After You
Page 53
‘Can we talk?’
‘I’m not sure there’s any point.’
‘No point?’
‘I got the message, okay? I’m not even sure why you’re here.’
‘I’m here because I’ve just finished a crappy sixteen hour shift and I dropped Donna off up the road and I thought I might as well try to see you and work out what happened with us. Because I sure as hell don’t have a clue.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
We glared at each other. Why had I not seen before how abrasive he was? How unpleasant. I couldn’t understand how I had been so blinded by lust for this man when every part of me now wanted to walk away from him. I made one last futile search for my keys and fought the urge to kick the door.
‘So, are you at least going to give me a clue? I’m tired, Louisa, and I don’t like playing games.’
‘You don’t like playing games.’ The words emerged in a bitter little laugh.
He took a breath. ‘Okay. One thing. One thing and I’ll go. I just want to know why you won’t return my calls.’
I looked at him in disbelief. ‘Because I’m many things, but I’m not a complete idiot. I mean I must have been – I saw the warning signs, and I ignored them – but, basically, I haven’t returned your calls because you’re an utter, utter knob. Okay?’
I stooped to pick up my things that had fallen on the ground, feeling my whole body heat rapidly, as if my internal thermostat had suddenly gone haywire. ‘Oh, you’re so good, you know? So bloody good. If it weren’t all so sick and pathetic I’d actually be quite impressed by you.’ I straightened up, zipping my bag. ‘Look at Sam, the good father. So caring, so intuitive. And yet what’s really going on? You’re so busy shagging your way through half of London you don’t even notice that your own son is unhappy.’
‘My son.’
‘Yes! Because we actually listen to him, you see. I mean, we’re not meant to tell outsiders what goes on in the group. And he won’t tell you because he’s a teenager. But he’s miserable, not just for the loss of his mum but because you’re busy swallowing your own grief by having an entire army of women traipse in and out of your bed.’
I was shouting now, my words tumbling over each other, my hands waving. I could see Samir and his cousin staring at me through the window of the shop. I didn’t care. This might be the last time I ever got to say my piece.
‘And, yes, yes, I know, I was stupid enough to be one of those women. So for him, and from me, you’re a knob. And that’s why I don’t want to talk to you right now. Or ever, actually.’
He rubbed at his hair. ‘Are we still talking about Jake?’
‘Of course I’m talking about Jake. How many other sons have you got?’
‘Jake isn’t my son.’
I stared at him.
‘Jake is my sister’s son. Was,’ he corrected himself. ‘He’s my nephew.’
These words took several seconds to filter into a form I could understand. Sam was gazing at me intently, his brow furrowed as if he, too, were trying to keep up.
‘But – but you pick him up. He lives with you.’
‘I pick him up on Mondays because his dad works shifts. And he stays with me sometimes, yes. He doesn’t live with me.’
‘Jake’s … not your son?’
‘I don’t have any children. That I’m aware of. Though the whole Lily thing does make you wonder.’
I pictured him hugging Jake, mentally rewound half a dozen conversations. ‘But I saw him when we first met. And when you and I were talking he rolled his eyes, like …’
Sam lowered his head.
‘Oh, God,’ I said. My hand went to my mouth. ‘Those women …’
‘Not mine.’
We stood there in the middle of the street. Samir was now in the doorway, watching. He had been joined by another of his cousins. To our left everyone at the bus stop turned away when they realized we knew they’d been watching us. Sam nodded at the door behind me. ‘Do you think we could talk about this inside?’
‘Yes. Yes. Oh. No, I can’t,’ I said. ‘I seem to have locked myself out.’
‘Spare key?’
‘In the flat.’
He ran a hand over his face, then checked his watch. He was clearly drained, weary to the bone. I took a step backwards into the doorway. ‘Look – go home and get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m sorry.’
The rain suddenly grew heavy, a summer dump, creating torrents in gutters and flooding the street. Across the road Samir and his cousins ducked back inside.
Sam sighed. He looked up at the skies and then straight at me. ‘Hang on.’
