“You’re hardly in a fit state. Stay here and sort yourself out.”
“I don’t believe that’s where you’re going.” She searched Paul’s face for a hint of guilt.
“That’s your problem. Look, I can’t do this. Enjoy the peace.”
The familiar fury rose in her like an uninvited guest. “What if I don’t want you to go? I don’t want to be here on my own.” At that moment, she despised herself.
“I’m an adult. I don’t need your permission to go anywhere Michelle.”
He sounded different, what had got into him? She’d noticed that more lately; once he would have tried to talk her around, but now, he’d argue back. “I think you’re off to see Alana.” She rammed her fist into a cushion without realising she had. “I don’t think I’d blame you. But I can’t take it anymore.”
“You’re talking rubbish.” He rose and backed towards the door. “I’ll
see you later. Emily,” he called. “Come on.”
“You’ll only be an hour, won’t you? Promise?”
“I’ll be as long as I want.”
Michelle wept as the engine of their Ford Focus ebbed into the distance. Darkness weighed on her; yet she was powerless to alter it. Paul was slipping away. Emily was the only reason he was still around, she was sure. Her conscience nagged her for being jealous of her daughter but she could not help it. They had been all right until she had come along and taken the attention. Michelle could still recall how everybody’s focus, including Paul’s, had been all on the baby. She might as well have not existed, apart from being there to have all life literally sucked from her. She’d been exhausted and unable to stop crying. Her boobs had half killed her and she didn’t have that same ‘whatever it was’ that others displayed towards Emily. At times she had hated her. The sound of her crying became like a pneumatic drill. One day the health visitor had frog-marched her to the GP. The anti-depressants had helped. But Emily now looked at her with the same expression in her eyes as Paul.
Michelle wished she could stop imagining Paul with another woman. Alana, no doubt. Kissing her, having sex with her, having secret outings with her daughter. Had she not been feeling so ill, she would have cycled up to David’s to check for his car. Her miserable thoughts were cut into by her ringing mobile phone. She snatched it up, quickly checking the display and instantaneously sinking a little.
“Hi Mum. What do you want?”
“What do you mean? What do I want! What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. It’s Paul.” Michelle’s voice wobbled as she said his name out loud.
“Oh Michelle. You’ve not been arguing again, have you?”
“Yes.” Michelle was choking back tears. It was her mother’s warm and sympathetic tone. Right now, the fact she was being nice to her was not helpful.
“What about this time?”
“I went out and was late back. And now he’s gone to his brother’s house with Emily.”
“Well that hardly sounds like grounds for divorce.” Her mother’s voice lost its anxious edge. “You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think he loves me anymore Mum.” Michelle pushed her hair off her face. “You should see how he looks at me.”
“All marriages go through peaks and troughs.” Her mother’s voice was gentle and Michelle yearned for her to be there, giving her a hug. “Of course he loves you. You need to make more effort.”
“We’re never on our own.” Michelle wished she could be talking to her mum about something normal. “He cares about his stupid secretary more than me.”
“Ah, now that’s not true. You’ll drive him away if you’re going to be accusing him of going off with other women.”
“I don’t need you to start going on at me. I feel bad enough as it is.”
“Well you’ll know what ‘bad’ is if you go wrecking your marriage with your jealousy, love. Take it from someone who knows. Have you any idea how hard life is as a single parent?”
Michelle felt something twist inside her. “I should. You’ve told me often enough.”
“Look. I’ll take Emily for the weekend. As soon as you want. You and Paul go away. It’ll do you the world of good.”
“Thanks.” Michelle sniffed. “That’s if he wants to.” After the phone call, Michelle wrenched herself from the sofa and headed upstairs to the bathroom.
For a moment she wasn’t sure if she was going to be sick again. She gripped the basin and gulped in deep breaths as she shivered in the cool air. As the nausea subsided, she filled a glass of water and took a few sips. She caught sight of herself again in the mirrored cabinet and scraped her fingers through her unkempt hair. She looked awful. Red eyes, blotchy skin and utterly miserable. She could hardly remember what it was like to smile. Her reflection stared back at her. Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!
She threw open one side of the cabinet and rummaged within it for the one thing that would make her feel better, spilling other items onto the floor as she searched. Taking out a razor blade, she sat back onto the toilet lid. She twisted it gently, this way and that, between her thumb and forefinger. Its trapezium shape reflected at her as it glinted around the tiled walls in the early afternoon sunlight.
A familiar calm stole over her. Paul would be devastated but it might make him realise what he was doing to her. If he noticed. He hardly saw her undressed anymore.
She hitched up the dressing gown, ready to attack where there was plenty of untouched flesh. Wounds of previous years had faded to silvery lines. With the anticipation of a child ready to imprint its footprints onto an untouched field of snow, Michelle sliced into the top of her leg. Feeling a slight sting, she pressed the sides of the cut to squeeze the blood out faster, knowing she might let out her internal pain with it. She cut again, about a centimetre away, then again and again, marvelling at the ribbons of blood, oozing from her wounds separately, before merging as one.
