The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  He replied immediately. Me too. It was our home for so long xx

  I couldn’t let myself think about that but as I stood in the tiny shower cubicle, banging my head on the showerhead, then mopping up the suds on the floor afterward, I thought of Tom and the messages he’d sent since I left him. All of them were nice. Helpful. Sincere. I hadn’t thought I’d hurt him so much by leaving.

  When I came back from the bathroom there was another message.

  I wish you were still here x

  * * *

  • • •

  I had so much on my mind that day. I wanted someone to talk to, who could look at things with fresh eyes. I scrolled through my contacts list. There wasn’t anyone there I could trust. I might have called Fiona in Australia, but my parents were there with her and she’d be too wound up to talk.

  Outside it was hot and sunny. I sat at the window and saw people in little groups going down to the river and the park. They had picnic bags and strollers with parasols and children with sun hats. Everyone seemed to be with someone. Thoughts were flitting through my mind on a loop. Should I talk to Tom? Should I suggest counseling? I cringed at the thought of hearing what he would have to say about me. Maybe I could go alone? But there was the cost. I looked it up online; I just couldn’t afford it if I was living here and on a low wage. And if I went home . . . I think that was the first day that I seriously considered going back to him. He’d been so kind. He’d had time on his own now; was he regretting the way he’d behaved in the last few years?

  The phone was quiet all day. The escort calls had stopped, thank God. I’d checked the site again and couldn’t find my number there. The webmaster must have taken my threats seriously. As he should. I couldn’t help worry, though, that those guys still had my number on their phone.

  By seven o’clock I had read a book and watched two movies. I could hardly remember any of them. There was too much on my mind. I stood up, restless and annoyed with myself for wasting a day. I decided to go for a drive.

  It was inevitable that I’d drive past my house. As I drove toward my old neighborhood, I could feel myself becoming tense. My palms were damp on the steering wheel. I wondered what Tom was doing at this time on a Saturday. Normally we’d be in and Josh would be there. After dinner he’d either go back to his mum’s or to a friend’s; I’d drive him as Tom would have hit the wine by then and besides, I loved that time alone with Josh.

  I drove up the side road next to our house and parked the car. I was worried about Tom looking out of the window and seeing me. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t know what I’d say to him. What I’d do. I looked again at the text that he’d sent me.

  I wish you were still here x

  I thought of parking my car in its usual place, of walking up the driveway and letting myself into the house. I could do that. My house keys were in my bag, still there from the night I’d left. I could walk in and put my bag on the hall table and go into the kitchen and look at the list on the fridge door and see what was for dinner. I could be back in my kitchen with the radio playing, cooking dinner with a glass of wine by my side. I winced. I used to need that glass of wine. Would I still need it, if I went back?

  I don’t know why, but I’d assumed Tom would be at home for the evening. His car wasn’t there, though, and the house was in darkness. I wondered where he was. Was he on a date? If I stayed there long enough, would he come home with a woman, holding her hand and warning her about the uneven steps in the garden? Would he light the candles in the hearth and pour her a gin and tonic and ask her about herself, just as he’d done with me in the early days? And if I went in there, if I went into my kitchen and made it mine again, would he be glad or sorry when he saw me?

  My head was aching and I didn’t know what I felt about him now. I was such a bad judge of character. I’d thought Tom was the man for me but I felt like I was stifled and struggling to breathe. Then I thought Harry could help heal me. His relaxed attitude, his affection, and the way he’d treated me as someone precious had drawn me in, but I’d meant nothing to him.

  Now I was free, I didn’t know who I was or what I was worth.

  * * *

  • • •

  I sat there for ten minutes looking at the side of my house, then started the car and drove round the corner so that I was next to the driveway. If Tom drove past me on his way home I’d just have to deal with it. The For Sale sign was placed just where the road turned. That made sense, so that people driving down each road would see it. I knew Tom would have been out there on the lawn, moving it from where the estate agent had placed it to somewhere he deemed right. He had to be right. Even if he moved it only a matter of inches, he’d feel a sense of pride that now it was done properly.

  Under the light from the lamppost, I could see the woodwork on the house was freshly painted, the gates, too. There were a couple of new bay trees in huge pots on either side of the front door, and I thought of Tom going to the garden center on his own one Sunday and struggling to get those pots into the car. He wouldn’t have accepted help; I knew that.

  I leaned forward and checked the garden. It was tidy and the lawn was neat. It looked as though someone had been busy there. That was usually my job and I wondered who’d been there in my absence. Tom must have paid for a professional; he’d always complained whenever I’d asked him to help me.

  Car headlamps lit up the road behind me and I swore. Was that Tom coming home? I really didn’t want him to see me. Quickly I turned my key in the ignition. At the last minute I realized it was Oliver. His car pulled into his drive and he jumped out and slammed the door. He turned toward me and waved.

  Reluctantly I opened my car window and turned off the engine. “Hello, Oliver.”

  “Hey.” He walked down the drive toward me. “What are you doing here? Are you back home now?”

