The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  I checked that the driveway was still clear and quickly ran upstairs. The bathroom looked just as it always did; I’d left everything that we both used. My toothbrush and toiletries were gone from their cabinet. I knew he’d note their absence. The linen cupboard was still full; I’d taken some of the bed linen and towels we used in the spare room, but intended to start afresh as soon as I could.

  Our bedroom looked just the same, though of course as soon as Tom opened the drawers and closets he’d see the gaps. I couldn’t take everything, but it was pretty clear that things were missing. My heart thumped at the thought of Tom searching this room later, opening doors and drawers to check what I’d taken, furious that I’d gone, that he hadn’t realized I was preparing to run. That morning I’d had only an hour or so to pack and of course I couldn’t make lists in case they were found, so for the last couple of weeks I’d been memorizing items like in a children’s memory game. I’d lie in bed each night going through the lists in my head. When I drove to work I’d test myself, saying the items out loud, frustrated when I couldn’t remember something.

  On the landing outside the spare room was a plastic bag that Tom had filled for the charity shop several months earlier. It had been his birthday and I had bought him some presents. He’d hinted at these for a long time, a book on a photographer he loved, a new camera case, and a Paul Smith shirt he’d bookmarked online.

  “Interesting choices,” he’d said, and set them to one side. My stomach had dropped. I should have known not to buy anything without his agreement. Permission, even.

  He thanked me for the gifts, but something about his expression had made me say, “What? What is it?”

  He’d just shaken his head and said, “Nothing. I was just thinking how it’s a shame that when you’re an adult you don’t enjoy birthdays anymore.”

  I’d spent a fortune on Tom that day, on a whiskey-tasting session for him and his friends in the daytime and a meal for us in Liverpool in the evening. I hadn’t wanted to and I couldn’t really afford it, but I’d done what I thought would please him. It wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t enough. And just a few days later the plastic bag had appeared on the landing. “Drop that off at the charity shop for me, will you?” he’d asked. When I’d looked inside, my gifts were there and I’d wanted to cry. I hadn’t touched it and the bag remained there, a symbol of everything that was wrong with us. Now I felt like kicking it out of the way but knew he’d see that as a sign of victory, so I stepped past it and went into the room.

  I looked around. Apart from the books on the bookcase there was nothing here that I wanted. I’d come back for them later. Next to the bookcase was a closet for our winter jackets. I hadn’t packed mine as I wouldn’t need them for a few months. And then I realized I’d forgotten to pack something on my list and grimaced. I thought I’d remembered everything. There was a box on the shelf in the closet, squashed behind the spare pillows. I hadn’t seen it for a long time; I’d never felt strong enough. How could I have forgotten it?

  Just as I reached for it, I heard Oliver’s car pull up into his driveway next door. His car door slammed and I pushed the box back behind the pillows, so that it was out of sight again. If Oliver saw me go down the drive to my car, he might see me and come out to chat. If he saw my car, full to the brim of my belongings, he’d want to know what I was doing, where I was going. I couldn’t risk that. I’d come back for the box another day.

  Downstairs I paced the living room as I waited for Tom to come home. My heart thumped at what lay ahead but I had to do it. Now that I’d found the courage to go, I just wanted to get it over with.

  I checked the clock. Where was he? I pulled my phone from my bag. There were no messages. I looked up the live departures page of the railway website; his train had arrived on time. He would be here soon. I tried to do some deep breathing, to count my breaths, but it just didn’t work. My breathing was too shallow; I could hear myself pant.

  And then he was here, driving up the road, past my car, and turning into our driveway.

  My knees buckled and I sat down suddenly. All of my senses seemed heightened with stress and my skin prickled furiously as I heard the bang of the back door, his voice as he called my name, his hesitation as he realized dinner wasn’t cooked.

