by Hilary Boyd
Then a well of misery bubbled up, unrelenting, until he found his chest heaving silently as he tried to control himself. Isla-Mae must not hear me cry. Hand over his mouth, he gulped, tried to breathe, but he was unable to stop the self-pity punching through his lungs, his throat, his whole body now convulsed. And the harder he tried to stop, the worse the constricted sobs became. He ended up crouched beneath the windowsill, clutching his knees to his chest, head buried, rocking back and forth in some attempt to find a modicum of calm.
All he wanted was Lily. He was desperate to feel the comfort of her arms around him. The desire to turn back the clock was agony because nothing, absolutely nothing, would change what he’d done.
Just one more night, he thought. Please, just one more night with Lily.
But he hesitated as he reached for the phone, not knowing if she would even speak to him. By now she would have rung someone. Sara, maybe, Dillon undoubtedly, possibly Prem – her go-to friend when she was in trouble. He could imagine the collective shock. The disbelief. He could hear the names they would be calling him: criminal, addict . . . bastard, bastard, bastard. They would have ignited her anger, finally made her hate him. Persuaded her, certainly, that she couldn’t associate with him any more. And her deluded determination to stick by him would have been steadily chipped away to nothing.
Not wanting to hear any of this in her voice, he texted her. We need to talk. Sorting stuff at the office. Could be home later, if you’ll have me? xxx
Almost immediately the reply came: Please come home. x
He could hear the tears in Lily’s message and he hated himself with a fury that made him want to punch something, do damage in a physical way that would take the pain away. He stood there, crushing his mobile in his hand, his body rigid, shaking, but even in his rage aware that Isla-Mae was just outside.
I must look completely mad, he thought, as the red haze began to subside. I don’t want to scare the girl, on top of everything else.
Pulling himself together as best he could, he smoothed his hair, rubbed his face briskly with both hands – as if he could wipe off the nightmare – and straightened his shirt. Then he stood, taking long, slow breaths until he felt his heart rate return to some approximation of normal. His watch said two thirty. There would be a hundred emails – none of them pretty – waiting on his laptop, but he wouldn’t look at them. What could they do to him now, anyway? There was nothing to save. He would clear out his stuff and go home. No doubt the studio landlords would be organizing a lock-out at any moment. They would have seen the Gazette and he was nearly two months behind with the rent.
Isla-Mae knocked, poked her head around the door. ‘I’m going, Freddy.’
‘Yeah, okay . . .’ He put on his best smile. ‘Thanks again, Isla-Mae. You’ve been a star.’
She hovered, clearly uncertain as to what to say next. Then she nodded, smiled back. ‘Hope things work out,’ she said.
‘I’m sure they will.’
Chapter 20
It’s as if someone’s died, Lily thought, watching Prem and Sara muttering to each other across the sitting room, casting surreptitious glances, full of pity, her way. She was sitting sideways on a chair by the doors onto the balcony, gazing at the passing clouds, scudding grey and threatening, yet backlit by a persistent sun. The chair was a trendy wooden upright in bleached sycamore, the back a single plank of knobbly wood, by some famous furniture designer – hideously uncomfortable, for show, not for sitting. But she didn’t want to be comfortable. This was not her home any more. None of this stuff – which she now doubted even belonged to her husband – was for her use. She would have to pack her life into a few bags and go.
Losing all your money is not the same as losing a husband, she knew that. But everything about today reminded her of Garret’s death. The shock, the disbelief, the almost physical desire to reject the information. That day, ten years ago, had been almost a cliché, a scene Lily had watched play out a million times in TV drama. Bell rings. She opens the door. Two solemn-faced police on the doorstep, one male, one female. The ‘May we come in?’ request, unlikely to be denied. A silent process through to the kitchen, more silence as they sit, both looking bulky and uneasy in uniforms set about with the clobber necessary to their job.
