by Lucy Dawson
His eyes widen with surprise, and I quickly look up at the already dark sky feeling my face burning with embarrassment, but excitement too.
‘I didn’t plan on telling you that yet,’ I admit, and I hear him laugh. ‘I’m just so happy, that’s all. But it’s too soon. It’s much too soon.’ I risk a glance at him. ‘And I absolutely DON’T want you to say it back, just because I’ve said it to you. In fact, I’m going now.’ I turn and start to literally run up the street. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow!’ I yell over my shoulder.
I get to the top where the road bleeds into The Strand and, breathless, have to stop, bend and drop my hands to my knees. I can feel him still watching me and, sure enough, I hear him yell ‘Mia!’
I half turn back, he’s made a heart shape with his fingers and thumbs which he’s holding up above his head – high enough for me to see.
My face splits into a huge smile of relief and happiness. He loves me too, but I already know he does. For the first time in my life, I actually don’t even need him to say it. I laugh, and keep on walking.
What a day!
I’m so glad Charlotte chose me.
NINE
CHARLOTTE
Hi Charlotte!
I just wanted to let you know, that following your excellent advice, I had a meeting with an agent called Jack Cartwright today and signed with him! He’s really excited about my book and thinks I have a very big couple of days ahead. He’s already sent it out to people. I can’t thank you enough for all of your help. Could I buy you a drink to say thank you next time you’re in town? Mxxx
* * *
Hi Mia,
What great news and how excited you must be. He’s an excellent agent and whatever he secures for you will be a really great opportunity. Keep me posted and of course, re the drink. I’ll no doubt be in early next week, so delighted to catch up then and celebrate with you!
All best,
Charlotte.
I hit send. He actually signed her. Today. Less than twenty-four hours after she dropped the damn thing off.
And it could be a big couple of days…
It took me five months to get a deal for four grand last time. Almost half a year. I can’t believe this has happened. It’s actually happened.
I hear Tris slide his key into the front door lock, and slam the lid shut on the laptop. I exhale, shakily, and take a couple of deep breaths to steady myself as he appears in the kitchen doorway, bag over his shoulder, overcoat still on, car keys and a bottle of wine in one hand, mobile in the other. He’s staring at the small screen and looks tired.
‘Hello.’ I get up. ‘Must have been a long drive, you poor thing. You’re really late. Have you eaten?’
‘No, I haven’t, but don’t worry – I can sort something.’ He shoves his phone in his pocket.
‘It’s OK. I’ve got lasagne. Do you want me to open that?’ I nod at the wine.
‘Only if you want some.’ He passes it over to me. ‘I’m all right. You look nice.’
‘Thanks. I washed my hair.’ I briefly think back to yesterday and how gross I felt in London with my scraped-back, grubby ponytail – wearing old office clothes. They were the only things in my wardrobe that didn’t need ironing… thus saving the extra minutes I needed to complete the school run and dash to the train station. I was Melanie Griffith in Working Girl; a look so dated I was almost ironic, in comparison to Mia’s Instagram-influencer chic, waiting for me on the steps of St Martin’s in a very tight Fair Isle jumper, furry coat, cropped jeans and knee-high boots. Ridiculously beautiful. When I packed her off to the printers like a grumpy teenager, clutching her memory stick, I watched her stride off up Charing Cross Road and a besuited man twice her age literally stopped in the street and stared at her as she walked past him.
It just overtook me. Red mist, white rage – all the colours of a psychopathic rainbow. Opening my water bottle, I ran down the steps, and as he turned back to continue on his dirty old bastard way, I slammed into him, deliberately pouring my water all down his front. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry!’ I gasped, putting my hand over my mouth, genuinely appalled at what I’d just done.
He looked down at his shirt front and crotch dripping with water, and said incredulously: ‘you stupid bitch.’ I didn’t feel so bad then, after all.
