When all the jobs were done they settled on the sofa, staying up well past midnight watching old movies in front of the fire. Margery had reappeared briefly, joining them for an hour or so for some cheese and crackers before disappearing back to bed.
As the credits forMeet Me in St. Louisrolled across the screen Helena looked over at Johnny lying next to her on the sofa. He had fallen asleep. She turned the television off, enjoying the crackle of the fire, watching the flickering flames dance about. Her gaze settled on Johnny. From this angle she noticed that his dark lashes were much curlier than she had realised. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He wore a wine-coloured jumper that looked irresistibly soft. She fought the urge to lay her exhausted head on his shoulder, to snuggle into the warmth of his body, pull the rug over them both and fall asleep. She missed the physicality of having a partner. She missed Noah’s musky smell, the weight of him, the solid reassuring presence of his body next to her, on top of her, his arm around her. She dragged herself up, placing the rug over Johnny and putting the fire guard in place. She went up to bed, brushed her teeth, took off her makeup and changed into her pyjamas.
As she climbed under the single duvet and tried to get comfortable on the narrow futon, shivering as her skin got used to the change of temperature after the warmth of the sitting room below, she thought back to the last four Christmases she had shared with Noah and compared them with the day she had just had. It had been a day full of laughter, love, friendship and companionship.There had been tears, though not from her for a change, and the usual touch of drama it seemed Christmas was never without, but there had been no arguments, no cross words, no sniping comments about the cooking, no rolled eyes, no patronising put downs, just a group of people getting along perfectly well. Life without Noah really was a much simpler world, and she was beginning to relish it. She suspected she would never have been strong enough to leave him, and for the first time she felt truly grateful for all the awful times that had pushed their relationship past breaking point. For if it hadn’t broken so completely beyond repair, she may well have been trapped in it for the rest of her life. She would have had Raffy, of course, but she was starting to wonder if even her love for him would have made up for the rest.
29
‘I’M SORRY. ITlooks like a bomb has gone off in here.’ Nathalie smiled apologetically as she ushered Helena inside.
It was a Wednesday evening in early January, and as promised Nathalie had invited Helena around for dinner. Helena had been worried about leaving Margery alone, but she had insisted she would be perfectly alright. She had reminded Helena that she had years of experience eating by herself. The house seemed very empty without Johnny, who had finally moved out between Christmas and New Year. They had seen him lots, they’d even spent New Year’s Eve together, but it felt different without him there. Helena found herself missing him much more than she had expected to, no matter how nice it was to have a double bed all to herself.
‘This is for you,’ Helena said, presenting Nathalie with the bottle of wine she had brought with her. For some reason she felt stupidly nervous, and had spent ages agonising over which bottle to choose at the supermarket on the way back from work that evening. Nathalie cleared a pile of paperwork off the kitchen table, making space for Helena to sit down. ‘No matter how many times I tell them to clean up their mess before bed, the house always looks like a warzone.’
‘With three kids I’m hardly surprised!’ Helena laughed. There was no point in telling Nathalie that it didn’t look a mess: there was no denying it. The amount of possessions covering every surface and inch of floor could have given Margery a run for her money, before Helena’s intervention.
‘I’m sure other mothers manage to have three kids and immaculate homes.’
‘They probably have help.’
‘Maybe. Anyway. What can I get you? Wine? Gin and tonic? Beer?’
‘I’d love a glass of wine, if you have some open?’
‘Silly question,’ Nathalie grinned. ‘Theonlyway I survive motherhood is wine. Copious amounts of it.’ She glugged red wine into two glasses and gave one to Helena.
‘Something smells delicious,’ Helena said as she took a sip.
‘I can’t take any credit,’ Nathalie said. ‘As you know, I don’t cook. But I do know the best things to bung in the oven and then pretend that I’ve made myself. This steak and ale pie is one of my favourites.’
