The Girl in the Corner

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Wow! This place is incredible!’ Howard stood with his hands on his hips inside his white linen shirt and looked around the terrace, taking in the low lighting and soft sofas.

  She instantly noticed Antonio behind the bar. He looked at her husband and then Dolly and Vinnie and finally her. He let his mouth lift in a small smile of recognition, but his expression to anyone who had studied his face for a number of hours carried a look of regret, and this alone was enough to make her feel a little sad.

  As was his way, Howard marched to the bar, confident, interested and making whoever he spoke to feel like a million dollars. ‘Hello! This is some place. Just beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you. Welcome to Max’s.’ Antonio spoke with the fixed smile of a professional.

  ‘We run some bars and restaurants in the UK,’ Howard began, and Antonio lifted his eyebrows in surprise, as if this was news. ‘It’s a tricky job to make them appealing, on-trend and yet family friendly. I think of all the hours of consultation we spend trying to get it right and yet here we are . . .’ He threw his arm around in an arc. ‘Effectively in a fancy gazebo – no gimmicks, no art, no theme, just this incredible view – and you can’t beat it. Maybe that’s the answer: we need to move lock, stock and barrel to Antigua! What do you think, Rae? Can you imagine waking up every day to this view?’

  She gave a nod and a short smile, wishing they could go and sit down on the sofas where Vinnie and Dolly had made themselves comfortable, away from the bar. She had no desire to prolong this interaction.

  ‘So, what do you recommend?’ Howard rubbed his palms together as he eagerly browsed the fancy row of shiny bottles on the glass shelf.

  ‘I have just the thing.’ Antonio pointed at Howard and clicked his fingers. Working at speed, he grabbed glass bottles and small vials of syrup, sloshing measures into a shaker, along with crushed ice and a generous squeeze of lime, which he mixed and poured with flair into a tall glass, finishing with a paper straw and a sliver of apple perched on the side of the pale-green concoction.

  ‘Fantastic! You’ve done that before!’ Howard chuckled, impressed.

  ‘Once or twice,’ Antonio acknowledged with a wink, and Rae felt her stomach sink.

  Howard took a sip. ‘Oh, this is good! Do you want to try it, Rae?’ He held the glass towards her.

  ‘No. I’m fine.’ She turned away.

  ‘What’s it called?’ Howard asked.

  Rae looked at Antonio, silently imploring him.

  ‘It’s called “The Idiot Returns”.’ He spoke while she was still formulating her thought.

  Her heart jumped and her tongue stuck to the dry roof of her mouth.

  ‘Why’s it called that?’ Howard asked jovially, sipping again.

  ‘Because it’s potent and once you have finished it, you’ll be stumbling back up here for another and another – time and again, The Idiot Returns . . .’ Antonio finished with a small flourish of his hand and a bow.

  Howard laughed loudly. ‘I like it! Vinnie!’ he called across the bar. ‘You want one of these?’

  ‘Sure.’ Vinnie nodded and turned back to Dolly, who had kicked off her sandals and now rested her feet on his lap, as if they were on the couch at home. ‘You sure you don’t want one, Rae?’ Howard pushed.

  ‘Positive,’ she answered, not enjoying the fact that Antonio was making a fool of her husband, no matter how well intentioned or disguised. Howard, this man, this flawed man, the father of her children, was not an object for Antonio’s ridicule.

  It was nearing midnight when they decided to call it a night, and Rae was grateful. She had spent an uncomfortable hour or so perched on the edge of the sofa, listening to Dolly, Vinnie and Howard wittering and reminiscing, from which she felt curiously remote, while watching Antonio out of the corner of her eye, afraid that at any given moment he might come over. Not that there was much to reveal; but the thought that he might in some way suggest that all between the two of them was less than above board would mean that Rae had lost the high ground. Her anger and mistrust in Howard would then be seen as misplaced, and she would be deemed no better than him. And that was not how she could effect change.

