by Tara Ford
“She thought I was drunk or had been drinking.”
“And had you?”
“No... Well, not during the day anyway,” he snapped back, avoiding eye contact with me.
“When then?” I snarled, unable to stop the frustration building inside me again.
Getting up, Grant started to pace up and down at the foot of the bed.
“Well?”
“I went out last night, had a few drinks, but I was not drunk this morning like your bloody mother thinks.” The tone in his voice suggested that he too was frustrated as he stopped abruptly and leant over, placing his broad, strong hands on the bedspread. “Alex, I don’t want us to argue, can we just forget about it?”
“Yes, but I just want to know where you went last night and who with,” I asked in a calm voice. Grant wasn’t the type to go out on his own or sit in a pub for long periods without getting bored, whoever he was with. I found it very peculiar that he’d gone out at all and would have believed it more if he had sat indoors and got blind drunk.
“On my own. I left here and went straight to the pub on the way home.” Grant looked pensive as he plopped down on the edge of the bed, despite the constant requests from nurses not to.
“How many did you have? What about driving the car?” I asked, as I scarily began to resemble my mother.
“I had too many, so I left the car there and got a taxi home. I picked it up this morning before I went to your parents’. Can we forget about this now?” Grant shuffled uncomfortably and examined his shoes intently, as if there was something really interesting about them.
“Okay Grant. Are you all right though, you seem a bit edgy?” I pushed for a reaction, not sure which one I might get.
“Yes I’m fine for goodness’ sake, just tired and achy.” Returning his attention to his captivating feet, Grant twisted the right one from left to right, inspecting the stitching of his shoe as he chewed his bottom lip.
After another half an hour of hesitant conversation, fleeting glances and awkward silences, I couldn’t bear it anymore. “Okay, I know something is wrong Grant, I can tell by the way you are acting. What is it?”
He froze, staring wide-eyed like a deer in the headlight of a car. The last ‘let’s avoid the issue’ evening, two nights ago, had been easily masked by Emma’s thumb job, but tonight there was no escape and nothing to hide behind. I knew Grant too well, and I could read him like a book.
“Nothing, everything is all right. Well, apart from your mum,” he huffed.
“No, there’s something else, isn’t there?” I clutched at straws, led by my intuition. “Come on, tell me. You’re not happy Grant, I can see it. Have you burnt the whole bloody house down this time?”
“No, of course not! I’m okay, it’s just that I didn’t get home until about two o’clock and I just know that the old hag over the road will have something to say about it and I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he replied, looking somewhat relieved.
A flush of heat ripped through me – there was more to this. Under the pressure of interrogation, Grant was usually easily broken down and I always found out what he was thinking or doing.
I dreaded the thought that I might be considered the top dog in the Frey federation, giving innocent victims the third degree. However, it had always worked fantastically with the kids too. I didn’t want to be classed as the sergeant major of the household but I had to be on top of everything and in control.
Rightly or wrongly, that is how I am.
But Grant was adamant that there was nothing dodgy going on. He was adamant that the previous evening had been above board and he’d ended up joining a lock-in party with a few other guys when the pub closed. Adamantly, he stretched to telling me that I was getting paranoid and it was probably because I was cooped up in the hospital, and adamantly, I knew it was bullshit!
As visiting hours came to an end, Grant leant over to kiss my cheek goodbye. The air between us was like static electricity, not from a burning passion but rather more like a raging bull, charging and ready to obliterate the holding gate. Unspoken words hung in the atmosphere as he turned to leave. He knew that I knew something was amiss.
“I’ll call in the morning to see whether you are coming home babe. I’m not working this week, decided to take the whole week off. I’ll come and pick you up when you’re freed.” He smiled as he turned and headed for the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then. I’m praying I’ll be able to go home so I can sort out the mess.” Shooting a sideways glance at him, I managed a half-smile from the corner of my mouth. “Bye Grant.” A Mexican wave of my fingers, and he was gone.
