‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ So much for placation, but I couldn’t help it.
‘Nothing. Forget it.’
‘No.’ I stood facing him now, my back straight, chin tilted up, ‘Clearly you have something to say and, as it’s not like you to hold back, why don’t you just say it?’
‘Fine. I just think that maybe you should limit your advice to what you know about rather than things you have no experience of.’
‘Meaning?’
He crossed his arms over his chest, the fitted T-shirt he wore moulding to the muscles that lay beneath it.
‘Meaning that clearly you’re very good at your job and at getting people’s houses in order, but there are some things you need to let people figure out on their own.’
‘I never tell people what they should and shouldn’t keep! That’s unfair.’
‘You’re telling me to keep a bloody wedding album that I don’t want!’
‘That’s not what I was saying at all!’
‘Look Kate. Don’t get me wrong, but just because you have this image in your head of perfect wedding days and marriage being all sunshine and roses, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s bloody hard and heartbreaking and people get hurt! So, whilst I wish you all the best with this Calum bloke and hope that he does one day give you all the happiness you could wish for in that direction, I didn’t get that and I don’t need any reminders sitting around in this house of something that I’m finally moving on from.’
My mind was whirling and for a moment I couldn’t find any words. And then I found some. In fact, I found a whole load of them.
‘How dare you?’ My voice was quiet but it was obvious that Michael sensed the anger within it. He opened his mouth but I cut him off before he could speak. ‘You accuse me of talking about things of which I know nothing when you’ve just done exactly the same thing. You have no idea what I think about marriage or anything else, come to think of it! But just so you know, I actually do know a little about these things. I might not have been married myself but that doesn’t mean I’m entirely ignorant about it all. And you couldn’t be more wrong if you think I’m naive enough to think that marriage is some Disney-like state of affairs. I know it’s not! Why the hell do you think I’ve steered clear of long-term relationships for so long?’
From not being able to find any words, it now seemed like I was unable to stop them.
‘I’m sorry that your marriage broke down, I truly am. I know that she hurt you terribly and I’m sorry for that too. But don’t act like it gives you the monopoly on the knowledge of painful situations Michael, because it doesn’t. Not by a long shot!’
‘Kate – ’
‘Do you want to know what my most vivid image of marriage actually is? It’s of coming home from school to find my mother on the sofa, in her dressing gown, with an empty bottle of vodka on the floor beside her. It’s of sitting beside her on the sofa at two o’clock in the morning as she waited for my father to come home, which he might or might not do. It’s of cleaning the house and cooking the meals because she was rarely in a fit state to do it. It’s of trying to remove the stain of a lipstick that isn’t my mother’s from my father’s shirt and gagging at the smell of perfume from it that also isn’t my mother’s. It’s of finding my mum at the bottom of the stairs and doctors telling me she has internal injuries. So, Michael, no, I don’t have some sunshine and roses image of marriage and I know exactly how much hurt one person can cause another. So don’t you dare accuse me of not caring or not understanding something just because I’ve never had a wedding band on my finger!’
Neither of us said anything for a moment. Our eyes were locked, mine blazing and his with the sort of shocked look to them that someone gets after they’ve just had the verbal equivalent of both barrels unloaded point-blank. The silence was heavy and suffocating. My chest heaved and I knew I had to get out of there.
‘I think it’s best if I left. You should do what you want with the album and the rest of the stuff. You know your own mind.’
I turned to go and Michael caught my hand.
‘Kate.’
I shook my head and pulled away, half running down the stairs, thrusting my feet into my shoes when I got to the bottom. Grabbing my coat and scarf, I pulled open the door and stepped out into the lightly falling snow, shoving my arms into the sleeves as I ran along the road, needing to get away as fast as I could.
I’d never meant to unleash the torrent of words onto Michael. I knew his enquiries about my dinner with Calum had been made in the context of friendly conversation. And I certainly had never meant to tell him about my childhood with an alcoholic mother and a philandering father. I put my hand to my head, half in embarrassment at what I’d just revealed and half to try and still my now pounding head.
Hurrying along to the Tube station, I replayed my outburst, furious with myself for once again losing the professionalism of which I was so proud in front of Michael O’Farrell. Six years and I’d never once lost it until I met him, on the first, and now what I imagined would probably be my last, appointments with him: Perfect bookends of embarrassment. He was well on the way to being done anyway and Bernice could deal with the last bits.
We’d spoken casually about me helping with some ideas on how to get the house properly finished from an interior design perspective a few sessions back, but I think it was safe to say that was now a nonstarter. Apart from anything else, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to face him again. And certainly not any time soon. I pulled off my scarf, suddenly hot even though I hadn’t yet descended into the warmth of the Tube tunnels. As I crammed myself in-between the hordes of workers, tourists and Christmas shoppers all vying for a spot on the escalator, I heard my phone bleep with a message. I pulled it out and opened the text from Bernice.
Last-minute booking tomorrow. Tried to reschedule but client started crying so gave in! Full day now so won’t see you until Monday. Just wanted to check all OK and to update you. Hope the session with the Gorgeous Grinch went OK today. Have a fab weekend and see you soon xx
Even though I’d explained that Michael was generally less Grinch like now than at our first encounter, the nickname had stuck.
No problem. And you xx
I typed quickly and pressed send. Except actually, big problem. Because that meant I couldn’t get Bernice to take over Michael’s session tomorrow.
I got off the escalator and joined the throng of people turning right towards the platform I needed. It felt even warmer than usual down here this evening, probably in contrast to the cold weather playing out above our heads. I slipped off my coat and hung it over my shoulder bag. The train pulled in and we piled inside. All the seats were taken but I managed to wedge myself against the wall next to the doors and wrapped my hands around the yellow pole beside me, partly to steady myself against the couple of sharp curves I knew lay ahead on this line and partly because I had the odd feeling that if I didn’t hold on to something I was going to end up on the floor.
***
‘You should go home.’ Michael’s look brooked no argument when he opened the door to me the following day.
Great. I’d totally blown it.
I’d had a terrible night going over the argument with Michael in my head, and all the memories that had dragged up, not to the mention still trying to get my head around the whole Calum thing. I’d gone to bed, not being able to decide if I was hot or cold, and feeling like someone was using my cranium for cymbal practice and had woken up to find that the whole percussion section had now joined them. And