The twins, was her first thought. It was two in the afternoon: they were at school half a mile away. Her brain refused to go any further, but her body had no such qualms as her heart battered her chest, her stomach turned to water and she gulped hard to stop her recently eaten tuna sandwich returning to her mouth.
‘You are Lillian Tierney, Dr Garret Tierney’s wife?’ the male officer, identified at the front door as Tony, asked, his voice deep and frighteningly kind.
‘Mr,’ Lily said. ‘Garret’s a surgeon. Surgeons are called “Mr”.’ She heard her words from a distance. They were standing in for her, preventing Tony saying any more.
‘Sorry . . . Mrs Tierney, I’m afraid there’s been a terrible accident.’
Frowning, she stared at them. Rhona, the female officer – who should have been working for her GCSEs, not gazing at her like that, her head on one side – looked as if she wanted to run away. Her knuckles, Lily noticed, were white as she clenched her hands neatly on the wooden tabletop.
‘Your husband,’ Tony was saying, ‘had a very bad fall . . . on the ice. Very bad indeed.’ Pause. ‘I’ve been told he died before reaching hospital.’
Lily, not understanding, said, ‘But he wasn’t skiing. He said he didn’t have time to ski. He was speaking at this conference in Geneva. We talked last night.’
Tony and Rhona nodded sympathetically and in unison from the other side of the table.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know all the details yet, Mrs Tierney. I was told he was in Geneva at the time of his death.’
‘Yes, I spoke to him last night,’ she heard herself repeat. The feeling she was keeping at bay was so unbearable that she refused to allow it to come any closer.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Tony said.
Lily shook her head. ‘You’re telling me that Garret is dead? That he slipped on the ice and died?’
Both officers nodded.
‘But how is that possible? He’s so fit. He was a champion skier when he was younger.’
‘I think it was a head injury.’
A head injury. How ironic. Garret had spent his life dealing with the after-effects of head injury. But no one had been there when he needed help.
‘Where is he?’ Lily asked. It seemed vital that she know where her husband was. She felt as if he were adrift, alone somewhere in the frozen wastes of the Swiss Alps. She should go and help him.
‘They said he was still at the hospital in Geneva.’ Tony paused. Rhona still hadn’t said a word. ‘Is there someone we can call, Mrs Tierney? Someone who can be with you?’
The rest of the day, the week, the months ahead, settled into a strange pattern which, if charted, Lily had later thought, might look like one of those ECG printouts Garret had shown her years ago when her mother was ill with heart problems. Daily life wobbling along the bottom, but spiked with irregular, unpredictable moments of intense pain. She had been surprised at how much of it she could bear and not die herself.
She jumped now, as Sara put a hand on her shoulder and offered her a mug of tea. ‘Come and sit with us.’
For a while she did as Sara asked and perched on the sofa, holding the mug she’d been given, Prem at the other end, her daughter on the grey armchair by the fireplace, all of them silent.
‘What are you going to do?’ Sara asked.
Lily shrugged.
‘Obviously you can’t stay with Freddy, Mum.’
‘Why not?’
Prem and Sara exchanged glances.
‘It sounds as if he’s a bit out of control,’ her friend said gently.
‘To say the least,’ her daughte
r added.
‘You make him sound dangerous. He’s not dangerous.’
Prem raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, depends how you see it, Lily. He’s a gambling addict, which makes him totally unpredictable. Even you had no idea what he was doing or how bad it was.’
I know all this, she thought impatiently.
‘He took all your money, for God’s sake.’ Sara’s voice was harsh. ‘Stole it. Lied to you. Ruined Dill’s wedding. He’s made you homeless and broke . . . I don’t understand why you would even contemplate staying with him for another second. Or ever speak to him again, for that matter.’
‘No, well . . .’
She knew they had her best interests at heart, but she wished they would all go away. They didn’t understand, or know Freddy as she did.
‘“No, well” nothing,’ her daughter retorted. Lily could tell she was still angry about her unsympathetic reaction to her affair with Ted. It was ironic, her judging Sara about her life then failing so spectacularly at her own. But at least Stan hadn’t told her about their lunch together.