The hours crept by slowly during the rest of the evening, and all through the night my mind played cruel tricks with me, flashing images of other women, disturbing any chances of sleep. Deciding that I would have to confront Grant with accusations of infidelity tomorrow, however ridiculous it seemed, I turned over, closed my eyes and relived the day from an imaginary bird’s eye point of view as I watched my mum fall into the lake at Gilbert’s Park with an almighty splash and a horrific howl. Paranoia was always at the fore of every thought.
Grant
Turning into the drive, Grant pulled on the handbrake and wearily climbed out of his sleek, silver statement of pride. The last few days had stripped him of any egotism, which some would say wasn’t a bad thing at all. Not the boastful or gloating type, Grant did however manage to annoy some people with his aura of success, pride and arrogant self-confidence. However, this was all very superficial and underneath the façade was a shy, insecure man.
Something had bothered him all day. Unable to pinpoint the exact cause of his worry, Grant had blundered his way through the day from hangover morning through accused afternoon and into convicted evening. There hadn’t been a moment of clarity in the tight agenda of the day for him to unravel his subconscious mind and decipher the coded messages being sent to him via a series of dulled brainwaves. But something was amiss apart from all the mishap he already knew about.
Approaching the heavy front door, he froze on the step as the sound of cackling laughter resonated through the letterbox. He knew that laugh.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Stumbling through the door, Grant’s eyes darted around the room, staring at the uninvited guest and her audience.
“You’re not going to like this, Grant – Dot called me and asked me to get here as quickly as possible.” Josie grinned. “I’ve been here about half an hour. The way that Dot explained things, I half expected to see you all living in the shed at the bottom of the garden, like homeless gnomes,” Josie chortled nervously, knowing that her brother was not going to be pleased about any of this. “I tried to call your mobile and I sent several text messages, but it turns out you’ve lost your phone.”
That’s it – that’s what has been bothering me all day. How does she know I’ve lost my phone? Anyway, I didn’t lose it – I left it!
“How do you know I’ve lost my phone?” asked Grant as he began to pace the living room.
“A woman phoned up Dad. She found your phone and she’s bringing it round tonight,” Aaron hooted from his perch on the armchair next to Emma.
Full of dread, Grant tried to hide his guilt and the fear of exposure. “What woman?” he asked, attempting to sound innocent.
“Dunno, she said she found it at a pub last night,” replied Aaron vaguely.
“You look so stressed out Grant. Shall I make you a cup of tea or do you want something a bit stronger?” asked Josie as she plodded out to the charred kitchen.
“Tea will be fine, thanks,” Grant called after her. Turning back to Aaron, he spoke calmly. “What time did this woman say she was coming round? You obviously gave her our address.”
“I don’t know, Dad. She asked if you were in and said she’d call round with it later. That’s all she said.”
Aaron was becoming anxious but then he began to feel angry too. “I bet it will be in a better state t
han mine was when I found it yesterday.” A brave streak of sarcasm shot from Aaron’s mouth before he could stop it. Deciding it was time to exit the living room, he stomped past Jack and Joe, who were trying to watch a film, and went up to his room. He too was feeling the pressure and sensing his dad’s erratic mood swings. He too was missing his mum being at home, sorting everything and everyone out. He too was missing his phone.
Tutting as Aaron left the room Grant felt flushed and attempted to pull himself together. Wandering through to the kitchen with hands in pockets, he found Josie busying herself in her usual jovial way. “So what did Dot say?”
“Oh, you made me jump,” Josie giggled. “Grant, don’t get upset about it. You know what she can be like. She exaggerated on the phone but I thought I’d better come and make sure you were all okay. I wouldn’t have heard the last of it if I hadn’t come over.” She shrugged.
“Yeah I know,” Grant sighed. “I wasn’t surprised to see you. I wish she would get off my bloody case though.” Wiping a trail of sooty water off the swing bin, he continued. “As for that bloody Evelyn, she needs to drop dead!”
“Grant! That’s a bit mean.”
