by Clare Lydon
“All the way back to London – that’ll be some cab fare.” Geri rubbed TJ’s arm as she stepped past her and into the house.
TJ shrugged. “She clearly thinks it’s worth it.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in Kat’s shoes tomorrow – hungover, on a comedown, now single.” Geri rubbed her face with both her palms, then shook her head. Tonight had been some night and it wasn’t even over yet.
***
The garden wasn’t getting any warmer when Tash looked at her watch again. 1.18am. They’d been sitting silently side by side for a few minutes with just the distant murmur of the sea and the rustle of the surrounding shrubbery for company. The only other sound to pierce the silence was a distant dog, barking incessantly.
“Sweetheart, can we talk about this inside? I need the loo and my fingers are going numb,” Laura said.
Tash sighed and turned, placing both feet gingerly on the floor. She’d been sitting in one position for a while now and a pain shot up her right leg as it connected with the floor, while her left leg was numb with pins and needles. Tash stamped her feet to try to get the blood flowing once more.
“You can’t even be bothered to sit out here with me for half an hour, can you?”
“You know I’m no good with the cold – and it’s fucking freezing.” Laura shivered again as if to prove her point.
Tash rolled her eyes. “I just… I can’t get past it right now,” she said. “You slept with Kat. Didn’t you think this might be information you should let me know, at least give me a heads-up before coming to your next reunion where it’s bound to come up.” Tash shook her head from side to side. “Are you so dumb you didn’t think it would? Frankly, I’m amazed it took so long…”
Laura shifted her gaze away guiltily.
Tash’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “It’s come up already, hasn’t it?”
Laura’s silence and downcast eyes gave Tash the answer. She threw up her arms in exasperation and stood up, forgetting the pins and needles and hopped around in pain as the blood struggled back into her legs.
“When?” Tash asked, still standing on her better leg, stamping the other one on the ground as if she was trying to kill a troublesome ant. “When did you already talk about this? Was it a big group pow-wow to laugh about old times and make sure I wasn’t in on the joke?” Tash paused. “I can’t actually fucking believe this.”
Tash walked away from Laura down the grass that was now slick with dew, turning, turning back, not quite sure where to walk or what to think. Getting together with Laura, she thought she’d left this sort of caper behind. Men played games and didn’t tell you things, deceived you. Women like Kat played games. But not Laura.
***
Laura stood up, seeing the situation needed controlling before it gushed all over their current lives like an oil spill. She could have cheerfully strangled Darren. Laura walked towards Tash and then stopped.
Tash was standing in combat mode, weight forward on one leg, hands on hips and ready to strike.
Laura went first before she had the chance. “Babe – you know that’s not the case. Vic brought it up this morning when we were chatting, asking if I’d told you. But I hadn’t and I didn’t think it was necessary and frankly, I’m embarrassed by it. It was a long time ago and it was Kat – and I know what you think of her.”
Tash didn’t move, her stare still fixed horribly on Laura.
Laura continued. “Ten years ago I was a hot mess, not in a good place. We all met up, we got drunk and Kat and I ended up in bed. We both woke up knowing instantly it was a mistake and that was it – one night only. We put it behind us and got on with our lives. I wish I could change it but I can’t. We all sleep with people we wish we hadn’t in our lives, don’t we?”
Laura paused, asking Tash to consider the question.
“Babe, this was five years before we met, a drunken mistake. And I know I should have told you but the truth is I didn’t want you to know. Back then, I was lost. And now… now I’m not. Now I have you.”
Laura stood back and let her words sink in, hoping she’d said and done enough. The air reverberated around them with aftershocks and she could feel Tash’s eyes on her. Could she feel her eyes softening, the warmer wrinkles falling back and replacing the scowl lines? Laura hoped so because frankly, she’d used all her best lines. Should she risk walking closer? It couldn’t hurt the situation.
