Close to Me

by Amanda Reynolds

  He laughs, rocks back and forth on his barstool. ‘Yeah, I guessed as much. So much easier for you if I’m out the picture.’

  ‘Please, Thomas. I’m begging you.’

  ‘Begging? Oh this gets better and better.’ He laughs again, pushing his hair back from his face to reveal bloodshot eyes and grey skin. ‘What?’ he demands, making me jump again. I shake my head. ‘You think it’s that easy, Jo? That I’ll just disappear?’

  ‘I just thought—’

  ‘You thought you could come here and sort things out. Make everything perfect again for your perfect family in your fucking perfect house?’

  ‘I don’t know what you—’

  ‘Sash has told me what you’re like. Living in your own little bubble, pretending everything’s fine.’ He spits the words in my face, a single spot of spittle landing on my cheek. ‘Well I have news for you, Jo. It isn’t! It’s all fucked up, just like everyone else’s life.’

  ‘I was drunk. I was looking for Sash.’

  ‘Tell yourself that if you like,’ he says, smiling to himself.

  I stand up and walk towards the door, but Thomas shouts my name, the single syllable slicing through me. I pause, then decide to ignore him, the door slamming shut behind me.

  14

  Ten Days After The Fall

  The meal is almost ready; just reheated Bolognese sauce from the freezer, but it smells delicious, evocative of better times. I stir the sauce again, freeing it from the bottom of the pan, melancholic thoughts rising up with the steam as I drop dried spaghetti into the pan of boiling water: Could I really have been unfaithful? Risked my marriage?

  Rob should be home any minute now. He sounded weary when he called from the car, but I’m hoping he’s not too tired to talk, although what I might say to him is still hard to anticipate. I hear tyres on the gravel outside, the sound of a car door opening and closing. I glance at the table, topped with the candles I’d lit; force of habit perhaps. They’re almost burned away, their flames shooting shadows across the walls as Rob opens the door and calls out my name. I expect it’s the cold air rushing in that causes me to shiver, but I say nothing by way of reply, wrapping my cardigan across me as I walk towards the hall to meet him.

  ‘Hey, what’s all this?’ Rob asks, looking past me into the kitchen. ‘Special occasion?’

  ‘Just a meal,’ I tell him as I bend to pick up his overnight bag which he’s dropped on to the floor. ‘How was the conference?’

  ‘Leave that!’ he says, holding his hand out. ‘It’s heavy.’

  I pass the bag back to him, although it wasn’t heavy at all. He says he’ll just get changed before dinner, but then he stops, turns back and asks, ‘Have you remembered anything else while I’ve been away?’

  I shake my head and watch as he takes the stairs two at a time. ‘I’m fine, Rob,’ I say under my breath. ‘Thanks for asking.’

  Rob’s smiling when he returns, his work clothes replaced with a casual shirt and jeans. ‘This is nice,’ he says, picking up the bottle of red I’ve placed on the kitchen island with two glasses beside it. ‘Like old times.’

  ‘Is it?’ I ask, glancing over my shoulder. He smiles at me and I turn back to the food. ‘The sauce is almost ruined.’ I stir the bubbling liquid, which has dried out again. ‘Can you see to the wine?’

  ‘You shouldn’t drink alcohol with those strong painkillers,’ he says, pouring himself a large glass.

  ‘I’ve stopped taking them,’ I call across, steam engulfing me as I drain the pasta over the sink. ‘My head’s clear now; thanks for asking.’

  ‘That’s great news,’ he replies, filling my glass and taking them both to the table. ‘I was about to ask, sweetheart. Honestly.’

  He tells me how tired he is, what a nightmare the weekend was. How much he’s missed me. Worried about me all the time. I present him with his bowl of pasta and sit down opposite him, watching as he virtually inhales his food.

  ‘I’ve been using the time to work out why I might have lost my footing on the stairs,’ I say, twirling strands of spaghetti on my fork. Rob doesn’t reply; his mouth full, although he’s looking directly at me. ‘Was I carrying the washing down? Or looking back up at you? Or . . .’

  ‘No,’ he replies, taking a sip of his wine to help swallow down the food. ‘You were just walking ahead of me. Maybe . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think you were looking at the photos; perhaps that’s what distracted you.’

  I was looking at the photos and I tripped, missed a stair. It’s entirely plausible, except . . .