“You don’t know them like I do, Jose. I can’t do anything right in their glaring, grey eyes. They put me on edge, and then I make stupid mistakes which make me look even worse. I know they watch me like a pair of stalking, walkie-talkie prunes.”
“Calm down, you’ll give yourself a hernia. Here’s your tea. Let’s sit down and you can tell me what has been going on and how Alex is doing and then you can decide whether you want me to stay or go.”
Josie’s soothing voice mellowed Grant’s frazzled nerves.
“I can see that you haven’t burnt the whole house down. You don’t look like you’ve turned into a heavy drinker. It’s not your fault that Em hurt her thumb and I can see it wasn’t almost amputated as you slipped up in gel-soap and grabbed her in order to selfishly rescue yourself. It’s not your fault that Alex is so poorly. She is a law unto herself and ‘delegation’ is not a word in her vocabulary so it’s not your fault that she works too hard. I can see that the ‘poor young children’ are not at risk of neglect, starvation and even possible death if you get so drunk that you do actually burn down the whole house, while selfishly making toast.
I’m afraid it’s just your mother-in-law overreacting as usual, although it probably didn’t help when you deliberately threw her in the lake today and tried to drown her – and on local TV too!” Josie had done it again. Her booming voice filtered through to the living room where everyone (apart from Aaron who had gone to sulk in his room) overheard her imitation of their grandmother and the whole household (apart from Aaron) roared with laughter (but not loud enough for the Black Widow across the road to hear).
“Dad, there’s a lady at the door,” Emma screeched.
Almost spurting tea from his mouth, Grant put down the cup and hurried through to the front door, pushing Emma aside as he met with the chilly night air seeping into the porch. Clandestinely closing the inner door behind him, Grant stepped out onto the drive and pulled the front door to.
“Hi, I’m so sorry... er, thank you for bringing my phone back,” he whispered shyly, avoiding eye contact with Rachel.
Her outstretched hand beckoned for him to take his mobile from her, and the warm, heady scent of her perfume teased his senses as Grant tried to fight the compelling urge to feast his eyes on her and recall the steamy embrace of last night.
“You’re welcome. I’ve put my number in there,” she replied in a low, husky voice. “Give me a call sometime, Grant.” Turning around on her stiletto heels and flicking her long hair from her neck, Rachel sauntered away down the drive. Glancing back over her shoulder, knowing her admirer was transfixed, she smiled at Grant and winked a false-lashed eye at him before climbing into her twilight blue Mazda MX-5.
Feeling like Roger Rabbit, Grant was sure he had little bluebirds flying around his head, tweeting annoyingly as his Jessica Rabbit drove away. He knew he had to forget her and forget the primitive desire of lust that burnt deep inside him, before he became the victim and leading-role of the sequel, Who Framed Grant Frey Rabbit?
“Ah, you got your phone back.” Josie smiled at Grant as she plonked herself down on the floor next to Joe. “Do you know that woman?”
“No, no. I think I saw her in the pub last night. Can’t be sure,” replied Grant weakly, gripping his phone tightly and refusing to buckle under the niggling drops of culpability dampening his brow.
“Oh, very kind of her to bring it round then,” mumbled Josie.
“I think you’ll have to talk to Dot and get this mess sorted out before Alex gets home,” said Josie wisely.
“Yeah, I know. Alex may well come home tomorrow if the doctors okay it. She knows about the accident at the lake.”
“And it was an accident Grant, so I don’t know why you should be so worried about it. Dot’s always the same, isn’t she? She likes to make everything a crisis and sensationalise the facts. I shouldn’t worry too much about her.” She yawned.
“No, I’m not worried, I’ll sort it out with her in the morn—“ Grant stopped abruptly, a cold sweat seeping through his palms as his mobile phone alerted him to a new text message.
“Who’s that at this time of night?” Josie stretched and yawned again. “Hope it’s not Dot accusing you of any further crimes?”
