The Chasm Between Us
Youre a fool, you know, the nurse told Charlotte in the maternity ward, her voice echoing oddly. You could have another child someday, but where will you find a man like him again?
There were legends about Charlottes husband at St. Marys. While she was kept in for observation, he arrived every day, bearing homemade lunches and suppers in stout thermoses smelling of beef stew and apple crumble. Once, he carried in a television for the gloomy hospital room and sent her bouquetsorange lilies, old-fashioned rosesby courier, their scent mixing with disinfectant.
Are you newlyweds, then? asked the nurse, her face flickering in the fluorescent light.
No, five years together.
First baby?
The second.
I dont know, then
This second pregnancy had never floated as lightly as the first. John paid for the best specialists in London, but that didnt stop Charlotte from ending up on bed rest. After a month on scratchy white sheets, she longed for home so intensely that she wasnt upset when her labour started too early, as if her body knew things wouldnt go as expected.
Men cant handle all those endless therapies, the nurse declared, probably from somewhere between a dream and wakefulness. Believe me, Ive seen it.
But Charlotte refused to listen. She believed her little girlher Maisiewould be a fighter, that they could manage, all together. John said so too.
Honestly, love. Dyou really think Id walk away over some health niggles? Not a chance.
He shrugged off baby Maisies struggles as just a bit of trouble. Everyone admired him for it. True, he left Maisies daily needs to Charlotte while he shuttled their eldest, Katie, around: to gymnastics, playdates, school, then dance and coding clubs. Life, as far as anyone could see, was pleasant, until John decided they ought to move to a house.
The girls need country air and space to run wild, he declared, as if Maisie could run. Well get a cat and a dog, just like you wanted, right?
Charlotte supposed she had wanted it, once. But she feared the cleaning, the distance to everything with only one car.
Ill buy you your own, John promised, and in a haze, she saw herself unwrapping a silver Golf in the drive, a big red bow on the bonnet. And there was Lizzie, the new housekeeper, short and round-faced, smiling at Maisie like an old friend.
Leave things to me, Mrs. Clark, Lizzie said, you get on with what you need to do.
Charlotte felt awkward at first. She was used to shouldering the loadhospitals, therapies, endless work with Maisie, school runs and clubs for Katie, housework on top. Now, Lizzie hoovered and ironed and managed to cook Charlottes own meatballs, often better than Charlotte ever did. Charlotte felt freed, and also as if she had tumbled into a yawning silence.
John left early, when the house was still under a spell. He returned lateby then Maisie was deep in her mysterious dreams, Katie bent over homework in her room. Charlotte would hear his car, the keys, his careful footstepsalways gentle, always tiptoeing for her sake. Sleep, darling, everythings fine, hed murmur, kissing her forehead, and slip to his study, closing the door on empty rooms.
Charlotte tried to wait for him: shed boil water for tea, cut sandwiches, settle with a book on the big, soft sofa theyd chosen together from John Lewis. But the book would slip from her fingers, her eyes would closeand hed find her like that, gently switching off the lamp, assuming shed nodded off by accident. It wasnt accidental. She was waiting for him. Only, he never seemed to notice it anymore.
Now Charlotte poured extra hours into Maisie: exercises, physio, speech therapy, swimming twice a week. She shuttled the child about in her new car, thinking of how John had never asked, How did the session go today? Hes ask, How are the girls? and shed answer, Fine. It became their shared blanketfineto cover up the important things. To avoid saying aloud that Maisie had fallen three times trying to take a step, or that Katie, for the first time, had asked, Mum, why doesnt Dad live with us? Though of course, he did, just from the other side of the house.
One evening, Charlotte crossed the kitchen for a glass of water and found John staring out into the darkness at the garden, whisky in hand.
Tough day? she asked, drawing her old dressing gown closer.
Sort of its been a long one, he replied without turning.
She wanted to go to him, to hug his broad back as before, but an invisible wall blocked her patha wall made of exhaustion, small resentments and too much fine. Or had he built it? She stood a minute, then retreated to Maisies quiet room.
Lizzie, noticing more than Charlotte realised, eventually broached the matter. Mrs. Clark, why dont you take Mr. Clark away somewhere? Ill look after the girls, truly.
Charlottes gaze was dull. Where would I go, Lizzie? Whats the point? Hed be glued to his phone, and Id just be worrying about Maisie.
