Wishes Under a Starlit Sky

‘Do you not want kids, Scott?’ I ask, perplexed by his question. I’d never given thought to him not wanting kids because not once had he mentioned anything of the sort. Not once, not even one little hint had been given to me that would make me think my husband did not want kids someday. He joined in with conversations about what it would be like when we had our own children in the future. Heck, he had started conversations about when we would have them, what names he liked, what books he would read and games he would play with them.

I’m holding on to the back of a dining room chair to keep me upright. I want to sit down but there is a strange adrenaline keeping me standing. I want to fix this. Scott stays quiet, leaving my question lingering, like he doesn’t have an answer. My dad is a fixer, a manly man with a molten core. I can be emotional, but I know I can fix this; I can be strong.

‘Scott, if you’re worried about kids, we can talk about it. If you don’t want kids right this second, it’s OK. We can talk about having them when we’re both ready. If you never want them, then I’m not sure what to tell you, but you’re right: maybe you need to take some time to figure out whether it’s a never or just not right now situation,’ I say. My words come out surprisingly calm, in contrast to the fast and shooting pains I keep getting in my chest. But Scott does this to me. I want to please him, I know that much. I can compromise. I just need to assure him that I am here for him, whatever he is going through, I’ll stand by his side.

I look at my husband, at the man I love, and I know we can get through anything. I will be here for him, he will be here for me, it’s what we do, what we’ve always done.

Scott stands up, still looking out of the window and not at me. I keep my grip on the dining chair, afraid that if I let go, I might fall.

‘Why don’t we go and relax for the evening and watch some TV, or if you’d like we can make a pros and cons list for babies. We can even look over the baby name list we wrote, and you can cross off any you don’t like,’ I say, my lips quirking up into a small smile, trying to lighten the mood and think of a solution to the dilemma we’re facing. I don’t necessarily think it warrants a break in our marriage. I think something like this needs to be figured out together; having kids is a huge deal. I understand Scott is scared. I had been talking about it a lot more recently, but to say he doesn’t want them is a huge statement to make after six years of marriage. What has changed his mind? I’m struggling to stem my panic but am doing my best not to get hysterical and scare him even more.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve scared you with all the baby talk recently. I see you with your nieces and nephews and I guess I can’t help getting carried away. You’re really great with them, you know. And you always come up with the cutest baby names. But if you want me to lay off on the baby talk, I will do,’ I add, with a more confident smile. I release my hand from its death grip on the chair, wanting to go over to Scott and soothe him with a hug, but he isn’t looking at me and I want to give him the space he needs. My heart rate feels like it’s steadying. I can pocket the baby talk for a little while, if it’s what Scott wants. Besides Christmas is just around the corner, we both have work to do and I can distract myself with Christmas cheer and our office Christmas party.

‘I’m going to go and stay with Matt tonight, OK? It’ll be OK; I’ll figure it out,’ Scott says as he turns towards me. My heart rate picks up once more, faster than the speed of light. I gulp hard, reaching out for the chair before my knees buckle.

‘I don’t understand,’ I mumble, genuinely baffled by his response. I don’t want him to go. Don’t we need to talk about this together? A marriage is two people, having a baby requires two people; don’t I need to know what he’s thinking, where I stand in all this? The room feels cold and I can feel a drop of water from my wet hair trickle down my back, making me shiver.

‘Scott, do you not want to talk about this together? You don’t have to stay with Matt. If you don’t want to talk about babies anymore tonight, that’s fine too. Anything you want to do, that’s fine. I promise I can let it go, but you can still stay here.’ My voice sounds needy. I’m confused. I’m not supposed to be needy – society would scoff at me right now – but this is my husband. We have slept by each other’s side for the past eight years. My body trembles with fear. I don’t want him to go.

