by CJ Morrow
‘It’s okay. I want him to have this key back. I know him. If I don’t, he’ll change the locks and I’ll never get back in. Mum has a spare that he doesn’t know about.’
Cat’s smile is pure wickedness as she grabs one of Leeward’s best carving knives and uses it to prize the key from the ring.
‘Oops, I think the tip’s bent.’
‘Surely not?’
‘No. You’re right, it’s too good to bend. Shame that.’ She flings the knife in the sink and we leave.
∞∞∞
Mum helps Cat unload the car and carry my IKEA bags up to my room while I pick up the odd little thing and try to help. I feel so useless.
‘We’re going to make a start on clearing out the attic rooms tonight,’ Mum says in her best cheery voice.
‘Thank you.’ I sound pathetic.
‘You go on in, I’ve made a plate of sandwiches, they’re under the glass dome, go and help yourself,’ Mum says to me before turning to Cat. ‘Are you staying for lunch, Cat?’
‘No, thanks. Stuff to do,’ she says, hauling the last of the bags out. ‘And I want these bags back, please,’ she says to me.
I nod my agreement.
This is what my life has come to and all contained in half a dozen old, crumpled IKEA bags.
‘Yes, they’re so useful,’ Mum says, cheery voice again.
‘Yep, you can pack your whole life into them,’ I say as I head back indoors.
Grimmy, who has already had her lunch because it’s well past noon, is dozing in her chair in her corner of the kitchen. I’m careful not to wake her by clattering a plate out of the cupboard or lifting the glass dome. I don’t really want to face any of her opinions or questions. I take my plate and a glass of water – two journeys of course – to the far end of the room and slump down on the sofa.
As I munch through the sandwich, completely unaware of what it is or what it tastes like, I start to make a mental list of all the things I must do. And soon, before Leeward thinks of them. Number one: finance. I need to separate my money from his, not that I have much, but I certainly won’t be paying any more of his household bills.
‘Cake and a coffee to follow?’ Mum asks when she comes in and sees that I’ve finished; she washes her hands as she speaks.
‘Yes, please.’ I pick up my phone and pull up my banking app. It’s astonishing how quickly I am able to cancel so many direct debits. I must remember to email the utility companies and tell them Leeward is now going to pay those bills. Other than our joint savings account, now empty bar £7.63, we do not share a bank account. I pay for gas, electric, water and council tax; we share the food bills, taking it in turns to pay. I sometimes think I pay more than him because it’s me who will stop by at the supermarket and pick up things midweek.
Leeward pays the mortgage, I have no idea how much that is, but I do know that he struggled to pay it before I moved in – he’d even had a lodger for a while, but that didn’t work out because the lodger was too messy and stole Leeward’s food from the fridge. But that was ten years ago, so surely the mortgage payment isn’t big now, compared to his salary, I mean. The house is just a three-bed semi, though I suppose it is in a fairly expensive area. I’ve no idea what it’s worth, I add discovering house value to my mental to do list. He also pays the house insurance; he’s pointed out on many occasions that he pays the bills that keep a roof over our heads. I usually counter than I pay the bills that keep us warm and watered. I used to think it was playful banter.
‘Oh, just remembered…’ Mum trots off to the utility room and returns with a giant bouquet of flowers. ‘These came for you.’
I get up and extract the card from the flowers.
‘Aren’t they lovely?’ Mum says. ‘Do you want me to put them in a vase?’
‘Yes. Please.’
I’m shaking as I fumble to get the tiny envelope open. Has Leeward changed his mind? Has he come to his senses? Is he about to apologise, beg my forgiveness, beg me to come back?
Am I mad? He’s gone off on my honeymoon with his mistress.
When I finally get the card free it drops to the floor, face up. I don’t even need to bend over to retrieve it, I can read it from standing up.
I’m so sorry. I had no idea what he was doing. I am here for you. Ken xx
Kenton. What the hell is he playing at? Of course, he sent this before this morning’s little altercation.
I pick the card up and drop it and its envelope in the bin.
‘Who are they from?’ Mum asks.
