Christopher Nicole - Her Name Will Be Faith

“No way! Absolutely no way, Michael. You made a solemn promise…”

“And on top of that, Sam says he’d rather not skipper in so important an event. It’s one thing round the cans on Long Island Sound, but out there on the ocean…”

Jo sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Well, if they can’t manage without you, they’ll just have to scratch.”

“Jo! It can’t be done. I’ve given them my word…”

“You’ve what?” She jumped up and stood glaring at him. “You’re not serious! So tell me, Michael Donnelly Junior, who do you intend breaking your promise to, your pals, or your wife and children?”

Suddenly he was on his feet too, standing over her, grinding his teeth in fury. “Goddamn it, you silly bitch,” he hissed through his teeth. “I’ve been trying to break it to you gently, trying to explain the predicament I’m in so you’d understand…”

“Understand? Of course I understand! That you’re a lying cheat.”

“Don’t you call me a liar,” he threatened.

“Then you tell me what you are. Did you really and truly intend to drop out of the race this year? Ever? In which case you are an extraordinarily weak-minded character. Or did you just play the yes-man to me to stop me filing for a divorce? Which unquestionably does make you a liar.”

She knew he wanted to hit her, but stood her ground, while the knuckles of his balled fists turned white — as white as the anger in his face.

Then he turned away, picked up his glass, drained it, and returned to the cocktail bar. “You really are the most selfish, self-centered, demanding bitch of a wife any poor sod could ever get landed with,” he remarked, quietly, affecting a calm belied by the rattle of the decanter on the rim of his glass.

“Really?” She sat down again. “Do you base that opinion on the fact that I am asking you to keep your promise to spend some of your non-working hours with your family? And to take a vacation with them, for the first time in eight years? Do you realize Owen Michael and Tamsin cannot remember ever having vacationed with their father? Or do you sincerely believe that a husband and father should be permitted to break any promises to his family without recriminations of any kind? Perhaps I’m still somewhat naïve about marriage relationships in the States. Back in England, that sort of male chauvinism died with Queen Victoria.”

“I guess it’s your training as a journalist which enables you to twist what people say to suit your purpose,” he retorted. “Well, I warn you, it won’t wash with me. I agreed to holiday with you this year, all things being equal. But I can’t let the guys down, and I don’t mean to.” He drained his second drink and slammed the glass down on the counter. “If you can’t understand that, then that’s it. I see no point in trying any more. I’m obviously wasting my time. In future, I’ll just please myself–and the children. This atmosphere you repeatedly create is certainly having a bad effect on them. Nervous tummy? You’re goddamned right Owen Michael has a nervous tummy. Who wouldn’t in his circumstances?” He opened the door. “I’ll be in the study if the children want me; I’ve some phone calls to make.”

Jo realized her mouth was open, and closed it. She was too stunned to think for a moment. Vaguely she wondered if Michael really believed what he’d said… or if perhaps it was true, and it was all her fault. Either way, it was hard to see how the situation could continue. But the alternative was just as hard to imagine. It had been easy a fortnight ago, in a fit of fury, to say that she was going to Tom Wilson when her head was spinning with physical as well as mental grievances; there had been little time to think of the stark realities of divorce. Now, sitting alone in silence, she tried to visualize the possible outcome. The children having to grow up in two separate homes, each parent at least subconsciously trying to best the other with extravagant presents to them, while the kids themselves, like so many others she knew in such circumstances, learned to play one against the other, becoming rude and aggressive in their demands, knowing that the parent at issue dared not scold or chastise them lest they run to the other for ‘protection’. And what of the Donnellys? Babs and Big Mike, Belle, Marcia and Dale? She had come, over the past eleven years, to regard them as her family, because she liked them all so much. But in a matter of ‘sides’ — as she had reminded herself before — they would have to be loyal to Michael, even if they knew he might be in the wrong! So where did that leave her? Ostracized? By both family and mutual friends, struggling, on a dramatically reduced income, to retain popularity with the children.

Her earlier anger and resentment was replaced by self-recrimination. How the hell had she been stupid enough to marry Michael in the first place? She had known of his drive for kicks from the day she met him. In her innocence she had imagined that would slacken off after marriage, that he would become a real family man like his father. Now she knew better, should she consider giving up her career to do as he asked, and devote her time to being wife and mother? But if she did that, and the relationship continued to deteriorate, she would be left with absolutely nothing. Homeless, friendless, and jobless — that would be ridiculous.

The door burst open and Tamsin ran in with a wail. “Mommy, I can’t understand my math problem, and Owen Michael won’t help me.”

“Let’s see if I can, Baby.” Jo drained her glass and followed the child from the room, grateful for the distraction.

That night Michael reeled into the bedroom as high as a kite, waking Jo from a deep sleep. Having thrown his clothes all over the room, he clambered into bed and immediately fumbled for her breasts. She pushed him away but he came on, grabbing her arm and twisting it painfully.

“What’s the matter, then?” he demanded, his voice thick and slurred. “Have you let that silly quarrel upset you? Come on, girl, forget it.”

“No way. Get out of here and leave me alone. You stink.” The waterbed sloshed alarmingly as she struggled away from his reach until finally she was on the floor, and he was lying diagonally across the bed looking down at her, laughing.

There was no way she could get back into bed without virtually being raped — so she took the only alternative, rushed naked through the door and down the corridor to the spare bedroom, locking it behind her before climbing into one of the single beds. Michael didn’t try to follow her —he was probably already asleep.

Next morning Jo woke late and hurried back to their bedroom to dress. Michael was out cold, snoring, mouth wide-open, disheveled hair over his face. She looked down at him and shuddered.

Mark Hammond leaned against the wall of the telephone booth. “Well,” he said. “That was Barbara. She’s fizzling so fast someone could have pulled a plug. I don’t figure it, old buddy. What kind of sea temperature do you have up there?”

“25C,’ Richard told him. “It’s climbing.”

“Well, there isn’t a water temperature under 261/2°C anywhere south of Bermuda. So both Anthony and Barbara spawned, became hurricanes pretty quickly, and now have fizzled again.”

“There’s some jet stream activity,” Richard told him.

“Yeah. But not enough. I just don’t get it. Anyway, I’ll be with you tomorrow, we can talk about it then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Sure. I told you I was coming up for a day or two this month.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Richard said.

“Come again?”

“Looking forward to seeing you,” Richard said. “It’s just that I have a rather important lunch date then.”