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Chapter 3
By the time I wake up from another very uncougar-like nap on the sofa, Dan and Joel are both in the living room, though they’re not talking to each other. Joel’s too busy yelling abuse at a faceless stranger who’s annoyed him by killing him when he wasn’t looking. (Young guys are so rude to each other when playing Call of Duty online, I’m sure it’s a major factor in the lack of world peace.)
I pull a disapproving face, then tell Joel to shove up and make room for me on the sofa.
“Keep quiet, Mum,” he says. “I’ve already messed up once, thanks to Dad.”
“I had the temerity to ask him what he fancied for dinner,” says Dan, before he stands up and moves towards the door. He can’t bear to be in the same room as me for more than five minutes at the moment.
“Hang on a sec, Dan,” I say. “I thought we were going to speak to Joel together.”
“But –” says Dan, as Joel throws the controller onto the floor and sighs as if the world is ending. Which I suppose it’s about to, in a way.
“What?” says Joel. “This had better be important.”
I don’t know whether it is, or isn’t, actually – to Joel, anyway. Who knows what’s going on in his head? Sometimes I think he can’t stand either me or Dan, but then sometimes – especially if he comes into a room unexpectedly, and catches me when I’m feeling a bit tearful, or lonely – he’ll say, “Mum! What’s wrong? Come over here.”
Then he’ll give me a big hug, and tell me that everything’s going to be okay, even when he has no idea what I’m sad about. It helps much more than you’d think it would – but I can’t let myself think about feeling lonely at the moment. I have to get this nightmare over and then I can focus on making my Friends fantasy come to life.
“We’ve got something important to tell you, Joel,” I say, “so pay attention.”
“Um, Hannah,” says Dan, shifting about from foot to foot, and looking extremely uncomfortable. “There’s something else I should tell you first.”
I take no notice, as delaying tactics are typical of Dan. He’ll always put off doing anything tricky or emotional if he can, but he’s not getting away with it this time. We said we’d do this together, and we said we’d do it tonight – and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Even if “together” means him standing there like a spare part while I do the difficult bit.
“Your dad and I are splitting up, Joel,” I say.
Joel doesn’t react at all, but when I look across at Dan and catch his eye, he shakes his head and swallows, then decides he’d better help out, after all.
“Joel?” he says. “Did you hear what your mother said? We’re splitting up.”
Dan’s voice sounds deadly serious, if a bit shaky, but Joel just laughs.
“Yeah, yeah – very funny,” he says. “Pull the other one. You two would never split up.”
It takes ages to persuade him that we would – and are – and then he’s incredulous, and extremely upset.
“But why?” he says. “Why the hell would you do that?”
I suggest Dan explains, seeing as the whole thing was originally his idea, but that doesn’t help at all, because he takes so long to get to the point. He starts by telling Joel about the argument, and what it was about.
“You argued about what?” says Joel, staring at Dan and me in turn. “A television programme? Have you both gone senile overnight?”
For a split second, I wonder if we have, but then Dan tells Joel that we haven’t. He adds, “I suppose we’re trying to make our lives happier, before we do.”
When I hear that, I excuse myself by saying I need to make an urgent call. I suddenly can’t face hearing why Dan’s so unhappy with me and, anyway, it’s always good to check that the Speaking Clock still exists. I give myself a talking-to at the same time as I discover it is 7:32 exactly, and then I replay the Mr Suave scenario several times in my head, just to remind myself that everything will be all right, eventually.
It almost works, until I go back to the living room, to find Dan sitting slumped in a chair with his head in his hands, and Joel pacing round and round the room in circles.
“You tell him why we’re doing this, Hannah,” says Dan. “I’ve run out of reasons, and he thinks all the ones I’ve already given him are ‘total crap’. He says we’re both going to be lonely, too.”
“No, we won’t,” I say. “We’ll be fine, Joel. We’ll have our friends to keep us company – and you, of course. You can come and see me whenever you like.”
“You two have ignored your friends for so long, you haven’t got any real ones left,” says Joel, at the same time as Dan says, “What d’you mean he can come and see you, Hannah? See you where? He’ll be here – with you – every day. You’ll need him to pay rent to help with the mortgage, once I move out at the end of this week.”
Oh, dear God. When Dan moves out at the end of this week? This week? And Dan’s the one who’s moving out, not me? I don’t know what to say to any of that, but Joel does.
“I’ve never heard such a dumbass reason for splitting up, in all my life,” he says. “And I think one of you is lying, or both of you. Which one of you is seeing someone else?”
