by Terry Tyler
Complete silence.
"Thought not. Now, Jonas has gone, with Siobhan. If you can't deal with that, you're free to leave." And he strode out of the room without looking at anyone.
That wasn't the end of it, of course. No one said anything to me, but they had a good moan to Rowan when they went to collect supplies, and she reported back.
It makes me weary. The worst thing is that he doesn't care. I think he should go around and talk to people, uncover grievances before they snowball into problems, but he says he's not providing counselling services on top of everything else, and his free time is his own.
Most of this is spent on his book.
We acquired domestic generators over the summer, for refrigeration, and Dex has commandeered one for his word-processor. He prints off drafts for editing, and stores his manuscript on old floppy disks like I remember my dad using.
The as-yet-unnamed work is an examination of the sociological and psychological effects of the fall of 21st century society. I haven't read all of it, just the first few chapters, and they're terribly pompous and not as insightful as I'd expected. He makes sweeping generalisations, and patronises. He interviews people, but he doesn't look behind their words to see how they feel.
I think this is because he's not that interested in people. He just wants to produce his Great Work.
I never noticed, before, how pompous he is.
I sit in the castle with him some evenings while he writes, and I read, or do bits and bobs around the place, and feel guilty because I prefer being down at the house with my daughter and our friends. We go to bed in the ancient four-poster, and sometimes I think of the day before we left Elmfield, when Heath held me in his arms.
That ship has well and truly sailed. Disappeared over the horizon.
I'll get to Heath in a bit.
In the evenings, on the rare occasion he isn't writing or doing something community related, we drink wine together and talk, like we used to, but all too often we end up disagreeing. Oddly enough we still have sex a lot, but sometimes I wonder if that's all that's holding us together.
He tells me he loves me, often. Maybe men expect different things from love. Maybe they just need a woman who lets them do what they want and who they fancy enough to fuck. I don't think he actually cares what I think or want, or, looking back, if he ever did.
He goes to see Naomi and Phoenix more than he used to. Naomi is cock-a-hoop about this. Whenever I bump into her it's all 'Dex was telling me such-and-such yesterday', or 'Dex and Phoenix have such a bond, it's my greatest joy'. I imagine such comments are designed to make me worried he'll go back to her. I'm very pleased he's 'bonding' with his son, I truly am, but I suspect one of the reasons he spends so much time there is because Naomi tells him how wonderful he is.
"Have you read the whole manuscript yet? Really, you haven't? Honestly, Vicky, you should. Such evocative prose, and he has a knack of cutting right through to the crux of a situation. Do you not think it important to support him?"
I wonder if Dex always hankered after being a writer, as he taught English Literature. If not fiction, maybe the sort of study he's working on now. Which might explain why he's so dismissive of Martin the journalist; I suggested he show his work to him, and he said he wasn't prepared to have it picked to pieces by an internet hack.
He practically spat those two words out.
I wonder if Martin might find it as wordy and pretentious as I do. I don't think Dex cuts through to the crux of situations at all. I find his observations fairly commonplace. But, as he said himself, Naomi is not that intelligent.
Kara said to me once that men with big egos prefer women who aren't that intelligent because they make them feel superior.
She's been with Phil for ten years. I asked her if they have bad patches, and she said yes, about once every three days, but then she laughed and said they rub along together just fine, because Phil is very calm, and puts up with her ranting.
I'm guessing I used to be the Phil in my relationship with Dex.
Now I'll tell you about Heath.
He's living with Aria. Must be serious, if she left Travis for him. Lucky woman, to have the choice between two such lovely men.
She confided in Kara when they were out on a run.
"I was surprised; I thought she couldn't stand me. But I don't think she's got any friends, has she?"
Kara said Aria came clean to Travis about shagging Heath, he told her to leave, and she went straight round to Heath's because she had 'nowhere to go'. Which is baloney because there are empty houses all over the island. She stayed with him for a few nights then decided she couldn't put up with Ozzy and Scott 'barging in' all the time—i.e. being in their own house—so insisted they get their own place.
I'm guessing Heath wouldn't have set up home with her unless he wanted to.
Phil tells me Travis is heartbroken. He goes to work on the farm, doesn't talk to anyone much, then goes back to his new house over the fields, all by himself.
"Poor bloke. I took him a coffee out and we went for a walk; he said he can't handle people right now."
Sometimes I see him down by the water, behind the castle, and he looks as though he has the cares of the world on his shoulders. Several women on the island would like to console him, but he's not interested.
Jax has come to live with us; Rowan's moved into the hotel, so he's taken her room. He didn't want to live with his dad and Aria because she makes him feel in the way. It's good having him in our house. When Ozzy and Scott are there, too, it's almost like old times.
Heath has signed up for more shifts on the watch. I suppose the rest of the time they're at home alone, enjoying each other.
When Dex spends a lot of time at Naomi's, the worst I ever feel is mildly peeved. When I think of Heath with Aria, I want to scream with jealousy. This is all wrong.
Travis will be feeling much, much worse than I do. I have nothing to complain about. And it's all of my own making, every last little bit of it.
Chapter Nineteen
Heath and Aria
Aria
I fucked up. This wasn't the plan at all.