Lizzie just smoothed one of Maisies dresses, folding it carefully.
The village unleashed an impossible autumnoaks and maples dripping leaves onto lawns. Charlotte, mug of tea in hand, wrapped in a soft cardi, watched them fall, feeling the stillness drift through her bones. Two houses down, she noticed the tall woman with the cropped hair, swinging a Labrador along each day. They met at the gate: the golden dog placed his head on Maisies lap, making the child squeal.
Sorry! Hes an idiot, but harmless, the woman panted, then paused, beaming at Maisie. What a sweetheart.
And so Victoria entered their lives.
Victoria was an architect, working from home, managing a son, Luke, who was Katies age, and, as she put it, a husband too, but with less luck. Theyd moved to the village a year prior, and Victoria confessed to Charlotte that she sometimes felt stifled by the repetition.
Im thrilled youre here! Victoria leaned across Charlottes table, clutching a glass of white. Normal family, kids the right ages, a solid husband. You get some sorts here either mums glued to Instagram and fillers, or businesswomen bouncing off the walls at weekends.
Charlotte smiled, a bit shy. There was something easy about Victoriabold, brash, never pitying Maisie. She treated her as a regular child; Maisie brightened in her presence.
Friendship span quickly. Weekends blurred with barbecues at theirs, then Victorias, children drifting between houses, Maisie blossoming in the bustle. John, who distrusted most new people, hit it off with Victoriashe could listen, joke at his pace, talk business.
One afternoon, as Charlotte listlessly stirred sugar into cold tea, Lizzie hesitated. I dont want to overstep, but this Victoria shes around a lot. Ive noticed how she looks at Mr. Clark, when youre not looking.
Charlotte blinked, more puzzled than alarmed. Shes got a husband, Lizzie. Shes my friend.
She does, yeah, Lizzie sighed, looking away. But hes always away with work, isnt he? Shes smart and lovely and well, anyway. Sorry.
Charlotte just smiled gently. Johns not like that, Lizzie. Were fine. Hes always doing his best for our family. She didnt notice Lizzies doubtful look as she turned away.
Charlotte stared into the night-dark kitchen window, repeating to herself, Johns not like that. He does everything for us.
But Charlotte was wrong. The truth arrived as mundanely and as cruelly as possible: one day, Katie arrived home from the woods in tears.
Mum! Mum! Her voice was jagged, raw.
What happened, darling? Charlotte ran to her, heart stumbling. Did you hurt yourself?
Katie stood by the kitchen door, her face a squall of tears and splotches of red. Charlotte hadnt seen her so distraught since shed fallen off her bike at five and bloodied both knees.
WeLuke and Iwent to the copse behind the houses wanted to build a den. Dads car was there. I thought I thought hed lost something, so I went to say hi and
She broke off, sobs shuddering through her.
And? Charlotte already knew. Katies face told her a second before the words came.
He was there with Auntie Vicky they were kissing. In the car. Mum, Im sorry, I didnt mean to spy, I just walked up and they
Charlotte barely heard the rest. Cold, then hot, then cold againher head swam. Kissing. With Vicky. In the car. Like teenagers. And Lizzie had warned her.
Stupid, Charlotte mouthed to herself, stupid, stupid
John returned that evening. Charlotte waited, perched on the sofas edge, a stranger at home. He came in: keys, heavy steps, tired every ounce. He saw her and froze.
Charlotte? Whats wrong?
Sit, she said.
He dropped into the armchairlow glass table between them, fruit bowl theyd chosen together years ago. Now everything about their life looked pointless to Charlotte.
Katie came back crying, she began. She was in the woods behind the house. She saw your car. And you. With Vicky. In the car.
John exhaled, didnt deny it, didnt feign surprise, just pressed his hands to his face. Yes.
Charlotte met his gaze. No tears: just flats of numb astonishment.
So its true?
Yes. Butit didnt mean anything. I swear, Charlotte. It was just a mistake.
She tasted the phrase. It didnt mean anything? Kissing her, in a car, where anyoneincluding your daughtercould see? That means nothing?
It just kind of happened. Vickys easy to talk to. And, well it was just once. I love you. I love our family. It was foolish, honestly, just a foolish mistake.
He looked like a stranger now: handsome, capable, and calmly explaining infidelity as if hed grabbed the wrong cereal.
And Vicky? Is it nothing to her too?
