‘I think maybe we just need some space to digest,’ he says. ‘Everything’s got so stressful: work, new house, Joe. And now you know what I’ve done and I feel awful. Maybe I’ll go stay at my brother’s for a few days to work some things out? I’m really hurting here.’
You’re hurting? Oh, Will. No. This is eight years of a relationship. There’s a baby in the picture. We can work this out together, not apart. Space from me? From Joe?
‘Is that what you want?’ I whisper.
‘Please don’t hate me.’
But I can’t answer him. I hang up the phone. My fingers hover over who to call, who to message. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Do I want to throw up? I want to sleep. Why can’t I stop crying? I’ll sleep in the bath. I swing a leg over to climb in and bottles from the bathroom shelf go flying. Grabbing at some towels, I curl up next to them, desperately clutching at anything to hold. He’s gone. My phone glows.
Well, that was fucked up.
It’s from Sean.
Yeah, it was.
Track Thirteen
‘Keep Your Head Up’ – Ben Howard (2011)
Do you know what I had this morning? I had a really long shower. The one I’d been hoping to have about a month ago. I stood there under Emma’s multi-jet showerhead and let the water rain over me, washing away everything. I’d have shed some tears if I had any left but it felt good to wash my hair and not be hopping about listening for Joe wailing. Emma also buys the expensive shampoo that has extracts of natural crap that will make me look like I’m worth it.
I don’t know how I feel this morning. I’m pretty numb. I drunk dialled Mum last night so she came to intervene and shout at Emma and fish me out of my bath bed. I have no idea what Will’s doing or what last night meant. It feels better to try and sort this out in proper clothes though, without Lucy’s punch concoction, in the quiet of a new day. We were drunk and we need to have proper conversations to put us right. He’s probably at home now with a cup of tea watching Saturday morning football rubbish. I look at myself in the mirror, back in my normal uniform of T-shirt, hoodie and leggings. This feels more like me. Hold it together, Beth. For Joe. For us. Downstairs, there’s an awkward sense of quiet. I gave the sisters and my mother a limited version of events. If they’d heard that Will had kissed someone else then they’d have gone after him with pitchforks and chucked his body on a pyre. Lucy and what looks like some of her university friends are tidying up. She looks like she’s been dragged through a bush and is collecting up bits of old canapés that people left in pots and on windowsills. I can see Emma through the kitchen clutching Joe, and Mum standing by the sink. The once proud bunting that had my face on now lies on the floor, a punch-coloured footprint on one of my faces like there was an assassination attempt on my life during a parade in my honour. Lucy comes up and hugs me immediately. She knows.
‘I’m going to kill Will,’ she whispers to me. I’m glad I withheld the truth now.
This is not beyond Lucy’s remit. If all the sisters were standing over a dead body then you’d hedge your bets on her.
‘You are not.’
‘I am. I will let you choose how we kill him if that makes you feel better.’
I hug her tightly while her friends make themselves scarce and start collecting bottles, taking them out to the recycling. That one looks like Britney Spears from last night but I can’t tell without the wig.
‘You didn’t say anything. Was it building up to this?’ she asks, confused.
‘We’ve had a hard time. He’s just been stressed. And he was working late in the office with this new boss and she’s a bit of a slave driver.’
‘SHE? A woman? Is he shagging his boss? EMMA! WILL IS SHAGGING HIS BOSS!’
Emma pops her head around the door, followed by Mum. All their faces read concern but they also carry those pointed looks, like they’re poised to go on the attack. I know these looks. I remember them from a few Christmases ago when Lucy found Emma’s ex-husband sexting in an upstairs bedroom of our family home and Mum went ballistic and broke his nose. I know where all that collective, protective emotion comes from, but don’t hurt Will. Not yet.
‘He’s not. He has a horrible new boss and he’s also been lying about going out with Jason.’ It feels awful lying to the sisters but I don’t want to reveal the ugly truths just yet.
