by J. A. Baker
His eyes are gritty, his back a solid ache. He checks the clock, climbs out of bed and steps into the shower where the hot water rushes over him, soothing his sore limbs. At least it’s Saturday. He can spend it doing whatever he likes. No Dane, no trying to avoid the obvious troublemakers in class. Just him and his thoughts. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. Sometimes his mind goes into overdrive, assuming the worst is going to happen. It might be a better idea to do something productive today rather than just sit about, letting his imagination run riot.
Joss is waiting outside the bathroom as he comes out, her eyes rimmed with mascara.
‘You look like a panda. Mum’ll love the mess you’ve made on the pillowcase.’
She slaps his arm and pushes her way past. ‘Shut it, swotboy, and get out of my way.’
He laughs, steam still billowing off his glistening skin.
Downstairs, the phone rings. His dad’s voice is a low murmur, suddenly developing into a loud staccato din. It makes Alex’s head swim. Anxiety punches at his chest. Something is wrong. His dad is unerringly polite when talking to others. He and his mum may argue but when speaking with other people, his manner is reserved and gracious. Always. But not this time. Something is happening. Something really bad. Something that is causing him to be gruff, demanding. The crescendo fills Alex’s head, setting his senses alight.
Closing his bedroom door, he gets dressed, tripping over his own feet as he rushes to get down there, to see what’s happening. He has no idea what he can do, if he will be of any use, but not knowing what is unfolding on the other end of the line is, he feels sure, worse than knowing. If he is close by, he can help, maybe calm things down. He can be there for his dad.
The phone conversation is coming to a close as Alex enters the living room. His father sits slumped, the receiver in his hand. His eyes are vacant, his skin bleached grey, as if all of his blood has suddenly emptied out of his face.
The protracted silence is interminable. An impending sense of doom threads its way through Alex’s veins, filtering into his organs, anchoring him to the ground. He is heavy, cumbersome as he staggers over to where his father is sitting.
‘Dad? What is it? Who was that on the phone?’ His voice cracks, he coughs to clear his throat. Tries to act natural even though his innards are suddenly loose and watery.
‘Hmm?’ His father snaps out of his trance-like state and gives Alex a tight smile. ‘It’s fine, son. Nothing for you to be concerned about.’
He is concerned and whatever it is that has just taken place, feels anything but fine. ‘So who was it you were talking to on the phone, then?’ Alex stands over his dad, focusing on his breathing, every rattling breath that leaves his body low and controlled. The room appears smaller somehow, nearby objects farther away. Everything is skewed, out of perspective. He grips the back of the sofa and tenses his muscles, his senses heightened to every movement, every whisper of air that passes by him.
‘Oh, that? It was work. Like I said, nothing for you to worry about.’
He’s lying. His dad is a terrible liar. Always has been. His voice has a slight warble to it. His skin is suddenly pale and waxy. His eyes have clouded over and he can’t bring himself to look directly at Alex, staring off instead into the distance, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over Alex’s shoulder.
‘Work?’ He should leave it, let his dad be, but something is driving him on, making him dig for the truth. Lies multiply. They fester and grow, leading onto bigger untruths and if there is one thing Alex cannot tolerate, it is deceit. Not here in his home. They have enough to contend with as it is. Lies will only make things worse. ‘It didn’t sound like work. It sounded more like an argument. As if something awful has happened.’
‘Look, Alex, my boy. I’m completely worn out today so if you wouldn’t mind, let’s just leave this conversation until another time, eh?’
With eyes that mask nothing, his dad looks up at him and Alex’s flesh creeps and rucks, squeezing tightly against his bones. ‘Okay. Whatever you say, Dad. Have you had breakfast?’ He wants to protect his father from whatever is going on, to let him know that he is here for him even if nobody else in this family is.
‘That sounds perfect, son. Right now, a cup of coffee sounds damn near perfect.’
Alex spots it as he shuffles past – the unshed tears that his dad blinks back, the sudden mottling of his skin, the darkening of his eyes – he sees it, registers it and wishes there was more he could do to alleviate the pressure his dad is under. Being there for him, he thinks, as he fills the kettle and spoons coffee into the cups, is about as much as he can do for the man who has always been there for him. For the time being, that is. Until he knows what the issue is. Then he can step in and help.
It’s bad. Really bad. The shouting downstairs is so loud, he is forced to cover his ears to drown it out.
Joss left the house a few hours ago, heading off into town with a gaggle of her girlfriends and a fistful of money given to her by their dad. She had pestered him for cash as he had sat in the living room, head dipped, skin ashen. And now Alex is left here, alone in his bedroom, sitting it out, wishing he had gone off somewhere far away from here.
It started shortly after Joss left, the almighty rowing, the hollering and screaming. The terrible accusations.
They seem to have forgotten that he is still in the house. He can hear them now, their voices filtering up through the floor, the carpet and thick rugs doing little to muffle their anger. There is no let-up. He has caught snippets, enough to know what’s going on and is wishing he hadn’t been present when those words were said. He can’t unhear them. They are out there, those hissed accusations, that dirty revelation, the grisly details of his mum’s sordid little affair. He was right all along. He had wondered if she was having a fling and he was right. With every fibre of his being he wishes he was wrong, but knows that he isn’t. Alex has heard enough to know that his mother is sleeping with another man. And not just any man – Rob Bowron.
