I should’ve quit while I was ahead. The more I spoke, the more Becky grew in confidence. It was written all over her face. If she thought she had me worried, then it just proved how little she knew about me
“I don’t know how your wife puts up with your bullshit.”
“Don’t you dare mention her!”
“Why not? Do you even remember that you actually have a wife?”
“Shut the fuck up!” I threatened menacingly.
“What? Doesn’t she know about all the skanks you parade through the office before closing the blinds? Do you think we’re all stupid?”
“I told you to shut up!” I roared as I back handed her, leaving a stinging red hand print on her cheek.
Seeing the shock on her face and her watery eyes, I realized that I’d gone too far. I’d never meant to hit her. I was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. Normally, I wasn’t a violent man. She just pushed and pushed, just like that bitch living under my roof. “I’m sorry, Becky,” I apologized backing away. “I never meant to…I’m so sorry…” Not wanting to stand there a moment longer, I turned and fled.
“This isn’t finished,” Becky threatened.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GILLIAN
By the time I got home I had calmed down. Well, as much as anybody who had just had their life packed into boxes by their husband and been evicted from their own bedroom could. I knew Joel was going through something and had been for a while, but I didn’t care anymore. I know that’s a horrible thing to say about your husband, but in all honesty, I was too tired of putting up with his shit for anything more. For months I had played the supportive wife. I hadn’t complained when he fell into bed, drunk beyond words and reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. I’d stopped asking if he would be home in time for dinner. I’d even given up trying to make him feel guilty about missing our lives. To me, it seemed that Joel had long ago forgotten those words we’d exchanged when we’d made our wedding vows. I’d stood by him when no one else had. But enough was enough. My girls needed me and they deserved a better life than this one.
It’s funny, I never would have thought of packing my things and moving out. Despite all our problems, it just never occurred to me. But once Joel had made the first move, once my life was in boxes, I realized I didn’t want to go back into that room. It was the last place I wanted to be. And with that realisation, I raced into the laundry, threw on my old gardening clothes, and got to work.
Within an hour all my boxes were out of what would now be known as Joel’s bedroom. My stuff was neatly packed away in the guest bedroom. My pillows on the bed, my toothbrush in the holder next to Bianca’s and Charli’s, and my perfume stashed on the highest shelf in the cupboard out of reach of little princesses. My clothes, the ones Joel had decided not to shred or destroy, now hung in the closet. Honestly, I thought it would hurt more than it did. I’ll admit I was completely shell shocked that I didn’t feel a thing. It was like, in some strange way, I knew this was the best thing for me. Separation. Being Alone. Now I just hoped that at some point I could stop being scared.
Stepping back and looking at my handiwork, I wiped the sweat from my brow. Suddenly I felt okay again, as if it was over. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that he’d never come home and we could just be happy here without him. But even something as simple as moving down the hall seemed like an enormous achievement. And possibly more important, relieved.
My back ached and I was exhausted, but a mum didn’t get a night off. Jobs had to be done. And if you couldn’t rely on anyone else to do them that just meant you had to step up and do them yourself. So, I did. Every day. I did whatever it was that needed to be done. I dragged my weary body into the laundry and threw in yet another load of washing. It was a never- ending mountain. Sorting through the pile I found Joel’s underwear buried amongst our clothes. Socks and jocks, probably a week’s worth. No doubt he would have found them as he cleaned me out of his life.
I stared at them amongst the pile. It was like they were taunting me. If I washed them, would he expect it to keep going like nothing had changed? Was he naïve enough to believe that he could cut me out of his life where he didn’t want me, but when it came to being his house bitch, I’d still do?
Storming out of the laundry, I hadn’t resolved anything. In the end it had just been too hard a day. That was future Gillian’s problem. Suddenly I was a wreck. I curled up on the sofa and sobbed to myself. Things had been bad before. The bruises and scratches had hurt, but somehow, this was worse. And what was I supposed to tell our son? I didn’t want him thinking this is what a family was. That this is how a man treated the woman in his life. That this was okay. My kids would not grow up thinking this was normal. Hugging a pillow tightly to my chest, I let my hands rest on my stomach and spent the next hour talking to my baby boy. Not yet born, still my confidant.
