Back in Luton, Joe managed to remember where he had parked his pickup – something he’d been worrying about, even though it was so big you could see it from a mile away.
As we drove along, the children chattered excitedly, happy to be going home or perhaps simply to have flown again, and by seven in the evening we were back in our cool, empty home, the English drizzle pattering gently on the roof.
Lucy held me to my promise about reading a story but fell asleep before I was even halfway through. She, at least, didn’t seem overly perturbed by our arrival in this big, empty house.
I sat in the lounge and listened to the air around me and tried to think about how different it all seemed without Ant.
It was quiet, that was the most noticeable thing. Ant always switched on the TV the second he sat down. He never switched it off, either, leaving me to do that once he’d gone to bed. So yes, everything was much, much quieter. I could hear the whoosh of cars going past on the wet lane at the bottom of the drive, and the rain falling on the conservatory out back. I could even hear a cat somewhere, howling.
It felt calmer, and somehow safer too. If Ant was in the house, there was always a crackle in the air, a pregnancy in the silence, waiting to deliver its next batch of mayhem.
I wondered where Anthony was then. I wondered if he was still with Amy, and just as I decided he almost certainly was, my phone buzzed with a text message.
‘Are you home yet?’ it said. ‘Are the girls OK?’
I thought about not replying. I was worried he was nearby and would appear to interrupt my moment of contemplation. But then I thought about him worrying about the girls and replied simply, ‘Yes.’
‘I’m in one of the Powell flats out in Marshside,’ he replied. ‘Do you want me to come round so we can talk?’
I’m, I thought, not We. Did that mean it was already over? It was perfectly possible that Amy had already had enough of him. And if he wanted forgiveness, would I give it?
‘Tomorrow,’ I replied. Then, ‘Tomorrow evening, once the girls are in bed.’ Whatever our discussion was going to hold, I needed more time to think.
Of course, it was silly of me to imagine that Ant would ever ask my opinion on anything and the conversation the next day was an exact repeat of the one we’d had in Spain. He said that things hadn’t been right between us for ages. He said he wanted me to stay in the house with the girls and that he was happy to continue paying the bills. He said, once again, that this was an opportunity to move on in our lives, and that he thought I could probably be happier with someone else too.
The only difference this time, and it was quite a big difference, was that instead of listening in dumb silence, I agreed wholeheartedly with everything he said. And that made me feel surprisingly powerful.
Ten
Joe
It was weird and uncomfortable being home without Amy. I didn’t do any more crying and I didn’t feel quite as angry as I’d expected, either. I was struggling to feel anything, really. Things just seemed deflated, it all felt flat, as if someone had left the top off my life and all the fizz had gone out of it.
We arrived home on Monday evening, but it wasn’t until Wednesday that I got news from her. I’d picked up my phone tens of times to call or text but hadn’t had the nerve to actually do it. Sometimes I just needed to know how to remove the child lock on the new hob, or to ask for the recipe for one of Ben’s favourite dishes. Other times I wanted to know how she was, if she was missing me, or if she was ever coming back. In the end, I found I could get by without her answering any of these questions.
Ben understood everything. Not on a conscious level, I don’t think, but in some way of his own, he made sense of what was happening. I know this because he didn’t mention Amy once, and that absence of Amy, even in name, struck me as one of the most awful aspects of it all. I sensed that I should prompt a discussion. I understood that as an adult, that was my role, not Ben’s. But I feared I couldn’t do so without falling apart. And having his father fall apart was the last thing my son needed right then.
Though I needed to go straight back to work, I took the Tuesday off, and Ben and I went food shopping. In an attempt at finding some fun for him in the midst of our dire situation, I let him choose whatever he wanted. I couldn’t find it within me to give a damn about what we ate.
At the checkout, we unloaded the contents of our trolley on to the belt. We had microwavable veggie burgers, frozen chips, crisps and pizzas. We had potato cakes shaped like smileys, chocolate mousses, lollipops and Coke. I saw the elderly cashier raise an eyebrow and understood that, in her eyes, I’d become that man: the single dad who feeds his kid rubbish.
When Amy finally called, I was in the process of leaving for work with Ben in tow, worrying about how I was going to get anything done. The set-up wasn’t ideal for either of us and her phone call came at the perfect time, so I asked her if she could look after him for the day and suggested we talk in the evening when I got home.
Amy said that sounded ‘just great’, and that she’d be round in fifteen minutes, so
