by Roxie Cooper
‘But it wouldn’t be like that!’ I sigh in frustration. ‘It’s not that simple …’
‘No, it isn’t. So, tell me why you really do it?’ Jane has this way of talking to me sometimes, which is stern and authoritative, but also kind and caring. I’ve absolutely no idea how she manages it, but it’s almost impossible to hate her for it because I know she’s only looking out for me. Well, in a professional sense, anyway.
I’ve got no idea.
I glance at the clock in the middle of the pale grey wall. The ticks echo loudly around the room when neither of us speak. Jane is comfortable with silences, whereas I hate them. I think she uses them as some kind of tactic to stress me out, or maybe I just crack easily under pressure. Either way, I don’t like it and she knows it.
‘This is just my life, OK? You make the best of what you’re given, don’t you? Some people are meant to have these happy, loving, perfect lives. They just do, don’t they? Everything just seems to go right for them.’
‘And you don’t have that?’
I try to keep it together, but the tears well in my eyes far quicker than I would have liked.
‘I ended up marrying a guy, basically out of loyalty, but also because I felt as if I owed it to my family because of everything I’d put them through. I work for my dad in a job which doesn’t challenge me and I didn’t enjoy my wedding day. I had an emergency C-section for my daughter, so I couldn’t even do that right. I’m pretty sure I irritate my husband most of the time. And I’m in love with another man.’
‘So you’ve consigned yourself to a life of unhappiness because of this? Because you think you’re, what? Unlucky?’
‘No … yes … look, I don’t know!’ I raise my hands up in exasperation, gazing out the window at the rain which is now slamming down outside.
Then calmly Jane asks me, ‘Stephanie, why are you content only being happy one weekend a year?’
CHAPTER 18
Saturday 13 October 2012
Jamie
I’m so sorry, Steph. Going to be a bit late. H has to work and won’t be back until early evening. I’ll get there as soon as I can and will keep you updated. Really looking forward to seeing you. X
I look at the text I sent this afternoon. She still hasn’t replied and it’s now just gone 6 p.m. I really hope she’s not pissed off. Helen hardly ever has to go into work on a weekend, but she’s in the middle of this lucrative job and her team are having to work all hours. Obviously, it falls on this date.
‘I’m sorry, it looks like it’ll be a late one. I’ll hopefully be back for about six or seven. You’ll still be able to get away for your night out, won’t you?’ she asked. An enormous bolt of guilt shook through me when she said it.
‘Erm, yeah. It’ll be fine. Peterborough isn’t far and it’s only the lads. They won’t even be going out until about ten. You know what they’re like!’ I lied.
I didn’t feel right the rest of the afternoon. I took Sebby to the park, made Play-Doh animals with him, but something felt off.
By 6.45 my bag is packed and in the hallway. Seb is, uncharacteristically, wide awake and not wanting to go to sleep, rampaging around the living room and throwing every toy on to the floor. Attempting to tidy up after him is like trying to shovel snow in a blizzard. He’s been bathed, fed and is ready for bed, but he quite clearly has other ideas. Chasing around after him, I’m now checking my phone every two minutes for a message from either Stephanie or Helen.
He’s overtired – he gets like this sometimes. Chucking himself dramatically on to the floor with his limbs wriggling all over the place like an octopus, he whinges for no other reason than because he can. I pick him up and his body goes rigid, his whining transforming into high-pitched screams. I could really do without this tonight.
My phone beeps and I pull it out of my pocket, still wrestling Seb in my other arm. It’s Stephanie:
Can you let me know if you’re still coming tonight? It’s getting quite late and might not be worth your while.
Oh crap. I can tell she’s pissed off. It’s a balancing act between the two of them and I don’t want to upset either. I call Helen as I pop Seb on to the sofa; he immediately climbs off, runs to the bookshelf and starts pulling books off.
‘Hi!’ I say, rubbing my forehead. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Yeah, shouldn’t be too long now.’
