The Girl in the Corner

by Amanda Prowse

  Rae stood with a sinking feeling as her husband made his way around the house, opening more windows – though this definitely helped; either that or she was becoming accustomed to the smell. He thundered back down the stairs to the kitchen and she could tell by his footfall that he was not in the best of moods.

  ‘It bloody stinks! We are going to have to strip down all the curtains and blinds and get them washed, and all the bed linen, clothes – anything fabric. The carpets too; they need professional cleaning. The smell is in the air up there.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Her stomach bunched at the news.

  ‘Yep, “Oh God” is right. You know, Rae, I felt a lot better-humoured about the whole thing when I was in the sunshine with a cocktail in my hand. Here, on this rainy day, facing the gloomy destruction in what used to be our kitchen and the way the whole place smells, I feel a lot less jolly about it. The only place that doesn’t really stink is the top floor; we might have to confine ourselves to the bedrooms. At least we have a TV up there, and we can get takeaway delivered.’

  Rae gave a dry laugh. As if, with these two elements covered, nothing else mattered. She stared at the sorry sight of her once-pristine kitchen; and, at Howard’s mention of bedrooms, wondered for the first time about their sleeping arrangements tonight. With this disaster and the new level of cordiality between them, would Howard assume it was okay to climb back into their marital bed? And did she mind? It had felt different in Antigua; they’d had no choice but to share a room and the Grand Canyon between them provided her with a comfortable barrier. She also hadn’t minded the odd night when they had chatted in the darkness, keeping to topics like the kids and Toby . . . it still jarred her to use his name. She now felt conflicted and decided to discuss it that evening at bedtime, rather than have the conversation now and add to the growing tension of the day; that would feel like throwing fuel on the fire, so to speak.

  She nodded. ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, I would love a cup of tea. Thank you. At least we have a working kettle.’

  ‘Yep, every cloud and all that.’ Rae filled the kettle and placed it on the slightly gritty surface. ‘The whole kitchen is going to need replacing. In my mind I thought we might be able to paint it and fix the oven, but there’s no chance of that, is there?’ She ran her hands over the greasy fridge door. Everything was covered in the residue of smoke, fire or whatever it was they had used to extinguish it.

  ‘Nope.’ Howard stood by the window.

  Rae looked up at the blackened scorch marks that fanned out on the ceiling like the shadow branches of a tree.

  ‘I need to talk to our daughter. This is really not good enough.’ Howard sighed, taking out his phone and muttering to himself as he dialled. ‘Hannah, it’s Dad.’ He spoke sternly with a set expression and one hand on his hip. Rae couldn’t make out the words, but could hear the energised, enthused tone of her daughter down the line. When Howard spoke again, he sounded softer; his mouth twitched into a smile and his shoulders dropped. ‘Yes, yes, we are home and yes, we have seen the kitchen.’ He looked at Rae and rolled his eyes. ‘No, there is no need for you or Niamh to feel concerned. We can sort it all out and the main thing is that you guys are okay – it could have been a lot worse, by the look of things.’ There was a pause while he listened. ‘Yes, I don’t see why not. That sounds great. Let me just check with Mum.’ He placed his cupped palm over the receiver. ‘She wants to come down with Niamh next weekend. We don’t have any plans, do we?’

  We . . . we . . . is this it? Back to coupledom so quickly? So neatly? Rae pictured an escape hatch closing and took a deep breath, as if she were being plunged into something airless.

  ‘Other than choosing, buying and installing a new kitchen, no.’ She smiled and reached for the mugs, which she scrubbed with washing-up liquid under the hot tap.

  ‘Mum said that’s great. We shall look forward to seeing you then, Hannah Bee Banana.’ He ended the call and looked at her.

  ‘Gee, Howard, you really told her! I bet she was quaking for forgiveness.’

  He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the sink. ‘You know, you are right. She sounds different, happy, and I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to burst that bubble, plus she was with Niamh and I thought it would be a little off to shout at her with her, her . . .’