Sometime in the afternoon I must have fallen asleep because the vibrating of my phone woke me with a start. “Shit,” I exclaimed, wiping the drool from the corners of my mouth and attempting to tame my hair.
“Good afternoon. Is this Mrs. Matthews?” a pleasant woman asked politely.
“Yes, this is Gillian,” I replied, confused.
“This is Audrey Anderson, Bianca’s teacher.” I felt myself gulp, wondering what was wrong. I was ashamed at myself for instantly assuming the worst. “It’s just that neither you nor your husband have picked the girls up this afternoon.” I’d never forgotten to get the girls before. I was the world’s worst mother.
“Oh my god! I am so sorry. I’m leaving right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I slid into my sandals and grabbed my handbag from the chair.
“No troubles. We’ll wait for you. See you soon.” She hung up.
I cursed myself all the way to the school. By the time I pulled into the parking lot I’d never felt worse. Who forgets their kids? Seriously?
By the time I leapt from the car and headed towards the picnic table in the sun where they were waiting, I’d managed to completely tear myself to shreds. I’d never forgive myself for this.
“Again, I’m so sorry,” I apologized, reaching the table. I’d read somewhere a long time ago that said the more times you apologize the less meaning it has, but I couldn’t stop myself. The words just kept tumbling out of my mouth.
“Don’t worry about it. There were a few other kids whose parents were running a little late today too.” She smiled. In that moment I hated her. She was judging me. And if she wasn’t, I definitely was. I was a bad mum. I walked over to the girls and noticed they were already doing their homework. Charli’s homework sheet was already half completed and I hadn’t even read the questions yet. I felt like a failure, and the flame-haired beauty in the sundress and the wide brimmed straw hat wasn’t helping at all, no matter how much she pretended to be.
“Hi girls, sorry Mummy’s late,” I found myself saying yet again. “Come on, pack your things away and we’ll go home,” I began as I roughly started shoving Bianca’s coloured pencils back into her pink pencil case.
“I called your husband but I couldn’t reach him. I left a message, so you may want to call him and let him know that you have your daughters so he doesn’t worry,” she offered softly.
Holy Fuck! were the only words racing through my brain. Fuck! Joel knew that I was a crappy mother. Yet another example of my failures. It seemed that I was just feeding him ammunition these days. It was something I would have preferred to hide from him right at that moment. “Thanks, I’ll get in touch with him,” was all I managed to mumble through the forced smile.
“Bye Bianca, bye Charli.” Ms. Anderson waved as I tossed both their backpacks over my shoulder and shooed them into the car.
I was halfway home before anyone spoke. On a normal day I would pick the girls up and the whole way home they would talk non-stop, telling me about their friends, the teacher spilling coffee on her dress, the smelly boy at the back of the class causing trouble, and anything else that re
motely caught their interest. But today there was just a silence. Deafening. Painful.
“What happened at school today?” I encouraged as I stopped at the traffic lights.
“Nothing,” they murmured in unison.
Straight away I knew something was definitely up. Glancing in the rear-view mirror I saw two very sad little girls. Gone were my chirpy angels and in their place was two let down daughters. Cutting through two lanes of traffic, horns being beeped at me furiously, I turned the corner and pulled over. Once we were parked, I switched the ignition off and turned to face them.
“Come on, girls, what’s wrong? I know something happened, so why are you sad? I know I was late and I’m very sorry about that.”
“Don’t you love us anymore?” Bianca asked bluntly.
Stunned, my mouth dropped open and I stared at them blankly. “Of course, I love you. Very, very much. I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t,” I attempted to reassure them.
