by Lucy Dawson
‘There are tissues in the glove compartment.’
‘I’m just a bit under the weather at the moment, as well as being upset,’ she whispered. ‘That’s all. I’m sorry my sniffing annoys you.’
‘I was trying to be nice! Can I not even offer you a tissue without doing something wrong?’
Storm pointedly closed her eyes again, like she was having to block out the pain of listening to her unreasonable, ranting husband. Well, she’d finally got the reaction she’d been pushing for. I drove too fast for another minute or two until we lurched to a stop at a red light. I glanced at Storm, who was now apparently so emotionally exhausted she’d passed out. That’d be right; she’d flop into bed the second we got in and I’d be left pacing the house all wound up with nowhere to go.
I flashed my lights furiously at the red and it flipped. I pulled away, glancing across at the other side of the road, to see Julia about to drive past me in her little white Mini, apparently on her way back into town, some man sat alongside her in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see who in the dark – he was looking out to the left and had a hood up. Dominic? I imagined so.
Julia didn’t notice me as she sailed by – it was a split-second thing. I twisted quickly to try and get a longer look at her, swerving enough to make Storm open her eyes briefly.
‘Nathan! What’s the matter with you?’
Where was she taking him? Back to the station again? On her own? Was that even safe? Had I been alone, I would have swung the car round and followed, to make sure she was all right, but – I glanced angrily at Storm, blinking, as if she wasn’t sure where she was and yawning – I was not.
She staggered into the house when we got home, kicking off her heels and making straight for the stairs as I closed the front door and put the chain across. In times gone by, we would have relished a child-free evening; it would have meant being able to make noise during sex. Sex with the light on. Possibly sex more than once if we were feeling really racy. Now that Ben was more regularly staying over at friends’ houses, it wasn’t nearly so much of an event to have the place to ourselves. I went for a piss then padded upstairs. She’d be out cold by now. I crept into our bedroom to get my book for the spare room later, but to my surprise she was awake, obviously naked – albeit covered by the duvet – and waiting for me.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Come to bed.’
I looked at her, lying there, her once intriguing violet eyes fixed desperately on my face. What man would refuse? I knew I was expected to say yes – to prove I still had feelings for her, but why the hell should I? Women, quite rightly, aren’t expected to perform when they don’t want to. Putting sexual pressure on your spouse simply isn’t the done thing anymore.
‘A kind offer, but you don’t have to do that. Go to sleep.’
‘I want to, Nathan.’
Yes, I know you do. A husband refusing his wife sexually – when girls are taught from an early age that boys are only after one thing – must feel like the ultimate rejection… but frankly she deserved it for humiliating me so deliberately at dinner.
‘No, really,’ I said softly, ‘I couldn’t possibly expect you to suffer an underachiever like me.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have s—’
‘Get some rest.’ I made for the door. ‘I’m going to watch TV for a bit. I’ll go in the spare room when I come up, so I don’t disturb you.’
‘Oh, please don’t!’ She sat up and winced at the movement. ‘Promise you’ll come in here? Would you mind bringing me some water when you do?’
‘Don’t I always?’
She smiled gratefully. ‘Yes. Don’t make a special trip but just, if you could not forget. My mouth is dry. You were right: I did drink too much.’ She lay down again slowly. ‘Why do I do this?’ She put her hand to her head.
Because you’re unhappy, I could have said. We could have sat and talked like adults, but I’d already been through one arse-shattering divorce. I didn’t fancy round two. Things suited me as they were. Or at least they had up until now.
I went to the bathroom first and cleaned my knife before heading to my study to sit in the dark and watch a couple of new films; two patients from the day before. A therapist would no doubt tell me because I wasn’t hugged enough as a child, I now punish all women – who represent dear old Ma – by deliberately making my female patients vulnerable without actually confronting them, or her. Essentially, making up for what my mother failed to give me and to spite my father.
