Same old routine, she told herself, checking her face in the mirror for marks. Different argument, but the same old routine.
She didn’t know how much longer she could keep repeating this cycle, but equally she didn’t know how to get off. The pressure builds, his behaviour gets worse, then he hurts me. That time he punched her in the face and knocked her out cold, that time he shut her hand in the door, that time he grabbed a handful of hair and smacked her head against the wall… she was his release valve. Hurting her made him feel better. But when he told her he was sorry and begged for forgiveness, she believed him. Every bloody single time she believed him.
She decided she’d enjoy the early morning silence for a short while longer, then go and wake him up for work. He’d be full of apologies and remorse again, no doubt, blame it on the booze or on her or on Jeremy… anyone but himself. It’ll never happen again, I swear, he’d tell her like he always did.
She knew what Scott was. She’d known it for a long time. It still made her laugh that she was the one getting help! Her counsellor had been helping her identify her own faults and start working through them so she could better deal with Scott’s. The pills, the therapy… all necessary because there was a part of her which still wanted this to work. Needed it to work. She had loved Scott to begin with – honestly, genuinely – and maybe she still did. She still believed there was a chance she could get those feelings back despite everything he’d put the family through. This move, this house, this place: all just temporary setbacks. That’s what the therapist had said when she’d told him she was moving away.
The house was in a real bloody state. An absolute bloody pigsty. It pissed her off how it was all left to her again. The division of labour in this family was so bloody unfair. She gave, they all took. No, wait… that was unfair. The girls helped when they could, regularly looking after George so she could get on with everything else. This morning, though, this kitchen seemed to perfectly sum up hers and Scott’s relationship. She worked hard to keep it clean and comfortable, he’d just come along with a sledgehammer and knocked a fucking huge hole in the wall.
Jeremy might have had his faults, but at least he’d tried. He’d been pretty good around the house, actually, and had enjoyed cooking. But even that had caused issues because when she wanted something quick and easy out of a packet to feed two hungry kids, he’d wanted to cook a wholesome three-course meal from scratch. They’d learnt to adapt to each other and everything had become a joint effort. Shame, then, that the spark had been snuffed out somewhere along the way. They’d ended up more like brother and sister than lovers. Looking at him last night, she struggled to remember what she’d ever found attractive about him.
It’s got to be me. It must be something I do. I must be the one who always messes it up. I never give them what they want. Jeremy wasn’t happy, Scott’s never happy, the kids are always complaining… it must be me.
She’d started around the house too fast and too early this morning, and Michelle had already peaked. She’d been up for less than an hour, but she was ready for bed again. I’d love to spend the whole bloody day in bed, she thought. Let them fend for themselves.
There was a pounding noise outside, and it wasn’t helping her head. It sounded like a helicopter, hovering over Thussock in the same way the motorway police used to buzz around the M42 and M5 back home near Redditch. This morning it was a constant, irritating, migraine-inducing noise which bored into her brain and refused to go away. She hoped it wouldn’t wake the others. She walked around the ground floor of the house, looking out of all the windows, seeing if she could spot it.
She was staring out of the kitchen window, looking up into the blue sky overhead, when Jeremy appeared at the glass. She jumped back with surprise and cursed him as she tried to catch her breath and calm her nerves. What the hell was he thinking, creeping up on her like that? And what was he doing here anyway? Christ, Scott would go mental if he caught him. He’d arranged to see the girls today, but not until later. She marched outside to deal with him.
‘You scared the crap out of me, Jeremy. What the hell are you doing?’ He just looked at her. ‘We agreed you’d pick the girls up after school, didn’t we?’
He moved closer. Mumbled ‘sorry.’
Something wasn’t right. Michelle realised he was wearing the same clothes as last night. She remembered his cardigan, and she hated cardigans on men. Kids and old folks could just about get away with them, but middle-aged men like Jeremy definitely couldn’t. She remembered thinking he looked like he was trying too hard when she’d first seen him yesterday, but that definitely wasn’t the case today. His trousers were grubby and creased and his hair was a mess. It wasn’t like him. ‘Are you okay? Has something happened?’
‘Didn’t know where else to go,’ he said, his voice almost too low to make out. That damn helicopter was still buzzing overhead. ‘Wanted to see you.’
She looked around but couldn’t see his car. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Walked.’
Alarm bells were ringing. Was he planning something? Was he going to try and snatch the girls and take them back with him to the Midlands? But hold on… this was Jeremy, remember? Safe, sensible, reliable Jeremy. He wouldn’t do anything like that, would he? When they’d first split up, he’d immediately acknowledged the kids would be far better off with their mother and in all the years since he’d never said anything to make her think his opinion had changed. He didn’t take risks, he did things by the book. And she realised that whatever his reason for being here this morning, she was actually glad to see him.
He moved a little closer, stopping just a couple of paces away, almost close enough to touch. He just stared at her. Needed her. Wanted her.
‘Jeremy, love, what’s wrong?’
Michelle remembered everything that had happened last night and how physically inferior Jeremy had appeared next to Scott, how quickly he’d capitulated. She’d felt so sorry for him but hadn’t dared say anything. It had been like watching the nice, quiet kid at school getting the shit kicked out of him by some lump-head bully. If Jeremy was hurting or upset this morning, she didn’t want him to be. She looked deep into her ex-husband’s eyes and all she could see were the things that had first attracted her to him. She loved his face. She’d always loved his face but it was like she’d forgotten why and was only now beginning to remember. She could see it again now… the bump at the top of his nose, his light blue eyes, his neat ears. There was nothing pretty or particularly handsome about Jeremy, but this morning he just looked… right. And then she felt her legs weaken because it was as if that innocent, unspoken admission had unwittingly opened the floodgates. A torrent of long forgotten and completely unexpected emotions washed over her. Had these feelings merely been suppressed, not lost? She felt desperately sad because she’d let him go. More than that, she suddenly felt an undeniable urge to be with him stronger than anything she’d felt for him before, even during their first weeks and months together. This felt pure and basic, unstoppable and inevitable. All she wanted was to hold him close again, to feel his body against hers, inside hers…