What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story)

by Shaw, O. C

  I had yet again made excuses for him, same as I always did, and eventually she’d had to let it go, but deep down I knew she was right. Greg had control issues which were getting worse as the years progressed. It was almost as if the more dissatisfied he was with his own life, the more he felt the need to impact on mine.

  A part of me still can’t believe that he’s just going to let me waltz off to the Peak District for three days on my own with a bunch of strangers. For that reason I don’t want to talk to him about Annie, let alone introduce her to him. I can only assume Stuart from the gym must have let her know I had confirmed my place, and now she wants to meet for that drink and make our plans.

  It’s Tuesday and a long shot, but I quickly text her back:

  Hi, yes gr8. Don’t spose you’re free 2nite and can make it to the Anchor in Tudor Street? Other nights are difficult for me. I’ll b there at 8, Lily

  I wait, not sure what I’m going to do if she can’t make it. It takes three whole minutes until my phone bleeps again, and I hurry to look at the message:

  Lovely. C u there A x

  With huge relief, I send a quick text to Emma, realising she probably needs to be forewarned.

  Em, hope u don’t mind. Have invited a friend to join us this eve. Will explain when I c u. Lil x

  That done, I sit back in my chair and spend some time trying to figure out why I feel guilty, almost like I’m doing something wrong.

  Chapter 6

  When I walk into the pub just before eight, Emma is already sitting at our preferred table. Brian, the landlord of The Anchor, is perched in my usual seat, having brought her lime and soda directly to the table, rather than making her walk to the bar like everyone else (including me) was made to. Brian grunts at me as he sees me approach and reluctantly rises from the table, casting a longing look in Emma’s direction. Emma doesn’t even notice, as she’s beaming at me.

  “Don’t get up,” I say quickly, as she struggles to gain enough momentum to lift herself and her bump, which seems nearly as big as the rest of her, off the stool to greet me with our customary hug.

  “Nonsense,” she says with one final rock that rolls her body sufficiently to propel her into my arms. She giggles as we hug, adding: “Bloody hell, Lil, I have absolutely no idea how you managed to do this with twins.” I laugh as we both sit back down, and she continues in a whisper, “Glad you’re on time. Brian was just telling me about his dog’s labour again, the time when she had eight puppies. If it’s not bad enough that everyone who has ever had a child wants to tell me about their nightmare labours, or their friend’s nightmare labours, if theirs weren’t bad enough, I now have Brian’s dog’s nightmare labour to add to the list. Doesn’t anyone ever have an easy birth?”

  I laugh again, feeling obliged to reassure her, “You will, Em. You’re good at everything you do, and I can’t imagine this will be any different. Anyway, if it is hell, then there are always drugs or epidurals. ‘Never say never’, that’s my childbirth motto when it comes to pain relief!”

  She laughs. “Thank God for you, the lone voice of childbirth sanity, Lil – actually, I think you might be the only voice of sanity against a tidal wave of natural-childbirth Nazis, judging by the antenatal classes I’ve attended so far. By the way, what have you done to yourself this time?” she asks, pointing to the remnants of my forehead bruise that is now turning yellowish.

  I grimace. “Head-butted a door.”

  “Oh God, Lil, I’m not sure you’re safe to be let out alone.” She rolls her eyes before adding, “Do you want a drink?” while looking over at Brian again, who fortunately is already gazing longingly in her direction and ignoring all the other people waving notes over the bar at him.

  “Sure, vodka, lime and soda to keep you company... well sort of.”

  Emma calls over to Brian, somehow managing to be heard over the noise in the pub, “Brian, sweetie, can I have a vodka, lime and soda, please.”

  Brian’s eyebrows nearly rise through the top of his hairline before Emma adds with a giggle: “Not for me, silly, for Lil,” pointing at me in case he couldn’t hear her, at which point he scowls in my direction before making it, plonking it on the bar and looking at it and then at me meaningfully.

