‘I hope it’s not,’ said Pam serenely, assiduously keeping her own face expressionless.
Over the last four years, Pam had often been astonished, offended even, by some people’s clumsy attempts to empathise with her. A neighbour had sympathetically told Pam that since their much-loved dog had died she understood about grief and could imagine what Pam was going through. Pam remembered being rendered speechless by the comparison, but she had learned, on these occasions, to remind herself that life’s tragedies do not sit on a sliding scale. And that even if they did, how would anyone measure it – a points system set by the magnitude of grief? Five points for the death of a parent, three points for a divorce, one for redundancy, perhaps? The full ten points for losing a child, of course. She now believed that whilst none of us are in a position to judge if our loss or pain are greater than another’s, only those who hadn’t suffered loss would liken bereavement to divorce, or redundancy, or with anything really.
‘Anyhow, back to the divorce,’ prompted Pam, feeling the need both to move the conversation on for Charley’s sake, and also to ease Nisha’s evident discomfort.
Nisha shot her a small, grateful smile, before saying, ‘Well, for what it’s worth, my advice would be: One, don’t make any rushed decisions. Especially if it’s just because you want to get through the damn thing quicker. Two, don’t make any plans or agree to anything until you’ve taken legal advice. And three, don’t even talk to your husband, if you can avoid it. Well, not without a witness, and make sure you screw him down to a financial arrangement he can’t try to wriggle out of later.’
Pam caught Charley shooting Nisha a concerned look before Nisha carried on.
‘My ex,’ she explained bitterly, ‘is currently threatening to take me back to court to get more money from me. I’ve had to get my solicitor to write to him to remind him that he agreed to the financial arrangements and that they’re legally binding.’
‘Has he replied?’ asked Charley.
‘No, but I’m hoping it’s scared him off.’
It was evident to Pam from the anxiety on Nisha’s face that she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure it would. Not even close.
So much for ‘Everything will seem a lot better when you’ve talked to Nisha’, thought Pam wryly.
Nisha had highly recommended the solicitor she had used, so Pam made an appointment, and Charley offered to go with her to make notes, a strategy Nisha had also recommended.
‘I was so stressed I could barely remember any of the things she’d said,’ Nisha had admitted sheepishly. ‘I’d made notes, but it was like I was on auto-pilot, writing everything down without actually taking any of it in.’
To both Charley and Pam’s surprise, on the day of their appointment they drew up at the address they had been given on the phone, and the solicitor greeted them in shorts, T-shirt and flipflops. It turned out she worked out of an office in her back garden.
‘I guess Nisha didn’t warn you I work in a shed!’ said Serena, leading the way across the garden.
Hardly a shed, thought Charley when they got inside. The light, airy log cabin smelt of pine resin and flower-scented candles, and was a mile away from the cold, impersonal office they’d imagined they’d be visiting. Adding to the warmth, colourful cushions were strewn onto a variety of cream-painted kitchen chairs, all clustered round a battered old wooden table. Serena brought them coffee in what seemed to be her own, homely kitchen mugs, and a pack of chocolate-chip cookies.
‘Excuse the packet,’ she said cheerfully, handing them round.
After asking Pam some key questions about her circumstances, Serena briefly outlined her position. ‘Basically, in your situation a fifty-fifty split would be usual. You’d get half the value of the house, half of your husband’s pension and half of any savings or any other assets you have.’
‘Half the house?’ queried Pam.
‘Half the value,’ Serena corrected.
‘So… we’d have to sell the house.’
‘Does he have somewhere else to live?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Pam looked at Charley, appearing momentarily flummoxed. ‘I suppose he could live with his other woman, but I don’t know…’ she shrugged helplessly.
‘In that case you might not be able to keep the house,’ said Serena, and Charley glimpsed a tinge of panic flicker across Pam’s face. ‘The courts look at needs,’ the lawyer continued, ‘You both need somewhere to live. So, unless you have a lot of other assets, you might have to sell the house to provide homes for you both.’
Pam bridled visibly. ‘How come the courts have the right to decide what happens to our home? It’s our damn house!’
Serena gave Pam few seconds to calm down before she answered, with steadying calm. ‘Divorce is emotionally charged. People agree things in the heat of the moment, perhaps because they feel guilty, or they’re desperate to get out of a marriage at any cost. But later on, if they think the financial arrangements aren’t fair, they’ll come back and want to renegotiate and then things get messy, and expensive.’
Like bloody Jay, thought Charley.
‘Which is why the courts endeavour to ensure the agreements are fair and workable from the outset. Your husband might not want his share of the house now, but what if this other woman goads him into demanding it, a little down the line? They usually do,’ she finished dryly, and Charley wondered if Serena was talking from personal as well as professional experience.
‘This is just totally effing unfair!’ exploded Pam. ‘He has an affair and I have to lose my home?’
‘I’m sorry, Pam. Believe me, I really do know that’s not what
