Page 3 of You Were Always the One

It’s a recent development, that Miles and Max don’t see eye to eye. Going over to my son, I rest a hand on his arm. ‘I’ll do my best to persuade him,’ I say quietly. ‘I promise.’

Taking an apple, he picks up his bag and goes upstairs.

‘Max shouldn’t speak to you like that,’ Grace says defiantly.

‘No,’ I say carefully. ‘I think he just really wants to go on this trip.’

An uneasiness hangs over us when Miles comes in from work. He kisses me on the cheek, then asks Grace about her day. When she tells him about being in the netball team, he seems strangely distant. It’s the same as we have dinner that evening. When I bring up the subject of the school trip, Miles barely reacts.

‘So I can go?’ Max looks wary.

‘I don’t see why not.’ Miles starts eating. ‘I used to love going on school trips.’

I catch Max’s eye, see the confusion on his face. It’s unlike Miles not to lace a request like this with obstacles. And he’s become increasingly closed over the years; nor does he usually talk about his past.

‘Thanks.’ Max looks relieved.

For the rest of the meal, Miles seems distracted, as suddenly my insecurities are back. This is how it is now that the trust has gone between us; me scrutinising the everyday, never sure what he’s thinking.

Max picks up his empty plate and gets up. ‘Can I go upstairs? I have homework.’

‘Of course.’ Once he’s gone, while Grace chatters about one of her school friends, Miles is silent again.

I try to engage him in conversation, to keep it light for Grace’s sake, hiding the fact that underneath, I’m unsettled. But this is a snapshot of us. One that I’d give anything to tear down the middle. Replace with others of happier times. But life, infidelity, means this is what we’ve become. This is who we are, now.

I wait until Grace is watching TV, until Miles is onto his third glass of wine.

‘Is everything OK?’ I study his face. The lines of dissatisfaction; of unhappiness, that haven’t arrived overnight. They’ve been years in the making.

Miles looks up. ‘Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘It’s just…’ I hesitate. Each time I bring it up, it causes a rift between us. ‘You seem a little distant,’ is all I say.

Miles is silent for a moment. Then he sighs. ‘This is about what happened, isn’t it?’ It’s the closest he can get to talking about his affair. ‘I don’t know what else I can say to convince you it’s over.’

My eyes fill with tears. This is the problem. There isn’t anything else he can say – and I still can’t shake this feeling it’s left me with. ‘I believe you.’ I swallow the lump in my throat. For the most part, I do. But part of my mind is expecting him to do it again.

He gets up and comes over to me. ‘Look, I made a mistake,’ he says awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you. But haven’t we talked about this? I thought we’d put it behind us.’

‘I’m trying to,’ I say. ‘It just isn’t that easy.’ I shrug. ‘Sometimes, it all comes back.’

‘Come here.’ He puts his arms around me. ‘I’m sorry, Holly. But please, can’t you try to let it go?’

I allow myself to lean against him. Miles used to be my safe place. But not any more. And it’s a long time since he’s felt like that.

When Miles goes upstairs, I finish tidying the kitchen. Then, stepping outside, I stand in the darkness. Only out here do I feel an invisible pressure lift. I breathe in the cold air, then turn to look at the stars. Miles is right. We have tried to put the past behind us. He’s gone out of his way to reassure me. But there’s still a part of me that doesn’t trust him.

Miles is snoring by the time I get to bed. Pulling on my pyjamas, I slide under the duvet without disturbing him. Then, lying there, I replay a day that feels surreal, the highpoint of which was seeing Riggs again, the low point my insecurities that are never far beneath the surface.

What would I do, I ask myself? If it happened again? If Miles met someone else? From where I am, it doesn’t seem impossible. Would I put myself through this all over again?

You’re being ridiculous, I tell myself. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. And if it did, it would be over between you. Miles knows that.

In the morning, when I fill out the form for the school trip, Max looks relieved. ‘It’ll be great,’ I say, handing it to him. ‘I’m really glad you get the chance to do these things.’ As my phone buzzes with a message, I glance at the screen. ‘It’s work.’ While he and Grace finish their breakfast, I read through my list of calls for today. As part of a cancer care team, every day is arranged around the needs of our patients, usually so that I see the same ones on a regular basis.

I check the time. Still in the kitchen, Grace is reading a book, at the same time as eating her toast, as though she has all the time in the world.

‘Gracie! You’re going to miss the bus!’ We go through the time-old morning ritual that every mother knows, of not being able to find jackets and cramming lunch boxes into school bags, at the same time as watching the clock and planting kisses – on Max’s head, another on Grace’s cheek. Then as they run to get the bus, I take a deep breath, gather my thoughts, in a rare, transient, fleeting moment to myself.