‘I know, and he’s all fucking mine!’
We laughed and hugged, and jumped up and down in time to ‘Lady Marmalade’.
Having Sylvia’s undivided attention didn’t last long, though, and she was pulled away by two young sweaty-looking men I didn’t recognise. I didn’t think they were from the paper at all, but Sylvia didn’t seem to care.
Lee had disappeared. I stayed on the dance floor, practically held up by the bodies either side, my ears ringing with the noise, half-wishing I’d worn something a bit cooler than this velvet dress.
Eventually I decided I was too desperate for the toilet to continue, so I sauntered over to the ladies’, took one glance at the queue, and went into the gents’ instead.
‘Not looking,’ I said, turning my face away from the few blokes standing at the urinals, locking myself into a cubicle and perching with relief.
When I finished, I went on the prowl for him, weaving my way between drunken bodies with serious intent. He was back propping up the bar, chatting to Len.
‘Would you excuse us a moment?’ I shouted politely, and Len raised an eyebrow and nodded, before turning back to the bar to call for another pint.
I took Lee by the hand and pulled him down the corridor past the toilets, out into the beer garden. The area round the door was crowded with people getting some fresh air, but I took him further, through the gate at the end of the beer garden which led to the playground. This place was absolutely heaving in the summer, but right now it was deserted, and very, very dark.
I didn’t have to drag him; in fact when he realised where I was taking him he took over and started pulling me instead.
I stumbled on a lumpy bit of grass and parked the edge of my behind on a picnic table, pulling up my skirt, glad I’d decided to wear stockings and equally glad that I’d left my knickers behind in the waste-paper basket in the gents’ toilets.
I could just about see his outline, silhouetted against the faint orange glow from the skyline, but I could hear him breathing. I hooked one finger over the waistband of his jeans and pulled him close, undoing the buckle of his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping whilst he ran one hand up the inside of my thigh. When he realised I wasn’t wearing any knickers, I heard a low groan.
He kissed me, roughly, forcing my mouth open, and then tearing it away to whisper in my ear, his voice just a rasping breath, ‘You’re such a dirty bitch…’
‘Shut up,’ I said into his mouth. ‘Bet you’re just glad I’m wearing this dress now, aren’t you?’
It took longer because he’d had a bit to drink. As much fun as I was having, with him fucking me hard in the freezing night air, part of me started worrying about someone hearing the noises we were both making. And another not inconsiderable part of me was starting to worry about getting splinters in my backside.
Then he pulled out and turned me, pushing me back onto the table with one hand and dragging up my skirt again with the other until it was around my waist, before pushing into me again from behind with a sound that came from between clenched teeth. Hitting the table knocked the wind out of me a little, and I felt the rough lichen on the wood under my fingers, bracing myself for each thrust. He was holding my hips, pushing me forward against the table, and his grip was strong and bruising.
In between thrusts I could hear other noises – was that him? It sounded too far away. And then – unmistakable – a woman’s giggle. Someone else was clearly enjoying a turn in the night air, and the playground was apparently the place to be. I didn’t know whether to say something, and I tensed a little; clearly this had the desired effect because at that moment he came, thrusting into me with such force that I felt a sharp dig of pain on the front of my stomach as it grazed against the rough edge of the table.
Straight away, he pulled out of me and did up his jeans, leaving me to stand awkwardly and pull my dress down. I heard Lee clear his throat just as two figures emerged from behind the slide – the bright pink skirt visible even in this light. And behind Sylvia – holding onto her hand like a lifeline – was Carl Stevenson, looking sheepish and wiping his mouth across the back of his hand.
‘Evening,’ said Sylvia with a giggle, giving me a wink and heading past us back to the pub.
Hand in hand, we went through the side gate to the car park, and back round to the front to look for a taxi. I was shivering again.
‘Why don’t you women ever wear a coat, for fuck’s sake?’ he said, wrapping his arms around me.
‘I’ve got you to keep me warm,’ I said, kissing his neck.