That possibility hadn’t occurred to me until now, but if one of us is, it isn’t me. Not when Mr Suave’s not real. I think I may be about to cry again.
Chapter 4
It seems that one of Dan’s colleagues had a spare room going – really cheap – so Dan says he’d have been a fool if he hadn’t taken it. He also insists that Joel was wrong about him seeing someone else, though he was right about the other thing: I’ve got no friends. Well, I have, but even though I’ve rung all of them over the last few days – while Dan’s been supposedly working late – they all went on so much about how long it had been since the last time I called, that I ended up not telling any of them that he and I were splitting up. They might have thought it was the only reason I was bothering to phone them now.
It was, I suppose, but that’s not the point. They’ve all posted that thing on Facebook about it not mattering how long it’s been since you last spoke to an old friend, so I’d assumed that was genuinely how they felt. Obviously, it wasn’t, so things are already looking pretty desperate on the friends front by the time that Joel gets home from work.
He sits down on the sofa next to me, and kicks off his shoes while I stare in disbelief at his socks. One says, “Fuck” and the other says, “Off”.
This is what you have to endure when your son refuses to go to university, and insists on working in a super-hip streetwear store instead, one where all the staff are required to talk in gangsta-speak even if they’ve never been anywhere near a gang. The whole thing drives Dan mad, and Joel’s still in the middle of a fairly incomprehensible explanation of how he uses the socks to swear at his boss without him being aware of it, when I lose the will to listen and decide to phone Theo and Claire, instead.
They’re neighbours, rather than friends, but Dan and I have probably socialised more often with them than with anyone else over the last ten years (mainly because that keeps us close enough to home to prevent Joel throwing parties while we’re out). I think they’re all right, though Dan’s never been keen on Claire.
When she answers the phone I tell her my news straight away. There’s no point giving myself the chance to chicken out, even though I know it’ll make the whole thing feel much worse once someone other than Joel knows.
“Good God,” says Claire, and then she repeats herself. After that, there’s quite an uncomfortable pause before she adds, “I assume you won’t be coming to our dinner tonight, if that’s the case?”
I’d forgotten all about it, what with what’s been going on with me and Dan, and I’m about to confirm we won’t be there when I wonder if I’m being stupid. You’re probably supposed to start as you mean to go on, when you’re trying to rebuild your messed-up life.
“Well, I guess I could come by myself,” I say to Claire, after taking a few deep breaths. “Seeing as I’m still going to be your neighbour, at least until Joel decides it’s time to move out.”
It sounds as if Claire snorts at the remoteness of that ever happening, but then she pulls herself together and says, “That’s great! See you in a couple of hours.”
Her voice sounds a bit weird when she says it, but I don’t give that any further thought, until the phone rings ten minutes later, and Joel answers it. He sounds very charming and un-gangsta-like while doing so, which is reassuring, but what happens next isn’t reassuring at all. The caller is Theo (of Theo-and-Claire), and he’s obviously drawn the short straw, given that he’s the one making this call.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” he says. “Claire asked me to tell you she was so stunned by your news, she completely forgot to mention there’s been a problem with the catering, so we’ve had to cancel the dinner party. We’ll reschedule it for another time.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” I say. “Seeing as it was for your anniversary, and that’s today, isn’t it?”
Their twenty-seventh wedding anniversary, the same one that Dan and I celebrated less than a year ago, not that Theo gives a toss about that.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “It is today. Another year of the life sentence without parole done and dusted. Oh. Um. Sorry, Hannah. A bit insensitive in the circumstances.”
Theo’s not usually so tactless, but he doesn’t sound himself at all. In fact – at the risk of sounding like the Fembot – I don’t believe a word he’s just said about the dinner being cancelled, and that impression’s strengthened when he adds that Claire says why don’t I pop round and have a quiet drink with her next week instead?
“I’ll be away on business then,” says Theo, “so she could use some company when she’s on her own. Oh. Ah, I guess you probably could, as well.”
I’m going to borrow Joel’s socks and wear them during my next visit, if Theo keeps this up. Claire always makes guests remove their shoes.
* * *
When I get off the phone, Joel’s even more furious with Theo and Claire than he is with me and Dan, when I tell him what’s just happened. First he describes the pair of them as “tossers”, and then he invites me to accompany him and his girlfriend Izzy to the cinema, but I refuse. Three’s company at the best of times and, anyway, I ought to go round to Pearl’s. It’s not fair to tell outsiders about me and Dan when I haven’t told her yet.