Sam took a large screwdriver he had borrowed from Samir and followed me up the fire escape. Twice I slipped on the wet metal and his hand reached out to steady me. When it did, something hot and unexpected shot through me. When we reached my floor, he pushed the screwdriver deep into the hall window frame and started to lever upwards. It gave gratifyingly swiftly.
‘There.’ He wrenched it upwards, supporting it with one hand, and turned to me, motioning me through, his expression faintly disapproving. ‘That was way too easy for a single girl living in this area.’
‘You look nothing like a single girl living in this area.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘I’m fine, Sam.’
‘You don’t see what I see. I want you to be safe.’
I tried to smile, but my knees were trembling, my palms slippery on the iron rail. I made to step past him and staggered slightly.
‘You okay?’
I nodded. He took my arm and half lifted, half helped me climb clumsily into my flat. I slumped down on the carpet by the window, waiting to feel normal again. I hadn’t slept properly for days and felt half dead, as if the fury and adrenalin that had sustained me had all leached away.
Sam climbed in and closed the window behind him, eyeing the broken lock on the top of the sash. The hall was dark, the thrumming of the rain muffled on the roof. As I watched, he rummaged around in his pocket until, among other detritus, he picked out a small nail. He took the screwdriver and used the handle to knock the nail in at an angle to stop anyone opening it from outside. Then he walked heavily over to where I was sitting, and held out a hand.
‘Benefits of being a part-time housebuilder. There’s always a nail somewhere. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘If you sit there you’ll never get up.’
His hair was flattened from the rain, his skin glistening in the hall light, as I let him pull me to my feet. I winced, and he saw.
‘Hip?’
I nodded.
He sighed. ‘I wish you’d talk to me.’ The skin beneath his eyes was mauve with exhaustion. There were two long scratches on the back of his left hand. I wondered what had happened the previous night. He disappeared into the kitchen and I heard running water. When he came back he was holding two pills and a cup. ‘I shouldn’t really be giving you these. But they’ll give you a pain-free night.’
I took them gratefully. He watched me as I swallowed them.
‘Do you ever follow rules?’
‘I’m not sure there’s any point.’
‘No point?’
‘I got the message, okay? I’m not even sure why you’re here.’
‘I’m here because I’ve just finished a crappy sixteen hour shift and I dropped Donna off up the road and I thought I might as well try to see you and work out what happened with us. Because I sure as hell don’t have a clue.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
We glared at each other. Why had I not seen before how abrasive he was? How unpleasant. I couldn’t understand how I had been so blinded by lust for this man when every part of me now wanted to walk away from him. I made one last futile search for my keys and fought the urge to kick the door.
‘So, are you at least going to give me a clue? I’m tired, Louisa, and I don’t like playing games.’
‘You don’t like playing games.’ The words emerged in a bitter little laugh.
He took a breath. ‘Okay. One thing. One thing and I’ll go. I just want to know why you won’t return my calls.’
I looked at him in disbelief. ‘Because I’m many things, but I’m not a complete idiot. I mean I must have been – I saw the warning signs, and I ignored them – but, basically, I haven’t returned your calls because you’re an utter, utter knob. Okay?’
I stooped to pick up my things that had fallen on the ground, feeling my whole body heat rapidly, as if my internal thermostat had suddenly gone haywire. ‘Oh, you’re so good, you know? So bloody good. If it weren’t all so sick and pathetic I’d actually be quite impressed by you.’ I straightened up, zipping my bag. ‘Look at Sam, the good father. So caring, so intuitive. And yet what’s really going on? You’re so busy shagging your way through half of London you don’t even notice that your own son is unhappy.’
‘My son.’
‘Yes! Because we actually listen to him, you see. I mean, we’re not meant to tell outsiders what goes on in the group. And he won’t tell you because he’s a teenager. But he’s miserable, not just for the loss of his mum but because you’re busy swallowing your own grief by having an entire army of women traipse in and out of your bed.’
I was shouting now, my words tumbling over each other, my hands waving. I could see Samir and his cousin staring at me through the window of the shop. I didn’t care. This might be the last time I ever got to say my piece.