Christ almighty. Rob frigging Bowron.
He lowers his head onto his knees and closes his eyes, squeezing them shut against the screaming and hollering that is taking place in the living room below him. It shouldn’t bother him. Most teenage lads would shrug it off, consider it none of their business, get on with their lives, but he’s not like most teenagers. Stuff like this affects him, eats away at him, making him think there is worse yet to come. Which there is. Separation, divorce. Everything is set in motion now. No turning back the clock.
He never thought he would ever think such a thing, but he finds himself wishing they had never moved here. If his dad had continued working at his old job, none of this would be happening. Alex opens his eyes and raises his head. Or maybe it would. Maybe his mum would have got bored of that lifestyle as well and gone out searching for something different. For someone different. At least it wouldn’t be Dane’s dad. That’s the worst part of it. Another man, any other man would have been bad enough, but this – this is beyond the pale. Talk about shitting on your own doorstep.
He feels like marching down there and shaking some sense into his mother, shouting at her that not everything is about her and what she wants and needs, that there are four of them in this family and it’s about time she sat up and took some notice, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He will be his usual docile incompetent self. Soft in the middle. Lacking the courage to do the right thing. So he sits, anger and anxiety building up in his gut, his heart thumping, his head woozy with the thousand thoughts that collide and crash in his brain.
And then there’s Dane to consider. The thought of facing him on Monday fills Alex with utter dread. Does Dane even know about this latest revelation, and what type of reaction will it provoke in him if he does? Anger, resentment, embarrassment. That’s just for starters. Life will become unbearable for the both of them, their friendship on the cusp of fragmenting. All because their parents couldn’t be bothered thinking outside of their own sel
fish needs.
Alex lies back on his bed, consumed with so many emotions that it is impossible to pick them apart. A great big mash-up of hurt, anger, hatred and humiliation. Why is his mum so fucking selfish? They could all be having a nice easy life here but now she’s ruined everything. The one friend he had has been inadvertently dragged into Alex’s family crisis and now he has no idea what the future holds for any of them. Everything is one big fucking awful mess.
At this moment, he hates his mother – really hates her, the sensation gripping him. It’s an overwhelming feeling that he can’t shake. It twists its way under his skin, digging deep into his chest, nestling in the warmth of his beating heart where it waits, biding its time. A killer waiting to strike. There’s no easy way out of this situation now, no way to undo the damage that she has done. Everything is in tatters, their lives in ruins and he has no idea how to get any of it back.
27
Nina replaces the handset. She didn’t know what else to do. She can’t even remember dialling the number and was shocked into action when she heard the voice at the other end, asking who she was and demanding to know what she wanted. Another part of her took over. A part she didn’t know existed. It feels good to know she still has some fight left in her, that somewhere hidden deep within herself, she still possesses enough courage and resolve to confront her problems.
Her nails break and split as she nibbles at them. Perhaps she did the wrong thing making that call, but it doesn’t matter anymore because she has done it now. Too late for regrets. Her kickback is long overdue.
Last night she confronted Rob about what she had witnessed and he turned it around, telling her she was going mad and that she needed to get out more, that she was turning into a lonely, bored housewife who had no friends and was borderline frigid and even if he was having another affair, was it any wonder living with her and her constant refusals of his sexual advances.
She had gone cold at his words, and after he left the house early this morning to visit some building site or other – or maybe even the woman herself, Kate Winston-D’Allandrio – Nina picked up the phone and made the call. She did it without any preamble, not wanting her nerves to get the better of her, unwilling to take the cowards way out by backing out and continuing to live a huge fucking lie with a man she no longer loves or indeed, ever loved.
Her body feels weightless, as light as air. A heavy burden has been lifted. She is free; filled with both terror and excitement in equal measure. Upstairs, Dane is sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that his life is about to change into something unrecognisable now that she has done this thing, revealed her husband’s heinous deed and set free the beast of his sins. The truth is out there and she cannot recapture it. There is no way to take back those words. Everything is in a transitionary phase. Rob is still unaware of what she has done, but soon he will know and although she feels fear and unease at the thought of him finding out, she isn’t utterly terrified. It had to be done.
She can see a chink of light at the end of what seems to have been an endless tunnel. For so long now, she has stumbled about in the dark, crashing into things, falling and injuring herself before getting back up and dusting herself off only to fall once more, always harder than the last time. But not anymore. Everything is at an end. An end that offers a fresh start. It will be tough, she knows that, but ahead of her lies a whole new beginning.
She spends the next hour showering, styling her hair and painting her nails, something she hasn’t done for as long as she can remember. There seemed little point when her life consisted of cleaning and cooking but since making that call, she feels imbued with an energy that she can’t quite define, a spurt of adrenaline that is pulsing around her body, spurring her on.
She hears the turn of Rob’s key in the door downstairs and stops. Her heart speeds up, her palms are damp and clammy. Now it’s real. Her act of defiance is about to lose its shine. She will tell him what she has done and watch as his temper takes hold.