‘How are the kids?’ Tris walks over to the side and sifts through the post, before taking his laptop bag off his shoulder as I open the drawer for a corkscrew.
‘They’re fine. Better.’
‘That’s a relief. Did you manage to get some work done today? Any news?’
‘A bit thanks,’ I turn away from him, ‘and no, not really.’ I reach for two glasses. ‘You?’
‘Really – no wine for me, thanks.’ He holds out a hand. ‘And no, nothing exciting. Sheffield was…’ he sighs… ‘predictably shitty. Listen, you’re not going to be happy, but I’ve got to go up again for the day on Friday and then this weekend it’s Richard’s stag do.’
‘I told you ages ago.’ He continues, when I look blank. ‘Richard from work. That ridiculous SAS course and then clay pigeon shooting, in Wales – ten of us in a cottage.’ He rubs his eyes tiredly. ‘I appreciate this is about the worst timing ever and you have every right to go ballistic about me going, so I’m more than happy to cancel it if you like. I’ll still have to pay a couple of hundred quid for my place, but that’s fine.’
‘Ah, so that’s why you’ve brought wine,’ I say lightly. ‘A peace offering. We could have just opened one from the new case though?’
‘I’d rather save them. They’re too nice for a school night. I really don’t want to go, obviously. I should have just said no in the beginning.’
I shove the spike into the cork and twist. ‘Whatever you think. It’s a lot of driving to do Sheffield and back on Friday, then go to Wales from here on Saturday morning though?’
He hesitates and I realise he was about to admit the plan is actually to go straight from Sheffield to Wales on Friday night. He bottles it though, biding his time. ‘I’m just going to get changed.’ He undoes the top button of his shirt. ‘Would you mind putting that lasagne in, if it’s not too much trouble?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks, that’s kind.’
He disappears, and I pour my wine, listening to it glug from the bottle, then head back over to my laptop, delete Mia’s message and my response, before taking a sip and sitting down on one of the tall stools next to the island. I wanted to believe it would happen this fast. I knew that it could, in exceptional cases – but now that it actually is… I breathe out slowly and close my eyes. Shit. Not that there’s any point in wondering have I done the right thing, because it’s too late now. The book is out there.
I force a few deep breaths and when Tris appears in the doorway again, I know I look totally normal, even though inside my mind I’m running for my life. I can still catch up before it all slips away and out of reach, forever.
Tris looks around hopefully and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. ‘Sorry. The lasagne.’ I get to my feet.
‘It’s OK. This is it, right?’ He moves over to the covered plate on the side and opens the microwave. ‘I can do it. The last thing you want to do is cook again.’
‘It’s not cooking. Just reheating.’ I watch for a moment as he peers at the controls, then step forward and take over. ‘Let me. Go sit down.’
He does as I tell him. For once, no phone, no iPad, no paper – just frowns at his clasped hands resting on the table. The only noise is my moving around the kitchen opening drawers and getting cutlery, finding a plate, filling up a glass of water, then the bleep of the microwave finishing.
‘This is one of those Charlie Bingham ones, isn’t it?’ he says as I place the food under his nose. ‘There are about a million calories in half a portion.’
Even if it were – which it isn’t – just a simple thank you would do. ‘No. I made it myself.’
Mollified, he starts to eat silently, and
I begin to sort my stuff out to go and put it away in the other room.
‘Martin came into the office today,’ he says suddenly. ‘We had a team debrief. He looked like absolute shit. He said the twins had been up every ninety minutes last night.’
‘Well, babies do that, don’t they?’ I zip up the case on my laptop. ‘They have such tiny tummies at that age and they’re probably having a growth spurt. Remember how Teddy was up every forty minutes at one stage? It’ll pass. Martin will survive.’
He grunts. ‘I dunno. He doesn’t look like he’s long for this world.’
‘Well it’s probably also the stress of knowing he’s got two families to financially support now.’ I shrug. ‘Caroline and the boys and Astrid and the twins.’
