A Season for Second Chances(3)

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Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She let it buzz until it stopped. And then it buzzed again immediately. Annie sighed, reached languidly over, and looked at the screen. It was Peter. She answered it.

“Hello, love,” she said.

“Hey, Mum,” said Peter. “Alex is here with me. We’ve got you on speaker.”

“Hi, Mum,” said Alex.

“Hello, darling. Where are you?”

“At mine,” said Peter.

“I came down after work,” said Alex. “I can work from here tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Annie.

“Well, we heard we’d become the product of a broken home, so . . .” His sentence was cut short by a scuffling sound followed by an aggrieved “Ouch!”

“We’re calling to tell you we support your decision,” said Peter.

“Should have done it years ago!” said Alex.

“Oh!” said Annie. “Well. This is unexpected. Who told you?”

“Grandma,” said Peter.

“Of course she did,” said Annie.

Max’s mother would have been champing at the bit to tell the boys before Annie got the chance. She imagined her mother-in-law as an aging racehorse in a twinset, leaping over her mahogany nest of tables and upsetting the faux Tiffany lamp to get to the phone. It was no wonder Max was such a prima donna; whatever his faults were, as far as her mother-in-law was concerned, they were down to somebody else.

“I’m sorry you had to hear it from someone else,” Annie continued. “I was going to call you, I was just . . .” Sleeping mostly, she thought. “I was just getting my head together a bit and then I was going to tell you.”

“We know about Dad’s affairs, Mum,” said Alex.

“Oh God!” said Annie. “Really? How?”

“Er, we’re not stupid,” said Peter. “We’ve known for years.”

“Years? Oh God!” Annie groaned. “I am so sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?” asked Alex.

“I’m sorry that you found out,” said Annie. “You were children. Children shouldn’t have to deal with their parents’ shit.”

“Like I said,” said Peter. “We weren’t stupid.”

“Of course you weren’t,” said Annie. “I was the stupid one.”

“Shit happens,” said Alex.

“What a fabulous way to sum up your childhood,” said Annie. Her head was pounding like someone was trying to remove the top of her skull with a melon baller. “You’d better start making a parental snag list, and I’ll pay for your counseling.”

“Already started,” said Alex.

“It wasn’t all bad,” said Peter in a way that was meant to sound reassuring.

“Urrhg,” said Annie. “This is a nightmare. I’m stuck in a nightmare!”

“Sooner or later everybody’s parents drop off their pedestal,” said Alex. “It’s the natural order of things. Helps to make you grow up. Dad just fell off his a little earlier than most.”

“When did I fall off mine?” asked Annie.

“You haven’t yet,” said Peter.

“But we remain hopeful,” added Alex.

“We’re hoping for something spectacular!” said Peter. “A drug-fueled sex orgy with a priest or something.”

“Blimey!” said Annie.

“Let loose, Mum!” said Alex. “Get drunk. Get a tattoo! Do something just for you.”

“The world won’t stop spinning if you get off the ride and walk for a while,” said Peter.

“What did I do to deserve you boys?” said Annie.

“You just got lucky, I guess,” said Peter.

“We just want you to know that we support your decision one hundred percent,” said Alex.

“And you can go easy on yourself, you don’t need to worry about us,” said Peter.

“What we’re saying is,” said Alex, “don’t go back. If it’s permission you need, then you’ve got it.”

The call ended, and Annie promised to keep them posted on her movements, although at the moment she couldn’t envisage herself moving very far. She wondered what it was about this affair that had finally forced her out of impotence. The scene flashed before her in all its fleshy glory, and she winced. That was why: There was a difference between knowing and seeing. Actually bearing witness to your husband cheating in full Technicolor was like a sucker punch to the eyeballs; Ellie’s perfect, pointy nipples were going to haunt her for the rest of her days. Annie pulled the duvet back over her head and went to sleep.





Chapter 3



When she had once again exhausted the supply of tiny coffee sachets in the room, Annie went down to reception to ask for more and book herself in for another four nights at the popular chain hotel, whose tag line, Boutique Bliss That Won’t Break the Bank!, was written in script along the top of every piece of hotel information.

“Um, do you have another card?” asked the receptionist, her cheeks blotching pink.

“Another card?” asked Annie.