‘You can come and stay with me,’ Prem said, ever practical, ever generous. ‘I can’t offer you a job in the shop at the moment, but if someone leaves you can come back.’
Lily smiled at her. ‘Thanks. Thanks so much, that’s very kind. But I’m sure I can sort something out.’ She and Freddy would sort something out, was what she meant. But she wasn’t going to tell them that, then have to deal with the hysterics that would surely follow.
Sara came over, sat down beside her on the edge of the sofa and picked up her hands, squeezing them firmly in her own. She fixed her blue eyes on her mother as if she could compel her to do what she thought best and said, ‘You don’t seem to get it, Mum. I know all this must be a shock, but you’ve got to get real. We all love Freddy, but he really has betrayed you. For whatever reasons – and we all know addicts can’t help themselves, they don’t deliberately set out to behave badly – he’s wrecked your life. If you stay with him, you’ll both end up in the gutter.’
The word ‘gutter’ echoed in the silence.
‘I think your mum is having a hard time believing what’s happened,’ Prem said. ‘The trouble with gamblers, I suppose, is that you can’t see it on them, in the way you can with drink or drugs.’
‘That doesn’t make it any more acceptable,’ Sara said.
‘No, of course not. I didn’t mean that. But it makes it harder for your mum to understand.’
Sara let go of Lily’s hands and stood up, her slim body wired with frustration, her curls wild from repeated raking with her fingers as she began to pace the rug on the other side of the coffee table, arms folded angrily across her chest. ‘Did you really not know, Mum? Weren’t there any signs?’
Lily didn’t answer at first as she trawled back over the last few months of her life with Freddy. ‘He’s been very tense recently, as I said. And he’s been out a lot . . . but then he always is. His work at the studio is often at night. And Freddy’s a networker – he goes to clubs and bars with clients, wines and dines them, generally hangs out. It’s his job.’
‘And what did he say when you asked him what was wrong?’
‘That a client who owed him a lot hadn’t paid up.’
Sara snorted. ‘See? Another lie. Christ!’
‘It wasn’t a lie. There is a client who hasn’t paid up,’ Lily said.
‘So he says. But how do you actually know?’
Lily was saved from answering by the beep of her phone, which was lying on the wooden coffee table. She knew it was from Freddy before she even picked it up. He wanted to come home and she wanted him to come home too.
Under the suspicious gaze of the two women, she texted back.
‘Freddy?’ Sara asked.
‘Listen,’ Lily got up, ‘I really appreciate you both coming to my rescue, but I know you’re busy and I’m fine now. Apologies for disrupting your day like this. I just panicked. I’m sure I can work something out. I’ll let you know later, okay?’
Prem got up at once at Lily’s words, but Sara didn’t move. Standing there, a wary frown on her face, she twisted her mouth, looking hard at her mother. ‘He’s coming back, isn’t he? And you don’t want us here when he does.’
‘Sara, please. I know you mean well, and you’re both talking complete sense. But I have to do this my way.’
Her daughter shook her head and didn’t reply, just marched over to the chair where she’d left her bag and her jacket and snatched them up. ‘Okay, you do it your way. But please, please, don’t trust that lunatic again, Mum. Promise? We all know you’re a softy, but just remember what he’s done.’
Lily wasn’t going to promise anything. So she just hugged her daughter and thanked her again for giving up her day. And Sara had to be content with that.
‘Come and stay with us,’ Prem repeated when the door had shut behind Sara. ‘We can help you work out what to do. Raj and Hal are staying till next week, but there’s plenty of room.’
When Lily didn’t reply, she went on, ‘Why don’t you pack a bag and come now? I don’t have to go back to the shop – Ian’s there. You can get the rest another day.’
And when Lily still didn’t say anything, she added, ‘Lily, Sara might have come on a bit strong, but she’s right. I know how much you love him, but you really can’t let Freddy coax you into more chaos. If you stay with us, at least you can let the dust settle, give yourself some breathing space to think.’
