She Couldnt Quite Hold On
Im filing for divorce, Jane announced calmly, passing her husband his mug of tea. Actually, I have already filed.
She said it in the same offhand, matter-of-fact tone she might use to mention that dinner was roast chicken with veg. Very British, very understated.
If I might ask, what theah, no, never mind. Not in front of the kids, Peter muttered, eyeing the anxious faces of their two sons. Lowering his voice, he went on, Exactly how have I fallen short? Lets not forget, the boys need a father.
Oh please, Jane snorted with a dramatic eye roll. Dont act like I couldnt find them another dad. How did you mess up? In every way, dear. I wanted life to be a placid pond, not the Thames during a storm.
Right, chaps, have you finished your supper? Peter was desperate to move the conversation elsewhere. Off you go, play in your roomand no eavesdropping! he called after them, knowing full well how nosy his boys could be. Now then, where were we?
Jane pursed her lips, resentful as ever at Peters knack for taking charge. Always playing at Father of the Year
Im tired of all this. Im sick of slogging through eight-hour shifts every day, pretending to be chummy with colleagues, grovelling to clients I want to sleep till noon, shop on Oxford Street, lounge in beauty salons. And you cant give me that. So, enough. I gave you the best ten years of my life
Oh, do we have to get so melodramatic? Peter interrupted, bone-dry. Wasnt it you, ten years ago, pulling every trick in the book to bag me? I certainly wasnt champing at the bit to get married.
Mistakes happen to the best of us, Jane sniffed.
The divorce went through quickly and quietly. Peter, albeit reluctantly, agreed the boys would live with their mother, on the condition that theyd spend weekends and all school holidays with him. Jane breezily agreed.
Six months on, Peter introduced the boys to his new wife. Bubbly, bright Emily quickly won them over; they actually looked forward to weekends so much it drove their mother mad.
What grated on Jane even more was the fact that Peter had inherited a small fortune from some distant uncle, bought a lovely house in the Cotswolds, and was living the dreamall without quitting his job. He paid rather modest child maintenance, preferring instead to personally kit out his sons with the snazziest gadgets and the latest trainers. And, much to Janes chagrin, he kept a beady eye on every last pound.
Why hadnt she managed to hold out just six more months? If Jane had only known Ah, shed have played her cards differently!
Then again, perhaps the final curtain hadnt dropped just yet
*****
Fancy a cuppa, for old times sake? Jane simpered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Her little black dress ticked all the boxes and a well-crafted layer of makeup took years off. Shed truly pulled out all the stops, looking positively dazzling.
Cant, Im afraid, Peter replied, his glance as warm as the English Channel in November. Are the boys ready?
Theyre faffing aboutprobably another ten minutes. Trust me, I know. Janes voice oozed disappointment but she wasnt letting up. Maybe we could do New Years together? Colin and Jamie have spent half the day decorating the tree.
We agreed in court: the holidays are my time. Were off to a cracking little village, heaps of snow, loads of skiing and snowboarding. Emilys sorted everything.
But its a family occasion
And we area family. Make a fuss and Ill see you in court again, but for custody this time.
No sooner had Peter and the beaming boys closed the door behind them than Jane, in a fit of rage, smashed the bone china tea set theyd got as a wedding present. Emily again! Why did she always get involved? She paraded around as if absolutely thrilled to see the boys, but surely she was just counting down the minutes until they went home. Jane knew better than anyone how impossible her kids could be!
Or maybe this was her chance. Janes lips curled into a sly smile. Not all hope was lost. Soon, all of Peters hard-earned money would be hers alone
*****
Whats all this, then? Peter raised an eyebrow as he found two enormous suitcases in his hallway.
What do you meanwhats this? The boys things, Jane said, shunting one bag with her foot. This is how things are: now youve got your happy little family, its my turn. Not every new chap out there is about to take on someone elses kids, so the boys will be living with you now. Ive already told Social Services and just need to sign the last papers. Youll sort the rest out. Im off on holiday with a rather dashing gentleman. Toodle-oo!
Leaving Peter gawping in surprise, Jane sashayed off towards the waiting car. How long, she wondered, until this Saint Emily lost her patience? A week? Maybe two? Yes, probably two. And when Peter inevitably chose his sons over his new wife, hed come crawling back to Jane, wallet (and heart) in hand
Two weeks passed. Then a month. Two. But no phone call came demanding Jane to take the boys back. According to her sons, Emily hadnt snapped at them once! How was that possible? Those two little devils suddenly turned into cherubs? Unthinkable!
How are the boys behaving? Not worn you out yet? Jane finally broke down and rang Peter.
Theyre brillianthelpful, polite, true little gentlemen, Peter replied, his tone warming instantly as he spoke of his sons.
Really? Jane murmured, utterly baffled. At mine theyd never stop causing chaos
Well, thats the thingyou actually have to put some effort into raising children, Peter sniffed. You spent more time glued to your phone. By the way, were moving house. If you want to see the boys in the school holidays, let me know.
Buttheyre my children too!
You handed over all your rights, remember? Peter laughed openly. Some mum you are.
All Jane could do now was regret. She hadnt won back her husband, or more accurately, his money; things fizzled out with the dashing gentleman, and now even her children were out of reach. Not that she was likely to miss them muchshe had taken quite a fancy to all that spare time.
What an injustice! Ten years of waiting, only to fall at the final hurdlejust months away from a life of luxury.
Bloody unfair, that.
