Chapter 47

I don't know how long I just sat there, staring into nothingness. When my initial shock and horror had subsided a little, my first reaction was to cry. I slumped back against the sofa and gave myself over to an apathetic, all-consuming sort of crying bawling. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, just let out long, howling sobs. I couldn't believe James' reaction. The way he had just laid all the blame on me, making it perfectly clear that he wanted absolutely no part of any discussion or decision. The disappointment and hurt was overwhelming, mixed in with guilt and shame. Gradually the sobs died down. But it was as if my body had just run out of crying, run out of tears, because I was still just as upset. I tried calling him, not even knowing what I would say if he picked up. His phone was turned off. Barely being conscious of moving I climbed the stairs and crawled into bed, fully clothed, my mind still working furiously. Where had he gone? I thought about calling Richard, or Jezza, or Colin. Or maybe one of his sisters. But I wouldn't know how to explain it to any of them. As I lay there, trapped in my own emotional thought-chaos, something shifted in me. Anger was coming to my rescue again, shielding me from all the disappointment and hurt I felt. James had run off. He'd done the one thing he swore he'd never do to me again, and he'd run off. I hadn't expected him to be happy about it, I wasn't happy about it either. I had expected him to be shocked and upset, but I hadn't expected him to be so angry, so unfair. Everything he'd said to me had made me feel like I was the one to blame, that it was all my fault and I alone was the one who was supposed to fix it. Ever since I had found out I was pregnant, I had felt like I was carrying the entire world on my shoulders. All I had wanted was for James to come home. So I could tell him, to get it off my chest and then we could talk about it, work it out together. I hadn't expected it to be easy, or a fun conversation, but I had expected that, by the end it of it, I would feel some sort of relief. That it would take away some of the pressure and stress I was feeling. But now I felt more upset than ever before. I felt disappointed, betrayed and completely abandoned. All my faith and trust in James was just gone, and all I wanted to do was get away from him. Away from the house, from this city, I didn't want to be here when he came home. If he came home. Home? Was this home any longer? I wasn't sure if it even felt like it any more. What if he threw me out, never wanted to see me again? With that thought I made up my mind. I quickly looked at my watch, it was nearly 11pm which meant it would be midnight in Norway. Deciding this qualified as a personal crisis I called my sister anyway, surprised to hear that she was quite awake.
«You still up?» I asked.
«Yeah, I have a short day tomorrow and don't start until noon, so... Are you okay? Do you have a cold or something?» Elin asked, having picked up on the gruffness of my voice.
«No, I'm not okay. Listen, can I come stay with you guys for a while?»
«With us..? What, here, in Norway? Well, of course you can, but... What's going on? Has something happened with you and James?» She asked, the level of urgency in her voice rising. I sighed heavily, willing myself not to cry again.
«I'll tell you everything tomorrow, okay? I just need to know I have somewhere to go...» I begged, my voice craking.
«Of course you have, dear,» Elin said maternally. «Our door is always open. Just let me know when you arrive, okay? And take care of yourself?»
«Thank you,» I breathed with relief, then said goodbye and hung up. I booked myself on the first flight out of Heathrow to Oslo, with a connection to Kristiansand where my sister lived. The flight was set for 10am the next morning, with a few hours stopover in Oslo. I sent her a text letting her know I'd be landing around 2pm. Knowing that I wouldn't get to sleep any time soon I got out of bed and found my huge suitcase, throwing anything and everything into it that I might need or miss if I was never coming back to this house. I was surprised to find that the thought of never returning didn't reduce me to a sobbing wreck. I would have expected it to. But instead of despair and hurt, all I felt was anger, bordering in rage. Suitcase and backpack packed, I carried everything downstairs and placed it by the front door. I did another sweep of the place, spotting what felt like a million things I could've claimed was 'mine', but I knew I couldn't fit everything. Eventually I sank down on the sofa in the dark living-room. Despite myself I tried calling James again. Phone was still off. I set my alarm to 8am just to be on the safe side, not really believing that I would get any sleep. Throwing the phone over into an empty chair I wallowed over onto my side on the sofa. I lay there, in the pitch black, in a stupor, consumed by what felt like every bad emotion a human being could have. Part of me was on edge, constantly listening intently for any sounds that might indicate that James had come back – the slam of a car door, footsteps or the rattle of keys. But no such sounds came.

Unsurprisingly the phone didn't wake me, I was waiting for it to go off. The living room had gotten increasingly brighter as morning crept nearer. When the screeching sound of the alarm went off, I rolled out of the sofa and shut it off, then called for a taxi in half an hour. The nausea was there again, but only like a dull, distant annoyance, as if I wasn't really connected to my own body. With heavy feet I dragged myself upstairs and into the bathroom. As I splashed my face with ice-cold water I noticed the bracelet on my wrist. I looked at the little charms, remembering what each one symbolized. How could it have come to this? Three weeks ago, when James had given me the bracelet, everything had been absolutely perfect. And now it was just destroyed. Angrily I undid the clasp and took it off. I didn't want to keep it on, I didn't want to be reminded of all the memories it held. My hair was a mess and I couldn't be bothered to shower, I figured a knit hat would do, it was late October after all. I brushed my teeth and threw the toothbrush in the bin. Looking at myself in the mirror I realised I looked awful. Pale and drawn with blue circles underlining puffy eyes. I rummaged through a drawer in the bedroom, trying to figure out which was mine and which were James' in the mess of sunglasses. Dammit, why did we both have to wear aviators? Giving up I picked up a pair at random and put them on. There, hidden from the outside world. In the kitchen I stuffed a slice of bread in the toaster, then stared into nothingness until the slice popped up. I contemplated writing him a note, or a letter, but I wouldn't even know how to begin writing one. Everything seemed to go past in slow motion, my mind numbed by exhaustion and shock. Disinterested I munched on the toast while I rummaged around in the closet in the hallway for a hat. Checking the time I realised I would be picked up any minute and I pulled on my shoes and jacket. The sound of a car horn outside warned me my taxi had arrived and I opened the door. The driver helped me with my huge suitcase while I picked up my little backpack and handbag. When the door slammed shut behind me I stood there for a while, staring at the keys in my hand. House keys, garage keys, spare keys for the Panda... I didn't need these any more, nor want them. Decisively I opened the mailbox slot and shoved them through, hearing them land and slide across the floor of the hallway.

