Love You Better

by Martin, Natalie K

  Effie yawned again and shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his denim-clad thighs. She smiled, blissfully aware of the heat of his body radiating onto her face. His hand rested on her back, and she closed her eyes.

  21.

  Effie stood in the garden, holding a cup of tea, and looked at the tiny rosebush in the corner. The beautiful weather had continued throughout April, and even though she didn’t know anything about gardening, she knew it was early for rosebuds to appear on the first of May. She looked up at the sky speckled with early morning clouds and the trail of a plane flying overhead. The clouds didn’t worry her. She knew they’d soon part and let the sun through, just like they had for the past month.

  For the past few days, she’d opened her eyes before her alarm went off, fully rested and wide awake. Smith’s visit had been something of a turning point. He’d ended up staying until the early hours of the morning, when she’d woken up. She’d stumbled to bed, and he’d left, and ever since then, she’d started sleeping better, progressing from a few hours to a full night. The occasions when she woke up with cold fear dousing her like a cloak were now few and far between, and she could only put it down to her slowly getting used to Oliver not being around. She still kept asking herself whether her decision to throw him out was right or wrong, but instead of it being a state of constant confusion, it had settled down to long periods of certainty followed by uncertainty. Sometimes, it felt like her mind was a pendulum, swinging steadily, and at the very least it seemed to be giving her brain enough rest time to sleep better. Oliver’s lessening contact was helping too. He’d sent a message, telling her he’d back off to give her some space, and although she hadn’t heard anything else, flowers had been delivered for the past three days in a row. Even without a message card, it was clear they were from Oliver.

  She sipped her tea and wandered over to the rosebush, feeling the fresh dew tickling her bare feet. If she’d taken it at face value, she’d have thought it was dead with its dry, bare branches, but it wasn’t. It was starting to come to life again, having survived the long, cold and dark winter.

  She’d settled into a routine, one where she was independent and did whatever she wanted. And while it mainly only consisted of going to work, coming home and getting lost in a film or a book, it was a step in the right direction. She still loved Oliver. A few weeks apart couldn’t change that. She still found herself wondering what would happen if she did take him back, which parts of their relationship would need to be worked on and whether they could ever truly get back to where they had been. She’d always told herself that she’d never get involved with a violent man, but here she was. A domestic violence victim. She shook her head. She wasn’t a victim – not anymore. Spring was turning to summer, and she was ready to come back to life, just like the rosebush.

  As she moved around the house, getting ready for work, she held on to the feeling of happiness she’d woken up with. She sang along to the radio as she dressed, applied her makeup in record time and skipped down the stairs in her yellow, polka-dotted mini-dress and ballet pumps. After one last check in the mirror, she put her headphones in and opened the front door. She stopped just before she closed it behind her. Next to the potted plant was a bunch of posies, the latest offering from Oliver. She picked them up and held them to her nose. They weren’t her favourite flowers but he’d already sent roses, orchids, and tulips. He was consistent, she’d give him that. She went back into the house, put them on the sideboard and closed the door behind her to go to work. She hummed along to her iPod on the walk to the Tube station.

  Today was going to be a good day.

  The morning was spent breezing around the office with a smile on her face, making endless cups of tea for her colleagues and answering the phone in a happy, high-pitched voice. Whenever her mind strayed to the intricacies of separation from Oliver, she pulled it right back again. If she finally decided that they were separated for good, she knew she’d have to think about the logistics at some point because one thing was for sure: she couldn’t afford to live there alone, and besides, it was Oliver’s place, not hers. She’d changed the locks so he couldn’t get in, but technically speaking, he could come back and kick her out whenever he felt like it.

  She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the clock. A couple of street food stalls had popped up by the Tube station, and she’d been thinking about pulled pork and black beans all day. She opened up the messenger window on her screen and clicked on Smith’s name before typing out a message.

  Effie: What are you doing for lunch? Cuban?

  James: Can’t, I’ve got a meeting in 30 mins ☹

  Effie: Ok, no problem ☺

  Effie shrugged and took her purse from her bag, checking that she had cash. It was Smith’s loss. Nikki had tried the food at the Cuban stall last week and had raved about it ever since.

  James: Fancy a drink after work?

  She looked up and saw Smith looking back at her with a grin and a raised eyebrow. She’d treated herself to the Sex and the City box set, one of her favourite shows, and she’d received an email that morning saying it had been delivered. She had been planning on curling up on the sofa and starting a marathon.

  Effie: Hmm. Not sure. I’ve got a date with Carrie Bradshaw.

  James: Who?

  She smiled and shook her head. Smith was awful when it came to TV shows.

  Effie: Duh. Sex and the City!

  James: As if you haven’t watched every episode before! You’re really going to blow me out for that crap??

  Effie: It isn’t crap. It’s the best show ever!

  James: Watch it when you get home later. Come out, just for one. Everyone else has blown me out.

  Effie: It’s Monday. Most people just want to get home, not go to the pub.

  James: The sun’s out. Seems a shame to waste the evening . . .