  ‘Girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes, her girlfriend present. And what I said was true: it could have been a lot worse – just look at it, Rae!’ His eyes swept the room. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about. If the fire had taken hold, or they’d fallen asleep, or a million other scenarios that have gone through my mind – all ones that end with Hannah getting hurt. I can’t stand the thought of it.’

  ‘I know.’ Rae felt sick at the prospect.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing her next week and to meeting Niamh,’ he added.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing her too. How are you feeling about the whole thing? I mean, I know you’re happy that she’s happy, of course, but I guess it’s different from what you envisaged for her.’

  He looked out of the kitchen window and seemed to consider this. ‘It is. And I guess at some level I always hoped that the guy she settled with might be like George, another son, and then I would picture all the things we could do together – bloke stuff, like fishing and smoking cigars.’

  Rae couldn’t contain her burst of offended laughter. ‘First, I think you’ll find there are some girls who like to smoke cigars and go fishing too, and second, neither you nor George has to my knowledge ever done either of those things!’

  ‘I was just saying.’ He stood with his palms open and upturned, all innocence.

  ‘You amaze me, Howard. You are the best dad – loving, considerate, open – and so for me this makes your casual, everyday sexism even harder to fathom.’ She wasn’t sure if he had always been this way or whether with the loss of his superstar status in her mind she was now more aware of the negative aspects of Howard Latimer.

  ‘I was only saying!’

  ‘I know, I know, but just think before you speak next weekend. We don’t want to burst Hannah’s bubble, as you say, or worse, scare off Niamh. And I don’t want Hannah to fly into one of her rants over something you have said or done – it won’t show her at her best.’

  ‘I think if Niamh has spent any time with our daughter, she will already know of her rants.’

  ‘Probably,’ Rae conceded.

  ‘But you know, when you love someone, Rae, you love all of them, faults and all.’

  She smirked to herself, half-admiring his constant attempt to coerce her. ‘Is that right?’

  She let this hang, and poured water into the mugs.

  ‘So next week I can’t say, keep those girls away from the kitchen!’

  ‘Oh no, Howard, you can say that! I’m not letting either of them within feet of my kitchen. Sweet Jesus!’ She looked again at the mess and wondered where she should begin.

  Rae languished in the bath, soaking her muscles, which were tired from the day of travelling, three laundry loads, the taking down of curtains and the scrubbing of the paintwork in the hallway. It had been a busy few hours and already the feeling of lying under hot sun on warm sand was a distant memory.

  She had written a long and daunting list of chores that included:

  Empty kitchen cupboards

  Run down freezer

  Organise new kitchen

  Remove old one

  Find out Niamh’s favourite food

  Figure out a plan, Rae – how you go forward

  MAKE DECISIONS!!

  BE BRAVE!!

  Eventually she hauled herself reluctantly from the bubbles and headed for the bedroom. She rubbed body lotion into her skin, which for the last two weeks had grown used to the kiss of warm sunshine and was already missing it. The phone on the bedside table rang.

  ‘I don’t want to be here! I want to live on holiday where someone else makes my bed and my breakfast. Plus I miss you.’


  ‘You can’t miss me, Dolly – we only said goodbye a few hours ago.’

  ‘Well, I do! I got used to you being around and now you are not. How’s the house?’

  Rae took a deep breath. ‘Worse than I imagined, actually. It smells. Really stinks. The smoke has got everywhere apart from the top floor. I have just had a bath, but I can still smell it on my hair. Or it might be that it’s up my nose and so I can smell it everywhere.’

  ‘Yuck. If it’s any consolation, my house smells too. Lyall has been staying here with his mates and it reeks of fried food and spilled beer. I have all the windows open; it’s bloody freezing. I have a jumper on over my pyjamas.’

  ‘Well, I have all the windows open trying to get rid of the smell of the fire, and I too am bloody freezing.’

