Jenny puts her face back into the clutches of her hands. I have delayed her for long enough. I can't put her off any longer. "You didn't message or phone her. She was missing her daddy. You've always been her favourite; we both know that."
Jenny always says this, and it is always in jest. I don't protest, because I know she'll only reply with a list of reasons why I'm Emma's favourite.
It wasn't supposed to end like this, of course. I wasn't supposed to be the dad who met his daughter for a few hours at the bowling complex, who bought her presents and treated her to fizzy drinks and popcorn before she returned to her real life with her mother. I detested those fathers. Being a daddy was about getting up in the middle of the night to comfort my girl when she was ill or upset. It was not about presents and trips out. All that shit was just compensation for abandoning the kid, merely a token gesture to say sorry. I'm aware that I'm a contradiction, that I'm a hypocrite. It grates me, but not enough to hide my true feelings. Not this time. I actually wanted to be that glossy magazine image of a perfect family, settling down together on the sofa to watch television. I loved my wife and beautiful daughter more than anything else in the world, to the point I didn't even contemplate any other life. Of course, I still love them. If I could turn back time and change events then I'd still be living that life. However, this is not a productive thought process; Richard would remind me to have the courage to accept the things I cannot change. I am not religious, but I agree with Richard on this point: the serenity prayer has always been – I don't know – logical to me.
"It was only a few days," I say. I know this isn't good enough, and I know it isn't normal, either. "I'm sorry. You know I've missed her, too. There has been a hell of a lot going on, that's all. June so far has been utter madness."
Jenny reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. She knows I'm not telling her everything. She knows why.
"June?"
I look away, so she continues talking. "I know you're distracted. You're going to strain that neck of yours the way you've been looking around everywhere, at everything but at me. This place really isn't that interesting, you know, and especially not for you. What is it? I just know it can't be work, not any more. Pretty sure you're not contemplating Robbie Williams' performance at the opening ceremony last night, either. Or how well Meghan seems to be getting along with the Queen. Wasn't like that with Diana now, was it? So, how is Erica? I really can’t believe how gorgeous that girl is. You truly are a very lucky man, Marcus. I just wish she liked me a bit more...”
The curl on Jenny’s lips indicates mischief. I’m not going to open that Pandora’s box today. I say nothing and then turn away, again.
“There isn’t trouble in Paradise, is there?” she asks, barely able to conceal her excitement at some possible gossip.
"No," I say. "It isn't that. We're better than we've ever been." I stop there. I don't want to go into specifics about my wonderful relationship with Erica. I am not deliberately cruel. Jenny is still single, or at least she was the last time I asked. I know that I shouldn't really feel guilty, that it was her that fucked everything up, that it was her who threw everything away; and for what? Some crazy little fling.
I still don't understand it. I have looked at it from every angle and discussed it relentlessly with Richard, but it still makes no sense. I forced myself not to be obsessive, not to be possessive. Jealousy was part of the problem when I was a teenager, comparing myself adversely to others. Sure, I wanted to protect Jenny like she was a precious jewel, but my conscience told me that was not the right thing to do. Over time, it became natural to be trusting. It became logical to be trusting. We had a beautiful life. Why would Jenny possibly risk everything that we had? It made no sense.
"What is it then?" Jenny asks. My face probably gives it away, for she quickly glances around. She knows my mind has drifted, that she has lost me to a dark place.
I did not even pick up on any signs. I was the idiot, delusional husband. Jenny had her own life outside of me and Emma, and so in my mind I had no reason to question where she was and who she was with. It was almost exactly five years ago. The three of us at Tooting Bec park. Jenny had packed a picnic and I laid a blanket on the bumpy, hard ground. Jenny wore red shorts to her knees and a green tee-shirt that exposed her sinewy arms. Saturday morning sunlight pushed through the gaps in the trees. My memory is of Emma laughing; she's always had a delightful, contagious cackle. A bee hovered threateningly around our food. Emma was not scared. She was not up on her feet, running away. Far from it. She found my inept efforts to catch the bee hilarious. Emma rolled around on the floor with her legs up in the air, her feet kicking like she was riding a bike.
Looking back, I'm convinced it was the pure perfection of the moment that pushed Jenny to the edge. She looked around at the beautiful scene, and was overcome with guilt. She couldn't
