the words that had been buzzing round my mind, so close to the surface that a mere scratch could release them into the atmosphere, I hissed, ‘You need to make your mind up whether you want to stay in this marriage. Because right now, it feels like our whole lives are dictated by another woman’s child.’
And without allowing him to answer, I stabbed the call-end button, switched my phone off and sat crying in the dark until I’d finished the whole bottle of wine. I stumbled up the stairs, hoping to conk out into a dreamless sleep but instead had to doze sitting up to stop the room spinning.
When I next opened my eyes, Patrick was in the room.
‘When did you come back?’ As I peered out of sandpapery eyes with the stink of alcohol leaking out of me, I had a fleeting thought that my threat of ending our marriage might be a relief to him.
‘I’ve just got in. I waited until five a.m. to be sober enough to drive – I’d had a few glasses of wine at the dinner, but nothing major.’
I lifted my head off the pillow, then lay back down again.
He gave a little half-smile. ‘Shall I bring you a cup of tea?’
I nodded. ‘Can you open the window?’
I pulled the duvet around me, wondering if I was up to this, whether I could find the energy to gather all the pieces of our lives and sew them back together, if not in a coherent form, at least in a way that we all had half a chance of being happy. Ginny would have scoffed at my lack of ambition – ‘Half a chance of being happy! Such dizzying heights! Go wild!’
I still wished she was here to talk to about the very problem she’d caused. My heart was reluctant to relinquish the love I felt for her.
Patrick came back and placed a cup of tea on the bedside table. He also had a carrier bag with him. He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Did you try and find the answer in Sauvignon Blanc?’
‘I did, but it didn’t come up with anything.’ I tried to make a joke, but my eyes filled.
He sat on the bed.
Through half-open lips, I said, ‘Don’t come too close. I haven’t cleaned my teeth.’
He sighed. ‘Trust you to worry about that. Why don’t you go and clean them so we can talk without you sounding like a ventriloquist’s dummy?’
I swung my legs out of bed, my stomach heaving as I moved, self-conscious about my utilitarian pyjamas, as though I should have been floating about in something silky as an advert for ‘what you will be missing if we don’t sort this shit out.’
Since Ginny died, life seemed to be one long run of resolving crises. It was hard to remember when we’d had any conversations resembling fun chit-chats. Of late, everything had revolved around firefighting discussions over how to manage Phoebe’s behaviour or support Victor. Was this what marriage was about? Not giving up? Just gritting your teeth and buggering on? I’d hoped for more than that out of life.
I cleaned my teeth and got back into bed.
Patrick looked so forlorn, it was tempting to brush everything under the carpet and tell him that I’d had too much to drink and didn’t mean anything I said.
‘For what it’s worth, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d done it all differently.’ He paused. ‘But I can’t be sad that I’m getting a chance to know my son. I do understand how difficult that is for you. And if anyone has to pay the price for this mess, it must be me, not Victor. He really didn’t do anything wrong.’
And there it was, the little heart snag that Patrick was offering himself in Victor’s place. Like all good dads, I supposed. I veered between respecting him for it and a sick jealousy over that fundamental dad/son bond that obliterated any union manufactured by marriage.
‘Can you run me through exactly what happened last night, starting with Faye?’ He smoothed the duvet, his eyes cast down as though he didn’t want to look at me, but whether that was to avoid my pain, I didn’t know.
I filled him in.
‘So Georgia is here? In Phoebe’s room, I hope?’
Despite considering throwing caution to the wind last night, I still felt irrationally annoyed at Patrick’s question. ‘Yes. I managed to ensure no one got pregnant on my watch, all on my own.’
Patrick’s face tightened. ‘So the big question