‘Not exactly, more a little dalliance, a diversion, by the name of Greg. A barrister, who is promising to keep me warm on a cold winter’s night. He’s rather lovely.’
‘A barrister? Wow! From dentist to barrister – you can’t half pick ’em!’
‘No! No!’ Sara roared her characteristic laugh. ‘A barista – he makes coffee!’
Romilly also laughed long and loud and felt some of the knots slip from her muscles. It felt good to chat to her friend for so many reasons, the main one being that she didn’t treat her like a fragile thing, like something that might fall or someone that might break.
*
Pat arrived, hauling her suitcase up the driveway with tight-lipped determination, as though she had come to make good, clean up and generally fix everything. She was like a cross between Mrs Doubtfire and Inspector Gadget, but with less electronic wizardry and more knitting.
‘Right.’ She stood in the middle of the kitchen and Romilly could see it was with a flicker of disappointment that she cast her eyes over the pristine surfaces, organised fridge and fruit bowl that shone with succulent, organic fare. She correctly suspected that her mum had hoped to find a much less orderly set-up that was crying out for her steady hand and the swish of a bleached mop.
Pat clapped loudly. ‘Cup of tea!’ she announced, as if this at least was something she could do.
‘It was really lovely to see the twins last week. We had a good old laugh.’ Romilly smiled as she thought about her sisters and how they had commandeered the sitting room, drinking coffee, chatting and generally teasing each other, as they always had. It had felt good, like old times.
‘Yes, well, everyone is worried about you, Romilly.’ The way her mum’s voice went up at the end told her this was a somewhat inconvenient state of affairs.
‘I know, Mum, and I’m sorry I’ve upset everyone.’ She swallowed.
Her mum wrinkled her nose as she studied the box containing the green-tea bags that Sylvia favoured. ‘I don’t know what it’s all about really, love. I am trying to understand, but it’s like Aunty Karen, isn’t it?’
Romilly shook her head. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, she was always bloated, felt a bit poorly, had problems with her back passage and so on. Eventually her doctor sent her for tests, which all sounded a bit hippyish, if you ask me – she had to hold a piece of metal and chant, or something. Anyhow, turns out she’s a coeliac!’
‘Are you saying I might be a coeliac?’ She was really confused now.
‘No!’ Her mum tutted. ‘I’m saying that Aunty Karen loved bread! She did. She was the first with her hands in the sandwich tray at any family event. Loved her bread, but she can’t have it, so she doesn’t and that’s that. And surprise, surprise, she feels a lot better for it.’
Romilly stared at her. Her mother had only been over her threshold for approximately fourteen minutes and Romilly was already looking forward to the day when she would be heading home again. She shook the thought from her head, knowing her mum was only trying to help. An image of her dad, coming in from the shed at that very moment, abandoning his greenhouse and sprawling uninterrupted on the sofa, smiling and taking full control of the remote, made her realise that he too probably needed this break.
‘I see what you’re saying, Mum, and you’re right in a way. I just need to not drink and everything will be okay.’
‘That’s right!’ Pat turned to her with her palms raised, as though this was a breakthrough moment. ‘I mean, you’ve never known your limits, have you? And before you get huffy, I’m not going to mention that horrible day with Viktor the Russian—’
‘Even though you just did.’
‘But only to tell you that I’m not going to. Anyway, my point is, you have never been good with drink. I can’t count the times I’ve had to remind you that a drunk girl is not a pretty girl.’
Romilly stifled the giggle that wanted to burst from her throat. She knew this was far from funny.
Her mum wasn’t done. ‘So, what I’m saying is, you need to pull yourself together, love. You need to think about what your little episodes are like for Celeste, and what you’re putting poor David through. And your work can’t be too happy that you’re loafing around at home…’
Romilly was aware that her mum was still speaking, but she’d tuned her voice out. Her tears bloomed and slipped down her face. Her mum, making the tea, didn’t notice.
