by Fiona Gibson
‘No way,’ he retorts. ‘We’re done with all that. You’ve had a try – God, you’ve tried. But enough’s enough.’
I stare at him, plonked there on the sofa, beer can in hand, family bag of sweet chilli crisps torn open on his lap. ‘You can’t say that. I want to give it one last try.’
‘But you’ve spent hundreds – thousands – already,’ he thunders. ‘It’s just not going to happen. You need to accept that—’
‘I don’t need to accept anything,’ I insist. ‘What I need is to be able to drive. I’m forty years old, Gary. I need that freedom, especially with us living way out here. I’m sick of spending my life waiting for buses. Anyway, if I pass the test and can afford to run a small car, maybe I could leave Bill’s and find another job—’
‘What other job?’ He looks at me as if I am stark raving mad.
‘I mean a job like I had at Brogan Mitchell that was varied and interesting and not just about carrying food.’
Gary’s pale eyes narrow, then he seems to lose interest as he flicks on the TV. He sits there, a hand clamped around the remote control as if it’s his penis, but plastic, with buttons all over it. Only, he keeps the remote to himself – no one else is allowed to touch it – whereas with his penis he likes to share it around.
My gaze flicks from the football on TV to the passive face of my boyfriend. I have barely spoken to him since the day he found out about the spray painting at school (he was convinced Kayla was lying), apart from to tell him that the person who planted that can in her bag was a boy called Thomas Darling. Despite the angelic name, he’d taken it badly when Kayla said she didn’t want to go out with him – and then he was caught in the act by a caretaker, spraying more obscenities on that same wall. Only this time, Kayla was the subject, and the word ‘slag’ was involved.
The little shit. He’s been suspended now, and Mrs Wrightson called to say that Flynn’s mum and dad had been told exactly what had happened. She even apologised, which was big of her. But Nate hasn’t been in touch and, despite Kayla’s name being cleared, she was relieved when school broke up for summer. She’s spending less time at Paige’s, and enjoying earning some cash, doing the odd shift in the kitchen at Burger Bill’s. I think Stef took pity on us after all the upset.
It’s much later, and Gary and I are in bed, when I raise the driving issue again. ‘So, I’m serious about sitting another test,’ I say.
He turns and peers at me. His stubble is patchy, and I can smell beer mixed with sour breath. These days, he doesn’t always bother to clean his teeth. Perhaps, being a flooring guy, he’s hoping they’ll go fuzzy like tiny carpet tiles. That would be on-brand. How did I once find him irresistible? I suppose he was quite a looker when I met him. Perhaps he still is, but I just can’t see it. ‘Are you still going on about learning to drive?’ he asks gruffly.
‘Yes, and I’m going ahead with it. I have enough money saved up. I really want to do this.’
He blows out air. ‘Sometimes, you’ve just got to face facts, Tanz …’
‘What facts?’
He exhales through his nostrils. ‘That your time’s passed, you’re too long in the tooth—’
‘You make me sound like a greyhound that’s about to be put down!’ I snap.
‘Look, I’m tired, okay? Can we just leave this?’
Music is playing in Kayla’s room now. She wouldn’t normally put it on so late, and I plead silently for Gary not to shout through to tell her to turn it off. Of course, she’s trying to blot out our voices. I’m sorry for bickering when she’s in earshot, but sometimes you just can’t help yourself.
I edge away from him to ensure that our bodies don’t touch, even accidentally. He emits a snore, but I suspect he’s faking.
Arsehole, I mouth at him. You duped me. You did everything you could to convince me you were a lovely guy – a catch, for someone like me.
The snoring grows louder. Shit – he really is asleep. The bloody cheek. With a surge of anger, I poke him in the side.
‘Uh?’ he blusters, eyes blinking open.
‘Gary,’ I say levelly, ‘I need to talk to you. I want to talk now.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Tanz. What is it with you tonight?’
‘I just want you to tell me the truth.’
He frowns. ‘The truth about what?’
‘You know.’
He mutters under his breath, then sits up, rearranging his half of the duvet irritably as if he’s the one being wronged. That time Nate came round, and I read his wife’s list, I joked that there was never just one mouse. Well, I’m wondering now if there’s never just one woman either. Get away with it once, so why not try it again? Why not have a whole colony?