‘I’ve never liked Jason,’ adds Lucy. Emma doesn’t like where this story is going at all. She suffered years of cheating and lying so looks upset for me more than anything.
‘So this is about that? Or what about that time you guys went out and he let you go home on your own?’ she asks.
‘He did what now?’ asks Lucy, baring teeth. This is why we don’t always tell Lucy everything.
‘That company dinner, I came home early.’
‘On her own,’ adds Emma.
Mum doesn’t need to say anything; her nostrils say it all.
‘It’s just been a difficult time. Joe, a new flat and new job. It’s taken its toll. He’s not taken his foot off the pedal, I can’t see I’m so tired, I just… I guess it just came to a head last night.’
‘So more of a row?’ Mum tries to confirm.
I nod.
‘What exactly did he say?’ my mum enquires.
‘Just that he needed a break, he’s overwhelmed.’ I know my mum won’t respond well to this sort of statement. She likes her men wilful and strong. This sounds far too wishy-washy to her.
‘Do you want me to talk to him?’ Lucy asks.
I know what that will mean. It will be a lecture loaded with sarcasm. I shake my head.
‘Or can I go on social media and post something a bit cryptic and passive-aggressive?’
‘Just don’t scare him off until I know the real score, OK?’
‘You know we’re all here for you, right? You should come round here more?’ Lucy says. ‘Hang out with me. Let me look after Joe. Give you a break.’ Emma sits there, nodding. ‘We can go to KFC because Ems refuses to eat there.’
Lucy cuddles into me, knowing hot wings, mash and gravy are things which soothe my soul.
‘It’s because I don’t believe it’s chicken. And it’s greasy and nasty,’ says Emma.
‘Which is why you have no joy in your life,’ replies Lucy.
‘You should be coming to my house more often too. Dad and I can help with Joe,’ my mum adds. She studies my face. When she came round last night, she held me quietly and with not a single trace of judgement which was strange for her. She then tasked Emma to look after me while she tended to Joe, and we both lay on little girls’ beds as she watched me like a hawk all night, literally sleeping with one eye open. She used to do this when she was fifteen to ensure none of us touched her Boyzone posters.
‘Your sisters also have something they would like to say to you…’ Mum adds, glaring at both of them. I know I’m going to like this part because I know they will have got a bollocking. They both look down to the floor.
‘We’re also very sorry we ruined your birthday,’ Emma says. ‘We were not very mature last night and we made everything about us and I said some awful things.’
She elbows Lucy.
‘Yes, I did too.’
‘Who was Batman in the utility room?’ I ask her.
‘A school run dad.’
My mum shakes her head. I laugh which is very much needed. ‘Sean shagged our headteacher in Emma’s bed,’ I mention to her.
Lucy tries hard to keep in the giggles.
‘I know. My sheets are on a hot wash as we speak,’ Emma replies, less than impressed.
‘Sean was here? I haven’t seen him for ages!’ my mum adds.
‘The world was here,’ I tell my mum. ‘There must have been at least forty people. They were sitting all the way up the stairs.’
Lucy acts like this wasn’t a problem. You can imagine Emma’s reminding herself to check the contents of all of her drawers.
‘It wasn’t all awful. A man dressed like B
art Simpson said it was a really good party. He liked the vibe,’ Lucy says.
‘Punch-drunk madness?’ Emma says, glaring. Lucy widens her eyes back at her. Don’t, girls, please. Behind us, a person knocking on the living room door gets our attention. They seem to have let themselves in. I stand up in shock.
‘Yasmin.’
‘Hi.’
My sisters and mother look at her, confused.
‘You are here. In my sister’s house?’ I say, my mind playing catch-up.
‘I am?’
Lucy stands up and points at her. ‘You’re Yasmin King from school?’
‘You went to King Charles?’ asks my mum.
‘I did.’
‘Why are you here?’ I ask.
‘I was at your party. You sent me an invite via text?’ she tells me.
She waves at Joe, who gestures back coolly to his surrogate mother.
Lucy realises what she may have done. ‘I may have nicked your phone and sent an invite to all your contacts.’
