Oh, this is ridiculous.
Brett, the question was directed at Kathy.
I dont know. He says its better for the kids.
But you think its about something else.
Yes.
Oh, for Christs sake-
Go on, Kathy.
I wonder sometimes if, ifI wonder if Brett kind of likes me being dependent.
I see. Maggie saw that Brett was silent. And why might that be?
I dont know. Like, maybe he likes it when Im weak or something. You know his first wife was an alcoholic, right? Well, did you also know that as soon as she got better, Brett left her?
This is outrageous, to bring Julie into this.
Maggie was scribbling notes, all the while maintaining eye contact with the couple. It was a trick she had learned during negotiations of a different kind, long ago.
Edward, what do you say to all this?
Excuse me?
Im sorry. Brett. Forgive me. Brett. What do you make of all this, this suggestion that you are somehow trying to keep Kathy weak? I think that was the word she used. Weak.
Brett spoke for a while, refuting the charge and insisting that he had wanted to leave Julie for at least two years but didnt feel it was right until she had recovered. Maggie nodded throughout, but she was distracted. First, the intercom had sounded while Brett was speaking, followed by the sound of several male voices, Edwards and two or three she did not recognize. And, worse, by her ridiculous slip of the tongue. She wondered if Kathy and Brett had noticed.
Regretting that she had opened up this theme-more therapist territory than mediators-Maggie decided on a radical change of tack. OK, she thought, we need to move to final status. Brett, what are your red lines?
Im sorry?
Your red lines. Those things on which you absolutely, positively will not compromise. Here. She tossed over a pad of paper, followed by a pencil, thrown a tad too sharply for Bretts taste. And you too, Kathy. Red lines. Go on. Write them down.
Within a few seconds, the two were scratching away with their pencils. Maggie felt as if she was back at school in Dublin: the summer, exam season, the nuns prowling around to check that she wasnt copying her answers off Mairead Breen. Except this time she was one of the nuns. At last, she thought. A moment of peace.
She looked at this couple in front of her, two people who had once been so in love they had decided to share everything, even to create three new lives. When she had met up with Edward again after, aftereverything that had happened, she had dreamed of a similar future for herself. No more war zones, no more anonymous hotel conference rooms, no more twenty-hour days fuelled by coffee and cigarettes. On the wrong side of thirty-five, she would settle down and have a family life. Fifteen years later than the girls she had gone to school with, admittedly, but she would have a family and a life.
You finished, Brett? What about you, Kathy?
Theres a lot to get down here.
Remember, not everythings a red line. Youve got to be selective. All right, Kathy. Give us your three red lines.
Three? You kidding?
Selective, remember.
All right. Kathy began chewing the top of her pencil, before she realized it wasnt a pen and pulled it out of her mouth. Child support. My kids have to have financial security.
OK.
And the house. I have to have the house, so that the kids can have continuity.
And one more.
Full custody of the children, obviously. Im having them. Theres no shifting on that.
For Chrissake, Kathy-
Not yet, Brett. First you gotta give me your red lines.
Weve been over this like a thousand times-
Not this way we havent. I need three.
I want the children with me at Thanksgiving, so that they have dinner with my parents. I want that.
All right.
And spontaneous access. So that I can call up and say, I dunno, Hey Joey, the Redskins are playing, wanna come? I need to be able to do that without giving, like, three weeks notice. Access whenever I want.
No way-
Kathy, not now. Whats number three?
I have others-
Were doing three.
Its the same one I said before. No child support unless Kathy is a full-time mom.
Are you sure thats not just saying no to Kathys first red line? You cant just block hers.
OK. Ill put it this way. Ill pay for child support only if Im getting a five-star service for my money. And that means the kids get looked after by their mom.
That is not fair! Youre using our kids to blackmail me into giving up my career.
And they were off again, back to shouting at each other and ignoring Maggie. Just like old times, she thought to herself with a smile. After all, this was what she was used to. Negotiating a divorce between people who couldnt stand the sight of each other, who were tearing each others throats out. An image flashed into her mind, which she quickly pushed out.
But it helped. It gave her an idea, or rather it made her see something she had not realized until that moment.
OK, Brett and Kathy, Ive made a decision. These sessions have become useless. Theyre a waste of time, yours and mine. Were going to end it here. Maggie snapped shut the file on her lap.
The two people on the couch opposite suddenly turned their attention away from each other and stared at her. She could feel their eyes on her, but she ignored them, busying herself with her papers instead.