‘Tanz, I really need some sleep,’ Gary says, affecting a yawn.
I look at him in the dim glow of my bedside lamp, willing myself to remain calm and not shout, or do anything that’d upset Kayla. ‘I know you’ve been seeing someone else,’ I say levelly.
‘Huh? What’re you talking about?’
‘That time I took my last driving test, when I saw your van parked in Solworth.’
He smooths a hand over his shaved head, perhaps weighing up whether to lie. ‘Oh, that …’
I glance up at the mottled ceiling, inhaling the damp smell that Gary’s told me I’ve been imagining, but I know it’s there. ‘You said I’d made a mistake,’ I continue. ‘But I know it was yours. So, whose house was it?’ I sense my heartbeat accelerating, as if I’ve just downed a strong coffee. I’m hedging my bets as I didn’t glimpse the logo or lion’s body with his face. But it was the right kind of van, in the precise shade of yellow. He must think I’m a bloody fool.
‘Just someone,’ Gary mutters.
The thing is, I realise now, I don’t care enough to feel angry or betrayed, because I don’t want him.
‘It was nothing,’ Gary adds. ‘Anyway, it’s all over now.’
With those few words, my entire body seems to deflate, but not in a bad way: it’s almost as if all the tension has gone out of it. He’s right: it is over. Shit, why didn’t I realise this months, or even years ago? We lie there in silence for a few minutes. It’s so quiet out here in the countryside – creepily quiet. I like hearing sounds of life around me, even at night. I spoke to Stef at work today. He can come over as stern but he’s kind, really. I knew he had a flat to let – two bedrooms, perfect for Kayla and me – just round the corner from her school. Although he didn’t say it in so many words, I got the feeling he’ll let us stay there, until we get settled, for minimum rent.
‘Was that pink bra hers?’ I ask now.
‘Uh, that was just someone who wouldn’t leave me alone,’ Gary says.
‘Oh, poor you,’ I say, sensing rage building in me, finally. ‘So, what happened? Did she come round when I was at work?’
‘Yeah, just showed up out of the blue. Bit of a nutter, to be honest.’
I ease out of bed and stand there, glaring down at him in his silky pyjamas with his chest hair sprouting out. I can’t be close to him anymore. I can’t ever again.
‘Is the pink bra woman the Solworth woman, or are they different?’
He sighs and rubs at his face. ‘It’s been a bit of a messy time, Tanz.’
I nod, making a conscious attempt to breathe slowly and deeply, in the hope that that’ll stop me attacking him with the lamp.
‘So … did she forget her bra, or what? I mean, it was pretty large, Gary – a 38D. And you know I’m not built that way, but even I’d notice if I left someone’s house with no bra on …’
He purses his lips. ‘I think she must’ve left it there on purpose.’
I choke back a mirthless laugh. ‘What, so I’d find it?’
‘Fuck knows,’ he says with a shrug.
I glance around the dismal room, wondering what happened to me, how I lost my spirit, and why I’ve carried on as if everything is normal when, deep down, I’ve known for years.
‘Anyway,’ he adds, sounding i
ndignant now, ‘what about you, that night you went to that eighties club?’
‘What about it?’ I shoot back.
‘Well, you were coming home, and then you weren’t. Funny how you went shopping with that driving guy, just to help him out. Then I didn’t see you again till the next day …’
‘I told you, I stayed at Andrea’s sister’s …’
‘Yeah?’ He sniggers witheringly. ‘Got a hotel with that speccy tosser, more like!’
I open my mouth to speak, about to protest that I didn’t, and he can check with Andrea if he likes, and that maybe, if he’d really believed that, he’d have grilled me about it when I got home and not now, six weeks later. I glare at him, then I can’t look anymore, because he’s just not worth it. I stomp away, and grab a sleeping bag from the cupboard in the hallway and drape it over myself on the sofa in the living room. I don’t even have the energy to climb into it properly.
I must sleep a little, because when I open my eyes, greyish morning light is filtering in through the window. The call to Stef is quick, done and dusted in five minutes as I stand at the back door while Wolfie potters about, doing his business outside.