I fell in love, and I took my eye off the ball.
I thought it all out with my clever brain, and then my heart starting bouncing around like a jack-in-a-box with ADHD, and making me act like a total dummy.
I told Travis. And there's no point in me saying 'it just came out', because things don't 'just come out'.
Words come out because you want to say them.
I told Travis because I wanted the world to know that I'm the one Heath wants.
I wanted to stick two fingers up at Miss Pretty with her boss-man boyfriend in that awesome castle, and cool daughter (who I actually like, I have to admit) and group of super-supportive friends. Why don't I ever have friends like that?
I hate the way that little group acts like they own Heath. I'm always the fucking outsider. I know they don't like me.
But I got what I wanted.
Be careful what you wish for, right?
I now live with the love of my life, just us, on our own, without his irritating kid. But I'm miserable. I have less of him than when we were just screwing a few times a week.
I was scared that if I didn't make something happen, it wouldn't last. He's never told me he loves me. An affair has to be worth the risk, and, after six months, the urgency was fading. Like it never quite reached boiling point, and now it was going back to simmer. We'd go out on a run, have a great laugh and fabulous sex, sometimes even get a bit gooey afterwards, but I knew he wasn't quite feeling it. Not like me.
I started to panic that he'd find a woman he could be with openly.
I had to make sure that woman was me.
I knew exactly what I was doing when I told Travis. I knew he could never forgive me. I came straight out with it. I was like, I've got something to tell you that I can't keep a secret any longer. He said, What? And I said, I'm sleeping with Heath. I'm in love with hi
m.
He stared at me for a long, long time, and I saw the pain on his face. He didn't say anything, he just walked out. I waited ages, and he was gone so long I actually worried he'd walked out into the sea and ended it. By the time he came back, I'd demolished a bottle of wine. Okay, a bottle and a bit.
He just stood at the door and said, "I'd like you to leave. Now."
Pity I was pissed, or I might have acted more sensibly. I did try. I said, "I can't leave now, it's nearly midnight."
He didn't flinch. He said, "Isn't your boyfriend waiting for you?"
"He doesn't know I'm telling you tonight." He doesn't know I'm telling you at all.
"Well, I'm sure you can wake him. Oh, and by the way, I'm not stupid. I saw the way he looked at you on the day we got here. I knew he'd try to take you away from me."
He doesn't know anything. Heath wasn't trying to take me away. He doesn't want me enough.
Travis strode upstairs and shoved the chest of drawers up against the door. I tried banging and shouting, then pleading; I thought he was just sulking, you see. But when he opened it he had my bag packed, and he took me by the arm, frogmarched me down the stairs and pushed me out of the door. He slammed it after me and put something against it so I couldn't get in.
I never thought he'd be that childish. He was always so calm. But he's never been in love before, which means he's never had his heart broken, and everyone goes a bit nuts the first time.
So there I was, standing out in the dark street at midnight, the worse for drink, with nowhere to sleep. Yes, I could have gone to one of the empty houses, but the beds in the open ones would be damp and fusty (the decent ones are kept locked, awaiting new arrivals), and I hadn't got any candles or water.
So I went to Heath's.
Total déjà vu. Wandering down a road in the middle of the night with nowhere to go, pissed and crying. How many times in my life has that happened? End of civilisation or not, I don't suppose it'll be the last, but I was so angry with myself. I'd pictured it going down with a bit more class. Breaking Travis's heart with dignity, not screaming and banging on the bedroom door like a silly drunken cow.
Heath's house was in darkness. It's all a bit hazy, because of the bottle and a half of Pinot. I was in a right state. The kid answered the door; when he confirmed that, yes, his dad was in, I zoomed past him up the stairs.
Everywhere is so dark at night, these days; I could only just make out his silhouette against the light of the window. He sat up.
"Aria? What's happened?"
I just said, "I've left Travis."
He opened his arms to me and I went into them; he wasted no time pulling off my clothes and we had the most awesome fuck; I thought, oh, he's pleased, and I was so damn happy. Afterwards we snuggled up and fell asleep. Spending the night with him, at last. I thought it was all going to be okay, for once in my life. A smooth transition from the man I had almost loved to the great passion of my life.
That was four weeks ago.
My bubble burst the very next morning.
I asked him how he felt when we were getting dressed, and he said, "Well, it's not ideal, but it is what it is."
I didn't know what that meant so I said, "So I can stay here? I don't fancy living in one of those empty houses, all on my own."
And he said of course I could, all kind smiles, but nothing he said told me he was blown away by the idea.
So I stayed, and I made sure sex was the best ever, but on the first night I could hear Jax and Scott laughing downstairs, and they would have been able to hear us if Heath hadn't kept putting his hand over my mouth, and the next night Ozzy was snoring so loudly next door that he might as well have been kipping on a camp-bed in our room. He was making these weird loud whistling sounds, and Heath kept laughing, which kind of put me off my stride.
Audrey told me that Travis had moved out to this house on its own over the fields, so I chose my moment. A few days later, I was just about to give Heath a blow job on the sofa when Scott walked in; I said, "We need some privacy," and he agreed.
