Page 3 of Sisters Making Mischief
What should I do next? What did people do in these circumstances?
‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
Sara pulled out a new tissue and blew her nose.
‘I’d rather have a stiff gin, actually,’ she said.
I looked at the clock. It was eleven thirty in the morning, perhaps a bit early? Never mind. Sara didn’t look as though she was in the mood for a cup of Yorkshire’s finest and a mince pie, and it was Christmas after all, when many nutritional rules go out of the window.
We sat there for a few minutes in silence, Sara slugging back the (very weak) gin and tonic I had made for her, me wiping the worktops down yet again while I waited for the kettle to boil. I suppose subliminally I was trying to wipe away these problems, too, and that was completely unrealistic.
‘So tell me about it,’ I said at last.
I knew I should be coming up with all sorts of good, motherly advice, saying the right things and giving some comfort, but just then all I could think about was how this was going to affect her and my granddaughters.
My mind was darting around to what might lie ahead. Custody battles. Legal fees. Court appearances. Which one of them would move out of their huge house. Sara had been a stay-at-home mother since the girls were born, how would she manage for money? Where would Marty live. What about the girls’ schooling. And how long did this sort of thing take anyway?
‘Things haven’t been great for a while,’ Sara said at last, having got the basic information out, she now wanted to talk. ‘I knew something was going on, but I had no proof and Marty said I was paranoid.’
‘Typical,’ I said, ‘trying to blame you.’
Even then I was aware I shouldn’t voice the many negative thoughts I’d harboured about Marty. They might, despite everything, resolve their differences and carry on with their marriage, and then everyone would know what I’d said, andIwould be the problem.
No, this was not the moment to say what a narcissistic twat Marty was, how he had never been good enough for her, that he was nowhere near as clever as he thought he was, and she would be better off without him. I wouldn’t mention the way he had gradually got less attractive over the years as the habitual sneer on his face took over. How he had become expert on the casual put down, the snide comment, the impression that we as a family weren’t really good enough for him.
‘And that woman— that absolute— goes all out to get him. Blonde cow. Cosying up to me at the Christmas party, Marty telling me what a great support she was.’
‘She must have known he was married,’ I said.
‘Her sort never care about that. I hope she’s proud of herself, behaving like a tart. Latching on to someone else’s husband.’
I thought about also allocating an equal share of the blame to Marty, but this didn’t seem the right moment.
‘How long has this being going on? And how did you find out?’
Sara finished her drink and put the glass down on the kitchen table with a thump.
‘Years.’
‘So more than one, less than ten?’
‘About three if Marty is to be believed. Nothing would surprise me now. They went to that conference in Bracknell and one thing led to another. She led him on of course. He said she was a man eater, and he was weak…’
I fought down the mental image of some random blonde floozy taking bites out of Marty’s leg and focused back on the conversation.
‘Three years! And now he’s trying to say it’s her fault? And your fault! What about him?’
‘Nothing is ever Marty’s fault,’ Sara said bitterly. Her eyes filled with tears again. ‘And now it’s bloody Christmas. Hooray.’
Hmm. Not the sort of festive cheer I had been hoping for. Ridiculous thoughts crossed my mind. If Marty wasn’t coming I would have to rearrange the table, and I had too many crackers.
‘And the twins. They must be devastated. Have they said anything?’
‘Not much. Mia just shrugged and said all her friends’ parents are divorced and Poppy asked if she would still be able to go on school trips. And then Mia asked where we would be living, and I said I didn’t know. And that’s when I lost it and got everything into the car.’
I went to hug her, my heart filled with sorrow and sympathy and anger in equal parts.
‘I’m glad you did. I’ll do everything I can to help. I do understand. You know that.’
