Can't Live Without

by Joanne Phillips

  I just wonder how much damage she’s actually managed to do.

  It looks like she’s played a blinder this time. She’s stitched me up like a kipper, as Billy would say. I can picture her sitting at her immaculate desk, rubbing her bony hands together with glee, thinking, ‘He’s mine, he’s all mine.’

  ‘It’ll never happen, Loretta,’ I say quietly.

  That shuts her up. ‘What won’t?’

  ‘It’ll never happen. You and Paul. I know what you’ve done and why you’ve done it, but you’re going to be disappointed, my friend. He’s not remotely interested in you, and even if you have managed to split us up you still stand no chance. Not in a million years.’

  I don’t enjoy the silence. She’s one dangerous lady – if only I’d realised that sooner I might have tried to make a friend of her instead of letting her wind me up all the time. I’m sure she’s planning her next move already. But when she finally speaks, all she says is, ‘Do you want me to give him a message?’

  With a sigh I ask her to tell Paul that I’m taking the rest of the week off as holiday. I know it’s short notice but my work is up to date. It won’t cause any problems. And that I’m sorry – she doesn’t need to know what for.

  Loretta pretends she’s making a note of it. I wonder how much of my message will reach Paul’s ears, if any. ‘Don’t worry, Stella,’ she says, sickly sweet. ‘You won’t be missed. You’re completely dispensable, and we can all do quite well without you. Better, even.’

  ***

  Time on my hands. Not much to do with it. A little bit of money in the bank for once but absolutely no inclination to go shopping. What’s the point of filling my house with all that stuff on my list if I’ve got nobody to share it with? I call Bonnie, hoping she’ll be free for a coffee and a chat, or just a chat – anything, I’m desperate – but she’s at work and says she’ll call me for a catch-up later.

  To get out of the house I decide to go to the shopping centre anyway, pretending to myself that I need to look for those all-important finishing touches – in training for my new career. There are still a few jobs left at the house, like skirting boards to finish and curtains to hang, but I’m not really in the mood.

  Lipsy offers to come out with me but I can see she’s shattered, my fault for keeping her up half the night. I feel really bad about it so I ask if there’s anything she’d like me to buy for her. For her or the baby. She just gives me a look, what is fast becoming a Lipsy look, and says, ‘You can’t fix everything by buying things, you know.’

  Well, I knew that! I was only trying to cheer the girl up.

  ‘See you later then,’ I say despondently as I head for the door.

  ‘Mum,’ she calls and I turn my sad eyes back to her. She laughs and comes to give me a hug. My daughter is finally putting some weight on. It suits her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she tells me. ‘It’ll all work out in the end.’

  Now, aren’t I supposed to be the one telling her that?

  Once I’m up town I drift around aimlessly for a while then find myself outside Café Crème. I’m not sure I like the place that much anymore, and I wish in some ways I hadn’t taken the second job, despite the fact that I desperately needed it at the time. I wonder whether it will ever go back to being a refuge again, a place to meet and chat and have a laugh. Probably not. But there are other coffee shops. On a whim, I head inside and grab a slip of paper from Gina. I scribble a few words on it, stuff it on Tony’s desk, then give Gina a quick hug and wave goodbye. For good.

  Handing in my notice was the right thing to do, I’m sure of it. If only all decisions were so easy to make.

  Chapter 24

  Paul flinched when Loretta came to see him at lunchtime. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but he couldn’t help associating her with what had happened the night before. The sight of Stella standing in her hallway frantically trying to cover herself up after being with another man was too upsetting. He pushed it out of his mind for the hundredth time and turned to face Loretta.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Paul,’ she said.

  ‘That’s OK. What can I do for you?’

  Loretta leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I just thought you’d like to know she’s not coming in today so there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Who?’ he said, knowing full well who but not wanting to give Loretta the impression that they were in this together.

  ‘Why, Stella, of course. She phoned in earlier. Just said she was taking the rest of the week off. Huh!’ When she breathed out Paul got a nasty whiff of extra strong mints.