  “No, I’d heard that it was up for sale. I thought I’d come and take a look.”

  “Are you going in?”

  Quickly I shook my head. “No. No. I’m not going to do that.”

  “It’s okay, Tom’s away for the weekend.”

  “He is? Where’s he gone to?” I caught myself. “Sorry, don’t answer that. It’s nothing to do with me.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s private. He’s gone up to Scotland to see his brother. He set off first thing this morning and won’t be back for a couple of days. He said something about having a meeting in Glasgow on Monday morning.”

  “Oh, okay. I know he has a couple of clients there.” I smiled at him. “Anyway, nice to see you.”

  “Wait,” he said. “Fancy coming in for a drink?”

  “No, thanks.” I spoke automatically; it had upset me seeing my house up for sale and knowing how easily I could go back. I wanted to be alone to think about my response. “I’d better get back.”

  “Oh, okay.” He looked forlorn and tired, and I remembered the times I’d thought of him alone in his house.

  “I just feel a bit odd, being back here,” I admitted. “I feel uncomfortable, as though the neighbors will notice I’m here and think I’ve come back.” I hesitated. Normally I would have given in and had a drink with him, but I just didn’t want to. I’ve always been a people-pleaser; it was time to change that. I liked Oliver, but I didn’t want to start seeing him on my own. “I’d better go.”

  I had planned to drive home but suddenly I thought of driving to Harry’s house, just to sit outside on the off-chance I’d see him. It was like self-harm; I wanted to do it so badly, wanted that moment of release, even knowing the pain I’d feel. I turned the key in the ignition, when Oliver said, “You haven’t got over him, have you?”

  “I have. I miss him, though.”

  He hesitated. “I know it’s not my business, but he’d probably have you back if you asked him.”

  I realized that we were completely at cross-purposes. “I
meant Harry.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy . . . The guy I told you about.”

  Oliver flushed red. “Oh, the someone special. Sorry, I thought we were talking about Tom.” He took a step back and said, “I’ll see you around, eh?”

  I nodded and said good-bye. As I drove off I saw him standing watching after me and I thought of the repercussions of my leaving home and how many people had been hurt.

  CHAPTER 44

  Ruby

  I got through that week at my temp job by daydreaming about my future. I’d scared myself at the weekend, the way I’d almost walked back into my old life with Tom. And then my response to that had been to stalk Harry. I had to stop this. I needed a completely fresh start. So I went onto automatic pilot, working fast while the women piled their filing onto my desk—yes, there’s still a way to go before the paperless office hits that particular company—and gave me their audio files to transcribe. As if at a distance, I heard them talk about buttock lifts and implants in their lips—how I longed for those procedures to go wrong—and moan about how hard they worked and how tired they were. On Friday they made their way through two tins of Quality Street that one of the managers had brought in without offering me one chocolate and my daydreams were quite violent by the end of the day.

  I sent Sarah a message:

  It’s Friday night and if I don’t go out tonight, I’ll go mad. Are you free?

  It was an hour later and I thought I was going to have to go out on my own, before my phone pinged with a message:

  McCullough’s at 8?

  Before she could change her mind, I replied: I’ll be there.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sarah came rushing in late, as I’d known she would. I’d finished a glass of wine by then and was chatting to the Italian barman about the best places to visit in Florence. As I listened to the way he talked about the food there I mentally added it to my list of places to go to live.

  “Well, you look happy enough,” she said, sounding a bit resentful. She gave my empty glass a pointed look. “You’ve made good use of your time while you were waiting for me.”

  I thought of the chances of Sarah getting there early and drinking water while she waited. Neither of those things would ever happen. “Did you think I’d sit and cry?” I beckoned the waiter. “Here, have a glass of wine and cheer up.”

  She slid off her jacket and climbed up onto the barstool next to me. “I shouldn’t really have this,” she said. “I’m a bit hungover. It was book group last night.”

  “Good night?”

  “Yeah, it was great. Shame you stopped coming. We were talking about The Goldfinch. You would have liked it.”

  “That’s odd, I’m reading that book at the moment.” I knew, though, that nothing I thought would add to the conversation. I’d been to the book group a few times and really enjoyed it. We took it in turns to go to one another’s houses each month and the hostess would make snacks and provide drinks. After a few months it was my turn to host. I was so excited; ridiculously excited, really. It was only a book group, but I’d seen it as my chance to make new friends. I was starting to feel as though my world was closing in on me. Tom had greeted the women, poured drinks, and I’d thought he’d enjoyed having them there. He wasn’t taking part in the discussion, and I hadn’t realized he’d been listening in until they’d gone.

  When I shut the front door behind them at the end of the night, I was just thinking what a great time I’d had. Tom came up to me and put his arms around me and said, “Did you have a good night?”

  I smiled and kissed his cheek and said, “I had a lovely time, thanks.” I went into the living room to take the plates and glasses into the kitchen.

  He followed me to help, then said, “Ruby, I hate to say this to you, but you should let the other women talk more in the book group.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just something I noticed, sweetheart. You were talking a lot more than they were.”