  ‘I thought we might have been arguing,’ I say.

  Rob shrugs, but he’s stopped eating, his fork mid-air. ‘Arguing about what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe the drop-in centre?’

  Rob drops his cutlery, a length of spaghetti spilling on to the place mat. He picks up the starchy strand and wipes at the crimson residue left behind, a dampened finger to the table before dropping the spaghetti back into his bowl.

  ‘Rose emailed me. Do you know who I mean?’ I demand. ‘She volunteers there.’ He looks away, still no reply. ‘And Sash did, met Thomas there I think. Quite the family affair.’ I raise my glass to him. ‘Because I did too. Did you know that?’ I feel belligerent now, on a collision course with the truth. ‘I was a regular volunteer, probably still would be if I’d known about it.’

  He looks straight at me. ‘Have you been back to the drop-in centre while I’ve been away?’

  I shake my head. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Rob?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important.’

  ‘Oh come on!’ I pick up my wine again and take a mouthful, waiting for him to react, to tell me he knows about Nick and me. To explain why he would so deliberately keep that from me.

  ‘I wanted you to get better first, that’s all.’ He drains his glass and pours another. ‘They always put pressure on you to do more and more.’

  I lean back in my chair and look at my wine glass in my hand, swirling the red liquid in front of the candlelight. The fight has gone out of me and yet there’s so much more to unpick.

  ‘The thing is . . .’ I take another sip of my wine. ‘Sash said something quite odd to me about you.’

  Rob looks up from his food, asks me what I mean.

  ‘Apparently you said it might be better if I didn’t remember what’s happened in the last year. Is that true?’

  Rob’s face is stricken. I think he’s about to explain it all away, maybe he intended to, but then he blurts out, ‘It was stupid, I know it was, but when you said that the last thing you remembered was taking Fin to university . . .’ He looks away, his eyes closing for a moment. ‘I wanted some time to . . .’ He looks across at me. ‘It’s been such an awful year, Jo. I wanted to protect you from it for as long as I could. Is that so wrong? We’ve both done things we’d rather forget. But you and I, we’re worth so much more than that.’

  He looks much older than the year I’ve lost. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed until now, but perhaps I wasn’t looking. His skin is sallow, dark circles under his sagging eyes and his hair is greyer, hardly any of its original colour left. He’s a man who’s always thrived on routine and order. The sudden chaos of the children’s lives, and then mine, must have been unbearable for him, but he’s lied to me, deliberately kept me from the truth. Even if it was to protect me from myself, it’s still wrong. Isn’t it?

  ‘Jo, I don’t want you to think I planned this, that it’s what I wanted,’ he says, staring at me across the table. ‘Everything is for you, Jo. Always has been; always will be. You’re my whole world.’

  ‘You lied to me, Rob.’

  ‘No, not lied. I would have told you about the drop-in centre. I promise.’ He smiles, tries to take my hand but I stand up, throw my bowl into the sink where it smashes. I don’t know whether I’m angry with him or me or both. My pity has turned into rage and I can’t bear to even look at him.

  ‘Where are you going?�
�� he calls after me as I leave the kitchen.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ I tell him, then more quietly, ‘I’ve had enough.’

  When sleep comes it is deep and dark, all-encompassing, but when I wake it’s sudden and violent, as though I’ve been shaken, dragged to the surface to take deep gulps of air. Rob’s arm is thrown across me, placed there without my knowledge, although I’d turned my back to his side of the bed. Outside, the wind is talking to me in hushed tones, rippling the fallen leaves, encircling our beleaguered home. I’d been dreaming of Rob, his face contorted with anger as we argued, but it wasn’t that which woke me, it was the look on his face as I fell; he was laughing, raucous vicious laughter. I listen to Rob, his slow steady breaths, his rest undisturbed by such nightmares.

  March – This Year

  The drop-in centre is quiet today. It’s a sunny early-spring afternoon, one which no one wants to spend in a dusty dark room, least of all me; not when I have bad news to deliver. Rose is hunched over a rather suspect-looking stain which she’s scrubbing from the carpet, or trying to. She looks up as I approach, a wide smile greeting me.

  ‘Hey stranger!’ she says, an obvious reference to my absence over the last couple of weeks, a bout of imaginary flu my excuse.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I ask, removing my coat, the room overheated as always, but I don’t bring it to Nick’s office as I usually would, instead draping it over my arm.

