Private Lives

Chapter 3

Abi blamed herself. If she’d met him, as originally planned, at the new-parent meeting, things would have been different. She’d have known how to handle herself. But having Lily and Margot in the same house, so close to the truth, had been horrifying. Abi was in too much shock to talk after they left Rosie’s, but listening to Margot and Lily chatting about Frozen kept her feet on the ground, kept them shuffling towards home. Without knowing they were doing it, her girls saved her. They always saved her. Margot took Abi’s and Lily’s hands so they could swing her along the pavement, Margot kicking her little feet into the air and calling, ‘Higher, higher!’ The weight of her, feeling Lily on the other side, knowing they needed her to be strong, to keep going with her plan, kept Abi from falling to her knees.

What the hell was she doing?

It wasn’t until the girls were in bed that she paced, swore and tried to work through all the different scenarios of what could be going on. None of them were good for Abi or the girls.

She woke early, still furious and still afraid. But really, what was new?

Margot had crept into her bed at some point during the night, bringing her little body close. Her presence helped Abi ignore the question that had been circling in her mind all night: What will he tell Rosie? She had no idea. So she did what she had done for years. She pushed her rage away and, weak with fear and exhaustion, she did what she had to do to feed her children.

She knew he’d come; she just didn’t know when.

She’d held Margot close, kissed her cheek. Smiled and waved to Lily at the school gates. She hid her fear behind her smile, because pretending was Abi’s thing. She kept her face impassive as she walked away from school, imagining what he could have told the other parents, told Rosie.

The thought of Rosie made Abi wilt. She was surprised by how much she wanted to be friends with Rosie. She hadn’t made a new friend in so long, but Rosie intrigued Abi; she’d never actually known anyone like her. Someone who seemed to be gliding along on an escalator through life while the rest of them trudged up mucky steps that smelt like piss. Rosie had the kids, the husband, the sighing complaints about the kitchen extension. To Abi, Rosie’s life seemed so calm, so exotic in its ordinariness. But Abi knew now there was sadness too, a weariness that wore at the edges of Rosie’s dreamy set-up and made her face fall into worry when she thought no one was looking.

Abi arrives early at the restaurant. There are hundreds of forks, knives and spoons that need unpacking, washing, drying, polishing and putting away. This is the kind of monotonous work she can handle today. While Richard and Lotte sweep around the restaurant arguing about where to hang an oil painting, screaming at each other over a wine order, Abi keeps to the kitchen, hunched, working her fingers raw.

She wishes Diego were here, but he isn’t arriving for another few days and, besides, she probably shouldn’t tell him. He is moving for a new start both professionally with PLATE and with his partner. It’d disturb him, the past stalking them like this.

Abi stays in the kitchen, working and listening to Richard and Lotte’s latest row about the reservation system when suddenly the swing doors sigh open and Lotte stalks stormily into the room. She kicks herself up on to the stainless-steel countertop and holds her head in her hands, groans dramatically, ‘Urgh. Men!’

Abi stops drying a platter.

‘I honestly think doing this on my own would be easier than doing it with him. It was such a stupid idea, thinking we could cope working together.’ She turns to look at Abi. ‘I mean, look at you, a working single parent. You’re better off without a man, aren’t you?’

Abi breathes out, fiddles with the bangles round her wrist, wrestling with the urge to tell her boss to fuck off, but reminds herself this is what women like Lotte do: they chat.

A few months ago, when she first arrived in Waverly for her interview, she noticed how Lotte’s smile had faltered. The way Lotte’s mouth crumpled as she took in her tattoos, her freshly cropped hair.

But Richard and Lotte had spent months wooing Diego to leave London and head up PLATE, and Diego had been unwavering: he’d only accept the offer at PLATE if Abi had a role too. She’s promised Diego she’ll do her best to fit in.

Abi forces a smile. ‘Well, it hasn’t always been easy.’

‘No, of course it hasn’t,’ Lotte states, before curiosity gets the better of her and she asks, ‘Does their dad help?’

Of course. This is what Lotte wants. A slice of Abi’s history.

‘Well, they don’t have the same dad.’

‘Oh,’ Lotte says. ‘They’re half-sisters.’

‘They’re just sisters.’

