Invisible

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  But then he throws his arm around me and pulls me in to him, and somehow our bodies just fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw. We know each so well that we automatically twist to one another without any thought. My leg over his, his leg over mine, a knotty tangle that no one could undo. Then my nose nuzzles into his neck and I breathe in the oil, diesel, Lynx, Daryl smell and I smile to myself like an idiot as happiness rushes through me, and suddenly everything seems so right. Daryl is home and all is good with the world.

  Saturday 15

  I am so lucky to have a man like Daryl. Seriously. I very nearly cocked us up permanently today, and feel queasy every time I think about it. Bloody Hannah and Amy, it’s all their fault.

  I kept thinking about that stupid magazine article. Unable to shake the paranoia gnawing at me, I sneaked downstairs this morning and - eurgh, I’m ashamed to write it down and have a permanent record – I sneaked a look through Daryl’s phone.

  How awful is that?! I kept thinking about how he ticked virtually every single one of the criteria in the feature, and had worked myself up into a real tizz. Convinced myself that that was why Hannah had felt afraid of Daryl, too, because he had given her one of his smouldering, lustful looks. They can be pretty impressive, and they certainly take my breath away.

  So I scrolled through all of his messages. And I found absolutely nothing. The relief! And the guilt… I burst into tears and went straight up to the bedroom, prodding Daryl awake. He knew from the look on my face that something was wrong, I think, because he looked worried as he propped himself up on a pillow.

  When he gets in a bad mood his face reminds me of one of those speeded up film sequences where the clear sky is suddenly blotted out by clouds racing across and turning blacker. His face changes that quickly. There’s that saying isn’t there, ‘a face like thunder’. That’s literally what he has.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, telling him everything and watching him carefully, keyed up and waiting for that time lapse camera moment, for his expression to change from worried to angry…but it never came.

  After I’d tearfully confessed all, my poor, bemused husband was so fantastic. He didn’t say a word, just sat up and gently pulled me against him, letting me cry against his chest. I could barely look at him, so he held me close and kissed the top of my head, breathing into my hair in that funny way of his until it was all hot.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s all okay, hush,’ he soothed again and again.

  How can I doubt someone so understanding; because I’d go nuts if he did the same to me, accusing me of things, of secrets and lies. But that’s decided me once and for all. I am fighting for this marriage. We’ve been great before, and we’ll be great again. I will not give up on us just because I feel a bit bored and not quite right about things.

  Sunday 16

  Argh! Remembered today that I have completely missed Sarah’s birthday. So I rushed out and bought her a jumper from the supermarket in the end. Well, supermarket stuff is great these days so I’m sure she’ll like it. But wrapping has never exactly been my strong point…

  ‘I’ve got to send Sarah’s present to her, but I’m worried the package will fall apart,’ I moaned to Daryl, showing him the flimsy parcel I’d created. It looked like a three-year-old had wrapped it.

  ‘I’ve got some duct tape you can use, that will hold most things in place.’ He smirked, as though at some private joke. Yes, well, the parcel did look pretty funny; I had made a poor job of it. Ha bloody ha.

  He went out to his truck and came back seconds later brandishing the tough silver tape, still sniggering away to himself. He quickly unfurled it, covering almost the whole package with it. Daryl’s strong fingers worked rapidly, tearing the tape with a strength and well-practiced technique that surprised me, until only the tiniest amount of brown paper peeked out here and there.

  ‘Job done,’ he said, patting it, satisfied.

  ‘My hero,’ I grinned. And I meant it.

  APRIL

  Thursday 3

  If only everyone could be as happy as me right now. Sounds pretty smug, doesn’t it, but I don’t care. Everything is so great between Daryl and me. Why? Because not only is he still making an effort despite me acting so badly, but also I have finally learned the secret of happiness too. I simply let things go.

  I’m so much more relaxed, and am not letting myself get annoyed by stuff, or dwell on questioning things; I’m just going with the flow. And when Daryl does bug me, I just take a deep breath and count to ten and tell myself it doesn’t matter. I’m thinking big picture now, i.e. saving my marriage, not sweating the details by getting annoyed when he doesn’t always do exactly what I want.