‘Kenton.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’
I slope off back to my sofa and sit down, pick up my phone so that I can start emailing the utilities but before I’ve even clicked into my email a message pops up from Kenton.
L, I hope we’re still okay after this morning’s clash, K. xx
I really cannot reply to that. He’s my enemy’s brother, of course we’re not okay. Another message pops up.
Please don’t think bad of me. I had no idea they were going together til I turned up. I thought you might have made up. I thought you might be going. xx
That’s a big fat lie, even if he didn’t know she was going he could be pretty damn sure that I wasn’t. I don’t reply.
I’ve told Leeward what a damn idiot he is. I hope you and I can still be friends. K, xx
Thanks for the flowers, I reply. As far as I’m concerned that’s an end to our messaging, I’m not answering his other points, why should I? But Kenton isn’t put off and I can see he is already typing his reply.
L, Obvs I know they can’t make up for what happened but I hope they cheer you up just a little bit. K xx
He’s still online and no doubt waiting for my reply. I’ve said thank you, I’ve been polite. That’s it. I switch my phone off and take a big bite out of my cake.
∞∞∞
the next morning I’ve informed all the utility companies that Leeward is now the bill payer and I’ve transferred the pathetic £7.63 from our joint savings account into my current account. Mum and Dad have made a valiant start on the attic rooms and are asking me what colour I want them painting.
Oh. My. God. I’m moving back in with my parents on – what appears to be – a permanent basis.
I’ve emailed my boss at the nursing home, not that I needed to tell her about the wedding fiasco – she witnessed it for herself, but I do have to inform her about my wrist and that I won’t be back for a while. She’s very sympathetic and, I think, secretly relieved that I only work part-time now. She tells me not to worry, all I need is a doctor’s certificate and I’ll be able to reclaim my holiday back too. Not that I know what I’m going to do with all my free time.
I’m going to have to beg and grovel to get a full-time job there, but I can hardly do that at the moment. I suppose I can always leave. I don’t want to. I love working there, I love most of the residents. Some of them have been there for years; they’re like a second family to me.
I don’t want any more change in my life.
I’ve had no more messages from Kenton, which is a relief; at least he’s had the good sense to let it be.
‘Good morning,’ Grimmy says as I enter the room; she’s in her usual corner and her teeth are on display which means she’s smiling and not being snidey.
‘Morning.’ I feel I should go over and kiss her cheek but she’s not that sort of granny, well great-granny and I can’t bear her flinching every day. I stuff a couple of slices of wholemeal in the toaster.
‘Your dad’s at work and your mum’s popped out for some bread. Someone’s eaten all the white.’ There’s a toss of her head and a slight roll of her eyes. I feel she’s accusing me.
‘Don’t look at me, I hate the stuff.’
Grimmy doesn’t respond to my statement but instead changes course. ‘Heard from Gollum yet?’
‘No. And I don’t expect to.’ Which, of course, isn’t true. ‘And please don’t call him that.’
‘
Speak as I find.’ She shrugs as though that makes it all right.
‘Well don’t, it’s mean.’ I can’t quite believe I’m talking to her like this. We’ve always pussy-footed around Grimmy, well, to her face anyway, apart from the Grimmy thing, which she obviously doesn’t notice.
‘That’s better,’ she says, grinning. ‘That’s the spirit we want to see. You’re going to need it with Gollum.’
I shake my head and shudder. Having clumsily buttered my toast, I slope off to the sofa, as far away from Grimmy as the room allows.
Mum bursts in carrying her shopping.
‘Morning, Lauren.’ She gives me a big smile, it’s simultaneously cheery and sad; she’s feeling my pain. ‘I’ve got your bread, Grimmy. You don’t need to fret about your lunch now.’
Lunch? I check my phone; it’s 11.30am. I hadn’t realised I’d slept in, mainly because I didn’t think I’d slept at all.
I finish my toast, grab myself a drink, tell Mum I don’t need any lunch and slope back off upstairs. I suppose I should shower and get dressed, but it’s such a trial with the cast, trying to keep it dry, trying to wash myself with only one hand. And my hair, oh what a mess, it really needs sorting out.
