The Broken Ones

CHAPTER 8

GWEN

In bed, I lie awake, listening to my daughter's even breathing.

Maybe Noah is telling the truth. Maybe it is over. With the night nanny. And the boss.

Have there been others? Are Kathy and Natalie only two in a long list of women on trips to London and wherever else he went in the course of our marriage?

Has our entire marriage been a lie, a sham from the start?

Maybe I don't care. Maybe I do. I shouldn't, though; that's what's important. I need to build a life without him. Tomorrow, I'll decide. That's where I'll start.

I will make myself have fun. I will live in the moment. I might even buy a self-help book. Because why the hell not?

Sleep comes with having a purpose and a little more certainty in my life.

Walking into Fairfax Hall is like entering a sanctuary. I stand still, inhale the art, breathe it in, right into my bones.

Stephen, my favourite person, ambles out, and breaks into a wide smile when he sees me. He makes coffee and we sit together at his desk. He tells me about up-and-coming artists. He shows me Google Images. It's my ideal day, gazing at new art and arguing over what I like and what he doesn't. Time loses relevance.

He looks up from his laptop. "I've missed you."

"I've missed me," I joke.

He smiles.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His eyes are so kind I want to cry.

And it comes out slowly, haltingly at first, then gushing out like a torrent, a broken dam.

When my tirade is over, I slump back in my seat, exhausted.

"Sounds to me like you need a change of scene," Stephen says calmly. "Like London."

"London?"

"A good friend of mine just opened an art gallery in London. A huge one, triple the size of our little gallery here. He's looking for a Curator. Asked me to recommend someone young, smart, and creative. And I'm looking right at her."

I stare at him.

"Me?"

He nods.

"You're the perfect choice. You'd get triple the salary you're getting now. Plus you'd be in full charge, with two, maybe three Assistant Curators, and a sizeable group of staff to assist you."

"But I can't just --- what about Emma --- "

He smiles.

"I don't see why not. Emma's in nursery school. Lots of nursery schools all over the country, and Emma's wise beyond her years. Emma will be fine. It'd do both of you good to leave Norwich, start over in London, leave the bad memories behind. Do your mum good to have you close by, too. She's not getting any younger."

"I'm not sure I'm ready. I'm not sure it's the right time."

"There's never a right time," he says, refilling my mug with steaming hot coffee.

"I don't know --- "

"All right. Think about it. My friend wants the right person. And I knew who that was the minute she walked through my door this morning. It's fate. And only fools argue with fate."

I smile, feel the unfamiliar warm glow that comes with being appreciated.

"What about my job here? Who's going to take over --- "