  I am using my new-found happiness to try to encourage Kim to split from Psycho Sam. ‘There is a wonderful man somewhere out there, just waiting to make you happy. But until you split from Sam you will never meet them, because you’re not ready. Break free from his control, take control of your life again, and things will change for the better,’ I coach. She actually seems to be listening.

  Amy has really apologised as well for what she said about Daryl. She still insists they were scared but admits there was no actual reason for it at all and they over-reacted, and the more they talked about it together the more they cranked it up to be something bigger in their imaginations than it actually was.

  I haven’t heard from Hannah though…

  Saturday 12

  ‘How is Saggy Tits? Not seen her around lately,’ Daryl asked suddenly over breakfast this morning.

  So he’s noticed Amy and I have had a bit of a falling out. Instead of letting him wind me up though, I just told him that wasn’t a nice way to speak about my friends, said it in a very neutral way – lightly, even, so he had nothing to trigger off and we wouldn’t row. Since I’ve determined to be more of a grown up and stop reacting to him, things have been much better between us.

  He wouldn’t let it go though.

  ‘She’s a bit of a whore though, isn’t she,’ he said, mimicking my matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘Daryl!’ Okay, I bit, but he was definitely asking for it.

  ‘What?’ he grinned. ‘She is. She puts it about a bit. A right cunt.’

  I screwed my eyes closed and shook my head. I hate that word! And he knows it, was just using it for a reaction. So instead I just forced my eyes open and smiled. ‘Well she’s a big girl, and not hurting anyone else, so who cares how many people she does or doesn’t sleep with. You don’t have to worry about her sex life, just mine.’

  Keen to get him off the subject of Amy, because then I might have to explain what we’d fallen out over, and emboldened by the success of my ‘go with the flow’ plan, I stepped towards him and gave him what my dear departed gran would have described as a ‘come hither’ look.

  ‘She can never have what I’ve got, no matter how many people she sleeps with,’ I said as huskily as I could muster. ‘She can never have you. Why don’t you show me what she’s missing?’

  Well, my lust-fuelled idea worked in one respect. It took Daryl’s mind off Amy. Sadly it didn’t get his mind on to me though. He gulped down his coffee and set his mug down, suddenly full of purpose.

  ‘Right, I need to clear the cab of my lorry out,’ he said. And instead of coming hither, he went outside.

  Monday 14

  Kim has dumped Psycho Sam!!!! And this time she actually seems to mean it!

  She came into work today smiling but nervous, and I knew immediately something had happened. I went into the kitchen to make a cuppa, and put two mugs out, knowing she’d join me any moment.

  ‘I’ve done it,’ she whispered the second she appeared, eyes all bright and sparkly like they haven’t been in months and months (unless you count times where they’ve twinkled with tears).

  ‘You’ve…?’ I said, letting the sentence hang there, not daring to finish it the way I suspected it would end, just in case.

  ‘I’ve finished with Sam.’

  ‘Oh my God!�
� I shouted. We both ducked instinctively, grimaced at how loud I’d been, then giggled. As we held onto each other, unable to stop, I tried to mouth sorry, but it just made us laugh even more. I think we were both hysterical with joy that Psycho Sam had been given the elbow at long last.

  Finally, I pulled myself together with one last cheery sigh. ‘So what happened? What’s different this time?’

  She shrugged. ‘Nothing. Despite our whole relationship being one big drama, there was no huge, earth-shattering explosion of emotion. It was everything, you know? The constant atmosphere, the walking on eggshells, the rowing, and the person he was turning me into; I didn’t recognise myself any more, was nothing like I’d been when we’d first met. Putting up with all kinds of crap, having my self-esteem chipped away, getting into physical fights. He’d even started complaining about the way I dressed – and I was listening and changing.