  He was right. It would be a shame to waste the evening on her sofa. As much as she loved SATC, she had to stop being a hermit. And anyway, today was a good day. She owed it to herself to make it a great evening too.

  ‘I said I’d come for one,’ Effie said, shielding the sun from her eyes with her hand, looking up at Smith.

  ‘Nobody ever goes out for just one.’ He sat next to her on the pavement holding a bottle of rosé in a bucket. ‘Besides, it makes more economical sense to get a bottle instead.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Effie grinned as he poured out the wine. ‘Since when did you drink rosé anyway?’

  ‘A glass or two’s nice in the sun, and I didn’t fancy a beer.’

  She leaned back against the cool, red, glazed tiles of the pub’s exterior and stretched her legs out, looking at her feet. Why hadn’t she worn sandals like ninety per cent of the women around her? It was a sticky evening, and the heavy London air clung to her skin.

  ‘What is that bloody song? You’ve been humming it all day.’

  She hadn’t even realised she’d been humming. ‘It’s from Despicable Me 2.’

  ‘Am I supposed to know what that is?’

  ‘It’s a film,’ she explained, and he stared back at her with a blank expression. She laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘Pharrell Williams? Happy? You know, the song with all the YouTube videos?’

  ‘Ah, yeah. I know it. Just didn’t recognise your version. You’re hardly the best hummer in the world.’

  She laughed at the mischievous grin on his face and shook her head before looking out at the road. ‘I love London when it’s like this. When the sun shines, there’s no place like it.’

  ‘Yep.’ Smith grinned and held up his glass for a toast.

  ‘What are we drinking to?’ Effie asked.

  ‘This. You are the sunshine today, Effie.’

  Effie blushed and shook her head. ‘Let’s hope I don’t burn out.’

  ‘Not possible. At least, I hope not. Wit
hout the sun, there’d be nothing else.’

  ‘How intensely profound.’ She grinned, feeling her face redden even more.

  ‘It’s just nice to see you happy again.’

  ‘It’s nice to feel happy again.’

  They clinked their glasses together, and Smith nodded towards the pavement. ‘It’s crazy. Summer’s the only time of the year you’d ever see anyone sitting on the pavement.’

  ‘It’s not summer yet. And we’re sitting on a ledge.’

  ‘It’s a glorified skirting board. Though after bumming it for months, you don’t get precious about where you sit.’

  A dozen conversations filled the air around them, creating a constant buzz of chatter and laughter. The pavement outside the pub was packed with men with their shirtsleeves rolled up and women in maxi dresses. The roar of bus engines and cars blaring music from their speakers added to the atmosphere that was the distinct anthem of a sun-soaked London. Effie looked down at Smith’s bare arms, tanned from the sun.

  ‘You had more tattoos while you were away.’

  ‘The ones on my ribs?’ Smith looked at her and grinned. ‘You noticed then?’

  The memory of him stretching in the kitchen of the cottage in Ireland filled her head, and she took a long swig of wine.

  ‘Well you were half naked,’ she said. ‘It would have been hard not to.’

  Smith laughed. ‘I got fed up of people asking about my scar. I didn’t really want to have to explain about the punctured lung and stuff. I found a good tattoo artist in Thailand and got it covered up.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Effie turned and looked at him. ‘Keisha. Why did you do it? I mean, putting us to one side, you must have known it wouldn’t end well.’

  Keisha’s boyfriend was the owner of a club where Smith used to DJ, and he was known as something of a gangster. God only knew what had been going through Smith’s mind.

  His eyes flickered away from her face. ‘To be honest, I didn’t really think about it. I didn’t really care.’

  ‘You almost died,’ Effie replied quietly. Whenever she thought about him laid up in that hospital bed, her blood ran cold.

  ‘Something like that was always going to happen. I mean, come on. I was hardly a poster boy for good living, was I?’

  Smith had partied hard back then, and while he claimed not to have sold any drugs, he was surrounded by them all the time. With his bike, chiselled looks and tattoos, he went around scooping up girls like there was no tomorrow.

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘I was cocky, restless and earning more money than I knew how to spend. It had to come to a head eventually. I just did it in spectacular fashion.’

  And broke my heart in the process.

  ‘I really never meant to hurt you,’ he said, playing with the stem of his glass. ‘I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. I was operating on a completely different level. It sounds harsh, but I didn’t think about you while I was doing that stuff. It was like, if I didn’t think, it didn’t matter.’

  Effie drained her wine. That hurt. But she got it. It was easier to pretend things weren’t really happening, especially when those things were of your own making.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now.’ Smith puffed out his cheeks. ‘I’m just a Regular Joe. I don’t want to be a prick who goes around hurting people. Especially people who deserve it the least.’

  Effie blushed at the way he threw her a small smile. Maybe he really had changed. He seemed so much more humble than he had when he’d left. Maybe she’d mistaken his embarrassment at the way he’d treated her for arrogance. In some perverse way, maybe everything that had happened, happened for a reason.

  ‘It’s kind of appropriate to have a skull tattoo covering the scar,’ she said.