  ‘Did she say anything else?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Loretta rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘Not a word. No sorry, no explanation. Just leaving us all in the lurch. Well, don’t you worry, Paul. We’ll manage. I’ve already got Susan covering the rental admin and I can do the rest. Joe’s got his diary organised and I’m sorting out the website. It’s all under control.’

  Paul twisted his head from side to side. Why did he feel so tense all of a sudden? He just wanted Loretta to go away – he wanted the whole damn office to go away and leave him alone to think. He needed to think. But he knew he should be grateful; his staff were coming through for him and right now he needed them to get on with it more than ever.

  ‘Thanks, Loretta,’ he said, cracking his neck alarmingly. ‘You’re a star.’

  She grinned and leaned even closer. ‘Would you like me to massage your neck for you?’

  ‘No!’ Shit, he hadn’t meant to shout it like that. ‘Sorry, Loretta. No thank you. I’m fine. Well, I’ll let you get on with running the office then. Seems you’ve got a lot to do.’

  She murmured something and disappeared. Paul sat back and tried to imagine what might be going on in Stella’s head today. He guessed she’d stayed off work because she was too embarrassed to face him, but that wasn’t really like her. The Stella he knew would have brazened it out, or at least had another stab at explaining. Last night there had been some garbled explanation but Paul hadn’t really been listening.

  Could the situation have been other than it seemed? He couldn’t imagine how. The evidence was pretty damning. As was her absence today. The rest of the week, Loretta had said. No explanation. Well, thought Paul, if that’s the way she wants it, that’s fine by me.

  ***

  Despite his stubborn intentions, for the rest of the day Paul jumped every time his phone rang, and was disappointed every time it wasn’t her. So when he arrived home, weary and despondent, he couldn’t decide immediately whether to be pleased or dismayed to see Stella’s car parked outside his flat.

  The car was empty. He made his way up the stairs, rehearsing what he was going to say to her. He figured he’d give her one more chance to explain – it had better be bloody good, though – and after that, if they couldn’t sort it out he would give up for good. He had truly believed they were meant to be together. He’d thought they were a perfect fit. Now it seemed like the dream was more of a nightmare, and he couldn’t take the stress anymore.

  But when he reached the top floor he found not Stella but Billy leaning against his door.

  ‘Hi, bro,’ Billy said.

  ‘I’m not your bro.’ Paul opened the door and left it open behind him. He could kick himself for getting his hopes up again. Obviously she didn’t give a shit about him.

  ‘No, well…’ Billy had followed him in and was standing awkwardly in the middle of the lounge. ‘Looks nice in here. Tidy, like.’

  ‘It’s not a great time, Billy. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Nothing, mate. I just came for the rest of my stuff. There’s a stereo in your spare room and some CDs. I borrowed Stel’s car,’ he added unnecessarily.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get on with it then,’ Paul told him, heading for the kitchen.

  ‘I could do with a hand down the stairs, mate,’ Billy called after him. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  Well, it bloody is actually, Paul wanted to say. Hadn’t he done enough
for their family? Over the sound of the kettle boiling he listened to Billy huffing and puffing as he hauled the stereo through the lounge, wincing as it crashed against something solid.

  ‘Come on then,’ he said wearily. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

  Together they carried the box down three flights of stairs then came back up for the rest of Billy’s stuff. It was on the way back down again that Billy said, ‘My sis is pretty cut up, you know.’

  Paul stared at him in astonishment. ‘Oh, is she? And I suppose I’m just fine, am I?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying, mate. I can see you’re not in the best of moods, either. Don’t shoot the messenger, eh?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  They lifted the last box into the boot and Billy slammed it shut. ‘She told me what happened.’

  ‘So you’ll understand why I’m not a happy man, then.’

  ‘No, I mean she told me what really happened, not what you think happened.’ Billy leaned against the car. ‘She’s pretty upset with you. Jumping to the wrong conclusions and all that.’

