Page 2 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER ONE

My marriage lasts two years.

Less, if we omit those final couple of weeks when everything imploded. When we stopped speaking to each other. When I discovered what he’d been hiding.

It’s November, almost two months since I left him.

The weather is crisp but bearable, and it’s the first time I’ve worn make-up in six weeks.

First time I’ve braved a social event. This is a momentous occasion, ready to be etched in stone.

I’m wearing heels and I put volumising tonic in my hair, for Christ’s sake.

I plucked my eyebrows for this! I’m rising from the dead, I’ve decided.

‘Are you sure that you’re okay?’

Beside me, Genevieve cradles a bottle of champagne and her handbag. We’re deep in the suburbs, Saturday evening. Minivans and station wagons line the street, with basketball hoops in driveways, chalk art adorning the footpaths, and tended flower patches in front of every home.

Outside Josie’s house, balloons are tied to the letterbox.

Battling a rather ferocious wind, Genevieve gives her head a shake to try and keep her hair away from her face. It’s longer now, cascading down her back. A section somehow slips into her mouth and with a graceless puh puh puh she spits it out. ‘Jesus, this wind is not a vibe.’

I tuck the birthday gift under an arm and relieve her of the champagne.

‘Do I look okay?’ she asks, tucking hair behind her ears.

Lord, she looks matted. Absolutely psychotic. ‘You look great.’

Her mouth flattens out; she knows I’m lying. Running a hand through her red hair, she attempts to tame it. Licks her fingers to calm down the flyaways. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘Am I sure I want to do this?’ Pause. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

Time to live my life again. I’ve been stowed away in Genevieve and Bruce’s apartment for six weeks and it’s essential I move on.

Get back out there, reconnect with friends, leave the house for something other than work, shower at least once a day, et cetera.

If I am to believe all the lady websites, I am still a confident, successful woman who can achieve things!

‘Because we can go home, if you’d prefer.’

To her two-bedroom apartment? Another night where the three of us squeeze together on the sofa and Genevieve asks me how I’m feeling every ten minutes while Bruce throws out ideas on how I could spend my time now that I’m separated from Dave?

Nature stuff, sex with strangers (the younger the better), drinking (the more the better), facials, tattoos, training for marathons, signing up to dating apps.

All suggestions provided by his colleagues who are divorced.

It seems I’ve now entered some sort of club for the separated. The advice comes free.

No.

My first outing will be Josie’s fortieth birthday party.

No more feeling sorry for myself. A raucous, booze-fuelled celebration with my friends, without Dave, is exactly what I need.

It’s also important for me to profusely apologise that I have not contacted them in almost two months.

Been busy processing the end of my ten-year relationship and all that.

‘You look great,’ Genevieve says.

‘I think I’m wearing too much foundation.’ Instinctively, I touch my face.

She slaps my hand away. ‘No, you look good.’

‘My hair is scraggly. It needs a trim.’

‘It’s been scraggly since birth.’ She chuckles. ‘No offence.’

We approach Josie’s front door – tall, wooden with two brass handles carved into parrots rested on tree branches, their heads tipped down. The handles were plucked from the depths of a vintage store shelf, Josie once told me.

Genevieve hits the doorbell, and we wait. Josie’s easily distracted and never on time, but she makes up for it with grand hand gestures and a soothing voice (and homemade body lotion that she gifts by the litre).

Genevieve rings the bell again, and then the door swings open with a great oomph . Josie’s voice projects from within. ‘Hello-h my god. Charlie ?’ Her arms fling out beside her, wide like the body of a tree.

‘Happy birthday!’ I chant.

She stands in the doorway, frozen. Her jaw lowered, hip popped to the side.

I ogle her outfit for a moment. She’s always dressed so ethereally.

White, billowing dresses with ankle-high boots.

Plaited hair. Tonight, she’s wearing a tan, lacy dress.

Black sandals with straps wrapped around her lower legs all the way up her calves.

Birthday party tonight, off to fight the Romans tomorrow.

Behind her, a group of people are mid-conversation near the kitchen, and behind them more guests congregate by the hallway. And somewhere, maybe out in the yard, they’ve got music playing – folk, Josie’s favourite.

‘You’re here ,’ she says, collecting herself and pulling me into a hug. ‘You made it. Oh god, we’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve been such a ghost, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ she says, releasing the hug. ‘I was hoping you would come.’ Then she whispers, ‘When Dave told us he couldn’t make it, I did wonder if that meant we’d see you.’

Well, yes, that did sway me. I wonder how long it’ll be like this – Dave and me, alternating appearances. Dave and me, avoiding each other.