  It was therefore with no small measure of relief that Rae, burdened with a new and growing anxiety, walked back to the apartment behind Dolly and Vinnie, who linked hands like magnets and walked hip to hip along the narrow path. She looked at Howard, preoccupied with his phone and with his jacket slung over his shoulder. She wondered what it would be like to be alone with him at night in the small apartment and felt a flicker of apprehension, wary of his expectations but holding on to her resolution to stand firm.

  She took her time showering and cleaning her teeth before slipping into her pyjamas ready to climb into her single bed. Howard waited to use the bathroom, sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone.

  ‘I just told the kids we are all good. Hannah sent a kiss emoji and George a thumbs-up sign.’

  ‘I remember the days when everyone used more words, but I think that’s just how young people are now, pushed for time to communicate. They live their lives in a hurry.’ She pictured her kids and smiled.

  ‘We all do.’

  ‘Yep.’ She acknowledged this truth, thinking of how even putting the rubbish out had a sense of urgency about it and recognising the tragedy in that.

  Rae went about her bedtime rituals, plumping her pillow and smoothing the top sheet, nervous around Howard in a way that was familiar of late, but no less strange for that. It was an odd feeling, regardless of the event that had blown them apart; now in the twilight of their marriage they were past the passionate days of nightly sex that in the early years had happened without thought or preplanning. This had waned over the years, falling into a steady state where holding hands, a peck on the cheek or falling asleep with a book on each other’s chests was just as likely; so why she felt this acute awareness tonight of their physical separation, she wasn’t sure. Maybe because they were on holiday, and in the past, that had always been a time to revamp intimacy that might have been flagging due to busy lives and tired bodies. She got into bed and pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin, a protective shield of sorts.

  The last time the two of them had slept in adjoining beds without moving furniture out of the way and pushing them together was in a cosy B&B after Paul and Sadie’s daughter married somewhere in the Cotswolds. The beds would stay where they were tonight too. It was a gap of only a couple of feet, but it might as well have been the Grand Canyon.

  Howard chuckled to himself. ‘Do you know, I think the last time I slept in Dolly’s bed was when I came home drunk as a teenager and took a right at the top of the stairs instead of a left, and my mum left me there. Dolly ended up in with them.’

  ‘It has fresh sheets.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ He pulled back the covers and she heard the creak of the mattress springs as her husband lay in the bed previously occupied by the snoring Dolly. It was some relief to know that he snored marginally less than his sister.

  ‘I’ve had a nice day. It’s felt good, Rae, like old times, and the first time I have felt like this in a long while. I feel a little bit happy.’

  ‘That’ll be the cocktails.’ She felt the flash of anger that he could be so easily seduced by a slosh of rum and a blue, sun-filled sky, knowing it would take a whole lot more than that for them to resolve what ailed them.

  ‘The Idiot Returns!’ Howard boomed and she closed her eyes in the darkness, cringing at the sly antics of Antonio. She hadn’t spoken up and her silence made her feel complicit. Rae felt the beginnings of a headache, still trying to process that her husband was actually here.

  ‘Single beds.’ He spoke into the darkness, and she heard him pat the mattress. ‘I told them we were an anniversary couple when I booked the holiday. I definitely did not request two singles.’

  ‘Well, you know, Howard, you don’t get everything you want in life. You might have an expectation, but often things don’t tu
rn out the way you want. You expect roses, you get dandelions.’ At least, that’s my life, Howard; but not yours. For you, if you want roses you bloody take roses and be damned with the consequences!

  There were one or two seconds of silence until Rae became aware of a stifled wheezing sound. ‘Howard?’ She turned her head towards the noise. ‘Howard, speak to me. Are you okay?’ She wondered if he was ill or distressed; it was hard to fathom.

  The wheezing sound grew louder until she realised that he was giggling.

  ‘Are you laughing?’ She sat up a little, resting on her elbows.

  ‘I’m . . . sorry!’ he managed.

  ‘In God’s name, what is so funny?’