Helena laughed as Nathalie bent down to peer into the oven. She was wearing a pair of navy cord dungarees over a rainbow covered jumper. Her blonde hair was pulled back into her trademark scrunchy, this time a polka dot one, and she wore large tortoiseshell hoops in her ears. Bright pink lipstick completed the look. There was something so cheerful about the way she dressed. Helena loved it. Since buying her red coat she had started experimenting a bit more with clothes herself, inspired by Nathalie to be a bit bolder with her choices. It felt good to be dressing for herself and not for Noah’s approval. She thought of all the times she had secretly envied women like Nathalie their freedom. Now there was no longer any need to feel envious.
Nathalie was one of those people who made you feel at ease in an instant. She was quick witted and opinionated. She had absolutely no qualms about sharing personal details about herself. She was an over sharer if anything, another trait Helena admired. It felt like you were able to get to know her in no time, and it encouraged Helena to do the same. As they put the world to rights over dinner, Helena felt an exciting feeling creep over her: she had a sneaking suspicion that she and Nathalie might become very good friends.
*
Several weeks later, Helena was back at Nathalie’s for dinner. It was quickly becoming a tradition that once a week Helena would come over with a bottle of wine and they would have dinner together. To make it fair they had started taking it in turns to cook, though they always ate at Nathalie’s, to save her having to pay for a babysitter. This week, Helena had brought a shepherd’s pie, ready to bake in the oven. They had washed it down with two enormous glasses of red wine, discussing their weeks, work and Nathalie’s kids. Helena decided it was high time that she broached the one subject they had so far failed to discuss in any great detail: Noah and Raffy. So far Helena had only hinted that something bad had happened. She had known that it would only be a matter of time before she would tell Nathalie the whole truth, but she hadn’t felt quite ready to talk about it up until now.
There was something about Nathalie that made Helena feel completely at ease. Over the time they had spent together, they had built up such a close rapport. She felt as though she wanted to spill her innermost secrets. It felt right to share what had happened with her. And she felt sure that whatever she said, Nathalie wouldn’t be shocked, nor would she judge her. She sensed Nathalie was the kind of woman who, once she had befriended you, would be fiercely loyal to the end. As the whole sorry story came pouring out she felt that same sense of lightening she had felt when telling Margery and Johnny. The burden of carrying the sordid truth around with her was lessened once again. She felt supported by Nathalie’s reaction, validated once again knowing that she had been the victim, not the perpetrator. She told her about the verbal abuse, the emotional bullying, the controlling behaviour. Everything.
‘That’s why we couldn’t say yes to Maisy’s party,’ Helena explained. ‘I so wanted to come. Raffy would have loved it. But Noah point blank refused. I felt so embarrassed. It was so kind of you to ask us…’
‘You know I always suspected there was something not quite right there,’ Nathalie said as she topped up their glasses. ‘Therewas something about him, a look in his eyes… I could never put my finger on it. I always thought you seemed lovely though.’
‘I was so worried everyone would think it was me. That I was rude or antisocial. How could they know it was all him?’
Encouraged by Nathalie’s reaction so far, and feeling emboldened to relive it all by the wine she had drunk, Helena told Nathalie about the day he left, the weeks that followed. Nathalie sat and listened, aghast.
‘You know, when Mike left I felt exactly the same,’ Nathalie said. ‘God I can’t even bear thinking about it. The loneliness. The panic. All I wanted was to have him back, I’d have put up with the cheating, the fighting… I was so desperate for adult company, some help with the kids. I’d have done anything not to be on my own.’
Helena nodded. The weight of all that misery was almost tangible still. ‘How old was Meg when he left?’
‘Six months.’
Helena gasped. ‘Oh my god.’ She couldn’t imagine how that must have felt, with all the postnatal hormones, the tiredness that came with having such a small baby, and the two older children to contend with.
Nathalie laughed wryly. ‘It was awful. And I’ve been on my own ever since. I’ve dated people, of course, but I’ve never felt comfortable enough to bring someone into the children’s lives in that way. It’s not that simple. I am so protective over them.’
‘I bet.’ Helena realised that if Nathalie and Johnny were seeing each other, they’d be keeping things quiet. She wanted to ask whether her suspicions were true, but decided not to put her on the spot. Nathalie was the kind of person who would say if she wanted to, and so far she hadn’t mentioned Johnny in that way at all.
