Downward

by White, Bethan

  ‘Because she loves you,’ Claire said, simply.

  ‘Then, why throw me out when the only thing that happened was that that bitch went to her work and told her a load of lies?’

  Claire smiled coldly. ‘You can hear what you say, can you, Chris? You don’t think it odd that you can say “only” in front of that remark? Of course it was the last straw. The woman confronted her. At her place of work. And if they were lies …’

  ‘Of course they were lies!’ He was on his feet now, the dog bouncing round the room, panting. Walkies!

  ‘I repeat, if they were lies, they must have been damned convincing ones.’

  Chris didn’t sit back down. He stood there, in his mid-range shirt, jumper and trousers. Down to his skin, he was F&F; Claire had just bought the whole package. It wasn’t actually sold as ‘Dress Your Loser Brother Like A Mid-Range Exec’ but it could have been; a marketing opportunity missed, he thought. ‘They were lies,’ he muttered and sat down again but on the very edge of the seat. ‘I didn’t …’

  ‘Yes you did.’ She used the tone she had used to him all his life. ‘You told me you did.’

  ‘Only after the party and then again at the house.’ His voice trailed away. He knew how it sounded.

  ‘But you can see how it sounds, surely?’ his sister said, exasperated. ‘I’m your sister, Chris, I can say what I like and I’m going to, is that all right?’

  The black dog leaned against his leg and waited. This was going to be good.

  ‘My advice,’ and of course by that she meant that it was her explicit order, ‘is that you go and see this Louise woman. Ask her why she is telling these lies about you. I can't see what she is getting out of this. Why would she weave this incredible story if you only slept with her twice?’

  He tensed and she held up a hand for silence.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chris, but you are my brother and perhaps this is why I don’t see it. You are a nice enough looking bloke, I suppose. I certainly had to beat a few of my friends off, back in the day. But you’re nothing special. You’re not exactly …’ she was stuck for the appropriate phrase and so just waved her hands vaguely between them, ‘… stacked, are you? For all I know, and let’s leave it vague, you could be hung like a mule and have the technique of a porn star but somehow, I doubt it. I would have heard.’

  He opened his eyes wide. ‘Who from?’

  ‘From whom,’ she corrected, automatically. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the one friend I didn’t beat off with a stick?’ She looked at him in mock sternness.

  He blushed a little and looked down.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘Blush. Tanya was my best friend before you let her have her way with you.’ She smiled.

  ‘I thought that I had my way with her.’

  ‘Bless your little heart,’ she said. ‘But that’s a case in point and why you must go and see this woman.’

  ‘And then I can go home?’

  The yearning in his voice almost broke her heart, but she knew if she caved in now they would be growing old together, two weird old siblings in a strange and dependent mutual stranglehold. ‘Well, it certainly won't happen if you don’t, now will it?’ It seemed the kindest way.

  He looked at the clock. ‘Now?’ He was doubtful.

  ‘A bit late. Go to where she works, if you know it.’

  ‘Yes, I do know. She filled in the forms when she took on the let. It’s that surgery in the High Street.’

  ‘Perfect. Go there and face her down. It would be a lesson to her if nothing else. Now, what do you watch on telly these days?’

  ‘I haven’t been watching much, to be honest. I didn’t really get the chance at Mum’s. Mike …’

  ‘… was off having a wank.’

  ‘Claire!’ She still shocked him when she talked like that. Like you didn’t like to think of parents having sex, sisters also were out of bounds.

  ‘Well, God, Chris. You were the one that shopped him to Mum. Don’t go all mealy-mouthed on me now.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say,’ he said, ‘I was going to say …’

  ‘He was off bonking the brains out of a hooker? Shagging the secretary of the Young Mums? Having a …’

  ‘Are we going to have a reasonable conversation, or not?’ His inner prude was showing.

  ‘I am trying to make a point, here,’ Claire said, with a smile. ‘I just don’t see you as a sex god, somehow. You won't even use rude words.’

  ‘No, but I will have sex with a drunken woman up an alley.’ The sentence was out before he heard it coming. He could hardly face it himself and her he was, telling his sister.

