LITMIR.BIZ

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in life. They hadn’t noticed at the time, hadn’t seen that they were slowly diverging, until it was too late. Looking back, Julia thought it had started around the time Anna was born. She was their only child, and the only one they were likely to have given how hard it had been to get her, and she deserved a dad who invented wild stories and made treasure hunts and drew and painted and created with her. A dad who injected energy and wonder and awe into her world.

      Brian loved her, of course he did. He doted on her. But he never suggested that they try anything new, that they go camping on an island in a lake or to the seaside or to see a play. He didn’t build an obstacle course in the garden or put on plays in an Anna-sized theatre or assemble a trampoline and hold the Crowne Mini Olympics. Instead, he bought her the same pink Lego sets and Disney-branded dolls that every other girl her age owned. He was content for Anna to live her life in the narrow suburban confines he had allowed himself to become enmeshed in. It was too normal for Anna, and, for that matter, for Julia. She wanted more, and Brian could not provide it.

      He was, truth be told, a bit boring, although Julia would never have put it that way to him.

      Or at least, she hadn’t intended to, but when she’d told him a month back that she was considering their future together – specifically, whether they had one – he’d not taken it well, and they’d spiralled into a vicious argument. She’d ended up saying things she now regretted, but once things are said they have a habit of staying that way, and all you can do is live with the consequences.

      You’re a bit, you know, a bit – she’d been thinking boring, but she managed to find a euphemism just in time – a bit mainstream.

      Her attempt to soften the blow didn’t work. Brian clenched his jaw.

      Mainstream? he’d replied. You mean boring, don’t you?

      Stupidly, with two glasses of white wine lubricating her anger, she’d nodded.

      She said a few more things she hadn’t been planning to share, like the fact that she didn’t want her life to drift by, empty of inspiration and wonder. Or the fact that she was sick of doing the same things every weekend, going to the same places every holiday, eating at the same restaurants. She wanted more, she wanted adventure and romance and colour.

      You’re just having a bloody midlife crisis, Brian said. I thought it was me that was supposed to get scared about life leaking away and spend our savings on a sports car and have an affair with a bimbo.

      And then she said the thing she really regretted.

      I wish you would, she’d said. At least I could find something interesting in a man who had some fight in him. You’re ready for the pipe and slippers phase already.

      What, he said, suddenly red-faced. What did you say?

      She repeated herself. That you’re ready for your pipe and slippers. Julia found it odd that this, of all she’d said, was the thing that he was particularly exercised by, but his reply enlightened her.

      Not that, he said. Not the bloody pipe and slippers. You said you could find something interesting in a man with some fight in him. So I’m not even interesting to you?

      Julia realized that she hadn’t been making that statement – it had just kind of slipped out – but now it was said it was exactly what she meant. So she nodded.

      You can think I’m boring, Brian replied, and lacking inspiration, or whatever it is you’ve read on Facebook that you should be looking for, I can accept that. What I can’t accept is you saying that there’s nothing about me that deserves your interest. Not your respect, and not, heaven forbid, your love, but your interest. If that’s the case it really is over.

      And she had agreed. She told him he had put it well. That he really understood the situation.

      Since then they had barely spoken. Brian slept in the guest room; she stayed in their room. On the few occasions they had been unable to avoid sharing words they had not discussed their future, until about ten days ago, when she had told him she’d made up her mind. She wanted a divorce.

      Which was what Carol Prowse wanted, and would get. The problem was that she also wanted her husband only to have custody of their nine-year-old son when supervised. Her demand was ridiculous and vindictive, and it would never be granted.

      Jordi Prowse had shaken his head when Julia said it, and now he was laughing.

      ‘Forget it,’ he said. His hair was greying at the temples and he had a relaxed, easy manner. ‘That’s simply unthinkable. There’s no grounds for that.’

      There was a long pause. Carol Prowse looked at Julia. ‘That’s not what my lawyer thinks.’

      That was what her lawyer thought, but it was not what Councillor Prowse wanted her to say. Julia glanced again at the time. Two fifty. She needed to wrap this up.

      ‘Given the age of the girls you were having an affair with I think that there are grounds to argue that you are not fit to be left in charge of a child,’ she said. ‘Moral grounds.’

      His lawyer, an old friend of Julia’s called Marcie Lyon, shook her head. ‘There’s no way that’ll fly,’ she said. ‘You know that.’

      Jordi grinned. ‘You’re just feeling humiliated,’ he said. ‘So you’re making empty threats.’

      Carol Prowse stiffened in her chair. Julia had been here before, this could get ugly. It was the way that custody battles went. Both parties went in with the best intentions to reach an amicable settlement; both parties ended up locked in a battle for their kids, which ripped whatever was left of their relationship to pieces. But she couldn’t wait around to see this one. She looked at the clock again. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that we might have achieved all we are going to achieve today. I would suggest that Ms Lyon and I meet later in the week to discuss the case.’

      Jordi West shrugged. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘You can meet and discuss how stupid her—’, he nodded at his wife ‘proposal is.’

      Julia smiled. ‘We’ll discuss many things, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Can we consider this meeting over?’

      She had to get out of the room. She had accepted that she was not going to make it in time to pick up the puppy – it was a twenty-five-minute drive to the school, then another half hour to the lady’s house – but now she had a more pressing concern. She needed to call the school and tell them she was running late so they could hold Anna back. She got to her feet, aware that she was rushing the three other people in the room. Marcie gave her an odd look as she left; Jordi didn’t look at either Julia or her client.

      Carol Prowse shook her head. ‘Can you believe that?’ she said. ‘He’s so damn arrogant.’

      Julia could see that her client was in the mood to debrief, and normally she would have provided the sympathetic support she wanted, but right now that was simply not an option. She nodded agreement. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I have to go. It’s my day to pick up my daughter from school.’

      God, it sounded lame. This was the problem. She was expected to be a model professional, focused on her career, which meant she was at the beck and call of her clients, as well as being a model parent, which meant she was at the beck and call of her daughter. It was impossible to be both, but that didn’t lessen the expectation any.

      In the corridor she took her phone from her bag and pressed the button.

      The screen was black. It was out of battery.

      She swore quietly. She fished around in her bag for a charger. Not there; of course not. It was in the car. She could run up to her office and call from there, but it was on the other side of the building. No – the quickest way was to get to the car and charge it there.

      She hurried down the corridor. She didn’t doubt everything would be fine, but she still didn’t like the feeling of being late to pick up her daughter.

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