I message Paula, see when she can pop round and help me. I could ask Mum but I need these extensions sorting out and I need a proper hairdresser. The extensions that haven’t fallen out are pulling on my scalp, or at least, that’s what it feels like. She comes back straight away and says she can come this afternoon.
I go into Facebook, something I’ve resisted doing since the vile video incident. Lots of people have posted on my timeline, most offering me sympathy, though, inevitably there are a few nasty messages from stranger trolls. I don’t care, it makes no difference. I consider deactivating my account, but not before I go onto Leeward’s. I imagine him posting pictures of New Zealand, of her, of them together. I feel sick at the thought.
Fortunately for us all, he’s deactivated his account. Probably couldn’t take the abuse even though he bloody well deserves it.
I give serious thought to having a shower before slumping back against my pillows and closing my eyes. I’m not asleep of course.
I wonder what Leeward’s doing now, with her? It’ll be the middle of the night, they’re probably in bed. Him and her. I’ve gone over and over this in my mind and what I don’t understand is, if he wanted to be with her why was he marrying me? It makes no sense. How long has it gone on, their sordid little affair, because that’s what it is – he was engaged to me. Even though he never gave me a ring – because it would be nice to have diamond wedding rings instead, he said – he still asked me to marry him. We were having the wedding of his choice, not mine. It was what he wanted; he was so enthusiastic about our wedding. So why was he with her? Why was he staying with me if he wanted her? I don’t understand. I just don’t and this is what kept me awake half the night.
Have they gone to Hobbitland, or Hobbiton, as Leeward always corrects me? I torment myself by clicking on the Hobbiton website; I know it’s only a film set, and I know I wasn’t that interested in the films but now I really want to visit Hobbiton. It looks so cute.
I wanted to see New Zealand.
I wanted to go on honeymoon.
I wanted to marry Leeward.
It’s all my fault, I should have gone ahead with it and sorted it out later. I’ve probably pushed him into Alfie’s arms. He was going to finish with her once we were married, I’m sure of it. She was chasing him, pursuing him, it was all her. Just a stupid dalliance that we could have recovered from. Or maybe it was all her, a fantasy on her part, all one sided.
Is it too late?
Could we still get back together?
Am I mad? Those texts were not one sided. Far from it. He was as complicit in their affair as she was.
I hope he’s okay.
I pull him up on WhatsApp and type, L, Hope you’re okay. xxx L
I delete it before I can send it. Then retype and press send without giving myself time to chicken out. It’s not unreasonable to send such a message, is it? We’ve been together for ten years. I still care about him; I hope he still cares about me.
After a few minutes I check to see if he’s read it. He hasn’t. It’s the middle of the night.
I stumble into the bathroom and switch the shower on. I wrap an Asda bag around my cast – a cheap one, the type you’re not supposed to buy – and tuck it into the cast so that it doesn’t get wet. I hook my hair up and dodge the water once I’m in the shower. The sooner this hair is sorted out the better.
I check my phone when I get back from the bathroom; he’s read it, but he hasn’t replied. I sit and stare at my phone, he’s online but he’s not typing. Maybe he’s only just received it. Maybe she’s right there, looking over his shoulder so he can’t reply yet. Maybe he’s considering his reply.
He goes offline.
I wonder where he met her? At work? Was she a client? Did she pursue him, wear him down? I know he’s not to everyone’s taste but he has an allure that some women – me especially – find so attractive. He’s not good looking in the conventional sense, he’s certainly no match for his brother, Kenton. Oh, but, his eyes; his eyes are to die for, an unusual inky blue, they seem to burrow deep into your soul when he turns them on you. He has a wonky smile, not his teeth – they’re perfect, just his lips, the way they curl more on one side than the other. I love it. I know not everyone does. The first time I brought him home – one of those raucous Sunday teas with my whole family – I overheard Grimmy asking Dad if Leeward had had a stroke. She’s a scream, is Grimmy. Not.