  ‘What kind of pizza was it?’ Dolly asked.

  Rae guffawed. ‘How should I know, and why does that matter?’

  ‘Just wondered.’

  ‘Way too involved.’ Rae smiled.

  Dolly laughed. ‘I am proud of you, Rae-Valentine.’

  ‘What are you proud of me for?’ She sat back against her soft pillows and pulled up her knees, knotting the curly phone wire around her fingers.

  ‘For a million things, but right now because of the way you are treating Howard and the way you are kind and the way you are keeping all the doors open for the future.’

  ‘Doors and windows; no wonder I’m so cold.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yep.’ Rae bit her bottom lip, feeling a flash of guilt and knowing that this was not the time or place to share the fact that equally, she thought about a life beyond those doors and windows . . . Dolly’s blindness to the situation and her assumption that everything was fine irritated her. Just because Howard had schlepped out to the Caribbean and they had enjoyed one or two cocktail-fuelled tête-à-têtes was not enough to guarantee happy ever after. She needed more: more time and more discussion. The fact was, her wound was still fresh, even if padded with promises.

  ‘And I wanted to say I am sorry. I am, really sorry,’ Dolly gushed.

  ‘Dolly . . .’ Rae took a breath. ‘There are so many terrible things you have done in our lives that I am literally sitting here trying to figure out which one you are apologising for right now.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

  ‘God, too many to choose from – you photocopied my work at college and passed it off as your own; you told the registrar at the town hall when we went to register her birth that Hannah’s name was Chlamydia and it was only because I shouted for her to stop writing and she managed to scrub out the c, h and l that we managed to get it changed!’

  ‘Okay, that was bad. But it was funny!’ Dolly wheezed.

  ‘You say inappropriate things to bus drivers and check-in attendants.’

  ‘Hey, I will stop you right there, missy. It got us upgraded!’

  ‘Okay, I’ll let you have that one. So what exactly is it you are apologising for this evening?’ Rae pulled her shawl around her shoulders.

  Dolly’s response, when it came, was sober. ‘I was rude to you about Antonio and your intentions. I panicked. And I’m sorry because I never told you about what I’d heard.’

  It felt odd to hear the barman’s name, now, back at home, when the idea of him was already diluted, faded into no more than one thread of the tapestry that formed their time away.

  ‘I doubted you, Rae, and I said hurtful things about your behaviour. I was mean and I should have known you better than that. I could only think that I needed to shout Howard’s corner. And when I did hear the rumour from Vinnie, I remember laughing! Laughing loudly because it was so completely unbelievable!’

  To me too . . . Rae felt a swell of affection for her friend; these words meant the world. ‘I get it, Dolly. I can’t say I would have done differently. And I don’t know, maybe you were right about the barman. I think I was a bit bowled over at first. I’d been feeling so rubbish, so low, and it felt good to have someone make a fuss over me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now, Rae. It’s done.’

  ‘It is.’ She swallowed. ‘It’s all done.’ She said this wishing it were true, and knowing in her heart that things were far from done. In fact, she suspected they might just be getting started. The thought of choosing a new kitchen felt a little overwhelming, as if she did not want to make the emotional investment; and earlier, as she’d scrubbed the rubber marks from the parquet flooring, she’d wondered if it might not be easier to pick up her suitcase and waltz right back out of the door, leaving the mess, the smell and the whole debacle with Howard for someone else to clear up. Ridiculously, she closed her eyes and thought about jumping on a plane and sauntering into Max’s with her hair up and her shorts on: Come on then! Take me fishing! I am making the time!

  ‘Anyway, it’s getting late and I am tired.’ Dolly’s voice drew her from her daydream. ‘I guess I just wanted to call and say I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’ Rae felt the comforting spread of warmth through her bones at the familiar closeness with her best friend. But, hard though it was for her to admit, this did little to fill the gully of disappointment that lined her stomach. She could still hear Dolly’s words, her tone, and could see her expression – almost one of dislike – as she leaped to her brother’s defence. Rae knew that she would not be unseeing it any time soon.