  And then the living room door opened.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ruby

  Tom stood in the doorway, his tall, solid body almost filling the frame. His dark hair was damp with the heat of the day, his shirt crumpled now after the journey home. He could tell that something was up the moment he saw me. I was sitting on the sofa, frozen. His eyes darted around the room, but I was the only thing that was out of place.

  “Ruby?” He sounded concerned and despite everything my eyes prickled. “Is everything all right?”

  My throat was tight and I could hardly speak, but eventually I said, “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

  He came farther into the room and instinctively I shrank away from him. He glanced at me and I knew he’d noticed that. Not much gets past him.

  “What are you doing, sitting here in the dark? Are you ill?”

  I shook my head.

  “Your mum and dad? Are they okay?”

  “They’re fine,” I said. I hoped they were, anyway. I hadn’t spoken to them for a few days. All I’d been able to think about was this moment; it wasn’t exactly something I could share with them.

  He walked slowly around the room, his eyes on me, then sat on the sofa opposite me. I couldn’t pretend everything was normal. At this time on a Friday night I’d always be in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Right now I should be chopping lemongrass, garlic, and chillies, not sitting in a darkening room with my jacket and shoes still on and my handbag dangling from my shoulder.

  I screwed up my courage. “Tom.” My tongue felt thick and dry in my mouth. “This isn’t working for me.” I wasn’t looking at him—I couldn’t—but I could sense he’d turned to stare at me. There was a heavy silence that I just had to break. “I need to go.”

  “Go? What do you mean?”

  “I need to leave. To move out.”

  He was silent but he didn’t look furious, the way I’d imagined he would when I’d had practice runs of this, night after night while he lay sprawled beside me in bed, deep in sleep. When he reached out to me, I had to stop myself flinching, though I knew he’d never touch me now.

  “I thought something was wrong, sweetie,” he said. “You’ve not been the same lately.”

  My throat swelled with tears, both at the endearment and because I hadn’t thought he’d noticed. He’d been nicer than usual recently. For more than a year. But once some things are said, they can’t be taken back and no amount of being nice will ever make them right.

  “Where are you going to?” His voice was steady and calm, so unlike what I’d expected.

  I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t planned to tell him anything more than the fact that I was going, but I could see now that that wasn’t going to work. And he knew I wouldn’t want to stay with my family; my mother in particular would be horrified. As for friends—well, there was no one I could have gone to and he knew that as well as I did.

  “It’s okay,” I said eventually. “I’ve got something sorted.”

  “What about your bags?”

  “They’re in my car. I couldn’t take everything, obviously. Don’t throw anything away; I’ll be back to pick up the rest.”

  He continued to stare at me and I felt myself shrivel under his gaze.

  “And I’ll call Josh,” I said.

  “You will not.” For the first time that evening his voice was harsh and unrelenting, and I shrank back. “I’ll tell him.”

  I had to accept what he said. I didn’t know what he’d tell him. This was the second time Josh had had to deal with a separation; I only hoped that now that he was seventeen he’d be able to cope
with it.

  I stood up. I needed to leave. What was the etiquette when you left your husband? Did you kiss? Shake hands? Glare at each other? Shout, See you at the solicitor’s? My hand reached automatically for my bag still slung across my shoulders, and I took my car keys from it. On the key ring were my house keys.

  I hesitated. Should I leave them behind? The house was in my name, too, though, of course. In fact, more of it was mine than his, but as we were married that wouldn’t make any difference. My aunt had died not long after I met Tom; she’d left my sister, Fiona, and me enough money to put a good deposit on a house. Tom and Belinda had just divorced and she’d kept the house. He was broke and wouldn’t have been able to buy on his own. There was no mortgage on our house now; we owned it together. I had a right to those keys. I’d have to speak to him later about what to do about selling it, but for now I just wanted to get out of there. So I kept hold of my keys, said nothing about returning them, and walked toward the door.

  “Is that it?” Now he was angry and that all-familiar panic flared in my belly. “You’re just leaving without any explanation?”

