by Dawn Goodwin
I sighed as I thought about my immaculate living space, all clean lines and white walls. Granted, I had insufficient enthusiasm to do anything other than clean and tidy, but part of me knew that Tom was proud of our home and its orderly, clinical arrangements. Yet another part of me yearned for a life less ordinary, where I could disappear and pretend none of it mattered, where I could feel the blood circulating through my veins again.
My daydreaming wasn’t lost on Scarlet. ‘Of course, I’m not knocking this place. I wish I didn’t keep walking into things and stubbing my toe on the clutter. And sometimes a whizz around with a duster wouldn’t go amiss.’ She paused, then smiled at me. ‘You know what we are?’
‘What?’ I said, staring into my glass at the melting ice and suspended lime segments.
‘We are two halves of a whole, you and me. We complement each other, and I’m glad I stumbled across you.’ She grabbed hold of my hand and patted it maternally. ‘You complete me,’ she said gravely, dropped my hand, and held her fingers up in the shape of a heart, with a yearning expression on her face worthy of a lovesick teenager. For a second, I felt extreme sadness at that: Tom should be my other half, the man I chose to have a family with, not this ditsy woman I had only met a few weeks ago. Then the earnest look on her face made me laugh and I knocked her hands away playfully.
‘Oh, stop,’ I laughed. She had also inadvertently pointed out that life on someone else’s side of the fence isn’t always better. She may have had the adventures and the thrills while I played happy families, but I had memories too: my beautifully clichéd wedding straight out of a magazine feature; a stunning honeymoon in Mauritius; Grace as a baby and chubby toddler; her first anxious day at school…
‘You’re right, let’s go out tonight,’ I said suddenly.
You would’ve thought I had given her the moon wrapped in Christmas paper.
*
We stood in front of my wardrobe, contemplating the layers of colour. My initial choice of dark blue blouse and black trousers had immediately been dismissed by Scarlet.
‘How long has it been since you went out, for God’s sake? You’re forty, not ninety!’
‘So what would you suggest?’
‘Okay, let’s have a look.’ She started to rummage through the dresses, skirts and trousers hanging abandoned in the wardrobe. The further along the rail she went, the older and less worn the garments became, some of them hanging like museum artefacts. I could count on one hand the outfits I still wore. Scarlet looked like she was trying to find the door to Narnia, head and shoulders buried deep in the textured fabric. I perched on the bed waiting, pulling the edges of my robe close, my hair, still wet from the shower, dripping down my back. Eventually, she pulled out a skater-style blue dress that I don’t think I had ever worn. ‘This one.’
‘Really? Okay…’
‘Yes, try it on, let’s see.’
I hesitated, then shrugged the gown from my shoulders and took the dress from her, goosebumps leaving a Braille trail across my skin. I pulled the dress over my head. The light fabric fell to just above my knees and I turned, arms outstretched, presenting myself for appraisal.
She turned her head this way and that, then pronounced, ‘Perfect.’
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, then I diverted my gaze. ‘I’ll need a cardigan. It’s getting chilly in the evenings.’
She rolled her eyes at me. ‘There you go again, granny. Right, hair next.’ Scarlet took hold of my shoulders and directed me to the stool in front of my dressing table, the top of which was covered in potions, perfumes and all manner of witchcraft to fool the eyes into believing I was more than the mask.
We were unusually silent as she fussed, dried, straightened and sprayed my hair into obedience. I watched submissively as her hands worked, then closed my eyes and allowed her to apply a layer of make-up.
When I opened my eyes, I looked like a younger, brighter version of myself, but inside I knew the shadow still lurked behind the fakery.
‘There, what do you think?’ Scarlet stood back proudly.
‘I like it. Very… subtle.’
‘You sound surprised. There’s no point painting you like a Barbie doll if it means you’ll feel uncomfortable all night. I wanna have fun, not watch you squirm. Let’s go.’
Scarlet didn’t need to change her outfit. She always wore clothes that traversed boundaries and occasions.