That part of the evening was fine. The taxi ride home was fine, particularly as he’d got his hand up my skirt and was fingering me all the way back to my house.
When we got in, however, something changed.
‘I think I’ll go and have a shower,’ I said, kicking my shoes off into the cupboard under the stairs. He was standing in the living room, his face clouded, hands in his pockets.
‘I’m going home,’ he said.
I came back into the room, not sure I’d heard him properly above the ringing in my ears. ‘Did you say you’re going home? Why? Aren’t you staying?’ I went up to him and slipped my hands around his waist. He kept his hands in his pockets for a moment, and then took hold of my upper arms and pushed me gently but firmly away from him.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, a sinking feeling starting to take over from the feeling of being happily drunk.
He met my eyes at last, and his were dark with a level of fury I’d not seen before. ‘What’s wrong? You really have no fucking clue? Jesus.’
‘Lee, tell me, for fuck’s sake. What have I done?’
He shook his head to clear it. ‘What was all that about, then? Coming out of the gents’ toilets? Accidentally left your pants behind?’
‘I only went in there because the ladies’ had a queue. Sylvia and I always do that when it’s busy,’ I said in a small voice.
‘Sylvia!’ he exploded. ‘That’s a whole other issue! What did you think you were doing, snogging her face off on the dance floor? Touching her up?’
‘I thought you’d think it was erotic,’ I said, feeling tears starting. This was going all horribly wrong. ‘It’s not like I’d do anything with her.’ Obviously not the moment to suggest a threesome, then.
‘Oh, don’t start fucking crying,’ he roared. ‘Just don’t dare start fucking crying.’
I bit back the tears. ‘Lee! I took my knickers off in the loos because I knew I was going to come straight out and find you.’
‘Yeah, how am I supposed to know that? You could have been fucking anyone in there. You dirty fucking bitch.’
That hit a nerve. ‘Don’t you call me names, just because you’ve suddenly got all uptight! I didn’t hear you complaining when you were fucking me in the garden.’
‘And then you’d got your little friend out there, to give us a fucking audience!’
‘I had no idea she was there!’
‘Do that often, do you, go out there to watch each other? Fuck!’
‘No!’ This was a bit of a lie. We had done that once or twice, for a giggle. It was a challenge to see who could get someone out to the playground first. But not tonight…
‘Lee…’ I touched his arm, tenderly, trying to bring him back, trying to calm him down, but he shrugged my hand away.
‘Come on, I’m sorry. It wasn’t like that. Lee.’ I tried again, and this time he shoved me, hard, with both hands. I fell backwards onto the sofa, the breath knocked out of me.
He took a sharp breath in, turned his back on me. ‘I’d better go.’
I sat back on the sofa, suddenly stunned by the force of his fury and devastated by the prospect of losing him. ‘Yes, you better had.’
I spent the first hour after he’d left having a long hot shower, then walking from room to room, thinking over everything he’d said, how my behaviour had been interpreted. I hadn’t fucked anyone else, I hadn’t even flirted with anyone else, and you couldn’t count
Sylvia who was just about my best mate in the world. He’d been out of order. But then I thought about how he hadn’t known anyone there except for me, how I’d abandoned him and spent the night flitting between people, laughing and joking, swishing my hair around and batting my eyelashes. And snogging Sylvia on the dance floor. Oh, God.
The second hour I spent sitting curled into the sofa, hugging my knees and staring blankly at the television screen, taking nothing in, the effects of the alcohol now worn off to the extent that I just felt sick to my stomach.
Just as I was contemplating going to bed, even though I knew I’d never be able to sleep, there was a quiet knock at the door. And then everything was alright again, because he was there, and the light from the hallway shone over his face, the tears, the hurt, the terrible, naked hurt in his eyes. He stumbled towards me, saying, ‘I’m sorry, Catherine, I’m sorry…’
I took him in my arms and pulled him inside, kissing him tenderly, kissing the tears from his eyes. He was freezing. He’d been walking for miles. I pulled his clothes off him and put him in the shower, and it was almost a repeat of that first night when he’d stumbled into my house with blood pouring from his eyebrow and three of his ribs broken.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, as I lay beside him in bed, using my body to try to get some warmth back into him.