Scott walks past me towards the hall, stopping to give me a kiss on the forehead before he reaches the door. ‘No, it’s OK, babe. I’ll figure it out. I just need some time and we’ll be OK. I think this will be good for us and I’ve told Matt I’m coming now,’ Scott says, his voice somehow lighter. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

And he’s gone. The door closes behind him and I immediately drop into the chair. The tears that I have been holding in since I heard Scott utter the words ‘break from us’, come spilling out in heaves, splattering on to the red robin placemat my mum made for me a few Christmases ago, from a picture she took in her backyard in Colorado. The robin looks magical perched on the snowy branch of a pine tree. In the eight years Scott and I have been together he has never made me feel uncertain, unsure and unwanted, and right now I feel all those things.

Where was his fight? Why were we not having a discussion like a married couple should when a problem arises? How could he just walk out so easily? I have so many questions that remain unanswered, all while my mind is trying to comprehend how our romantic trip to Venice led to Scott wanting a break and not even being able to sleep in the same house as me. My blood runs cold at the thought; I feel disgusting.

Out in the hallway I can see the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree reflecting in the mirror. I can hear the slight murmur of the TV, which Scott must have switched on, announcing tonight’s Christmas movie on the Pegasus channel; reminding me of the fairy tales I helped write and how Christmas was one of the most romantic times of the year.

Chapter 1 (#ulink_738cd80b-3dbb-59b8-98be-e67948ecc742)

It looks like a Christmas bomb exploded in the hotel and I love it. Madi has gone to get us another drink and I’m stood by the eight-foot Christmas tree that is covered in so much tinsel and fake snow, I’m surprised it’s still standing. Everywhere I look there are trees and baubles and stars dangling from the chandeliers. It’s what Christmas grotto dreams are made of. I try and focus on all my favourite things and keep my mind from wandering to the shambles my current home life is in. Scott came home the other night after three days and it was like nothing had changed between us. The banter was lovely, the sex was passionate and hot until the minute it stopped, and I turned to ice when Scott insisted the break was working and it was what we needed. I haven’t heard from him in two days.

I’m swaying gently to the music – Michael Bublé’s ‘Let It Snow’, of course. It’s not really Christmas without Michael Bublé, is it? I soak up the words, trying to drown out my thoughts. The hotel is packed with people. I merrily smile and wave and chat to my co-workers. Suddenly I stop swaying and stand motionless in between the hustle and bustle. Through a gap in the clearing I can make out the back of his head. He is sitting at the bar chatting casually to a bunch of men in suits, colleagues I recognize from work events I had attended with him in the past. With Scott being in production, he attended events that didn’t always include writers like me, but mainly the directors and producers and all the behind-the-scenes staff from the movie sets.

That’s when it happens. I watch as a tall blonde approaches him. His face lights up, greeting the blonde with a smile. He places a hand on her hip and a delicate kiss on her lips. My stomach hits the floor with a vengeance making me wobble in my boots. I put my hand out to steady myself against the wall, feeling like a goldfish out of water. I can’t breathe. The air is not reaching my lungs.

I can’t let him see me like this, so weak, so pathetic. I try not to stare as I try to walk away, my legs not quite remembering how to do so as they shake with each step. Yet I can’t seem to pry my eyes away from the scene. She’s wearing a long gold sequined dress, half her luscious blonde hair pulled back with a few strands dangling around her beautiful face and her arms are resting on his shoulders, as she throws her head back and laughs at something he says.

I have to avert my eyes, but they won’t budge. All I can do is stare as I stagger for air, a space to breathe. Maybe if I stare long enough it will go away. Maybe the longer I stare the more used to it my brain will become. What’s that thing they say about spiders? The more you look at them and face them, the less scared you will become? Shoot, if it didn’t work for me with spiders, I sure as hell don’t think it is going to work now, because it seems the more I look, the more pain I feel.

I find a quiet corner, hidden by a gorgeous purple and silver Christmas tree, but I can still see him. I can still see her. My heart feels like it is about to burst through my rib cage, and I can’t calm my short gasping breaths. I feel stupid. For a moment I think I might be sick. What am I doing? I need to get out of here. Just then Madi finds me and panic fills her pretty blue eyes when she sees me. In that moment I see them out of the corner of my eye. They kiss, full-on kiss, and I am eternally grateful that my best friend chose now to find me. I feel like I’m about to pass out from the uncomfortable pain I feel in my heart.

