by Caro Fraser
Jeremy stared in astonishment. ‘What on earth—?’
Leo crossed the room to find out what was going on.
‘Angela Butler and Chris Tebbins from Hill Dickinson have turned up for a ten o’clock conference with Michael,’ explained Henry. ‘They’re waiting in reception. But someone mistakenly put in Michael’s diary that he was meant to be going to their offices. So they’re here, and he’s there.’
‘And Felicity’s saying it’s my fault, when it’s not,’ put in Liam.
‘Fuss about nothing,’ muttered Jeremy, and departed with his mail.
Leo sighed. ‘Well, it’s hardly the biggest deal in the world. Liam, call Michael on his mobile and turn him around. Then get reception to apologise to the solicitors, tell them that Michael will be with them in ten minutes, and give them coffee.’
When Liam had gone, Leo turned to Henry. ‘Is there more going on here that I should know about? Even if Felicity is responsible for the diary cock-up, it’s hardly important enough to make her storm off in tears.’
‘I don’t know what’s up with her lately, Mr D. Liam absolutely wasn’t to blame, and she knows it. Last week she forgot to tell Roger Fry that a hearing date had been brought forward, and we had the solicitor ringing up from court in a state demanding to know why Roger wasn’t there. Felicity tried to make out that was Liam’s fault, too. We all make mistakes, but her putting the blame on young Liam – well, it isn’t on. He feels like she’s got it in for him, and it’s shaking his confidence. He’s shaping up very nicely, and I don’t want to lose him.’ Henry shook his head. ‘But I’m worried for Felicity, too. She’s not been herself lately. Not since that bloke of hers came out of prison. When I try to talk to her about it, she just clams up.’
Leo nodded. ‘I think I’d better have a talk with her.’
Felicity had taken herself off to a sandwich bar in Fleet Street, and was sitting miserably in a corner with a cup of tea, hating herself. She knew that the cock-up with the solicitors from Hill Dicks was down to her. She shouldn’t have blamed Liam. The fact was, she couldn’t get her head straight these days. She’d let Vince walk in and take over her life. Every day was the same. Waking up hungover and depressed, despite the good resolutions of the day before. Feeling better by lunchtime, telling herself for the hundredth time that things were going to change. Making a series of resolutions – one, Vince would have to start taking responsibility for keeping the flat clean; two, Vince would have to make a bigger effort to find a job; three, Vince would do more shopping and cooking. Then getting home in the evening and being defeated by either the pigsty state of the place, or Vince’s already half-sozzled cheerfulness, or by her own weariness, and forming resolution four – tell Vince to get out. Then postponing that difficult moment by knocking back a large vodka and tonic.
After which the evening would just slide away. Supper would be whatever was in the fridge, or a takeaway from Pizza Hut or McDonalds, with another stiff drink to take the edge off the fact that she was failing herself yet again, and then another, maybe a bit of whatever Vince had scored down the pub. Then bed, and sex she couldn’t even remember in the morning.
Too much dope, too much booze, too little self-control and rapidly dwindling self-respect.
Felicity glanced up and saw Leo at the counter, buying a coffee. He came across and slid into the chair opposite her.
‘I thought I might find you here.’
Felicity said nothing.
Leo sipped his coffee. ‘Want to tell me what’s up?’
She turned her gaze to the window, and the street beyond. Leo let a silence elapse, then he went on, ‘Come on, we’re old friends. Think of all the times I’ve told you things I wouldn’t tell anyone else in chambers. Don’t shut me out.’
Felicity’s eyes grew suddenly bright with tears. ‘Oh, Christ, don’t be nice to me.’
‘Is it to do with Vince? Henry mentioned something about him coming out of prison.’
