Two months and two weeks later
“Can I come ’round?”
Laurie answered Dan’s call while she was walking to the tram after work, as Manchester’s late-autumn/early-winter temperature felt like it was stripping the skin from her face. She loved her city, but it wasn’t so hospitable in November.
It had not been an easy time. Ten weeks since the split, and Laurie felt almost as distraught as she did the day Dan left. Whenever their paths crossed at work, they had to chat vaguely normally so as not to arouse suspicion, because no one had figured it out yet. And as Laurie couldn’t bear the idea of their relationship being picked apart, she hadn’t done anything about it. It wasn’t a sensible thing to be doing, as grown-ups, not now they were living apart: they needed to face it. They’d also managed to keep it a secret from the rest of their Chorlton friendship group by pleading prior commitments to a few events or, in a couple of cases, attending singularly and lying through their teeth. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—be the one to break the deadlock, as she hoped against hope they’d simply never need to tell everyone about this blip. She hoped the fact Dan didn’t want it known was a sign.
Laurie was no closer to understanding what the hell had happened. What did she do wrong? She couldn’t stop asking that.
Tracing the steps by which Dan fell out of love with her was excruciating and yet she guessed she had to do it, or be fated to repeat it.
Her only conclusion was that a distance must have developed between them, so slowly as to be imperceptible, so small as to be overlooked. And it had gradually lengthened.
Of course, the one person she had told, next to her mum, was Emily, ten days after the fact, who’d unexpectedly burst into tears for her. They’d been sitting in a cheapo basement dim sum bar under harsh strip lighting, a place that was usually quiet midweek. Laurie had asked for a table right at the back so she could heave and whimper without too many curious looks.
After hearing the details of Emily’s most recent work trip, a jaunt to Miami for a tooth-whitening brand with soulless corporate wonks, Laurie steeled herself and cleared her throat.
“Em, I have something to tell you.”
Emily’s gaze snapped up from raking over the noodles section. Her hand immediately shot out and grabbed Laurie’s wrist tightly. Then her eyes moved to Laurie’s wine and her expression was more quizzical.
“Oh God! Not that,” Laurie said. “Nope. I’m safe to drink.”
She took a deep breath. “Dan and I have split up. He’s left me. Not really sure why.”
Emily didn’t react. She almost shrugged, and did a small double take. “You’re kidding? This is a wind-up. Why would you do that?”
“No. One hundred percent true. It’s over. We’re over.”
“What? You’re serious?”
“I’m serious. Over. I am single.”
Laurie was trying that phrase out. It sounded a crazy reach, while being hard fact.
“He’s finished with you?”
“Yes. He has finished with me. We are separated.”
Laurie noticed that someone “finishing” with someone else was such savage language. They canceled you. You are over. Your use has been exhausted.
“Laurie, are you being serious? Not a break? You’ve split up?”
“Yes.”
Laurie was holding it together better than she expected. Then Emily’s eyes filled up and Laurie said, “Oh God, don’t cry,” her voice cracking, as beige lines streaked rivers through Emily’s foundation.
“Sorry, sorry.” Emily gasped. “I—can’t believe it. It can’t be real? He’s having a moment or something.”
That immediate understanding from her closest friend had been the straw to break the stoic camel’s back, and Laurie and Emily had wept together until the waitress slapped two large glasses of wine down on their table, muttering “On the house,” before hastily beating a retreat. Here’s to sisterhood.
“Why? Has he had some sort of stroke?” Emily said, when she got her breath back.
Laurie put both palms up in a fuck knows gesture and felt what a comfort her best friend was. She’d been there from the start, since Laurie and Dan’s freshers’ week meet-cute. She was completely invested; Laurie didn’t have to explain the preceding eight seasons for her to be blown away at the finale. Finale, or midseason hiatus?
“He says he doesn’t feel it, us, anymore. The night we’d been out in the Refuge, afterward he was waiting up for me, and it came out. He’d been thinking about leaving for a while. Which, you know, is fantastic to hear.” She paused. “We’d been talking about coming off the pill.”