I torture myself taking one last look at them before Madi grabs my wrist and pulls me out of there; away from the Christmas party that I look forward to every year.

*

I jolt as a piercing pain stabs my chest and I shoot upright. I’m in bed. My pillow is soaked, and my body drenched in sweat. I pat myself down, pinching myself, telling myself it was all a nightmare, when I turn to see Madi lying in my bed next to me.

‘Madi, what’s going on?’ I shout, the fear in my voice making tears fall fast and heavy down my face.

Madi stirs and blinks a few times, wiping her eyes before registering that I am awake and shouting at her. Her eyes suddenly dart open and she becomes alert, pulling me in for a hug.

‘It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s OK,’ she says softly, trying to soothe me. I don’t find any words, just more tears.

‘When is this going to stop, Madi?’ I whimper. It’s a week and a half until Christmas and it’s not the first time I have had this nightmare, which isn’t just a nightmare but my brain dredging up the events that took place last Christmas. My mind has re-enacted this scene over and over for the past twelve months, but since the countdown for the twenty-fifth of December began on the first of December, it has become the gift that keeps on giving every single night – hence Madi’s presence. I feel drained and completely spent, lying on my bed having exerted no physical energy whatsoever. I try to rake my hand through my locks, but I’m sat on most of my hair which makes it difficult. Instead, I wipe at my tired eyes, causing the delicate skin around them to sting as I do so.

Madi retrieves a brush from the bedside table and slowly and tenderly starts brushing my hair. ‘Harper, I’m your best friend and you know how much I love you. I value your feelings and respect every emotion you have gone through and you know I’d never rush you, but baby, enough is enough now. You can’t do this to yourself any longer. I can’t allow it.’ She pushes my arm gently so she can tug my hair from under me and brush out the knots. I glance around my bedroom, Scott’s and my bedroom, spot the overturned pictures and the occasional item of Scott’s, and I feel ashamed. Not much has changed, and Scott hasn’t lived here for a year.

‘You’ve barely left the house, you’ve been neglecting your parents, your work is suffering, Harp. If your recent lines hadn’t been such bloody brilliant pieces of writing and transformed those horror scripts, Lara would probably have fired you by now – but you’re a romance writer, Harp. We’re romance writers and I miss bouncing ideas back and forth. Come on, you need to get out of this house and file for divorce so you can move on with your life,’ Madi says boldly. She’s right. I know she is and I’m not mad at her honesty. I’ve never appreciated it more.

‘Why don’t you go and have a hot shower and I’ll make us some breakfast,’ Madi says, holding my face and looking me in the eyes. Her own are filled with tears and concern. I nod, but when she leaves the room the softness and safety of my blanket has me sinking back under the covers. My eyes are heavy and I no longer have the will to keep them open.

*

I take a breath in, torn and terrified. My finger hovers above the enter key on the laptop that is open on the desk in front of me. This isn’t me. I don’t do things like this. I don’t snoop on my husband or invade his personal space. I’ve never had any reason to before, but that all changed last night after seeing him at the Christmas party. He’s given me reason.

‘Are you sure?’ Madi whispers from behind me. My office is cold, reflecting how I feel inside. My hands tremble. No, I’m not sure, I’m not sure at all, but that doesn’t change what I feel I have to do.

‘Madi, it’s been a little over a week since Scott walked away so casually out of my life, with nothing but a vague explanation and a promise that he would be back, that we would be OK, that he just needed some space. He chooses to speak to me when it suits him, popped in for sex when he fancied, all while not caring how much that affects me mentally. He texts me like I’m some old friend. Yet he cannot seem to find the time to give me answers as to what all this is about. He has watched me cry, he has listened to me fight for him all while shrugging his shoulders in response. And to top it all off, he doesn’t think twice about kissing another woman at the Christmas party.’ I pause. I don’t quite know who I am talking about now. It all feels so absurd.

‘Christmas Day is only a few days away, I need answers, Madi. I need to know if he’s coming home for good. I need to know who she is. And if he doesn’t think I’m worthy of any, I must find them myself,’ I say softly. I am already spent and I haven’t even logged in yet. I don’t think I have ever been more nervous in my life.