  Paul couldn’t believe his ears. So now it was his fault? ‘I saw what I saw. Anyone would think the worst.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Not if they knew her, really knew her, like you do. I mean, how long have you two been friends? According to her you were finally about to get it together and things were going great. But then you’re off with her because she’s talking to Lipsy’s dad – and you can’t deny that, mate, I was there. And then you immediately think the worst when you catch her in what she admits was a bit of an odd situation.’

  ‘That’s big of her.’ Paul leaned against the bin cupboard, trying to look nonchalant.

  ‘The point is, you should have at least given her the benefit of the doubt. Is how she sees it anyway. As I said, I’m just the messenger.’

  ‘Did she ask you to tell me this?’

  ‘Of course not. You know how stubborn she is. As bad as you by the looks of it. But she knew I was coming here and she made a point of telling me everything. Now, you know as well as I do that things have been a bit strained between me and my sis since I, well, since I went travelling. But she chose this moment to suddenly open up to me.’ Billy gave Paul a knowing look. ‘I’m not that flattered. You work it out.’ He got into the car and wound down the window.

  ‘Well, what did happen then?’ Paul bent down to Billy’s eye level. A neighbour came outside and walked across to his garage. Paul lowered his voice. ‘Why was she undressed?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask her yourself, mate. Like I said…’

  Paul nodded, standing up straight again. ‘Yeah. You’re just the messenger.’

  He watched Stella’s brother drive away in her beaten-up car, massaging his neck with his thumbs. Whatever Billy said, it didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t made the effort to come and talk to him herself. Or the fact that she had met John Dean the night before, and lied about where she was. And if it was all so innocent, then why was she hiding away by staying off work?

  Paul shook his head. It shouldn’t be up to him. If she wanted to talk to him she knew where he was but for now he figured he was better off leaving well alone. It wasn’t as if he had nothing else to think about – there was Hannah for one thing. It was about time, he decided, walking slowly back up the stairs to his flat, that he concentrated on what really mattered in his life. And right now that was his daughter. Stella would have to wait.

  ***

  My second day of exile.

  I don’t have any vicious colleagues to spar with today. My daughter is out with Robert looking at flats and I’m all alone. Not feeling sorry for myself. Much.

  When my brother brought the car back last night I tried to pump him for information about Paul. How did he look? Was he angry? Did he seem sad? Billy just said, ‘You two need your heads banging together,’ and left. He sounded like our mother. Maybe he was right.

  I spent the rest of the night thinking not about Paul, as I’d expected, but about Billy. About the wall that I’d put up between us and how high I’d let it grow. Was his reaction to Dad going into prison really any worse than mine? I’d ignored it, shut it out, refused to visit or even to talk about it with my closest friends. Billy had gone away, taking himself out of the situation, but he’d still kept in touch with his father. Maybe that was just his way of dealing with the pain, the way being angry had been mine. Maybe I’d judged him a bit harshly.

  Maybe it was time to forgive.

  If he’d let me, of course.

  I tried to call him this morning, figured I would invite him and my mum to dinner or something, do a proper family thing. He was out. And now I’m driving around aimlessly, wishing it was raining and dull instead of sunny and bright so that the mood of the day would match my own.

  Just after lunchtime I drive by the office thinking: If Paul’s car’s there I might be really brave and go in and talk to him.

  It isn’t.

  So I drive by his flat instead. And bingo, there is his Audi, parked haphazardly in his space. With my heart in my mouth I go around to the front entrance and press the buzzer. Nothing. I try again. Still nothing. Walk back to my car and look up at his windows. Did I just see the blinds twitch, just a little bit? I think so. I march to the door again and hold my finger on the button until it is sore.

  But Paul doesn’t answer. Or, by not answering I guess he is answering all too well. He doesn’t want to see me or talk to me – he’s clearly not interested in hearing the truth.

  But I decide to give it one more go. Back in my car I call him, first on his home phone then on his mobile. Isn’t it great these days that we have so many ways of getting in touch with people? Not really – not when they refuse to answer. It’s actually bloody frustrating. I fling my phone down on the passenger seat and drop my head into my hands – part of me hoping that Paul is watching from his window. See how devastated I am? Maybe I should get out of the car and stand in the middle of the car park shouting at the top of my voice. That would get his attention.

