28April
Tonight the nightmare finally rose from the kitchen table. Victor, my husband of twelve years, announced over dinner that he was leaving me for another woman. He said it flatout, without even looking at me.
Sit down, Alice, he demanded in a hoarse voice.
I switched off the gas stove and turned slowly.
Whats wrong? I asked, my heart already thudding.
He swallowed, unable to meet my eyes.
Im leaving. Ive met someone at work, her name is Hannah. It isnt just a fling, Alice. Its love, real love. I cant keep lying to you or to myself.
I felt the sting of shame, but I kept my composure. I didnt sob, didnt smash dishes, didnt beg him to stay. I accepted his choice, even though it left me reeling. The part I could not swallow was his demand that I move out, that I take the children Daisy, my daughter from a previous marriage, and Tim, our son and find my own place.
I lay awake that night, mind racing. Our tiny flat in Peckham is barely 75sqft for two bedrooms, and my £1,800 a month accountants salary barely covers the bills. Now Im expected to survive on that, plus occasional help from the man who just betrayed us.
Why should I be the one to suffer? Why must I break myself and the kids for his comfort and new romance?
In the morning I gave him my answer.
Fine, Victor. Ill move out.
He smiled, thinking hed won.
Youre clever, Alice. I always knew you were sensible.
Theres one condition, I interjected.
What now? he asked, wary.
Youve fallen for someone else; I wont argue. I wont split the flat, even though the law gives me half. Keep it.
He looked taken aback, then relieved.
Really? he exclaimed. Thank you!
Yes. Daisy and I will move into my studio flat just 17metres, enough for the two of us. Well make do, get a bunk bed, squeeze in.
What about Tim? he stammered.
I stared him down.
He stays with you.
With me? he laughed nervously. Youre joking! Hes a baby; he needs his mother!
In England both parents share equal rights and duties, Victor. You wanted a son, you asked me to have him. You said, Ill have an heir, a lad to play football. So here you are, with the boy you wanted. Ill pay child support as the law requires, and you can have him on weekends, as far as possible.
He yelled,
You cant do this! Youre his mother! No mother would abandon her child!
Im not abandoning him, I said calmly. Im leaving him with his father.
Why should I cramp him into a cramped studio? Why should I uproot his nursery, his comfort? You yourself said the flat isnt ideal. Let him stay in a good setting, with you and Hannah. Let her learn the role of stepmother if she intends to build a family with you.
I have work! he shouted. Who will take him to nursery? Who will pick him up? Who will feed, wash, put him to bed?
I have work too, I replied evenly. Im busy as well. I managed these four years. Now its your turn. You always said I pampered him too much. So raise him, make a man of him.
Victor clutched his head and paced the bedroom.
This is absurd! Hannah wont accept a child! Shes only twentyfive!
Thats your problem, dear, I said, crossing my arms. Youre the head of the household. Decide.
The double standards tired me. If you want a new life, take responsibility.
***
Packing took two days. Victor shuffled between pity, threats, and pleas for conscience.
Think of what people will say, Alice! he hissed as I boxed Daisys clothes. Your parents, my parents
Let them chatter, I sealed a box with tape. I cant support two adults on one salary in one cramped room.
The hardest part was the call from my mother. She rang three times, sobbing into the phone.
Dear, how can you leave Tim with his father? Hell be
Mum, you live in Manchester, what can you do? Send money?
Your pension is
I told her Id figured it out. Victor is the father, let him be a father in more than words.
On the day of the move Tim ran around the flat as if it were a game. I knelt, brushed his hair, felt my heart split. If I faltered now, Victor would step on me, strip me of everything, and Id be left alone with two children, no money, while he lived his new life.
Sweetheart, I said, looking into his bright eyes Mom and Daisy will be staying elsewhere for a while. Youll stay with Daddy. He loves you a lot.
Will you come back? he asked, clutching his stuffed rabbit.
Ill be back on Saturday. Well go to the park and have icecream. Listen to Dad.