  For a second I considered telling him exactly why I was going, but I stopped myself in time. My keys squeezed so tightly in my hand they nearly broke the skin. “I’m sorry. We’ve talked about this so many times over the years. I just can’t do it anymore.”

  I’d just reached the front door when I remembered. “Oh,” I said, taking off my Fitbit. The skin on my wrist looked tender and pale without it. “I won’t be needing this.” I put it on the hall table and noticed the green cover of my iPad sticking out of his briefcase. “And it was nice of you to buy me the iPad, but you use it more than I do, so you can keep it.”

  I didn’t dare look at him as I left. He didn’t follow me out to my car, but as I walked down the driveway I knew he was staring at me. When I started the car and sneaked a glance back at the house, he’d gone.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ruby

  I drove as quickly as I could until I was a mile away from home, then stopped the car in a quiet street. My heart was pounding so hard that I had to close my eyes and breathe deeply, counting my breaths, until I started to feel more calm. I was hot and red and my palms were sweating, but all I could feel was relief. It was as though a huge weight had lifted from my shoulders. I’d thought it would be worse than that. Much worse. I’d envisaged a row, with me pleading, him blocking my path, berating me. Then his pièce de résistance: he would cry. He knew how much I hated that.

  He’s let me go, I thought. He must have been as unhappy as I was.

  Suddenly my face was drenched with tears and I pulled some tissues out of my bag to scrub myself dry. I’d been prepared for this. All those nights I’d spent rehearsing today, and now that the performance was over, I was exhausted. My phone beeped and I leaped to check it. It was a message from Tom.

  I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to upset you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. x

  I blinked. I wasn’t expecting that. Then another message came through:

  I’m worried about you, Ruby. Where will you stay tonight? I’m happy to sleep in the spare room if you want to come home. x

  I knew how much that would have cost him to write. He’d never been one to apologize first or to admit he was wrong at all. I didn’t know whether to reply; I hadn’t factored this into my rehearsals.

  Don’t worry about me, I replied. I’ll be fine. I’ll be in touch.

  I hesitated, not knowing whether to put a kiss at the end. I don’t think I’d ever sent him a message without a kiss, whether I’d meant it or not. It wouldn’t have been worth my while. And then I thought no, of course I shouldn’t put a kiss on the message; I was leaving him.

  I looked at my watch. It was time to go. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I thought of what lay ahead. I started the car and at the next turning headed south.

  * * *

  • • •

  As I approached the hotel, I checked my rearview mirror. Nothing was behind me. I turned quickly and drove through to the car park at the back. I glanced round, just to make sure, but I didn’t recognize any cars. I parked in the corner, almost out of sight. The first spots of rain were beginning to fall as I took my overnight bag from the trunk of the car and I hurried through the car park to the front of the hotel. The receptionist looked up as I entered the lobby.

  “Good evening,” she said.

  “Hi. I’ve a room booked for a few nights.”

  “What name is it?”

  I hesitated. “Sheridan.”

  She scrolled down her computer screen and at first I thought she couldn’t find it, but then she said, “Oh yes, here we are.” She took a plastic key card from a drawer and programmed it. “Room 201. We have room service until midnight and breakfast is between six and ten every morning.” She smiled brightly at me. “Would you like a hand with your bag?”

  “No, no, thanks.” I took the card from her. “I can manage.”

  I stood by the lift, shaking. This was the most daring thing I’d done in my entire life and now that the moment had come it was as though I was watching myself from outside my own body. The lift pinged and opened. I walked in, gripping my bag. My finger slid over the button for the second floor. The lift suddenly seemed claustrophobic and by the time its doors opened I felt light-headed. I dragged my bag down the corridor toward the room, my heart beating fast. Outside the door I stood for a second, hardly able to breathe. This was it. Once I went in, there was no going back.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ruby

  It was only when I was safely in the hotel room that I could let myself relax. I kicked off my shoes and quickly unpacked my bag. I hung up my clothes and when I lined up my toiletries at the side of the bathroom sink, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My makeup was a mess from crying and my face was flushed with relief and excitement. I started to smile and found I couldn’t stop.