Laura began to close the gap, but as she did, her foot hit something. There was pressure, a whirring sound and then something wooden coming towards her. She went to scream, but before she could manage it a wooden handle smacked her straight in the face and she went down with a sickening thud.
Laura clutched her face, her mouth open but no sound coming out. Her face was pulsing and when she poked out her tongue she could taste blood. Attacked by a rake. Yep, this was exactly how her night had been going so far.
Then Tash was kneeling over her: Laura smelt her, could feel Tash’s breath on her face.
“Oh my God – you okay?” Tash put her hands to Laura’s face, gently lifting Laura’s fingers. The rake had cut her – she was going to have a black eye in the morning. There was also blood trickling out of her nose. Tash got up and went to retrieve some tissues from her handbag, stuffing one up Laura’s nose.
“Ow!” Laura shrunk at the contact. Her head was now pounding too. “Is my nose broken?”
“I dunno, but just hold that there to stop the bleeding,” Tash said. “I don’t think so, but you really banged your head when you went down.”
Laura was shaking and shivering. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, the trees above her were spinning, the house lights now strobing in her eye line.
Tash sat down on the ground beside her and started to laugh. “I have to hand it to you – if you wanted to change the dynamic, you succeeded spectacularly.” Tash rubbed Laura’s arm and smiled down at her. “I’ve gone from wanting to kill you for being so bloody stupid, to wanting you to win your fight with a rake.” She peered closer at Laura’s face. “Although, by the look of it, I think the rake won.”
Laura smiled up at Tash, then winced in pain. “I’m glad you were on my side,” she mumbled.
Tash looked deep into her eyes and raised Laura’s left hand to her lips. “Always,” she said. “But shall we get you inside to assess the damage?”
Inside
Back in the lounge, wine was still sloshing in glasses, condensation still running down ice-cold bottles of beer. Crisps in wooden bowls, nuts being cracked, socked feet stretched out, laughter peeling around the room. On the TV, somebody had found VH1 and they were screening an 80s music night – right now, Mister Mister were singing about Broken Wings.
The tension of earlier had dispersed in the air, settled onto the sofa, popped on the carpet, been pierced by the light fittings. In its place was an easy joviality between the six contributors, born of familiarity and being on holiday. Only TJ didn’t meet the criteria, but it wasn’t lost on anybody how her stretched-out body seemed to blend into the group.
Right now they had an air of inclusivity, of privilege, as if they knew something you didn’t.
Abby’s departure had been discussed and forgotten about within 15 minutes. Nobody was missing her – or Kat, come to that.
Tash and Laura had been briefly brought up, but after a while their spat seemed to put a downer on the evening, so they too were escorted off-stage, their drama part of a different script.
Right at this moment the group wanted to star in a rom-com, something light and airy, nothing too taxing on the brain. The air with thick with talk of parties, nights out with the rich and famous, Champagne and fun. Tonight’s unspoken remit was to not dwell on what was wrong in their world, but rather to celebrate what was right. They were sticking to their brief perfectly, skilfully skirting the less desirable corners of their lives. Tonight, time meant nothing and they were guarding their bubble fiercely.
“Did we tell you about that party we went to recently where George Michael was meant to turn up?” Darren swirled his vodka and coke so the cubes clinked pleasingly against the sides.
TJ’s eyes widened. “You were at a party with George Michael? No way!”
Geri laughed and patted her shoulder from above. “Listen carefully – he said where George Michael was meant to turn up, not where he actually did turn up.”
Geri had heard this story before but she knew the drill. Stu and Darren worked in PR and their world was made up of smoke and mirrors, of impressing others. The mere mention of a celebrity placed them at a party with them, whether or not the star showed up or not.
Geri knew that when TJ repeated this story, George Michael would probably have been there. And then three friends down the line, he’d probably have brought his guitar and given them a rendition of Careless Whisper on the spot.