I’ve always liked his body, it was as though everything was packed in tightly, because he wasn’t as tall as his brothers. As though all the maleness was somehow condensed making him more masculine than most men. Now, after so many months at the gym, that’s even more the case.
Maybe that’s where he met her.
∞∞∞
‘Paula’s here,’ Mum calls just as I’ve struggled my way into leggings and a t-shirt. Just pulling them up one-handed is a trial; ditto for knickers too. I haven’t bothered with a bra; I’m so skinny that I’ve hardly got any breasts anyway.
‘Oh, poor you,’ Paula says but doesn’t ask how it happened because she has, no doubt, seen the video like the rest of the world.
I plonk myself on the dining chair that Mum has set up by the patio doors overlooking the garden so that Paula can tackle my hair under Grimmy’s gimlet-eyed stare.
‘Do you really want me to take them all out?’ Paula asks after a few minutes of rooting around in my bird’s nest, lifting up the extensions and apologising whenever I wince.
‘I think so. I can’t really cope with them.’
‘Some of them are well secured. Why don’t I just take out the loose ones, the ones that will fall out anyway.’
I sigh. ‘I really can’t cope with them. They’re so heavy they’re making my head and neck ache.’
‘Normally they wouldn’t be removed so soon after they’ve been put in. The ones that are stuck well are so close to your scalp. I’m going to have to put keratin solution on and heat up the glue to get them out. I suggest we just remove the loose ones and let the others grow down a bit. Maybe I could give you shorter haircut, that would help with the weight.’
I think of my hair, its length now down to my waist, the platinum blond highlights, so many of them that I look blonde all over.
‘Shave my head,’ I command.
I hear Grimmy cackle.
‘I’m not doing that. It might seem like the solution now, but it really isn’t.’ She puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezes gently. ‘Listen, let me work on it. I promise it will be so much more manageable. Obviously with your wrist and everything, you haven’t even been able to undo your,’ she falters, ‘Wedding hair,’ she adds, evidently deciding to be brave. Or brutal.
‘Okay,’ I say, the fight going out of me. ‘Do whatever you think.’
∞∞∞
Three hours later, with the back ache from leaning over the bath so that Paula can wash my hair starting to subside, I study myself in the mirror. I have a short bob. It’s still very blonde and it’s still far thicker than my normal hair due to half the extensions still being in place, but I have to admit it’s a stunning transformation and a vast improvement.
‘That should be a lot easier for you to manage,’ Paula says, starting to pack away her stuff. ‘What do you want to do with these?’ She holds up a handful of long, blonde hair extensions.
‘Bin ‘em.’
‘They’re real hair,’ Paula says. ‘Must have been expensive.’
‘They were.’ I smart at the memory of how much they cost and think of how Leeward pleaded with me to grow my hair and add extensions. ‘But I don’t want them.’ I watch Paula’s face as she weighs up how tactful it would be to ask for them. I save her the angst. ‘You take ‘em. You might be able to find a use for them.’ I smile as she stuffs them into her bag.
Grimmy, who I thought had dozed off in her chair suddenly speaks. ‘I’ll pay for your work, Paula,’ she says.
‘No, Grimmy, you can’t.’
‘It’s in lieu of a wedding present.’ She fixes me with her stare, daring me to argue. ‘Rather give it to you than him.’
‘Okay. Thank you,’ I mutter. ‘Much appreciated,’ I say as Grimmy rustles around in her handbag for her purse.
‘When do you get a proper cast on?’ Paula asks once she’s been paid.
‘When the swelling goes down. A week if I’m lucky, but probably nearer two.’
‘It’ll be better though, then. So much lighter. My gran had a purple one when she broke her wrist.’ Paula smiles, I don’t because hearing about her gran’s cast doesn’t make me feel any happier.
After she’s gone, I go and lie down on the bed, fall asleep surprisingly quickly and only wake when Dad knocks on the door to show me the paint he’s bought for the attic rooms.
‘Pale blue,’ he says, smiling. ‘I hope that’s okay, since you said for us to choose.’