The Ballroom Class (30 page)

‘It’s
our
money,’ she said. ‘In our joint account! For us!’

‘Is it? When you go through the statement with a fine-tooth comb every month, querying every cash withdrawal?’

‘I just worry,’ she said. ‘I worry about where it all goes!’

‘We’re getting a little off-topic here,’ said Peter, ‘but we can come back to this, it’s very relevant. Katie, how about your mum and dad? Did they argue?’

‘Never,’ she said at once.

Peter’s bushy eyebrows shot up. ‘Never?’

‘Not once.’ Katie felt quite proud about that. Her mum had been too: ‘not one cross word in forty years’, as she used to tell people.

‘And how did that make you feel?’

Katie’s brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean, how did it make me feel? Secure, of course, like my parents loved each other. They had a great marriage.’

‘Right,’ said Peter. ‘And did they show you they loved each other in other ways? Were they openly affectionate? Lots of cuddling?’

Her confident manner faltered. ‘Well, no. They’re not  . . . touchy-feely. Not everyone is. It’s not the only way of showing love.’

‘Are you still close now?’

Ross couldn’t resist. ‘They emigrated to Spain just after she qualified,’ he pointed out. ‘So, no, not really.’

Katie glared at him. ‘Don’t try and make that an issue. They’re entitled to their own life. But,’ she turned to Peter, ‘they never argued in front of me, and they always supported one another unconditionally. I make a point of never arguing with Ross in front of Hannah – if we’re having problems, that’s not something she needs to worry about.’

Ross gave her a funny look. Sort of sad.

‘Of course, as Ross says, we don’t always get the real story of our parents’ relationship.’ Peter took off his glasses, and looked absently for his hanky. ‘It’s wonderful, of course, if you don’t
have
anything to row about, but it’s perfectly natural for adults to disagree. And it’s quite healthy for children to see that parents can fall out and resolve those conflicts and still love each other.’ He looked at Katie. ‘Children do pick up on far more than we’d like to think when it comes to tension. They’re like little radio sets, they tune in. They might not understand words, but they’re very good at body language.’

Stop talking like a magazine article, thought Katie, but didn’t say anything. What was the point?

‘Mmm,’ said Ross. ‘That’s really true. I mean Jack’s not talking much yet, but he can tell when Hannah’s cross or I’m tired.’

Katie’s irritation started to build, like a quick flame starting to lick dry twigs into a bonfire. So Ross was some kind of child psychologist now. She turned her annoyance on Peter. ‘So you’re saying we
should
be yelling in front of the kids?’

‘No, not at all,’ he insisted. ‘I just get the impression, Katie, that even
admitting
you have problems is something you’re reluctant to do. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with renegotiating now and again. All Ross is saying is that because he spends more time with the children – being their primary carer – he’s noticed things that perhaps you don’t get quite so much time to—’

‘OK, OK,’ snapped Katie, as Ross’s face took on a new mix of smugness and martyrdom.

Where is this going
, she asked herself. So far, I’ve been made to feel bad about forgetting the colour of Ross’s T-shirt when I met him, for working hard to support my family, now for having parents who didn’t squabble. Angry, exhausted tears prickled at her eyes, as she thought of how she might have been able to put it right on this surprise holiday, but would end up looking evil.

‘Katie?’ asked Peter, reaching for the paper-hanky box. ‘Are you all right? There’s really no need to bottle your emotions up in front of me, you know. Better out than in, as I tell my kids!’

No way, thought Katie. There’s no way I’m going to break down in front of you. Crying in public was something she didn’t do. Ever.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, fighting back the tears with deep breaths. ‘I’ve just had a hard day at work, and I’m really tired, and—’

‘Katie’s feeling guilty because she planned a surprise getaway for me and Hannah, for our birthdays,’ said Ross, as she turned, open-mouthed, to him. ‘But she can’t leave the office to join us – that’s not the surprise, by the way, it’s totally predictable. Personally, I’m sick of her thinking she can buy her way out of our children’s lives when all they want is her time.’

‘Stop making this about the children!’ protested Katie, twisting inside as Ross jabbed right on her sorest, weakest spot. ‘That’s totally underhand! I
love
our children! It’s only because of them that I’m still
in
this marriage!’

There was a hideous pause.

It took Katie a moment to realise what she’d actually said.

‘Oh, right,’ said Ross. ‘I see.’

‘Do you mean that, Katie?’ said Peter quietly. ‘It’s a very strong statement.’

The silence stretched out like a swimming pool in front of her, flat and blue and still.

I just have to say the words, thought Katie, her blood pulsing with an awful recklessness. All the words I’ve been biting back for the last few years, trying to keep things together. I can’t keep it up for the next forty years. Why put Ross through this too?

‘Yes,’ she said before she quite knew what she was saying. It was like being drunk, this unsettling permission to speak her mind. ‘It’s only the thought of hurting the children that stops me from leaving.’

‘And me?’ said Ross. ‘You don’t feel  . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘You don’t feel anything for me any more?’

Katie shook her head, very slowly, from one side to the other, as the words tumbled out. ‘I love you  . . . like a brother? Or a son. I care what happens to you. I don’t want you to be unhappy. But I don’t love you  . . . The way I used to. That’s all gone, with the rows and the stress. We’re not lovers any more. Just parents, and you won’t even let me be a proper parent. You want that all to yourself. It’s only because I loved loving you
once
that I can’t stand not feeling that way. I don’t think it’s enough.’ She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

‘And that’s it?’ said Ross, bitterly. ‘That’s it?’

‘You know, it’s not unusual to feel a bit emotional at this stage in counselling, Katie,’ said Peter. ‘You’re facing up to a lot of realities that you’ve both been ignoring – but that doesn’t mean it’s the end. Don’t you feel that, in some ways, you’ve learned something new about each other from being so honest? Look at Ross.’