I suggested we move back into Duck Cottage. He agreed straight away, though I could see something in his eyes. A strange look I couldn't make out, but it told me he wasn't a hundred per cent happy.
It was great for the first few days. But then he signed up for more shifts on the watch; when I asked him why, he said he was fed up with supply runs. I didn't believe him. I pressed him, and he admitted he'd done so because it wasn't good for any relationship to spend 24/7 in each other's company.
I get it.
Going out scavenging used to mean finding fun places to get down and dirty. We'd sneak off while the others were next door, so there was always the danger of getting caught, but now that spark has gone, because we can do it in our own bed any time we choose.
On the surface, it's great. We laugh, we fuck, we go out on the bike, and he smiles and acts happy, but there's something going on in that head of his, I know there is.
I think it's something to do with the kid's mother, but he won't talk about her. That upsets me. It's like he doesn't trust me.
The other night we were sprawled out by the fire after sex, all skin touching skin, limb entangled with limb on our cosy furry rug, so close, and I thought the moment was right, but he clammed up.
"I want to know you better," I said. I knelt up and watched him looking at my tits; I know how great I look by firelight. "How can we have a good relationship if we're not honest with each other?"
He smiled. "Does being honest have to mean telling each other about every sad, sorry mistake we've ever made?"
"No!" I laughed. It doesn't; I'm certainly not about to tell him about all the times I've behaved appallingly. Or like a total prat. "But when you won't talk about your past, it hurts." I did the big, tearful eyes bit. "I left Travis for you."
"I didn't ask you to."
"No, but I did it. It is what it is, you said that the morning after."
He pulled me to him. "Indeed I did." He kissed my head and wound his fingers into my curls. "Don't worry," he said, "I won't be repeating my mistakes."
I didn't know what he meant by that, but he wouldn't be drawn.
I am terrified I'm going to lose him. I have to bite my tongue all the time so that I don't ask for reassurance, because there is no greater turn off.
I can't lose him. I can't. It would finish me off, I think I'd actually flip.
I know how Travis felt, now.
Yesterday we were walking down by the water and we saw Vicky and Dex, walking along, arm in arm. She looked like shit; she had on baggy combats, an old jumper that must have belonged to Dex, and a woolly hat. I was in my rock chick jacket, jeans and over-the-knee boots. After we'd passed them, Heath stopped talking. He was deep in thought, all the way back.
It made me feel helpless. Like there's nothing I can do to make him love me.
It's that human nature thing again; she's the one he can't have, so she's the one he wants.
All that evening, while we made our dinner, sat by the fire and talked, made love and listened to that ancient rock he likes on his little Discman, he was so quiet. When I tried to cheer him out of it, he smiled back, but the smile seemed false, like he'd stuck it on his face to keep me sweet.
Heath
I'm trapped.
We were happy as we were; why did she have to push it?
She loves me. I can't do to her what I did to Sarah.
She's unstable, like Sarah was. She might do something just as crazy.
I still want Vicky.
I'm trapped.
If it wasn't for Jax, I'd get on my bike and go. Leave here, forever, run from it all, find a new world somewhere else. But Jax loves it here. I got it all wrong for so many years, I have to get it right now.
I hate myself.
I've fucked up again.
I'm trapped.
Chapter Twenty
Lottie
"High heels!" says Nicole.
I clap. "
Tragic! What the hell were they all about?"
Nicole, Sean, Janek and I are listing stuff from the old life that we don't miss.
"Yeah, but they did look good," says Sean, wistfully.
"Tough. You wear them, then; we're warrior chicks, not Barbie dolls."
"They were a man's plan to make it less easy for girls to run away," says Nicole, and she and I do a high five.
We dress for comfort, warmth and practicality now. Nicole says it's liberating. I just like not having aching feet. And I've never not been liberated.
I dash up to the castle when I get home, to tell Dex about it because he so ought to put it in his book, but he doesn't seem that interested.
"Why not?" says Mum. "I think it's a perfect illustration of the changing role of women."
Dex sniffs. "I'm not writing an online blog, Vicky."
Stupid dick. I say, "We'll write our own book, then."
Mum winks at me. I will if I can find the time. There's so much else to do, though.
I'm totally into living here, especially now I'm going out on runs.
Yesterday we took one of our big taxis and a camper van, eight of us, and drove out across the North Yorkshire moors, miles away, 'cause this new guy, Lewis, told us about a refugee camp out there that went tits up, and Kara said it would be worth investigating for supplies. We found a huge stock of bottled water, cans of fuel, and rifles and ammo, too, enough for Nicole and me to have some target practice. Turns out I'm a naturally good shot! Holding a gun is brilliant. Hope I get to use it for real soon! Kara gave us both the it's not a toy lecture, which I thought was totally beneath her, and told her so.
People come, people go; I'm sad Laksha's gone, less so about others. These two new lab techs, Nish and Ian, are cool. You'd think people who worked in science labs would be boring stiffs, but they're not. Lols! Talking of which, I've noticed how some words don't get used any more, such as 'YOLO'; the internet had its own language, and now it's all gone. I mentioned this to Dex, and he said, "Thank Christ for that."