Lily smiled at her friend. ‘I do hear you both, really I do. But I have to see him, Prem. I have to at least talk to him before I do anything else.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing left to lose now, right? Damage is all done.’
*
Freddy did not come home until late afternoon. Lily, tense and so anxious to see him, heard every sound outside the flat with hope. She couldn’t settle to anything. Even sketching didn’t work today, the lines blurring in front of her eyes, the scribbles random and meaningless.
By the time he opened the front door, she had fallen into a doze, curled up on the sofa, her cardigan wrapped around her cold limbs.
‘Lily?’ Freddy lay down next to her and she let herself be taken in his arms, let him pull her close, his head resting against her own, his lips in her hair, kissing her softly. She began to cry.
‘Ssh, ssh . . .’ He stroked her back, held her tight. Neither spoke for a long time. They lay, rocking slightly, as her sobs quieted. Neither had the strength to move.
Eventually Lily pulled back, looked up into Freddy’s troubled face. He didn’t smile, his eyes full of guilt. For a moment they gazed at each other. He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand, ran his thumb across her skin, and she shivered, began to drag herself upright.
As they sat together on the sofa, she said, ‘I’ve had Prem and Sara here for hours, telling me never to speak to you again. Telling me I can’t trust a word you say. Telling me you’re a worthless bastard, basically. A nice bastard, but a bastard nonetheless.’
A small, hard sound escaped him. Then he turned to face her. ‘Prem and Sara are right, Lily. I’ve fucked up so badly, I don’t have a thing to offer you except hassle and more hassle. I have no idea what to do, where to turn, and I’m not dragging you any further down than I have already.’ He swallowed hard.
Silence.
‘Can’t we go away?’ she asked. ‘Wait for things to settle down . . . We could go to Scotland or somewhere, rent a small croft in the Highlands . . . You could do all the stuff you need to do, sorting things out, online. We could . . . I don’t know, find a job up there . . . You could get help.’ She stopped, the scenario patently too childish, too ridiculous. How could they rent somewhere with no money? What sort of a job was she qualified to do? And the Highlands would hardly be thick with recording-studio work for a bankrupt . . . Or Gamblers Anonymous meetings.
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Freddy just raised his eyebrows. ‘Lily . . . Lily, we can’t stay together, not at the moment. I’m a mess. I can’t look after you.’
‘I’m not asking you to look after me. I’m saying let’s get through this together. Why should we split up? What’s the advantage?’
‘The advantage is that you don’t get involved in my chaos. Let me deal with things, Lily. It’ll only be for a few months. I can do what I have to do, work something out . . .’
‘I don’t want you to go. We’re married . . . I love you.’
Freddy sighed. ‘God, I love you too, Lily. But I keep telling you, I’m a mess. You can’t be responsible for me when I’m like this.’
‘So you’re just going to walk away, is that it? Leave me without any means of support? What the hell am I supposed to do? Don’t you owe me more than that?’
‘I owe you way more. But I’m telling you, I can’t deliver right now. You’d be better off without me, much better off.’ Freddy was beginning to sound angry in his desire to make her understand.
The conversation went on in this vein, round and round, punctuated with tears on both sides, bursts of anger and frustration, getting nowhere as Lily refused to let Freddy go and Freddy refused to let Lily stay.
Hours later, both on the edge, they resorted to the only thing left that wasn’t contentious, that didn’t involve their past or their future and which went some way to soothing their battered nerves. They made love, right there on the sofa, their clothes yanked off and thrown to the floor, their bodies drawn together in a mutual attempt at fending off the outside world. As he entered her they both let out a loud groan of relief, never wanting to come, but crazy with the need to do so. The sex was fierce and short, both of them trembling as they flopped back against the cushions, breathing hard. They were both too tired to speak. Huddled together, Freddy pulling the throw from the back of the sofa over their naked bodies, they fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.