  Quickly I cleaned my face. My eyes were still swollen and my cheeks were pink, so I reapplied my makeup, then added a dab of perfume to my throat and wrists. The sweet familiar smell always calmed me. I looked at my phone. No messages, but I wasn’t really expecting one. My stomach rumbled and I realized I was starving. I couldn’t face going downstairs to the restaurant, so I rang room service and ordered wine and sandwiches.

  It was strange to be alone in a hotel room, propped up on pillows, with only the television for company. The usual Friday-night programs were on, ones that I’d watch with Tom. He and I would have a drink and sometimes we’d chat, but often we’d watch in silence. It took a lot to make us laugh; if he was the wrong side of the bottle, I’d always let him go first. That night I couldn’t concentrate long enough to focus on anything. I kept thinking of the conversation I’d had with him that evening. I’d expected insults to be hurled at me, recriminations to be shouted, his face close to mine, his spittle showering my mouth. I thought I’d be made to feel bad, no matter what that took. The longer I held out, the harder he’d try. I used to cave in, but over the last year or two I’d started to retreat into myself, distancing myself from what he was saying, as though he was talking to someone else. He’d noticed, of course he had, and he’d ramped up his efforts. It wasn’t a game; it was more like war.

  I’d anticipated having trouble getting out of the house, not because he was violent—he’d never touched me when we were arguing and would stay at least an inch away—but because he hated not to have the last word. It was wearing, to say the least. Sometimes he’d bring up an argument he’d lost years before and try to win it afresh. I’d thought that might happen tonight, too, and frowned. I’d been let off lightly. Why was that? I felt a pang of guilt as I thought of the messages he’d sent since I left the house. He wasn’t always horrible, I knew. He could be kind and generous, too. Those messages reminded me of the man he’d been when we first got together.

  Just then I heard a noise
in the corridor and leaned forward, straining my ears. I could hear the fire door that split the corridor slowly shut, and then a thud. I jumped to my feet and threw open the door.

  A porter was pushing a drinks cart along to the next room. “Sorry!” he said. “That door’s a nuisance. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

  “No,” I said, disappointed. “No, it’s okay. I thought you were bringing me something to eat.”

  I went back to the television and started to flick through channels again. Soaps. Game shows. The news. Nothing that could interest me now. I hadn’t thought of bringing a book to read and wished I’d brought my iPad with me. Out of habit I got up and started to pace the floor but that made me even more anxious and I quickly got back onto the bed. I pulled out my phone and looked at some news sites and at a forum I liked, but I couldn’t think straight. That conversation with Tom had exhausted me. Confused me, too.

  There was a clink of dishes and a rap at the door. Room service had arrived.

  As soon as the porter had gone, I poured a large glass of wine. Rain was coming down now, lashing against the window. It was comforting, somehow, like a rainy Saturday when you wake up and realize you don’t have to go to work. I stood at the window for a long time, watching the lights of the cars, blurred through the rain-splattered window, as they drove along the road. None came into the hotel car park.

  Where was he?

  * * *

  • • •

  It took a while for me to realize that Harry wouldn’t arrive that night. At ten I had a bath. I propped my phone on the basin beside the bath with a towel under it so that I could grab it to read any message as soon as it came through. The phone remained silent. No calls from Tom, luckily. None from my parents or from my friend Sarah, from work. She and I often chatted in the evening if we’d been too busy to talk at work. I was glad she hadn’t called me; I had no idea what I’d say to her. And I couldn’t risk Harry calling and having to leave a voice mail message. He might need to speak to me urgently and I wouldn’t know until I’d finished my call. I drummed my fingers on the side of the bath. All I wanted was to talk to him.