  ‘I told myself they were little things, and that the problem was with me, but that wasn’t true…and it all piled up until I couldn’t take it any more. And instead of getting angry and shouting, I was just very calm and told him I couldn’t do this, it wasn’t what I wanted or needed. That I was happy for him to stay with me for a month, to sort out a place to live, but that he would be sleeping on the sofa until he left.’

  ‘Wow,’ I breathed. ‘And how did he take it? Did he go mental?’ Beside me the kettle boiled, the button clicking off as steam poured upwards, but I ignored it.

  ‘You know what? He seemed to accept it. Seemed defeated. Mind you, he probably thinks I’ll change my mind, that this is just like all the other times we’ve split.’

  ‘But it isn’t?’

  Reaching past me, she picked up the kettle and poured water into the waiting mugs. ‘No chance. This time I really mean it.’

  And you know what? For some reason, it does feel different this time; she does seem stronger, calmer, more in control. Actually, she seems more like the Kim I met three years ago when I started at the company.

  Finally everything seems to be coming together and everyone is getting a step closer to their happy endings. I’ve just got to keep up my ‘stay calm, don’t argue, go with the flow’ mantra.

  Wednesday 23

  Poor Daryl sent me a text message tonight saying how much he missed me. He sounded tired. Does that sound funny? Yes, but he did. There was nothing in particular he said in it to hint at that, but you just know someone inside out after so many years don’t you. I know him so well I can even tell how he’s feeling just from a text message.

  Still, he’ll be home this weekend, and I can’t wait. We’ll spend a bit of quality time together, maybe go for a meal or something or the cinema.

  MAY

  Saturday 9

  Blimey, it’s been over a fortnight since I’ve written my diary. I suppose that now things have settled down between Daryl and me, there’s less need for it – it’s a great way of pouring out my feelings and sorting through stuff, but I need to do that less now. But today I have big news, because I’m going on holiday! Woo hoo!

  Daryl has, by a small miracle, managed to book the same time off as me. It’s normally a total nightmare co-ordinating holidays, but this was stunningly simple. And so we’re off on a last minute break. Hu-blinking-rah!

  Aside from that, nothing much has changed really. Kim is doing well after her split with Sam. He’s found a place to move into, and leaves next week. He wants to stay in touch and Kim is staying neutral about the idea at the moment because she doesn’t want him to kick off, but actually she’s no intention of having anything to do with him ever again.

  What else? Hannah still hasn’t been in touch and I’m sure as hell not contacting her. She needs to apologise to me. And although on the surface Amy and I seem okay, I’m wary of her, and she seems the same of me. I’ll never fully trust her again, I don’t think, because she really hurt me, and for no reason at all.

  Saturday 30

  Wow. What a day. What a glorious, fabulous day. Daryl and I are finally on our holidays!!

  He arrived last night after working all day, then driving over to me, arriving home at 10pm. As soon as I opened the door he ran past me saying: ‘I’m gonna be sick, I’m gonna be sick.’

  Luckily he made it to the loo. That’s the first time in all these years together that I’ve ever known him vomit.

  Anyway, I suggested he go to bed for a couple of hours before we had to go to the airport. We had a lovely chat in bed because he felt much better and he just stroked my hair and face for ages as we talked. It was so relaxing, and finally we very gently made love.

  Think we’ve really turned a corner because not only are we getting on well, but then something really amazing happened.

  We had to get up at midnight, and I was rushing round double-checking that we’d packed our passports, tickets, suntan lotion, insect repellent, enough undies to last us… Daryl was sitting on the sofa watching me, head moving back and forth like he was watching a tennis match because I was running backwards and forwards with everything.

  Suddenly his hand shot out and grabbed me, stopping me in my tracks – with hands his size, he could stop a juggernaut he’s so strong. I just looked at him, surprised, eyebrows up near my hairline.

  ‘I think we should go for it,’ he said, nodding in determination. He must have seen the confused look on my face, because then he clarified. ‘I think we should try for a baby, start a family.’