Emily winced.
“Ohhhh, so it’s fear of fatherhood? Growing up, responsibility?”
“I asked that, and also said that we could rethink having kids, but no. He’s decided our life makes him feel like he’s on a fast track to death and has to go rediscover himself.”
“Could it be a trial separation? Putting you two on pause, while he twats about off the grid in Goa, like he’s Jason Bourne? God, whenever I forget why I hate men, one of them reminds me.”
Laurie laughed hollowly.
“Nope, I doubt it.” She couldn’t admit to any lingering hope she felt, it was too tragic. Other parties needed to fully accept it, on her behalf. “He’s found a flat. We’re going to work out the money in the next few weeks. Then that’s us done, I guess. He’s offered to trade the car for furniture so there will be no wagon wheel coffee table haggling.” Laurie’s throat seized up again.
“I don’t know what to say, Loz. He loves you to bits, I know he does. He worships the ground you walk on, he always has done. This is madness. This is an episode.”
Laurie nodded. “Yeah. It doesn’t make sense. The Didn’t See It Coming, At All, factor is fucking with my head really badly.” She lapsed into silence to stanch the tears.
“Well, tonight just got even drunker,” Emily said eventually, catching the waitress’s eye to signal another round.
In the end they’d finished the night in an even grottier bar down the street, two bottles of wine down and one heavy tip for the poor waitress who’d had to clear up their snotty tissues. The memory of the morning after still made Laurie wince today. Anyone who moaned about hangovers in their twenties should be forced to suffer a hangover in their late thirties.
The worst of it was, after the fireworks of Dan’s declaration that he was leaving and that first shock of grief, the awful banality of “getting on with it” was its own horror.
“Never mind the fact I’ll be expected to do monkey sex in swings, like they have in Nine Inch Nails songs, who will I text boring couple stuff to, ever again? Like what shall we have for tea, pre-pay day? Who will I ask if they want ‘baked potatoes and picky bits’ on a cheap Monday?” Laurie had demanded of Emily. “Lots of people like baked potatoes!” she had promised.
It was the end of another night of boozy mourning, and as they waited on the corner for their Ubers to appear, Emily had nudged Laurie (probably slightly harder than intended).
“Laurie, you know you’re going to get the Sad Dads sliding into your DMs any day now.”
Laurie barked a laugh. “Doubt it. Don’t assume that how men are with you is how they are with me.”
“Seriously, they’re shameless. Absolutely no idea of respectful pause, straight in there: Hey, I hear you’re back on the market, allow me to place the initial bid. I’ve heard this lament from the girls at work so many times. The men all think they’re catches and they’re often still with their wives. They think you’ll be desperately grateful for any cheer-up cock they can offer.” Emily cupped her hands into a bowl shape: “‘Please, sir, can I have some more?’”
When they’d finished sniggering, Laurie had said, “I don’t get that sort of attention. The attention you do.”
She felt so wholly unprepared to be back out there. As Emily pointed out, she’d never really been there.
“Because a huge part of getting that sort of attention is signaling you’re up for that sort of attention.”
“Hah. I can’t even think about it. I can’t imagine ever being any good for anyone ever again. I think Dan’s ruined me.”
“OK, but don’t rule out the healing power of a purely physical fling. Sometimes, you don’t need face-holding I Love You intense meaningful sex. What you need is some hench dipshit with superior body strength to pin your wrists above your head and pound you with a virile meanness.”
Laurie groaned while Emily grinned triumphantly.
“Did you briefly forget your pain?”
“Absolutely,” Laurie said, leaning her head on Emily’s tiny shoulder. She had the proportions of a malnourished Hardy heroine on a windswept moor. She was definitely a heroine though, never a victim.
This call from Dan was officially the first time he’d reached out to her to “talk” in ten weeks though. Could it be . . . could he be . . . ? No, squelch that thought.
“Yeah. What, to pick stuff up? You still have your key?” she said to Dan, hedging her bets, though she knew “picking up some stuff” was a text, not a phone call.