I give Lucy a highly confused face. All sorts of people are on my contacts. My doctor’s surgery, my hairdresser, our aunty Melanie. Was she there too? She’s seventy-eight. Maybe she was the one who came in the banana suit.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t know you were here,’ I say.
‘It’s fine. I had fun. It’s not a party without a raging fight in my opinion. I’m just here because I dropped some keys here last night. I swear I put them down on a coffee table. Sorry to bother you.’
Emma stands up with Joe and goes to a dresser where she retrieves them from a drawer. I peer over and it also contains a wig, a mask and what looks like a Doc Martens boot.
‘Yes, I have those,’ Emma says, handing her the keys.
‘Thanks. Gemma?’
‘Emma.’
She surveys the house and I am immediately glad we had the party here instead of my garden flat. ‘I guess I’ll see you at that shoot,’ she says.
I nod. She waves to everyone in the room and makes her escape. I throw a cushion at Lucy.
‘I can’t believe you. What must she have thought when she got that text? She must think I’m a loon.’
‘I think she was the one in the mask. And if my mate is right, she and someone dressed as Boba Fett possibly did the fandango in Ems’ downstairs bathroom.’
Ems’ face curls up knowing she’ll have to do an extra-deep clean on every surface later.
‘And who’s Todd?’
My face reads horror.
‘Todd Michaels? He’s my mechanic. He services our Suzuki.’
‘Well, he was here and he can service me whenever he wants.’
My mother play slaps Lucy while Emma puts protective earmuffs over Joe’s ears.
‘How are you so awful?’ my mother asks her. ‘It’s like I raised you in a barn. Where are your standards?’
‘So you’re saying shagging a mechanic is beneath me? How terribly classist of you, Mother,’ Lucy retorts.
‘That is not what I meant. I mean at least get to know his last name before you spread your legs for him.’
‘MUM!’ shouts Emma, who looks like she may need to disinfect her ears.
Lordy, they’re still at it. What will they throw at each other now? Please don’t use the baby. I stand up and start to put things into Joe’s changing bag. My mother stops to look at me.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
‘I’m going home. I need to find out where Will is.’
‘Then let us come with you?’ Emma says.
‘You were throwing stuff at each other last night. If either of you come with me, you’ll lash out all your anger on Will and I don’t need you scaring him off.’
‘Then what about me?’ my mum asks despondently.
‘Mum, two Christmases ago, you broke Simon’s nose.’
Oh, how we cheered. Still.
‘What if I get there and it turns out Will has another woman or wants to leave?’
‘Then I’d scalp him,’ she says calmly.
‘Exactly,’ I reply. I think about how she’d do that. With a butter knife?
‘We thought we could get some food in?’ Lucy asks. I pause for a moment. As lovely as that would be and as much as I crave a pizza right now, it would feel like hanging around the scene of a crime and I don’t fancy the continued interrogation.
‘Or not?’ Emma says, reading my expression.
‘But you’ll have no one with you?’ my mother says.
‘I’ll have Joe.’ We all look down at him. He glances up, strains his face and I think fills his nappy.
I end up getting an Uber back to mine and it’s not a graceful re-entry to the flat as I balance Joe and bags of birthday gifts and cards but I’m grateful for the familiar space. Dumping everything on the sofa, I pull the curtains back to let in some light. I look down at the coffee table, seeing the hard hat that Will was wearing last night. Then I hear noises in the bedroom. My heart skips a beat and I unravel Joe from his car seat. He’s here. I open the bedroom door. Oh no. You’re not Will. I take on a strange ninja stance as the person in the bedroom turns around.
‘Peter?’
‘Beth.’
I have no reason to dislike Will’s brother, he’s amiable enough but he’s the straight man, the serious brother. He runs a neat line in chinos and sports jackets and he likes golf. Privately, Will mocks him as mature, old, and dull. In our bedroom, he has one of Will’s old sports holdalls and is putting some pants and socks in there. His actions mute me for a moment.
