Page 2 of You Had Me at Chateau
We say our goodbyes, leaving it at that.
What Jen doesn’t seem to understand is that I don’t think I’ll regret it, it’s that I can’t really do it in the first place, and what is even worse than not feeling like a sexy writer is not feeling like a good writer at all. I feel so overwhelmingly, almost dangerously uninspired.
I think it’s time to shake things up. I just hope Jen agrees with me.
2
Are you ever having a bad day, or doing something difficult, or just generally feeling rubbish and you think to yourself: I wish my mum or dad were here, to make it better? I think that all the time and yet, it’s funny, because my parents seem to have the knack for making things a bit worse.
‘Okay, kids, I need you to listen carefully, because we have some news,’ Mum starts, pausing to take a deep breath. ‘Your dad and I are pre-divorcing.’
‘What?’ I squeak.
‘Really?’ Tom, my brother, says at the same time.
‘It’s important to us that you realise that sometimes things just don’t work out,’ Mum continues. ‘But we need the two of you to know that it’s not your fault. Is it, Johnny?’
Mum gives Dad a sharp jab with her elbow.
‘No, no,’ he quickly joins in. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Wait, hang on a second.
‘Pre-divorcing?’ I say, because that’s a new one to me.
‘Yes,’ Mum says, her face serious, but the hints of a smile flickering at the edges of her mouth. ‘It’s basically an intent to divorce, later, when we’ve worked out the best course of action.’
‘But wait,’ Tom chimes in. ‘What about Christmas?’
Tom’s innocent but seemingly ill-timed question breaks through the seriousness of the moment. Mum’s face visibly shifts from that of a calm therapist to that of a woman who has been pushed in front of in a queue too many times and is about to finally snap.
‘We’re getting divorced,’ Dad tells him plainly. ‘We’re not denouncing Christianity.’
‘You mean renouncing,’ Mum corrects him. ‘And, seeing as though it’ssoimportant to you, Tom, we thought it would be good for us, as a family, to spend Christmas together one last time.’
‘So Santa will know where to leave our presents?’ my brother jokes – at least I think he’s joking.
I allow myself a little snort.
‘It’s nice to see you’re taking it so well,’ Dad half-jokes.
‘Sorry, I’ve just never heard of a pre-divorce,’ Tom replies. ‘Are you, like, actually doing it?’
‘Yes,’ Mum says, clearly and plainly. ‘Unless things get better.’
‘So you’re not actually divorcing?’ I check.
‘We’repre-divorcing,’ she says again. I still don’t get it.
I just stare at her, my thoughts racing with a million questions, but there is one obvious one that I have to ask first.
‘Why are you getting divorced?’ I ask, the words feeling heavy in my mouth. ‘Or pre-divorced, or whatever the correct term is.’
Mum’s expression softens. She looks a little sad that I’m even asking her the question, but her tone remains firm as she meets my gaze.
‘It’s just not working,’ she explains simply – there is a regretful edge to her words too, though. ‘Neither of us is happy.’
Jill Page, my mum, with her impeccable posture and professional demeanour, shifts in her seat for a moment beforeregaining her composure. Despite retiring early from her job as a solicitor, she still carries herself with an air of professionalism – one that she probably could have retired too. Sometimes, when she tells us things, it’s as if she’s about to deliver a report rather than just, you know, talk to her kids.