‘OK,’ Madi says gently, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘Please know I love you and that I am here for you.’ Then she goes and sits on the black leather couch, her fingers twisting around her hoop earrings anxiously.

Before I can chicken out and allow my brain to manifest more evil thoughts, I press enter on my husband’s email account. At least I will know for sure what’s been going on and I won’t have to torture myself with guessing.

Nothing jumps out at me straight away, no woman’s name I don’t recognize. Then I see it. An email to his friend Matt, with the subject line: What am I going to do?

I gulp and, with a shaky hand, click on the email and watch the conversation fill the page. Words and sentences begin slapping me in the face, hard. ‘We talk every night and every morning.’ ‘We’re practically girlfriend and boyfriend.’ ‘Harper is stressing about kids.’ ‘No kids.’ ‘I get jealous when other guys go near her.’ ‘I love her.’ And that last sentence just about does me in. I fly out of my chair, sick rising in my throat. It takes all I have not to throw my laptop across the room and smash it to pieces. I can’t look anymore. I feel like there is a monster inside of me; it terrifies me. I can’t control it. I don’t want this anger inside me and I’m mad at myself for allowing it in. But all my mother’s words of wisdom, her soothing mantras, are not speaking to me right now.

My soul mate, my world, it all sounds so childlike now – my person … there can be no such thing. I almost laugh despite the hot tears burning my cheeks. My husband is in love with someone else and has been for months and I had no idea. I can’t make out from the messages how long he has been seeing her, how long he has been sleeping with her, but it was long before he brought up taking a break. The email dated back months before Venice.

Our marriage is over for him, and he forgot to tell me. Instead. he’s led me to believe he’s just having some breathing room, getting out of the house for a bit, staying with the boys a while before we got serious about kids, all like it was no big deal, like he’ll be back. He even texted only a few days ago that I was being silly when I asked him if he wanted a divorce, like it wasn’t that serious. He laughed it off like I was the mad one, like everything he was doing was normal. He didn’t want a divorce, he wasn’t seeing other people, we would be OK, he loved me; all just lies he was spinning.

*

My head is throbbing, I am dripping with cold sweat and someone is rubbing my forehead. There’s a distinct smell of crispy bacon in the air. I force my eyes open, but it takes a few attempts before I can blink anything into a clear view.

Madi places the breakfast tray on the floor and scoots up next to me on the bed.

‘Harp, we’re not spending this Christmas here, OK? We’re going home,’ she says, assertively moving tendrils of hair out of my face. I am aware of the state I am in, what I must look like shrivelled up under the covers again. I have lost all sense of who I am. All I know is that I am a mess and very much on my way to repeating the events of last Christmas – cocooned in my bed, shutting out the world while Madi tries with all her might to spread some Christmas cheer with gifts and mince pies, with mild success. The whole world knows Scott had an affair. It’s been twelve whole months. It’s done, it’s in the past. I need to move on.

‘But this is home,’ I mutter, wrapping my arm around her waist for comfort.

‘Yes, it is, but I mean home, home; to your mum and dad’s house. It might not be in London, but wherever your mum and dad are, that’s home. We’re going to Colorado.’

Chapter 2 (#ulink_9f1b15da-2e56-5bc5-900a-13e50fd5b7e3)

Madi’s living room smells like cinnamon and pine. Candles flicker from every surface. With the help of Madi’s famous hot chocolate and bacon butty combo, I’m starting to get into the Christmas spirit. It’s been a few days since the nightmares have haunted my brain and for that I’m grateful. I’m not sure whether to thank the amount of Baileys Madi sneaks into my hot chocolate or the back-to-back episodes of Chuck that she’s been playing late into the evening every night before bed this past week. It’s difficult to have nightmares when my mind is otherwise preoccupied by when Chuck and Sarah will get together and if I could one day write a script anywhere near as incredible as this show. Still, Chuck and Sarah’s love is not enough to get me in the mood for the work Christmas party this year; instead, Madi and I have booked our flights for Colorado. We leave in the early hours of tomorrow morning.