Page 59 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

A week passes – another seven days of healing and hurting and learning to be independent again – during which I’m confronted with reality: Dave is getting on my nerves.

At first, we were fine. Cordial. He felt sorry for me, I felt sorry for him, and we knew this was only temporary. But I’m now considering a coma, just for a break. Not sure how I managed to leave my husband just to live with him again.

(Obviously grateful he’s looking after me and working very hard not to provoke him too much, else he wheels me out into the corridor, shuts the door, and forces me to fend for myself.)

‘Can you turn your phone on silent?’ he says, in the living room after it pings loudly with a text message. ‘Haven’t missed that since you left.’

It’s his favourite new saying. Haven’t missed that since you left.

‘Haven’t missed your frustrated snark,’ I reply. We hold each other’s gaze and enter a stalemate. I’m confident, without even asking, that he’s just as annoyed as I am by this situation. He’s been stomping around the place for days, snipping at me.

‘I can move in with Quinn if I’m bothering you so much.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, her building doesn’t have an elevator. And you barely know her.’

‘Funny,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I feel that way about you.’

Four more weeks until I’m cast-free, and I can move out.

Move on. Away from Dave, but also this overwhelming attention from others.

I love my friends, I do, but Genevieve, Bruce and Quinn have been popping around almost every day and it’s driving me a bit mad.

Sometimes all I want to do is lie down in silence.

I think of Graham’s mansion and feel that would’ve been a great place to recover, if he hadn’t sold it.

My phone beeps again – another text message from Graham checking in on me – and he groans loudly. ‘Seriously.’ Looking at me, he says, ‘We might need some rules. No phones on loud.’

I add, ‘Well then, no more complaining about visitors.’

‘No more saying “Aaaaaahhhhhhh” after every sip of your coffee.’

‘No more mumbling.’

He frowns, and suddenly, things accelerate.

I continue. ‘No more eating with your mouth open and letting food fall onto the plate.’

‘No more fake British accent when you’re trying to be funny.’

‘You told me you liked that!’

He looks pleased. ‘Yeah, well, I lied.’

‘No more lying.’

That one gags him for a moment, and guilt crosses his face. Then he recovers. ‘No more pretending your family doesn’t exist. And no more pretending you can do everything instead of asking for help.’

‘Oh, come on, that one is valid. If I need other people to do everything for me, I might explode,’ I say. ‘And I don’t forget that my family exist, I just …’ I cannot seem to finish my sentence.

‘I know.’ Then he runs a hand through his hair, before meeting my eye again. ‘How was it? The anniversary.’

Pause. ‘You’re not the only one who thinks I’ve forgotten my family.’

‘Naya still taking care of your mother?’

‘Every day.’

‘Is that the reason you haven’t told them about the accident?’

I nod. ‘She’ll turn up and take care of me. And I don’t think that’s very fair.’

‘She’s an adult – it’s her choice.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s not a choice – she can’t help it. My mother is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she’s just too nice to tell Naya that.’

He’s silent for a moment, and without even asking, I know he’s thinking about his mother. That downcast expression, that silence. It was a companion in our relationship for so many years.

He catches me watching him. ‘I’m fine.’

‘I hate it when you say that.’

‘When I say that I’m fine?’

‘When you pretend you’re fine,’ I say, letting out a frustrated groan. ‘Do you have any idea what it was like for me, living with you? Trying to help you? It was killing me, Dave. You were killing me.’

He looks like he’s been slapped.

‘Genevieve tells you I’m thinking of leaving and you don’t think to ask why ?’

‘I know why,’ he says.

‘No, you don’t,’ I say. ‘You don’t . I was going crazy. And I tried talking to you about it, but your mum was sick and you’d completely shut down and I realised we were so different and we barely spoke to each other. I had no one.’

‘You didn’t have no one.’

‘I had you. I had Genevieve. That was it. Everything else was yours, not mine. And I didn’t realise it until we split.’

He looks around, confused. ‘So I’m the bad guy for letting you into my life? Introducing you to my friends? My parents? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be stuck at that corner store.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ I say, pointing at him, finger trembling. Making sure he knows how much I believe this. ‘I would’ve left. Might’ve taken some time, might not have happened straight away, but I would’ve left.’

‘Right. Okay.’

‘God, I hate it when you say that. Right. Okay .’

He’s about to combust. ‘Jesus, what do you expect me to say?’ he splutters.