I would say I like looking at tits. I reached into my pocket and flicked the blade open, laying it down in preparation on my desk. I removed my trousers, folded them up and, taking my seat again, slipped my hand down the front of my boxers. I picked up the knife and restarted the film, watched myself marking the breasts of the patient on the screen with black pen, to identify where the incision points would be. My hand and breath started to quicken, and as I watched myself sweep the curve under the left breast, I gasped and darted the point of the knife into the skin of my right thigh. It wasn’t deep – barely more than a paper cut really. Superficial – and that was the problem. It wasn’t doing anything for me anymore. The films felt like experiences I’d already used up. Frustrated, I tossed the knife onto the desk and pushed the laptop away. I craved something stronger, fresher – more authentic.
My mind instantly returned to Julia; her kindness and understanding when I’d apologised for Storm’s behaviour. She’d backed me up to the Dowdens too, refusing to indulge the daughter’s speculation that I’d caused her mother’s implant failure.
I’d felt her body tremble next to me with suppressed laughter at dinner, when the pregnant woman had made her extraordinary comment, and I’d failed to contain my own amusement. I hadn’t gone looking for the shared moment – but neither did I make anything of it. I didn’t take her hand when she reached out to me in the hall afterwards either. Storm was talking out of her arse.
I balled my hands into fists, and leaning my elbows on the desk, dug my knuckles into my temples. As if my wife’s unwanted presence in every other area of my life wasn’t bad enough, she now demanded ownership of my thoughts too? Her comments were grossly intrusive. She hadn’t seen me. She hadn’t read my mind and discovered that I’d fallen for Julia at all. It was Julia’s troubled professional background I was interested in. Nothing more, nothing less.
In fact, perhaps I would make things even stickier for Julia – properly wind her in my web until I was ready to make use of her, because I did NOT have feelings for her, therefore could do as I pleased. If that also involved my needing to get physical with Julia – well, there we were. Fuck Hamish telling me I couldn’t do it and fuck Storm telling me I already had. I released my hands, heat prickling in my spread fingertips as I thought about touching Julia properly. Reaching out, I snatched up the phone.
‘Hello. I thought it was dinner at Stef’s tonight?’ Hamish yawned, and I imagined him stuffed into his beloved saggy old chair in front of the fire; hard to see where the chair left off and Hamish began.
‘Already done and dusted.’ I put the phone on speaker so I could pull my trousers on. ‘Things got a little tasty so we came back early.’ I picked the handset up and headed off to the kitchen to get some water. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking. Now that Julia is here, perhaps you’re right – her difficult past isn’t quite enough. I’d like to have something really meaty – so to speak – in our back pocket that we can use as leverage at a later date, should she unwisely step out of line.’
‘Ah ha!’ I imagined him shifting position in his chair, becoming more alert and interested. ‘We have some departmental admin to do! Excellent! Do you have a particular scenario in mind?’
‘Yes. I do. I won’t go into it now, but we’ll start laying the foundations first thing on Monday.’ I paused as I regarded the glass I’d automatically filled for Storm, then tipped it back down the sink after all, leaving it on the side and picking up my own b
efore walking to the door.
‘I assume you will be playing the active role in proceedings and I’ll be watching?’
‘Indeed.’ I saw myself running a finger softly down the skin of Julia’s stomach, her muscles contracting involuntarily at my touch. I flipped off the light.
‘Lovely!’ I could tell Hamish was smiling. ‘I shall look forward to that.’
Eleven
Julia
I was enjoying a coffee at the kitchen table over the Saturday papers when my mobile buzzed at precisely nine a.m. It was a local number I didn’t recognise, but I picked up in case it was something to do with Dominic.
‘Julia? It’s Stefanie. I’m sorry to be calling early. I just wanted to ring and apologise for last night. I don’t blame you for one second, pulling the babysitter routine. It was an awful evening – I’m so sorry! What you must think of us?’
‘Oh no, it really was an emergency,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t staging anything.’
‘You’re kind to pretend, but both Steve and I were saying we’d have done exactly the same in your position. Storm can be such a sweet girl, then inexplicably she’s… like last night.’
‘She honestly wasn’t the reason we left.’