  ‘Skulls signify a lot of things. Death, knowledge, overcoming obstacles.’ He held the bottle out to refill her glass. ‘So yeah, it’s appropriate. I’ll get more soon.’

  ‘You’ll end up completely covered at the rate you’re going.’ She tutted but they both knew she appreciated his tattoos just as much as he did.

  ‘What about you? Will you get any more? Though the one you have already is cute enough on its own.’

  Effie almost choked on her wine. She’d tagged along with him when he went for a new addition to his sleeve and ended up getting a tiny love heart on her pelvis. The memory of him kissing it after it had healed popped up in her mind, and since his cheeks reddened, she guessed the same was true for him too.

  She shook her head and cleared her throat. ‘Nope. One’s enough for me.’

  Smith put his glass on the floor and took out a box of Marlboros.

  ‘You’ve started smoking again?’

  ‘Nah, but it’s sunny, I’m at a pub and I’ve got a drink in my hand.’ He looked at the glass. ‘Well, I’ve got a drink on the floor. It’d be rude not to.’

  She held her hand out and grinned. ‘Can I nick one?’

  ‘You’ve quit.’

  ‘So have you, but I won’t tell if you don’t tell.’

  Smith laughed and handed her a cigarette. She cupped a hand around his as he struck his lighter and lit the tip.

  ‘It can be our little secret.’

  22.

  Chocolate, thick socks and Sex and the City. It was Effie’s idea of bliss, and as the familiar theme tune played out on the television, she sighed contentedly and wriggled her toes, stretching her legs out on the sofa. She was on episode three of her marathon, and her family-sized bag of Minstrels was already almost depleted. After last night’s drinks with Smith, she was grateful for the peace and quiet of home. They’d ended up staying at the pub until the sun had set, soaking up every last ray of sunshine, and she’d woken this morning with a slight hangover.

  A car pulled up outside, and she turned her head to look out of the window just in time to see the black BMW that, until Oliver moved out, had always been parked up in their driveway. It was the first time he’d come round for days, and she waited to hear him knock on the door, pushing away the dull ache settling in her chest. Alarmingly, as time went on, the confusion had stopped abating and settled into a steady worry about whether she’d been harsh towards him, even though what he’d done to her was inexplicably wrong. She frowned at the silence. What was he doing?

  She quietly crept to the living room doorway and peered out into the hallway, expecting to see his silhouette behind the door, but he wasn’t there. She stood still for a couple of minutes, her heart steadily pounding in her chest. Had she closed all the windows? Maybe he was trying to find a way in. She wasn’t scared of him. He’d been nothing but repentant, but she only wanted to see him face-to-face on her terms.

  The letterbox flipped up, and a small card fluttered to the ground. She caught a glimpse of Oliver’s fingers and realised he must have been sitting in the doorway, writing whatever he had. She slowly walked towards the door, her socked feet slightly slipping on the varnished oak floor. The lights were on in the house. There was little point in pretending she wasn’t in. She crouched down and picked up the card and read his scrawled handwriting.

  Since the flowers weren’t enough, maybe this will work instead . . .

  She turned it over and frowned. Maybe what will? She looked at the door. Was he still outside, or was that all he had to say? She looked back at the card as the letterbox opened again and another card fell onto the bristly floor mat.

  There are no words to express how sorry I am . . .

  Again, there was only one line. She sat on the floor and crossed her legs as another came.

  I don’t expect you to believe me, and if this were a film, I’d be the first to tell you to stay away . . .

  She traced a finger over the messy, looped letters. He’d never written to her before. She guessed love letters were passé these days, but she couldn’t deny the way
her throat was tightening with every card he posted.

  But this isn’t a film. It’s real life. I screwed up . . .

  If only it were that easy. If only admitting he’d screwed up could fix everything. She’d been getting on with her life since he’d moved out, and it was getting easier every day, but she’d married for love. She’d married for life. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want back the happiness they’d had in the beginning.

  I REALLY screwed up. But I’m fixing it. I’m doing the course, like I said I would.

  She hadn’t thought he’d been serious about doing the anger management course. It would have meant publicly acknowledging that he had a problem he couldn’t control. It must have dented his pride in a big way.

  It’s working already. I can see why I acted like I did. Why I did what I did. I just want you to know . . .

  Effie found herself tapping her fingers on her knee, waiting for the next card. When he posted it, she caught it before it hit the ground and read it. The tears that had been clogging her throat fell from her eyes.

  None of it was your fault. It was all mine.

  She wiped a cheek and read it again as another card dropped through.

  I know you’ll say no, but please, give me one last chance, and I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.

  Her heart ached. The part of her that wanted to believe him was taking over, but she couldn’t. She’d already made that mistake once before.

  I’m sorry.

  I love you.

  She read the last two cards, posted at the same time and leaned her head against the wall as tears continued to fall down her cheeks. On the other side of the door, she heard him shuffle around before he stood up, his silhouette against the glass. She held her breath and didn’t let it out until he turned and left.