Page 4 of Love Beyond Repair
Our family is happy. If you don’t look too closely.
Huge roof windows allow light to flow into the room. It has an expensive but lived-in feel, and there are a few children’s toys scattered around the floor. They’ve been playing with cars while their mother prepares the evening meal.
Fresh flowers of pinks and whites are on the dining room table. Kelsey loves flowers and creates all her own arrangements. She’s standing with her back to me at the kitchen island, tossing a salad while she keeps watch over our two cherubs. Her chestnut curls roll down her back as her hair flows free. She’s wearing a soft white summer dress with thin straps. It’s loose, just skimming her curves.
When she turns, her face is blank, and soft hazel eyes lock on mine. Her belly swells through the soft material, six months along with number three. A boy this time, we hope, as we have our two beautiful girls already. My chest tightens. I’ve no idea what we are anymore.
“Daddy’s home,” she tells the girls. The false tone flicking on as it has every day this week. Wife-mode activated. “Come to the table.”
Savannah and Rose scramble through from the conservatory. They’re the apple of my eye. Both under five and filled with childish glee. Savannah will be off to school after the summer; the time passes quicker than I like as they move through each stage. I wish it would slow down and let me savor them a little more.
“Daddy. Daddy. Dinner time,” they shout, all giggles and squeals.
I smile at their enthusiasm for such a basic part of the day. They’re the spitting image of each other. Both have baby-blonde messy curls that seem to go everywhere but where they’re meant to. Their mother is always trying to tame their manes, mostly unsuccessfully.
As I laugh to myself, my wife continues to stare impassively, going through the motions of a family dinner. Four bright-blue eyes look up expectantly over sweet button noses. I lift both girls into my arms and swing them around. They shriek with delight as I carry them toward the dining table.
Our ornate cream crockery and a feast of chicken cacciatore adorn the long wooden table. The smell of homemade bread lingers in the air. I spot a freshly made strawberry cheesecake waiting on the worktop for after. No doubt,Kelsey will have picked the berries fresh from her kitchen garden this morning.
The four of us sit as a family around the table, stuffing our faces and chatting. Surface level but almost normal, on the brink of believable, as if nothing has changed.
The girls keep their plated items separate, eating everything in a specific order. Heaven forbid there’s a sauce; it would cause World War III, as full-plate decontamination would be required. Two little mouths are busy chomping away; sounds of contentment coming out in between bites.
“Well done, girls.” I beam at them, and their jaws work harder. “Keep up the good work, and I think Mummy has dessert for you.”
I raise one finger across my lips as if this bit of information is a secret. They burst into fits of giggles and excitedly stuff more food in their mouths.
A shiver runs down my spine with an uncomfortable awareness of Kelsey’s eyes, sharp on me. My heart aches. I move my focus back to my meal and then to her again. The hardness is gone, replaced by that softened expression she saves for moments like this. When I could almost pass for the man she married. I could almost believe things are as they once were.
“How was your day?” I ask her. “Did you rest?”
During her first two pregnancies, Kelsey didn’t take good enough care of herself, always running around aftereveryone else. Attending neighborhood watch meetings, cooking for our elderly neighbor, and running errands day and night. She can be quite dramatic in anxious situations, and it always concerns me that her emotions will take over. Stress her out.
During her seventh month with our second, Rose, she ended up in the hospital overnight, dehydrated and exhausted. Being so busy looking after the house, caring for our eldest, Savannah, and baking for a local charity bake sale, she completely forgot to eat. My mind flicks back to that phone call I’d received from Eamon.
“Don’t panic, Jones. But Kelsey is in the maternity ward. She’s okay, but she’s tired.”
The terror and fear that had coursed through my body had been palpable. I sprinted from the oncology ward, through A&E, across the cafeteria to maternity, retelling the situation to colleagues on my radio as I went. I’m surprised no one from the mental health team popped by to check out the crazed Doctor Jones in the days after.
She rolls her eyes and lifts them to the heavens. “I’m fine, Ben,” she says dismissively, then returns to eating. It’s the same response I’ve had for months when I ask about her well-being.
As Kelsey has the children all day, bedtime is my duty. Once we’re done eating, I scoop my two little cherubs up, and we walk hand in hand up the wide staircase to the bedrooms. By the time I’ve bathed them, brushed theirteeth, hunted for missing socks, read three bedtime stories, and found Mr. Bugsy under the dresser, they’re finally asleep. Peaceful. Innocent. Dreaming of unicorns and glitter clouds. I tuck the duvet up under their chins and linger longer than I should, letting the weight of it all settle over me: the reality of what I could lose if this all goes wrong.
Downstairs, the house is quiet. The lights are low. Kelsey stands at the kitchen sink, rinsing plates, her silhouette framed by the warm under-glow of the cabinets. There’s a single mug beside her. Mint tea, probably. I linger by the doorway.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine. Stop asking me.” Her voice is even, eyes still on the sink. “You were the one who disappeared Saturday. Maybe I should be quizzing you.” She turns then, drying her hands slowly on a towel, appearing completely composed. “Where did you go, Ben?”
I hesitate. Unsure what to say, what to do. In that moment, I want to run, but it’s not an option, and she deserves an answer of some sort.
“I… walked. I needed air,” I say. It’s not a lie. I did walk after leaving Bex’s place. Walked and walked, before regaining the courage to come home. I’d expected to be hit with a barrage of questions, but none came. All that met me at home was silence, like it has most days.
“You were gone for hours. You didn’t answer your phone.” Her eyes don’t leave my face as she folds the towelin her hands. “We’re not together. I told you that. But until we make it official, I expect you to be discreet. For the kids. For appearances. Play the game.”
She picks up her mug. Sips once. Unbothered. “If you can’t manage that, I can’t promise I’ll stay quiet.” She shrugs.
I swallow the bitterness rising in my throat. She’s done this before. I remember her threats last time, whispered in the dark. Custody. Reputation. The way she would turn people against me without ever raising her voice.
