On Sundays Ant would collect the girls and take them out for the day, and these empty Sundays were the only times my new-found sense of well-being faltered. Most Sundays, especially if it was sunny, I’d be fine: I’d clean the house or do the washing, and then I’d go for a walk. Sometimes I’d stop somewhere and eat a burger, or down a glass of wine, and I’d tell myself how lucky I was. But a couple of times – and for some reason this only ever occurred when it was cold and rainy – I found myself overwhelmed by loneliness. And this wasn’t any ordinary kind of loneliness either. This was an all-encompassing sense of void that left me feeling as if I’d been gutted with a fish knife.
It was as though, in the absence of anyone to see me or hear me, I was ceasing to exist – I felt like I was actually disappearing. I’d phone Kerry, in Rome, and if she answered, I’d be fine – the day was saved. But if she didn’t, if she was busy, then I’d start to feel scared. I’d try to read, only to find myself skimming the page. I’d watch a film and be unable to concentrate on the complexities of the plot. Finally, I’d end up lying on my back on the sofa, my heart thumping in my ears. I’d stare at the ceiling, counting the minutes until my girls would be returned to me and life could pick up where it had left off.
On one of these terrible Sundays, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and was shocked to see how awful I looked. It was something about my eyes – there was a deadness in them that scared me. My soulless face reminded me of the way Joe had looked when I’d seen him at the farm shop.
In November, Christmas ads started appearing on TV, and the website where I ordered food began offering me baubles and tinsel as well. I started to worry about Christmas, specifically about who would have custody of the girls. Because the twenty-fifth without my girls seemed unimaginable.
I phoned Kerry to see what she was doing – I was hoping that she’d come and stay, just in case I ended up childless and alone. But she had to work on the twenty-fourth and the twenty-sixth, she said – there was no way she could get away before Easter. She was strangely detached from my problems these days and I knew that was entirely my fault. I’d spent too long pushing her away.
Eventually, one Sunday after he’d dropped the girls back home, I plucked up the courage to broach the subject with Ant.
‘Dunno,’ he replied, with a shrug. ‘I suppose I just assumed we’d just spend Christmas together.’
‘Together?’ I repeated. ‘You mean, you and me and the girls, together?’
‘Well, yeah,’ he said, with another shrug. ‘Why not? It’ll be weird for them otherwise, won’t it?’
For some reason, out of shock mainly, I said, ‘OK.’ But even as I was saying it, I felt sick.
I didn’t sleep a wink that night – instead, I lay staring at the wall, running a film of Ant and me pretending to still be a family across the cinema screen in my head. It was a horror film, and by around 3 a.m., it had upset me so much that I was finding it difficult to breathe. I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, and I seriously considered phoning for an ambulance.
The next morning, first thing, I texted Ant. ‘Christmas together isn’t going to work,’ I typed. ‘Couldn’t you take them for NYE instead?’
‘Not sure,’ he replied almost immediately. ‘I’ll talk to Amy and get back to you.’
It was December by the time he replied. He had come to pick up the girls, and once he’d strapped them into their car seats, he returned to deliver the verdict quite casually, as if it was really no big deal.
‘Oh, by the way, for Christmas, you’re all right,’ he said. ‘You can have them.’
I was so relieved that I almost kissed him. I say almost, because clearly that was never going to happen again.
‘But I’d like to take them for the New Year’s Eve weekend if that’s OK?’ he continued. ‘Amy’s having Ben over too, so we’re going to try to rent somewhere with a fireplace or something, or maybe even find somewhere with snow. Make it special, like.’
‘Oh!’ I said. ‘Um, of course! When is New Year’s Eve? I mean, what day does it fall on?’
‘It’s the Monday night,’ Ant said. ‘So I’d pick them up on Friday and bring them back on Tuesday the first.’
‘But in exchange I can have them for the whole of Christmas week?’ I asked. As far as my hours at the farm shop were concerned, Ant’s timing was perfect. I felt like there had to be a catch.
‘Yes, the whole of Christmas week,’ Ant said, sounding sarcastic. ‘Amy and me are going to Broadstairs to see Mum anyway, so . . .’
‘Gosh,’ I said. ‘How lovely.’ I hadn’t been trying to sound facetious – it had just slipped out.
Ant merely raised an eyebrow. Nothing I said seemed to upset him these days, which was a constant source of surprise.
He must have explained the plan to the girls that day because in the evening, while I was getting Lucy ready for bed, she said, ‘Mummy, you know how we’re spending Christmas here . . . ?’
‘Yes, sweetheart?’ I replied, pulling her pyjama top over her head.
‘Can Ben come too?’
I paused and smiled at my daughter. ‘That’s a lovely idea,’ I told her. ‘You can