  ‘Let’s not go there,’ she said. ‘Perhaps another time. But, Chris, seriously, I don’t know whether to tell you to stop drinking or start keeping it in your pants. Perhaps both would be a plan.’

  He sat back, mouth set in a tight line.

  ‘Drink. Sex. They only take your mind off the black dog, you know,’ she said kindly, sounding more like Cassie than ever. ‘They don’t make it go away.’

  The dog’s tail thumped softly on the floor. This woman knew what she was talking about, alright.

  Megan twisted her head around to look at the clock, glowing red by the bedside. She leaped up.

  ‘God! Will! It’s gone one in the morning. I must go!’

  He draped a lazy arm over her and pulled her back down and under the quilt. ‘No, you don’t. Lily’s staying, don’t forget. Kyle’s in bed. You don’t need to be back until breakfast.’

  ‘What if he wakes?’

  ‘Lily’s there.’

  ‘But he’ll want me.’

  ‘Of course he will. But Lily will get him back to sleep. As long as you’re there by breakfast. And anyway, I want you. Look.’ He raised the quilt and in the dim light from outside filtering through the curtains she could see that he certainly did. And, as it turned out, she wanted him as well. But she had to be firm. She had been a slave to Chris’s moods and nightmares. She couldn’t let herself be slave to this man as well.

  ‘No, I’m going.’ She sounded firm, she thought, although clearly not firm enough, because his arm became heavier and she was pinned down.

  ‘Go later,’ he wheedled. ‘I’ll take you home myself. Just let me …’ and he stifled her complaints with a kiss. And then some.

  ‘As long as I get home for breakfast,’ she murmured.

  ‘Looking forward to it. Weetabix, is it?’

  ‘Readybrek.’

  ‘Mmm. Jam?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He rolled over onto her, taking the weight on his arms. ‘Then it’s a deal.’

  After that, she stopped worrying about Kyle. In fact, she stopped worrying. Full stop.

  Claire hadn’t softened her stance on visitors the next morning and so Chris was out of there when she was, bag over his shoulder. The most she would do as a compromise was to offer him some money, to check in to a B&B or a cheap hotel while he got himself together. He refused it. She tucked it into his pocket nevertheless. And he didn’t refuse again. He knew she loved him, but she was the cat that walked by itself and nothing would change that. On the pavement, they needed to go in separate directions but before they did, she cupped his face in a capable hand.

  ‘Chris,’ she said, gently, ‘take care of yourself. Let me know how you’re doing and … drop in whenever you like. For a meal. For a chat.’

  ‘But not to stay.’

  ‘I can't do that,’ she said, with a shake of her head. ‘You’re not the only one in the family with problems, you know. I just can't share my space. Never could. Never will. Remember the arguments when Mum told me to share my toys?’

  ‘Yes.’ Many was the Christmas Day that had ended in storms of tears.

  ‘Well, it’s that. But bigger now, just like we are. And you’re the same. Face your childhood, Chris. Face it and beat it. Or learn to live with it. Or it will kill you, for sure.’ She patted his cheek then leaned up for a kiss. ‘Tak
e care. Don’t be a stranger,’ and she turned on her heel and walked away without a backward glance. That way, he wouldn’t see she was crying. That was the secret, she told herself. Never let them see you cry.

  The High Street GP practice was like a circle of Hell, one pretty near the centre, Chris guessed. There were howling children, coughing old men, shrill women and a belligerent early – or was it late? – drunk. Chris waited in line and finally reached the counter.

  ‘Name?’ the woman rapped out, not looking up.

  ‘Louise Taylor.’

  That got her attention and she stopped hammering on her keyboard and made eye contact. ‘Gender reassignment clinics are on every third Wednesday, at the hospital.’ She gave him another look; he was going to take a lot of work.

  ‘No.’ He knew he would have to be patient. Polite and patient, when he wanted to bounce her head off the counter. ‘I would like to speak to Louise Taylor.’