Thankfully the cab drive to Heathrow went by in relative silence. I knew I was cutting it short, by the time I got to the airport my flight would leave in an hour, but I just couldn't stand the idea of having to mill around at the airport for hours. It had happened once or twice ever since my relationship with James had 'gone public' that someone had recognised me and been unable to resist the urge to tap me on the shoulder and go «excuse me, but aren't you..?» When it happened, the person had always been very nice, but I knew I just couldn't handle an episode like that. Not now. Entering the airport I pulled my sunglasses back on, and only took them off when I checked my bag in and when I went through security.
When I landed in my designated seat, I gave a heavy sigh. I had finally made it here. No one had recognised me. I had reached the point of no return, no one could stop me, I was really leaving. I turned off my phone, deciding that when I got to Norway I'd get a prepaid card on it with a Norwegian phone number. I didn't want to give James any chance to contact me, I didn't want him to make me doubt my decision, to just make it harder for me than it already was. Taking off and seeing England disappear underneath me as we climbed I felt a sense of relief. No going back now. And with that, and the steady hum and buzz of the airplane, I fell into an exhausted, empty sleep.

The stewardess actually had to wake me when we had landed in Oslo. Walking out of the plane and over the tarmac towards the terminal building I was thankful for the hat as it was far colder here than it had been in London. Being back in Norway was strange. Hearing most people speaking Norwegian around me suddenly felt unfamiliar, I hadn't been in Norway for nearly 10 months. Having about an hour to kill I bought a prepaid simcard at a kiosk then sat down at Starbucks, having a big coffee and trying to tempt myself with a big cookie. Taking out the old sim-card I considered throwing it away, but thought better of it and put it into my wallet. Turning on the phone again I sent a quick text to my sister letting her know I could be reached on a new number, and for her not to bother to pick me up at the airport. I knew I would be landing right around the time the kids had to be picked up at school and in daycare and I didn't want to be to any trouble. Restless, I got my iPad out and got onto the coffee shops' wifi, checking my e-mail and twitter. Becoming aware how my heart was in my throat I realised that checking emails and twitter from now on would be a nerve-wracking thing, because I would be worried if there would be anything from James. So far nothing, just the normal newsletters and things. Needing a distraction I busied myself with reading the norwegian online newspapers, trying to catch up on what was going on in my old country. The hour I had to wait until I could board the next flight crept by slowly.

James' hand shook a little as he tried unlocking his own front door. What might meet him inside terrified him, but he knew he had to face it, whatever it was – blind rage, sadness or the silent treatment. With a grocery bag full of sweets and ice cream, and a huge boquet of roses, he maneuvered the door open. Everything was quiet. He called out Emily's name as the door shut behind him. Silence. As he took another few steps inside, heading for the kitchen, he felt his foot connect with something that made a jangling sound. Looking down he saw Emily's bundle of keys on the floor. He frowned a little at them, but left them on the floor, too intent on hunting Emily out. Passing through the kitchen he discarded the grocery bag and the flowers on the kitchen table. He called her name again, louder this time, listening intently for a reponse from somewhere in the house. Nothing. There was no note on the fridge or the kitchen counter. James exited the kitchen on the other side, walking through the living-room. Everything was so neat and tidy, and he knew Emily had cleaned the entire house to make it nice for when he came home. He noticed Emily's iPad was gone from its usual spot underneath the coffee table. With a sense of foreboding he climbed the stairs, hoping he'd find Emily asleep or just stubbornly refusing to answer him. In the bedroom he met the same tidyness, the beds were neatly made and there were no clothes anywhere. The fact that she wasn't here didn't surprise him, the possibility of her having gone to a friend or something had crossed his mind. But where had she gone? To Herefordshire, to talk to Mindy? Or to Cathy, maybe, or Kellie? Or even to Ben and Jo's? She could've gone anywhere. Not quite knowing why James opened the closets and felt how his heart sank. Most of Emily's everyday clothes were gone. The drawer in the nightstand on 'her' side of the bed was also empty; her books, chargers, all gone. In the bathroom most of her toiletries were gone as well. Needing to know for sure, James opened a storage cupboard and found that Emily's huge suitcase was also missing. With his heart somewhere in his shoes he made his way downstairs and sat down on the third bottom step. His eyes fell on the keys still lying on the hallway floor. If she'd gone somewhere, why were they here? In his minds eye he had a fleeting vision of Emily standing outside the front door with her suitcase, opening the mailslot and throwing the keys inside, having decided she wouldn't need them ever again. Because she was never coming back. Panic rising inside him he fished his phone out of his pocket and tried calling her. A voice told him the phone was either switched off or in an area with no service. With a frustrated huff he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Looking up, he saw his grocery-bag of apologies and the bouquet of roses on the kitchen table. Reality hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out of him. Emily had left him.