‘She was very rude. I won’t pretend otherwise. Nate’s an old friend of ours, you see – and since he married Storm, we’ve rather inherited her by default. His first wife, darling old Serena, is a brick. You’d like her a lot. Unfortunately, it was the classic story: married young; Serena supported Nate while he worked his way up; she ran the house, did everything with the kids; he was spending all of his time at work… and suddenly his very pretty registrar was pregnant… In fairness to Nate, they weren’t right for each other in the first place. I did try to tell Serena… Anyway, I hope you’ll come and see us another time, and I’ll send you the links to some of those clubs I was talking about for your son. Have a super weekend, won’t you?’
I felt bad as I hung up, but also pleased that none of them had an inkling why we’d really left, only for my phone to bleep with a text from Dominic himself. Up by nine and making breakfast arrangements? Maybe this really was a new start.
I began to read the message as Ewan wandered back into the room, clutching the kids’ damp, clean school uniforms, ready to hang over the rack. He jumped when I suddenly dropped my phone on the table, grabbed a section of the paper, flung it across the room and shrieked with anger.
‘What’s happened?’ Ewan looked at me in astonishment.
‘What always happens.’ I got up and went to find Al.
‘Can I come in, love?’ I pushed his bedroom door open only to be confronted by two very large, plush toy guinea pigs on the floor, next to one another, each about the size of a small sheep. ‘Goodness!’ I said. ‘Did Dad get you those?’
‘Yeah!’ Alex was already dressed and wandering around his room excitedly, packing a backpack. ‘He knows pigs are animals that need company – they don’t like to be alone – so he bought me two.’
‘Where did they come from?’ I sat down on the edge of his bed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like them.’
‘Japan, I think.’
‘Dad was in Japan?’
Alex shrugged. ‘I suppose so. He could have ordered them on the Internet, though? I’ll ask him at breakfast.’ He beamed and my fury with Dom glinted within me, like the sharp edges of crystals, undiscovered until the rock is split open.
I watched Al pack a pencil case and a sketch pad then took a deep breath. ‘I’ve just had a message from Dad actually. He’s really sorry, but he’s had to go back to London.’
Alex stopped dead. ‘But what about breakfast?’
I felt the muscles in my jaw grip as I tried to smile. ‘He’s going to have to miss breakfast this time.’
I watched our son’s shoulders sag. His eyes started to shine and he quickly turned away.
I diplomatically looked in the other direction, at the bloody guinea pigs, sitting there lifeless on the floor as I listened to Alex try to swallow his tears. They were Dom all over – stuffed, useless wastes of space that you couldn’t actually do anything with. Alex gave a desperate gulp, then began the heartbroken sobs that I couldn’t ignore.
‘Oh sweetheart!’ I jumped up and tried to pull him into my arms, but as he was now taller than me, I couldn’t comfort him properly.
‘It’s OK. It’s OK!’ Alex tried to say. ‘I’m OK.’ For the first time ever, he drew back, freeing himself and huddling miserably in the corner of his room.
‘Dad said someone he knows is ill and he needed to go and see them.’
Alex nodded and fell silent for a moment before blurting tearfully, ‘but he promised me!’
‘Yes, he did and I’m sure that he absolutely meant it when he said it.’ I tentatively walked over to Al and tried to put a hand on his arm, but he leapt away from me.
‘I’m really OK, Mum.’
‘You don’t have to pretend this doesn’t hurt, Al. You’re allowed to feel disappointed and let down, even if Dad didn’t mean you to feel that way.’
‘I want to be on my own.’ The tears started again.
‘Can’t I just?…’
‘No!’ he almost shouted, desperately. ‘Please just leave me alone!’
I did as I was told, feeling sick as I gently pulled the door to, powerless to stop my son’s pain as Dom’s thoughtlessness threw him across the gap between childhood and growing up… the same agony I had felt when Dom used to recklessly chuck Al too high in the air as a squealing baby – his delight laced with fear – only breathing again when Dom caught him at the last moment and I could steal him back into the safety of my arms. Dom would give an incredulous and slightly slurred ‘now what? He loved it! You heard him! Give him back to me! I’m fine.’
