It's Not You, It's Them

by Portia MacIntosh

  Kerry takes a deep breath before continuing.

  ‘“Then we have his other sister and her boyfriend. I feel so sorry for this girl, because not only is her boyfriend a sleazy pig who tried it on with me, but she’s struggling with an eating disorder and everyone is too self-involved to notice.”’

  ‘What?’ Mel snaps. I’m not sure which bit she takes issue with – probably both parts, I’d imagine.

  ‘Babe, listen to me – she came on to me,’ Ste assures Mel. ‘Valerie, Oscar, you know I love your daughter and I’d never betray her. It’s this temptress; she wouldn’t leave me alone.’

  He points at me accusingly.

  ‘Oh, obviously, because you’re just my type,’ I say sarcastically.

  ‘I don’t have an eating disorder,’ Mel says softly. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘And I’ve been giving her advice,’ Alex admits.

  Ste’s jaw drops.

  ‘Babe, Roxie has been wrong about all the other stuff. She’s wrong about this, too,’ he reasons, seemingly ignoring the bombshell that Mel is knocked up.

  ‘She isn’t wrong – you’ve been cheating on me any chance you could get,’ Mel snaps at Ste. ‘I check your phone, I see the messages.’

  ‘Ste, get out, before I throw you through that window,’ Mark warns him.

  Petrified, Ste legs it.

  ‘I... I’m going to be sick,’ Mel stutters, legging it towards the bathroom.

  ‘Pregnant!’ Valerie says to no one in particular. ‘My little girl, pregnant.’

  ‘I’ll just blast through the last bit,’ Kerry tells them, ignoring their shock. It was bloody Kerry who told me Mel had an eating disorder, because she was never eating and throwing up all day long. It makes so much sense now.

  ‘“Yes, they’re such an odd family. As hard as I’ve tried to make friends with his cousin, I struggle to understand her antics (like spiking the drinks of everyone in her family)” – oh, my God, I can’t believe you’re shafting me like this.’

  I mouth the word sorry to her, for what it’s worth.

  ‘“Even the kids are weird. They’re not like kids,”’ she continues. ‘“I see their miserable little faces and I just want to hug them and tell them it’s all going to be OK, but they’re so cold towards strangers – and borderline evil, not that anyone believes it – they’d probably just stab me if I tried to hug them.”’

  Suddenly, all at once, everyone remembers that the kids are in the room.

  ‘Girls, let’s go play upstairs,’ Millie suggests.

  Lisa and Louise are both sitting at the kids’ table, glued to everything that’s going on, like it’s the best TV show they’ve ever seen. As they walk past me with their mum, they glare at me with their evil little identical eyes.

  ‘Actually, I’m going to go with them,’ Alex announces. ‘I think we need to talk.’

  And then there were six.

  ‘I notice there hasn’t been any mention of me yet,’ Valerie says.

  ‘Saving the best until last,’ her crony Bea chimes in, finally opening her mouth for the first time today. Oh, I bet she is loving this – watching me self-destruct in slow motion.

  ‘Correct,’ Kerry replies. Kerry seems like she’s actually enjoying this, but she’s proving that, in times of need, she will side with her family. ‘“You think all that’s bad? Take my future mother-in-law. Please – take her, because the woman is poison. From the moment she met me, I could tell that she hated me, I just couldn’t figure out why. Then I met my fiancé’s ex-girlfriend, who was perky, petite and perfect in every way – annoying on its own, but then I realised she was working with my fiancé’s mum to win him back, at any cost, even if it meant throwing me under the bus. I played right into their hands because, the harder I tried to keep my fiancé close, the more I ended up pushing him away. I should have found it weird when I found out his ex-girlfriend was staying with us. I shouldn’t have risen to her bait when she tried to upset me and outdo me. I shouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my fiancé interested, when I already knew how much he loved me. But worst of all, when his mum forced him into a situation where he was alone with his ex, and he started pouring his heart out to her about our relationship, I should have asked him: am I enough for you? And if he had hesitated for even a moment, I would have known then and there that it was over. I love my fiancé, but I’m not sure I can love his family.” Wow,’ Kerry concludes.

