Page 22 of Sorry, Not Sorry
‘What should I say?’ Delilah pleaded, and Armenique shrugged and handed back the phone.
‘Just say sorry and cut your losses, Del. You can’t win them all.’
But Delilah was too weighed down with guilt to leave it. She might not be able to force Carl to meet her in person, but she could tell him what he clearly still needed to know. Before her friend could stop her, Delilah tapped furiously on the phone keypad.
I’m truly sorry. Please believe me. It was incredibly immature of me to behave that way, and you didn’t deserve it. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but as part of your healing maybe you should at least consider if you can?
She waited with bated breath. Then:
If I say I forgive you, do you promise never to contact me again?
She hesitated, and then quickly typed:
Yes
While ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ played loudly in the background, Delilah watched the three dots that showed Carl was still typing move around for what felt like forever. Finally, a message landed.
I forgive you.
16
‘Who’s next?’ Salome asked brightly.
‘Why do you sound like you’re enjoying all this?’ Delilah asked waspishly. Twenty-four hours after consuming more alcohol than she’d had in months, she was curled up on the sofa in her sister’s living room with gritty eyes and a pounding headache.
‘Well, it’s not like I’ve got much going on in my own life, is it?’
Delilah looked up in surprise at the aggrieved tone in Salome’s voice. She had put Sal’s tired eyes and the dull pallor of her usually flawless skin down to the after-effects of flu and the toll of nursing her sick household, but the uncharacteristically sour comment was an immediate red flag. It suddenly struck Delilah that almost every conversation since she’d been suspended from work had centred on Delilah’s problems, and not once had it occurred to her to ask Sal if she was okay. When had she become so self-absorbed that she’d stopped checking in with her sister? Had she become so selfish that she didn’t notice other people’s troubles?
‘What’s going on, Sal?’ she asked tentatively. ‘You look exhausted.’
‘I don’t know, hon.’ Salome’s normally upbeat voice sounded bleak. She massaged her temples with her fingers and then sat up straight and exhaled noisily. ‘I’m so lucky I can be at home with my children, and don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful. It’s just sometimes my life feels like an endless round of cooking, cleaning, changing nappies, and wiping snotty noses.’
Delilah’s mouth fell open as she stared at Salome in shock. What the hell is going on? If there was anyone on the planet who was born to be a wife and mum, it was her sister. Salome was the ultimate Earth mother – from her spotless, perfectly decorated home to her love of cooking huge, freshly made meals for her family. For as long as Delilah could remember, Salome had loved nothing more than taking care of everyone – including her younger sister.
‘Okay, I’m so confused. Sal, where’s all this coming from? I thought you loved staying at home with Arin?’
Salome turned her face away. ‘I do love having this time with Arin, but it can get soul destroying being stuck at home, and we can’t afford to put both kids into full-time nursery. I know it’s not forever, and the children will be grown in no time, but—’ Her voice cracked, and she broke off mid-sentence, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. ‘It gets to me sometimes, that’s all,’ she confessed in a low voice.
Salome was the most positive person in the world, which made her hunched posture and dispirited tone not only astonishing, but completely baffling.
‘I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately but… but why have you never said anything?’ Delilah asked carefully. ‘I had absolutely no idea you’ve been feeling like this. Have you talked to Farhan?’
As if she’d already said too much, Salome pasted a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Look, ignore me, okay? It’s just one of those days and I’m being silly and having a moan.’
Delilah shook her head, refusing to be fobbed off. ‘I’m serious, Salome. What’s going on? Please talk to me.’
Salome’s smile faded, and she leaned back into the cushions, her eyes resting on the large family portrait hanging over the mantelpiece. ‘I sound so ungrateful! I love Farhan and adore my kids, but I’m desperate to do something for me for a change. I miss the buzz of work and, yes, I know PR isn’t rocket science, but at least back then, before I had kids, I was able to talk to other people and use my brain.’
‘Could you look for a job, then?’ Delilah suggested, trying to make sense of the revelation that Salome, who was everyone’s rock and the person whose strength they all took for granted, was herself floundering.
Salome looked disconsolate. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been out of the game so long, I’d have to take a salary cut – assuming anyone would even want to hire me – and then I could only do part-time because of the kids. Farhan says having both kids in full-time nursery would eat up whatever I earned and take time away from Maya and Arin. He has a point, but it feels like life’s passing me by and the longer I stay out of the market, the harder it will be to ever get back in…’ Her voice trailed into silence.
‘But Sal, if you feel this strongly about it, you have to tell Farhan how important it is to you and then stick to your guns! The man worships the ground you walk on, and he’d hate knowing you feel like this.’
‘I can’t!’ Salome burst out. ‘He’s carrying all of us financially at the moment, and I don’t want him to feel bad. He’s already chosen to work from home so he could help out with the kids when, quite frankly, it would be better for his career if he spent more time in the office. He’s so keen to prove his value to the company that he’s dragged himself back to work even though he’s feeling rocky. Besides, even if Farhan agreed, I’d still feel guilty for leaving Arin so early.’
‘Loads of kids of his age go to nursery. Arin would be fine!’ Delilah tried not to sound exasperated. ‘Putting your kids into nursery doesn’t make you a bad mother, and it sounds to me like you’re stressing yourself out when you don’t have to. Why must you try so hard to have every single thing be perfect?’