* * *
I drive across town, while trying to work out the best way to handle what’s bound to be a tricky conversation, but I’m still clueless by the time that I arrive. However I put it, Pearl isn’t going to take my announcement well. She’s always been very fond of Dan, and she knows better than anyone what it’s like to end up on your own after a long-term marriage, since her husband died three years ago. They’d been together for the previous forty-five, roaming the world due to Clive’s job as a senior diplomat. That’s why I visit Pearl so often these days, because I know how much she hates being on her own, especially in the evenings, and she’s bound to be even more lonely now that she’s living somewhere new.
I pull into a parking space directly outside the Elysium Retirement Home, which Pearl renamed “Abandon Hope” when Dan and I moved her in on New Year’s Eve. I can’t see why she called it that, as it looks like a stately home to me. The diplomatic service look after their own, unlike Halfwits, and I’ll be lucky to afford something the size of one of the broom cupboards in a building like this when I retire.
* * *
I push open the main doors, then walk across the lobby and into a wide carpeted corridor that leads to Pearl’s new ground-floor flat.
“It’s open,” she shouts, when I ring the doorbell. “As long as you’ve brought some money with you, that is. We’re not messing about with buttons or IOUs tonight.”
That makes no sense whatsoever, until I open the door to reveal a dozen elderly people playing poker.
The cocktails are flowing and there are already plenty of competitors for the title of drunkest OAP, though Pearl’s not one of them.
“I pride myself on being able to hold my drink, Hannah,” she says. “Unlike some people I could mention. Now let me introduce you to the Hopeless gang.”
There are loads of people in Pearl’s flat, and I doubt I’d recognise any of them again, except for Albert and Fred, who I end up sitting between. Albert looks like Pope Francis, the nice one from Buenos Aires, while Fred looks more like the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I must count as a child, given the disparity in our ages, as that’s the only reason I can think of to explain why I keep finding Fred’s hand creeping up my leg under cover of the tablecloth.
* * *
“Bloody hell, Pearl,” I say, when she shows the last guest out, then joins me in the kitchen, where I’ve been hiding from Fiddling Fred for the last half-hour. “That Fred’s a creep, but I like your other new friends. You’ve made so many here, already!”
“You can’t waste time when you get to my age,” says Pearl. “Or yours, for that matter. You look terrible – what’s up?”
I’ve lost my bottle while I’ve been waiting to spill the beans and now I can’t go through with it. Telling people what’s happened makes it all seem far too real.
“Nothing much,” I say, swilling out a cocktail shaker and putting it aside to drain.
Pearl raises her eyebrows and says, “You’ve always been a poor liar, ever since you were a child, so leave the washing up and try again. And this time, make it the whole truth and nothing but.”
I do as I’m told, though I don’t mention that Dan said he doesn’t fancy me any more. That would be too humiliating, so I just say we had an argument about a television programme that turned into something much, much worse.
“Good God,” says Pearl, when I’ve finished. “Are you sure about this, Hannah? It’s no fun being on your own, you know. Why d’you think I agreed to move in here? This place has a better ratio of men to women than every other retirement place I looked at, which is not a lucky coincidence. I did my research, because I’m sick and tired of being alone after the last few years.”
So that’s why Pearl was doing sit-ups when I came round the other day – she’s on the pull, when I thought I was too old to find someone new!
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I mean, I am fine. I won’t be on my own forever, after all.”
I try to conjure up an image of my fantasy Mr Suave, as Pearl looks me up and down, but he won’t appear. I just keep seeing Dan’s face instead, and Pearl clearly isn’t too impressed with what she sees when she looks at me, given how worried she’s now become.
“What?” I say. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m miles younger than you and you’re not planning on remaining single, so why should I?”
“No reason,” says Pearl. “I just think you two splitting up is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. And who is this colleague Dan’s moving in with, anyway – do you know?”
Why do people keep asking that? I don’t know any of Dan’s colleagues, not least because he usually refuses to go to any of the few social events to which staff are allowed to bring their partners. He claims that’s because I have an even lower boredom threshold than he does, so I’d probably say something to get him sacked – but now Pearl’s implying that might not be the only reason, just like Esther did when I mentioned it to her the other day at work.
“I don’t know,” I say, “but that’s not the biggest problem, is it? Dan swears he isn’t leaving me for another woman, but he’ll find one at some point, once he’s living the single life.”
That thought makes me feel sick, which must show on my face, as Pearl decides the time has come for some distraction.
“Let’s go for a walk while we give this further thought,” she says. “I want to show you the gardens here. The residents can help in them, if they’re up to it, so I’m thinking of signing up myself. It’ll keep me fit, all that physical activity in the fresh air.”