  I sigh; clearly I don’t warrant any special treatment. I stand up and weave my way through the groups of people until I reach the bar, hand him my note and stand there waiting for my change while he fiddles with the till. As I wait there with my hand out, the door opens and a wave of murmurs ripple through the bar in reaction to the newcomer. I can’t immediately see who’s arrived, but I guess just from the impact in the bar that it can only be Annie. The first part of her I see is her hair. Out of the ponytail this time, it forms a riotous cascade of red ringlets that frames her face and flows out over her shoulders. She stands a few inches taller than several of the men in the pub and has to duck under the beam as she sees me, waves and makes her way over. Brian, at this point, is now openly staring at Annie – as is the rest of the bar, including Emma, to be fair.

  Annie sweeps me up into a huge hug that speaks of years of friendship rather than minutes, then announces loudly: “Lily, at last!” She gives a huge laugh, as if she’s just heard the most amusing joke ever. I can feel the room leaning in towards her, as if magnetically pulled towards an orbit where she was the sun, and we were all the planets worshipping her warmth.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I stutter. God, why is it she paralyses me into near incoherence?

  She smiles benevolently at me. “What are you having?”

  “Vodka, lime and soda.”

  She frowns at my response. “God no, not that.” She sounds genuinely horrified. “Landlord, please, will you tell me what single malts you have?”

  Brian just blinks at her until I prompt: “Brian?”

  He starts and visibly comes to before stuttering, much like I had, through a list of Scottish malt whiskies.

  “Talisker, please,” she says assertively.

  Brian nods and tells her he’ll bring it over. Bloody hell, am I the only one who doesn’t rate sufficiently highly to warrant personal service from Brian? I wonder as we make our way to where Emma is sitting. Emma’s expression is equally bemused as she takes in the vision that is Annie. However, she seems more amused by the reaction of everyone around us, rather than overwhelmed by the presence of a living goddess. I guess that’s what comes from having confidence in your own beauty, I reflect.

  “Emma, this is Annie; Annie, meet Emma,” I introduce. They’re shaking hands as Brian comes over, clasping the small malt glass carefully and handing it to Annie. For a moment he looks like a cartoon as his head swings wildly between Emma and Annie, finally settling on Annie as he tells her there’s no charge for the first drink in his bar for a new customer.

  I nearly snort my vodka over the table, as Annie merely smiles at him beatifically. Brian scowls at me, clearly having heard my snort, before stomping away back behind his bar. Emma lets out a tinkling laugh, saying: “Well, I’ve never seen Brian quite so overcome that he would give away free drinks, Annie. It seems you have quite an effect on men. When I’ve had this baby, promise me you’ll take me out for a night, please; I think it would be the cheapest night out ever.”

  Annie smiles her most wicked smile, making Emma laugh again as she says: “You’d better believe it, but only if Lily promises to come too!”

  I just grimace.

  “So tell me, how on earth did you two meet?” Emma asks.

  I open my mouth to speak, but Annie is in there before me. “We are soon to be roommates on a wild and romantic trip to the Peak District,” she says overly dramatically.

  I wince as Emma raises an eyebrow and looks at me incredulously. “Really?” she enquires, sounding frankly shocked at such atypical behaviour from me.

  I giggle nervously and look around, aware that more than one person in the bar is acquainted with Greg, and that with all the attention Annie draws to her, it feels at the moment like there
is a hushed silence in the room as they all lean in, awaiting my response.

  “We’re doing a three peaks weekend to raise money for a kid with leukaemia,” I say, more loudly than I need to, fervently hoping that this is the version that will get back to Greg, and not the ‘wild and romantic’ one.

  Emma smiles as the tension bubble in the room seems to burst and normal chatting levels resume, and I add, “Annie and I are sharing a room while we’re there. I thought you wouldn’t mind us meeting to chat about what we need to take?”

  “No, of course not.” Emma smiles at Annie before frowning as she turns back to me. “But is Greg okay with you going?”

  I glance nervously at Annie, who immediately asks: “Who’s Greg?”

  “My husband,” I answer quickly.

  “And why would your husband not be okay with you going?” Annie asks smoothly, in the style of someone who could never imagine another person having that sort of influence over her actions.