‘Ah, OK,’ I say, trying to sound absolutely chilled and not at all stressed by the situation. ‘Any idea what kind of time I should expect you back?’
‘Think about eight now. Aim to set off about that time.’
‘You sure? If it will be later, just say. I just need to tell … the lads. They might head out now, that’s all, so they need to know whether to go ahead or wait for me,’ I say, cringing as I wrap myself up in lies to my wife on the phone.
‘No, I’ll be back home for eight. Don’t worry. Tell them to get you some shots in as you’ll be playing catch up.’
‘Yes.’ I fake a laugh. ‘Will do. See you soon.’
Straight after ending the call I immediately compose a text to Stephanie:
I’m so, so sorry about this! She will be back at about 8 which means I should hopefully be with you around 9. Better late than never! Can’t wait to see you. X
Maybe I should have called her. What else could I say, though? I appreciate it’s a special evening but there’s nothing else I can do. Just as Sebby starts demolishing another bookshelf, my phone pings and I check the message:
Fine. I’ll be in the bar.
I don’t think an hour has ever gone more slowly. Every time I hear a car go past the window I pull the curtains back to see if it’s Helen, who has miraculously got back early. Thankfully, after half an hour of wrecking the house, Sebby appears to have finally worn himself out, so I give him some warm milk and he falls asleep in my arms. Wrapping his arms around my neck as I carry him up the stairs to bed, his little head full of dark hair teeters on the edge of my shoulder. I think about what I’m about to go and do, who I’m going to see as I feel the warmth of his little body cuddling into me, and hold on to him a bit tighter.
I. Am. A. Terrible. Person.
As I gently lay him down on his cot bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin, I hear the front door close. Kissing his forehead, I whisper into his ear, ‘See you tomorrow, buddy. Love you.’
Running down the stairs, quick enough so that I can leave the house as soon as possible but not so quick that it looks like I’m dying to get away, I ask Helen how her day was.
‘Christ, I’m glad that’s over!’ she says and sighs.
‘Grab yourself a glass of wine and order a pizza.’
‘I will!’ she replies, looking knackered. Her hair is piled up on the top of her head, her glasses shield her tired brown eyes.
‘Go on, off you pop,’ she demands. ‘Have fun!’
Picking my bag up in the hallway, I give her a hug, kissing her forehead.
‘Love you,’ she says.
‘Love you, too,’ I smile, closing the door.
9.12 p.m.
That’s the time on the car clock as I pull into Heathwood Hall car park.
Leaving my bag in the car, I run to the entrance. I’m so looking forward to seeing her, even if we only have a fraction of the time we usually would. But this is getting harder to do every year. Harder to lie to Helen, harder to leave Seb, the guilt and anxiety over it weighs down more heavily every year. And, yet, I still do it, because I have to see her.
The stress of today and not being able to get here earlier definitely made it more difficult; I tortured myself all the way here over what I was doing. It seemed ‘more wrong’ this year, somehow. I questioned all day whether I should come; something just seemed off kilter with it all.
A woman sits on a stool at the bar with her back to me. She’s in a sexy black fitted sleeveless dress, her long blonde hair is wavy and swept around her right shoulder.
There she is. I can’t help but burst into a
huge smile as I walk up behind her.
‘Stephanie?’
She swings around, slightly off balance, and just looks at me.
‘Oh,’ she sighs. ‘Hi Jamie.’
I frown at her in a mildly amused way and lean in to hug her, but she’s so unwelcoming; all she does is very lightly place her hands on my back as I sink my face into her hair.
‘So sorry I’m late,’ I tell her. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Nothing,’ she snaps. ‘Just chatting to my friend Greg,’ she says proudly, delicately slurring her words, turning her head towards the very young bartender, who clearly wants no part of this.
‘It’s Craig,’ he says awkwardly, walking off to the other end of the bar.