* * *
Although it’s dark, the gardens are illuminated and exceptionally beautiful, even now in what’s still winter, and for the first time in years, I wish I’d brought a sketchbook with me. There’s nothing very artistic in designing stupid icons, but I’d love to draw the view from where we’re standing. It’s on the top of a steepish incline (which Pearl climbed a lot faster than me), and it overlooks a large area of dense, glossy greenery, that eventually gives way to a meandering path that leads to the Elysium building itself. The silver bark of the birch trees lining the path sparkles where the lights hit it, and the effect is spectacular. Abandon Hope, my arse.
“What are these?” I say, pointing at some tiny, glossy-leaved plants peeking out through a mass of dead foliage.
“Violas,” says Pearl, pointing her torch at them. “You can take one with you, if you like? Gardening’s good for the soul and the staff won’t notice. They rarely bother with this section.”
If gardening’s good for the soul, I’ll try it, and I might even draw the viola once it blooms, if I can persuade Dan to get my art materials out of the attic before he moves out – and maybe I’ll come back and sketch this landscape in the daytime, too.
Pearl pulls a tiny trowel out of one pocket, and a plastic bag from another, and then she digs up the plant and dumps it into the bag.
“Did I mention violas are also known as ‘heart’s-ease’, Hannah?” she says, handing me the bag. “On which note, why don’t you get off home now, while Dan’s still living there? You could always try talking to him about staying, instead of wasting time discussing what you’ll do without him once he’s gone.”
Chapter 5
Even though I take Pearl’s advice and drive straight home, Dan’s already asleep on the sofa by the time I get there, and I’m still dithering about whether to wake him up and talk to him about being my soulmate, when Joel turns up. He’s barefoot, and carrying his trainers in one hand.
“You okay, Mum?” he asks, after peering into the living room and spotting the snoring Dan. “I’m sure you guys could get this sorted out if you still wanted to. You don’t have to split up over something so stupid, you know.”
For one wonderful moment I think he may be right, until I recall that Dan doesn’t fancy me any more, and that he seemed pretty definite about moving in with that colleague of his.
“I don’t think I’ve got any choice, Joel,” I say. “Your dad seems determined it’s going to happen, and anyway, who knows? Maybe he’s right, and we’ll both be happier once we’re single.”
“You won’t be happier if everyone starts treating you like that bloody pair of idiots up the road just did, once you are,” says Joel. “I can’t believe they uninvited you from that dinner party just because you’d have been going on your own. Talking of which, that reminds me. Come outside.”
It’s pitch dark and freezing cold by now, so I try to refuse, but Joel insists.
“Put your coat on,” he says, “if you’re as cold as that. It won’t take a minute and it’ll be worth it, I promise. It might even make you laugh.”
I seriously doubt that, though I change my mind when Joel walks me along the road to the place where Claire has parked her car.
“Ta-da!” he says, gesturing at the windscreen, or more specifically, at the windscreen wipers. Each now carries a succinct message – from a sock.
* * *
I still think that Joel’s anonymous message to Theo and Claire was so funny that I tell Dan about it when I get up this morning and find him in the kitchen, drinking coffee, but he doesn’t laugh at all. He just gives me a wan, half-hearted smile, and then makes polite conversation about nothing until the time comes for me to leave.
“Shouldn’t you have left already, if you’re not going to be late for work?” I say to him as I pull on my boots, then start to button up my coat.
He shrugs, then says, “I’ve got a few things to do before I go.”
He looks at me with a really weird expression – and for what feels like a very long time – and it’s as if he’s trying to convey something desperately important, though he doesn’t say a word. I’m going to be late myself, if I don’t leave now, but I’m not comfortable going while he’s looking at me like this.
“What is it, Dan?” I say.
There’s a long pause, but whatever it is, it can’t be that important, because then he just shakes his head and says: “Nothing, Hannah. You’d better go.”
I do, in case the Fembot sacks me for poor timekeeping like the woman Esther was brought in to replace, but tonight, I’m not going to bed until I’ve had it out with Dan, once and for all. This whole thing’s ridiculous, and it can’t go on.
* * *
I can’t settle all day at work, even though Esther tries her best to cheer me up. As this mainly takes the form of telling me how unlucky in love she’s always been, it doesn’t actually serve its purpose, and nor do the cupcakes the Fembot brings in “as a treat” – not once she announces what she intends to do with them.
“We’re all going to take it in turns to bake cupcakes every evening from now on,” she says. “Then we’re going to photograph everyone holding their own cakes and upload the pictures to our social media streams. It’ll help our users get to know us, and to feel they’re a part of the team here at HOO.”