When I check on Gary in our bedroom, he’s still sound asleep. So is Kayla, when I peep into hers. But it doesn’t take much to wake her, and whisper that we’re leaving now – a taxi is on its way. For a moment, I’d thought about calling Nate. Didn’t he say he’d help me out with a lift, whenever I needed one? But then, he didn’t mean at the crack of dawn and, anyway, that was before the awful school stuff, when I thought we were friends. It seems crazy to miss him, considering we’d only seen each other a handful of times, but I do.
I don’t blame him, of course. Anyway, he’ll be back with Sinead now, which is just as it should be, with their new baby on the way.
As Kayla pulls on jeans and a sweatshirt, I lurk in her doorway as if on guard. ‘Where are we going?’ she asks, stuffing make-up and a few T-shirts into a bag.
‘To Stef’s flat.’
‘We’re staying with Stef?’ she exclaims.
‘No, not with him – he has an empty flat in Hesslevale. It’s okay, honey. He’s helping us out. But come on, we need to be quick.’
She glowers in the direction of the bedroom where my boyfriend – my ex-boyfriend – is still sleeping. ‘Is he working today?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He doesn’t have much on at the moment.’ Not work, anyhow. In other ways, he’s been remarkably busy.
‘So he’ll be lying in for ages, Mum. You know what he’s like …’
‘Yes, but we need to go now. The taxi’s meeting us at the end of the road. Come on, darling …’
She needs no more cajoling, and doesn’t even pause to rake a brush through her dark hair as she grabs more clothes and underwear from her drawers and packs them too, plus her schoolbooks, two pairs of trainers and a beanie toy rabbit she’s never grown out of.
The morning is still cool, and she shudders visibly, pulling her jacket around herself, as we step outside the cottage I have hated since the day we moved in. I glare at the yellow van – specifically, at that stupid lion logo with Gary’s face on. He got his mate Davy to paint it for him. Davy, who knew Gary was shagging around – as everyone did.
‘I hate that van,’ Kayla murmurs, clutching Wolfie’s lead.
‘Me too, love.’ I pause, knowing it’s pathetic – vandalism, really – but I can’t resist picking up a rough-edged stone, and rubbing it harshly all over the picture, over his stupid beaming face. The metallic sound it makes is oddly satisfying, and when I glance at Kayla she is grinning at me. Then I crouch down and fiddle with the valve on a tyre, but of course it’s not as simple as it looks in the films. There’s no satisfying hiss. In fact, nothing happens. But then, in an act of solidarity, Wolfie cocks his leg and pees against the tyre.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask Kayla, taking her hand as we start to walk briskly along the unmade road. I can’t remember the last time she let me hold it.
‘I am if you are,’ she says with a weak smile.
‘Yes, I am, I definitely am.’ We trudge on, each of us with a bulging canvas bag slung over our shoulders; we’re bringing just the bare minimum. I can fetch the rest some other time, and anyway, it’s only stuff.
‘Morning, love.’ The taxi driver jumps out to help us, loading our bags into the boot.
‘Morning,’ I say brightly, as if this were just an ordinary day, and we’re going on an excursion.
‘Nice dog you’ve got there,’ he adds as we settle into the back seat with Wolfie sprawled across our laps.
I smile, resting my hand on the soft, warm fur of his back. I checked when I booked that the driver would be okay about us having a dog with us. ‘As long as there’s no accidents,’ came the controller’s reply.
‘He’s a good boy,’ I say. ‘Silly, but good. We love him to bits, don’t we, Kayla?’
‘Yeah,’ she says, smiling now, all traces of tiredness gone.
‘So, looks like it’s going to be a lovely day,’ the driver adds.
I glance out of the window and see that the sky is brightening, the sun shining now. ‘Yes,’ I say, my gaze fixed upon the lush green sweep of the hills, ‘I think it is.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sinead
This time, there’s no slugging of lady petrol, no manically writing a note at the kitchen table. It comes out one bright Sunday afternoon when we’re walking Scout, just the two of us.