Her slim fingers grip the edge of the mattress, her stomach shrinks. She will have to speak with him. Sooner rather than later. There’s no escaping that fact because she is under no illusions about what will happen next. Anthony Winston-D’Allandrio will get in touch. She doesn’t know when, but it will happen. What she needs to do now is to still her thumping heart, go downstairs, tell Rob that she has made the call and ride the oncoming storm.
Beneath her she can hear him as he raids the fridge, slamming doors, his footsteps clattering across the stone flooring, crockery spinning on worktops where he has placed plates and cups down with such clumsiness, she wonders how he ever manages to build houses that remain upright. The noise is an indication of his mood. Their argument from the previous evening is still in the forefront of his mind and now she has taken it one step further, calling Kate’s husband and telling him what she knows about the affair between their respective spouses.
If she thought things were bad before, they are about to get a whole lot worse.
She stands up, hoping Dane remains asleep, hoping Rob doesn’t react too badly to her news, yet knowing deep down that he will. Her skin tingles and burns at the thought of his face, the roar of his voice as he tells her she is an interfering old bitch. Worry swills like acid in her stomach.
He moves across the hallway, stopping at the foot of the stairs before going into the living room and turning on the television so loud it causes her to jump.
This is it. This is the moment that will stay in her brain long after it happens; the moment her life takes a different route, leading her down a path she has never before walked. She has no map, no compass to help her. She is going to have to trust her instincts, go with her gut and hope that for once, her judgement is steering her in the right direction. Not like last time when she went against her instincts, following her heart instead of her head, and married Rob. She is older now. Wiser. She has paid a hefty price for refusing to take heed of her father’s advice.
The stairs sway under her feet as she heads down to the living room, the blare of the football commentary an assault on her ears, the roar of the crowd making her flinch. She enters the living room to a wall of noise, Rob’s voice accompanying the almighty din as the ball hits the back of the net with a resounding thump.
‘Fucking God almighty! My nan could have stopped that fucker going in!’
She closes her eyes, prays that for once, luck will play its part, that she will be saved the terror of one of Rob’s adult tantrums and that this confrontation will end peacefully and amicably, yet also knowing deep down that it won’t.
He turns and scowls at her.
The words spew out of her mouth, a stream of syllables that echo around her head, telling him what she has done, how his latest lover’s husband has been informed and that she is not going to put up with his liaisons and boorish behaviour for any longer, that she has had enough and deserves better than to be ignored, her feelings shoved aside, treated as if she is some feral creature that should be cast out into the wilderness.
For a moment she thinks that he has softened, taken on board what she has said. His eyes glaze over, a rheumy film obscuring his thoughts, but it doesn’t last long. Within seconds everything changes.
He catapults out of his seat and grabs her shoulders, shaking her until she is dizzy, her head bouncing and flopping, her vision distorted and clouded with fear. Even when he is wrong, he is right. Such ignorance and conceitedness. He is beyond redemption. She knows that now. Should have known it earlier, saved herself years of misery and heartache.
‘You stupid fucking bitch! You stupid useless waste of fucking space!’ Flecks of spittle land on her face. His eyes bulge with rage, spidery veins spreading over the sclera.
Nina stares at him, wants to laugh at how ugly he looks, how all the years of bile have built up inside of him, turning him into the monster he is today but she knows better than to do such a thing. Rob is a ticking time bomb and the best thing to do is stand clear, say nothing, d
o nothing; just watch mesmerised as he detonates and hope she is able to dodge the shrapnel.
Wrenching herself free of his grasp, she steps back into the soft body of Dane who is standing directly behind her, a small moan escaping his lips.
‘What’s going on?’ His eyes dart from one parent to the other, panic in his tone.
‘Ask your mother! Ask her what she’s gone and done now.’ Without giving the boy a chance to reply, Rob cuts in, his voice a near shriek. ‘She has told your mate’s dad that me and his mother are having an affair. Can you fucking believe it, eh? Your mother has lost her bloody marbles, son. She’s completely sodding deranged.’
Her son gulps nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. A tic takes hold in his jaw. He blinks and brushes his hand over his face as if trying to swat away an unwanted insect. ‘What have you done, Mum?’
Her stomach ties itself into a tight knot as she listens to the sour tones of spite in Dane’s timbre, the softened version of him from earlier, now a distant memory. This is how it is, she thinks dejectedly, and how it will always be. Dane is his father’s son and will always choose his dad over me.
No matter how terrible the misdemeanour, how upsetting and hurtful Rob’s transgressions are, her son will always take his side. She is alone in the world now. Alone and lonely. A terrible place to be. And yet still she tries to defend herself, to get her only child to see through the fog of bias that swirls around his head, masking the truth.
‘Ask your dad what he has done first, Dane. Ask him who he is having an affair with.’ She shudders at her own words, not quite believing she is saying these things to her own child, using him as a human shield to deflect from her own wrongdoing after making the call to Kate’s husband. Things are slipping out of her grasp. She is losing this battle. She is losing everything.
