THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS. Erin Kaye
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through her. She lifted a ripe avocado out of the fruit bowl and pierced the rough, mottled skin with a sharp knife. ‘You just haven’t met the right man yet.’ She didn’t add that, even surrounded by her family, she sometimes felt lonely too. Phil usually played squash on Friday night and then went to the pub with his pals. He regularly disappeared off golfing at lunchtime on a Saturday and sometimes didn’t come home till midnight. She thought she’d married a home-loving man like her father – how wrong she had been …
Just then the mobile phone rang. Joanne wiped her hands quickly on a tea towel and answered it. It was Phil and he sounded drunk. The call was brief and contained no surprises. When it was over, Joanne set the phone down carefully on the counter, the feeling of disappointment as familiar as the simmering rage.
‘Well?’ said Gemma.
‘You know what?’ said Joanne, by way of reply. She did not wait for a response from Gemma. ‘I seem to spend my life being let down by Phil. He’s always promising the earth and never delivers.’
Gemma threw a clutch of crisp bags in the bin and licked the tips of her fingers. ‘Where is he?’
Joanne let out a puff of air and shook her head. ‘Right now he’s in the bar at the golf club. They’ve just ordered food even though he knows there’s food here. He says he’ll be home after that.’
‘Oh,’ said Gemma. She rubbed at an old paint spot on the limestone floor with the tip of her open-toed sandal.
Joanne cut around the middle of the avocado and twisted it to separate the two halves. She prised out the stone, which skittered across the counter. ‘Last week he promised Abbey he’d take her swimming on Sunday morning and he was too hung-over. He forgot about Maddy’s parents’ night at the school in spite of me reminding him three times and sending him a text.’ She paused, held the knife in the air and went on, ‘Two weeks ago we were supposed to be going round to the Dohertys’ for dinner and he came home pissed from the golf club at eight o’clock. You remember that? We had to call it off in the end. I had to pretend I had a migraine. And I really wanted to go.’
‘I know. You got that new dress out of Menary’s specially.’
Joanne viciously diced the avocado flesh and tossed it in a bowl. She lifted a lime from the fruit bowl and held it in the air between her index finger and thumb. ‘And the week before that I opened a red credit card bill he’d not bothered to pay. Do you want me to go on?’
Gemma bit her lip. ‘I get the picture.’
Joanne hacked a lime in two. ‘There’s always something. He’s just so … so irresponsible, Gemma. It’s like having a fourth child these days. No, it’s worse because I’ve absolutely no control over what he does. I never relax. I never know what disaster’s coming next.’
‘Well, you know what I think,’ said Gemma and she raised her eyebrows and gave Joanne a hard stare. She knew all about Phil’s gambling, his drinking, his extravagant spending, his unreliability.
Joanne set the knife down on the chopping board and sighed, her anger spent. ‘I know, I know. I should stop complaining and do something about it.’
‘It’s just that, honestly, Joanne, you should hear yourself,’ said Gemma, sounding a little exasperated. ‘I can’t remember the last time I heard you say a good word about Phil.’
‘That’s because there isn’t a good word to say.’ She held half a lime over the bowl and rammed a wooden reamer into the flesh. Juice squirted out, stinging a nick on the back of her hand.
‘You sound so cynical,’ said Gemma sadly.
Joanne threw the squeezed lime in the bin and rinsed her hands. ‘That’s because I am.’
‘Leave him then.’
Joanne looked out the window and sighed. ‘You know I wouldn’t do that to the children.’ She dried her hands and fixed her friend with a steady stare. Didn’t Gemma realise that she just wanted to let off steam, not be told what to do?
‘Well,’ said Gemma, looking away and speaking slowly, as if choosing her words very carefully. ‘There’s a lot worse things can happen to children than divorce. Living in an unhappy home can be just as damaging.’
‘You didn’t say that when Jimmy left. And I remember it, Gemma. I remember how awful it was for the kids. And for you.’
Gemma folded her arms. She tipped her chin upwards and said, ‘They got over it. We all did. And Jimmy and I get on okay now. I mean we’re civil to each other and we both put the children first.’
Aware she had touched a raw spot, Joanne rushed to bolster Gemma’s confidence. ‘I think you’ve done just great since the divorce, Gemma. I really admire you for how you’ve managed everything. The kids are happy and well-balanced. And I know how hard it was for you when he moved in with Sarah.’
Gemma suddenly smiled brightly. ‘No, it’s all right, really. It was a long time ago.’ She paused and then added, ‘Look, I was just playing devil’s advocate there. You don’t really want to leave Phil – or have him leave you – do you?’
Joanne stared at her open-mouthed. ‘Phil wouldn’t leave me. I—’ She felt her heart begin to race.
‘Oh, Joanne, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. It was just a “for instance” – I was just thinking of me and Jimmy.’
‘I – no, Phil won’t leave me. I keep the house nice, the food …’ She gestured helplessly. ‘I really don’t know what I’d do without him.’ Recovering her composure, she added, ‘Look, I’m sorry to bang on about Phil all the time, especially when I don’t take your advice.’
‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Joanne,’ said Gemma looking directly into her eyes. ‘It’s just that I care for you and I want you to be happy.’
Joanne smiled. ‘I know that, love. And I guess I just want someone to listen.’
‘That’s what friends are for.’
Joanne went over and gave Gemma a hug and said, simply, ‘Thanks.’ It fell far short of conveying the gratitude she felt towards Gemma for her friendship and support over the years.
Then the doorbell went and the two women separated.
Joanne straightened her skirt and clapped her hands together. ‘Right, party time!’
Chapter Three
Sian stood on the step at the back of Joanne’s house, holding a glass of wine and looking out at the garden, relieved at being forgiven for being so late. Thankfully Joanne understood that they had to bike all the way from the other side of town – though she and Andy owned an old second-hand car, they rarely used it.
It had been nearly twenty years since she’d visited North Africa in her second year of a Geography degree course at uni and seen first-hand the effects of over-population on a fragile ecosystem – dried-up riverbeds caused by over-farming, starving livestock, ruined crops. She’d seen with her own horrified eyes what poverty looked like – children maimed at birth so they could ‘earn’ a living as beggars, others labouring like ants in a leather tanning factory from dawn till dusk, and stinking, reeking, overcrowded living conditions. She’d come home humbled – and thankful that she’d been born in a first world country where a full belly and medical care were taken for granted. And long before the phrase carbon footprint was coined, she’d devoted her life to minimising her impact on the earth. She fervently believed that, by example, she might persuade others to do the same.
She sipped the wine and looked up at the sky heavy with clouds – so far the rain had held off. The patio doors that led into the lounge were open and behind her an assortment of aunts and uncles and cousins were sitting about chatting and eating. Younger members of the family ran in and out of the room until someone hollered at them to ‘cut it out’. She eyed Joanne’s flowers – one