‘No, Lee, you were right – I was out of order. I’m sorry. I’ll never show you up like that again.’
And when he made love to me, it was very gentle.
Hours later, lying in the darkness of my bedroom, listening to his breathing, regular, deep. The question that had been swimming around in my mind, since the moment I first saw those eyes, finally found a whisper. ‘Who broke your heart, Lee? Who was it?’
His reply took so long I thought he was asleep… and then the word, whispered into the air like a charm, like an incantation: ‘Naomi.’
The next morning I had forgotten where the bruises on my arms had come from. But I never forgot the name, nor the way he said it, with such reverence: a breath, a sigh.
Tuesday 25 December 2007
When I got back upstairs I could hear voices before I even got into the flat. They’d left the door open, something that would normally send me into a tailspin, but after all this wasn’t my flat.
Stuart was standing in the kitchen. When I came up the corridor towards him, having shut the door firmly behind me, he stopped talking, mid-sentence, and looked.
I rounded the corner and there, at last, was Alistair Hodge. ‘Ah, and you must be the glorious Cathy; I’ve been hearing all about you. How are you, my dear?’
‘I’m very well, thank you. It’s nice to meet you.’
I shook his hand and accepted a glass of wine from him, immediately thinking that I would have to take things very easy.
‘Come and sit with me, my dear, and let’s see if we can find some nice festive music to listen to.’
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Stuart as Alistair led me into the living area. He gave me a smile and a wink and went back to the meal.
Alistair was a well-built man, loosely put together, with prematurely greying hair rather like mine. He had a huge belly which strained the cotton shirt he was wearing and sat over the waistband of the brown cord trousers. Despite his girth he seemed peculiarly light-footed, and was happy leaping up from the sofa to go and select some more CDs from Stuart’s collection when we’d looked through the first handful.
‘Stuart, dear boy, you haven’t any carols.’
‘See if there are any on telly,’ Stuart called back.
‘I must admit I haven’t got any carols either,’ I said.
‘Oh, that’s such a shame. I don’t feel at all Christmassy if I haven’t any carols.’ He flicked through the channels until he found some choirboys warbling away, their mouths angelic circles, their eyebrows somewhere up in their hairlines.
My cheeks were starting to feel flushed. I’d only had half a glass of wine.
‘How’s the shoulder?’ Alistair called.
‘Better. On the mend.’
He leaned over me conspiratorially. ‘Did he tell you what happened?’
‘Just that he got kicked in the shoulder by a patient.’
‘Ah, you didn’t get the full story, then. I might have known. He’s a bit of a hero, our Dr Richardson. He got himself between a patient who was getting aggressive, and a nurse. He wrestled the man to the floor – ’
‘He’s exaggerating,’ Stuart said, suddenly appearing with the wine bottle and topping up our glasses.
‘ – and subdued him single-handedly until help arrived.’
I looked at Stuart.
‘It’s not usually that bad,’ he said. ‘Most of the patients I see are just too miserable to move. I don’t often get violent ones.’
Alistair raised his eyebrows. I looked from one of them to the other.
‘Anyway, Al, that’s enough about work. I don’t think Cathy wants to hear all the horrible details, do you?’
‘Did he tell you about his award?’
‘No,’ I said.
Stuart made a noise of disgust and went back to the kitchen.
‘He’s been awarded the Wiley Prize for the research he’s done into treating depression in young people. He’s the first UK-based psychologist to get it. We’re ever so proud of him in the department. Alright, alright. I’ll shut up about it now. I knew you wouldn’t have told her, though, Stuart, that’s why I had to say something.’
‘Do you work together, on the same ward?’ I asked.