All I had to do now was grab some appropriate shoes and… Then I realised I hadn’t told Tom about going out.
‘What should I tell Tom?’
‘That you’re going out! He’ll probably be pleased to hear it. Give him a ring and tell him you’ve been invited for a drink with a friend. That’s all you need to say. He doesn’t need details.’
‘True.’ I looked down at my hands, suddenly nervous.
Scarlet was rummaging in my cupboard again and emerged with a pair of grey suede heels with cute little red bows that I hadn’t worn in well over a year.
‘Put these on.’
I did what I was told, then stumbled out of the room to navigate the stairs.
On the landing, I stood for a moment trying to find the words to say to my husband. I pressed his number in my favourites list and listened to it ring. Hearing his voice, I was about to speak when I realised it was his voicemail message. I was relieved. I left him a rambling message about meeting a friend for a drink and not to worry as I may be home late.
That chore tackled, I descended the stairs on wobbly, out-of-practice feet, grabbed my handbag, then changed my mind and rummaged in the wicker basket by the door that housed any number of hats, scarves, gloves and random accessories that may be needed for excursions. My hand closed on a bright red glove with a Hello Kitty motif. I prickled, then tossed it back into the mix before grabbing a small, blue clutch bag that was hiding in the corner of the basket. I tossed a few necessities into it and followed Scarlet out of the door before I could change my mind.
*
It turned out to be more fun than I had anticipated. After some alcoholically induced persuasion, we hit the dance floor, and my initial self-consciousness when I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands and was convinced everyone was watching me soon dissolved as I followed Scarlet’s lead. She immediately unleashed herself, thrusting her hips and rolling her arms around her head like she was shadow-boxing. I couldn’t help but laugh at her uninhibited movements and felt myself loosen up as I copied her less frenetically.
I twirled and twisted across the floor, feeling myself getting lighter with every song. The wine flowed steadily until the dancing became more expressionist and I remember angering a few of the others on the dance floor as I got more animated in my moves. My self-alarm started ringing when I staggered and fell during a particular move that resembled the ‘running man’ and ended flat on my back on the floor. Someone helped me up, I’m not sure who, and I had the good grace to be embarrassed enough to tell Scarlet that it was time to go.
My memory dips in and out after the cold air hit our faces, but I do remember us deciding to walk home rather than getting a cab, and me removing my shoes and walking barefoot as they were pinching after all the activity on the dance floor.
*
My first thought the next morning was how hot my cheeks felt. Without opening my eyes, I lifted my head to turn my pillow over and felt the heavy weight of my brain as it throbbed inside my skull. The cold pillow against my cheek brought welcome relief. I opened my eyes to slits, letting my pupils adjust to the dim light.
Pulling myself upright, I swung my legs out from under the duvet and sat for a moment, feeling my head lurch and sway as the cheap wine from last night made itself known. I looked across at the alarm clock and saw it was still early. I propelled myself to my feet and grabbed my gown from the floor next to the bed. Shrugging it on, I headed downstairs. It wasn’t the worst hangover I’d ever had. I could cope.
I noticed one of my shoes lying under the hall table and that brought bac
k memories of the frenetic dancing. I shook my head at myself, which only served to heighten the banging against my skull.
Tom was sitting in the kitchen, a newspaper in hand and a cup of coffee at his elbow. His tie was draped around his neck, unknotted as yet, and his feet, clad only in socks, gave him an air of vulnerability. He looked up as I came in.
‘Morning. Good night?’
I avoided his gaze and headed to the cupboard to find a mug. ‘Yes, thanks. Just out with my friend, Scarlet.’ I busied myself with putting a teabag in the cup, flicking the switch on the kettle, listening to the water roil and bubble.
‘I’m glad – that you’re getting out again, meeting people…’ His voice trailed off. ‘Maybe… you and I should go out sometime, have dinner together like we used to?’
The click of the kettle punctuated the silence that greeted his request.