Lotte nods like Abi’s confirming what she already knew. ‘Of course.’

Lotte’s eyes still on her, Abi gives in to the pressure to offer her half of the story.

‘I got pregnant with Lily when I was eighteen – it was just a casual thing. He’s been all right, really – paid maintenance, did the bare minimum – but he’s never really been Lily’s dad.’ Abi looks steadily at Lotte, hoping to pre-emptively neutralize any pity. ‘He lives in Scotland now; he’s got other kids, his own family, which is fine.’

Lotte nods, like this is all as she anticipated but she’s impatient to hear the rest of the story. ‘And Margot?’

Abi picks up a few spoons, starts drying them, unsure how this is going to go. ‘I knew I wanted another child, so I used a sperm donor.’

Lotte’s jaw actually drops. ‘I was not expecting you to say that,’ she says, her eyes blinking with surprise.

‘No one ever does.’ Abi shrugs and picks up some more spoons to keep her hands busy. Although it was never a motivation, she has to admit there is some satisfaction in challenging the bleak single-parent narrative. People always think Margot must have been ‘another mistake’ but the truth is the opposite. Abi loved being a mum and she was bloody good at it. She wanted another baby and Lily wanted a sibling. She’d waited until Lily was old enough to understand, until she had savings and could take a few months off work, could support the three of them, and then she’d tracked her ovulation and bought some sperm. The whole thing was straightforward, and Margot made her presence known as a little blue line after only two months of trying.

‘Wow,’ Lotte says, sitting up straighter on the counter and shaking her head. ‘I have so many questions, I literally don’t know where to start.’ Abi realizes that her honesty has made Lotte relax, and she smiles as she feels Lotte arrive fully in the room.

‘What about you guys?’ Abi asks.

‘Oh, we just did it the boring old sex way.’ Lotte laughs and then quickly settles herself. ‘You mean, why didn’t we have another kid?’

She says it in a way that suggests she assumes this is what people want to know about her but most dare not ask. It makes Abi want to howl and laugh at the same time because women’s lives are never immune to scrutiny – even the choices of married, straight, solvent mothers like Lotte.

The bell from the front of the restaurant sounds, Lotte rolls her eyes and Abi freezes.

‘Bet he’s forgotten his bloody keys.’ Lotte jumps down from the countertop, padding out of the kitchen.

Abi silently prays that Lotte is right, that it is Richard or another delivery person, but her veins shrink as she hears Lotte squeal, ‘Sebbo!’

She’s not ready, not at all, so she closes her eyes, listens in darkness as Lotte and Seb talk, their voices indecipherable murmurs. His voice, the brutal unfairness of the whole thing, makes her grab the side of the sink and kick, hard, against one of the new units. She hasn’t, she tells herself, strictly done anything wrong, she hasn’t hurt or betrayed anyone, and yet, and yet …

Their voices are getting louder now, they’re coming for her, and she remembers her golden rule. Don’t let him see that you’re scared.

The swing doors to the kitchen open and Lotte’s soprano sing-songs, ‘Abi! Sebbo needs to have a word about school.’

She is ready.

Abi walks, wiping her hands on her apron, into the main restaurant. It’s bright compared to the cool, dark cave of the kitchen. Lotte is talking, something about being sent burgundy aprons instead of the magenta she ordered, but Abi hardly notices because there, fragile as a reed, is the man who with just a word could destroy her new life in Waverly. Their eyes meet and she settles a little because she knows he doesn’t have the strength to break her – not today, anyway.

‘Hello, Seb.’ Her voice is clear.

He twitches at the sound of his name on her lips. ‘Hi, Abi, sorry to disturb you at work, but I thought it best to discuss the matter I mentioned without the children around.’ He’s practised his lines and looks nauseous now that showtime has arrived.

Something through the window catches Lotte’s attention. ‘Oh shit, is that a traffic warden?’ She’s spotted a man in high vis, standing perilously close to her car. ‘Shit!’ she screams again before flying out of the door towards the warden.

The sound of the door banging closed seems to wake Seb up. When he meets Abi’s stare, his eyes have changed; now they’re full of anger. Welcome, Abi thinks, to my world.

‘What the fuck were you doing, Abi?’ He moves closer to her, saying her name like she repulses him. ‘In my fucking house? What is this? Some fucked-up bunny-boiler stunt?’

