A Song for Tomorrow

by Alice Peterson

  I notice the words ‘Hope’ and ‘All This Shall Pass’ tattooed onto Paola’s arm, along with an image of a lighthouse. I long to know what story lies behind those pictures and words but soon I’m too preoccupied with the needle that is buzzing close to my skin. It’s almost touching . . . I can do this. What’s a tiny little tattoo? It feels odd. Like pins and needles.

  ‘You’ll look like a real rock chick,’ Susie says. ‘She’s a singer, Paola, about to get a recording deal.’

  I cross my fingers. Pete is meeting an A&R guy at GEM this afternoon, only one of the biggest global record companies in the world. It’s our first pitch, so when I’d confided my nerves to Susie, she had suggested an anti support meeting at the tattoo parlour would be the perfect distraction.

  ‘I made Ethan supper last night,’ she continues in another effort to divert my attention from the thought of Pete shortly sitting round a boardroom table playing my demo to solemn-faced men in suits. ‘I made a lot of effort to cook his favourite Italian meatballs in tomato sauce.’

  ‘Delicious,’ Paola says, holding a light over my arm.

  ‘He takes one bite and then chucks it straight in the bin, right in front of me. Hilarious.’

  Both Milly and I think it’s anything but hilarious.

  ‘So he pisses off to the pub, comes home late stinking of beer and wakes me up wanting to have sex.’

  I steal another glance at Milly.

  ‘And you are with this man because?’ Paola asks, much to my relief.

  ‘Exactly,’ Milly says.

  ‘Susie, why are you letting him treat you like this?’ I ask. Sometimes I find it hard to talk to Susie about Ethan because she knows how much I want her to leave him. I only have to look at her and she’ll say, ‘Alice, don’t. I know what you’re thinking.’ Usually she does everything she can to drop the subject or never bring him up in the first place. But it still breaks my heart.

  Susie shrugs, her face downcast. I wish she had the courage to walk away, find someone better. If only she could see she is worth so much more.

  ‘How’s your wig course going?’ I ask, wanting to see her smile, and perhaps knowing that Susie doesn’t want to tell us about Ethan in a tattoo parlour. Maybe it’s a conversation to be had in private.

  ‘Haven’t been too well, missed a few weeks,’ she says.

  ‘All done,’ says Paola, now soothing my skin with Vaseline.

  She holds up a mirror. I turn sideways to get a full profile of my bird. ‘I love it,’ I say, modelling my arm to them all and hoping Tom will like it too . . . that he’ll want to touch it . . . ‘I’d teased Tom,’ I confess to the girls, hoping to lift Susie’s mood, ‘I said I was going to have a massive eagle on my back.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ Susie says again, but her voice remains flat.

  ‘Sometimes I tell my clients they have to remember what their tattoos will look like when they are old and wrinkly,’ Paola tells us, not understanding another deathly silence.

  I catch Susie’s eye before she says, ‘your turn now, Milly.’

  ‘I will get one next time,’ Milly promises with a sheepish grin when I buy her a packet of fake tattoos.

  Back at home I stare at the clock on my bedside table and my silent mobile. Pete’s meeting should be over by now. My mobile vibrates, alerting me to a text message. It’s Cat, asking if there’s any news before letting me know she’s coming over later. ‘I’ll order some takeaway,’ I text her back, knowing our favourite numbers off by heart on the Thai menu.

  My mobile vibrates again and this time Pete’s name lights up the screen. I stop breathing, as if I am underwater.

  ‘It’s me,’ he says, and already I know the answer. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Bad news is like a kick in the gut.

  ‘They wouldn’t have been right for you anyway, Alice. They didn’t get it.’

  ‘It’s their loss, right?’ I know my voice is giving away my disappointment.

  ‘This was our first try, there are plenty of others,’ Pete assures me. ‘All we need is one person to fall in love with you. This is only the beginning.’

  The house is silent. Mum is out. Dad is at work.

  I dial Susie’s number. I’d promised to let her know the news, whether good or bad.

  ‘Who the hell are you talking to now?’ I overhear Ethan shouting.

  Stop it. Stop yelling at her . . . Tell him to stop, Susie . . .

  ‘You’ve been out all day, the flat’s a fucking mess . . .’

  I hear a door slam.

  ‘So you’re not feeling too down,’ Susie says to me, the bitter disappointment of my day shrinking into insignificance when I hear him back again, shouting, ‘There’s no food in the fridge . . .’

  I’m terrified he is going to become violent. Maybe he has already hurt her.

  ‘Get that dog off our bed or I’ll kick it out!’

  Go for him, Bond. If only he was 007 and had a gun.

  The door slams again.

  ‘Leave him,’ I urge.

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispers back.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s paying for half my course and my rent.’