‘Julia?’ I turned to see Cass on the landing in her dressing gown, looking worried. ‘What’s up with Al? Is he crying?’
I nodded. ‘Dominic had to go back to London, so he’s missed the breakfast they were going to have.’
‘Oh.’ Cass looked down at the floor. ‘That’s not good.’
‘No.’ I glanced in through the open door of her bedroom. A giant snow leopard – sitting on her floor with its front paws crossed – stared back at me. ‘Whoa.’
Cass looked back over her shoulder. ‘Yeah. I called it Whisper. Dominic bought it for me. She’s very pretty but I think I’d like it to sleep in the spare room tonight? It creeps me out a bit.’
‘I can understand that.’ Whisper looked as if she might spring to life and eat us at any moment. I’d die of pure fright if I woke up in the night and saw that thing staring back at me. ‘I’ll put her in there now. Cass, would it be OK if we all went to Dartmoor after breakfast? I know it was going to be your and Dad’s trip, and I don’t want to get in the way, but I wondered if,’ I lowered my voice, ‘it might help cheer Al up?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and tell him.’ She moved past me.
‘I think he wants to be on his own,’ I tried to explain gently.
She pushed the door of Al’s room open and stuck her head in. ‘Hey Al? It’s just me. Can I come in?’
I heard a muffled response and she reappeared. ‘We’ll be down in a bit… Maybe make some pancakes?’ she mouthed the last bit, and I nodded, blown away by the expert mothering from the girl who had lost her own, as she gently shut the door on me.
The rain re-covered the windscreen in a fine mist the second the wipers cleared it.
‘This is stupid,’ Al muttered in the back.
‘The forecast said it’s supposed to clear by late morning?’ Ewan offered.
‘Well, the forecast is stupid too.’ Al folded his arms. ‘This whole thing is dumb. I don’t understand why I couldn’t just stay at home and play Fortnite. I told you, there are new skins.’
‘Remind me, what exactly are new skins?’ Ewan asked conversationally.
‘You know that means new characters; you’re just trying to get me to start tal
king and I don’t want to.’ Al glowered out of the window.
‘Al…’ I began, but Ewan put a hand on my leg, before moving it back onto the gear stick.
‘When are we even there?’ Al began complaining again. ‘This is taking forever.’
‘It is taking a long time, to be fair,’ Cass agreed. ‘I’m starving. Can I have something to eat, please?’
‘It’s quarter past eleven,’ I pointed out. ‘Bit early for lunch yet. And it just feels longer because we’ve taken the scenic route through the villages rather than go the main road way. Isn’t that stream pretty the way it cuts through the edge of that cottage garden? And look at that little stone bridge! It’s just like Billy Goats Gruff, isn’t it?’
‘Didn’t Mum used to tell me that story?’ Cass said.
‘Yes, it’s a Norwegian fairy tale,’ Ewan confirmed. ‘The troll is pushed off the bridge by the biggest goat and washes away – or ends up in a cave. I can’t remember.’
‘What a really stupid story,’ said Al crossly. ‘Who cares about goats? I don’t.’
‘Hey!’ said Cass, affronted. ‘And er, hello? Who has two giant stuffed guinea pigs in his bedroom right now?’
‘I don’t even want them!’ Al shouted, and Cass drew back in surprise. ‘I’m going to throw them out of the window when I get home! They’re just – dicks!’
‘Alex!’ I spun round. ‘You don’t need to shout at us or use language like that.’
‘I just want to get out of this car!’ he yelled. ‘You’re all dicks. All of you!’
‘We’re nearly there. You can get out then.’ I turned back and shook my head. On the one hand it was genuinely sweet that the worst word he was prepared to use was ‘dick’. On the other hand – I could practically feel his pain, squashed into the back seat along with his lanky legs.
Cass sniggered suddenly. ‘You called your guinea pigs dicks!’ She grinned and nudged him. Ordinarily, Al would have laughed too and pushed his glasses back on his nose, but he exploded at her touch.