  ‘I’m looking forward to the party next weekend,’ Dolly added.

  ‘What party?’ Rae wondered what she had forgotten about.

  ‘Hannah and Niamh! At your house!’

  ‘Is it a party?’ She was confused.

  ‘Yes, according to the WhatsApp group! Hannah said we should all come over. She promised champagne and finger food, so . . .’

  ‘Bloody finger food!’ Rae shook her head. ‘The state of the kitchen, anyone will be lucky to get cheese and crackers.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it!’ Dolly yawned. ‘We’ll get one of the restaurants to whip up a buffet. Night, Rae.’

  There she goes, thought Rae – straight into solution mode, without allowing for Rae’s love of planning and preparing food for any gathering, which gave her a moment to shine. Maybe she was being ridiculous. It had been a long day.

  ‘Goodnight, Dolly.’

  She replaced the receiver just as Howard padded into the room, walked confidently to the window and shut the curtains, closing out her view to the top and bottom of the crescent but leaving the creep of light through the gap where the fabric failed to meet. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head, balling it in his hands and throwing it to land next to the dirty laundry hamper. He walked into the bathroom and the sound of him peeing filtered back into the room, followed by the sound of him cleaning him teeth, spitting into the sink and gargling mouthwash. Intimate sounds of a life lived together. Ordinarily she paid no heed, but tonight they seemed deafening.

  She looked at the end of the bed and pictured him bent over crying and she saw herself on all fours with her hair falling over her face, fighting for breath on the night her world changed.

  He flicked the main light switch, made his way over to the bed and, without any discussion or hesitation, drew back the duvet cover and hopped in, throwing the soft top pillow on to the floor and tucking the duvet across his chest with his arms on top, holding it in place.

  Just like he always did.

  ‘God, I am exhausted.’ He let out a deep, long breath and it felt like mere seconds before his breathing found its slumbering rhythm and he emitted a gentle snore, accompanied by the slackening of his muscles and the murmur of dreamlike oblivion.

  Rae watched him in the half-light as shards of moonlight fell across their bed and lit the way over the biscuit-coloured carpet to the door. It reminded her of a landing strip, like markers to help something find its way home in the darkness. It was her favourite thing, magical, when the moon found a way into the bedroom. She looked at her husband; there he was, back in their bed, sleepin
g the sleep of those who closed their eyes with an easy conscience and a short memory, safe in the knowledge that they would wake happy.

  She turned on to her side with an ache in her gut that felt a lot like longing, watching the leaves on the plane trees outside the window dance like shadow puppets in front of the moonlight, reflected on the duvet. She laid her fingers on them, tried to grab them and smiled at the illusion of beauty that for a second had fooled her.

  Rae was happy to be out of the house. They had only been back in the UK for a couple of days and just like Dolly the witch had foreseen, it was as if they had never been away. The summer clothes were packed away in hampers that lived under the bed in the spare bedroom; other items were placed in the cherrywood chest of drawers. Her sun-kissed bronze skin had all but lost its sheen, and a team of builders who usually worked on shop fits and remodelling for the restaurants were busy ripping out the frazzled carcass of her kitchen and prepping the walls. All this for the new shiny kitchen she had yet to decide on. She had reluctantly agreed with Howard that it was vital to get the smelly burned units out to give the house a chance to breathe. He didn’t seem remotely as fussed as she was that they would be without a kitchen at all during the whole process. She had, this morning, stepped gingerly around the large bins ready to be loaded on to the flat-bed truck full of plasterboard, MDF, strips of wood and the odd appliance as she jumped into her little car. And now she pulled up in front of her childhood home in Purbeck Avenue, looking at the redbrick house with the curved path where a whole family of cement frogs had once lived and she had kissed a boy goodbye at the gate.