Still Me
Page 51
‘I’m hoping I won’t need to use the sofa-bed for a day or two.’ I gave her a cheesy smile.
‘What’s that?’ Thom swallowed his mouthful and pointed at the parcel under my arm.
‘Ah. That’s a Christmas stocking. Sam’s working on Christmas Day and I won’t see him till the evening so I thought I’d give him something to wake up with.’
‘Hmm. Don’t ask to see what’s in there, Thom.’
‘There’s nothing in it that I couldn’t give to Granddad. It’s just a bit of fun.’
She actually winked at me. I offered silent thanks to Eddie and his miracle-working ways.
‘Text me later, yeah? Just so I know whether to put the chain on.’
I kissed them both and headed for the front door.
‘Don’t put him off with your terrible half-arsed American accent!’ I held up a middle finger as I exited the flat. ‘And don’t forget to drive on the left! And don’t wear the coat that smells like a mackerel!’
I heard her laughing as I shut the door.
For the past three months I had either walked, hailed a taxi or been chauffeured by Garry in the huge black limousine. Getting used to being behind the wheel of my little hatchback with its dodgy clutch and biscuit crumbs in the passenger seat took a surprising amount of concentration. I set out into the last of the evening rush-hour traffic, put the radio on and tried to ignore the hammering in my chest, not sure whether it was the fear of driving or the prospect of seeing Sam again.
The sky was dark, the streets thick with shoppers and strung with Christmas lights, and my shoulders dropped slowly from somewhere around my ears as I braked and lurched my way to the suburbs. The pavements became verges and the crowds thinned and disappeared, just the odd person glimpsed instead through brightly lit windows as I passed. And then, shortly after eight, I slowed to a crawl, peering forward over the wheel to make sure I had the right place in the unlit lane.
The railway carriage sat glowing in the middle of the dark field, casting a golden light out through its windows onto the mud and grass. I could just make out his motorbike on the far side of the gate, tucked into its little shed behind the hedge. He had even put a little spray of Christmas lights in the hawthorn at the front. He really was home.
I pulled the car into the passing place, cut the lights, and looked at it. Then, almost as an afterthought, I picked up my phone. Really looking forward to seeing you I typed. Not long now! XXX
There was a short pause. And then the response pinged back. Me too. Safe flight. xx
I grinned. Then I climbed out, realizing too late I had parked over a puddle so the cold, muddy water washed straight over my shoes. ‘Oh, thanks, Universe,’ I whispered. ‘Nice touch.’
I placed my carefully purchased Santa hat on my head and pulled his stocking from the passenger seat, then shut the door softly, locking it manually so that it didn’t beep and alert him to the fact that I was there.
My feet squelched as I tiptoed forward, and I recalled the first time I had come here, how I had been soaked by a sudden shower and ended up in his clothes, my own steaming in the fuggy little bathroom as they dried. That had been an extraordinary night, as if he had peeled off all the layers that Will’s death had built up around me. I had a sudden flashback to our first kiss, to the feel of his huge socks soft on my chilled feet, and a hot shiver ran through me.
I opened the gate, noting with relief that he had made a rudimentary path of paving slabs over to the railway carriage since I had last been there. A car drove past, and in the brief illumination of its headlights I glimpsed Sam’s partially built house ahead of me, its roof now on and windows already fitted. Where one was still missing, blue tarpaulin flapped gently over the gap so that it seemed suddenly, startlingly, a real thing, a place we might one day live.
I tiptoed a few more paces, then paused just outside the door. The smell of something wafted out of an open window – a casserole of some sort? – rich and tomatoey, with a hint of garlic. I felt unexpectedly hungry. Sam never ate packet noodles or beans out of a tin: everything was made from scratch, as if he drew pleasure from doing things methodically. Then I saw him – his uniform still on – a tea-towel slung over his shoulder as he stooped to see to a pan and just for a moment I stood, unseen, in the dark and felt utterly calm. I heard the distant breeze in the trees, the soft cluck of the hens locked nearby in their coop, the distant hum of traffic headed towards the city. I felt the cool air against my skin and the tang of Christmassy anticipation in the air I breathed.
Everything was possible. That was what I had learnt, these last few months. Life might have been complicated, but ultimately there was just me and the man I loved and his railway carriage and the prospect of a joyous evening ahead. I took a breath, letting myself savour that thought, stepped forward and put my hand on the door handle.
And then I saw her.
She walked across the carriage saying something unclear, her voice muffled by the glass, her hair clipped up and tumbling in soft curls around her face. She was wearing a man’s T-shirt – his? – and holding a wine bottle, and I saw him shake his head. And then, as he bent over the stove, she walked up behind him and placed her hands on his neck, leaning towards him and rubbing the muscles around it with small circular motions of her thumbs, a movement that seemed born of familiarity. Her thumbnails were painted deep pink. As I stood there, my breath stalled in my chest, he leant his head back, his eyes closed, as if surrendering himself to her fierce little hands.