‘I thought you might be with your sisters for the rest of the day.’
‘Well, I do live here. What are you doing?’ I ask.
He studies my face, realising he’s the messenger. In medieval times, I would shoot him after he’d delivered the bad news.
‘I just thought I’d come here and pack some of Will’s things, given he’s staying with us for a while.’
‘A while?’
‘He was pretty cut up when he got to mine last night. He’s low, not himself.’
Does Peter know the full story? What he did? What was said?
‘Oh. How long do you think he’ll stay with you?’
‘A week, maybe?’
Last night, it was a few days. I stand there with Joe, who looks at me strangely. That is not the other human that I’m used to. My human doesn’t wear old man moccasins with sports socks. I watch as he takes Will’s pants out of his drawer. Don’t take those, there’s a huge hole in the back seam that will expose his arse. Kat will hate that. Kat is Pete’s wife. She’s an adult who still eats ketchup with everything and can’t eat her food if it’s all mixed together. I smile thinking of a time when Will and I were in the middle of a supermarket and he said we should get her one of those kid’s sectioned plates for Christmas. We stood in the aisle pissing ourselves over how hysterical she’d get over her peas touching her meat and I suddenly ache. Peter also takes T-shirts. That one’s too small, not that hoodie either. He’s had that since university. He only wears it around the house. He’ll need work shirts. I sit on our unmade bed, with old unwashed mugs and dozens of my hairbands dotted about the place. Lines of battered trainers sticking out from under the bed, tongues hanging out and laces all double knotted and frayed. He might also need a pair of those. But I say nothing.
‘Did you get our birthday present?’ he says casually.
‘I haven’t checked.’
‘It’s just an M&S gift card, nothing special.’
I stop for a moment to digest that. Well, if I wasn’t flat out on the floor before, I am now lying here with someone’s foot on my chest. A tentative knock on my front door gets my attention and I peer my head into the living room to see Paddy standing there with a potted lily and a card.
‘Paddy, hey.’
‘You alright, love? I’m so sorry to intrude. Door was open. I just… I have a birthday present for you.’
I smile warmly ‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that. And how did you know i
t was my birthday?’
‘Well, I got a strange text last week inviting me to a party, telling me I had to dress as something beginning with B, so I assumed…’
Bloody Lucy. ‘I am so sorry – it seems she sent that text to everyone I know.’
‘You’ll understand why it may not have been my scene though?’
‘No, I’m glad. The party was a bit of a disaster, anyway,’ I say, trying to mask my pained expression.
‘How come?’
‘Stuff.’
I start to tear up and he puts an arm to mine. His eyes shift to the bedroom, hearing Peter emptying drawers and cupboards, and then back to my face.
‘Is that Will?’
I shake my head as Peter emerges from the room, his face scrunched up trying to work out who Paddy is.
‘Peter, this is my neighbour, Paddy. Peter is Will’s brother.’
Paddy sees the bag in Peter’s hand.
‘Is Will OK? He’s not poorly, is he?’
I smile at Paddy assuming this. He thinks Peter is here packing a hospital bag for Will who’s broken a leg or burst an appendix. I wish I could burst that appendix on his behalf.
‘No, Will is moving out for a bit. He’s just having a time out.’
Peter saying those words out loud feels like a jab to the ribs. Paddy’s gaze shuttles in shock between me and Peter.
‘A time out? What is he? Five years old?’ he says.
I laugh as Paddy says this. Peter shifts on the spot awkwardly, carrying a pillow like he’s going on a sleepover with a mate. Will is very fussy when it comes to pillows, like a fairy-tale princess: not too soft, not too hard.
‘Look, I don’t know who you are but Will’s really struggled trying to keep this family afloat. He’s working long hours and you’re not giving him much support,’ Peter says, turning to me.
‘Peter, I’ve just had a baby. This is hard on both of us.’
‘Are you looking after him? No. That’s your job too. As his girlfriend…’
Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?: An absolutely laugh-out-loud and feel-good page-turner Page 16