‘Okaaayy,’ I say, raising my eyebrows. Going by her almost empty wine glass and the empty bottle next to it – and the fact she’s quite clearly drunk – I’m guessing she’s been here for a while. ‘Right, well, shall we go upstairs?’
‘Hmmm … nope!’ she says, holding on to the bar for support.
‘Why not?’
‘You think it’s OK to keep me waiting here for hours on end while you play happy families?’
‘I wasn’t playing “happy families”—’
‘And then just waltz in expecting me to cruise upstairs with you for a fuck?’ she spits at me. Some of the other hotel guests’ ears prick up at this point.
‘I meant so we could talk and so I could get changed to come back down for something to eat.’
‘Why can’t we talk down here?’ she says, spreading her arms out dramatically.
Gently placing my hand on the bottom of her back, I usher her away from the bar. The reception area has people milling about in it, so we step outside.
Because it’s a cold October evening, it’s absolutely freezing. It’s the kind of cold snap which feels like a film of ice is being placed over your body.
We stand opposite each other, just outside the entrance to the Hall. She’s in her lovely dress, shivering, folding her arms to keep warm. I hate to think she’s been ready for hours, waiting for me to get here. She’s gone to so much effort, looks beautiful.
‘Here,’ I say, taking my coat off, ‘take this.’
‘I don’t want your coat. I don’t need it.’
‘What’s going on, Stephanie? I’ve just driven all the way here to see you. We’ve both waited a year for this. Don’t ruin it. Please.’
‘I’m not the one ruining it. You’re the one who’s late.’
‘Yes, and I’ve apologised for that. Can we move on? I’m here now.’
‘No! We can’t “move on”.’
‘Well, can you explain to me what the problem is, because I don’t understand.’
She moves closer to me, so that she’s inches away from my face.
‘Do I mean so little to you that on our one night of the year, you couldn’t make other arrangements? Make a bit of an effort? To get here on time?’
‘Look, I’m sorry. There was no way around it. Helen got called into work all day, then she had to stay late and I had to watch Seb. He’s my son – what was I supposed to do?’
‘Oh yep, of course,’ she mocks. ‘Your perfect family. Your perfect marriage, I forgot.’
‘Steph, don’t—’
‘Don’t what?’
‘My marriage is my marriage and it’s not up for discussion.’
‘Oh Christ, don’t I know it! Yeah, you’re just so happy, aren’t you? You just can’t stop pointing that out to me, can you? Lucky you!’
‘I don’t point anything out to you. But, on the whole, I am happy, yes.’
‘Bullshit, Jamie! Utter bullshit!’ She laughs, throwing her arms up in the air. ‘If you were that happy you wouldn’t be doing this with me. Fact!’
‘I didn’t plan to do this with you, Stephanie. It’s not like you fill a gap I’m missing in my relationship with Helen. You’re something beautiful and special, I …’
She looks at me blankly, like she can’t believe the words I’m saying.
‘Oh, so I’m basically like a hobby?’ she scoffs, getting more wound up by the second. She’s shouting now, in that way you do when you’re drunk but don’t realise how loud you’re being. ‘Something you do on the side of your marriage?’
‘What? No! I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I mean, what the fuck are we even doing?’ she screams at me.
‘I don’t know how it’s got to this point,’ I reply, honestly. ‘We try to be just friends, but—’
‘And that’s the problem,’ she says, laughing and waving her finger drunkenly in my face.
‘I just want to be around you, I can’t explain it … I’m sorry,’ I plead with her.
She’s no longer shivering. Almost as if all the angry dancing about and shouting has warmed her up. I don’t know if there’s anything else I can say to make this better. She’s obviously wanted to say this for a long time.
‘Do you even know how much you mean to me?’ I tell her. ‘I don’t even need to have sex with you. I just want to be around you. To see you. And I don’t know what the fuck this is either, but all I know is I need to see you.’
‘Oh yes, you need to see me so much you can’t even get here on time the only time I see you a year—’
‘Please, Stephanie, don’t do this.’
‘It’s always on your terms, isn’t it?’
