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CHAPTER 8
On Sunday morning, Maya’s children were up before her — no surprises there. Lewis, first up, was playing on the PlayStation, which Maya allowed at the weekends. He wasn’t permitted to go on it before school — she would never get him off it. Amber woke Maya up, flushing the toilet and then slamming the lid down.
Maya rubbed her eyes, then stretched as she looked at her phone to check the time. It wasn’t quite eight o’clock. She could snooze a little longer.
There was a knock on her bedroom door, then Amber poked her head around. “Mummy, would you like a coffee?”
There was a plus side to the children growing up.
“That would be lovely, Amber, thank you. Then I’ll get up.” Maya called out as she heard Amber stomp down the stairs. “Just be very careful. The kettle is very hot.”
Maya had started to notice a difference in Amber now she was in Year Six. She wanted to be independent. In September she would be going to secondary school. It all seemed scary, but Maya was trying to let Amber have some freedom. Making her own breakfast was part of this, and some Sundays Amber remembered to ask her mother if she wanted a coffee. Maya was sure it was because she liked being allowed to use the kettle, which to Amber was probably an exciting gadget.
Maya plumped up her pillows, sitting up in bed. She was allowed the occasional lazy Sunday. She didn’t used to feel like she should always be doing something with the children when she was married to Kyle. She remembered the mornings, after they’d made love, when Kyle would sneak down, hoping not to wake the kids, and bring up coffee in bed. Those were happy days. Where had it all gone wrong?
Maya looked at the empty space beside her. The king-size bed she and Kyle had owned in their old house wouldn’t fit in this bedroom. Now she had a pine double bed, with matching pine furniture, in keeping with the cottage style. The walls were a dusty, pale pink, and the duvet cover was a floral Cath Kidston print — something she wouldn’t have been allowed with Kyle. Some of Maya’s decorating choices in her cosy new house were to stick two fingers up at her ex-husband. It hadn’t been all bad divorcing him.
She was healing. She no longer hated Kyle like she had in the first months of their separation. But she would never forgive him for telling her by text message he was having an affair — a real coward’s way out. She remembered the text as if it was yesterday. It had come so unexpectedly, after what she had thought was just a silly row: Inolongerloveyou. I’vemetsomeoneelse. I’msorry.
Then, fuelling her rage and hurt further, it had taken Kyle a few days to turn up and face her, and that was only because she’d threatened to drive to him to sort the mess out. Coward. He’d become a man she didn’t know — spineless and deceitful. Eventually he turned up at the house because he’d run out of clothes. Surprising herself as much as him, Maya had chucked his clothes at him from the bedroom window, onto the driveway below. She’d already stripped them from the wardrobes and screwed them up into black bin bags.
She used this rage to hide her broken heart from him. He didn’t see how she’d been debilitated by the grief caused by the sudden onslaught of her world being turned upside down. Her parents had supported her tremendously, and so had Emma. It took her months to regain her self-esteem, to stop missing him, to stop crying in the early hours of the morning. As time went by, the ache in her chest slowly eased. Now, only very occasionally, when she was feeling at her lowest, would tears fall for Kyle.
Maya had initially put the failure of their marriage down to the lack of sex, due to two young kids sapping their energy and their quality time together, but looking back with a clearer head, she realised that the lack of intimacy between them was entirely due to Kyle sleeping with another woman in the last few months of their marriage. That’s when her love turned to rage. A hatred she had to hide from the children — he was still their father, after all.
With small, shaky hands, Amber placed the steaming coffee mug by Maya’s bed on a coaster. Maya reached out to steady it, relieved to bring her thoughts back to the present.
“Thanks, love. Help your brother with breakfast, please.”
“Do I have to?”
“Please … get the things down he can’t reach.” Maya touched her daughter’s arm, stroking it, pushing her hair back. “Thanks for this. I’ll be down in about half an hour. Please don’t fight.”
“It’s not me, it’s him.”
Once Amber had left Maya’s bedroom, she picked up her phone and checked the notifications from the Find My HEA app, telling her how many messages she had.
PeterPan26 had replied:
Sorry to disappoint, I’m not up on my superheroes. I wasn’t aware Batman wasn’t so desirable. But can’t he fly you in his private jet?
I’m working up to posting a better picture. I’m not sure if I want to be on here or not yet.
For some reason, Maya’s thoughts turned to Chloe’s dad, Sam. Without thinking, she replied:
He’s not desirable to me. Yet, some women do find him so. It takes all sorts, so they say. I know a man who fits the brooding, moody type. And I wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole!
And imagine the messages I’d get if I had my username as Catwoman!
A better picture would be nice. I’ve taken to not replying to those with no profile pictures or information. You’re not giving much away. How do I know you’re genuine?
His profile picture made him unrecognisable, but there was something about this guy Maya liked. And what harm was there in just messaging? Plus, so far, the men with profile pictures hadn’t really proved to be better.
Yes, you could attract the wrong type of guy with a username like Catwoman. Lol!
I’m sorry there isn’t much information about me. I assure you I am genuine. And if you’d like to chat, then I’d be happy with that too.
A brooding, moody type? I’m intrigued to know what he did to you to merit such scorn?