  I swallow, trying to consider how to respond when Emma chips in, “Because he’s a complete control freak who doesn’t let Lily out of his sight, except to let her go to work while he sits on his arse and tells her he’s an artist, when he really does bugger all.” She pauses for a second, looking apologetically at me – as if she thinks she’s being disloyal to me, when all she’s really doing is telling the truth – before continuing. “He barely lets her come here to meet me, except he has spies in the room who’ll report back her every movement,” she says, looking around. “He never lets her go anywhere, so I’m frankly amazed she’s off to the Peak District without him, and more especially with you,” she says, looking meaningfully at Annie.

  Jeez, Emma, I think, why don’t you say what you really think?

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s brilliant,” Emma continues, “I’ve been trying to break my beautiful friend out of her cage for years, so anything you can do to help is much appreciated.” She actually looks teary as she finishes, and I just don’t know what to say. I’ve always known she feels anger towards Greg about the way he is with me, and the way I always feel the need to defend him, however outrageous his behaviour, but she’s never expressed it so openly before, let alone in front of a virtual stranger.

  What is it about this woman? I wonder, looking at Annie again. I reach out for Emma’s hand and clasp it in mine as she uses her other hand to point at her bump and mumbles: “hormones”, as if her outburst needed some sort of excuse.

  Annie just looks at us both and smiles. “Well, it seems I’ve got here in the nick of time,” she laughs, as she necks her whisky before loudly demanding a second from Brian and slamming her glass on the table. “And one for my friend here, please,” she adds, indicating me.

  Brian immediately moves to fulfil her request, ignoring his other paying guests. I get up to collect the drinks from the bar, managing to knock into a table and topple a glass on my way, so I end up replacing that person’s drink too. When I finally get back to the table, I’m sure I didn’t imagine Annie exchanging a look with Emma, as if I’d missed a significant part of the evening’s conversation. I have the distinct impression there is a conspiracy forming between the two of them, and I’m not sure if I should be worried.

  Chapter 7

  We spend the rest of the evening discussing what our wardrobe and other accoutrements need to be so we can cope with both the day and the evening exploits in the Peak District. When Annie announces that we need a formal outfit, as the group has planned to have a black-tie evening at the house to celebrate the achievement, albeit only 2/3rds done of our challenge (the final peak would be completed on the last day prior to getting straight back on the coach and heading back home), I nearly die.

  “I don’t have a dress to wear for that sort of event,” I gasp, horrified. There’s no way in hell I could buy myself a dress without Greg knowing, and if I told him I needed a frock to get dressed up, then there would be no way in hell that I would be allowed to go. Even as the thoughts echo in my head, I know it’s pathetic I let him control my life to that extent, but it’s just easier than having the conflict.

  Emma sees the anxiety on my face and immediately correctly interprets the reason. She calmly asserts: “I’d like to buy you a dress, Lil. We can go out on Thursday to late-night shopping, instead of you going to the gym, and pick one out together. It’ll be a belated birthday present or early Christmas present, whatever you’d rather. I can even keep hold of it if you prefer, and then you can collect it from me before you go to get the coach on Friday after work. Or I can drop it off for you there; whatever works for you, really.”

  It’s pathetic, but I nearly sag with relief as Emma neatly solves all my problems without me needing to open my mouth. It’s so embarrassing; I wonder just when I became so spineless I was unwilling to take Greg on and challenge him about something that was essentially completely unreasonable behaviour. I’m not doing anything wrong, just getting a dress to wear to a function. I resolve to stand up for myself at home more. But not this time, I think, not ’til after the trip. I don’t want him to ruin it for me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, wondering how it was I deserved such a good and loyal friend. Emma just smiles and simply says, “I expect a photo.”

  Annie assures her she will see to it herself. The rest of the plans include walking boots, raincoats, hats, gloves and plasters. I already have most of it, the product of many a cheap camping holiday with the boys because our money was too tight to do anything else. Annie, on the other hand, seems more used to city life, but she dutifully makes a list on her iPhone of everything she needs, including where she would be most likely to find all the different items, while Emma watches on, bemused by the whole situation.