She let her gaze meet Leo’s, and nodded. ‘He came out last month. I was never going to get back with him. Somehow it just happened. He’s there in my flat. He’s there right now. My little flat that used to be so nice, and he’s turned it into a tip.’ Felicity told Leo the whole story, how manipulated she felt, and how she couldn’t seem to find the strength to alter the situation. ‘He keeps saying he’ll get a job, but he doesn’t. If I have a go, he just laughs. It doesn’t matter how angry I get, he thinks I don’t mean it. It’s like – like punching wet lettuce. Or like one of those dreams where you’re trying to get somewhere, and it doesn’t matter how hard you try, you’re running on the spot, getting nowhere. I feel completely helpless, and it’s all my fault, because I still fancy the hell out of him, and he knows it. Like he’s got some sort of hold over me. I hate myself for being so weak.’ She shook her head. ‘You probably don’t understand.’
‘I understand all too well. I know what it’s like when someone has that effect on you. Your life isn’t your own. The only time you can think clearly is when you’re away from them. Then you make all kinds of decisions, promises to yourself about how things are going to change. But as soon as you’re with them again, your plans vanish into nothing. You might as well have never made them. And the knowledge that you keep failing yourself just compounds it, takes you lower and lower.’
Felicity nodded, her eyes fastened on Leo’s face. ‘That’s exactly how it is. And you know what? I never even wanted him back in the first place. Rachel was right. She told me to lay it on the line to him from the start, tell him he couldn’t go making assumptions that things were just going to automatically go back to the way they were. But what did I do? I let him waltz right back in and plonk himself down. I must be the weakest person I know.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘No. That is, I do and I don’t. I mean, I know he’s no good for me, that in the long run he’s just going to fuck up my life as well as his.’ She glanced at Leo. ‘It’s got a name, that – hasn’t it?’
‘Codependancy, I think. Something like that.’
‘Yeah? Well, he knows just how to play me, the buttons to press, my weak spots.’
‘We’ve all got weak spots. But you really need to find some strength. You know this relationship is disastrous, and you need to sort it out. You have to ask yourself – how is this going to be in six months’ time? Am I going to let this guy run my life, jeopardise my career …’ Leo paused, catching the look on Felicity’s face. ‘You know it could happen. It’s obvious your work is suffering because of your personal life. Nothing major, so far, but with the kind of work we do, mistakes can have huge repercussions.’
Felicity buried her face in her hands. ‘I know.’ After a moment she looked up. ‘I feel like I’m in some kind of self-destructive nightmare. Like you said, I can decide here and now that he’s got to go, but when I get home, it makes no difference. The same old shit, over and over.’
Leo drained his coffee cup. ‘Then you need to take drastic action. Change the locks. Wait till he goes out, collect all his belongings and put them outside, and never let him back in.’
Felicity contemplated this unhappily. ‘How would I work it? Even if I could get him out of the place long enough to change the locks, he’d come back and talk me round.’
‘Only if you let him. That’s where strength of will comes in, and I can’t help you there.’ Leo contemplated her despondent face. ‘But as both a friend and an employer, I have to say – you can’t go on like this. One, you’re making yourself wretched, and two, you’re in danger of doing yourself out of a job.’ Leo knew this was a hard thing to say, but he also knew instinctively that Felicity needed something to stiffen her spine. Maybe fear would give her the gumption she needed to get rid of this waste of space of a boyfriend. He hoped so.
She gazed at Leo, stricken. ‘You’re telling me I need to sort myself out, or else.’
‘I am.’
‘OK.’ She nodded. ‘OK.’
Leo touched her
hand gently. ‘Good. See you back in chambers.’
Felicity worked throughout the afternoon in tight-lipped silence. Everyone tiptoed round her, sensing her mood. Henry shot her surreptitious glances now and again, wishing he knew what was going on in her head. At six o’clock, as he was about to leave, she was still tapping away at her keyboard. He went over.
‘Fancy a quick one? I’m not meeting Cheryl till half seven.’
Felicity shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got a lot to catch up on.’ Then she stopped tapping and looked up. ‘Going anywhere special?’
‘Just a movie, then maybe a pizza.’
‘That’s nice.’
In the silence that followed, Felicity found herself wishing that she was going out for the evening with a normal bloke who had a job and who wasn’t a loafer and a sponger, and Henry found himself guiltily wishing that he was going out with Felicity instead of Cheryl.
‘OK,’ said Henry abruptly, hating himself for his disloyalty, ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t work too hard.’
