On Hart's Boardwalk (On Dublin Street 6.7)

Lily giggled and squirmed out of her sister’s hold and graciously allowed Jan to keep her pancake.

Sensing peace reigning again, I took the stool next to January and started to dig into my pancakes as Nate made a few more for himself.

“Mummy, are you coming with us to see the dragon movie?”

“No, baby girl.” Nate spoke for me, turning around to sit at the counter with his breakfast. “Mum is going shopping with Aunty Jo today, remember? We’re going to have a daddy-daughter day.”

Jan clapped her hands in excitement but I noted Lily’s downcast expression. She hadn’t had a daddy-daughter day in while. “Hey, Lily-Bily,” I called softly, and she looked up at me. “How about you and I have a mummy-daughter day tomorrow, and then next weekend, we’ll switch.” I gestured to Nate.

He caught on quickly. “Daddy-daughter for me and you, Lil, next Saturday, and Jan and Mum can have a mummy-daughter day on Sunday.”

The girls seemed happy with this arrangement.

Me?

Well, I was just wondering what happened to family day. I’d come up with the idea of individual daughter time myself, of course, but still . . . where were Nate and I in all of this? Were we not to even spend time together with our kids?

Then of course it hit me that we were spending time together right now and it was more than what some families had. I needed to slap the ungratefulness out of myself.

“Would you rather have a big spot on your nose for the rest of your life or have a bogey hanging from it for the rest of your life?” Jan said.

I let myself relax into breakfast as soon as she asked the question.

It was tradition, our “Would You Rather” games. Something Nate and I had passed on to our kids. So what if Nate and I were disconnected lately? We still had this with Jan and Lily, and I was not going to waste my time mooning over my dissatisfaction when I could be enjoying my family.

“A big spot or a booger?” I said.

She nodded seriously.

“That is a tough one,” Nate mused.

“Very tough,” I agreed. “But I’m going to have to go with booger.”

“Ugh.” Lily giggled. “Why the bogey?”

Jan cackled hysterically, probably at the thought of her mother with a permanent booger hanging from her nose. I reached out and tickled her, making her laugh harder, as I explained. “Pimples are painful. Boogers are not.”

“I think I’m with your mum on this one.” Nate grinned.

“Me too,” Lily said.

“Then I choose the big spot!” my youngest declared.

Of course she did. My kid liked to be different from everybody else.

“Um . . . would you rather lick stamps for the rest of your life or . . . my feet.” Lily smiled mischievously, sticking out her foot to wiggle her little toes.

“Stamp!” Jan declared, throwing her sister a disgusted look.

Nate and I shared an amused look. “I don’t know,” my husband said. “Those little piggies are very cute.”

“Very,” I agreed. “I’m going to have go with your feet. In fact”—I slid off my stool—“I think I’m going to start right now.”

“No!” Her girlish laughter lit up the room as she jumped off her stool to run from me. “I’m too old for this, Mum!” she objected, but still she ran and still she laughed, managing to get past me and out of the kitchen. I finally caught up with her in Nate’s study, sweeping my eleven-year-old into my arms and tumbling to the ground with her as we laughed at our ridiculousness.

Thoughts of my husband’s distance and lack of passion toward me disappeared, fading out into the background.

This, I thought as I tickled my kid, her giggles like bubbles of champagne popping on my skin, this is my happiness.

Chapter Two

This morning with my kids felt like a distant memory as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The mirrors and lighting in most changing rooms were atrocious. I didn’t understand why they put such crappy lighting and mirrors in there because they made us normal ladies with our cellulite and problem areas look like shit in the clothes we tried on. I hadn’t even gotten into the dress Jo had insisted I try on for the upcoming birthday party I wasn’t sure I wanted.

Instead I’d gotten lost in the image in front of me.

Me. In my bra and knickers.

A long time ago, Nate had helped me. I stopped hating what I saw in the mirror and started to see myself through his eyes. However, I’d never truly gotten comfortable with my naked body. When you had self-esteem and weight issues like me, it wasn’t something you ever really got over. I’d just gained confidence over the years. But with age, the confidence started to wane instead of increase. So much so I’d let Joss talk me into joining her gym and being her gym buddy. I didn’t have a lot of time for it, but I made time, and Joss kept me on track. Still, I liked my food, and after having two kids I was fuller-figured than I was when Nate and I first got together. My weight also tended to yo-yo when I was feeling particularly stressed. Since Peetie . . . well, I’d put on weight.

My waistline wasn’t as trim, my little belly pouch was bigger, although it didn’t jiggle because Joss made me do a million sit-ups. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but it felt like it. And although my legs were long and slender, I had cellulite on the backs of my thighs that no amount of running or time on the cross-trainer and exercise bike seemed to be able to take care of. Moreover, my breasts were no longer as perky as they used to be. Not that they were ever perky, per se, because they were too large to be truly perky, but they’d definitely sat higher on my chest ten years ago.

I looked tired.

I felt old.

And sad.

The sob burst out of me before I could stop it.

Suddenly the curtains on my changing room split open momentarily and Jo stepped through them, closing them behind her before staring into the mirror in concern. “Liv? What is it?”

I tried to get a handle on my runaway emotions but I just couldn’t.

My best friend turned me around and pulled me toward her, holding me tight. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling how slender she was under my hands, and for some stupid reason it made me cry harder.

Jo was a knockout. Like, the most beautiful woman I’d ever met in real life. She couldn’t possibly understand what I was feeling.

But she was Jo. She was also the kindest, most compassionate woman I’d ever met. She could try to understand what I was feeling. “I’m turning forty,” I managed to calm down enough to whisper. “That’s what’s wrong. And I don’t think my husband is attracted to me anymore.”

* * *

* * *

Jo decided dress shopping should wait, and once I had myself together and was in my own clothes, we got in my car and drove back to Kirkliston to my empty house.

My friend insisted I sit down in our snug at the back of the house—it was our smaller, cozier sitting room—while she got us some wine.

Once we were situated with a giant glass of red wine for each of us, Jo put on the stereo so Lord Huron played softly in the background and she demanded, “Speak.”

The need to tell someone, to share how lonely I’d been feeling these last few months, made the confession bubble up out of me. I didn’t feel cornered into sharing. I knew I needed this. Nate had always been the person I turned to when I was feeling sad. Now that I didn’t have him, it was time to lean on my friends. “It started with Peetie.”

Pain shimmered in Jo’s eyes and I reached out to squeeze her hand.

Six months ago, Cam and Nate’s childhood friend Peetie was killed in a car crash with his wife, Lyn. Years ago, just a few years after Nate and I got together, the couple had moved up to Aberdeen for Lyn’s job and we hadn’t seen nearly as much of them. But Nate and Cam stayed in contact with Peetie, and he and Lyn always came bac

k to their home town of Longniddry so their daughter, Sara, could be with her grandparents. The guys had grown up together. They were close.

So Peetie’s death had hit them both hard.

They grieved together and I was glad they had each other.

But . . .

“Cam seemed to turn to you,” I said to Jo. “He seems to be working through the loss.”

Jo nodded. “He is. If anything, we’re closer. It was just a reminder that life is short, you know, embrace what you have.”

Jealousy swept through me and I hated myself for it. “Nate turned away from me,” I whispered, aching with the pain of it. “Not physically . . . We still have sex. But it’s like he isn’t really there. There’s no passion between us anymore. And we always had passion.”