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‘Just me, I’m afraid. She’s already got plans.’
‘OK, no problem. Send her my love. I’ll see you there at one o’clock.’
‘See you then. Bye.’
He’d gone before she had a chance to say goodbye, an old habit of his.
Racing into the children’s rooms, she woke them up in turn, urging them to get dressed quickly. Ever since it had just been the four of them in the house, Max had taken it upon himself to be more helpful, getting ready a bit earlier so he could help get the twins sorted. It was as if he knew his mother was hanging on by a thread, wanting to help her so it wouldn’t break.
Dropping the children at school in the first few weeks after Simon left had been awful. Stella avoided eye contact with any of her usual school-gate friends for fear of them asking how she was. Liz, one of the mums with a daughter in the same class as the twins, had asked Stella if everything was all right when she’d picked them up from Liz’s house after school one day. Stella had done her best to reassure Liz that everything was fine, knowing she must have looked pretty awful for her to ask, given they were simply acquaintances rather than good friends. She’d managed to meet with Max’s teacher after drop-off one morning briefly, asking her to let the staff know that the children’s father was away indefinitely and that she’d be grateful if the teachers could let her know if Max brought it up at all, or behaved differently, and the same with the twins. The teacher had been kind and sympathetic in a professional way, for which Stella was grateful, assuring her that all seemed well and that school would keep an eye on them.
But before long, Stella saw what she thought looked like pity in some of the eyes of those nodding their hellos to her. Word must have got out, she concluded. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone heard something from someone, whether it was via one of the children’s friends or someone at work or even, she thought, somebody who knew Simon. She’d never know for sure. And the not knowing, about anything, was exhausting.
Fixing her sunglasses in place, Stella pulled her jacket tighter around her and made her way back to the car. Glancing at her watch, she saw she just had time to go home and walk Percy, when she could call and talk to the office at the same time, before changing and heading into town to see her solicitor at their offices. This would be her first proper outing since Simon left that required actual clothes rather than tracksuit bottoms and an old jumper. Her house had become her haven, filled with her family – apart from her actual husband, of course – and friends and leaving it to face the world outside felt daunting. But she couldn’t ignore her solicitor’s messages any longer, the office had been trying to reach her for weeks.
Stella walked through the park at a pace, Percy trotting behind her, trying to focus on her surroundings rather than the tangle of thoughts in her head, but failing miserably. Back at the house, she stood in front of her wardrobe. She pulled out an old favourite black blazer, pairing it with a pale pink silk shirt and a pair of black skinny trousers. The jacket hung from her frame, her hair lacking its usual shine. Stella resorted to the darkest bronzer she could find in her make-up drawer, covering her face in colour and applying blusher and a slick of lip gloss. She looked at her face in the mirror. Not great, but it would have to do, she thought. Turning her back on her reflection, Stella made her way downstairs. She went to the kitchen to fetch her handbag, deciding the breakfast table would have to stay a mess until later. Closing the heavy front door behind her, Stella made the short walk to the Tube station.
It felt like another world since she’d last done this and as she joined the stream of people moving down the tunnels to the platform, her chest tightened. She tried to slow down her breath, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
Standing on the platform, waiting for the train, Stella was reminded of all the countless times she’d stood on that very same platform with Simon as they’d headed to work together. She’d always loved the way they could stand together on the train, communicating through looks rather than words in an overcrowded carriage. But now she stood alone. She imagined him suddenly appearing, running down the steps and leaping on the train just before the doors shut.
Just then, the Tube train appeared from the blackness of the tunnel, lights looming. Once the doors had opened, she stepped into the carriage and managed to find a seat, grateful to be able to sit for a moment and steady her breathing. Looking around, she took in the faces, all staring at screens, some with faint smiles on their faces, others nodding their heads to the sound of beats flooding their ears. Why was she looking for him? She knew he wasn’t going to be here on the first train that she happened to get on. But there was something about being back in the world outside her own four walls that felt strange, like she just might be in the same space as him at some point. A wave of nausea came over her, making her skin feel clammy.
Stella looked up to see the name of her stop flash by the window, once, twice, three times. The train slowed and she stood to get off. As she waited by the door, she looked at the passengers waiting on the other side to get on. Stop looking for him, he’s not here, she told herself. Was this how it was going to be for the rest of her life?
She shook her head a little, as if trying to rid it of the image of his face. But it wouldn’t go. He might have physically left her, but mentally he was everywhere. The irony was almost too much to bear.
* * *
Two hours later, as Stella sat at the table in the restaurant waiting for her father to arrive, she looked out across the crowded room. As ever, there was a mix of business and pleasure taking place at various tables. At the larger ones, people in suits talked while barely noticing their food. At smaller tables, couples sat exchanging forkfuls from each other’s plates. Waiters moved quickly between tables, trays of food and drink held high. Calls to action from the chefs could be heard from the kitchen at the far end and the warm smell of garlic, rosemary and butter wafted out across the room.
Stella picked up the menu, a simple piece of paper with the day’s date at the top. Glancing down the page at the dishes on offer, she felt her stomach rumble. She’d not eaten that morning, going straight to coffee instead.
Looking out across the restaurant towards the river outside, she watched the world go on in front of her, the happy hum of people talking and laughing around her. It seemed impossible that she’d ever feel that carefree again. Just then, she looked up to see her father walking across the restaurant towards her, a familiar smile on his face. ‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Don’t get up, Stella.’ He motioned for her to stay sitting, coming round to kiss her cheek. As he sat down, a waitress appeared with two flutes of Prosecco, along with a small plate of bruschetta, dripping in oil. ‘Lovely, thank you.’ He smiled at the waitress, then turned to his daughter. ‘So, how’s things?’
Stella tried her best to look and sound breezy. ‘Oh, you know… things have been better.’ She smiled, tears springing instantly to her eyes. ‘Sorry.’ She managed a half laugh, half cry. ‘I thought I’d last a bit longer before…’ She wiped at the tears threatening to fall.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Her father reached across and gently put his hands over hers. ‘We’re really sorry. Susie sends her love, of course. How long has it been?’
‘Dad, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to worry you. To be honest, I thought he’d be back by now.’
‘How long, Stella?’ His voice was calm, gentle.
‘Almost six weeks.’ She picked up her glass and took a sip, the bubbles hitting her tongue like a thousand tiny sherbet raindrops.
‘And you’ve really not heard a thing from him?’
‘Nothing, Dad.’ Stella sighed. ‘He said he wasn’t happy. It’s not like he just disappeared with no reason. Except that he didn’t really explain it and that’s the bit that’s so hard. I just don’t know.’
‘How are the children?’
‘They’ve been amazing, really. Better than me, that’s for sure.’ Stella wiped quickly at her eye, brushing away another tear. ‘The thing is, Dad, I’m just exhausted. How the hell did you do it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When Mum died… I’m not talking about emotionally, though any tips on that are gratefully received.’ She managed a small smile and sat back in her seat. ‘I mean, how the hell did you manage to look after us both on your own?’