‘Right, well…’ His chair scraped back as he got to his feet, folded the newspaper and carried his mug over to the dishwasher. ‘I better be off. Oh, I’m seeing Gerald Osbourne later.’ I knew I was supposed to recognise the name, but it eluded me in my morning-after fog. ‘He used to be so lovely to Grace,’ Tom continued, not noticing. ‘Remember when she had that imaginary friend for a while and he used to talk to her as though it was all real? What did Grace call her, Ruby or something…?’ He smiled sadly. ‘Anyway, I’ll tell him you were asking after him?’
I could feel his eyes on my neck. ‘Um, yes please.’
He walked past me into the hall to find his shoes and I let out a breath that I didn’t realise I was holding.
Tom came back into the kitchen as I was pulling the milk bottle from the fridge, my mind still preoccupied with the elusive Gerald Osbourne. I didn’t notice he was right behind me until I had closed the fridge door and turned around.
‘I’ll see you later?’ He leant towards me to give me a kiss.
I instinctively recoiled and stiffened. My grip faltered on the bottle of milk. It thudded to the tiles and milk started to seep through the cracked plastic. I looked down at it, then back at Tom, who had stepped back and was looking at me achingly.
‘You frightened me, sorry,’ I mumbled, then crouched down to salvage what milk was left in the bottle.
‘Bye.’ This time he didn’t try for the kiss but left without another glance, his eyes saddened.
I wiped up the spill and decanted the leftover milk into a jug. As I crouched on the floor, my attention consumed with the order of cleaning, it came to me who Gerald Osbourne was: the elderly gentleman who had lived at the far end of our road. Well into his eighties, we used to say hello to him when he was out and about running errands. He would always stop to talk to Grace.
I sat on the cold tiles, my back against the fridge, feeling numb as I remembered one such encounter when he had bought Grace an extra gingerbread man for her ‘friend’, Ruby, when he saw us in the bakery one day. She had been delighted.
*
‘Who are you talking to, Princess?’
‘Ruby.’
I peered around her bedroom door and watched her laying out the cups and saucers on the brightly coloured rug, all the while chatting quietly to someone I couldn’t see.
‘Can I join the tea party?’
‘Of course you can. Ruby doesn’t mind.’
I left the pile of clean laundry on her bed and sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the place settings. Ruby was a new fixture in our lives. Grace had gone to play at Tabitha’s the week before when I had to go to a PTA function and had come back in tears because Tabitha had pinched her hard on the arm for telling Felicity she was happy with pasta for dinner; Tabitha had wanted pizza. That evening, Ruby had made her first appearance, sharing Grace’s bath.
I decided to go along with it and hope that she would grow out of it. I also chose not to mention Tabitha’s bullying to Felicity, knowing full well that she would defend her daughter unquestionably and find a way to blame Grace for what had happened. Things were tense between her and Ian again and I didn’t want to aggravate her mood. Besides, these things usually worked themselves out.
‘Did Ruby like her gingerbread man? It was very kind of Gerald to buy it for her.’
‘Yes, she thought it was delicious, thank you.’ She busied herself with the tiny cups.
‘Does Ruby like Tabitha?’
Grace looked up cheekily. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’
I turned slightly to my right, feeling a little ridiculous. ‘Ruby, what do you think of Grace’s friend Tabitha? Do you like her?’
Grace giggled behind her hand and my heart puffed with joy.
‘Mummy, she’s on your left, silly.’
‘Oh, pardon me, I didn’t put my special Ruby glasses on this morning.’ I turned to my left and repeated the question.
Grace paused for a moment, her young brow lined in concern, then said, ‘Ruby doesn’t like Tabitha at all. She says she’s mean and always trying to hurt me, but only when she knows no one will see.’
She handed me a tiny china cup, which I accepted with a nod and drank from with an elevated little finger, as though the Queen of Hearts was sharing the table with me.
I lowered the cup. ‘Do you think I should speak to Tabitha’s mummy about it?’
