Behind

by Nicole Trope

  ‘Who decorated the house we used to live in?’ she knows she asked her mother one afternoon, after they had painted a purple wall in her bedroom. She had been admiring the way the sun changed the colour of the wall as it moved, transforming it into multiple shades, rather than just the one deep colour. It had been the middle of summer and all the windows were open as she and her mother hoped for the slightest of breezes to blow through the hot little flat. They were both sweating from their work but it had been so exciting to change just one thing in the room, to use a colour to make the space feel like hers and only hers. As she stared at the paint and waited for her mother to answer, she imagined the purple pillows in different shades that she would buy to scatter on the bed.

  ‘He did. I had nothing to do with it. I hated the white walls and countertops and cupboards. There was too much white.’ Veronica had stopped speaking and Rachel had known she was lost somewhere in the past.

  ‘Why did you marry him?’ she had whispered, hoping that asking the question quietly would mean she’d get an answer. They didn’t look at each other, instead focusing on the wall so that speaking the truth was easier.

  ‘I loved him,’ her mother said in a quiet voice. ‘He was tall and so good-looking and completely charming. I felt safe and protected when he was around.’

  ‘And why did you stay? After things got really bad. Why did you stay?’

  Her mother put the paintbrush down, picking up a rag to wipe her hands. ‘I had children,’ she said simply. ‘I had no family who could take me in, no idea of how I would work and take care of you two. I was terrified of the whole world because I had always been protected by my parents, and then soon after they died, I met him and it seemed to me that he would take over where they left off. I should have waited. I should have lived on my own so I would know how to take care of myself, how to be on my own, but I was still grieving for them and bewildered by the world. He was kind at first. Kind and gentle – even afterwards. I pray you never have to learn what I learned, Rachel, and that is the intoxicating nature of abuse. The hands that hit were also the hands that touched gently, that touched me as I’d never been touched before. He would cause pain and then he would drug me with his tender touch and his words of love, with his attention and affection, and I would succumb and stay. Don’t do what I did, Rachel. Don’t get married without knowing who you are and what you want. Have a career and a plan for what you will do if things fall apart.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘But why—’

  ‘No more now,’ her mother said quietly, looking at her feet. ‘No more.’

  When she signed the lease on the flat, Veronica had obviously accepted that he wasn’t trying to find them anymore. It had been nine years since they’d left. Nine years of leaving wherever they were every few months, of never having enough money, of never fully unpacking, of never making friends. It makes sense that Veronica thought they had outrun him, that she believed he would have moved on with his life and forgotten them. But he hadn’t. He didn’t.

  She looks over at her mother, who is asleep but fitfully so, her breathing ragged and her eyelids twitching.

  ‘I need you to wake up, Mum. I need you to wake up and talk to me,’ she says firmly, hoping that a change of tone will penetrate the drugs numbing her mother, forcing her to open her eyes.

  But Veronica sleeps on, in full possession of her secrets, and eventually Rachel knows she has to leave to collect her little girl from school.

  She buttons her coat before she braves the cold outside the hospice, inhaling deeply as she walks out into the parking lot, taking the chilly air into her lungs and breathing out the smell and the stale heat of her mother’s room. She listens to her feet crunch over the white stones that cover the parking lot as she tries to shake off her despair.

  She tries, as she leaves, to centre herself so that she can be with Beth for the afternoon and really give her the attention she needs.

  After breathing deeply again she stops in front of her car and stares down at something on the ground. She looks around at the rest of the car park but they are only in front of her car. If there was more wind, she assumes they would have blown away or that they could have simply been blown in front of her car. But though the air is heavy with cold and the threat of rain, the leaves on the large fig trees in the hospice garden are still.

  She feels her stomach churn and her body heat up inside her coat. She leans down to gather the pamphlets up. There must be six or seven of them. She would assume that they had been dropped by someone walking through the neighbourhood, stuffing them in letter boxes, but they are all different, for different companies.

  They are brochures for swimming pools. She flicks through them, her hands trembling. There is a brochure for an above-ground pool encased by steel and made out of plastic; three people sip drinks as they lounge with their arms over the side. There is one for an expensive in-ground pool, the water a sparkling blue, the surround a beautiful mosaic. There is one for a small child’s inflatable pool and one that looks like it’s for a sport’s centre. Her heart beats in her ears, and she quickly opens the door to her car. Once, she would have loved a pool. ‘I will love it and I’ll swim and swim and swim,’ she knows she said to her mother when she was only six years old and had just begun her swimming lessons.

  ‘It’s not up to me,’ her mother said, her face tight and angry. Something she hadn’t been able to understand.

  She should have known not to ask her father, not to speak to him about it. The memories flood back; guilt engulfs her.

  She rests her head on the steering wheel for a moment. She needs to get Beth, and if she doesn’t leave now, she will be late. But she needs to calm down first.

  A tap on her window startles her so much she yelps. When she sees it’s Sam, she yanks open the door, fearful of what he has to say.

  ‘Sorry, love, it’s all right. Your mum’s the same. I didn’t mean to scare you. Didn’t you hear me calling you?’

