Not till there wasn't someone to do the washing and cleaning anymore and make sure that there was food in the house.
I got a job as a receptionist at an estate agent’s and I bought nice food and kept my tiny bedsit immaculate. I also worked out that I could have my ice cream-cake and eat it too, just so long as I threw it up, so I lost weight and the real-estate agent noticed.
That was the first marriage I broke up but I’m not thinking about that now.
I’m thinking of my mother and what she did to me.
I look at the elves and I can guess what they say about me. Well, they can judge me as materialistic; you know what? I couldn't give a fag what they think. My house is clean, my daughter doesn't smell, there is healthy food in my fridge and I am not giving any of it up.
Not a single piece.
I head back into the kitchen and I pour another brandy.
‘Lucy,’ Mum starts and thankfully, for her sake, her friends pull her aside and have a word. They tell her that she should let me be, that she can’t stop me, so don’t try, which is just as well because I really don't need a lecture from her about drinking on the day of my husband's funeral. My mind is savage and it’s racing and I don't care what Luke says – I’ll be a prostitute before I lose this house.
‘Thanks for everything today.’ I try to be polite; I just want her to leave.
‘Lucy, I don't want to leave you on your own.’
I can’t be polite anymore.
I’m through with pretending.
‘You never used to mind.’
I watch the colour flood her cheeks and all the elves gather around and then a couple of them try to have wise words with me, but I don't want to hear that she loves me and I don't care how much she cares.
And they were right.
She can't stop me
CHAPTER TWENTY
I take off those support top stockings and those bastard pants that have been holding me in. My body inflates and flops in relief and it’s so nice that I take off my bra too and pull it through one arm.
I haven't been on my own since it happened I realise.
There have been people here every day, flowers arriving, funeral directors, the vicar, catering, dealing with family you'd rather not. Funerals are such hard work it's like trying to arrange a wedding in the space of a week and at the hardest time of your life.
Really, it shows what a joke weddings are–maybe I could be a wedding planner, if I have to get job to pay child support for his children maybe that’s something I could do.
I know it’s going to come to that. I know I’m going to have to get a job.
Or a new husband.
But I guess I need a suitable pause.
Weddings in a Week.
Lucy’s Weddings in a Week
I like that.
I know that I didn't cry enough today to appease people, that my grief wasn't visible enough for them.
I don't think I am grieving, I haven't even got to that part yet, I'm still stuck on what I came home too – or what I could have come home to had I arrived half an hour earlier.
I want that moment and it's been denied to me and I can't share it with anyone. I can't, because then my perfect marriage, my perfect life disappears and I don't want it to.
I worked hard enough to get it.
I chose very carefully, you know.
No, I'm not grieving, I'm angry. And yes, anger might be the first stage of grieving, but I'm not grieving, I'm just angry.
I want to run up the stairs and to catch them.
I want that row, that confrontation and then after…
I don't want to think about after. I don't want to think what would have happened then, because I know how it would have been.
I didn’t always ignore it.
I want to ignore it now but it’s like someone’s holding up a mirror that holds my life and they’re making me look into it, except I don’t want to see.
So, instead of thinking about that, my mind runs up the stairs and catches him and we have the most God awful row and I tell him I'm leaving, that I am through with his shit. I mean it, this time I’m through. I should have left the first time I tell him.
Except he's laughing and telling me just to get the hell out then if I don't like it.
‘Remember how you used to bitch and moan about every penny I gave to Gloria?’ I can hear his voice now and it’s not some fantasy row - it's a memory. ‘Remember how I sorted my income to make sure that we were fine?’ Okay, I don't want this row, I’ll get back to grieving please, only I can’t, because it's there in my head and it won’t get out. ‘Piss off if you don't like it Lucy,’ he’s saying. ‘But you can kiss goodbye to your credit cards, to your Botox and you can tell Charlotte to kiss goodbye to that fucking pony, not that she will need it because the school she'll be going to there won’t be any need to compete.’ I’m pacing around my living room and I want this row to stop. ‘You can help her to settle in though,’ he tells me. ‘You know all about growing up with a single mum, you know all about having nothing.’