Tris sits back. ‘I looked at him and thought, Christ – he’s the same age as me and he’s just starting out again.’
I don’t say anything, just gather up an armful and make towards the door.
‘Charlotte, do you love me?’ he says suddenly.
I stop immediately. Do I love you? I blink back tears, quickly. I used to drive hours just to kiss you when you lived in some anonymous flat about half an hour outside the M25 on completely the wrong side for me. All I thought about was when I wasn’t with you, was you. I jumped in heart first and promised in front of everyone I love most in the world that I’d love you the best of all, and forever. Do I love you?
I turn back to look at him over my shoulder. ‘Yes, I do.’
He puts his fork down. ‘Then why do you flinch when I touch you? Why do I feel like I irritate you all of the time? Why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?’
Oh please. Not now. We’re so close to the finish line. My jaw clenches tightly. ‘Tris, you have just walked in through the door.’
‘I feel like one of the children; like then with the microwave,’ he gestures at it. ‘I can do it but I can sense your impatience with everything, that you expect me to mess up. I know I shouldn’t have called you toxic before I left and I’m sorry, but you ARE angry. All of the time. I don’t feel like you like me. Let alone love me.’
I turn my body back to the room so I’m facing him, but staying in the doorway. I don’t say anything because I’m afraid, if I do, I’ll simply explode and I can’t misfire. It’ll ruin everything.
‘We’re both working flat out,’ he says. ‘You have a job you love but the pay is shit. I have a shit job I hate that pays well. When I’m at home, you’re working every evening, so I either work too or go to the gym for something to do. Then at the weekends it’s just the kids. I’ve stopped seeing my friends. I barely speak to my family. There’s nothing left over for me.’ He hunches over the plate, miserably.
‘I don’t think that’s true, is it, Tris?’
‘Please try not to become defensive and just listen. I can hear you thinking “I’m tired too, I work hard too”. Of course you are, that’s not what I’m saying. We’ve become… stagnant. Superficially, we’ve got everything: a nice house, two kids, decent salary – we’re privileged and I should be happy, but all I feel is this immense pressure. I know it sounds selfish saying “I need attention too”… pathetic even – I should just keep going. In fact, what I feel is irrelevant really, because I can’t do anything about the—’
‘There’s nothing superficial about it,’ I interrupt. I can’t help myself. ‘You have got everything.’
‘Please,’ he holds a hand up, ‘let me speak. I have major financial commitments. I’m not going to shirk them, or just walk out on my job, but what I can’t cope with anymore is the pressure to keep achieving alongside the lack of intimacy between us. There’s this distance that’s getting worse and worse. When I do try and touch you, I feel like I’m bothering you, which is… horrible. Men need sex, Charlotte.’ He shrugs. ‘I know it sounds shit – but we just do. We’re different. It’s a genuine biological need. I can’t stay in a relationship for the rest of my life that doesn’t feature sex.’
Still I don’t respond. I can’t let myself. Now all I can see is younger versions of us lying in various beds on luxury holidays and weekends away we never properly appreciated… but also in his flat on lazy long Saturdays, blissed out, laughing and whispering. Kissing each other… when we were happy, because we were, I know it.
He waits, then gestures helplessly. ‘Do you hear what I’m saying? Do you even care?’
‘I’m very tired,’ I whisper. ‘I just want to go to bed.’
‘This is important.’ He sits back in his seat and folds his arms. ‘OK, so do you think it’s a loss of sex drive full stop, or do you just not want sex with me? I’ve looked it up online and I think you might be perimenopausal, but perhaps I’m wrong? I get that it’s shit that a bloke can take a pill and get a hard-on and there’s no equivalent for women; no quick fix – but let’s start with the basics you say are there. Do you even find me attractive?’
‘I’m going to say it again: you’ve just walked in through the door after two nights away, I’m shattered – on my knees exhausted – and you want to know why we’re not having sex anymore? If I get naked now, right here on the table – will that fix everything? Will you be less bored then?’