I can barely stop thinking about what I’m doing to Celeste and David. And I’m desperate to go back to work. I’ve got research to see through, projects to monitor. And I wish… I wish I had something wrong with me that people could see, because then they wouldn’t feel like you do, that I just need to try and pull myself together. I could not be trying any harder. It takes all my strength not to give in, every second of every minute of every day.
Celeste
Both my grandmas are completely bonkers, but in different ways. My mum’s mum is comical. She never stops talking, not for a second. She’s always busy and if there isn’t a chore to be done then she’ll find one, like organising the peg bag. And I’m not even joking. She came to stay with us for a while and I remember her taking all of the clothes pegs out of their bag on the washing line and putting them all back inside, in neat little stacks!
She says she likes to feel useful, but I think she just doesn’t like to sit still, doesn’t want too much thinking time, maybe. She always loved my mum, but I don’t think she ever understood her or her illness. She’d often say things like ‘A month in a bloody luxury retreat, I should be so lucky!’ Now I’m older, I can see that’s quite a horrid thing to say, as if Mum had been living it up. She just couldn’t get her head around how Mum could have a loving family, a beautiful home and a good job and yet choose to throw it all away. But that’s the thing, she didn’t have any choice. No choice at all. She was sick.
Granny Sylvia always treated me as an equal, even when I was seven or eight. That was great in some ways, she got how I was feeling. We talked about how scared I was and she said that was fine, as everyone was probably a bit scared but that adults were better at hiding it. I asked her if she’d ever been scared and she spoke in a voice that I hadn’t heard before, softer, ‘I was once so scared I thought my heart might stop. My husband, Cole, your Grandpa, he was the finest man ever to stroll down Main Street. The day he married me I thought all my ships had come in and I was happy, so happy. We moved over here and had lived a wonderful life. Then one day he told me he was leaving me, and the life I lived was going to come to an end. And even though he was talking, I couldn’t hear his words, like on the TV when the sound and picture don’t quite match and I remember thinking, how do I carry on? How do I do this? I was mighty scared then, more afraid than I had ever been.’
‘What did you do?’
She sat up straight as if remembering that it was me she was talking to.
‘I got my house in order, toughened up, swallowed my fear and dusted myself off!’
And just like that her stern voice was back. She kissed me and said ‘Keep at ’em!’ and I wished then that she were more like Nanny Pat, who would tuck me in and plump my pillow and linger in the doorway until I’d nodded off.
Twelve
Ten months, three weeks, six days and three hours. This was how long it had been since Romilly had last had a drink. She’d been back at work for two months and she felt good. Returning had been strangely nerve-wracking: being handed her car keys, wallet and bag and waved off as though it was just any other day at the office. She’d been as nervous as if it was the first day of school.
David had put on his ‘everything is fine’ face. She hadn’t confessed to him that there had actually been something rather comforting about being supervised, even though it had driven her crazy at times. It was a similar feeling to falling asleep knowing someone was down the hall keeping an eye on you. Her fear of having the freedom to go out and source a drink was acute. She hoped beyond hope that she wouldn’t act on
it, as though the choice wasn’t hers to make.
There was also a strong sense of embarrassment about walking back into the lab where Tim had cornered her on that horrible, horrible day. His words still made her cringe. ‘This is really awkward, Rom, but have you been drinking?’ She needn’t have worried. As soon as her hand touched the handle, he shouted, loudly, ‘Oh, finally! Here she is. Just as we’ve nearly finished all the hard work, she turns up to tell us what we did wrong and grab all the glory and probably have a quick tidy-up as well!’ He downed his pen and strode over to the door.
‘You know me too well.’ She smiled, welcoming his loose, brotherly embrace.
‘I do. I have also been keeping track of all the days when it was your turn to make the tea.’ He sprinted to his desk and pulled a piece of paper from under a stack of books. ‘And, according to this, you owe us six hundred and forty cups of tea or coffee and three hundred and forty-six bourbon or custard-cream biscuits. You will, however, be relieved to hear that you don’t have to make them all today; any time over the next month will be fine.’ He smiled.
‘I’ve missed you, Tim.’ She pushed her glasses up onto her nose and tucked her hair behind her ears, ready for business.