  She looked at him again, searchingly. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ and she ducked into a door behind her and disappeared into a brief snatch of office noise. Chris waited, drumming his fingers on the countertop and smiling every once in a while at the woman behind him, who was edging nearer and nearer so that her shopping bag was pressing into the sensitive spot behind his knee. He didn’t move his leg, though – he knew if he did she would invade the space he left in an instant.

  In another burst of conversation, the woman was back. ‘I’m afraid Miss Taylor isn’t available,’ she said, with a frosty smile.

  ‘Could you tell me when she will be available?’ Still the politeness, still the urge to put one on her.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ She moved in closer, as closely as she could with the width of the counter between them. ‘I’m afraid she doesn’t work here any more,’ she mouthed. ‘She … left.’

  ‘Oh.’ This was a bit of a facer. ‘Oh. I see. Do you know where she works now?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ The words were unequivocal but the expression was not. It said that she could tell him rather a lot about what happened and where Louise Taylor now was, but confidentiality precluded it. ‘I believe she is still in town, though. I saw her in Morrisons the other day.’

  Was that a ghost of a wink?

  ‘It was late.’ She glanced from side to side. ‘She was on a till,’ she murmured and gave him a meaningful nod. ‘Late shift.’ Then, in a different voice, she spoke over his shoulder to the woman with the bag. ‘Mrs Dunford,’ she said, brightly. ‘How can I help you?’

  But before the woman could begin her litany of woe, Chris was out of there and striding off down the street, to the supermarket. If he had to buy a packet of crisps to get to speak to Louise Taylor, always and forever That Bitch in his head, then so be it.

  ‘I’m afraid she isn’t here,’ the woman on Customer Service said. ‘She works the late shift. Do you know where she lives? Or you could leave her a message.’ She was looking Chris up and down. Not bad. Not bad at all. A bit dowdy as to the dress sense, but you couldn’t have everything. He looked like someone dressed by his big sister. But Louise Taylor was no prize. Going over the hill and fast, in the opinion of the girls on the tills. Come down in the world, that was certain; she had been seen dressed to the nines going into the GP surgery up the road and now here she was, on the graveyard shift on a till. Something was up; could this guy be the answer? She would have loved to have taken him out for a drink, got the skinny on the Taylor cow, as she was universally known. But now was not the time. He was speaking.

  ‘I do know her address, thank you. I won't leave a note for now – if I can't find her at home, I’ll pop back later.’ He gave her a smile which made her blush. If she had only known how rare it was, she would have treasured it more.

  The staff room at the High Street Practice was small, but adequate for the numbers who worked there. This gave it an air of intimacy, well suited for the conversation that was taking place. Louise Taylor had started there not that many months ago, coming highly recommended by her previous employers and at first had been a breath of fresh air, improving systems, tidying frowsty cupboards, generally doing good. Everyone liked her. For about two weeks; then, the sidelong glances began and the covert gossip was not long behind. The GPs, on the whole, were an unexciting bunch. The usual mix of part-time returners from motherhood, those who were over retirement age but had stayed on because they couldn’t leave their patients and just the one, eligible, make that very eligible thirty something. And he was a cracker, there was no doubt about it. Louise Taylor had set her sights on him within weeks and it was soon the talk of the office. Although she still did her job perfectly well, there was an air about her of smug complacency and although she didn’t say anything, she managed to make it clear that he was definitely now Her Property.

  Then the really juicy stories had started. No one knew quite where they had come from, but suddenly they were all over the place. Her smugness reached an almost critical level until, one day, every member of staff received an email. Most of them had kept it in the archive, to read at their leisure, because it really had been an eye-opener. It was from the Cracker.

  ‘Dear Colleague,’ it began, ‘Please excuse this “round robin” but I am unable to speak to you all separately. I have discussed this with the senior partner and have his blessing to proceed. First of all, I want you to be aware that I have known for some time about the stories circulating about me, not just in this Practice, but also in certain sectors of my social circle. These involve me and Miss Louise Taylor and consist of some very personal details of our relationship.’

  This first paragraph had raised some eyebrows but not as much as the second one did.