“No, I’m coming ’round to see you.”
“What for?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Laurie breathed in and breathed out. Right. She’d known this would happen. Almost from the first moment Dan had said he was going. Yet it coming true so soon still took her aback.
“What about?”
“I think it’s best said face-to-face. Is seven all right?”
Laurie’s heartbeat sped up, because she could hear the strain behind the casual delivery. Dan was scared. She felt oddly scared herself. What did she have to be frightened about? It was for her to weigh her answer.
She already knew what her answer would be. So did he.
They would have to creak through the formalities of his groveling apologies, his prepared explanations for how he could’ve got it so catastrophically wrong, his vigorous heartfelt promises that he’d never mess her around again. The pledge to live in the doghouse at first, to do better, to try harder. (That’s a point, there’d never be a better time to get that puppy she’d unsuccessfully campaigned for.) Tentatively working out how penitent he was prepared to be—did they raise the issue of Laurie being on or off the pill? Did Laurie want to proceed directly to parenthood with a man who’d left her on her own, while he worked through his fear of death in a sterile semi-furnished place near Whitworth Street?
No, absolutely not. He could move back into the spare room and they could take it slowly. Laurie was still in love with Dan but she was also realistic enough to know they would have a different relationship after this. It was a large wound. It had left her unable to trust him. It would take years to recover fully. It would take years before, if he said they needed to talk, she wouldn’t be expecting rejection and a mad flit again.
She got in and put the lights on, tried to figure out what outfit she could change into that would make her look attractive enough to suit her dignity but not like she’d dressed up for him. In the end she went for jeans and a hip-length jersey top she’d not worn in a while that showed off her more prominent collarbones, and a dark shade of lipstick from a worn-down nub of an Estée Lauder matte long-lasting she rummaged for in the bathroom cupboards. Then she rubbed it off with toilet paper and grimaced at herself. She wasn’t going to look like she’d been yearning and praying for this moment, even if she had been.
Dan knocked on the door dead-on seven p.m. and Laurie felt his nerves in this uncharacteristic punctuality. When you’re so far on the back foot that you don’t want any other single thing counting against you.
He was in a new jacket, a sage-green padded puffy thing she’d have told him not to buy, and she vaguely wondered if he’d dressed up for this too. Him having clothes she’d not seen jangled her. It wasn’t how she pictured him, in the intervening time. She’d been wondering if she could stand to turn him down, to make him spend longer in purgatory. The fact she felt undermined by the fact he’d bought winterwear without consulting her told her she didn’t have anything like the strength.
Dan sat down and refused Laurie’s offer of a beer—“I’m driving”—which she took to be him signaling that he didn’t expect a yes, wasn’t being complacent.
“Thanks for seeing me,” he said, and Laurie frowned.
“A bit formal? Are we communicating as lawyers now?”
He shifted his weight and coughed and didn’t make any cautious gesture of amusement.
A tiny amount of dread entered Laurie’s body. She couldn’t read him.
“Was it to say something in particular?”
“Yes . . . OK. God. There’s no good way of saying this.”
Using that line again? Jesus. She remained impassive. He didn’t deserve the smallest amount of help and she’d hate herself if she gave it to him. It was bad enough she was taking him back.
“I wanted you to be the first to know.”
Laurie’s palms were suddenly slick, and she could feel the pulse in her wrist. I wanted you to be the first to know was a REALLY fucking odd introduction to I made a mistake. If not that, what?
Was he off to find himself in the outback, despite her mockery over his poor globe-trotter credentials? She was going to have to grit her teeth through Christmas, desperately hoping he’d not encountered any misfortune while hiking through remote dusty areas of the planet? Desperately scanning his Facebook, hoping he’d post a proof-of-life photo, looking tanned and craggy?
“First to know what?” Laurie said finally into the agonizing silence, during which Dan’s face was etched with grave worry.
“I’ve met someone.”