The power she had over them made her smile through her tears. She hadn’t realised she was crying and gratitude washed over her that she had found a way to release her torment again. It was the same release she had granted herself previously but had managed to resist for ten years. The face of her former psychotherapist swam into her mind and she imagined his disappointment.
With each new incision, her anger and frustration diminished. That was soon replaced with more tears. As she dabbed at her wounds, she realised she could not stop the bleeding. Nor could she stop her tears. She dabbed at them, mingling salt water and blood upon her face. They dripped onto her legs, making them sting more or were they smarting anyway? Either way, it felt good. Running a hand along the top of her forearm, her palm slid over the ridges of bumps. These were the cuts that over the years, hadn’t healed as well as those on her legs. She paused as she held the tip of the razor over the area. Everyone would notice it here. No, not this time, she returned to her leg, adding two more incisions before rinsing the razor blade under the tap and replacing it in the cabinet.
She found herself a bandage, then balanced her leg on the loo to methodically wrap it around her cuts. She pulled it taut, feeling comfort as the tightness strangled her leg.
More composed and feeling freer than she had felt in years, she realised that in the last hour she’d not once thought about Paul and Emily. Often losing sight of who she was, as a person, she was fed up of succumbing to the roles in her life that usually managed to swallow her up. At this moment she was Michelle again.
Chapter Eleven
Paul tugged a mug from the cupboard. The house was silent. Sometimes it was difficult to believe it was occupied by a family that should be laughing, chatting and playing music, easy in each other’s company… “Michelle!” He jumped as his wife slinked into the room. “You’re looking better.”
“I got some sleep and a shower. I can honestly say I’m never touching wine again.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Paul forced a laugh. “How many times have you said that?”
“It’s good you’re laughing.” Michelle smi
led at him. “You seem in a better mood than you did earlier.”
“I told you. We needed a bit of space.”
“I am sorry about last night you know. I really am.” Paul could see from her expression that she meant it. Perhaps they had a decent evening ahead of them. She went on. “I’ve been speaking to my mum. She’s offered to have Emily for the weekend. We can have some time to ourselves.”
“You’ve been talking to your mum? About us? Again?”
“I haven’t been slagging you off. She rang and could tell I was upset.”
“Great.”
“You don’t want to go away with me then? I think we should.”
He didn’t. Not now. She’d probably use it as another excuse to get drunk anyway. “Look we’ll talk about it later.”
“It’s alright.” She strode towards the kitchen door. “I’ll tell her you’re not bothered. I know when I’m not wanted.” The door banged behind her.
It was not possible for him to duck out of the way as moments later, she burst back through the door, flinging his phone at him. It collided squarely with his nose. Damn! His phone! He’d left it in his jacket pocket.
“You’ve rung your girlfriend!” she cried.
“What are you on about?” His nose throbbed as he raised his hand to it. It was bleeding.
“Your call log. You can’t deny you called Alana. Nine, fifty-six. For five minutes. Why are you speaking to her on a weekend? What were you talking to her about?”
“To let her know I’d be back in work on Monday, you know, after I threw the sickie to do the decorating.”
“I bet you’d take her away for a weekend, wouldn’t you?”
“No Michelle. I wouldn’t.” From within, a strength was rising that he’d forgotten he had. “You’ve no business looking at my phone.”
“I’m going out,” Michelle announced after spending over an hour upstairs. Paul had assumed she was having another lie down and had been harbouring hopes she would wake in an improved mood.
“Mummy, you look pretty. Where are you going? Can we come?” Paul and Emily’s attention was deflected from the TV to where Michelle hovered in the doorway. Her dark hair hung down her back and she peered at them from behind her heavy eyelashes.
“Not again! You never said you were going out. In fact, you said you were never drinking again. Who’re you going with?” Paul wasn’t sure if he felt annoyed or glad of imminent peace.
“Never you mind! Why should I tell you? You’re the secretive one with your bloody secretary.” She swung around and slammed out of the house. As he watched her wobble along the driveway in her towering heels, he was half relieved and half jealous but accepted he was powerless. All he could do was hope she refrained from drinking too much.
After Emily had gone to bed, he slouched on the sofa, and seemed to spend hours gazing out through the un-curtained window at the shadows that threatened to overcome him. Usually he liked an evening on his own, but tonight the stillness gnawed at him, his earlier fleeting strength had departed.
Three-and-a-half hours later, he awoke stiffly in the same position on the sofa. It was well after midnight. Misery stole over him along with the realisation that he had no idea where she was or who she was with. Her phone was switched off. Under all that bravado, she exuded vulnerability and he could not help but be worried. It was necessary to concede she was putting herself at risk by what she had been wearing. Or not wearing, more to the point.
Carla followed dutifully behind as he ascended the stairs and checked on Emily. She deserves a happy family, he thought. She deserves better than this!
It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when it had soured between them. By marrying her, he had hoped some of the trust and happiness could be recaptured. It had been perfect between them in the beginning. But from around eight months into their relationship, he had been constantly chasing to get that time back.