“Then why didn’t you come and get us?” Charli queried. She was a smart girl, and explaining was always painful with her. There was no point trying to lie or even dodge the question. She’d call me on it every time.
“Do you remember when I told you that I was going to have another baby? That you were going to have a younger brother or sister?” I watched as they nodded, slightly confused. “Mummy was very tired this afternoon and accidentally fell asleep on the lounge. It wasn’t that I forgot you, it’s just I took a nap and forgot to set an alarm.” After a brief pause and a shared glance between them, Bianca smiled happily.
“You’re silly, Mummy,” Bianca said. I reached out and squeezed her hand. It was a simple explanation, but it was an honest one.
“Why do we have to have another baby?” Charli sulked, crossing her arms pointedly. “Boys smell.”
I threw my head back and chuckled. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while and it felt good. “You’re right. Boys do smell.” I couldn’t lie to her. “But having a brother won’t be such a bad thing. Just you wait and see,” I promised.
Although I knew I hadn’t been late on purpose, I still felt like I had let them down. And as much as I knew that giving in to those feelings would just create bad habits, at that moment I didn’t care. Things weren’t good at home. That was a sad reality. Even I wasn’t keen on going home. “So, who wants to go visit Aunty Rhiannon?” I offered, watching their faces light up. The thought of going to Rhiannon’s instead of home made me smile too.
I hadn’t realized just how much I was dreading going back there until I turned around, fastened my seatbelt and pulled out into the traffic heading back into the city. I found myself ashamed that I didn’t want to face it. I knew I’d have to at some point, but there was nothing saying that I couldn’t put it off as long as possible.
Moments later the three of us were squished in an elevator with a man who had bigger boobs than mine and who smelt like a strange combination of garlic and sawdust. Bianca had her fingers pinched on her nose and Charli looked like she was about to ask something I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of, when thankfully the elevator jolted with a ping and the doors opened. Quickly we jumped out and dashed down the hallway to Rhiannon’s. I didn’t even get the chance to knock. By the time I reached the door, the girls were giggling so loudly that Rhiannon had already opened the door to find out what all the noise was about and Charli almost fell through the door in hysterics. By the time I joined them, all three were squirming on the carpet in front of me in fits of laughter as Charli attempted to describe Mr. Stinky.
“Hey.” I smiled, reaching down and pulling her up off the floor.
“Thanks,” Rhiannon puffed, brushing at her clothes. “Hey girls, do you want to watch some TV?” she offered hopefully. Rhiannon’s apartment wasn’t exactly child friendly, but she still tried and the girls loved her for it.
“Can we watch music?” Bianca asked hopefully as her eyes lit up. My baby girl’s latest obsession was Beyoncé. The songs were constantly on repeat. But it had become more than that. Lately we had started to get our very own concerts.
Rhiannon looked at me, I shrugged, and moments later the top forty was blaring from the lounge room. “Wine?” she offered.
Normally I’d never drink if had to drive the girls, but tonight I needed it. “Absolutely!”
I watched in silence as Rhiannon darted about the kitchen, pulling out stunning crystal wine glasses, uncorking the bottle, and pouring. She made it all look so grown up and easy. She didn’t pause once to stop and argue or trip over toys left on the kitchen floor. She handed me my glass and watched with anticipation as I took a sip. As soon as I placed the glass on the counter she pounced. “So, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” I lied and we both knew it.
“Gillian?” Gulping down a few more mouthfuls of liquid courage, I looked up to see Rhiannon staring at me with intense, scrutinizing eyes. “What’s the bastard done now?”
“He kicked me out.”
As soon as I admitted it, I knew I was in trouble. Once the words were out there, I couldn’t take them back. Rhiannon dropped her glass, glass and wine exploded everywhere. I raced around, grabbing the tea towel and mopping up the mess. I’d had a lot of practice with spills and breakages.
Suddenly Rhiannon reached out and grabbed my wrist, stopping me dead in my tracks. “I need to get this wine cleaned up before it stains the cabinets,” I replied to her silent question.
