Page 7 of For One Moment With You
There was resentment in my heart as I drove through the pouring rain – for the second time that afternoon.
I wish I didn’t, but I did fricking mind, so much… Driving fricking six miles to clean up my dad’s cat’s shit. In this shitty weather. When I’d rather have been at home sipping a cup of tea and leafing through Lizzie’s cards again.
But in a million years, I would never have told him that. ‘Hi, Dad.’ My voice was bright when he opened the door. I kissed him on the cheek. ‘What’s Moses been up to?’
‘I’ll show you.’ I followed Dad along the hallway into the small room that for as long as I could remember had been his study, the smell getting stronger with each step. ‘There.’ He pointed to the carpet where alongside what was clearly cat shit, there was evidence of sick, too, squodged into the carpet. He looked slightly apologetic. ‘I think the door went over it.’
I went to the kitchen, gathered disinfectant and a bucket of hot water, then pulled on rubber gloves as I made a start.
But he wasn’t even grateful; just stood there saying, ‘You missed a bit,’ as I scrubbed the fricking carpet, on my knees.
‘Do you have time for a cup of tea?’ he asked when I’ve finished scrubbing.
I had a brief cuppa with him, during which I suggested he made sure Moses spent more time outside.
‘But he won’t go,’ my father said glumly. ‘Moses doesn’t like the rain.’
Which I understood; nor did I. But I liked cleaning up after him even less. ‘Maybe you should think about putting down a cat litter tray.’ I got up. ‘Thanks for the tea. I should get home and change,’ I said, the smell of cat shit still lingering in my nostrils.
Why me?I was silently fuming as I drove home. Two hours of my life down the drain, cleaning up cat puke and shit that somehow ended up on me, too, so that now I stank, too, and so did my car.Then guilt washed over me, for feeling so resentful.
But back at home, after a hot shower, I felt better. More so as I poured myself a restorative glass of white wine and started to make a risotto; for the hundredth time, wishing Lizzie was here as I heard the front door open, then close, before Gareth walked in. I pinned on a smile. ‘Hi.’ I tried to assume the bright demeanour everyone expected to see from me. But for whatever reason, today it felt false.
‘Hi.’ He stood there for a moment, his hair plastered to his head, his jacket damp from the rain.
‘Hi,’ I said again, cheerfully. ‘How was your day?’
But he didn’t respond, just glanced at the pile of sympathy cards as he took his jacket off, a look of irritation crossing his face. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you put those things away? It’s been three months, Tilly. You must know every word by heart.’
Dragging my eyes away from the cards, I met his. ‘The messages are beautiful. People wrote such nice things – it brings memories back. Three months isn’t very long. In any case, I only got home a little while ago. Dad summoned me to clear up – after the cat.’ I rolled my eyes for comedic effect.
But instead of sympathising, he sighed. ‘It isn’t just that.’
Something about the way he spoke made my blood chill. I watched him as he turned away. ‘What do you mean?’ Suddenly he had my undivided attention.
Coming over to the table, he sighed. ‘I was hoping it had been enough time, Tilly – because we need to talk.’ His voice was quiet, a note of sadness in it that tugged at my heartstrings. Pulling out a chair, he hung his jacket over it, then sat down. ‘I’ve been waiting for the right moment. I thought by now…’ Glancing at the pile of cards again, he shook his head. ‘I thought you might have started to move on.’
The strangest feeling came over me. It wasn’t the fact that three months was nothing when you’d lost your sister. It was more as though I felt removed; that in the most bizarre way, I was somehow watching myself. That I knew what he was going to say before he said it, as in his next breath, he told me he never meant it to happen. But…
I looked at him, stunned. ‘You’ve met someone?’The words sank in; snaking slowly, nauseously inside me.
Gareth’s sigh was heavy, his face guilt-stricken. ‘You have to believe I didn’t mean to. It just happened, Tilly. But it’s taught me about myself. And what I want from life.’
My skin felt cold, as though the blood had drained out of my veins. ‘And you couldn’t have stopped it? For fuck’s sake, Gareth. We’re married. We have a commitment to each other. How could you do this?’
He had the grace to look embarrassed – for all of about two seconds. ‘Marriages end, Tilly. I know it’s painful. But sometimes, you just know, don’t you? When things just have to change?’
4
The End
I remember that’s how it felt, that this was the end. It sounds melodramatic. But in a sense, it wasthe end, of life as I knew it. It was an ending I wasn’t ready for, that I’d spent most of my married life trying to prevent. And that was in spite of the signs – and there were many.
It was why, the following morning, instead of the shopping trip I’d planned, I was back at Selham station for the second time in as many days. Sitting on the platform, I was craving the quiet stillness of yesterday that had been replaced by the gale force wind driving icy needles of rain at me, as pulling up the collar of my jacket, I shivered.
It was only eight o’clock in the morning. Unable to sleep last night, I’d lain in bed as long, dark hours passed, going over what Gareth said, until eventually the first glimmer of daylight had appeared.
I thought about his so-called business trips, which most likely had been a cover for his extra-marital activities and in reality hadn’t existed. Then I wondered what his girlfriend would think if she knew it was the first night that Gareth had slept in the spare room; that he was apparently spending the night in our house out of some misguided sense of responsibility.To make sure I was OK,was what he said – after telling me he was leaving me for someone else. I mean, pick the bones out of that.