“Well, that’s our credibility shot,” I say to Esther, later on. “Now the whole world will find out that we’re part of the team at HOO – and they’ll know what we look like, too. I’ll never get a proper job as an artist, if prospective employers find out I’m responsible for that stupid ‘thumbs-up, happy face’ thing.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” says Esther, with a rare flash of humour. “I should think the Fembot will find an excuse not to use our photos. You’re too old and I’m too fat.”
Esther can’t be more than a size 12, so I do wish she wouldn’t keep going on about her weight, but when I tell her so, she just says that, even if fat isn’t an issue, her acne is. She’s only got one or two spots, as far as I can see, but she’s right about one thing, anyway: the Fembot isn’t going to use our photos.
At the end of the day, she calls us both into her office, and says, “I know you guys are busy, and you have a lot more personal responsibilities than the younger ones, so don’t feel you have to join in with the cake-baking thing. You can contribute in some other way.”
Honestly, I wouldn’t mind but, although I’ve got Joel and Pearl to think about, Esther’s only got a rabbit, and just wait ’til I tell Dan about it! There’s no way he can keep claiming his job’s worse than mine – not after this.
Oh, I forgot, he probably won’t be claiming anything, will he? Not if he’s still being as uncommunicative as he was this morning when I get back home. I shall just have to keep talking to him, until he starts talking back. Meaningful looks never solved anything.
* * *
Oh, my God, Dan’s moved out. He snuck out today while I was at work, the bloody, bloody coward. This whole separation thing was his idea and then he hasn’t even got the nerve to face me when he’s bringing our life together to a sudden end. No wonder he was giving me funny looks this morning: he must have been riddled with guilt and, if he wasn’t, he damn well should have been.
“Thought it might be easier on both of us this way, Han,” says the note he’s left on the kitchen counter. “I’ll be in touch about collecting the rest of my stuff, and money for outstanding bills, etc. Look after yourself.”
He’s underlined the last sentence and scribbled over something that followed it. I try scratching the ink off with my fingernails, and then with the edge of a paring knife, but I still can’t tell if Dan added kisses or something, by mistake. My eyes have gone blurry all of a sudden, which is also why I don’t immediately realise that he’s left his keys on the counter, too.
When I do eventually spot his keyring, the one containing a photo of us on our honeymoon, my eyes get a whole lot blurrier and my chest gets tight, and I think I may be about to have a stroke. I call Joel’s name, but there’s no reply, not even when I shout it at the top of my voice, so he must be out and I’m all alone, which makes things even worse.
I spend ten minutes breathing into a paper bag until I don’t feel quite so dizzy, and then I crawl up the stairs and spend the next three hours curled up on the floor of our – I mean, my – bedroom, sobbing and hiccuping into one of Dan’s old shirts. I found it at the back of his wardrobe, and it still smells of him.
I don’t even know why I’m crying, for goodness’ sake. If Dan doesn’t want me any more, I’m buggered if I’m going to want him either. I’m just being stupid and pathetic with all this crying, and I need to get a grip before Joel comes in and sees me in such a state.
I know, I’ll go and plant the viola from the garden at “Abandon Hope”, and see if it survives its change of circumstances.
If it can do it, then so can I.
* * *
Joel’s just come in and woken me up.
“What time is it?” I say, completely befuddled.
“Almost midnight,” he says. “Are you okay? I was in the pub with Izzy when Dad sent me a text telling me what he’d done, so I came home because I was worried about you. I had no idea he was planning to move out today. Did you?”
“No,” I say, though I’m not sure if Joel hears me, as the word comes out more like a hiccup than a “no”, so I shake my head, for clarity. Then I roll myself into a ball on the sofa and start to cry as if I’ll never stop.
“Oh, Mum,” says Joel, in an unusually quiet voice.
He sounds so sad, it makes me cry all the more, and then he tries everything to make me stop, from patting me ineffectually to pushing a large glass of neat vodka into my hand. It must have been left over from when he and Izzy were “pre-loading” before they went out tonight.
Once I’ve drunk the lot, wincing at the taste, Joel leans over me, slides an arm under my shoulders and pulls me to my feet.
“Come on, Mum,” he says, “I’m taking you upstairs to bed. Everything will seem a lot better if you get some sleep.”
“Will it?” I say, as we make our way up the stairs. “Are you sure?”
Joel doesn’t answer until we reach the landing, and then he just says,
“It has to, doesn’t it? It can’t get worse.”
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