  ‘As you all know, I am a very private person and I prefer to keep my home life to myself. It is therefore with some distaste that I find myself sharing with you all the fact that, last February, whilst on holiday with some close friends and my immediate family, I very happily became the husband of my long term partner, David. This is not the way I intended to share this news with anyone, but Miss Taylor has made it necessary. I hope this will make no difference to the excellent working partnership which our practice members have and I would appreciate your continuing friendship. Miss Taylor’s position in this practice has been terminated with immediate effect and the partners and I would all be very pleased if you would undertake not to discuss the details either amongst yourselves or with others. Thank you very much.’

  Needless to say, details were not only discussed, but picked over almost to exhaustion. And now, just when it was becoming old news, another man, not as gorgeous as the doctor, the receptionist would be the first to attest but she wouldn’t kick him out of her bed either, was here, asking for Louise Taylor. Was she up to her old tricks? He didn’t really look the type. She clearly went for power and position and he didn’t look as if he had either of those. But … who knew? And the twittering and gossiping went on.

  ‘So,’ the Customer Service woman said to her colleague from Accounts when they met for their usual coffee in the staff canteen. ‘He wasn’t gorgeous, as such. A bit …’ she sipped her drink and thought for a moment, ‘… vulnerable, that’s it. A bit vulnerable. You wanted to mother him.’

  ‘Well, that’s not the bitch’s usual target,’ her friend said, snapping a bourbon biscuit between strong teeth. ‘She goes for management, that’s her hunting ground.’

  ‘She getting anywhere?’

  ‘Nah. Not as far as I can tell. Since she got moved to lates she hasn’t really got much of a pool to fish in, tell the truth. There’s only the pickers and the stackers; not much to choose from there. They’re either students or retired and I don’t think they fit her bill.’

  The Customer Service woman laughed her hooting laugh. ‘Fit her bill? Is it her bill they need to fit?’

  The Accounts clerk opened her eyes wide and sprayed biscuit crumbs everywhere. ‘You’re terrible. No, really. You are!’

  ‘Well, she has that look about her, don’t you think? Kind
of … desperate.’

  ‘Well, I did hear she had a fling with one of them doctors up at the practice. Nearly broke up his marriage, they say. He’s got a couple of little kids as well. Dreadful. She got the sack over it.’

  ‘Can they do that?’ The Customer Service woman was doing an online course in HR.

  The other shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But the bottom line is she works here now on the late shift, so go figure.’

  ‘True.’ She drained her cup and brushed the pastry flakes off her front. ‘Ah, well. Time to get back to work. We’ll doubtless hear all about it. If there’s one thing you can say about the bitch, it’s that gossip about her goes the rounds quicker than a dose of the trots after the shepherd’s pie in here.’ She caught the eye of a woman wiping down tables with a grubby cloth. ‘No offence.’

  And they went back to their desks.

  As Chris walked, he did some sums in his head. Because of the smell and other problems, forty-three didn’t command a huge rent. But could she afford it on a supermarket salary? She had talked of having a housemate; perhaps she had gone ahead and done that and would still be living there. It was worth a punt, though and although it was out of town a way, it was a pleasant enough day, warm for the time of year and not a challenging walk at all. The last leaves were lying in drifts against the fences and to save a mile or so, he could cut through the park.

  He closed his mind to memories of happier times here with Kyle and Megan, feeding the ducks and just watching the world go by. People out walking their dogs swung past him, older couples sauntered along hand in hand. All around him the world was getting on with its daily life, whether it was a grind or, quite literally, a walk in the park. He tried to feel part of it but it was as though there was a faint mist between him and everyone else. He hated the feeling and needed human contact to dispel it. In the distance, he thought he saw Cassie, walking her dog, the one he hadn’t known she had. He quickened his pace but when he got to the gate, she had gone. He looked both ways but she was nowhere in sight. Although he really wanted to see her, to hear her warm voice, to get comfort from her smile, her soft cheek pressed against his in greeting, he was, for once, a man with a mission and so he turned resolutely towards forty-three.