Love You Better

by Martin, Natalie K

  ‘And I love him, but that didn’t stop me.’

  Lou laid her head on the table, and Effie smoothed down her hair. She didn’t know what else to say, because Lou was right. She loved Mickey, but she’d slept with someone else anyway. And that was the problem. Love on its own wasn’t enough.

  Even though it was barely ten when Effie got home, Oliver was already fast asleep. She stood in the doorway looking at him and felt a pang of guilt in her stomach. She’d been cheated on herself by Smith, but seeing Lou so distraught had rammed it home. She needed to let Smith go. She didn’t want to lose her husband. He might not be perfect, but she didn’t want to end up alone, like Lou. She carefully took the book he’d fallen asleep reading from his hand and put it on his bedside table. He looked so peaceful, with his long eyelashes resting on his cheekbones and his mouth pulled into a slight pout. Effie undressed and climbed into bed next to him, snuggling into him as much as she could.

  ‘How was she?’ Oliver mumbled sleepily.

  ‘Bad.’

  Effie closed her eyes as Oliver fell back asleep, and she tried to take her mind off Smith. She had to accept the facts. She was married, Smith was single and like he’d said, he could do whatever he wanted.

  It was the first time he’d ever been clear with her. No ambiguity, no messing around. His words had stung and replayed in her head. Until tonight. Until she’d seen her best friend, heartbroken because she’d been unfaithful and lost the one thing in the world she’d always wanted to keep. Harsh as it sounded, seeing Lou reeling from what she’d done had given Effie the shock she needed.

  She didn’t want to end up the same way.

  A few days later, Effie shut the front door and dropped her keys into the bowl on the sideboard.

  ‘That you, baby?’ Oliver’s voice carried down the hallway, and Effie followed it to the kitchen. ‘You’re on time.’

  Effie smiled. ‘I said I would be.’

  ‘I know, but you’ve been going over to Lou’s every day. I thought you’d change your mind.’

  ‘And miss out on you cooking dinner?’ Effie kissed his cheek. ‘No way.’

  When he’d called her earlier, Oliver had been so pleased that she’d be coming straight home from work, instead of detouring to Lou’s, that he’d offered to cook. She hadn’t really believed him, since more often than not, he was the one who came home late from work, but there he was, pulling at lettuce leaves and dropping them into a shallow bowl.

  ‘You know, you never said what happened between those two.’

  Effie hesitated for a second. She hadn’t told him because she knew he wouldn’t approve.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘They grew apart, I suppose. Miscommunication, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Miscommunication,’ he echoed. ‘That’s not a reason to split up. It’s pretty immature, if you ask me. It’s the kind of thing you work through, not throw in the towel over.’

  She held back the need to defend her friends. After all, he didn’t know the real reason behind their break-up. Instead, she brushed the comment aside and looked over his shoulder.

  ‘How long till dinner’s ready?’

  ‘Few minutes,’ he replied and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Sounds good. Let me just get changed out of my work clothes.’

  Upstairs, she fought the urge to yawn as she changed out of her clothes. Heartbreak was a heavy business, and Lou was cracking under the strain of it. Effie opened her drawer for a pair of socks and grimaced. She’d been the same when Smith had ended up in hospital, and she’d finally faced up to the truth about their relationship, or the lack of it. She’d walked around for ages feeling like her world had come to an end, especially when he’d told her he’d booked a flight to Cambodia. She’d barely had time to catch her breath before he’d hopped on a plane and flown out of her life.

  She dug around her drawer, searching for her woolly socks. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, when she needed comfort, she’d encase her feet in a pair of thick socks. Since Penny did the same, it was clearly a trait she’d inherited. She frowned at the thought of having inherited anything from her mum and closed the drawer, unable to find them. Oliver’s would have to do.

  Socks selected, she went to close the drawer until an envelope caught her eye. She recognised the logo; it was from the bank. Why would he be hiding post in his drawer? They had a box where that kind of stuff was kept – it made it easier for accounting, and Oliver was meticulous about paperwork being filed away properly.

