Page 14 of The Girlfriend’s Secret

Or make it worse…

NINE

LIANE

‘We’ve put it off long enough,’ Frederik says to me as we stare at the front door of our house from where we sit inside our car. ‘Let’s just go in and get this over with.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ I reply, still staring at the door. ‘You’re not the one who has to get it over with.’

‘Just go inside and apologise and then we can move on.’

‘Apologise! But why should I?’

‘Because it’s either that or this could get worse, and none of us want that, do we?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then just go inside, say sorry to Joel and Haven, and that’s it,’ Frederik says, annoyingly casual about this.

‘It’s not as easy as that,’ I tell him.

‘It can be. Just explain how you have been under a lot of stress lately with your mother’s death. You’re grieving and you haven’t been sleeping well. You’ve not been yourself and that’s perfectly understandable because losing a parent is hard. I’m sure they will understand and I know that Haven will appreciate an apology.’

‘You know that, do you? How can you? We barely even know that girl.’

‘We know that she makes our son happy and that counts for a lot.’

Damn my husband and his way with words.

‘Come on. Let’s get this over with and then we can relax and have a nice evening together,’ Frederik says, taking my hand. ‘Maybe open a bottle of wine later. Watch a movie. Just forget about everything that’s been going on lately and try and unwind for the rest of the day. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds good,’ I admit. ‘Impossible, but good.’

Frederik gives me a kiss before getting out of the car and I have no other option but to follow him. But this all feels so wrong. How can it be that I feel so uncomfortable preparing to go inside my own house? I have lived here for decades. I raised two children here. I have slept and showered here countless times. I have a whole history here. Yet all it has taken is one woman’s arrival in my home to completely disrupt things and make me feel like I am now the one who doesn’t belong.

It’s time to readdress the natural order of things around here.

After going inside, the only signs I see that Joel and Haven are already around are the dirty plates and empty cups by the sink. Having walked out of the restaurant before lunch was served, it makes sense that they came back here and raided the fridge, helping themselves to whatever food Frederik and I bought in the most recent grocery shop. I haven’t asked my son for any money since he has been staying here, not just because I know he doesn’t have any, but because I am happy to have him here and don’t need to turn my child’s presence into some kind of financial transaction. I know some parents want money from their adult offspring with regard to the extra spend on groceries or bills, but it hadn’t even crossed my mind to ask. But if him and his girlfriend carry on like this, they will leave me with no choice. Not only are they costing us more money by being here, but they are causing us more stress too.

‘They must be upstairs,’ Frederik assesses after checking the other rooms but not finding anybody. ‘They must be in his bedroom.’

‘I’ll wait until they come back out then,’ I say.

‘Why don’t you go up and see them? Nip any awkwardness in the bud rather than let it linger.’

‘Why should I?’ I snap, and I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of snapping lately.

‘Because you’re older and wiser than they are,’ Frederik says with a gentle expression on his face. ‘Waiting for a couple of kids in their twenties to make the first move is like waiting for the summer to start in England. We’ll be waiting a long time.’

My husband is right and not just about the British summer, or lack of it. If I don’t go and see Joel and Haven, if I don’t make the first move, they won’t come and see me, meaning we’ll be left to wait for some inevitable and extremely awkward meeting in the hallway at some random point over the next day or so. I don’t want that, not when I should feel relaxed in my own home, so I better go and get this over with.

Climbing the staircase, my legs feel as heavy as if I was ascending Everest and not just the twelve steps it takes me to reach the upper floor of my house. I could use a base camp halfway up to gather my thoughts, but I dare not stop because my husband will only tell me to keep going.

When I reach Joel’s bedroom door, I take a deep breath and twirl my hair before preparing to knock. This is the same bedroom door that I would witness my son scampering out of on Christmas morning, my little boy all excited to see if Santa had been and left presents. The same door beyond which were all his most beloved toys, from action figurines to stuffed bears. The same door behind which I would have to rouse him when it was time for school and he was going through his tormented teen phase, refusing to do anything for anyone. And the same door behind which he would play music or video games loudly, requiring either me or Frederik to have to politely request that he lower the volume as it was nearing midnight and the rest of us in the house would like some sleep. But this feels different. This feels like I don’t belong here anymore. This feels like me and my son are becoming strangers in our own home.

I tell myself that everything will be fine and then knock. When I don’t get a response, I knock again. But there’s still no answer, so I could just give up and leave.

Or I could push the door ajar and look inside.