Daisy waited at the door, headphones around her neck, silent but supportive. Victor stood pale in the hallway.
Youre really leaving? Just like that?
The keys are on the nightstand, I tossed. The medication list is on the fridge; his throat is a bit sore, needs gargling. The nursery meeting is Thursday; dont forget.
And I was out.
***
Victors first week alone was a disaster. Mornings began not with a kiss from Hannah, but with Tims shrieks: Dad, Im hungry! He chased after missing socks, burnt porridge, spilled milk. Tim refused food, spat, demanded cartoons.
Eat it! Victor shouted, late for work.
Tim would start to cry, Victor would grab his belt, then toss it aside, hand Tim a chocolate bar just to quiet him. The nursery staff gave him dirty looks, commenting on his grubby Tshirts and missing spare clothes.
At work his phone never stopped buzzing with home crises. His boss pulled him aside twice, warning that personal drama must not affect his performance.
Evenings turned into a second shift: picking Tim up, rushing to the shop, cleaning up, trying to cook. Toys were strewn across the floor as soon as he gathered them.
Hannah showed up on day three, flounced in, and complained:
Victor, we were supposed to go to the cinema.
Which cinema? he muttered, halfnaked in one sock. Wholl watch Tim?
We could hire a nanny!
At what price? My mortgage takes half my salary!
Tim barreled into the hallway, covered in marker ink, tackled Hannahs trousers.
Auntie! Look, Im a tiger!
Ouch! she shrieked, stepping back. Victor, get him away! Thats an expensive rug!
Victor snapped,
Hes a child, Hannah! Stop overreacting!
Im not a nanny! Im a woman who wants attention! she snapped, pointing at his former partner.
She stormed out, slamming the door, never to return.
By Saturday Victor looked a wreck: gaunt, stubble, dark circles, the flat a battlefield.
When the doorbell rang, he stumbled to answer, tripping over toy cars. Alice stood there, Daisy on her hip, Tim in her arms, eyes shining.
Mum! he cried, hugging his son.
I kissed both cheeks, Hello, my darlings. How are you?
Victor leaned against the wall, knees shaking, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time. He finally understood the monumental effort Id carried all these years, smiling through exhaustion.
Alice he croaked.
I raised an eyebrow.
Take him back, please. I cant manage. Ill lose my job. Hannahs gone. I
I set Tim down gently.
Go, love, take your boy. He needs his father.
The children ran to the bedroom. I surveyed the mountain of unwashed dishes, the dried oatmeal on the stove, and sat on the same stool Id occupied a week ago.
Im not coming back, Victor, I said evenly. After what youve done, I wont live with you.
He waved his hands, covering his face.
Dammit, Hannah! he muttered, sitting opposite, his head in his hands. I get it now. I was wrong. Ive been a terrible father.
Learn, I told him, firm. But I cant let the child suffer. I have a proposal.
He lifted his head, eyes hopeful.
Anything. Ill agree to anything.
Ill take Tim, well stay in this flat. You move out.
Where? he asked, stunned.
To my studio in Brixton, the 17squaremetre onebedroom. Live there, bring anyone you like. Ill transfer the tenancy to the children equally, so you cant evict us again for a new love.
Victor opened his mouth to protest, to call it theft, that it was also his home but then he remembered the sleepless nights, the endless crying, the feeling of being trapped. He looked at me, seeing I wasnt bluffing.
If he refused, Id walk away, leaving him alone with a responsibility he wasnt ready for.
Child support will be fixed, youll cover half the activity fees, you can see him whenever you wish, I wont stop you, I added. But well stay here, without you.
He was silent for a minute, then exhaled.
Fine. I agree.
I nodded.
Pack your things, Victor. The studio is ready. Ill hand you the keys now.
He shuffled to the bedroom, pulling out a suitcase. He had lost everything: his family, his son, his pride. Yet, as he zipped his bag, a part of me felt that this was the only sensible decision after seven chaotic years.
