‘Whatever this is,’ he begins again, as his voice catches. ‘A midlife crisis, an affair, the video or just a reaction to being a mum. Please, Scarlett. Please just grow up.’
And then he leaves the house and I have no idea where he is going. But I suppose it’s his turn. We tag-team our life now. You take possession of it for a while; I’ll be over there living another unknown one.
I crawl back into bed and hope desperately that Poppy sleeps later than usual. And then, one by one, I delete Cheshire Mama’s Instagram, Facebook and finally the blog itself. Another part of my life gone. Another slice of me deleted. But I am matter-of-fact about it, feeling numb. I’ve shut myself down too.
At six thirty on the dot Poppy wakes and I exercise the skill I’ve learnt since being a parent of snapping into a different tempo immediately.
‘Breakfast time!’ I chirrup and I carry her downstairs kissing her skin all over as I go.
I serve up porridge for Poppy and down two cups of instant coffee and then I find some crisps in the cupboard and I think yes, that’s what I could eat for breakfast so I have a packet of salt and vinegar chipsticks to ease the hangover like a teenager.
For the next couple of hours, I let Poppy watch far too much kids’ TV before I eventually drag myself to the shower. I have had no contact with anybody to confirm that we are still meeting up but I’m holding on to Cora’s early morning words. I need coffee. I need my friends. So Poppy and I leave to go to the coffee shop.
I calculate who will be here today with their complicated schedules of work and childcare. Of the shifts that I know now Emma is juggling. But she isn’t in work today because suddenly Emma is behind me, Seth in the pram, and she shouts my name, out of breath.
Seth giggles at Poppy from his buggy and Emma and I smile down at them. I stop briefly to take a picture for Instagram then remember I’m not Cheshire Mama any more. I’m just Scarlett. We walk alongside each other, Poppy’s buggy colliding occasionally with Emma’s large feet as there isn’t quite enough room on the pavement.
‘How are you, babe?’ she says, hand on my arm.
‘Hungover and desperate for bacon,’ I say, fake laugh. I can’t bear being seen as a victim. ‘You?’
‘Oh not too bad. Don’t think I was quite as drunk as someone.’
I give a half-smile.
‘Yeah I was shitfaced,’ I say, stopping to pass Poppy the teddy she just dropped on the pavement. Dusting it off. ‘Sorry to drop all of that on you last night.’
Emma stops now.
‘Do not say sorry!’ she gasps and she’s so earnest it hurts. ‘I was happy we could be there for you. I hate the idea of you going through this alone.’
‘Well I wasn’t alone,’ I say, defensive because let’s face it, I was alone.
Emma dips her head.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean. You know, just because you and Ed are …’
‘We’re fine,’ I sigh. ‘It’s just not the easiest time. It’s a lot for him to deal with.’
At the café, Cora is waiting with a large Americano and long Shellacked fingernails clacking on her phone.
‘Just sexting Hunter!’ she says, as we walk in. ‘But I’ll stop now. You have my undivided attention.’
She puts her phone down; recalibrates. Necks the end of her Americano and signals to the waiter to order another. As he comes over, I tell him to make it two.
‘Right, let’s talk about this sex video,’ she says, loud enough that the pensioner nursing a pot of tea on the next table swivels round with wide eyes.
‘Cora!’ I hiss as I sit down.
But I think about what would have happened if I’d not talked to them. If Cora hadn’t told me about the whispers online. If she hadn’t helped me avoid becoming the next big influencer scandal. I shudder.
My hands are shaking. It’s been too long since my last caffeine hit. Coffee used to be an occasional treat, in between the turmeric lattes and the fresh mint tea. Slowly, in recent weeks, it’s taking over. Occasionally, I remember not to drink it like water. Notice that it makes me tremble harder, those bad thoughts in my mind whirl faster.
As I think this, I see him out of the corner of my eye: Joseph, making me coffee. I picture him bringing it to me in bed, with a croissant. He meets my gaze. Holds it.
Since he messaged me, I have managed to avoid Joseph entirely. He’s helped by ignoring me and not serving me and I am relieved.
Today though Joseph comes over with our coffees but he pointedly doesn’t look at me. I see Cora pull her stomach in, like she does whenever a man is around.
She steals a glance at him.
‘Man, that is one bitter rejected guy.’ She smirks as he walks away.
‘Oh behave,’ I say, but I am sheepish. ‘I doubt I’m top of his agenda. He’s a single man. I’m sure he flirts with customers every bloody day. Customers who are far younger and more glam than me.’
I glance in his direction anyway. I’m sober now but yes: he’s still beautiful.
Cora leans in, conspiratorial.
‘Could it have been him?’ she says, Jack Bauer suddenly, Jimmy McNulty. ‘Guy’s got a crush. Guy gets the knockback. Guy takes revenge. Wouldn’t be the first time.’
I laugh at her.
‘Except for the fact that the video predates all of that,’ I say. ‘Which slightly scuppers your theory.’
She’s unfazed. ‘Sure, it predates it for you. But he knew you before the video got posted. Saw you around, in here. How do you know he hasn’t been obsessed with you for a long time?’
We all fall silent as Joseph’s colleague puts my bacon sandwich in front of me.
‘Cheers,’ I