  ‘You! You are so funny! I’m sorry, I know we don’t laugh like this any more, but honestly, Rae, I am lying here listening to you offering teacup wisdom – “Things don’t turn out the way you want . . . you expect roses, you get dandelions . . .” You sound like Yoda!’ He laughed again.

  She felt her face break into a reluctant smile. His jollity was quite infectious. ‘I think you’ll find that if I sounded like Yoda it would be “Roses you expect, dandelions you get . . .”’ she offered in her best Yoda voice, and this time laughter exploded from them both. She had forgotten that they could find each other this funny. It was definitely the cocktails.

  That Antonio . . . She pictured him. Terrible he is . . .

  ‘This is good, Rae, this is good.’

  She turned on to her side and lay facing him. Her husband did the same and gradually she was able to decipher his outline as her eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Howard?’

  ‘Of course,’ he whispered.

  ‘Have you always loved me? I mean, from the day that we met?’

  ‘I tell you every day. But if you don’t know it then it’s my fault.’

  ‘It’s not about saying it, as you know – it’s all about the actions.’ She stopped talking; this was not where she wanted the conversation to head. ‘You did tell me every day, Howard, you do, but that’s not what I am driving at. I suppose what I mean is, in all the years we have been together, have you ever hated me or gone off me and then gone back on me?’

  She heard him shift on the mattress and saw him pull the sheet up over his bare shoulder.

  ‘This sounds suspiciously like you are looking for clues as to how to go back to liking me. Trying to figure out how to stop hating me.’

  ‘Hate is too strong, but that’s about right. I need to know how people do it because I am really struggling.’ She spoke the truth tenderly.

  ‘I have never, ever hated you. Not once, not for a single second.’ He swallowed. ‘I love you and I always have, but there have been times when I have found being with you difficult.’

  Rae shifted her head on the pillow and listened hard. ‘Like when?’

  She heard his sigh.

  ‘Tell me, Howard,’ she whispered.

  ‘I guess after George was born. It was a difficult pregnancy for you, I know, and I spent all of it waiting for the worst to happen.’

  She knew he was referring to the late miscarriage they had suffered. She had been twenty-three weeks pregnant. It was never mentioned. And Rae had always felt that if he didn’t mention it then neither should she. Least said, soonest mended . . . Not that her silence had meant she hadn’t grieved – quite the opposite; she just did so alone and in secret, presenting her smiling face to the world and crumbling when she was alone. A sham.

  ‘I could only be there for you through the pregnancy and tried to hide all the anxiety I felt, but it was hard for me not knowing how best to help you. I was trying to look after the business and help with Hannah and I guess I felt quite overwhelmed and I felt a bit like . . .’ He swallowed again. ‘I felt a bit like you shut me out. I know your mum was around, and Dolly, but I was lonely, I think. I never stopped loving you, of course not. But when I look back, it was a hard time. I was so worried and didn’t know how best to support you and I had no one to talk to.’

  Rae remembered the anxiety that gripped her for the first few months of that pregnancy; the tiredness of looking after a toddler while pregnant was almost too much. He was right: overwhelming.

  ‘You never said anything to me.’ She felt that their words came easier, cutting through the darkness in this half-light.

  ‘No. We haven’t been very good at talking about the hard stuff, have we?’

  ‘I guess not,’ she admitted. ‘Maybe we needed to use more words too.’

  ‘Or we could be like the kids and communicate solely in emoji?’

  ‘That would certainly be easy. We only need one to sum up the last few months – that nasty poo one. Just hold your finger on that until it fills the screen.’

  ‘I won’t do that. I can’t stand to dwell on it.’

  Easy for you, buster . . .

  ‘I’d send lots of the little flower bouquets,’ Howard suggested.

  Rae thought this summed them up quite well. Thinking of the good things, the funny things, the celebrations – that was what they focused on. But miscarriage, George’s dyslexia, Hannah’s anger and tendency towards depression? No, they didn’t really talk about anything like that. Not in detail.