‘I’m trying to be honest.’
My heart beats double time. ‘Really? How admirable of you.’
‘Admirable?’ He shakes his head, exasperated. ‘What is it you’re not telling me, Charlotte? There’s something, I’m sure of it. You can play it down as much as you like – but you forget I know you. Please, just talk to me! I have tried so many times to discuss this situation with you, to make you understand I can’t—’
‘Telling me repeatedly that our relationship is shit and I need to do something about it, is not “discussing a situation”, it’s little more than a profit warning,’ I interrupt. ‘Yes, I love you, but I want to go to bed now. I don’t feel so good. I’m going to say good night.’
He stares at his untouched food. ‘Charlotte, I don’t want it to be like this anymore. I feel like I’m imploding. I’ve tried to reconnect with you. I love my family more than anything in the world, but when I get back from Wales, I think we need to properly talk, OK?’
There’s a long pause. I stay very still because now the hairline cracks are snaking through the ice beneath my feet. ‘You want to leave?’ I say lightly. I hear Flo’s voice in my head: You told me that you had no intention of letting this change your life, or your family set-up. That you want everything to stay as it is.
‘Maybe you’re right; expecting the solution to my problems to come from others just isn’t realistic. I think it’s time to consider all options, yes.’
Do not shout. Do not become emotional. Hold on, just a little longer.
‘It’s certainly important that we both approach whatever comes next with Teddy and Clara’s best interests at heart,’ I manage. ‘But yes, if you want to – we can talk properly. Just to clarify, you’re here tomorrow and tomorrow night, but then Sheffield on Friday and probably Wales on Saturday… so we’ll say Sunday then?’ I hold his gaze, calmly. ‘And you’ll sleep in the spare room tonight?’ It’s not really a question and he knows it.
He stares at me, incredulously, and nods. I think I see his eyes shine but he blinks quickly and looks away.
I manage to hold it together until I get up to our room. As soon as I close the door quietly behind me, my hand flies to my mouth in readiness, but no sound escapes. I’m shocked to discover I’m feeling no pain. There are no more tears; they’re done. I stand very still, breathing deeply and looking at myself in the slightly open wardrobe door. Too thin, bending but not broken. Not when I have people that need me to stay strong and focused: children that depend on me.
I think of Mia, out there right now, excited, happy, oblivious – and Teddy and Clara, safely tucked up in their beds on the other side of the wall. Since Flo told me two weeks ago there was something I need to know, I have been very clear that I must fiercely protect the three of them from any more hurt, and that
’s exactly what I intend to do. I can’t afford time for white noise, for Tris and his ultimatums. This is too important and I’m going to see it through by whatever means necessary and no matter the cost to myself.
My phone lights up with a text. It’s Flo.
Just wanted you to know am thinking about you all the time atm. You are so brave. Love you so much, my strong, incredible sister. Whatever you decide to do, I will support you 100% xxx
Hmmm. I might need to hold you to that Flo…
TEN
MIA
‘I can’t talk right now!’ I tell Kirsty happily as I cross the road, blinking as the bright winter afternoon sun, already low in the sky, shines directly in my eyes. ‘I’m outfit shopping for the after-show party on Saturday night.’
‘Oooh. Nice. I’ll get it as an early Christmas present for you, if you like?’
‘That’s very kind. Thank you. I’m just walking into Liberty.’
She gives an amused exclamation. ‘I’m sure you are. Turn around, walk straight back out and up to Oxford Street instead.’
‘But I want it to be really special!’
‘You’ll look amazing in whatever you wear and you don’t need to spend money you haven’t got. I hate to be the voice of reason, but you don’t actually have a job as of Saturday and you already owe Mum and Dad enough, don’t you think?’
That stings a bit. She’s right, but… I hesitate and chew my lip before blurting. ‘Yeah, well I’m not so sure about that. I’m about to land a new gig, actually.’