The phrase smashed into the living room like a meteorite, taking out the fireplace, leaving a smoking crater. She physically recoiled. He’d come here to say he was with another woman? Already? Laurie had not, for a single second, entertained that this was what happened next. Not this fast. He’d only just moved out. How was this possible?
“Met someone?” she repeated incredulously, staring at the prefaded, pretend-worn knees on his indigo jeans, clothes which she realized she’d not seen before either.
Dan nodded.
“You’re together, like a couple?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve slept with someone?”
This was patently a stupid question, a teenager’s question, given he’d called them a couple. Laurie was so far beyond dealing with this that she had no process between the rapid firing in her brain, and her mouth.
Dan twisted his hands together and said:
“Yes.”
Laurie wanted to scream, or sob. Until now, his leaving was only words, a temporary absence, and a three-month lease. A few patching-up conversations with their parents and Emily, a year that you “put behind you” when you raised a glass at the New Year bells.
Now it was definitive: he’d done something he couldn’t undo. Laurie steadied herself, with great effort, and asked, “But—we’ve barely split up? It’s been weeks?”
Dan didn’t reply to this, but carried on. “She’s called Megan. She works at Rawlings.”
Giving her a name made it real. Laurie tried to quell her spinning stomach, and racing mind, to focus. There would be time to fall apart later. Lots of it. Rawlings, a rival firm. Someone he’d met in court.
“And you started seeing her when?” she said with restrained force.
Dan twisted his hands some more.
“Few weeks back. A month or so.”
“But you knew her already?”
“Yeah. A year, year and a half.”
“Did I really mean this little? That you could move on this quick?”
He was silent.
“What the FUCK, Dan? What?! Please explain this because I’m not close to understanding how you could be this ruthless?”
“It’s not something I planned,” he said eventually. “I think . . . the end is more recent for you than for me, in that I wasn’t happy for a while.”
“Oh God, so we’re back to the idea you’d been miserable for ages?”
“No, not ages!”
It was over. He was with someone else. Yet Laurie was already asking herself how they came back from this. There is no “they,” a voice told her. There is “them” now. Have you gone deaf?
“You fucking sadist,” Laurie said, shrill but hoarse. “Who are you? I don’t even know. I really don’t even know.”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, Laurie told herself. Not yet, though it felt like she had psychically collapsed in on herself, like a dying star.
She had an enemy, a nemesis, a rival she never knew about, who had climbed into bed with her long-term partner when, somehow, Laurie wasn’t looking.
Laurie hadn’t for a second considered there was anyone else. When she asked Dan that question, that first night, it was more to embarrass him than anything. To point up the seriousness and the stakes of his actions to him. Laurie was braced to receive Dan back, and now this?
And when exactly did it start?
She held up a trembling hand and counted off on her fingers. “You’ve been gone ten weeks, Dan, and you got together with her a few weeks back. And she’s already important enough for you to come ’round and tell me about? Something’s not quite adding up, is it? This is Concorde speed.”
Dan blew air out. He looked like his jaw had locked, that he was finding it difficult to speak. He couldn’t look at her. “Obviously we were friends, before. Only friends though, nothing happened.”
“But you knew that you were going to get together with her when you left me, didn’t you?”
Dan was vigorously shaking his head but Laurie knew the bones of him, she’d known him half her life. She could see in his eyes that he was lying. Never mind that, she could see on the bare timeline here, he was lying. No intuition needed, that’s how staggeringly obvious his cruelty was.
“Nothing happened before . . .”
“Don’t try to fucking out-lawyer a lawyer, Dan. ‘Nothing happened’—meaning you waited to have sex until you told me you were leaving me. But she was right there, lined up. You left me for her.”
He shook his head but again Laurie could see he had no words, without completely perjuring himself.
Laurie still loved Dan deeply, and yet with the excruciating pain he was inflicting on her, she felt the banal truism of there being a fine line between love and hate.
Laurie knew that most people were murdered by someone they knew; she’d stood up in court and argued for the killers’ bail applications while they wept not only about their fate, but about their loss.
In this moment, she understood why.