And then he turned to face her, smiling, his head tilted to one side, and she stepped back, laughing, and raised a glass to him.
I didn’t see anything else. My heart thumped so loudly in my ears that I thought I might pass out. I stumbled backwards, then turned and ran back down the path, my breath too loud, my feet icy in my wet shoes. Even though my car was probably fifty yards away I heard her sudden burst of laughter echo through the open window, like a glass shattering.
I sat in my car in the car park behind my building until I could be sure Thom had gone to bed. I couldn’t hide what I felt and I couldn’t bear to explain it to Treena in front of him. I glanced up periodically, watching as his bedroom light went on and then, half an hour later, went off again. I turned off the engine and let it tick down. As it faded, so did every dream I had been clinging on to.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Why would I? Katie Ingram had laid her cards on the table from the start. What had shocked me was that Sam had been complicit. He hadn’t shrugged her off. He had answered me, and then he had cooked her a meal and let her rub his neck, and it was preparation for … what?
Every time I pictured them I found myself clutching my stomach, doubled over, as if I’d been punched. I couldn’t shake the image of them from my head. The way he tilted his head back at the pressure of her fingers. The way she had laughed confidently, teasingly, as if at some shared joke between them.
The strangest thing was that I couldn’t cry. What I felt was bigger than grief. I was numb, my brain humming with questions – How long? How far? Why? – and then I would find myself doubled over again, wanting to be sick with it, this new knowledge, this hefty blow, this pain, this pain, this pain.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but at around ten I walked slowly upstairs and let myself into the flat. I was hoping Treena had gone to bed but she was in her pyjamas watching the news, her laptop on her knee. She was smiling at something on her screen and jumped when I opened the door.
‘Jesus, you nearly frightened the life out of me – Lou?’ She pushed her laptop to one side. ‘Lou? Oh, no …’
It’s always the kindnesses that finish you off. My sister, a woman who found adult physical contact more discomfiting than dental treatment, put her arms around me and, from some unexpected place that felt like it was located in the deepest part of me, I began to sob, huge, breathless, snotty tears. I cried in a way I hadn’t cried since Will had died, sobs that contained the death of dreams and the dread knowledge of months of heartbreak ahead. We sank slowly down onto the sofa and I buried my head in her shoulder and held her, and this time my sister rested her head against mine and she held me and didn’t let me go.
‘What’s that?’ Thom swallowed his mouthful and pointed at the parcel under my arm.
‘Ah. That’s a Christmas stocking. Sam’s working on Christmas Day and I won’t see him till the evening so I thought I’d give him something to wake up with.’
‘Hmm. Don’t ask to see what’s in there, Thom.’
‘There’s nothing in it that I couldn’t give to Granddad. It’s just a bit of fun.’
She actually winked at me. I offered silent thanks to Eddie and his miracle-working ways.
‘Text me later, yeah? Just so I know whether to put the chain on.’
I kissed them both and headed for the front door.
‘Don’t put him off with your terrible half-arsed American accent!’ I held up a middle finger as I exited the flat. ‘And don’t forget to drive on the left! And don’t wear the coat that smells like a mackerel!’
I heard her laughing as I shut the door.
For the past three months I had either walked, hailed a taxi or been chauffeured by Garry in the huge black limousine. Getting used to being behind the wheel of my little hatchback with its dodgy clutch and biscuit crumbs in the passenger seat took a surprising amount of concentration. I set out into the last of the evening rush-hour traffic, put the radio on and tried to ignore the hammering in my chest, not sure whether it was the fear of driving or the prospect of seeing Sam again.
The sky was dark, the streets thick with shoppers and strung with Christmas lights, and my shoulders dropped slowly from somewhere around my ears as I braked and lurched my way to the suburbs. The pavements became verges and the crowds thinned and disappeared, just the odd person glimpsed instead through brightly lit windows as I passed. And then, shortly after eight, I slowed to a crawl, peering forward over the wheel to make sure I had the right place in the unlit lane.
The railway carriage sat glowing in the middle of the dark field, casting a golden light out through its windows onto the mud and grass. I could just make out his motorbike on the far side of the gate, tucked into its little shed behind the hedge. He had even put a little spray of Christmas lights in the hawthorn at the front. He really was home.
I pulled the car into the passing place, cut the lights, and looked at it. Then, almost as an afterthought, I picked up my phone. Really looking forward to seeing you I typed. Not long now! XXX
There was a short pause. And then the response pinged back. Me too. Safe flight. xx
I grinned. Then I climbed out, realizing too late I had parked over a puddle so the cold, muddy water washed straight over my shoes. ‘Oh, thanks, Universe,’ I whispered. ‘Nice touch.’