  ‘After I had George,’ Rae began, ‘I remember feeling quite trapped and I thought it was your fault, because I had these two kids to look after and I was tied to the house and exhausted, yet you were still free to go out of the front door or take a shower, things that often felt impossible for me. Looking back, I think I was suffering from post-natal depression, but we called it “baby blues” and waited for everything to improve – and it did, eventually.’

  ‘I remember you used to cry a lot and I didn’t know what to do. I asked your mother and she said it was best not to make a fuss or make you feel guilty, or worry you that you might not be coping, and that I was probably best off not mentioning it.’

  ‘And you took advice from her?’ It felt incredible that he had been able to speak to her mum rather than her. Yet another secret, lurking with the rest of the skeletons in the back of their emotional cupboard. Rae thought of how much easier things would have been if they had been able to discuss the situation openly. She might have felt less lonely, Howard a little less isolated . . . It might have set them on a very different path; one where he didn’t seek a thrill and flattery from a skinny waitress called Karina.

  He gave a wry laugh. ‘Yes, and I don’t know why I did; I wouldn’t take her advice on anything else, not really. I don’t think she has ever really forgiven me for marrying you so young. It was like I had taken her little girl away.’

  ‘You did.’ She smiled, thinking about that day. ‘Our wedding day, Howard – I was so excited.’

  ‘I remember, but you know . . .’ He paused. ‘For me, the day I proposed and you said yes was better than our wedding day. At least, I think so.’

  ‘What? No! Really?’ It was the first time she had heard this. She pictured him lying nonchalantly on her wedding dress with his head on her lap while she opened their many gifts.

  He nodded at her, sharing the confidence. ‘Yes, our wedding day was lovely. Perfect, and you looked . . . oh my God, you looked so beautiful.’ The gasp to his tone warmed her. ‘But all those people, Rae, and all the planning and frills – it was a bit too much. And that cake with those bloody things stuck on top!’

  ‘They were a bride and groom; little models from Selfridges, no less.’ And my mum and dad bought that cake with their last pennies . . .

  ‘They didn’t even look like us.’ He sighed.

  ‘Are they supposed to?’ she asked, in all innocence.

  ‘How should I know?’

  They both gave a single laugh.

  ‘Rae?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can I . . . can I hold your hand?’

  Here in the dark and under the cosy blanket of reminiscence, it felt like a reasonable request. Slowly, with a measure of reluctance, she reached out
and their hands met across the gap; his fingers gently gripped hers and their palms slid together. Turned out it was a journey of twelve inches that her hand had to travel, not the Grand Canyon after all. It felt nice, comforting and familiar, with an underlying sadness to it. Rae felt confident that no matter what had occurred, this kind of intimacy was one he shared with no other, because it was built on shared history, and that alone made her heart glad.

  ‘No, the day I asked you to marry me, it was . . .’

  ‘It was what?’ she whispered into the dark.

  He shook his head as if urging her not to rush him, to let him find the right words. ‘When you said yes, it was like there was a beam of light shining ahead of me, showing me the way. For the first time ever I could see this wonderful, bright future because I knew that no matter what, you were going to be in it. And all the things that had felt so important – like where I lived and making the restaurants a success, growing the business – all of it fell into insignificance because I could only see me joined to you forever, no matter what, and it felt . . .’ He paused again. ‘It felt like I had arrived at a place that I didn’t know I was travelling to, and regardless of how fast the march of time, it held no fear for me because it was the end of my loneliness.’

  ‘Had you been lonely then, up until that point?’

  ‘No,’ he answered, softly, ‘but I had a fear of loneliness and that disappeared the moment you said you would be my wife.’

  She looked at him in the dim light and saw the bright-eyed young thing down on one knee on the path that circled the lake in the park, while joggers skirted around them, paying them no more heed than if they were rocks littering the way. It was raining. Her wool coat had smelled of wet dog and she’d hoped he didn’t notice, far more concerned about this than she was about her hair being stuck flat to her head or her soggy shoe leather.