  ‘Nick’s shut himself away, masses of phone calls apparently,’ she says, getting up from the floor one knee at a time. ‘Funding issues, I think. The lottery stuff didn’t pan out unfortunately. Plus . . .’ She draws breath. ‘I’ve sent Sue home; she’s neither use nor ornament these days, so you are a sight for sore eyes. Feeling better?’ She smiles that wide gummy smile of hers again and my resolve almost fails me, the perspective my time away has afforded now threatening a change of heart. I’ve been listless and lonely at home and I’ve missed this place, but I’ve decided I must make a clean break. It’s for the best.

  ‘Yes, much better thanks, but I was hoping to have a word with you.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ She looks at me properly. ‘Not bad news, I hope?’

  Rose and I find a quiet corner, not difficult today, and we sit down, my fingers tracing the profanities carved into the sticky table top. I explain I’m not certain I can spare the time to help any longer. It’s been great, very rewarding, but I need to concentrate on my family at the moment; Sash still refuses to speak to her father, Fin seems entirely directionless now he’s given up on university and . . . I run out of words, looking at Rose for her reaction.

  ‘Everything okay between you and Rob?’ Rose asks, affecting a casual tone.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I reply. ‘It’s been difficult, you know, with the kids gone. Takes a bit of adjustment on both sides, but we’re good now.’

  From Rob’s point of view, I imagine things do appear improved; as though we’ve watered a dying plant just in time. I’ve been entirely focused on my husband’s needs, waiting for his late returns with home-cooked meals and an anticipation he has clearly appreciated.

  Rose looks unconvinced and I find myself losing patience with her. ‘You know some people do have happy marriages.’ It’s unkind of me, but I’m not in the mood for Rose’s psychoanalysis.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she replies, apparently unfazed.

  ‘Like I said, it’s the kids; you know how it’s been.’ I glance across at Nick’s office door, still closed, keen to make my escape before he emerges. I’ve ignored his ‘Get Well Soon’ messages, hoping he’ll take the hint. ‘I just need to put the kids and my marriage first for a while.’

  ‘I get the impression Rob hasn’t been that supportive of your work here,’ Rose responds. ‘I hope he hasn’t suggested that you—’

  ‘He’s actually been trying to persuade me to rethink,’ I tell her. ‘Said it’s been good for me coming here.’ I glance at Nick’s door again.

  ‘Have you fallen out with Nick?’ Rose asks, her eye for trouble as astute as always.

  ‘No, not at all.’ I smile at her. ‘It’s just a bad time for me to be away from home a lot. When I started I said two hours and now it’s much more than that, which I don’t mind, but—’

  ‘I’ll get Nick,’ Rose says, interrupting. ‘He should hear this.’ She stands up.

  ‘No!’ I say, grabbing her arm as I stand too.

  Rose spins around to face me, her usual smile replaced with an uncharacteristic frown. ‘What’s going on, Jo?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I reply too quickly. ‘Honestly, nothing. Give me another week or two, maybe a month and I’ll probably be back. Maybe just do my two hours a week when you’re here on your own.’

  Nick’s door opens and we both stop talking, staring at him as he looks back at us, not a flicker of emotion in his eyes, nothing but his usual straight-talking slightly stressed tone as he says, ‘Okay, ladies?’ Then, with less certainty, ‘You got a minute, Jo?’

  ‘I was just saying to Rose . . .’ I reply, but Nick’s already turned his back, expecting me to follow.

  He tells me to close the door behind me as I walk in. I hesitate and he tells me again to shut the door. ‘Jo, please. I’m not going to try anything.’

  I close the door and we sit, the replication of our previous tryst uncomfortable to say the least. Nick speaks first. ‘Feeling better? Flu was it?’ He raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, much better now,’ I say, tight-lipped.

  ‘Look, I understand why you’ve stayed away and I’m really sorry if I overstepped the mark. We’d both had a lot to drink that night, and I—’

  ‘No, it wasn’t your fault,’ I reply. ‘It was me who . . .’ I look away, feeling the blush rise in me. ‘Like you said; we’d both had a lot to drink.’

  Nick laughs. ‘I had a humdinger of a headache.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say, not smiling.

  ‘So we’re okay?’ Nick asks.

  I hesitate, feeling hot from the claustrophobia of the room, and Nick so close again, just us two. ‘I still think it’s best if I leave,’ I say, looking away. ‘I don’t want things to be awkward between us.’