Again, her brow furrowed. ‘Maybe not. Tabitha will just get crosser.’ She paused, thoughtful. ‘This tea party is missing something… I know! More of Gerald’s gingerbread men.’
I laughed. ‘Perhaps we should go and get some then.’
*
I never did mention the bullying to Felicity. Too late now.
Felicity
Felicity rushed from the house, keys in hand, phone thrust into her back pocket. They were late as usual. Tabitha had insisted on a special hairstyle for school that ended up taking much longer than necessary until she was happy with the way it looked. Her teenage years were going to be hell.
As Felicity rushed down the road, cajoling Tabitha the whole way, she spotted Zara, who looked like she was having a similar morning, if not worse. She debated acknowledging her, then raised her hand in a slight wave.
Zara waved back. She was surrounded by her masses of children and it looked like all four had been giving it large all morning. As they approached Felicity, she could hear the youngest, Jacob, singing the Peppa Pig theme tune from his seat in a battered, well-used Maclaren buggy while five-year-old Lucy dragged her feet and sloped along sulkily, wailing as she went, ‘Why, Mummy? It’s not fair!’
‘Because you aren’t allowed toys at school. I’ve explained to you that Mrs Watson doesn’t allow it. Besides, what about some of the children in your class who can’t afford to have toys like that? Surely it will just make them feel sad?’ Felicity heard Zara reason in a tight voice.
‘Why is “no” never a suitable answer any more?’ Zara complained as she drew alongside Felicity and Tabitha. ‘Hi Tabitha.’
Tabitha ignored her. She was intent on staring at the screen of her new smartphone, something she had pestered Felicity for until she gave in.
‘But I would let them play with it,’ Lucy pushed.
‘Kids, look, it’s Aunty Felicity. Say hello.’
‘Hi Aunty Felicity,’ came the sing-song reply.
Felicity shuddered internally.
Zara’s two older boys, twins Cyrus and Lucas, who were in the same school year as Tabitha, shot off ahead on their scooters, having started an impromptu race. Ahead of them Felicity noticed the taillights of a car appear from a driveway. She considered this for a moment, then heard Zara screech, ‘STOP!’ Felicity couldn’t help but be impressed as both boys stopped abruptly and turned to look back at her, feigned innocence on their faces.
Zara grabbed hold of Lucy’s hand and marched her none too gently towards the boys. The car backed out of the driveway and drove off, taking the danger with it, and she could hear Zara berating the boys for their lack of care.
‘What have I told you about racing on those things? Neither of you saw that ca
r, did you?’ Two sets of identical eyes gazed up at her, before they scooted off again at a slightly slower pace.
Zara sighed and rolled her eyes as Felicity caught up to her, with Tabitha still trailing behind.
‘God, I sound like a screeching fishwife today.’
Jacob continued to sing tunelessly and Felicity desperately wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up.
‘Thank goodness they’ll all be in someone else’s care in a few minutes,’ Zara continued. ‘Then maybe I can have some peace and quiet. I’m shattered as it is – both Jacob and Lucy kept me awake last night. It was like Chinese torture, the two of them playing tag team as they came in and out complaining of nightmares, tummy aches, spiders, you name it. Of course, bloody Will was blissfully unaware and slept right through. Okay, so he does have an important meeting today, but still…’
Felicity was only half listening.
As they neared the school gates, the bell rang. Zara headed off to the scooter racks to hurry the twins up, calling over her shoulder for Felicity to keep an eye on Lucy and Jacob. Ever the reluctant babysitter, Felicity hoped she wouldn’t be long. Meanwhile, Tabitha had sloped off without even a goodbye, her eyes still glued to the phone.
‘Bye darling!’ she called, but Tabitha didn’t acknowledge her. She turned to see that Lucy was trying to free Jacob from his pushchair. Felicity looked back at Zara who was wrestling with the lock on one of the scooters. If Jacob was allowed to escape, she knew he would be off like lightning.
‘Lucy…’ But before she could say anything more, Zara was back.