‘Steph …’ I whisper, moving closer to her. Cuddling up to her, my hand rests in her hair as I feel her arms wrap around my waist. She pushes me away, her face swelling with rage.
‘You know something?’ she says. ‘I don’t think I can do this any more. I need you to want me, not need me. I need to know I give you something she doesn’t. If she’s so damned perfect, then you don’t want me …’
Oh Steph, please don’t. I can’t lose you.
‘… so why don’t you go straight back home and fuck her instead?’
Every word is loaded and delivered with anger. The only sound cutting through the silence is the muffled voices coming from the reception area.
‘Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?’ I say, softly.
‘What?’ she asks, confused.
‘I know you’re pushing me away because that’s what you feel comfortable doing. I might only see you once a year, Stephanie, but you forget how well I know you.’
‘Oh give up the psychoanalysis crap, please. I get enough of that with Jane.’
‘Unless you tell me you want me to stay, I’m going to go over there, get in my car, and drive home. I won’t contact you again.’
‘I don’t take kindly to threats, Jamie. Go home and be the perfect husband you think you are. I can’t be bothered with you any more.’
‘That’s how you want to end this? Please, Stephanie, don’t. I—’
‘Jamie, all you do is toy with me,’ she interrupts. ‘You either want me properly or you don’t.’
‘It’s not that simple, Stephanie. Please …’
She stands, looking at me, shaking her head, wearing a face of sheer indignation. She’s made her mind up.
‘Do you know what, Jamie? I wish I’d never met you,’ she says. And right here, in this moment, she means it. Her eyes are filled with hurt.
I take the words in. It’s brutal, making someone feel like that. I take one last glimpse at her, this girl I’m in love with. I know I’ll regret not telling her how I feel, but I’ve done enough damage. I turn around, walk back to my car, get in and drive away.
PART THREE
Nothing Compares 2U
CHAPTER 19
Wednesday 22 May 2013
Jamie
‘Ten years!’ Helen remarks, almost as if she can’t believe it. The air con drifts across my skin as I glance out over the panoramic view from our dining table. The burning heat from the Nevada desert lashes down on to the garish buildings outside. I’ve never known anything like it.
‘Feels like less,’ I say, yawning, struggling to
stay conscious. I’ve been awake for so long now, I’ve no idea what time of day it is. Knocking back the espresso in front of me like it was a shot of tequila, I hope it has the desired effect on me in less than two minutes. ‘How come you’re so perky, anyway?’
‘I slept on the plane, which is what you should have done,’ she says.
‘You know I can’t sleep on planes. I get too nervous.’
‘Well, I don’t think throwing all those vodka and cokes down your throat helped but it got you here, I suppose.’
She’s right, I guess. I certainly don’t feel better for it now. It’s like some kind of weird drunk-but-simultaneously-hungover jet-lagged state and it feels like nothing is real. All I want to do is go to bed.
‘No sleeping, though,’ Helen barks at me, poking my arm with her finger. ‘It will bugger everything up for the next few days. Trust me, you’ll thank me for it! Now, what do you fancy for breakfast?’
There’s a little boy a few tables down, about the same age as Sebby. He’s sitting with his parents and wearing a little blue cowboy hat, eating pancakes. My heart aches a bit; I’ve never been away from my boy for this long before.
‘Do you think Sebby will be OK?’ I ask Helen.
‘Yes, of course he will! You know how much my parents absolutely spoil him rotten.’ She smiles. ‘As long as we bring him presents back he won’t care we’ve gone!’
‘You’re right. Let’s enjoy the next five days. Can’t believe we’ve actually got some time to ourselves,’ I gush, gently sliding my hand down her arm as she studies the menu. ‘And that you planned all this without me knowing.’
‘Well, we both deserve it, Jamie,’ she says, before going back to selecting her breakfast.
‘Sorry we’re late!’ Cal says, appearing from nowhere, with his arm draped around Vicky’s shoulder.