Darren, ever the faithful PR, kept up the pretence. “He turned up later on but we’d already left – you know what these pop stars are like.” Darren rolled his eyes. “But there were plenty of other famous faces, weren’t there?”
Stu nodded loyally.
Darren leant forward. “And of course it was at a club in Mayfair and when we came out around 3am, they were turning Prince Harry’s mate away!”
“Amazing!” said TJ, clearly new to this particular sideshow.
“It totally was!” Darren beamed. “I mean, we were almost tempted to go back in, but you know, 3am and we had to work the next day, so duty called.”
TJ nodded. “Sounds incredible. We never get anyone famous around here.” She took a swig of her beer and readjusted herself on the floor at the edge of one of the sofas. She’d shaken her head when Geri had patted the sofa cushion next to her, preferring to stretch out on the floor and lean against Geri’s legs.
Geri didn’t mind – she liked the warmth and the instant familiarity. TJ had clearly been a cat in a former life.
“Well, we get precisely no celebs round our way, either. Somehow that far east in London isn’t a draw – no idea why,” said Stevie. She was sitting next to Vic on the opposite sofa to Geri and Darren, legs touching.
“You’d think they’d be flocking to Limehouse, wouldn’t you? Lovely basin.” Stu smirked.
“We’ll invite you next time we have a celeb party and then you’ll have a story to tell, too,” Darren said.
“Yes please!” Stevie grinned and gathered her feet up under her. “And can it be someone who’d impress my class, please? And I need photos for Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat…”
“Snapwhat?” Geri said.
“Snapchat.” Darren rolled his eyes. “C’mon Geri, keep up with the kids. I hope you’re not the youth liaison officer at your depot.”
Geri smacked Darren on the leg and he yelped in pain.
“You know damn well I’m not the youth officer – and it’s not a depot, Darren, we’re people, not fucking lorries.” Geri gave him a look that said ‘I’m trying to impress someone here’.
Darren smiled. “Sorry, I forgot – you are a detective sergeant.” He leant forward to catch TJ’s eye as Geri stroked her shoulder. “She’s very important, honest. The London policing community would fall apart without her. Probably already has, in fact.”
Darren got another slap from Geri for his troubles and cowered into Stu.
“Domestic violence – you want to have a word with your mate,” Darren said.
“You can call the police if you like,” Stu replied. “Oh no, hang on…”
On the opposite sofa there was movement as Vic and Stevie drained their cups of tea and stood in unison, performing gymnast-quality exaggerated yawns in their bedtime play, graceful arms spinning like windmills.
“Much as this has been lovely, we’re going to bid you farewell.” Stevie put an arm around Vic. “Don’t stay up too late, now.”
“Have fun, girls – don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Darren shouted at their retreating backs.
He got a single middle finger from Stevie in return.
“And then there were four.” Darren rubbed his hands together and heaved himself off the sofa. He eyed Geri and TJ. “You two fancy another or are you departing to bed too?” His eyes were bloodshot, his mood determined.
TJ looked up at Geri but their non-verbal communication wasn’t that advanced yet – they may have had sex, but they couldn’t tell what the other wanted through the power of glance.
TJ shrugged. “Up to you.” She rubbed her ear.
Geri looked at her watch. It was already well past reasonable o’clock, and she had other ideas for filling the next few hours.
Geri smiled down at TJ with a wicked grin on her face. “I think we should go to bed, too.”
TJ grinned right back.
***
It’d only been 24 hours since they made that same walk to bed together, but what a difference a day made. This time, Stevie was aware of every cushioned step, her twitching calves, her tense back. Her heart kicked noticeably in her chest.
At the doorframe Vic stood back and let Stevie in first. Stevie gave her a shy smile as she walked past her, far closer than was strictly necessary. Once inside, Stevie disappeared into the bathroom, switching on the light which seemed suddenly too bright. She’d got an attack of nerves, despite the fact Vic was the same woman – the only woman – Stevie had slept with in the past ten years.