‘Oh, no, not any more. I work at the Centre for Anxiety Disorders and Trauma. I’m in a different building. Stuart does the depression and mood disorder clinics, as well as working on the crisis ward. He started off with me though. Bloody brilliant chap.’
‘I can hear you,’ Stuart said from the kitchen.
‘I know you can, dear boy, that’s why I’m saying such nice things.’
Alistair went back to looking at the glorious interior of the chapel of King’s College, Cambridge and I went to check if Stuart needed any help with the dinner.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Nope, it’s all under control.’
Eventually he put me in charge of laying the table, although it was a small table for two, never mind three. I opened another bottle of wine, since the first one seemed to be empty. Alistair had brought some crackers, so I put one on each of the placemats, then I went to sit with Alistair again.
Finally, when I was about fainting with hunger and the tempting smells had nearly got the better of me, Stuart said, ‘It’s ready.’
Dinner was amazing. Stuart had cooked a haunch of venison in a rich plum gravy, with vegetables and roast potatoes, roast parsnips and Yorkshire puddings. The meat was meltingly velvety-delicious. The wine we were drinking was making me feel warm, and more than a little drunk.
We pulled our crackers and laughed at the appalling jokes, we drank more wine and finally had our dessert at about six in the evening, by which time we were all completely stuffed full of food. Alistair had seconds of everything, eating and chewing while Stuart and I looked at each other and smiled as though we had some private joke.
I made Stuart sit on the sofa while Alistair and I washed up, although he didn’t stay there. A few minutes later he came and sat at the kitchen table and watched us, joining in the conversation while I told Alistair all about the happy world of pharmaceuticals and how I was busy recruiting warehouse staff for the new year. It all sounded hopelessly dull compared to the scary world of mental health wards, but they still listened. Stuart carved some more of the venison and wrapped it into a tinfoil parcel for Alistair to take home.
When everything was tidied away I made a pot of tea. Outside it was dark and the rain had started, pattering noisily on the glass. It was a good night to be at home.
‘That was a delicious lunch,’ Alistair proclaimed, displaying his vast belly like a trophy and patting it indulgently.
Alistair had plonked himself happily on the sofa between us. ‘I won’t stay long,’ he said, giving me a conspiratorial wink. ‘I’m sure the two of you would much rather be on your own.’
I felt my cheeks flush and heard Stuart cough.
‘We’re just friends,’ I said quickly.
‘Of course you are,’ Alistair said, with a broad smile.
‘What’s the bus service like today?’ Stuart asked casually.
‘Oh, a bit sporadic, to tell you the truth,’ Alistair said. ‘Appalling really, I mean, people have still got to get about, Christmas or no Christmas.’
‘You going to be able to get home alright?’
‘Hm? Oh, yes, I expect so.’
There was a long pause.
‘I should think about getting back,’ I said. I had a sudden horrible feeling that Stuart was trying to get rid of Alistair for some reason. Between us we’d consumed three and a half bottles of wine and the edges of the room wouldn’t stay still. What if he was planning to make some kind of move? I thought back to the night before, about sleeping on his sofa, wrapped in his duvet, wearing his clothes.
‘What are you up to tomorrow, Al?’ Stuart said, trying again.
‘Oh, lord, I’ve got paperwork to catch up on. No rest for the wicked, eh?’
‘Better not leave it too late, then.’
‘Hm?’ Alistair looked up at Stuart. ‘Oh! Of course, yes, I must really be going. Gosh, is that the time?’ He got to his feet surprisingly quickly.
‘I’d better be going, too,’ I said.
‘Well, my dear, I expect we shall see each other again very soon, hm?’
‘Um – yes. I suppose so.’
‘I’m very much looking forward to it.’
My cheeks burning, I found his coat and Stuart found his bag, and then Stuart said he would see him next week and they would meet up for a coffee to discuss something or other, and before we knew it Alistair had been shoved out of the door, and Stuart had gone downstairs to see him off the premises. I stood in the kitchen hopping nervously from one foot to the other, trying not to fall over.
Into the Darkest Corner Page 17