He shrugged. Makes no odds. Ill have a word its done with now. Charlotte, Im sorry. I really am. You know youre everything to me. You girls are everything.
You girls are everything. She remembered him saying thatat the hospital after Maisie was born, shopping for this very house, in the kitchen after a sleepless night. Then it sounded like a promise. Now it sounded hollow.
Enough, Charlotte said. I have no idea what to do with this. I need to think.
Halfway up the stairs she turned back. Katie saw you. Your daughter. You explain it to her. I have no words.
Upstairs she curled beside Maisies tiny, steady breathing. For an hour, Charlotte couldnt cry. Only later did the tears seep outsilent, without sound. She wasnt crying for herself, but for Katie, whose world, overnight, was no longer safe.
Sleep barely came. When it did, it broke into fractured bitsdisjointed faces and voices, as if the house itself were shifting. She woke to Maisies wordless calls in the pale morning, moving by habit, feeding and dressing her while Johns car vanished in the driveway. Lizzie appeared on time, but today her face was anxious.
Are you alright, Mrs. Clark?
Everythings fine, Lizzie. Mind MaisieIm popping out.
To where?
Nearby.
She didnt explain she needed to see Victoria face to face. Lizzie would have protested, but Charlotte needed to hear the other side.
Victoria answered the door late, still in a burgundy silk robe, hair effortlessly tousled, her face the picture of careless wellbeing. Charlotte! What brings you at this hour? Everything alright?
Charlotte, in yesterdays coat and no make-up, felt suddenly shabby but pressed on.
We need to talk.
She was swept into the housecoffee scents, soft furnishingsspaces that now seemed hostile.
Want a coffee? Victoria asked.
No. About yesterday.
Victoria poured herself a cold cup, eyebrows raised, feigning innocence.
Katie saw you and John. In the car. In the woods.
A flicker of confusion crossed Victorias face, then she slipped into her usual easy smile.
Well, things happen. Kids notice everything.
Charlotte found her calmness chilling. Youre wrecking my family. Why? Arent you married? With a son?
Victorias laugh was light, indulging. You really think its that simple? Lifes messy. Men make their own choices, Charlotte.
He has a family. Children.
Victoria put down her cup. He has a wife whos forgotten shes a womanalways therapies, always kids. When did you last put on lipstick? Go to the cinema?
Charlotte took the words like knives.
Johns a man, a real flesh-and-blood one. He needs company, a woman to talk to. Youre a heroine, trulya super-mum. But who wants to be married to a martyr? Im not after your John, you know. But maybe ask yourself why hes strayed.
Charlotte turned to go, but stopped at the door. You may be right. But I hope someday someone tells you the samewhen your husband finds someone younger, more interesting.
She shut the door gently.
Back home, Charlotte asked Lizzie for help.
Are you alright, Mrs. Clark? Where are you going? More things?
We need to leave, just for a while. Maybe for good.
Lizzie nodded, saying nothing, packing swiftlyshe understood already.
Within three hours, bags were ready. Katie came down, red-eyed.
Were leaving? And Dad?
Hell stay here. Were going back to our old flat, remember?
Katie nodded, pain spilling from her eyes, and Charlotte steeled herself.
As they loaded the car, Johns black Range Rover swooped in. He rushed to her, grabbing her hands.
Charlotte! Please. You cant go. We can talk. I said it was a mistake! Youre the ones I want. Dont ruin our family.
Im ruining it? Charlotte answered sadly. Was I the one kissing a neighbour in the woods? Did I make our daughter cry? I cant trust you, John. Not anymore. And I wont teach the girls to live that way.
He begged, desperate now, but she watched his handsome, pleading face and felt empty. If she stayed, shed become someone always watching for lies, counting down every delay, every excuse. Shed lose herselfjust what Victoria had said in the worst way.
I cant, Charlotte said. I cant believe you anymore. I need to go. The girls and I need somewhere safe.
He stood in the drive, arms at his sides, as she buckled the girls in. Maisie babbled with delight, oblivious, Katie was silent.
As they pulled onto the wet, grey streets of the city, Katie finally whispered, Mum, will we go back?
Charlotte brushed her cheek. I dont know, love. I truly dont know.
The city welcomed them under heavy clouds and shining pavements. In the rear-view mirror Charlotte caught the gaze of her daughters, and understood at last: it was never the house or car or even John. It was these girlsthese two souls who needed her, wholly. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