  Gingerly, she lifted out the letter, and her hands shook as she saw the card attached to it. She read the name embossed onto the shiny plastic: Mrs E. W. Barton-Cole.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Oliver shouted from downstairs.

  It was her debit card, the one Oliver had told her hadn’t turned up yet because of a mix-up with the bank.

  ‘Coming,’ she called back and sat on the bed, unease settling on her shoulders like a cloak. The date on the letter was over a week ago.

  Nobody should ever have control over your finances but you.

  Her mum had told her it wasn’t right, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it. He wouldn’t deliberately withhold her money from her, would he? But why else would he lie about the card?

  ‘Effie, what are you doing up there? Come on.’

  She shook her head and slipped the card back, her hands still shaking. She closed the drawer and silently padded downstairs. Oliver had laid the table out with wine glasses and candles, but as she slipped into her chair, she couldn’t take her eyes from his back, as if it could tell her why he’d decided to hide her card.

  ‘For you,’ he said, turning from the cooker with a plate in his hand.

  Effie fixed a small smile onto her face as he put it in front of her, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘And one for me.’ He put his plate down and sat opposite. ‘Bon appétit.’

  She looked at the steak on his plate, pink and dripping on a bed of green leaves, before looking at her own. It matched his exactly. She picked up her fork and prodded it, her stomach rolling over as the juices oozed from the points where the prongs had cut into it.

  ‘Izzy called earlier,’ Oliver said as he sliced into his lump of steak. ‘She was wondering if she’s done something to upset you?’

  Effie put her fork down, repulsed by the prospect of rare meat. He knew she couldn’t eat undercooked food.

  ‘Why would she think that?’

  ‘You tell me. Did you not call her after your birthday?’

  Effie swore quietly. Izzy had sent her a package of beauty products from the company she owned – a box full of creamy, honey-infused moisturiser, shampoo and conditioner enriched with Moroccan Argan oil, raw coconut body oil and more bath salts than she could shake a stick at. Effie had meant to call and say thank you, but then her mum had called, and she’d argued with Smith, not to mention the fallout from Lou and Mickey’s split.

  ‘I forgot,’ Effie said quietly. ‘I meant to, but –’

  ‘But you were too busy spending time with your friends.’

  She looked up at him as he chewed his food. ‘I’ve been with my best friend, who’s heartbroken. It’s not like I’ve been out clubbing every night.’

  ‘Well you haven’t been here, and that’s my point. She’s split up with her boyfriend – so what? I don’t see why you need to be over there all the time.’

  Effie screwed her eyebrows together. ‘It’s called moral support.’

  She sighed and pushed her plate away. It wasn’t like she needed his permission to see her friends.

  ‘The thing about moral support is that you have to spend too much of your energy giving it. Lou’s nice enough, but she’s so dramatic all the time, and it rubs off on you in a bad way. You’ve always been so grateful whenever I’ve cooked for you before, but now you’re getting all ar
gumentative.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not argumentative. I’m just not hungry.’

  ‘Effie. I’ve spent ages on this.’

  She looked down at the plate again. It was a salad and a steak that couldn’t have touched the frying pan for more than two minutes at the most.

  ‘I’m really not hungry.’

  Oliver stayed quiet for a moment before putting his knife and fork down. Effie looked at the smooth skin on his hands, his long fingers and perfectly rounded fingernails. He tapped his index finger on the tablecloth as he fixed his stare onto her.

  ‘Your card arrived today.’

  She thought back to the letter she’d seen in his drawer and knew it had arrived a lot sooner than today.

  ‘I’ll get it for you after you’ve eaten.’

  Effie blinked and looked at him. Was he trying to bribe her? She shook her head again. She wanted to get up from the table, but his stare was keeping her rooted to the chair like a tractor beam.