She hates him, then – hates him from the very root of her being.

‘Trust me, Mr Kent, this is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.’

He shakes his head, looks like he wants to rip hers from her shoulders, but his voice quakes. ‘I doubt that. I doubt that very much.’

Abi is careful to keep looking straight at him as she says, ‘Look, I had no idea you lived in Waverly, no idea you were Rosie’s husband.’

‘Bullshit.’

Rage takes her then, shakes her body and pushes her in the last direction her fear wants to move: even closer to him. ‘You piece of shit. I have just as much right to be here as you.’

‘Why the hell are you here?’ he demands, tiny flecks of spit exploding from his mouth.

‘Because this insanely privileged fucking bubble of a town is my chance to change my life. Waverly happens to be the best opportunity for my kids to live somewhere beautiful. Where people bitch about slugs in their allotments and their biggest issues are dog shit and potholes. OK?’

He looks startled, appalled perhaps that she is a person with a life, responsibilities, desires. He starts breathing quicker then, hyperventilating, heaving around his words. ‘I have children, too. A wife. God. I could lose everything.’

Abi stands back as he bends forward, hands on his knees, his breath coming in painful-sounding gasps. She watches him fight to control his breathing. When he looks up, there’s sweat on his brow, spittle at the corners of his mouth; his face has turned an unnatural red, just a shade lighter than the scar on his upper lip, the scar that had given him away in Rosie and Seb’s warm kitchen. Abi is worried he’ll need an ambulance if he doesn’t calm down. She pulls out the nearest dining chair.

‘Sit,’ she says, ‘for God’s sake.’

He does as he’s told, elbows on knees, starts sobbing into his hands, making a quiet choking sound. Abi glances out of the window to where Lotte is now shrieking at the poor traffic warden. They still have a couple of minutes. Abi turns back to Seb coming undone in front of her, wishes she could simply leave him here, walk away. But the rubble of his life is now mixed up with the rubble of hers. She has to stay.

‘Listen, Seb,’ she says as clearly as she can, ‘I haven’t come to Waverly because you’re here. I have no interest in hurting you. I’m not going to blackmail you or cause any trouble for you or your family. What happened between us was … well, it’s in the past.’

He looks up at her, his eyes swollen and raw. ‘What do you want, then?’

‘Like I said, I just want the same as everyone else. The opportunity to change my life. To be someone else.’

Listening to herself, she realizes how badly she wants to be here, to be part of something. It is only now, living in Waverly, that she appreciates how painful life was in London, always on the periphery.

‘I tried your phone – your old number,’ Seb says weakly.

‘I don’t use that number any more.’

‘So, you’ve totally changed?’

She wants to scream at him. But she knows she can’t. Not here, not in the fresh Waverly air, not with him in the clothes where he probably has a snack for his kids in the coat pocket, or when he can still feel the press of Rosie’s mouth on his cheek.

Abi knows better than to say ‘never’, so instead she shrugs and asks, ‘You?’

Seb stares at her, grinds his jaw. He swallows and says, like it absolves him of everything, ‘I love my wife.’

Abi doesn’t point out that that wasn’t what she asked.

He looks at her, brow furrowed, disgust twisting his mouth. It’s a look Abi knows well. Revulsion. Still, she’ll just about take it over pity. ‘Don’t you dare look at me like that.’

Seb hangs his head again and says, ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. All I want is to understand why you’re here. What it means. Obviously, no one knows.’ He glances again at her, hoping she’ll let him off, but she won’t. She’s been letting men off for years. She stares at him to make him keep talking and he does, but so quietly she can barely hear.

‘No one knows about us.’

‘Same here.’

He looks at her, startled. ‘What about your friends, your family?’

She could tell him the truth: that her only friends are her kids and an unpredictable Mexican chef who is also now her boss, and that her mum, still living on the estate where Abi grew up, hasn’t spoken to her for years. But she won’t tell him any of it because there’s already sorrow rippling across his brow and the truth would probably tip him over the edge. Just because she can cope with her story doesn’t mean other people can.

She just shakes her head.

‘Why are you here – in Waverly, I mean?’ he asks again.

