Page 91 of A Spell of Midlife Mayhem

WHEN I WOKE THE NEXT morning, I was still undecided about what to do. I made myself breakfast and went into the dining room to think about it all while I crunched my toast and drank my tea.

Raven’s kind words the previous night were just that—kind—but he didn’t know what things were like for me.

I’d always regarded my value as a person by the roles I performed. History teacher. Mother. Wife. Didn’t everyone do that? Wasn’t that what made someone worthwhile as a person?

With Rose having left home, my hard work at school being unappreciated and my husband cheating on me, my old life had imploded. But it was still my life, and it was fixable. I still had a role as a mother, the school wanted me back, and Terry loved me—or said he did. I could forgive his indiscretions, couldn’t I?

Raven was a free spirit and didn’t see things the way I did. Here, in the UK, I wasn’t valued either. I’d ruined everything.

I put my head in my hands.

A minute later, the phone rang. Terry.

‘I’ve booked the tickets,’ he said. ‘The flight leaves at ten tonight. We have to be there at about seven. My train from Birmingham won’t leave me much time, so I’ll meet you at the airport. Heathrow Terminal Four. All right, Heather?’

‘Good morning, Terry.’

‘Morning,’ he said belatedly. ‘Did you hear me? You’ll meet me at the airport?’

I hesitated. My next few words might dictate the entire rest of my life. What did I want to do?

‘Please come home, Heather. You’ll see I’ve changed. I’m nothing without you.’ Terry was pleading now.

‘I know,’ I whispered.

‘So, you’ll come home with me? You will meet me at the airport, won’t you?’

I looked around the dining room, where my tea and the rest of my toast sat cold and unappetising. What would my life be like if I stayed? Uncertain. I’d lose my job or have to quit. I’d have to avoid Raven and move out of Aunt Ruth’s house to a crappy bedsit somewhere. That’s all I could afford as I conserved my pitiful savings while searching for another job and waiting for my share of the divorce money, which could be months away.

Or I could go back to my old life. It was familiar, and its familiarity made it comfortable, even if it was mundane and predictable. I’d carry on looking after my husband and being an underappreciated schoolteacher. I’d fade away into a dull, ordinary existence, but one I already knew well.

Perhaps fading away in a mundane existence was better than crashing and burning here, where I’d ruined everything that I’d touched, like a King Midas in reverse.

‘Heather?’ Terry prompted. ‘I need an answer.’

‘I’m thinking.’

‘Please think faster. I’m running out of credit.’

I choked up, but I got the words out. ‘I’ll be there.’

Our call was cut off after that, but I was sure he heard me.

I sat with my head in my hands, upset and confused. I’d hoped for so much when I left him and came to England, but it wasn’t working out. It was a shambolic wreck, a—what’s the word Rachel uses to describe some of her legal cases?—a clusterfuck.

Raven’s words from last night circled in my head, like seagulls above discarded soggy chips. I’d dismissed them as being irrelevant—after all, he didn’t know what it was like to be needed by someone as much as Terry needed me. I had an obligation to my husband. Yes, he’d cheated on me, and I blamed him for that... but was it that simple?

I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that Terry said he needed me.

I needed to be needed. That was how I’d always known I had value as a person. Was that what Raven was talking about last night? I wasn’t concentrating. I’d been in a bit of a funk.

After disposing of the rest of my breakfast, I texted Lydia to report myself sick. I was sick in a way—sick of being me, sick of the mistakes I’d made. This was the easy way out. I didn’t have to quit, and she wouldn’t have to fire me. I’d simply vanish.

But what should I say to Aunt Ruth? Neither she nor Raven were up and about at this early hour. Should I wait until Aunt Ruth came out or wake her up?

No. I couldn’t face talking to her. She’d blame herself, thinking that because she’d told me I might have to find somewhere else to live temporarily, I decided I couldn’t stay in the country. But that was only a small part of it.

In the kitchen, I found paper and pen and wrote a note saying I was going back to New Zealand that night. This way, I’d avoid talking to her and avoid the awkwardness of the conversation and any ensuing arguments.

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