‘Oh, don’t think you can get out of tea duty by going all mushy on us!’ He winked. And just like that, she was back in the fold.
Months had passed and her period of absence wasn’t even remembered any more. This made her feel happy and confident in her role. As Romilly hung up her lab coat and said her goodbyes for the night, she did a double-take, surprised to see the familiar Mercedes in the car park. Sara was leaning on the bonnet. Her legs were crossed at the ankle and she was on her phone. Romilly looked to the left and right as if to check that it wasn’t a set-up and David wasn’t about to leap from the bushes and shout, ‘Aha, caught you!’ She wandered over, feeling embarrassed that they’d had so little contact in recent months and unnerved at Sara’s sudden appearance.
She walked slowly, hoping her friend’s call might end soon. It didn’t. Romilly found herself hovering in front of her awkwardly, trying not to listen to the detail as she chatted to Greg, her beau, and practically ignored Romilly, as though she was not standing in close proximity, in the car park of the lab at which she worked. Finally, Sara cooed her loving goodbye and slid her phone off.
‘Right, that’s that,’ she said, folding her phone into her palm as though this were a pre-arranged meeting and not their first encounter since they’d stood awkwardly on the pavement trying to find common ground while Sara confessed to having been banned from her friend’s life. ‘You look gorgeous!’ she exclaimed.
Romilly plucked at the mustard-coloured tunic with the embroidered front panel, ridiculously flattered by Sara’s comments. She’d forgotten that Sara had the ability to do that.
‘Fancy a curry?’
‘A what, sorry?’ The invitation was so random, it threw Romilly a little.
‘A curry! I’ve been gagging for one for weeks but didn’t fancy dining alone. Why don’t we take my car, go get some food. Doesn’t have to be a late one.’ She raised her palms as if in submission. ‘We can have a good old catch-up over a ruby and be back in time for bedtime stories and cocoa. How does that grab you?’ She smiled.
Romilly thought of David and Celeste, who were expecting her home, and recalled the last time Sara had met her from work, so casually and without warning, and how that had ended up.
‘I would like a curry—’
‘Great!’ Sara interjected. ‘Let’s try the new one in Clifton village, it’s supposed to be fab.’
‘But I’m not sure I can tonight.’
‘Oh, come on, Rom! It’s just a curry, us two sharing a naan and putting the world to rights. To be honest I could do with a chat.’
It had been months, literally months since she’d done anything other than work or pace the rooms at home. A curry in Clifton sounded wonderful. ‘Okay. But I’ll have to pop home first, let David know where I’m off to. I don’t want him worrying.’ She kicked the tarmac with the toe of her shoe.
‘Sure. Shall I meet you there then? I’ll go ahead and get the poppadums on order and see you there in, what…?’ She looked at her phone screen, presumably to gauge the time. ‘In about an hour?’
‘Okay, lovely.’ Romilly smiled, feeling a frisson of excitement at the prospect of going out socially and happy to be with Sara, who had the knack of making her feel good.
*
Pulling on the handbrake, she practised yet again what she was going to say. It reminded her of when she was a teen and used to lie to her parents about staying overnight at a friend’s so she could go to a party. It was the same sensation: the metallic taste of deceit overlaid by the sweet promise of doing something fun.
‘Look!’ Celeste ran towards her mum the moment she walked in the door. ‘I’ve got new teeth!’ She bared her gums to show the stump of a little ivory-coloured button poking through the back of her gums.
‘Hey, that’s so great! Congratulations on your new teeth!’ She kissed her face, following as her daughter skipped into the kitchen.
‘Okay, so we have a choice.’ David was preoccupied with the shallow plastic ready-meal trays in his hands. ‘Can I tempt you with lasagne or carbonara?’ He shuffled them in his hands. ‘I don’t mind which, so you get to choose.’
‘Actually, I don’t want either. I’m going out!’ She tried to sound casual, but her eyes flickered nonetheless.