  I thought back over the evening. I was sure that for a lot of the time I was sitting quietly, enjoying listening to other people’s opinions on the book. “I wasn’t! I’m sure I wasn’t.”

  “You were, babe. You were dominating the conversation, and the thing is . . .” He hesitated, his eyes on mine, then said, “The thing is, they have English degrees, don’t they?”

  My face was hot and I felt close to tears. “I don’t know. Maybe one or two of them do, but I don’t think they all have.”

  “They seemed really smart. And the way they were talking, well, it was proper literary criticism. And you—well, I know you thought you were being funny, with what you said about the protagonist—that means the leading character, by the way—but it was a bit embarrassing.”

  I turned away and brushed my hand across my eyes. “I didn’t realize you were listening.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” he said. “The door was closed but I could still hear you.” He laughed. “Lucky it wasn’t summertime with the windows open. We would’ve had complaints from the neighbors!”

  I walked into the kitchen to get away from him. He was making me relive every moment and see it through a different lens. The thought of him being embarrassed by me was horrifying. On the kitchen counter was a tray of snacks; I’d made far too many. He picked them up and said, “Oh, these didn’t go down too well, did they?” and put them into the fridge. “You’ll have to take them to work for lunch, to use them up.”

  So when Sarah said, “You should come to the next one,” I said, “Maybe,” but I had absolutely no intention of putting myself through that again.

  “How’s work?” I asked.

  “Ugh,” she said. “It was horrible today. I was so busy I didn’t know whether I was coming or going.”

  I knew I shouldn’t ask her, I knew it would be torture, but I just had to. I said, “What happened?” I steeled myself for the mention of Harry.

  “Oh, he wasn’t there,” she said airily. “He’d taken the day off. He said he’d promised Emma he’d spend more time with her.” She drank some of her wine. “I think they were going to choose things for the nursery.”

  “Really? Isn’t that a bit early?”

  She shrugged. “Apparently Emma spends all her time looking at baby clothes. Harry says she hasn’t bought much yet as she’s waiting for the scan results, but he thinks he’ll be bankrupt by Christmas.” Sarah looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said, “Does it bother you, thinking of Emma being pregnant?”

  I’d planned for this. I wasn’t going to show weakness. I wasn’t going to show just how much I did care. I’d rehearsed this mentally at work while I’d had my headphones in to type up the interminable audio files. “I’m glad he’s happy,” I said. At my expense, though, I thought. How can he be happy, knowing what he’s done to me?

  She laughed. “Liar.”

  “I am.” I thought about it for a few seconds. “Honestly, I am. I needed to leave home. It wasn’t good for me. It’s a shame it didn’t work out with Harry, but in the end, I got out of my marriage. That’s what I needed to do.”

  Most of that was bravado. I didn’t want Sarah or anyone else to feel sorry for me, but when I thought of Harry now, it was almost as though he hadn’t been real, as though I’d conjured him up so that I could leave home. What was more real was his rejection of me. Memories of him being lovely to me faded as I thought of how he’d let me go home to end my marriage, knowing full well he wouldn’t be doing the same.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes and then I said, “Did Harry read my letter? Did he say anything?”

  She laughed. “I thought you weren’t bothered about him?”

  “Just tell me whether he read it, will you?”

  “I put it in his top drawer. He didn’t say anything to me about it.” She po
ured us another drink. “You need to stop obsessing about him, Ruby. He’s history now. Move on.”

  I’ve always hated that expression. It always seems to be used to shut people up. But I didn’t have the courage to say anything to Sarah; I needed her friendship. So I drank some wine and said, “You’re right,” and she clinked her glass against mine, happy at her success.

  CHAPTER 45

  Ruby

  We had a great night in the end. We bumped into some people she knew and the night flew by without any further mention of Harry or Emma or that baby of theirs. For a while I was able to forget everything that had happened, though I know the wine helped that along.

  At the end of the night we flooded out into the street. Our little town doesn’t have Uber yet and a few black cabs were waiting at the end of the street. There was a rush toward them. Sarah lived in the opposite direction from me; one of her friends was going her way and bagged the last cab.

  “Will you be okay?” she asked as she stumbled into the taxi.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Speak soon.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Pretty soon it became obvious that no more taxis were coming back. The few of us who were left called around the local taxi firms, but we weren’t getting any luck. It was late Friday night, the busiest night for pubs and clubs, and it became obvious I’d have a long wait. People started to walk off, deciding to go to taxi ranks in town. I looked around, still half-drunk, and thought I didn’t fancy just hanging around waiting there, so I started to walk home.

  The route home was along a long road with shops and very few houses. Of course the shops were shut by then and the road was pretty empty. The only people I saw were groups of lads walking in the direction of town, while I was heading away from it. I walked pretty unsteadily along, cursing my shoes. I’d taken a taxi to McCullough’s, not thinking I’d be walking home. My heels seemed to catch every gap in the paving stones and I had to watch every step I took so that I didn’t twist my ankle. The night was chilly and I pulled my jacket tightly around my chest.