  ‘You’ve hardly spent any time at home lately, and I’ve gone to the trouble of cooking you dinner. Do you know what it’s been like to feel like you don’t want to spend time with me? To always come second best to your friends? And now you’re saying you don’t want the dinner I’ve made.’

  Effie shook her head, confused. He was laying on the guilt, making her feel as if she was rejecting him, but that wasn’t the case at all. He leaned across the table and nudged her fork towards her.

  ‘You know I don’t like it rare.’

  ‘And you know how many times I’ve told you it tastes better like that. I won’t cook something subpar,’ he replied. ‘Eat it. Please.’

  The please was perfectly placed to make it sound like a request, but his monotone voice told her it was anything but. She looked down at the steak again.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ she said, making herself smile to try to hide her unease. ‘This is you trying to make me a bit more refined, isn’t it?’

  She’d hoped that the corners of Oliver’s mouth would lift into a smile, and he’d tell her he was simply joking, but instead a chill ran through her at the flash of anger behind his eyes. Effie looked down at the steak, glistening in its own juices amid a sea of lettuce. Maybe she’d only have to eat a mouthful. He couldn’t force it down her throat, and he wouldn’t, not when he knew how much she hated it.

  She picked up the knife and fork. They were part of a set they’d received as a wedding gift, and despite using them countless times since, they now felt heavy in her hands as she sawed through the steak. She had to clamp her mouth shut to hold back the gag at the sight of pale, pink flesh on her plate.

  She looked up at him again, expecting him to tell her he was just joking, that she didn’t have to eat it, but instead he simply nodded. Her throat constricted as she put the chunk of steak in her mouth. As soon as it hit her tongue, her gag reflex almost made her spit it straight back out again. It was almost cold, and its smooth texture, mixed with the flavour of the meat, made her stomach churn. She closed her eyes as she chewed, trying not to think about what she was doing.

  Effie swallowed, holding her breath to keep it down. When she opened her eyes, Oliver was staring back at her.

  ‘Good girl. It wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  She grimaced and drained her glass of wine, swilling it around her mouth to rid it of the taste of steak. It wasn’t bad. It was horrific.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Finish up.’

  He couldn’t be serious? She’d managed a mouthful, but she couldn’t do any more than that. She shook her head.

  ‘I’m done, Olly. I can’t eat it.’

  Why was he pressing this? He’d promised her a nice, romantic dinner, but his expression stayed the same. She didn’t want to argue. She was tired. All she wanted to do was throw the steak in the bin and go to bed, but Oliver crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

  She could just get up and leave the table. He wasn’t forcing her. He was trying to persuade her. Surely that was different? He’d always insisted that rare was the best way to eat steak, just as he’d insisted that having her hair straightened looked much better than her wild curls. He thought the style suited her more and made her look more sophisticated. He’d grown up around elegance, money, good food. He knew what he was talking about. But she didn’t want to eat another mouthful.

  Oliver poured himself another glass of wine and rearranged himself on the chair, as if he were settling down for a long wait, and tears pricked at Effie’s eyes as she picked up her fork.

  Less than five minutes later, she was heaving over the toilet bowl. When she’d finished, she slumped against the side of the bath and wiped the slick of sweat from her upper lip. She’d managed another two mouthfuls under Oliver’s watchful stare, with tears streaming down her face. She’d felt like a child being told she couldn’t leave the table until her plate was clean, until she’d had no choice but to get up and run to the bathroom.

  She looked up as Oliver came into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath, holding her debit card in his hand. She looked at it, knowing that he’d withheld it on purpose, like a punishment for spending too much time at Lou’s and not enough at home, just like he’d punished her for changing her mind about trying for a baby by standing her up on Valentine’s Day. She’d always thought the romance and charm he’d shown her were unwavering, but it was starting to look like it was all on his terms.

  Had she really been so wrong to spend time with Lou? It was instinctive to be there for her best friend, but Oliver had made it seem as if she was being overdramatic. Had she really made him feel so rejected that he’d had to resort to this?

