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‘You’ve been staring at that broccoli for ages,’ said Mo. ‘And you’re squashing that avocado into guacamole.’
‘Really?’ Hannah’s laugh sounded a little manic, her curls bobbing into her eyes as she frantically shook her head to dislodge the buzzing in her ears.
‘Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were OK.’
Hannah forced a smile. ‘Sorry. I was miles away. I’m fine.’
Mo nodded, looking a bit disappointed. Hannah wondered if he’d just got his Mental Health First Aid certificate and was primed to deal with his first woman having a nervous breakdown in Aisle Two.
Throwing the broccoli and the mashed avocado into her basket, she hurried off, suddenly conscious that her tennis skirt barely covered her backside. She’d been ready for her 6 p.m. tennis lesson when Lucy had called, but she hadn’t gone, obviously. Instead she’d sat in her car for an hour, taking deep breaths and planning how to deal with Graham.
Hannah chucked some prawns in too, the cold from the supermarket fridges giving her goosebumps. She’d grown up in a household where modesty was paramount, and every inch of exposed skin was noted and discussed at length. Her parents had both been members of a fringe church, one of the more ardently evangelical ones, and for a long time church people were the extent of her friends and family.
Graham’s family had been members of the church too, and the two of them had grown up catching each other’s eye at prayer meetings and interminable sermons, more out of a mutual desperation than any real attraction. They’d married when they were eighteen, an unspoken pact to save each other from a suffocating lifestyle that neither of them had the disposition for. Hannah had too much passion and spirit for a life of fervent worship, and Graham not nearly enough. It was a terrible reason to get married, and fourteen years later Hannah could only marvel that they’d dragged it out for so long.
Right now she felt surprisingly calm, like she’d disconnected herself from everything and was floating above the chaos in a world where her only priority was selecting the first meal of the rest of her life. She looked at the basket – sugar snap peas, mushrooms, broccoli, avocado, baby sweetcorn, prawns. Not the most celebratory of meals, maybe, but also everything that Graham either hated or was allergic to. But that was fine, because this was a dinner that she definitely wasn’t going to be sharing.
Graham’s Audi was still in the driveway when she got back, which was no great surprise to Hannah. He might specialise in wills and mortgage conveyancing rather than having his day in court, but he was still a lawyer and could talk a good game when the occasion demanded it. Presumably he’d spent the last forty minutes polishing his defence.
‘You’re still here,’ she observed, dumping her bag for life on the kitchen counter.
‘I know, but we need to talk about this,’ said Graham, filling the doorway with his big frame. He’d played rugby at university, spurning offers of beer-fuelled sessions with the team in favour of returning home to dinner cooked by his teenage wife. Hannah noticed that he’d changed out of his joggers into jeans, a clean shirt and a pair of socks that were hole-free. He was handsome in a scruffy, bear-like way, and as a teenager she’d convinced herself that escape was the primary objective, and love and physical attraction would come later. It had never happened, but she’d tried her best to make it work anyway.
‘Lucy doesn’t mean anything to me,’ he said beseechingly, launching into his pre-prepared speech. ‘It was just a stupid fling, the stress of work. I’m not even sure it’s my baby. We can work it out.’
Hannah set her face toimplacable. ‘No, we can’t. The thing is, Graham, I’m not really asking for a divorce because you got Lucy pregnant. I’m asking for a divorce because when I heard you’d got Lucy pregnant, I realised I didn’t care.’
Graham said nothing for a moment, his mouth hanging open and his eyes boggling as he searched for loopholes in this damning response. ‘OK, wow,’ he gasped, holding up the palms of his hands and backing away. ‘That’s an awful thing to say.’
‘I know, but it’s the truth.’
Graham took a deep breath, then regrouped and changed tack. ‘Look, Lucy was just a moment of madness. It only happened because you . . .’
Hannah held up her hand. ‘Don’t, Graham. Please don’t try to find a way to make this my fault. I’ve tried, OK? I’ve really, really tried. But you won’t grow up.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that despite my best efforts, this marriage is dead. You don’t respect me, you won’t cook unless you’re trying to impress people, you don’t clean, you have no concept of laundry.’
Graham rolled his eyes. ‘Really? This again? You want a divorce because I don’t remember to turn on the washing machine?’
‘No,’ said Hannah calmly. ‘Let’s be clear about one thing. I want a divorce because another woman is now carryingyourchild.’
‘Then why are we talking about laundry?’
‘Because you’re still a teenager, Graham. And you’re never going to change. Even without the whole Lucy thing, we’ve both been miserable for years. I’m not your mother, so I’m done. Go and live with Lucy, have your baby. She can wash your pants.’ She kept her voice strong and reminded herself to breathe, determined not to show Graham any cracks in her armour. Right now she had the upper hand, but the minute she crumpled he’d seize the advantage.
‘But I don’t want to live with Lucy; I want to live with you.’ His voice took on a wheedling tone, like this was in some way endearing.
‘Well, that option is no longer available.’ She swallowed her natural inclination to addI’m sorry, because it was the one thing she definitely wasn’t right now.
‘We’ve been married for fourteen years. You can’t justleave.’
‘You’re right. I’m not leaving,’ said Hannah, shaking her head. ‘You are, because this is MY house.’
Graham pursed his lips and folded his arms. ‘I’m not going. Not until you give me a chance to explain.’
Hannah smiled thinly and put her hands on her hips. ‘Graham, please don’t make me call your mother and tell her she’s finally got a grandchild on the way.’