  ‘I… no,’ she says, looking into his kind grey eyes, wishing that she could tell him about the train wreck her life is becoming. She wonders how old he is. He could be her father’s age. He has told her he should have retired last year but he loves his work.

  ‘I saw this fall out of your bag as you were leaving. I didn’t want you to leave without it.’

  She looks down, and in his hand is another doll. First the pamphlets, now this. He is everywhere. He will not stop.

  She stares at the doll and the doll stares back at her.

  She doesn’t want to touch it, doesn’t want to have it anywhere near her despite remembering how much she loved this one.

  It is dressed as a wizard with a pointy blue hat covered in decorative stars and a moon. She remembers believing that this was a magical doll, that if she whispered her wishes to it every night, it would make them come true. She had asked it for a happy family, for her father to be kind, for a life like the ones she could see her friends had. She tried that every night when she was six and then seven years old until the last night, until the night everything changed.

  That was the night that she had seen this doll for the last time. That was the night she had looked at it and known that it wasn’t magic at all, that none of her wishes would ever be granted. And so, she had left it behind.

  ‘Oh… yes,’ she stutters. ‘It’s Beth’s… thanks, Sam… thanks.’ She takes the doll from him, holding her hand stiffly so he can’t see it shaking. She looks at him, noting that he is gazing at her curiously.

  ‘You take care now,’ he says and he gives her shoulder a squeeze.

  She can do little more than nod. Her mouth is too dry to speak. He smiles again and then he steps back, allowing her to close the door. She starts the car immediately. She needs to get out of here, away from here. Sam lifts his hand and waves as she pulls out of the parking lot, still holding the doll and steering with one hand. She squeezes the doll tightly, feels it press into her palm. She wishes she were strong enough to crush it, to annihi
late it. She wishes she were strong enough to deal with him, but all she can feel is an overwhelming fear.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ she whispers, the words coming out automatically, repulsing her with the memories they bring.

  She suddenly flings the doll on the floor of the car. There is no magic in this doll.

  Her phone vibrates in her pocket. It’s her alarm telling her to leave to pick up Beth from school. She can feel tears on her cheeks and she knows that she will fetch her daughter from school with red eyes and a puffy face. Beth must believe that she is incapable of smiling anymore. Rachel doesn’t want her to think she is only ever unhappy.

  She will have to throw the doll away without Beth seeing it, and she cannot help experiencing a pang of sadness about that.

  ‘Look, Mummy, look at him, isn’t he beautiful?’ she hears, remembering how delighted she had been to spot the little doll on the counter at a newsagent. She and her mother had been out buying Christmas presents.

  ‘He is, but I’m sure you’ll get lots of dolls for Christmas. Come on now, home time.’

  ‘But Mummy, look at his hat. He’s a wizard and he’s magical, I know he’s magical. He can grant wishes and I can wish for so many things.’

  ‘All right, sweetheart,’ her mother had said, laughing, ‘you’ve convinced me.’

  As she pulls up at the school, she realises that Beth was right. There was a monster in the house.

  ‘I wish he was dead,’ she whispers as she picks up the doll and shoves it into her bag next to the brochures.

  She removes her hand from the bag and shakes her head.

  There is no magic. The wizard doll can’t grant wishes.

  He never could.

  18

  Ben

  He pulls into the garage and turns off the engine, sits in the car. He is unable to dredge up the strength to tell Rachel he’s lost his job. ‘I’ve lost my job,’ he whispers aloud, trying out the phrase on himself. It doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t feel real. He feels his eyes prick, a few hot angry tears escaping, and he wipes his face roughly with his hand. He needs to get it together.

  ‘I’ve had to make some hard decisions and I’m afraid that you’re just not bringing in the revenue we need right now,’ his boss told him.

  ‘But things will get better, Colin, I promise you I’m giving it everything I’ve got. I’m working on a new proposal for Gumnut Bakeries and I’ve already had a chat to their head of accounts and she’s really interested.’

  ‘I can’t rely on “interested” anymore, Ben. I need people who can bring in the business, and to be honest you seem more than a little distracted.’

  ‘But I’ve just bought a house, you have to give me a little more time, please. I promise you I’ll bring in the business. Things have been difficult at home; my wife’s mother is dying and…’ He stopped speaking when he saw the way Colin looked at him, his face a mask of pity.

  ‘I just can’t justify keeping you on. You’re a good bloke, you really are, but I’m in some trouble here. I’ll give you a great reference. If you could just transfer everything you’re working on to Marni, I’m happy for you to leave today.’

  ‘You don’t even want me to finish up the week? I’m sure I can bring in the bakery… I have a good feeling…’

  Colin rubbed his hand over his bald head and Ben noticed how tired he looked. There were heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. He wanted to keep pushing but realised that it wouldn’t help at all. His boss had made up his mind, had probably made up his mind weeks ago. Instead Ben stood up, admitting defeat. ‘There will be a redundancy package – two months’ salary, which should tide you over. I’m sorry, Ben, I really am.’