  Mark rubs his eyes for a second.

  ‘Are you telling me that my mum and Bea have been manipulating me?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply assertively.

  ‘That’s a bit extreme, Roxie,’ Mark says.

  ‘It’s a lot extreme,’ I agree.

  ‘Well, you thought you were right about all that other stuff, but things can look bad if you’re looking for the bad in all situations,’ he tells me, and I see what he’s getting at.

  ‘You think I’m just trying to find fault with everyone?’

  ‘It certainly seems that way,’ he replies.

  ‘You don’t think yesterday was weird, with the two of you in the wardrobe together? If I hadn’t interrupted you, you’d have been in there indefinitely.’

  ‘I think maybe you’re just upset by what you heard,’ he says softly, placing a hand on my shoulder, giving it a patronising squeeze.

  ‘There’s a bit about you, too, Mr Wright,’ Kerry tells him. ‘Want to hear it?’

  Mark looks at me with dread in his eyes, before turning his attention straight back to Kerry.

  ‘Yes, read it,’ he demands.

  ‘OK,’ Kerry replies, taking a deep breath. ‘“When I met my boyfriend, it felt like this big, gaping hole in my heart was suddenly filled, and I’ve never felt a feeling like it. When I’m with him, my heart is so full it feels like it might actually burst – but if it did, I know that he could piece it back together again for me. When I think about my future, I don’t know what’s going to happen or what I actually want – all I know is that I want him to be a part of it. Would I like to live in a huge house with a sports car outside? Yes. Would I still want those things if they came without my boyfriend? I can honestly say that I wouldn’t, because not only is he enough, he’s everything.”’

  I see a glimmer of a smile on Mark’s face, but I know that it will be short-lived, because I might have been wrong about a lot of this when I wrote it, but I was so right when I wrote this next bit, and it hurts my chest to even think about it.

  Kerry continues: ‘“It’s different for him, though. When he met me, I didn’t fill his heart like he did mine. He wants kids and I don’t, and while that hole in his heart might be small now, if he doesn’t fill it, it will get bigger and bigger until his heart is empty, and he will resent me for being the person who drained it. All of the love he has for me will disappear, and I can’t stand the thought of sitting around and waiting for him to fall out of love with me.”’

  Mark swallows hard.

  ‘I, er,’ he stops to cough, his words catching in his throat. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You could tell him the truth: that you’re menopausal,’ Bea interrupts.

  ‘What?’ I reply, narrowing my eyes at her.

  ‘It’s not that you don’t want kids,’ she says. ‘It’s the fact you’re going through early menopause.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, so confused. Of course I’m not! Mother Nature kicks my butt every month, just like she does every other healthy twenty-nine-year-old.

  ‘The hot flashes, your lack of concentration, a reduction in sex…’

  ‘Whoa, stop right there,’ I insist. ‘The only reason I’m having less sex is because I’m here. And as for that other stuff, I just made it up because you caught me in Mark’s bedroom.’

  ‘Roxie,’ Mark finally snaps. ‘You have to get this article taken down as soon as possible.’

  ‘Give me your phone,’ I demand. ‘I’ll call Kath. But then you have to listen to me.’

  ‘O
K,’ he replies. ‘Just make the call.’

  Mark and I walk to the study in silence. He takes his phone and hands it to me, watching as I dial work. I feel like a naughty child, with him standing over me like this.

  I speak to Kath’s assistant, who puts me straight through to her.

  ‘Kath, why did you publish that article?’ I ask, getting straight to the point.

  ‘Because it was good,’ she replies in a slow, patronising tone.

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be published. I never submitted it – it was just a draft.’

  ‘Yes, I saw all of your drafts,’ she says with a slight laugh. ‘They were all shit. All but that last one. It seemed finished, so I went ahead and published it.’

  ‘Kath, listen, I was just venting when I wrote that, and I was wrong about a few things…’

  ‘Roxie, why are you messing me around?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m not. We didn’t even have power when I wrote that. I had no idea you’d see it. I just wrote it to get things off my chest.’