Felicity worked for another hour, then went home. She sat on the bus, staring out of the window. Perhaps she should try and make Vince hate and despise her, so he would want to leave. But she didn’t know how to make him hate her. She would have to hate him first, and she didn’t. She didn’t hate anyone except herself. Leo was right. She couldn’t let this crap set-up lurch on any more. Tonight she would spell it out to Vince. Then she remembered the other times she’d spelt it out, and how nothing had changed, and felt her resolve waver.
When she got in, Vince was sitting with his feet up, drink in hand, watching television.
‘You’re late,’ he remarked.
‘Some of us have to work,’ replied Felicity. She hung up her coat, and sniffed. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘Supper,’ replied Vince. ‘Thai green curry. I picked up some chicken breast and a jar of stuff from the supermarket. Found some boil-in-the-bag rice in the cupboard.’ He swung his feet off the table, stood up and went to the kitchen, returning with an overfull glass of wine. ‘Here. Sit down and put your feet up.’
Felicity’s heart sank. This happened every so often. Vince would realise he’d been pushing his luck, trespassing too far on her goodwill, and so he would go through a pretence of making amends, of cooking supper and giving assurances of looking for work. Meaningless gestures which, she now knew, went nowhere. She stared into her wine, took a large swallow. ‘Vince?’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘I know why you’re doing this.’
He dropped a kiss on her head and sat down next to her. ‘Because I love you, babes.’
‘Because you know how fed up I am of all this, and you’re trying to butter me up.’
‘Hey—’
‘No “hey” about it. You think you can play me like a piano, don’t you? Here’s me working my arse off every day to pay the bills, while you spend your jobseeker’s allowance down the pub like it’s pocket money. And every time you see me getting fed up with the whole malarkey, you think all you have to do is tidy up a bit, buy a bottle of wine, open a jar of cook-in sauce, promise to look for a job, and it’ll all be fine. ‘Cause you’ve got everything you want, haven’t you? A roof over your head, a bed, telly, food in the fridge – naturally you want to make sure you don’t lose it.’
He seemed genuinely wounded. ‘Fuck me. Is that what you think?’
Felicity drained her glass of wine. ‘Roughly, yeah.’ She stood up and stalked to the kitchen to pour herself another. She had never been so forthright before. This could be his cue to go off on one, to start throwing things around and shouting. On one level she hoped he would. An out-and-out stormer of a row might provide a good excuse to chuck him out. She took another swig of her fresh glass of wine to set her up, and returned to the living room. What she saw was not what she had expected. Vince was sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped over his bent head, crying softly. Immediately she sat down next to him, stroking his shoulder, filled with anxious remorse for what she’d just said, forgetting the entire truth of it. Felicity couldn’t bear to see anyone cry, especially a big, strong bloke.
His voice sounded broken. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, Fliss. Prison wrecks you. It shatters your confidence.’ He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. ‘I know it looks to you like I’m just some kind of sponger, and it kills me that you think that. I’m doing my level best to get work, straight up. Thing is, it’s going to take time to get my self-esteem back to where it needs to be.’ He turned to look at her. ‘How bad do you think I feel about not bringing anything in? Tonight was just my way of trying to do something right. You’re the only thing holding me together. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even care what happens to me …’
It was when he turned to look at her that she realised how fake it was. She could see it in his eyes. She let his plausible words, all the bogus self-justification and whining protestations wash over her. She felt unutterably weary. Enough, she told herself. Enough.
She let him finish talking, then stroked his arm. ‘Forget what I said. Let’s eat supper. I’m hungry.’ She got up and went to the kitchen. She picked up her glass of wine and emptied it into the sink, got the rice out of the cupboard and put plates to warm in the oven. Behind her she could hear Vince, cheerful now that he was off the hook, rabbiting on about things Ossie and Quills had done and said, examining the navel fluff of his empty, useless day.
He came through and picked up the bottle of wine to refill Felicity’s glass.
‘It’s OK,’ said Felicity. ‘I don’t fancy any more to drink tonight.’