“Fuck the cabinets!” she swore loudly, dropping my wrist and striding into the lounge room. “Girls, do you want to stay here for dinner? How about I cook a big bowl of spaghetti for dinner, then we can watch a movie?”
“Yeah!” Bianca said happily.
“Can we, Mum?” Charli called out bouncing on the spot.
Straining to hold back tears as I furiously scrubbed at the floor, I said, “Sure, honey, if it’s okay with Rhiannon.”
“You girls stay in here while I organize us dinner. I’ll come get you when it’s ready.” She hugged them both tightly. Moments later she marched purposefully back into the kitchen without a word. Before I knew what was happening, Rhiannon had downed two shots of vodka and popped the cork on another bottle of wine. I was the one who’d been kicked out of my bedroom and my marriage, yet Rhiannon was downing shots like they were water.
I returned to my stool at the bench and awaited the inquisition. I’ll admit I watched with fascination as Rhiannon systematically got things happening. She refilled my wine glass, opened a jar of Bolognese, put on a pot of boiling water, and sent a text before sitting down beside me, taking both my hands in hers. “Right! Start at the beginning and leave nothing out,” she invited in the most loving and supportive tone that she could muster.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JOEL
I was drunk. Obscenely drunk. “Another shot, Pete,” I said, tossing a wad of notes across the bar. I’d been in the dark, dingy pub drinking by myself for hours. Every time I began to think about the mess that was the shit storm that was my life, I got so angry that only a combination of tequila shots chased with a rum and Coke numbed the pain.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Pete asked with a wink.
“Fuck off!” I slurred. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough. Pour another one while I take a piss.”
I stumbled my way to the bathroom. Almost forty minutes later, I managed to make my way back to the bar and my phone perched beside my drink, I saw that I had forty-two new messages. All from work, not one from my errant wife.
“Stupid bitch,” I muttered to no one in particular. “Shows how much she cares. Hasn’t even bothered to call and see if I am alive.”
“Maybe you should go home then,” Pete offered, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“Don’t tell me what to do! Whatta you know?” I crumpled.
“I’ll call you a taxi,” Pete offered, disappearing behind the bar.
I started mumbling and babbling incoherently to myself. A fiery redhead perch
ed her bony bum on the barstool beside me. She had tacky fire- engine red plastic fingernails that she tapped rhythmically on the bar. It took mere seconds for me before it felt like she was tapping her message directly on my skull.
“Can you not?”
“What?”
“Tapping.”
“Tapping what?”
I rolled my eyes. Taking another look at Miss Cheap, I said, “Look, I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight. Just stop the fucking tapping or I’ll stop it for you.”
“Wanna take me home?” She grinned, running her nails up and down my arms.
“I’m married.”
“Don’t care.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay.”
“We’re leaving?”
“Now!”
“My place?”
“Easy.”
“I heard.” I dumped a fistful of cash on the counter, wrapped my arms around her scrawny waist, and together we fell out the door. I half staggered; half crawled towards the one place that I could never come back from.
We stumbled through the door into the cold night air. Climbing into the backseat of the taxi I paused momentarily to vomit out the door before slamming it behind me. Disgusted with myself, I didn’t even care as I wiped my mouth on my hundred- and eighty-dollar Gucci tie, covering it in tiny bits of vomit.
With her fake nails digging into my thighs and biceps, I didn’t know what to do or say. I just sat there stunned. I just stared blankly ahead as the Indian taxi driver mumbled along with a song that I’d never heard before while the whore beside me kissed and caressed, nibbled and groped me with a desperation that was completely unexpected.
By the time we reached the driveway, I felt like my whole world had imploded. Throwing a wad of cash at the driver, I turned and faced the woman staring at me from the taxi. “Take her wherever she wants to go. Just get her away from me.”
Broken Dreams Boxset Page 42