  ‘You should do that more often,’ she laughs.

  ‘I’ll try,’ I reply. ‘But, can you please just take this down? I’ll write a more accurate version of it.’

  I see Mark’s eyebrows shoot up, as though to say ‘no, you fucking won’t’, but I give him a reassuring bat of my hand, so he knows it’s not what he’s thinking.

  ‘Just, please, it’s having a huge impact on my relationship. Please take it down,’ I plead.

  ‘You know you’re worth more to me single, don’t you?’ Kath says.

  I exhale deeply.

  ‘OK, I’ll take it down. But you’d better give me a version of it that I like even more than this one.’

  ‘I will,’ I reply. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘There. She’s taking it down,’ I tell Mark as I hang up.

  ‘OK,’ he replies. ‘Let’s talk.’

  For a few seconds, we sit in silence. It’s still so cold, and this room never really gets any warmer, so I grab my fur coat and slip it on over my Tammy Girl dress.

  ‘I can explain everything you overheard yesterday,’ he assures me. ‘You trust me, don’t you?

  ‘I do,’ I reply. ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Then you have to believe me about your mum and Bea.’

  ‘Roxie, you’re mistaken. My mum wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because she’s my mum,’ he snaps. ‘Would your mum do that to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, there you go.’

  ‘But my mum isn’t a sociopath.’

  Mark shakes his head angrily.

  ‘You’re being so immature. Things don’t go your way, you’re embarrassed you got the wrong end of the stick about everyone, and now you’re clinging to this ridiculous claim. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.’

  ‘Fine,’ I reply, storming off.

  The downstairs loo is occupied so I grab my handbag from the bottom of the stairs and head to the upstairs one. Damn it, that’s occupied, too. I can see Mark’s bedroom door is open, and a quick glance inside confirms that it’s empty, so I go in there, close the door behind me, and burst into tears.

  How has everything gone so terribly wrong? Why won’t Mark believe me? I mean, he’s right, I’d never believe my mum could be capable of such a thing, but my mum really never would do anything like this. She worries about me, and she looks out for me, but she lets me make my own mistakes, and for that I’m grateful.

  I hear the upstairs floorboards creaking, so I jump up and lock the door. Someone tries to open it before realising it’s locked.

  ‘Hello? Is someone in there?’ Bea calls out.

  ‘I am,’ I reply, trying to sound like I’m not crying.

  ‘Well, I need to come in.’

  ‘Well, I don’t give a shit,’ I reply.

  It’s an emotionally charged, immature reply. But I don’t care.

  ‘You’re so pathetic, Roxie. Just move on with your life.’

  Bea gives up trying the door and walks off.

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but it’s a pointless task, as more and more tears flood out.

  Maybe Bea is right. Maybe I do need to move on. I’m certainly not prepared to stay here, where no one likes me, and Mark doesn’t trust me. I just need to work on my exit strategy.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I’ve done some stupid things in my time – most of them when I was living with Gil – but I think today is going to take the cake.

  I know that it’s just starting to get dark, I know there’s heavy snow outside, I know I’m wearing a tiny dress, a fur coat and heeled boots. But I also know that I’m no longer wanted here, that no one will let me head out into this snow on my own, and that there’s a pub full of soldiers who are about to head back to York (where there is definitely a train station/hotel/lack of Wright family members).

  I just need to get out of here.

  My plan is to take Mark’s sneaky route out of the window, onto the study roof and then the lawn, before making my way to the pub where I will bat my eyelashes at Curtis and the other troops until they agree to get me to safety. I’ll have to leave my things here, but I have my handbag, my phone, my charger and my purse – that’s all I need for now. I just need to get out of here.

  OK, here we go. I lift open the window, attempting to climb out arms first, before realising legs first makes much more sense. I’m so not cut out for this lifestyle. Finally out on the roof of the study, the cold air chilling my body right through, I hesitate for a second. Is there another way? Can’t I just put up with this until the snow clears and I can go home? No. No, I can’t. It might have been one thing when I had Kerry on side, but it was everything when Mark was, and now I’ve lost his support, I can’t stay here.