‘Oh.’ His eyebrows knitted together as he placed the cartons on the work surface. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Don’t you mean who are you going with?’ She asked the question that she was dreading hearing, as if bringing it to a head herself might spare them both the dance of getting to the point.
He stared at her but said nothing.
‘Don’t look so worried. I’m just going out with Tim and the guys from work for a curry. Kind of team building, I suppose. I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘I don’t.’ He glanced at Celeste, who was busy colouring in a picture of a gingerbread cottage. ‘Are you sure you feel up to it?’ he whispered.
‘Yes! It’s a curry and a catch-up, it’ll be fine.’ She nodded.
‘Do you want me to drop you off?’ he offered, sweetly.
‘No, that’s fine, I’ll jump in a cab and one of the guys can drop me back. Parking in Clifton at this time of night is a nightmare.’
‘Okay.’ David sighed, as if steeling himself. ‘If you want to leave early, or want picking up, or anything’s bothering you, or you feel uncomfortable in any way…’ He let this trail. ‘Then text me and I’ll be there before you can say “chicken tikka masala”.’ He kissed her nose. His lips were hot.
She could tell he was nervous, but she was determined to show him that she was capable of leaving the house without getting drunk. ‘I love you, Mr Wells.’ She smiled as she wandered over to hug her daughter goodbye and give her instructions for bed.
‘Proper love,’ he reminded her as she shut the front door behind her.
Celeste
It’s weird, isn’t it, that the older you get, the better you’re able to look at the map of your life to date and spot the markers, the pivotal moments of change, after which nothing was ever quite the same again. It works for good things and bad. Like the time I first saw Alistair. It was pouring down with rain. He practically marched towards me, stomped through the haze, as though his message was urgent. I turned and watched him striding across the field, waiting to hear what vital information he had to impart. He even jogged the last few steps, as though in a desperate hurry. But when he reached me, he didn’t say anything for a few moments, just put his hands in the pockets of his Barbour and looked out towards the horizon. I followed his eye line and gazed across the sloping landscape towards the big sky. It was dark, menacing.
‘You should see the sunrise from here. On a clear morning, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ll ever see.’
‘I’d like
that,’ I said, as though it was an invitation.
He stared at me then and I him, and instead of feeling embarrassed or awkward about looking at this stranger whose name I didn’t even know, it felt wonderful, natural, as if it was expected, the right thing. As if I knew he was going to be important to me and so I had to catch up, learn him.
And, looking back, I can see that the night Mum went out for a curry was the same. It changed things for all of us. And for her, it was the beginning of the end.
Thirteen
Opening just one eye hurt.
She closed it again quickly, battening down her fluttering lids, trying to shut out the shaft of light that had shot through her pupil and pierced her brain. She opened and closed her mouth, licking her dry lips and swallowing. Her tongue was thick, her spit rancid and strands of her hair were in her mouth, a couple down her throat. She gagged. She placed her hand under the covers and felt her thighs wet with the slippery aftermath of sex. A film of sour sweat sat slickly on her skin and her gut churned with the desire to shit or vomit or possibly both. She shivered, as if poorly.
And yet, unbelievably, these were the joyous seconds. These were the happy few moments of oblivion before realisation dawned and her whole world came crashing down. She wondered if there had been a noise or whether the thunderclap that rang out inside her skull had been heard by her alone. Its ricochet as devastating as any bullet.
Holding her breath, she slowly peeled her eyes open. The first thing she saw were unfamiliar wardrobe doors of cheap pine and then dusty floral curtains that fell a couple of inches short of the window sill and sagged from the pole that tried to support them. They let the daylight in. Morning light, to be precise. The room had that particular spicy smell of boys, an acrid combination of feet, sweat, trainers, sex and dirty sheets. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.
She was naked. Clinging to the edge of a brown nylon duvet cover, she slowly turned her head to the left and suppressed the scream that built in her throat. A naked back was turned away from her. Pustules and angry spots peppered the greasy skin between the shoulder blades that were muted under a comfortable layer of fat. The man had dark hair and was sleeping, mercifully.
Another Love Page 16