, please, Duncan.’

‘And for you, madam?’ His face was solicitous – carefully kind, but not so kind as to make me start crying again.

‘Just a black coffee, please,’ I said.

‘I’ll bring it right over.’

Before I could protest, Imogen had tapped her phone on the payment device and led me to a table by the window.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘what’s up? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to – I’m just some random, after all – but if you want to talk, I’ll listen.’

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