Nate has seemed distracted lately, perpetually on edge, as if trying his utmost to be on best behaviour. He has reassured me over and over that the miscarriage wasn’t anyone’s fault, and the logical part of me knows he’s right.
We have been for a coffee in a dog-friendly cafe down by the river, and now, as we make our way along the high street, he grabs at my arm: ‘Look! That’s him!’
I scan the vicinity, wondering who he’s talking about.
‘In there,’ he hisses. ‘Can you see him?’ He points into the noodle bar – ‘Canoodles’ – where a stocky man with cropped red hair is handing a stack of white cartons to a customer. ‘Nate, what are you talking about?’ I ask.
‘That’s him. Angus Pew!’
I shake my head in confusion. ‘Angus Pew?’
‘The guy who said he’d do something to my food if he saw me in his restaurant. So that’s where he works …’
‘Oh,’ I say, realisation flooding through me. ‘Well, you can rest easy now, can’t you? You’re not likely to ever go in there.’
He nods, and we fall into silence as we walk on. Every so often, Scout stops to sniff at a lamp post or bin. When he does his business on the patch of grass in front of the petrol station, Nate has it bagged up with remarkable swiftness.
‘So,’ he says, dropping a deposit into a bin, ‘where to now?’
‘Just home, I guess,’ I reply.
We pass the burger place with its garish orange and black logo, and turn down the road that leads to Little Owl.
‘How are things going in there?’ he asks, as we pause to glance into the window.
‘Oh – you know. It’s all right.’ A sense of unease washes over me. ‘Erm, I’m thinking of cutting back on my hours, actually. Not straight away, but once I’ve got things up and running, jewellery-wise.’
‘Really? Well, that’s great,’ he says, in a strained voice. I know what he’s thinking: you haven’t shared this with me. Despite the bright smile, there’s a trace of hurt on his face.
‘Nate,’ I add, as we turn away from the shop, ‘I’ve also decided I’m not going to see Rachel anymore.’
‘Okay, if you think that’s best.’
‘I do.’ In fact, I have seen her several times since I came back home, and since the miscarriage; perhaps our sessions have helped after all, as I no longer feel the need to rake over the inner workings of my mind. I just want to move on now, with my life.
Nate takes my hand as Scout trots along at his side. ‘Well, you’ve bee
n seeing her for, what, six months? You’ve given it a good shot …’
I nod as my eyes blur with unexpected tears. It’s been three weeks since the miscarriage. We have carried on, getting on with our lives. I returned to work after a couple of weeks off, and Flynn has found himself a summer job at the kids’ holiday club, teaching the little ones guitar. I could not be more proud of him.
I turn, aware of Nate glancing at me, his dark eyes filled with concern.
‘Are you okay, darling?’
I swallow and nod wordlessly as we walk. He’s wearing his typical weekend attire of dark jeans and a navy blue T-shirt with a silhouetted flock of birds on the front. ‘Yes, but …’ I pause. ‘Nate,’ I add, ‘I have to tell you something. Please believe me that this isn’t about you, or anything you’ve done or haven’t done …’
I glance to gauge his reaction. The colour seems to drain from his face.
‘I’m sorry I wrote that list,’ I go on. ‘Really I am. But this time – look, I’ve really tried. And I know you have, taking such good care of me, being so kind. You even did up the baby’s room. You sanded the floor, put up those shelves, just because I wanted it. You’re a great husband, Nate …’ I try to blink away the tears, hating losing it like this in public.
‘But not for you,’ he murmurs. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
We stop at the end of the street, and I rub my face on my sleeve. ‘Yes, I suppose I am. Since I came back, even before we lost the baby …’
Nate nods. ‘I know it’s been difficult.’ A strained silence descends as we resume walking. ‘I should have gone to counselling with you,’ he adds, ‘when you asked me.’
‘Never mind that,’ I murmur, even though I did mind, very much, at the time.
How would you feel about us going to talk to someone? I asked, the first time I raised it. Nate looked at me in confusion, clutching a charred oven glove that neither of us had got around to throwing away. Talk to someone? he asked. What d’you mean? Well, I didn’t mean just anyone. Not the lollipop man or that new lady with the weird mustard-coloured hair in Londis. I don’t think we need to, he said eventually, do you?