  Ben nodded, understanding, feeling the fight go out of him. If he hadn’t just bought a house, he would be glad to leave. He retreated quickly to his office but had caught glances from other staff. Everyone knew what a visit to Colin’s office meant right now. He felt himself colour. He was ashamed at losing his job, ashamed at having to end the day with everyone knowing the truth. He waited until all his colleagues had left to quietly pack up his desk and leave. No one even came in to say goodbye or commiserate with him. They sent emails instead. He was sure that those who remained with the company didn’t want to be seen with him, not wanting Colin to associate them with someone he’d just fired, to be infected by his failure. Angela had walked past his office at lunchtime and he had seen her deliberately look down at her phone as though she was dealing with something important. It was almost funny. He wanted to get angry but he knew he was the one who had lost his job. He’d been distracted and he’d failed to achieve his targets. It was as simple as that. The reference from Colin arrived in his inbox at the end of the day. It was filled with glowing statements about his enthusiasm and commitment and ability to be part of a team. Colin was a good man. He would be equally complimentary to any potential employers who called to discuss Ben. But Ben had to get an interview with a new company first. The thought of starting again made him want to sleep for a year but he didn’t have that luxury. He had a family to support and a mortgage to pay. He couldn’t afford to take even an hour off from searching for a new job.

  He thinks about his friend Max, who is divorced. Max works in a bar and gets by on the minimum amount of money. Every winter he leaves the country for Europe, where he travels around by motorbike, picking up casual bar work and sleeping with twenty-year-old girls. He sends Ben emails filled with pictures of the beaches in Europe and photos of himself with his arms slung around beautiful women. He always has a drink in his hand, always has a smile on his face. ‘Living my best life,’ is always in the subject line. Ben is sure that this is not what he wanted for his life. He wanted Rachel and he wanted Beth but he had never imagined how heavy all this responsibility would be. He had watched his father perform the role of ‘man of the house’ with ease and he had assumed it would be the same for him. But it’s not, it’s not at all, and the urge to run suddenly feels overwhelming. He allows himself a small, dry laugh. Maybe Rachel feels exactly the same way. Maybe that’s why she’s taking money out of their account. He feels sorry for their little girl. She needs stability and security, not this. Not two parents who are slowly and steadily spiralling.

  He had called his father as he left the office. ‘I’ve lost my job, Dad.’ But his father didn’t understand, not really – how could he? He has worked at the same university for his whole life, at the same university he had studied at and received his doctorate from. He didn’t have much advice beyond saying that everything would be okay and offering help if Ben needed it. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ he said before he hung up, not believing that everything would be okay at all.

  In the car he takes a deep breath. Maybe he will get a new job quickly. He’s already called Zach, an old friend from university, who now works in recruitment. Zach had promised to start looking for something for Ben but had mentioned that IT was a young man’s game these days and that social media skills were important. Ben had never thought thirty-five was old but internet trends changed quickly and younger people seemed born to understand everything immediately.

  Ben grabs his briefcase and hauls himself out of the car. He has toyed with the idea of not telling his wife but realises how ridiculous this would be. He doesn’t want to have to pretend with her but he will make it seem like this is just a small detour, that soon he’ll be back on track. That’s not a lie, more of a wish, really.

  Just as he goes to close the garage door, he sees a man standing in the driveway. His heart thumps in his ears as the man makes his way towards him. The street is completely empty and only their house has lights on, so who is he and what is he doing here?

  He is big and tall, and he has a beard. It’s the beard that relaxes Ben. He remembers Beth talking about the neighbour with the hairy face.

  ‘Hey, how are ya doing?’ says the man walking up the driveway towards Ben.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, good,’ says Ben.

  The man holds his hand out. �
��Bradley Williams, not sure if your wife mentioned me. I’m moving in next door. I was seeing if last night’s rain affected the site much. Thought I might as well introduce myself.’

  Ben shakes his hand. ‘Hi. Yes, she mentioned you. You have family coming from Canada?’

  ‘Yeah, Canada. Soon, real soon.’ He puts his hands in his pockets and looks around. ‘Weird that it’s so quiet, right? I’ve never seen a street with so few people on it.’

  ‘It won’t be for long. When do you start building?’

  ‘Another week or so.’

  Ben nods and they both subside into silence. He feels a thumping in his head. He doesn’t want to stand out here on the street making small talk with his neighbour. He just wants to get inside out of the cold and sit down. He is exhausted and heavy with despair. The silence stretches, grows awkward.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll see you around,’ says Bradley and he smiles.

  Ben nods and attempts a smile as well but he fails to make his mouth move correctly. He steps back inside his garage and pushes the button to close the door. He’s been rude, he knows he has, but he doesn’t have the energy to deal with that now.

  The door leading from the garage into the house is slightly ajar. He knows Rachel is usually careful about locking it, but she must have forgotten today. He steps up on the single stair that leads into the kitchen and looks down to see another ugly little doll. He leans down and picks it up. These troll dolls are clearly Beth’s next obsession. He takes it inside and places it on the kitchen table, right in front of Beth, whose tongue pokes out as she laboriously traces over letters in her workbook.