‘How about, sorry? Sorry, Charlie, that I shut you out. Sorry, Charlie, that I made you unhappy. Sorry, Charlie, that I wasted all that time you stayed with me because you felt too guilty to leave. And then when you did leave, sorry that I pestered you about an engagement ring you don’t even have, because you lost it and I was too self-obsessed to even notice. ’

He narrows his eyes. ‘What?’ His voice sounds guttural, sharp. ‘The ring,’ I say, slapping my hand onto my thigh. ‘I lost it, eight months before we split.’

I couldn’t do it. That afternoon with Quinn, I couldn’t buy a replacement just to accelerate the separation.

Couldn’t justify the money, couldn’t stand in front of Dave and pretend it was the same ring.

Couldn’t end our marriage on a lie. So, I’m doing what I should’ve done weeks ago – I’m telling him the truth and bracing for impact.

He pushes off from the sofa, steps closer to me. Affection gone. Smile gone. ‘You lost it?’ he asks, then looks down at my finger, as if needing to prove it’s not there. ‘Charlie, we had lawyers working on that settlement for months, waiting for that ring. You told me you had it.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You said you had it.’ He’s ferocious, fingers tense.

‘You assumed I had it.’

He pauses, realises his error. Runs a hand through his hair in frustration. ‘What a complete waste of everyone’s time.’

‘You’re not going to ask me how I lost it?’

‘Fine. How did you lose it?’

‘It fell into the harbour.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ He rubs a hand over his chin. ‘You lost it.’

‘And you never noticed.’

That stops him where he stands, though there’s still a fury in his face that he’s doing his best to contain. ‘You should have told me.’

I pick at my fingernails. ‘I was trying to work out what to do. What to say to you.’

‘The truth?’ he says, hands on hips. ‘How about that?’

‘I was still so mad, in the beginning. Mad about her.’

He groans. ‘At some point you’re going to have to get over that. It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘I will never get over it. Never . You have a child , Dave. A living, breathing child. And you treat her like she’s nothing.

The second I found out, there was no going back.

Sometimes I wish it was an affair. I wish it was a woman and that you slept with someone else.

I’d still hate you, but I wouldn’t be so disgusted by you. ’

He looks away.

‘You kept that secret from me for years, and you had no right. Maybe I would’ve understood, if you told me from the beginning.

Maybe . But you didn’t give me the chance.

Now you can tell your lawyer this is done.

All of this is done. There’s no ring, no possibility of a ring.

After I move out, we move on. Live our lives. ’

He points at me. ‘Both of us are responsible here. Both of us. You were going to leave me.’

‘I was thinking of leaving you.’

He scoffs. ‘You never wanted to marry me. You never wanted this .’ He gestures between us. ‘You wasted my time.’

‘ You wasted my time.’

He is defiant. ‘Both of us ended this marriage. Both .’

‘I’m not accepting that,’ I say. ‘This is not my fault. I was there for you, the entire time. When your mum was sick, when you weren’t speaking to anyone, when you weren’t leaving the bed. I stayed with you.’

He stills, looking at me. Grave, haunted. ‘You make it sound like it was a chore.’

Maybe it was, now that I think on it. ‘You didn’t try to save this until I was gone. You were surprised when I left, but you knew it was coming. You knew I was unhappy, and you didn’t do anything about it.’

He wasn’t expecting me to challenge him on it. I’ve stumped him for a moment, then he nods, as if accepting the retort. Holds up his hands. ‘Okay, fine, yes. I didn’t do anything about it. I can accept that.’

I press my fingers into my forehead, overwhelmed by where this argument went.

Dave is, evidently, not quite finished. ‘God, this is so done, isn’t it? We’re so done.’

‘We would’ve split eventually,’ I say. ‘If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been you. This wouldn’t have lasted forever. You know that, right?’

He doesn’t answer me. Simply blinks, swallows, looks down, and then steps back. Straightened and stoic. Finally, he says, ‘You’re insufferable.’

‘You haven’t even told your dad we’ve split. It’s been months.’

‘I know how long it’s been,’ he snaps. He rests a hand on one hip, balls the other into a fist. ‘I fucking loved you, you know. Why do you think I’m here?

Looking after you. Do you know how many times I watched that video of Graham falling over, just so I could see you? You looked good. I hate that.’

The room grows silent, and neither of us quite know what to do. Dave starts wiping down the kitchen bench, which doesn’t need wiping, and I pick at the frayed ends of my arm cast.

‘Do you regret moving here with me?’ he asks, finally. ‘Do you wish you stayed?’

Those are two different questions, and I’m not sure if they have the same answer. Not that I need to give an answer, because he’s already rattling off another one.

‘Was I really killing you?’

And I’m certain of that one. Know exactly how I feel about that question. Yes, you were. Slowly, piece by piece, you were killing us both.

And I let you.