Opening his inbox, Grant noted that it was from Rachel, and his eyes almost jumped out of their sockets as he remembered that she’d put her number in his directory. Gulping silently, he dared not open the message in case Josie saw it. “Oh, it’s just Jeff. He wants to know how Alex is,” he lied.
“Grant, I’m going to bed. I’ve made up the spare in the study. Let me know in the morning if you want me to stay or go. However I would like to see Alex before I go back.” She smiled, stood up and hobbled off to bed.
Nodding, Grant beamed back and mouthed a goodnight, while gripping his phone tightly.
As soon as Josie was out of sight and the kids had gone to their rooms to watch their own television programmes, Grant looked through his inbox and pressed open on the unread message.
Hi Sexy, can’t get you out of my head. Let’s get together again and have some real hot fun. xxx
Grant’s heart skipped a beat. His mouth watered. Blood pulsated through the beginnings of an erection. His head screamed – no, no, no! Licking his lips spontaneously, Grant snapped his phone shut like an alligator’s jaws.
Pacing the empty living room, he tossed thoughts and images around like tennis balls on a court. The pros and the cons bounced around as two batting opponents named ‘Yes’ (in the suspender stockings and black frilly underwear) and ‘No’ (in the conservative, smart, grey, calf-length skirt suit) battled it out on court number one.
Reaching into the drinks cabinet, Grant grabbed the Jack Daniels and a small can of coke. Surely a stiff drink would help clarify the winner of this sordid Wimbledon final?
And after just two JDs, the winner had been declared...
No matter how quickly he blinked, the frozen image remained imprinted on his eyelids. What had he done? Dragging himself out of bed, Grant dozily headed to the bathroom to check that the pornographic image could not be seen on the outside of his eyeballs. By the time he had splashed his numb face with cold water, the images were fading and the thump in his head was brightening. Too much JD and too much talking and too much—
Oh my God. Oh no!
Storming downstairs and out to the garden, Grant grabbed the cigarette packet from the sideboard, as he passed and hastily fumbled to release one from the silver foiled sleeve.
Bloody hell.
The cigarettes scattered across the patio and he grappled around on the floor to reach one, like a demented, starved dog.
Moments later, the calming suppressant lingered long enough to dull the multi-directional pains. Pain in his head. Pain in his heart. Pain in his groin. Pain in his toes. Pain in his
neck. Pain in his – everywhere. Pain, pain and extra pain.
Phone sex...
Somehow he had been led astray and sucked into the bizarre concept of self-indulgent masturbation with one hand, a roll of kitchen towel in the other, and all whilst balancing his mobile phone on his shoulder and holding it in place with his cheek. What a ridiculous, abstract, modern-day notion. The crick in his neck had far outweighed the pleasure of manual ejaculation. Burying his face into the palm of his hand, Grant shuddered, realising that he’d really got himself into a terrible mess now.
“Morning,” chirped Josie merrily. “Tea?”
Grant had momentarily forgotten that his younger sister had arrived last night, upon request from the new Social Services department, D.O.T. & Co. – namely Flipper, the local lake’s splashing dolphin, and her accomplice, Incy-wincy Black Widow spider, who spied from the top of any spout, come rain, snow, tornadoes or hurricanes.
A smirk briefly touched Grant’s face as he nodded a yes to Josie. He needed to get serious though, and sort all his mess out as quickly as possible. The pleasurable experience in his bedroom, very late last night, had not been worth the tormented guilt he now felt.
A buzzing excitement filled the house as everyone woke, had their laugh quota and breakfast (which consisted of a couple of jokes on buttered toast – there was nothing else left in the house to eat) expertly prepared and crafted by Josie. Then they all set about tidying each room under her strict orders... except for Grant.
He was showering, shaving and trimming all trimmable areas. He had one or two complications to deal with before he went to pick up Alex, and he prayed desperately that she would come home today, he needed her more than ever now.
“Grandma’s here!” Emma’s usual screech from the front door sent daggers shooting straight through Grant’s gut. Composing himself, he went indoors and thanked God. It could have been so much worse. It could have been Rachel and grandma.