I could pour another brandy and who would blame me?
But, I don't.
I could dive into the fridge and not come up for air till it's empty-I'd even eat the disgusting glazed cherries she put on top of the black forest gateaux…
But, I don’t.
I pull out the vacuum cleaner instead and, when I’ve finished vacuuming, I’m going to scrub the toilets. No, before that I want to get out into the garden to pick up all the mess and empty out the disgusting cigarette butts…
Cleaning soothes me.
I don't have to think, I just walk along the hall vacuuming, picking up the crumbs the elves missed. I ignore the doorbell when it goes, I just want to be on my own – it’s probably Mum come back and I don't want to see her, or it might be one of his family, or Simone. I don't want to be the perfect wife this evening; I don’t have to be any more, except the bell’s still ringing. Can people not just leave me alone? I turn off the vacuum and go to the door and I am so angry. If one more person tells me what a wonderful man I’ve just lost then God help them.
I open the door and it’s Noel.
He wasn’t at the funeral today.
He looks terrible. I think how hard this is for him-all the shame and betrayal that he’s facing.
‘Are the kids there?’ He can't look at me and I can hardly look at him either – another person who’s been screwed over by the Jamesons. ‘I was supposed to pick them up from here,’ he explains.
‘Sorry.’ I drag my mind back to the wake. ‘Daniel was upset; I think they left with Hugh and Alice.’ I’m all mixed up; I want to get back to my cleaning. ‘I thought Gloria was supposed to be picking them up?’
‘God knows,’ Noel says. ‘You never know what's bloody going on with that lot.’ His voice is so full of bitterness. He sounds like I feel. He turns to walk away and I admire him, because he doesn’t thank me, or offer his condolences, he’s just through with the Jameson shit.
‘I don't know what Eleanor was thinking.’ I see him halt and I’m probably the first person in this family to actually address it, but the thing is, I'm not in this family. I hover on the outside, I'm barely tolerated, I’m the bitch who ended the happy family dream and God, did they judge me harshly for it.
It's all right for them though, when they do it – it’s not the same rules for them when Eleanor cheats.
Excuse me, but yes it is.
I am not religious – I think we all get that but I do remember something about removing the splinter in your eye so you can see the plank, or is it removing the plank so you can see the splinter?
I’m not thinking very straight at the moment, but I’m the plank and Eleanor gets to be the splinter.
Eleanor gets to lie in bed and be fussed over and looked after and I’m still the bitch.
I look at Noel, always smart, always polite, always doing his part. ‘I think she's mad to do what she did when she had you at home.’ I’m telling him what I would like to hear; I say the words that I want someone to say to me.
He turns around.
‘What's everyone saying?’ His eyes search my face. ‘I’m so embarrassed,’ raw is his admission. ‘I’m so ashamed.’
‘She's the one who should be ashamed.’ And then I say it again, but it’s with different meaning. I can’t really explain it, but it suddenly tips – I’m talking about me, saying what I want to hear, what I want people to think about me but Noel must be feeling as crap and as low as I am, Noel’s ego must need a little inflate and it’s like I’ve got an industrial strength pump – I stand on the step and I blow and I blow. ‘I don’t know what she was thinking. I’d give anything to have a guy like you and she’s just pissed all over it.’ He walks back to me. ‘You’re gorgeous Noel,’ his face is on mine, his tongue’s in my mouth and mine’s in his and we’re savage. His hands are on my breasts, his mouth is at my ear. ‘She’s mad to want anyone else.’
We grapple each other, his mouth pushes me through the front door and we’re in my hallway.
I don’t have any knickers on, I don’t have on a bra and his hands are just everywhere and so too are mine.
It’s a minute.
Another moment in your life where suddenly everything has changed.
We can’t look at each other after.
We closed the front door, thank God.