Stevie pulled her face one way, then the other in the large, stage-lit mirror, wrinkling up her forehead even though she knew it wasn’t good for her. She clutched the white sink with both hands and eyed herself full-on.
“It’s like riding a bike, Wright,” she told herself out loud. “Nothing to it – don’t think, just do.”
She nodded at her advice and grabbed the electric toothbrush, added toothpaste and was glad of the noise to cover her nerves, glad she had another two minutes to gather herself while the tiny bristles did their work. Molars, canines, incisors, wisdom. Stevie loved the order brushing your teeth brought, providing the end to your day.
For good measure, Stevie picked up the floss. She knew she was dragging her feet now and ordered herself to stop. She had to get out there and bring some normality back to their lives. It was just Vic. Just her wife. She could totally do this.
Stevie took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom, bringing all the confidence she could muster into that one walk.
She needn’t have bothered.
Vic was face down asleep under the duvet, already gently snoring.
SUNDAY
The gentle rhythm of the sea below. The whir of the wind. The creak of a floorboard, the rattle of a pipe. Doors opened, toilets flushed, boilers cranked into life. A scurry in the loft. Water cascading onto naked bodies and white ceramics. Toothbrushes alert, body lotions slathered, razors scraped. The sound of the house coming to life.
Except, on this particular Sunday, it meant more than just cleansing, buffing and polishing. After the events of the previous night, the house was creeping back to life as if it knew nerves might be frayed, heads sore, emotions trampled.
The house had seen it all before. It’d been around for over 200 years and it wished it could put its arm around Tash this morning or stroke Kat’s pounding head, tell them this shit wasn’t worth sweating. Life was far bigger than all of this, all of them. Being perched on a cliff top, this house had a clear view of conflict. But always it remained in one place, always sober, always solid: observing, mindful, detached.
It’d seen plenty of internal conflicts, too, just like the scenes it had been privy to last night and those it was witnessing this morning. Every time it happened, the house wondered when humankind would learn to focus on what was important and discard the rest, because it was only noise.
If the house could write down all its wisdom it would be a rich house, but it could only communicate through creaks and cracks, quite apt right now. With every group that stayed h
ere it developed another tick, another niggle. It was still waiting for the perfect guests where it might be able to rest for a weekend.
***
Kat opened her left eye, then shut it. Her eyelid scraped across her eyeball. She wiggled her big toes then flexed both hands – still there. She eased open her right eye. It was hard work. Was the lid bruised? Did she get punched last night? She had no idea.
She rolled over and groaned as she lifted her head. Her brain was rattling around in her skull with zero lubrication and she could almost feel it crashing against either side: a boat caught in a dry storm.
Kat placed her head gingerly back on the pillow and waited for the wave of pain to smash onto the breakers, then gently ebb away. It took ten whole seconds. She wondered how long she had till the next wave arrived but figured if she kept her head still, she had a better chance of damage limitation. She held her breath and, when nothing arrived, allowed herself to breathe. Then Kat opened her eyes again. Bad mistake.
Her mouth was dry and when she swallowed, she had to open her mouth to breathe out. Did she do drugs last night? Yes, she did – she couldn’t breathe out of her nose and her mood had a dull, tainted quality to it. Paranoia and its good friend regret were also lurking on the window ledge, waiting till the most inopportune moment to pounce. Why did she do this to herself again and again?
She ran a hand up her arm and realised she was still wearing last night’s clothes: jeans and her grey top. She’d bought it in the Christmas sales but had only just got the chance to wear it because the weather had been so bad. She wriggled her breasts from side to side then reached under her top and tried to unclip her bra – her body felt strangled. She couldn’t do it without sitting up, though.
Kat braced before levering herself upright, her head slumping forward. Her brain slammed into the front of her skull and she grimaced. Arms up, top pulled off, raking her senses as it went. Then she was able to slip off the bra straps, followed by the rest of her clothes.