  Yes! I felt like punching the air, or running around with my top over my head like blokes do when they’ve just scored a goal. Maybe throw in a somersault or two for good luck. Instead, I just let myself be pulled onto his lap and gazed into those blue eyes of his, as bright as icicles, and let my smile spread as the reality of what he’d said sank in. Finally, I’m going to be a mum! Well, soon anyway, if things go well.

  I can’t believe he finally he wants us to go for it. The only problem is (and I do feel bad even thinking about whinging when I’m so happy) I really would like Daryl to be at home more before we have a child. He spends so many days away, and has to work such crazily long hours because those gits who run the haulage business are making him break the law all the time on his hours. How they manage to rig the taco is beyond me, but Daryl works loads more hours than is legal.

  We chatted about it while we were at the airport, waiting to board our flight. Well, I nagged about it.

  ‘Maybe you should just refuse,’ I said. ‘They can’t force you to break the law.’

  He gave me a look that showed how naive he thought I was being, but took my hand and twined his fingers with mine. For the first time I noticed he’d got a nasty graze on his knuckles and they looked swollen, but now wasn’t the time to ask how he’d managed that, so instead I gently stroked the back of his hand with my free hand.

  ‘I’m scared I’ll lose my contract,’ he sighed. ‘They’ve not outright said that, of course, but it’s definitely been hinted at. What choice have I got? I have to do what they say, because if they get rid of me I don’t even get severance pay because I’m freelance. There’s nothing to stop them turning round tomorrow and telling me they don’t need me any more.’

  I looked down at our hands, which formed a cage the way our fingers were woven together. He’s a lot more trapped than my digits, and it makes me so angry on his behalf. It’s not fair!

  Anyway, I’m determined to leave all that behind for a week. Who cares about work! We’re on holiday and we’re trying for a baby. I don’t think I could get happier! Daryl seems really cheery and content too, though I think it’s partly relief that he no longer needs to dodge the ‘when are you going to make an appointment with a counsellor’ question any more, since clearly he no longer needs to see anyone to work through his problems now he has got past his phobia of having a family.

  So, we’re now in Olu Deniz, Turkey. After a late lunch we wandered down to the beach. This is our second trip here, and it felt lovely to be back, like saying hello to an old friend – I was overjoyed when
Daryl said he’d managed to book our break here. We went to the left side of the beach rather than the lagoon, as last time we were here we never really got round to exploring that bit.

  Exploring is too active a word though. Actually I lay there looking at literally turquoise sea, pure white surf crashing onto the pebbles; the sight and the sound was hypnotising. Sunbathed, read, splashed around with Daryl, who couldn’t stop laughing.

  JUNE

  Monday 1

  Went out for a meal last night and then back to hotel for ‘a quick nightcap’. Turned into a bit of a session, and we drank and chatted to other couples until 3am. Good fun. Felt a bit wobbly this morning!

  We’ve done loads though. First we went by boat to the mud baths at Dalyan. Stripped down to our swimwear and sat in a big pool of warm mud to cover ourselves from head to toe in the thick, sticky substance.

  ‘Poo! It stinks like rotten eggs,’ I gasped, wrinkling my nose as Daryl scooped up a massive handful and slapped it onto his arm, smearing it across his skin with grim determination. I thought it might sting his bad hand but it didn’t seem to bother him.

  ‘That’s the sulphur in it.’ He pointed to a placard that explained why the mud was so good for you, and all about the sulphur. I’d completely failed to notice it, of course, but my gaze was dragged away from it by Daryl puffing out his chest towards me. ‘Come on, babe, lay it on me. Then I’ll do you, it’ll be easier,’ he insisted.

  It was the weirdest beauty treatment in the world. There we were, surrounded by equally mud-caked tourists, all of us stinking to high heaven and loving it. I could imagine people all through the ages doing just as we were, even Romans relaxing in the muck.

  I put the finishing touch to Daryl’s face, carefully applying it with my fingertips until only his eyes were untouched. When he smiled, his teeth shone through, brilliant white. I smiled back, feeling the already drying mud tighten then crack slightly at the movement.