  ‘They won’t be. I promise,’ he replies.

  I look back and he’s so serious, sad almost. I’d been certain I should leave. It seemed the obvious thing to do. But now Nick and I have cleared the air I wonder if I might be able to stay. I look around the room at the piles of files, at least half of which contain a story that would break your heart. I love my work here, it’s sustained me through the weeks and months when sometimes I’ve had literally nothing else to do, and perversely I finally have Rob’s blessing. I’ve missed this place over the last couple of weeks, more than I’d thought I would. And I could do with the distraction. Despite his promises, Rob is still working long hours.

  ‘As long as we’re agreed it will never happen again,’ I tell Nick. ‘I’m married, I can’t—’ The words stick in my throat and I cough.

  ‘No, absolutely not.’ He smiles back. ‘It was a mistake,’ he says, finishing my thought. ‘Never to be repeated.’

  I open the door to look out at the late-comers who’ve wandered in, recognising a few faces. I turn back to Nick. ‘I should get back.’

  ‘Yes, good to have that sorted,’ Nick says. ‘I thought we might have lost you, after . . .’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I reply, smiling across at him.

  Nick smiles back, a familiar warmth returning to his eyes. ‘Close the door after you, would you, Jo?’

  Tired from a morning’s work, but happy to have reinstated my role at the drop-in centre, I rush towards Sash’s office. Relieved to find she’s also late for our hastily arranged lunch, no sign of her in our usual spot opposite the revolving doors, I pause to catch my breath and am startled by a tap on my shoulder. She laughs as I turn to face her. ‘Mum, you walked straight past me!’

  ‘Oh my god, Sash!’ I reply, my hand to my mouth. ‘What on earth have you done to your hair?�
��

  The café is quiet, so my voice is hushed, although it’s hard to keep an even tone as I apologise again and attempt to convince Sash it will just take a bit of getting used to, that’s all.

  ‘You hate it!’ she pronounces, throwing her menu on to the place mat before her. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘No. I don’t hate it. It’s just so different, darling.’ I reach out to pat the short choppy layers that now end by her chin, silently mourning the long silky strands of blonde that for some reason she’s seen fit to eradicate. ‘Where did you get it done?’

  ‘Guy at the bar used to be a barber. He does tatts too.’

  ‘You haven’t got a tattoo?’ I ask, my voice now raised.

  ‘Not yet,’ she tells me, picking up her menu to hide behind as she slides down in her chair. ‘Can’t decide what I’d like.’

  The waitress approaches and takes our sandwich order, a welcome distraction from our conversation.

  ‘What does Thomas think?’ I ask, sipping my tea.

  Sash shrugs, and for a moment I hope I’ve found the silver lining to this rather unfortunate situation; but no, apparently he loves the new haircut and was instrumental in this latest element of my daughter’s radical transformation.

  ‘So everything’s okay between you two?’

  ‘Yes, great.’ Sash looks up at me from her hot chocolate. ‘I really think he’s the one, Mum. I feel like a grown-up at last, and I love him so much. He’s everything to me. Like Dad is to you. My whole life.’

  After the revolving doors have taken Sash away from me, I wait for the tears, of shame or anger, but I find there’s nothing, only a cold numbness as I walk back to my car. I think of Thomas, how much he means to her, and my guilt burns deep within me, a stone in my heart.

  15

  Thirteen Days After The Fall

  It’s been almost two weeks since my fall; thirteen days of waiting for the lost year to return. I think I’ve begun to accept maybe it won’t, not entirely. Rob keeps talking about a fresh start, how I should forget the last year, the drop-in centre, everything, just move on, but it’s not as simple as that. The images of Rob and I arguing have stayed with me, and they’ve become clearer, Rob’s angry words as we fought at the top of the stairs now audible. ‘It’s always been you and me. Everything I did was to keep us together, I can’t lose you, Jo. I won’t allow it!’ Sometimes I see Nick, flashes of recollection running through my mind when I least expect them: a drink shared, a kiss, me running from the drop-in centre, the door slamming behind me. Then I’m outside The Limes, pushing open the door to the bar. Sometimes I’ll see the naked man, his back turned, his smile as he turns towards me, Thomas’s face always wrenching me from sleep or my daydream, back to the harsh reality of this life, so much poorer than the one I thought I had.