The wedding actually seemed to have provided a catalyst for a speedier deterioration of their relationship. He’d known what he was taking on. She believed all men were like her father who had gone backwards and forwards between her mother and another woman for years, until he had finally left. Michelle had tried ringing to see him; he’d arrange to pick her up or meet her and then wouldn’t arrive. She’d had a poor relationship with her brother as well, who had bullied her.
Wandering into the room he had shared with her for the last year, he scanned his eyes around the debris which had been left. Clothes littered the floor. She must have tried on several outfits. Lid-less cosmetics were strewn across the dressing table. Picking up a discarded bottle of wine, he was pleased there was enough left for a glass for him. It might settle him down. The room reeked of perfume. Cheap, musky perfume. Why she wore it, he had no idea, instead of the bottle of Estee Lauder he had given her the previous Christmas. The cellophane from the box had not been unwrapped.
At the time, she’d casually informed him that her boyfriend prior to him, Ed, had bought her the same perfume. Paul often felt he was being punished for his mistakes too. He’d apparently given Michelle the run-around, often disappearing for days and messing around with other women. She had become ill to the point that she had taken an overdose. And here Paul was now, able to empathise with Ed. Since they’d married, he was seeing her true colours.
Returning downstairs, he drained the wine bottle and tried to distract himself with the TV. All he could do was wait and watch the shadows. Hope she returned home safely. Rock-like, he sat, anxiety mounting for another three hours.
Carla curled up beside him, nestling her head knowingly in his lap. As he stroked her, she absorbed some of his tension as she stared up at him with wise eyes. Everything will be alright, she seemed to be saying as she fought to keep her tawny eyes open. Finally, influenced by her peaceful breathing and her soft, relaxed body, Paul fell asleep with her.
“Daddy!” Emily bounded into the room. “Why didn’t you sleep in bed?”
Paul shot into a sitting position. Confusion was quickly replaced by a sickening, dead sensation. Michelle hadn’t been home all night. His tongue was bitter in his mouth.
“Can I have some breakfast please?” Emily tugged at his arm.
Paul absently replied to her cheerful chatter as he automatically fulfilled her requirements in the kitchen. “Yes Emily, really, maybe, we’ll see.” She seemed satisfied with his vacant replies. He would have to ring the local hospitals, the police.
There were no friends, as far as he knew, that she was close enough to stay the night with; apart from a friendship she had mentioned with a woman at work, though he could not recall her name.
Dragging himself back to the living room, he steeled himself to ring her mother.
“Susan. I’m sorry to bother you. Have you seen Michelle?”
“No. Why? Isn’t she at home?” Her voice sounded groggy with sleep.
“Well I wouldn’t be ringing you asking if she was, would I?”
“Alright Paul. There’s no need to be like that. Where is she then? When did she go out?”
“Last night.”
“She’s been out all night! Have you two been rowing again?”
“Look.” Paul sighed. “I know you probably mean well but…”
“What if somethings happened to her?” Susan’s voice rose up an octave.
Paul regretted ringing her. She’d be round at the house if he wasn’t careful. “Look Susan. I’ll find her and I’ll tell her to give you a ring when she turns up.”
And then he cut her off, in mid flow of whatever she was saying.
For the next call he had to make; he tried to recall what she had been wearing.
The police would need a picture of her. He grabbed at their wedding one on the centre of the mantelpiece. He turned it face down.
The click of the door made him jump. She staggered into the living room, looking as though she had not slept for a week.
“Where have you been? I was about to report you missing.”
> “Leave me alone. Don’t pretend you care. I’m off to bed!”
“What?” He stared at her incredulously. “Without a word of explanation! Do you bloody realise what you’ve put me through? I’ve been awake all night!”
“But it’s alright for you to go out to ring your secretary?”
Anger took hold of him. He grabbed the wedding photo again and smashed it on the floor.
“You arsehole!” She stared, open-mouthed into his face, panting as they squared up to each other in front of the mantle piece.
“Michelle, I can’t cope with you anymore. I don’t know if I want to be with you.” He watched her fists curling up by her sides.
She turned her face away from his, rendering him completely off guard for what happened next. He could not have prevented the glob of spit which was sprayed directly into his face.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” His hand leapt to his cheek.
He held his breath until he could be certain her footsteps were on the stairs, then dashed to the kitchen to scrub his face. The thought of it languishing, unwashed on his skin with dregs of it in his hair was making him want to throw up. He wanted a shower but was not going upstairs until she was asleep.
“Mummy’s up early,” observed Emily, nonchalantly spooning coco-pops into her mouth as she sat at the table watching Hannah Montana. Paul splashed water into his face and hair, wishing he could rinse away some of the shame along with the toxic saliva.
“She’s going back to bed for a little while.” He rubbed his head with a tea towel, grateful she was unaware of what was going on.
Chapter Twelve
Unable to open her eyes and bear the light, Michelle slid the phone towards herself from her bedside table. She could hear the muffled voices of Paul and Emily drifting up the stairs. 12:55 pm. At least she had slept all morning. Her head was thick with the wine she had drunk before she had passed out on her workmate’s sofa. Never again. She couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about, but the sting of her eyes reminded her she had been crying. Again.
The Man Behind Closed Doors Page 6