She couldn’t.

‘Look at Ross,’ said Peter, more sternly. ‘You’ve just said something very hard for him to hear. You can’t just ignore his reaction.’

‘That’s one of the things I like about dancing,’ said Ross, quietly, ‘you have to look at me when I hold you.’ His voice wobbled. ‘But even then you stare over my shoulder. Like you’d rather be dancing with someone else.’

Katie suddenly realised she didn’t have the energy any more. Her and Ross – ballroom dancing? They thought ballroom dancing would save their marriage? It was embarrassing to think she’d ever thought it might help. What good were silly clothes? Prancing around with strangers? All that fake romance?

She made herself look at Ross, and immediately saw how distressed he was. His brown eyes were filling with glassy tears, thickening his long lashes as he tried to blink them away. He lifted his sleeve, like a teenager, and wiped pathetically at his eyes.

‘Ross?’ said Peter, with absolute kindness.

Feel something, Katie yelled at herself. Feel something for this poor well-meaning man sitting here crying because you’ve hurt him! But she couldn’t feel anything beyond pity. If Ross had chopped off her arm with an axe, she wasn’t sure she’d feel anything.

Is this what it feels like when you’re going mad, she wondered. Or depressed? Wasn’t that a sign of depression, when you couldn’t feel happy or sad or anything any more?

‘If that’s what she thinks, then what’s the point in anything I can say?’ he managed. ‘I don’t want to make her stay, if she doesn’t love me.’

And that was it, thought Katie. He’d rather let someone else make the decision for him, and  . . . I need someone who’s tough enough to help me carry this family.

‘For once in your life, Ross, stop being so fucking
nice
,’ she said, and got up and walked out.

17

Katie didn’t know where she was walking, but she found herself on the precinct, and when she saw the warm bright lights still on in the new deli, welcoming in the gloomy concrete, she pushed open the door. The checked tablecloths suggested the owners had tried to turn it into a pizza parlour in the evenings, but she was the only customer, bar a few teenagers making a milkshake last as long as possible.

Katie slumped at a table and tried to get her thoughts in order, but couldn’t. All she could think was that she wanted to close her eyes and wake up somewhere else.

So, what are you going to do? Now you’ve told Ross your marriage is over and stormed out like you’re in
Coronation Street
?

It was all right in soap operas. They just cut to a different scene with different people. But in real life, Katie knew she’d have to deal with the messy aftermath with Ross. She had to go home and deal with what happened next.

But what
would
happen? Part of her was electric with the prospect of having finally stirred them out of their miserable rut; maybe now he’d yell and have an opinion she could respect him for. But maybe he wouldn’t, and she’d have to drag it out of him, and be responsible for this too.

She stared out at the drizzle-slicked high street, but her brain stayed sullenly empty, like the abandoned electrical shop opposite, its windows smeared out with white paint. The council’s going to knock all this down, she thought, as her thoughts ran back onto the research/check/confirm track of her in-tray. The architects who designed this horrible, sterile precinct thought they’d made something that would be here as long as the abbey, something modern and fresh. And now we know better, we’re going to flatten it and replace it with a Waitrose and outdoor coffee retail units and eco-friendly light.

Ross walked in an hour later and she still hadn’t got any further.

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘You know they’re sweeping up around you?’

‘Yes,’ said Katie. She hadn’t even taken off her coat.

‘I thought I might as well stay to the end of the session,’ he went on. ‘Seemed pointless not to, after what you said. I needed the counselling after that.’

‘And what did Peter say? Called me a selfish bitch, probably.’

‘No, we talked about me, actually,’ said Ross. He rubbed his chin. ‘He gave me a hard time about how I let you shoulder all the decisions and transfer my frustrations on to you, rather than dealing with them.’

Katie stared at Ross, amazed he was being so calm. Was he in shock or something? Why was he acting so normal? As if she hadn’t just said their marriage was over?

He frowned. ‘Shall we go home?’

‘Home?’ Katie repeated. ‘You want to go home?’

‘Where else is there to go? We’re about to be late for Gemma – she’s got revision to be getting on with, and I need to make sure the kids have got clean clothes if we’re going away.’

He must be in shock, thought Katie. Delayed reaction.

Ross drove home in silence, and out of guilt, Katie gave Gemma a tenner on top of her usual money for the extra half-hour. She looked thrilled.

‘Thanks, Mrs Parkinson,’ she said. ‘That’s really sweet of you!’

Normally Katie would have been pleased to have got such a positive reaction out of Gemma, who was always a bit off with her, since unlike the other mothers, she didn’t have time to gossip about the current scandal on the babysitting circuit. Tonight, though, she forced out a smile and hurried Gemma on her way, so she and Ross could talk. His silence was starting to unnerve her.

He wasn’t in the sitting room or the kitchen when she closed the door on Gemma. Nerves started to flutter in Katie’s stomach, as she tiptoed round the house.

She found him in the spare room, getting Hannah’s pink suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe.

‘Ross?’

He looked at her blankly, then reached up for his own weekend bag, the battered old Head squash bag he’d had since they’d first moved in together.

‘Ross, we have to talk,’ she said in an urgent whisper. Hannah’s room was right next door and it didn’t take much to wake her up if she thought something interesting was going on.

‘Not yet,’ he said, and he sounded like a stranger. ‘I haven’t finished thinking.’

An odd sensation prickled at Katie’s throat and she found herself thinking: this isn’t going how I thought it would.

She realised that in all her fantasising about yelling out some home truths, she’d never really thought what she wanted to happen next. Now she’d set the wheels in motion with no idea of where the conversation was going, or how she could get it to stop, she wasn’t even honestly sure how she felt, underneath the anger. An icy-coldness spread through her veins.