barely left the house, you’ve been neglecting your parents, your work is suffering, Harp. If your recent lines hadn’t been such bloody brilliant pieces of writing and transformed those horror scripts, Lara would probably have fired you by now – but you’re a romance writer, Harp. We’re romance writers and I miss bouncing ideas back and forth. Come on, you need to get out of this house and file for divorce so you can move on with your life,’ Madi says boldly. She’s right. I know she is and I’m not mad at her honesty. I’ve never appreciated it more.
‘Why don’t you go and have a hot shower and I’ll make us some breakfast,’ Madi says, holding my face and looking me in the eyes. Her own are filled with tears and concern. I nod, but when she leaves the room the softness and safety of my blanket has me sinking back under the covers. My eyes are heavy and I no longer have the will to keep them open.
*
I take a breath in, torn and terrified. My finger hovers above the enter key on the laptop that is open on the desk in front of me. This isn’t me. I don’t do things like this. I don’t snoop on my husband or invade his personal space. I’ve never had any reason to before, but that all changed last night after seeing him at the Christmas party. He’s given me reason.
‘Are you sure?’ Madi whispers from behind me. My office is cold, reflecting how I feel inside. My hands tremble. No, I’m not sure, I’m not sure at all, but that doesn’t change what I feel I have to do.
‘Madi, it’s been a little over a week since Scott walked away so casually out of my life, with nothing but a vague explanation and a promise that he would be back, that we would be OK, that he just needed some space. He chooses to speak to me when it suits him, popped in for sex when he fancied, all while not caring how much that affects me mentally. He texts me like I’m some old friend. Yet he cannot seem to find the time to give me answers as to what all this is about. He has watched me cry, he has listened to me fight for him all while shrugging his shoulders in response. And to top it all off, he doesn’t think twice about kissing another woman at the Christmas party.’ I pause. I don’t quite know who I am talking about now. It all feels so absurd.
‘Christmas Day is only a few days away, I need answers, Madi. I need to know if he’s coming home for good. I need to know who she is. And if he doesn’t think I’m worthy of any, I must find them myself,’ I say softly. I am already spent and I haven’t even logged in yet. I don’t think I have ever been more nervous in my life.
‘OK,’ Madi says gently, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘Please know I love you and that I am here for you.’ Then she goes and sits on the black leather couch, her fingers twisting around her hoop earrings anxiously.
Before I can chicken out and allow my brain to manifest more evil thoughts, I press enter on my husband’s email account. At least I will know for sure what’s been going on and I won’t have to torture myself with guessing.
Nothing jumps out at me straight away, no woman’s name I don’t recognize. Then I see it. An email to his friend Matt, with the subject line: What am I going to do?
I gulp and, with a shaky hand, click on the email and watch the conversation fill the page. Words and sentences begin slapping me in the face, hard. ‘We talk every night and every morning.’ ‘We’re practically girlfriend and boyfriend.’ ‘Harper is stressing about kids.’ ‘No kids.’ ‘I get jealous when other guys go near her.’ ‘I love her.’ And that last sentence just about does me in. I fly out of my chair, sick rising in my throat. It takes all I have not to throw my laptop across the room and smash it to pieces. I can’t look anymore. I feel like there is a monster inside of me; it terrifies me. I can’t control it. I don’t want this anger inside me and I’m mad at myself for allowing it in. But all my mother’s words of wisdom, her soothing mantras, are not speaking to me right now.
My soul mate, my world, it all sounds so childlike now – my person … there can be no such thing. I almost laugh despite the hot tears burning my cheeks. My husband is in love with someone else and has been for months and I had no idea. I can’t make out from the messages how long he has been seeing her, how long he has been sleeping with her, but it was long before he brought up taking a break. The email dated back months before Venice.
Our marriage is over for him, and he forgot to tell me. Instead. he’s led me to believe he’s just having some breathing room, getting out of the house for a bit, staying with the boys a while before we got serious about kids, all like it was no big deal, like he’ll be back. He even texted only a few days ago that I was being silly when I asked him if he wanted a divorce, like it wasn’t that serious. He laughed it off like I was the mad one, like everything he was doing was normal. He didn’t want a divorce, he wasn’t seeing other people, we would be OK, he loved me; all just lies he was spinning.
*
My head is throbbing, I am dripping with cold sweat and someone is rubbing my forehead. There’s a distinct smell of crispy bacon in the air. I force my eyes open, but it takes a few attempts before I can blink anything into a clear view.
Madi places the breakfast tray on the floor and scoots up next to me on the bed.
‘Harp, we’re not spending this Christmas here, OK? We’re going home,’ she says, assertively moving tendrils of hair out of my face. I am aware of the state I am in, what I must look like shrivelled up under the covers again. I have lost all sense of who I am. All I know is that I am a mess and very much on my way to repeating the events of last Christmas – cocooned in my bed, shutting out the world while Madi tries with all her might to spread some Christmas cheer with gifts and mince pies, with mild success. The whole world knows Scott had an affair. It’s been twelve whole months. It’s done, it’s in the past. I need to move on.
‘But this is home,’ I mutter, wrapping my arm around her waist for comfort.
‘Yes, it is, but I mean home, home; to your mum and dad’s house. It might not be in London, but wherever your mum and dad are, that’s home. We’re going to Colorado.’
Madi’s living room smells like cinnamon and pine. Candles flicker from every surface. With the help of Madi’s famous hot chocolate and bacon butty combo, I’m starting to get into the Christmas spirit. It’s been a few days since the nightmares have haunted my brain and for that I’m grateful. I’m not sure whether to thank the amount of Baileys Madi sneaks into my hot chocolate or the back-to-back episodes of Chuck that she’s been playing late into the evening every night before bed this past week. It’s difficult to have nightmares when my mind is otherwise preoccupied by when Chuck and Sarah will get together and if I could one day write a script anywhere near as incredible as this show. Still, Chuck and Sarah’s love is not enough to get me in the mood for the work Christmas party this year; instead, Madi and I have booked our flights for Colorado. We leave in the early hours of tomorrow morning.
I haven’t been to visit my parents in Breckenridge in two years. If I’m honest I didn’t take the news of my parents moving away very well at all. Spending time with them has always been one of my favourite things, so I was mad at them for moving and I don’t think I have fully let go of my grudge. Though Scott got on well with his family he was much more independent and encouraged me to be the same. His family live in Greece and he had adjusted to that just fine. I felt I had to be a grown-up and be more like him. But I miss my parents every single day; I just never admitted that to Scott.