  At the end of the evening, Emma and I say ‘goodbye’ to Annie. I watch them hug each other like old friends, and then Annie whispers something in Emma’s ear before moving towards her taxi. Emma smiles, and they both turn to look at me, making me feel awkward.

  “Stop fidgeting, and get in the car,” Emma scolds, having determined that after a vodka and two whiskies I’m very likely beyond the drink-drive limit. I do as I’m told, wondering how the hell I’m going to get the car back tomorrow after work and what time I need to get up in order to get the bus.

  “She’s great, I really like her,” Emma declares after a last wave at Annie as her taxi pulls away. I nod my agreement.

  “Thanks again for the dress,” I begin.

  But Emma just waves her hand vaguely at me and says, “It’s my pleasure, really, I mean it. It would give me great joy to see you out enjoying yourself for once, looking as beautiful as you are and letting other people see it for a change. I just wish I could be there to share it with you,” she says, sounding a little sad.

  “Next time,” I whisper. She looks at me intently, as the brake light from the car in front illuminates her face with a red glow, and nods. It feels like she’s trying to see right inside me.

  “I would really like that,” she says emphatically. I look away and let the moment pass, both of us knowing how unlikely a next time was.

  As we pulled up in front of the house I’d felt my shoulders tighten as I rehearsed what I was going to say to Greg about why I was in Emma’s car and why our car was still at the pub.

  Emma grabs my hand as I move to open the door. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” she assures me. I give her a half smile as I ease out of the car seat.

  Closing the door behind me, she lowers the window and calls out quietly: “See you Thursday, I’ll pick you up at half five. If you have to tell him anything, tell him I need help getting some stuff for the baby. It’s true; I could do with your experience in choosing a pram. Phil’s mum is hassling me to make a decision about which one we want, as they insist on buying it for us, but I get even more confused every time I go and look at them. So if you will be my baby guru and help me choose a pram, I’ll help you choose a dress.”

  I decide she’s a mind reader; it’s like she knew
I was chickening out of the trip the further I got from Annie and the pub. This way she knows she has me; I could never resist helping her with stuff for the baby. I immediately give in. “Okay, see you Thursday at half five outside work.”

  She beams at me before waving one last time and pulling away.

  I square my shoulders and walk to the door, fumbling the keys in the latch as the cold air combines with my alcohol-fuddled brain and ruins what was left of my already severely lacking hand-eye coordination. The door jerks open from the inside, and Greg stands there sizing me up with a look before glancing at the obviously empty driveway.

  “Where’s the car?”

  “At the pub,” is all I say as I make to push past him, feeling unusually bold for once.

  “Why?” he asks, blocking my way with an arm.

  “Because I had two whiskies and a vodka,” I reply. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow after work – I’ll get the bus in the morning.”

  “You don’t like whisky,” he says, still looking at me intently, his arm still blocking my path into the house.

  “Well, I did tonight.” My voice sounds tired to my own ears, and clearly he hears something in it because he lifts his arm and lets me pass. I hang up my coat and head straight up the stairs to our room, with him following close behind me. The boys are either out or already in bed, most likely the former because they rarely go to bed before midnight these days. He stands there watching me as I take off my makeup and brush my teeth in the bathroom.

  “What’s up with you?” he mumbles. I turn towards him, and for the first time in a long time I really look at him. I see his angular, still overly slim frame, his square jaw with perfect nose and hair flopping down over his forehead, hiding the green eyes I used to love when I first met him. Now all the small gestures irritate me; every time he runs his hand through his hair to move it out of his face, I wonder why he doesn’t just get it cut. There’s no denying he’s still a handsome man, but I also see the grey in his hair and the lines etched on his face that reflect all the angry and disappointed expressions he has made over the passing years, and I realise I feel virtually nothing of the love for him I had felt in the early days. He sees me weigh him up with my eyes and look away, finding him wanting.