‘That’s not like you. Hey, you’re not …?’ Vince grinned, raised his eyebrows.
‘No,’ said Felicity. ‘I’m not.’ She stared at him for a moment. That he could even think that would be a good thing, a reason to smile – it put the lid on everything, finally, once and for all.
As they ate Vince’s Thai green curry, Felicity asked casually, ‘You done any Christmas shopping?’
‘What kind of a question’s that? You know I’m skint.’
‘Just you need to get your mum something nice. She’ll be expecting it.’
Vince nodded. ‘She’s asked us round there Christmas Day.’
‘Lovely.’ If there was one place Felicity did not intend to be on Christmas Day, it was Denise’s house. She added, ‘Tell you what, I get paid Friday. Why don’t I give you a bit of a loan and you can go and do some shopping up Westfield? Get your mum a handbag or something.’
Vince mused. ‘Yeah, all right.’ He finished his curry, then added, ‘I’ll pay you back. When I get fixed up, I mean. I reckon I’ll find a job in the New Year.’
‘Yeah.’
He leant across and kissed her, then sat back replete and comfortable. ‘I did the cooking, your turn to clear up.’
Felicity’s face was inscrutable as she cleared the plates away. When she came back, Vince was skinning up a large spliff. She watched for a few seconds, thinking about the amount of money he must spend every week on dope.
He lit up, took a long drag, then handed it to Felicity. She shook her head. She badly wanted to feel the curling warmth of the skunk slowing her mind, letting her cares leach away, till nothing mattered. But she knew if she was going to see this through, she had to detach herself, stay hard-hearted and clear-headed.
They lounged on the sofa together, watching television. Vince smoked the spliff down to the end, then got up and poured himself a large vodka. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’ he asked. She shook her head, eyes fastened on the TV. Normally by this time they would have smoked a joint together, and would be starting to neck more booze, and she would be curled up lazily, hazily in his arms. A little bit of her ached for that. She got up and went to wash the dishes. Then she sorted out a neglected basket of clean washing, and did some ironing in the bedroom, listening to Capital FM.
She went to bed early and read for a while. It was a long time since she’d do
ne any reading. Before Vince had moved in she’d been getting through a book a week. She became so engrossed that she was still reading when Vince came through, pulling off his T-shirt, scratching his chest and yawning. ‘Thought I’d join you for an early night.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and plucked the book from her hands, then leant in to kiss her, his hands sliding beneath her pyjama top to caress her breasts.
Felicity pulled away. ‘Not tonight. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Not tonight, Josephine,’ murmured Vince, and wandered to the bathroom. Felicity picked up her book and carried on reading, her nipples tingling from his touch.
Once in bed, he tried again, but Felicity elbowed him away gently, and carried on reading. Vince lay back, blinked, yawned, tried to talk a bit, but the dope and the booze got the better of him and he fell asleep in minutes.
When she heard the regularity of his breathing, Felicity switched the light off and lay in the darkness, thinking ahead. She had no idea how the next week was going to play out, but she was determined that by the end of it, Vince was going to be out of her life and her bed for good. Her stomach lurched with fear. What if she couldn’t do this? Then she thought of what Leo had said. He was one of the few people in the world whose opinion she really cared for. She wasn’t going to let him down, or herself.
Felicity had booked the locksmith for eleven, but the way things were going, she was beginning to wonder if she wouldn’t have to call him off. She hadn’t even given any thought to what would happen if Vince didn’t go out. How could she have the locks changed right in front of him? Picture the scene. It simply wasn’t going to happen.
Vince was wandering round the flat, hungover from the night before. Felicity made him coffee and a bacon sandwich.
‘Nice day for Christmas shopping,’ she said brightly, glancing at the clear sky.
Vince lolled back on the sofa, feet on the coffee table. ‘Not sure I fancy it.’ He took a bite of his bacon sandwich, then made a face. ‘I’ve told you I don’t like it when you don’t cut the fat off. My mum always cuts it off. I don’t like bits of stringy fat.’ He pulled a piece from his mouth and set it on the side of the plate, then wiped his fingers on the side of his boxers and took a swig of coffee.