‘And, yes, yes, I know, I was stupid enough to be one of those women. So for him, and from me, you’re a knob. And that’s why I don’t want to talk to you right now. Or ever, actually.’
He rubbed at his hair. ‘Are we still talking about Jake?’
‘Of course I’m talking about Jake. How many other sons have you got?’
‘Jake isn’t my son.’
I stared at him.
‘Jake is my sister’s son. Was,’ he corrected himself. ‘He’s my nephew.’
These words took several seconds to filter into a form I could understand. Sam was gazing at me intently, his brow furrowed as if he, too, were trying to keep up.
‘But – but you pick him up. He lives with you.’
‘I pick him up on Mondays because his dad works shifts. And he stays with me sometimes, yes. He doesn’t live with me.’
‘Jake’s … not your son?’
‘I don’t have any children. That I’m aware of. Though the whole Lily thing does make you wonder.’
I pictured him hugging Jake, mentally rewound half a dozen conversations. ‘But I saw him when we first met. And when you and I were talking he rolled his eyes, like …’
Sam lowered his head.
‘Oh, God,’ I said. My hand went to my mouth. ‘Those women …’
‘Not mine.’
We stood there in the middle of the street. Samir was now in the doorway, watching. He had been joined by another of his cousins. To our left everyone at the bus stop turned away when they realized we knew they’d been watching us. Sam nodded at the door behind me. ‘Do you think we could talk about this inside?’
‘Yes. Yes. Oh. No, I can’t,’ I said. ‘I seem to have locked myself out.’
‘Spare key?’
‘In the flat.’
He ran a hand over his face, then checked his watch. He was clearly drained, weary to the bone. I took a step backwards into the doorway. ‘Look – go home and get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m sorry.’
The rain suddenly grew heavy, a summer dump, creating torrents in gutters and flooding the street. Across the road Samir and his cousins ducked back inside.
Sam sighed. He looked up at the skies and then straight at me. ‘Hang on.’
Sam took a large screwdriver he had borrowed from Samir and followed me up the fire escape. Twice I slipped on the wet metal and his hand reached out to steady me. When it did, something hot and unexpected shot through me. When we reached my floor, he pushed the screwdriver deep into the hall window frame and started to lever upwards. It gave gratifyingly swiftly.
‘There.’ He wrenched it upwards, supporting it with one hand, and turned to me, motioning me through, his expression faintly disapproving. ‘That was way too easy for a single girl living in this area.’
‘You look nothing like a single girl living in this area.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘I’m fine, Sam.’
‘You don’t see what I see. I want you to be safe.’
I tried to smile, but my knees were trembling, my palms slippery on the iron rail. I made to step past him and staggered slightly.
‘You okay?’
I nodded. He took my arm and half lifted, half helped me climb clumsily into my flat. I slumped down on the carpet by the window, waiting to feel normal again. I hadn’t slept properly for days and felt half dead, as if the fury and adrenalin that had sustained me had all leached away.
Sam climbed in and closed the window behind him, eyeing the broken lock on the top of the sash. The hall was dark, the thrumming of the rain muffled on the roof. As I watched, he rummaged around in his pocket until, among other detritus, he picked out a small nail. He took the screwdriver and used the handle to knock the nail in at an angle to stop anyone opening it from outside. Then he walked heavily over to where I was sitting, and held out a hand.
‘Benefits of being a part-time housebuilder. There’s always a nail somewhere. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘If you sit there you’ll never get up.’
His hair was flattened from the rain, his skin glistening in the hall light, as I let him pull me to my feet. I winced, and he saw.
‘Hip?’
I nodded.
He sighed. ‘I wish you’d talk to me.’ The skin beneath his eyes was mauve with exhaustion. There were two long scratches on the back of his left hand. I wondered what had happened the previous night. He disappeared into the kitchen and I heard running water. When he came back he was holding two pills and a cup. ‘I shouldn’t really be giving you these. But they’ll give you a pain-free night.’
I took them gratefully. He watched me as I swallowed them.
‘Do you ever follow rules?’