I placed my carefully purchased Santa hat on my head and pulled his stocking from the passenger seat, then shut the door softly, locking it manually so that it didn’t beep and alert him to the fact that I was there.
My feet squelched as I tiptoed forward, and I recalled the first time I had come here, how I had been soaked by a sudden shower and ended up in his clothes, my own steaming in the fuggy little bathroom as they dried. That had been an extraordinary night, as if he had peeled off all the layers that Will’s death had built up around me. I had a sudden flashback to our first kiss, to the feel of his huge socks soft on my chilled feet, and a hot shiver ran through me.
I opened the gate, noting with relief that he had made a rudimentary path of paving slabs over to the railway carriage since I had last been there. A car drove past, and in the brief illumination of its headlights I glimpsed Sam’s partially built house ahead of me, its roof now on and windows already fitted. Where one was still missing, blue tarpaulin flapped gently over the gap so that it seemed suddenly, startlingly, a real thing, a place we might one day live.
I tiptoed a few more paces, then paused just outside the door. The smell of something wafted out of an open window – a casserole of some sort? – rich and tomatoey, with a hint of garlic. I felt unexpectedly hungry. Sam never ate packet noodles or beans out of a tin: everything was made from scratch, as if he drew pleasure from doing things methodically. Then I saw him – his uniform still on – a tea-towel slung over his shoulder as he stooped to see to a pan and just for a moment I stood, unseen, in the dark and felt utterly calm. I heard the distant breeze in the trees, the soft cluck of the hens locked nearby in their coop, the distant hum of traffic headed towards the city. I felt the cool air against my skin and the tang of Christmassy anticipation in the air I breathed.
Everything was possible. That was what I had learnt, these last few months. Life might have been complicated, but ultimately there was just me and the man I loved and his railway carriage and the prospect of a joyous evening ahead. I took a breath, letting myself savour that thought, stepped forward and put my hand on the door handle.
And then I saw her.
She walked across the carriage saying something unclear, her voice muffled by the glass, her hair clipped up and tumbling in soft curls around her face. She was wearing a man’s T-shirt – his? – and holding a wine bottle, and I saw him shake his head. And then, as he bent over the stove, she walked up behind him and placed her hands on his neck, leaning towards him and rubbing the muscles around it with small circular motions of her thumbs, a movement that seemed born of familiarity. Her thumbnails were painted deep pink. As I stood there, my breath stalled in my chest, he leant his head back, his eyes closed, as if surrendering himself to her fierce little hands.
And then he turned to face her, smiling, his head tilted to one side, and she stepped back, laughing, and raised a glass to him.
I didn’t see anything else. My heart thumped so loudly in my ears that I thought I might pass out. I stumbled backwards, then turned and ran back down the path, my breath too loud, my feet icy in my wet shoes. Even though my car was probably fifty yards away I heard her sudden burst of laughter echo through the open window, like a glass shattering.
I sat in my car in the car park behind my building until I could be sure Thom had gone to bed. I couldn’t hide what I felt and I couldn’t bear to explain it to Treena in front of him. I glanced up periodically, watching as his bedroom light went on and then, half an hour later, went off again. I turned off the engine and let it tick down. As it faded, so did every dream I had been clinging on to.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Why would I? Katie Ingram had laid her cards on the table from the start. What had shocked me was that Sam had been complicit. He hadn’t shrugged her off. He had answered me, and then he had cooked her a meal and let her rub his neck, and it was preparation for … what?
Every time I pictured them I found myself clutching my stomach, doubled over, as if I’d been punched. I couldn’t shake the image of them from my head. The way he tilted his head back at the pressure of her fingers. The way she had laughed confidently, teasingly, as if at some shared joke between them.
The strangest thing was that I couldn’t cry. What I felt was bigger than grief. I was numb, my brain humming with questions – How long? How far? Why? – and then I would find myself doubled over again, wanting to be sick with it, this new knowledge, this hefty blow, this pain, this pain, this pain.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but at around ten I walked slowly upstairs and let myself into the flat. I was hoping Treena had gone to bed but she was in her pyjamas watching the news, her laptop on her knee. She was smiling at something on her screen and jumped when I opened the door.
‘Jesus, you nearly frightened the life out of me – Lou?’ She pushed her laptop to one side. ‘Lou? Oh, no …’
It’s always the kindnesses that finish you off. My sister, a woman who found adult physical contact more discomfiting than dental treatment, put her arms around me and, from some unexpected place that felt like it was located in the deepest part of me, I began to sob, huge, breathless, snotty tears. I cried in a way I hadn’t cried since Will had died, sobs that contained the death of dreams and the dread knowledge of months of heartbreak ahead. We sank slowly down onto the sofa and I buried my head in her shoulder and held her, and this time my sister rested her head against mine and she held me and didn’t let me go.
