want to see her, or it might be one of his family, or Simone. I don't want to be the perfect wife this evening; I don’t have to be any more, except the bell’s still ringing. Can people not just leave me alone? I turn off the vacuum and go to the door and I am so angry. If one more person tells me what a wonderful man I’ve just lost then God help them.
I open the door and it’s Noel.
He wasn’t at the funeral today.
He looks terrible. I think how hard this is for him-all the shame and betrayal that he’s facing.
‘Are the kids there?’ He can't look at me and I can hardly look at him either – another person who’s been screwed over by the Jamesons. ‘I was supposed to pick them up from here,’ he explains.
‘Sorry.’ I drag my mind back to the wake. ‘Daniel was upset; I think they left with Hugh and Alice.’ I’m all mixed up; I want to get back to my cleaning. ‘I thought Gloria was supposed to be picking them up?’
‘God knows,’ Noel says. ‘You never know what's bloody going on with that lot.’ His voice is so full of bitterness. He sounds like I feel. He turns to walk away and I admire him, because he doesn’t thank me, or offer his condolences, he’s just through with the Jameson shit.
‘I don't know what Eleanor was thinking.’ I see him halt and I’m probably the first person in this family to actually address it, but the thing is, I'm not in this family. I hover on the outside, I'm barely tolerated, I’m the bitch who ended the happy family dream and God, did they judge me harshly for it.
It's all right for them though, when they do it – it’s not the same rules for them when Eleanor cheats.
Excuse me, but yes it is.
I am not religious – I think we all get that but I do remember something about removing the splinter in your eye so you can see the plank, or is it removing the plank so you can see the splinter?
I’m not thinking very straight at the moment, but I’m the plank and Eleanor gets to be the splinter.
Eleanor gets to lie in bed and be fussed over and looked after and I’m still the bitch.
I look at Noel, always smart, always polite, always doing his part. ‘I think she's mad to do what she did when she had you at home.’ I’m telling him what I would like to hear; I say the words that I want someone to say to me.
He turns around.
‘What's everyone saying?’ His eyes search my face. ‘I’m so embarrassed,’ raw is his admission. ‘I’m so ashamed.’
‘She's the one who should be ashamed.’ And then I say it again, but it’s with different meaning. I can’t really explain it, but it suddenly tips – I’m talking about me, saying what I want to hear, what I want people to think about me but Noel must be feeling as crap and as low as I am, Noel’s ego must need a little inflate and it’s like I’ve got an industrial strength pump – I stand on the step and I blow and I blow. ‘I don’t know what she was thinking. I’d give anything to have a guy like you and she’s just pissed all over it.’ He walks back to me. ‘You’re gorgeous Noel,’ his face is on mine, his tongue’s in my mouth and mine’s in his and we’re savage. His hands are on my breasts, his mouth is at my ear. ‘She’s mad to want anyone else.’
We grapple each other, his mouth pushes me through the front door and we’re in my hallway.
I don’t have any knickers on, I don’t have on a bra and his hands are just everywhere and so too are mine.
It’s a minute.
Another moment in your life where suddenly everything has changed.
We can’t look at each other after.
We closed the front door, thank God.
I only know that because, after a minute of stunned silence, he arranges his clothes and then opens it.
There’s nothing to discuss.
It happened.
It never should have.
I don't even fancy him - not once when he’s done Charlotte’s teeth have I looked at him in that way. That's not me being a good wife or step mum, I'm being honest - there has been no simmering tension between us. I go to the window, my hand shaking as I peek through the blind and