‘I couldn’t miss your big four-o.’

She winces on big .

I gesture beside me. ‘You remember Genevieve, don’t you?’

Josie’s eyes squint while she works to place her. ‘The school teacher?’

Genevieve frowns. Of all the ways someone could identify her, and Josie goes with school teacher . ‘That’s me.’

‘We met at Charlie and Dave’s wedding?’ Josie says. Tone rising at the end, unsure.

Now we’re all silent because Josie mentioned my wedding. She’s looking at the floor like she wishes she could fall into it. Great stuff.

I divert, gesturing to Josie’s dress. ‘You look lovely.’

‘Thank you.’ She waves her hand to the side. ‘Well, come in, come in.’ Swinging the door wide, Genevieve steps through first.

Josie clocks the bottle of champagne in my arms. ‘Oh, how lovely of you to bring that. Let me pop it in the kitchen.’

She plucks it from my hands and slips away, and I’m left alone at the threshold with Genevieve. And that’s when I notice how pale she looks. How her body sways.

Suddenly, her face falls. Her mouth parts. She rests a hand on the wall next to her.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

She nods, but her eyes are unfocused, one hand over her mouth.

‘You sure? Bathroom is down the corridor on your left—’

She slips away, darting through the living room and past some of the guests, her black and white cotton skirt flowing out behind her. Should I follow? Call Bruce? She seemed perfectly fine on the drive here, and outside.

When Josie returns, she does not notice Genevieve’s absence. Simply brushes a piece of her pale chestnut-coloured hair out of her face and tells me that she’s missed me.

‘Sorry I haven’t called,’ I say. ‘I haven’t contacted anyone, really, except Genevieve and my family. And work, obviously. Took some time off to move in with G.’

‘You’re living with Genevieve now? We were all wondering.’

We were all wondering . She means the group – all six of them. Josie and Shaun, her husband, Cinar (interchangeable girlfriend not included), Emmanuel and his husband, Diego. Dave. I picture them together, huddled, dissecting what I did, what might’ve happened, where I’ve fled to.

Still standing at the threshold, I angle forward. Peek inside the home. Cast an eye over the wooden furnishings, the mandala rugs, the hanging ferns. All the natural light and high ceilings – I’ve been envious of this house since the first time I visited.

Then, I glance over the guests. No one I recognise.

‘Shaun?’ I enquire.

Josie waves her hand to the side, her wrist limp and face slack, as if to say who cares about my husband . ‘He’s here, somewhere.’ Then she runs an eye over my rust-coloured, waist-hugging strapless dress. ‘You look great.’

Her tone is genuine but she seems surprised. Like maybe I’m not expected to look good after leaving my husband.

I crane my neck around the corner and continue spying on the guests. ‘Have the others arrived yet?’

The others . The rest of our group. Not sure what’s going to become of it now that Dave and I have split. After ten years together, it’s all going to be different, isn’t it? The annual holiday to the mountains in May, the bi-yearly couples’ game nights, all those cheese and wine tastings.

‘Is that for me?’ Josie points at the present I’m holding.

‘Oh. Yes.’ I hand it over. ‘It’s just something small. To say happy birthday.’

‘This is very thoughtful. Thank you.’

Seeing her brings me a beautiful kind of comfort, and I feel instantly calm. I was nervous before, and now I’m not. Like a bucket of water poured over me, I’m reborn. Everything is in the past, and here we are, moving forward.

‘I really have missed you,’ I say, as her expression softens. ‘How have you been?’

‘Busy. So busy. Work, and the kids, and Shaun. And my parents . Wait until I tell you the conversation I had with them last week. It was unbelievable.’

Yes, please tell me. I’d love to be told that! I’ll talk about anything! Anyone. I’ll let you chew my ear off about lotion scents, if that’s what you want.

But then she changes the subject. ‘I’m sorry about you and Dave.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ll just say this quickly and then we can move on. I was so shocked when Shaun told me. We’d seen the two of you at Emmanuel’s pot luck dinner and everything seemed fine. And then one week later, Dave tells us you’ve left him. Out of the blue, just like that.’

Silence. Then she adds, ‘While he was in hospital with a broken hand.’

Jesus Christ , she’s mentioned the hand.

Somehow, in all the hoopla of leaving my husband, I’d completely forgotten about his broken hand!

Dave was in a hospital bed when I left him, and I know I’m meant to feel guilty about that.

But I don’t. For once, I don’t have to mend him.

For once, he is going to have to learn how to survive on his own.