You dont need to worry about the paperwork. Ill get all that to the Virginia authorities tomorrow. Youve both got lawyers, havent you? Course you have. Well, theyll take it from here. She stood up, as if to usher them out.
Brett seemed fixed to the spot; Kathys mouth hung wide open. At last, Brett forced himself to speak. You cant, you cant do this.
Do what, exactly? Maggie had her back to him, as she put the file back on the shelf behind her.
You cant just abandon us!
Now Kathy joined in. We need you, Maggie. There is no way we can get through this without you.
Oh, dont you worry about that. The lawyers will get it sorted. Maggie kept moving around the room, avoiding eye contact. Outside she heard the buzzer go again, and the sound of another person or people moving in and out of the apartment. What was going on?
Theyll kill us, said Brett. Theyll take all our money and make this whole thing even more of a nightmare than it already is!
This was working.
Look, he said. Well sort this out, we promise. Dont we, Kathy?
We do.
OK? Were promising. Well get this done. Right here.
I think its too late for that. We set aside a period of time to resolve everything-
Oh, please dont say that, Maggie. It was Kathy, now imploring. Theres not such a lot of work to do here. You heard those red lines. Were not so far apart.
Maggie turned around. Ill give you ten minutes.
In fact it took fifteen. But when they left Maggies office and walked into the sunshine of a Washington September morning, Kathy and Brett George had resolved to share the costs of child support proportionate to their income, Brett paying more because he earned more, Kathys financial contribution shrinking to zero if she gave up paid work to look after the kids. From now on, he would pay his way even if she carried on working, though she would have a genuine incentive to stay home. The children would live in their own house with their mother, except for alternate weekends and whenever either the kids or their father fancied seeing each other. The rule would be no hard and fast rules. Before they left they hugged Maggie and, to their surprise as much as hers, each other.
Maggie fell into a chair, allowing herself a small smile of satisfaction. Was this how she would make up for what she had done more than a year ago? Bit by bit, one couple at a time, reducing the amount of pain in the world? The thought was comforting for a moment or two-until she contemplated how long it would take. To balance all the lives lost because of her and that damned, damned mistake, she would be here, in this room, for all eternity. And still it wouldnt be enough.
She looked at her watch. She should be getting on. Edward would be waiting for her outside, ready to hit the full range of Washingtons domestic retail outlets in a bid to equip their not-quite-marital home.
She opened the door to a surprise. Flicking through one of Maggies back numbers of Vogue, in the tiny area that served as Maggies waiting room, was a man who oozed Washington. Like Edward, he had the full DC garb: button-down shirt, blue blazer, loafers, even now, on a Sunday. Maggie didnt recognize him, which didnt mean she hadnt met him. One of the troubles with these Washington men: they all looked the same.
Hello? Do you have an appointment?
I dont. Its kind of an emergency. It wont take long.
An emergency? What the hell was this? She headed down the corridor, opening the door onto the kitchen. There she saw Edward, signing on one of those electronic devices held out by a man wearing delivery overalls.
Edward, whats going on?
He seemed to pale. Ah, honey. I can explain. They just had to go. They were taking up too much space, they messed up the whole place. So Ive done it. Theyve gone.
What on earth are you talking about?
Those boxes which youve had sitting in the study for nearly a year. You said you would unpack them, but you never did. So this kind gentleman has loaded them onto his truck and now theyre going to the trash.
Maggie looked at the man in overalls, who stared at his feet. Now she understood what had happened. But she could not believe it. She stormed past Edward, flung open the door to the study and, sure enough, the space in the corner was now empty, the carpet on which those two cartons had once sat more compacted, a different shade from the rest. She flew back to the kitchen.
You bastard! Those boxes had my, myletters and photographs and, andwhole fucking life and you just THREW THEM OUT?
Maggie rushed to the front door. But, doubtless sensing trouble, the trash guy had made his getaway. Swearing, she pressed the lift button again and again. Come on, come on, she muttered, tensing her jaw. When the lift came, she willed it down faster. As soon as it arrived on the ground floor and the door opened a crack, she squeezed through it, running through the main doors of the building and out onto the street. She looked left and right and left again before she saw it, a green truck pulling out. She ran hard to catch up, coming within a few yards. She was waving wildly, like someone flagging down traffic after a road accident. But it was too late. The van picked up speed and vanished. All she had was half a phone number and what she thought was the name: National Removals.