  Right, step two. I just need to get from the roof to the ground. When I’d considered Mark doing this before, it didn’t seem so high up, but now that I’m standing here, on the knife-edge, the ground seems miles away. I slide down onto my bum, sitting on the edge of the roof so that I’m much closer to the ground. One, two, three… I’m still here. I’m too scared. I wish I could’ve gone downstairs and got walking boots and trackies, but there’s no way I would’ve made it back upstairs to escape without being caught.

  Mustering up a little courage from somewhere, I hop down from the roof. I land a little funny on my ankle – probably thanks to the 4.5’ heels I’m wearing – but I’m OK. I can’t get to the front of the house from here, but if I can sneak out of the back garden, I can just work my way around to the front of the house, then I know my way from there.

  As I creep down the garden, which is growing increasingly dark by the second, I can hear nothing but the snow creaking underneath my feet as I squash it to the ground. Then I hear a sneeze. It’s a quiet, delicate sneeze. As I peer behind one of the bushes, I spot the twins, sitting there alone, both dressed up in their hats and mittens, their grumpy little faces as miserable as ever.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing out here?’ I ask them. ‘You should be inside.’

  Neither of them answers me.

  ‘Right, you don’t talk to strangers,’ I remind myself. ‘Well, listen, you need to go back inside, OK? OK.’

  As I begin to creep away from them, one of the girls asks me a question.

  ‘Are we ugly?’

  ‘What?’ I ask, spinning around on my heels. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘It’s just… you said we looked weird. And everyone at school says we’re ugly.’

  ‘Kids can be horrible,’ I tell them. ‘So can adults. I’m sorry you heard that; I didn’t mean it. I was just upset that no one liked me.’

  ‘Mum says we might be ugly ducklings now, but one day we’ll be swans,’ her sister adds.

  I smile at them. They might not seem like little girls, but they are.

  ‘Listen, your mum is right, you’ll definitely be swa
ns when you’re older, but you’re not ugly now. You’re beautiful in so many ways. You’re intelligent, you’re loyal – when you tripped me and covered for each other, that loyalty is an admirable quality. And, OK, look at each other for a second. Lisa, do you think your sister is ugly?’

  ‘No,’ Lisa replies.

  ‘Louise, do you think your sister is ugly?’

  ‘No,’ Louise replies with a giggle.

  ‘Well, you have the same face. So if your sister isn’t ugly, then neither are you, OK?’

  They both smile and nod in agreement.

  ‘OK, now go back inside. Don’t get cold.’

  ‘Are you coming, too?’ Lisa asks.

  ‘Maybe later,’ I lie.

  ‘Good,’ she replies. ‘Because we like you now.’

  I smile as they skip back towards the house. At least I’m leaving with two friends.

  I continue walking down to the bottom of the garden, climbing over the fence, into the field behind the house. They’re not flat, like I imagined farm fields to be. We’re deep in a valley, so it’s all hilly and uneven. The further down the hill I get, the more trees pop up around me. Suddenly, I’m down by the stream, and it’s very dark now. You know what it’s like when it’s winter; it just gets dark all at once, like a black curtain drops from the sky.

  I turn left, then right, then realise something: I’m lost. Shit. I’m not sure which way I came from, let alone which way I need to go.

  It’s probably best I head for high ground; I know that the pub was up the hill, and I’m heading deeper and deeper down into the valley. It’s hard to see where there’s a footpath, with all the snow that’s around, but I’m pretty sure I’m off it anyway, so I might as well go my own way now.

  Grabbing a tree branch, I pull myself up the slope next to me, but as I step up with my right foot first, my left following close behind it, I misfire and fall forwards, sliding down the hill, landing in the snow at the bottom.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I try to pull myself to my feet, but the second I put any weight on my ankle, it’s excruciating.

  I grab for something, like a rock or a branch or anything to pull myself up with, but all I can feel is snow. Snow in my hands, snow falling on me, snow seeping into my clothes. I am Jack from Titanic when he’s bobbing around in the Atlantic levels of cold right now.