  She looked at him holding the bank card. Maybe she hadn’t been considerate of him over the last few days. Maybe he really did feel rejected by her absence. It wasn’t an excuse, but she had to believe there was something to make him do what he’d done, something she could fix to make him go back to the Oliver she married – the Oliver who was kind, considerate and loving. Gingerly, she took the card from him.

  ‘Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up, and we’ll watch a film. You need to learn to try new things, Effie. I just want you to be the best you can be.’

  Effie closed her eyes and tried not to shrink away from him as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

  16.

  Effie looked at the bags piled in the corner of Smith’s tiny living room, and a pang of sadness hit her chest. Eighteen months of a relationship and a life together, condensed into three sports bags. If Lou had looked heartbroken, she had nothing on Mickey.

  Effie sat on the sofa and looked at him. Like Lou, he looked dishevelled and utterly broken. She’d already popped round to Lou’s after work and decided to make the small detour on the way home to look in on Mickey. Instead of the hysterics she’d seen at Lou’s half an hour earlier, Mickey gave off an air of detachment, and with the hood of his jumper pulled low over his face, it didn’t seem like he was ready to give it up any time soon.

  ‘How is she?’ Mickey asked.

  Effie grimaced and put her bag on the floor – a surprisingly clean floor, she noticed – and shrugged. It looked like they were getting straight down to the nitty-gritty.

  ‘Honestly? She’s been better.’

  ‘I take it you know what happened?’

  She nodded but didn’t say anything. What could she say? They both sat in silence, watching Smith make tea in the kitchen on the other side of the room. He must have only just got home because he was still wearing his football kit with his socks pulled down, exposing his muddy calves.

  Smith’s flat wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d only ever seen his room at his parents’ house and it had been cluttered with stuff: DJ decks, stacks of vinyl records and CDs, a spare wheel for his pushbike, a spare helmet for his motorbike and clothes bundled into corners. She’d expected his flat to be the
same, but she was surprised when she’d walked in and found it tidy and clean. She looked up and saw him staring back at her, but she quickly looked away. She hadn’t come here for him, and she didn’t have time to get distracted. She’d taken to working through lunch so she could leave an hour early and quickly check in on Lou, so she wouldn’t get home late. The only reason she had time to pop in and see Mickey at all was because she knew Oliver would be working late.

  ‘And how are you doing?’ she asked. ‘I’m worried about you.’

  Mickey shrugged. ‘Don’t be. I’m fine.’

  From the corner of her vision, she saw Smith shake his head as he deposited a teabag into the bin.

  ‘You don’t look it,’ Effie replied.

  ‘My girlfriend just cheated on me. Excuse me if I don’t go star jumping around the room.’

  His tone was bitter, but she could hardly blame him. She nodded. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Look,’ – Mickey sighed – ‘if you’re here to try and talk me into taking her back, you’re wasting your time. We’re over.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Like I said, I’m here to see you. I know she’s one of my best friends, but so are you.’ She looked up as Smith walked over with the cups, and took one from him. ‘Has she contacted you?’

  ‘Every day.’ His voice broke, and he cleared his throat before taking a sip of his tea. ‘Whatever. It doesn’t matter.’

  Smith sat on the armchair, propped his feet up and flicked through the TV channels with the remote. Now he was back in the room, she could smell him – the mixture of sweat and grass. His hair was still damp from the rain outside. By rights, it should have smelled horrific, but it didn’t. It was intoxicating. Couldn’t he go take a shower or something?

  She squeezed her fingers around the hot cup and looked at Mickey. ‘Have you actually spoken to her?’

  He shook his head and took his phone from his pocket to show her his screen. Today alone, he had twenty-two missed calls, all from Lou. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. You know the saying that if you have nothing nice to say, then you shouldn’t say anything at all? Well, I don’t think she wants to hear the words I’ve got to say to her.’