  Oh, what’s the point? I start up the engine and jump out of my skin when my phone begins to ring all by itself.

  ‘Paul?’ I say, shoving it to my ear.

  It’s not Paul.

  It’s Robert.

  ‘Mrs Hill?’

  ‘No, it’s not Mrs Hill,’ I tell him, ‘it’s Miss Hill. Or Stella. Stella is fine.’ Why am I saying this? Robert has never called me before so I’m thinking it’s bad news before he’s even started speaking. ‘Is Lipsy OK?’

  ‘Not really,’ he says, his voice distant.

  ‘Oh my God! What is it? Tell me. Where are you?’ Well done, Stella. Handling things calmly as usual.

  ‘We’re at the hospital, Mrs Hill. A & E. You’d better come. Could you come straight away? Lipsy, she’s – she’s not – she was bleeding and now she’s in a lot of pain. Please come.’

  He hangs up and I sit for a second or two staring at the phone. I notice my hand is shaking. My baby’s in trouble. My baby’s baby is in trouble. I look up at Paul’s window one last time, willing him to see me.

  ‘Damn you, Paul Smart,’ I say out loud. ‘Where are you when I need you?’

  Chapter 25

  Lipsy has been with the doctor for an hour now and nobody will tell us a thing. My mother sits in the corner of the family room clutching her cold coffee like a talisman, while Billy paces and Robert slumps and I alternate between the three of them offering unfounded reassurance. I fetch coffees and pat hands, all the time thinking about my daughter and her tiny speck of a baby fighting for their lives in a room somewhere nearby.

  No one had even considered the possibility of a miscarriage until now. Lipsy is so healthy, so vibrant, the pregnancy normal in every way. She is very young of course, but who knew that that could be dangerous? We keep asking Robert questions: Has she been doing anything energetic lately? Has she eaten anything strange? Were there any signs, anything at all out of the ordinary?

  I read a l
eaflet which tells me that one in eight pregnancies ends in miscarriage before the twelfth week. I never knew that! I slide the leaflet under my chair so Robert doesn’t see it.

  Bonnie rushes in a few minutes later. She’s come straight from work, has cancelled a date with Marcus to be here, and the gesture makes me start crying again. It’s good to have her with me. She’s always so capable in a crisis. But as much as I love her dearly, she’s no substitute for Paul. Billy says he called him but there was no answer. He left a message, he says. He’s sure Paul will come when he gets it.

  I’m not so sure.

  The minutes tick by slowly and painfully. ‘Has anybody told John Dean?’ I ask all of a sudden. Her dad should be here too, no matter what has happened between us.

  ‘I called him,’ says Robert. He hasn’t spoken for a while and his voice is hoarse. ‘On his mobile. He said he was on his way to a job in Bristol and to let him know when there was some news.’

  Mum and Billy and I look at each other knowingly. So he’s skipped out on her already. I shouldn’t be surprised but I am. I really thought he’d changed this time. He certainly had me convinced.

  Billy shakes his head. ‘He’s a piece of work, that one.’ I couldn’t agree more.

  Half an hour later a nurse pops her head around the door and tells us the doctor will be in to see us shortly. She won’t say anything more.

  ‘If you could just wait a little longer ...’

  Doesn’t she know what waiting feels like?

  Lipsy was such a loving child. I remember she had a favourite doll called Coot (Bald As A), and she carried it everywhere with her one particularly sticky summer. The doll could cry real watery tears and drink real liquid, and then dispense that liquid realistically out of her other end. Lipsy would change its makeshift nappy on the floor of the lounge, making everyone climb over her while she tutted and cooed.

  Of course, by the following summer Coot was relegated to the back of the wardrobe and had been replaced by a silver alien doll. Still, when I picture Lipsy with the baby doll, I just know she will make a wonderful mother, however young she is. And I know that nothing – nothing – will go wrong with this pregnancy.