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‘Well, did you?’ His unblinking eyes glared at her.
‘You are unbelievable!’ Gina flung her arms up and they fell with a slap onto her thighs. ‘You seriously think I would do this to myself, and our unborn child? What kind of person do you think I am?’
‘A selfish one by the looks of it.’ An expression of contempt stained Marvin’s face, and it was as though a stranger had taken the place of her husband. Either that, or aveil had lifted and she was seeing who he really was for the first time. ‘You only ever want what’s best for yourself, never thinking of anyone else! You and your ridiculous fantasies of running into the arms of Kane What’s-His-Name from that stupid book of yours, and quitting your perfectly good job to make a fool of yourself telling people how to exercise – what a waste!’ He flicked a hand toward her, as though she was an irritating bug getting in his way. ‘Then again, you probably wouldn’t have made a good mother anyway.’
He might as well have slapped her.
This wasn’t a marriage; this was emotional abuse. She could see it now, as clearly as if a neon sign had flashed in front of her, advertising the truth.
She knew he would be grieving the baby’s loss and that was understandable, but his behaviour wasn’t acceptable. The cruelness in his voice hit hard, and although the years of accumulated pain from his taunts was coming to the boil now, so too was a power she didn’t know she had. The Club had gradually chiselled sharper her perspective, held a magnifying glass to the truth, finally allowing her to realise that nothing could salvage this relationship. Instead of cowering backwards and curling into herself as though to shield her heart, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. It was as though The Club’s presence was with her now, like a supportive hand on her back. The collective energy of Liz, the women, and The Ruby Room filled her with strength, as she looked Marvin straight in his scornful eyes.
‘That’s it!’ she yelled. ‘I’m done!’ She pulled a suitcase down from above the wardrobe. ‘You’ve never supported me, you’re always pressuring me into things I don’t want, you speak to me disrespectfully, and you never say ‘thanks’ forthe things I do for you. I’m sick of it!’ Clothes were pulled from their hangers, and shoes shoved loosely into the suitcase. Packing for Gina would normally involve a written inventory and optimal arrangement of items to ensure maximisation of storage space, but not now. Now, she wanted to get out of here, away from him, as soon as possible.
‘You don’t really think you can just leave, do you? We have a mortgage together, we made a commitment, we–’
‘Weare no more. I’ll be back on Monday to get the rest of my things. And, my lawyer will be in touch with you.’ Her hands shook as she packed her suitcase but her resolve kept her going.
‘Since when do you have a lawyer?’ he scoffed.
‘Since ages ago, when I was going to do what I’m doing now.’ She lifted her suitcase and pushed past him. ‘Goodbye, Marvin.’
Gina spedoff in her car, tears blurring her vision, and she realised she’d become one of those damaged women you’d see in the movies; leaving her husband in a flurry and driving anywhere but home. She hadn’t planned to leave him like that – tonight – but his words, that awful look in his eyes, and that disrespect effusing from him was too much to bear any longer.
She turned to drive towards the highway, towards her parent’s place, but then spun around in the other direction. She couldn’t go there. Even though the little girl inside wanted her mother, Gina knew she’d try to talk her out of leaving Marvin. No, she needed to do this on her own. She needed to know shecouldbe on her own.
Pulling into a motel with a ‘vacancy’ sign out front, Gina reached into her handbag to turn off her mobile, not wanting any messages from Marvin to cloud her judgement. Something shiny in the bag caught her eye; the gift Liz had given her at the meeting that she’d forgotten to open. Curious, she unwrapped the small package, revealing a Christmas decoration. A white dove in flight hung from a piece of silver string. Gina lifted up the dove, its wings glowing with the sun’s reflection, and a memory surfaced. The dream she’d had after that terrible migraine a few months ago, the one where she was on a cliff, overlooking the ocean, and she was falling. The unidentified emotion had escaped her upon waking, but she now felt it just as strongly as if she was in the dream right now.
Relief.
She’d felt relieved as she’d fallen – or jumped – off that cliff in the dream. Light and free, like the dove.
As the pain of the week’s events lifted they were replaced by the same feeling, and Gina realised that in the dream, she wasn’t falling.
She was flying.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Grandma Joy’s Words of Wisdom:
‘When all else fails, a cup of tea and a quick nap can do wonders.’
Cara Collins~ I thought I’d share my version of a popular Christmas Carol with my loyal Facebook friends. Here goes, sing along everyone: “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere I go ... the house is a bloody mess, kid spilled milk on my favourite dress ... no parking spots and stressed-out mums galoorrrre...
After getting to drink only half of her takeaway coffee (thanks to it being knocked out of her hand by her darling toddler), Cara realised what a mistake it was to bring Toby shopping. Armed with some money from her art sales, her search for a dress to wear to the New Year’s Eve ball had so far yielded no results, not for lack of suitable garments, but for the sheer difficulty of trying them onwith a cheeky almost-three-year-old in tow. She should have realised the day was doomed when Toby wandered into her bedroom in the morning and dropped his rice milk on the clothes she’d laid out on her bed.
‘Toby, come back here!’ Cara peered out from behind the curtain of the fitting room in ‘Classique Formal Wear’. Toby had escaped the cubicle with Cara’s clothes, giggling and ducking in and out between the racks of clothing. The shop assistant, whose black hair appeared glued in place, and whose face resembled a cross between Morticia fromThe Addams Familyand he-who-must-not-be-named fromHarry Potter, tried to coax him back into the change room with a small pat on the back, which only made him run further away.
Cara tried ‘The Look’; that inherent motherly glare that lets a child know he’s being naughty, but only caught the attention of another woman suddenly entering the fitting room area who dropped her clothes in shock on coming across Cara’s scary face. There was no other option but to go after him.
Cara gathered the length of the dress she had put on, and tried to inconspicuously duck out into the store in the hope of catching Toby, while musing that she might need to hang him up by his t-shirt from a clothing hook until she finished appraising her choice of dresses. Instead, he hid under a rack of long dresses, right at the front of the shop.Just great!Cara got down on the floor, the too-loose strapless gown revealing God knows how much flesh, and slid him out by his feet. She could really have done with Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak, although it would have been a rather creepy sight watching a child moving backwards by himself along the floor. Months ago, she’d have simply bribed him out with chocolate,but with his newly discovered allergies, a delicious rice cake with tahini spread on it wasn’t nearly as enticing as a chocolate Freddo Frog.
Cara picked up her clothes with one arm, her son with the other, using him to hold the gown in place, and trudged back to the fitting room. They passed the mortified Morticia/Voldemort, and the stunned woman who appeared to have turned to stone from ‘The Look’, then closed off the outside stares with a swish of the curtain.
Cara pointed her finger accusingly at her son. ‘Toby Collins, if youeverrun off like that again...’ she struggled to think of a consequence, ‘...um, well, what will happen is...’Please, brain, give me an idea! What can I say when ‘no chocolate for a month’ is off the list of disciplinary actions for the rest of your son’s life?‘...Santa won’t bring you any toys!’ She planted her hands on her hips. There. That should do it. Thank goodness it was December. She now had to resort to seasonal disciplinary actions, and would have to come up with something else for the other eleven months of the year.
Toby burst into tears. ‘Waaa! .... but ... Santa must come ... waaa! I’m good, I’m good .... pwease!’
Oh geez.‘Well, if you promise to stay with me at all times while we’re shopping, and not run off with Mummy’s clothes again, then Santa will still bring you toys.’Damn. She was as soft as a marshmallow.