She motions to the restaurant. ‘Like I said, for the opportunity. For my girls. For all of us. It was just time for me to move on. Just like you.’

He nods slowly, taking it in, taking the time to process the startling fact that she is just, well, ordinary.

‘What did you tell Rosie?’

He breathes out quickly and for a moment Abi thinks he’s going to start hyperventilating again, but he manages to keep himself steady. ‘I told her I had a migraine, that I had to lie down.’

‘She believed you?’ Abi knows the answer; Rosie isn’t stupid. Seb shakes his head.

‘After you left, she knew something was off. She asked if I knew you. I told her there was an issue with your daughter at school – a confidential thing – that you’d had a disagreement with one of the teachers and, well, that we’d had an awkward email exchange.’

‘Oh God.’

‘What was I supposed to do?’

‘Don’t bring my children into it!’

‘I’m sorry. I was in shock; I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘She won’t believe it. I would have mentioned something like that to her before meeting you.’

It is clear then that Seb might be many things, but he isn’t good at lying.

‘Rosie messaged me this morning,’ she continues.

Seb looks up. ‘What did she say?’

‘She invited me and the girls over on the weekend and, no, I haven’t replied yet.’

‘What are you going to say?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘Don’t – please don’t be flippant. This is my life, our lives we’re talking about.’

Abi’s about to ask whether he’s referring to him and her or to him and Rosie, but her eyes catch movement outside the window. The traffic warden is walking away from Lotte now, shaking his head, Lotte waving her arms, still ranting behind him.

They don’t have long.

Abi closes her eyes briefly. The veil between her old and new worlds is, in this moment, gossamer thin. She needs this to stop.

‘Look,’ she says softly but clearly, ‘we’ve got the same problem. It would be better – much better – for us both if no one finds out what happened.’

Seb nods. ‘I agree. I completely agree.’

Cool relief washes through Abi’s body.

‘I need you to distance yourself from my wife.’ Seb adds, ‘Please. No more messages, no more walks and no more invites to dinner.’

Anger ripples through her. She hates him, hates any man, especially this kind of man, dictating what she can and can’t do, but she concedes with a bow of her head. Friendship with Rosie – real, true friendship – is no longer possible anyway. How could it be when she’d previously washed her husband’s semen from between her legs? Another wasted relationship to add to the pile. But Rosie isn’t Abi’s focus now.

‘What about Lily, school?’

Seb puffs out his cheeks, glances briefly at the ceiling. ‘I’ll be professional.’ He looks Abi in the eye as he says, ‘I promise I won’t treat Lily any differently because of all this. She’s a good kid, talented; she’s got nothing to do with any of this.’

Abi looks back at him and for the first time she thinks she might cry; kindness has always moved her more than cruelty. But she reminds herself now, looking at Seb, that kindness can be just another act.

‘Don’t ever tangle my girls up in another lie.’

He nods. ‘I’m sorry I did that. I won’t do it again.’

Then he lifts his hand to his face, and he starts to sob again, little whimpering sounds.

The whimpering turns into a kind of growl before he does something unexpected: he moves closer, towards Abi.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

She’s confused. What’s he apologizing for? For the unfair distribution of luck? Or is he apologizing for something more mundane, more familiar to Abi; is he apologizing for the ugly thoughts he has about her? Or for wishing she didn’t exist, because the very fact of her reminds him of what he’s capable of, his duplicitous nature, the part of himself he has to work so hard to smother in all his fucking goodness?

She doesn’t know and, really, it doesn’t matter. Let his thoughts be his own. She wants nothing more to do with him. They both turn to see Lotte walking back towards the restaurant, her face gripped in anger, a yellow parking ticket twisting in her hand.

Abi takes a step back, away from Seb. ‘OK.’

She wants him to leave now but he asks again, needing more reassurance, ‘You won’t say anything?’

She looks at him one last time, directly into his pitiful, scared eyes. ‘No, Seb, I won’t. Just know that I’m protecting my children in this – not you. Is that clear?’

He nods and she’s glad he can’t say anything else even if he wanted to because Lotte’s back, a ball of spitting outrage as it turns out the laws of the land also apply to her and her Land Rover.

Neither Seb nor Lotte notices as Abi walks away from them both, back into the cool darkness of the kitchen.