  Yes, but he’s using that as currency against you. He’s making sure he has every single possible hold over you. ‘I could help . . . let me help you with money.’

  ‘No, Alice,’ she says, clearly touched but her pride hurt, too. ‘I couldn’t let you do that.’

  ‘But I want to.’

  ‘No.’ She is adamant.

  ‘OK,’ I say, thinking out loud. ‘You borrow money and move out.’

  ‘I’ve cut down my hours in the salon . . . I could never afford to rent a place on my own . . .’

  ‘That’s not a reason to stay with someone.’

  ‘Yes it is! What else can I do? I’m stuck.’

  ‘There’s always a way. How about your dad?’

  ‘Shack up with evil stepmother too?’

  ‘Does he know what Ethan is like? You need to tell him. Surely he’d want to help?’

  ‘It wouldn’t work,’ she says, avoiding my question, ‘and anyway I don’t want to live at . . .’ She stops, careful not to say she doesn’t want to live at home, that not everyone is as lucky as I am to have such a strong network of support. ‘There’s no space.’

  When I think of Mum and how much she does for me, Dad too, it makes me feel desperately sad that Susie doesn’t even have a single kind word from Ethan. ‘Are you sure you couldn’t stay with your dad, just for a while, until—’

  ‘No, Alice, no.’ I hear her blowing her nose and coughing. ‘It never gets easier, I miss her all the time.’

  ‘Your mum would hate to think of you with someone who makes you so unhappy—’

  ‘He’s not bad all the time,’ she cuts in.

  Don’t defend him.

  ‘He’s going through a lot of changes at work, and he’s right, I’ve been stuck in hospital . . .’

  ‘That’s not your fault.’ I raise my voice, my concern shifting to anger that Ethan has ripped Susie’s confidence to shreds.

  ‘And then what with me not paying my share of rent . . .’

  ‘If you ever need to come here, you know you can,’ I say. ‘Bond too.’

  ‘He’s coming back, got to go.’

  ‘Susie! Wait! Wait!’

  The line goes dead.

  I ring her number again. It’s engaged.

  I try once more. Engaged.

  Engaged. Engaged. Engaged.

  I call Milly. By the time I’ve relayed our conversation I can hardly breathe. ‘I’ll try her,’ she says, just as anxious as I am, ‘and call you back.’

  When my mobile vibrates I’m relieved it’s Tom. ‘I can’t come over tonight,’ he says, sounding as if he’s on the run. ‘Speak later.’

  Later on that evening Cat arrives. While I reheat our food, she takes off her coat and scarf and kicks off her heels, sighing that she’s been stuck in meetings most of the day. She hates leaving for
work in the dark and arriving home in the dark. ‘How are you feeling?’ She gives me a hug.

  ‘Not great,’ I admit.

  ‘I’m sure even Robbie Williams and Madonna have had the odd rejection.’ When she sees my face, she adds hurriedly, ‘Sorry, that’s such an annoying thing to say.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘You’ll get there, I promise.’ Cat helps me with the food and plates and soon we’re sitting on my bed, propped up by cushions, the television playing in the background.

  ‘It’s not just that,’ I say, turning the volume down.

  ‘Tom?’

  I confide to Cat about Susie. Cat doesn’t know her well; our anti support group has always been just the three of us. ‘Milly talked to her earlier,’ I say. ‘Apparently Susie said she was going to have an early night, that Ethan had gone out. Milly offered to go round but she refused.’

  ‘There’s nothing more you can do, Alice,’ Cat says.

  ‘I know.’ I push aside my plate, unable to eat much. ‘I just have this really uneasy feeling about it all.’

  ‘Call her tomorrow. Maybe you could meet up? Talk it through more?’

  ‘I wish she’d leave him.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s not that simple,’ she says, ‘but Susie knows you’re there for her.’

  I nod.

  ‘Is Tom coming over later?’

  ‘Doubt it.’ I stare at the screen, thinking of how late he’d pitched up last night after work. ‘When I called him earlier he forgot even to ask how my meeting went. Sometimes he’s useless, Cat.’

  ‘I think you’re being a bit hard.’

  ‘He keeps on saying he’s about to sell this software, a deal is about to go through.’ I feel frustrated that his time in the office is time spent away from us.

  Cat puts down her plate, turns to me. ‘He was probably stressed, tired, running late to a meeting . . .’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I have days like that when I can’t think straight, can’t even remember if it’s Monday or Friday, I’m running on an empty tank because I’ve had no time even to grab a revolting sandwich from the canteen . . .’

  ‘But it’s not just about today. He’s cancelled the last three weekends to work.’

  ‘He’s trying to set up a business. That’s life. He can’t just drop things because you want him to.’

  A further uneasy feeling settles in my stomach.

  ‘You’re lucky to have someone like Tom. He’s one of the good guys.’

  ‘I still think he should have asked . . .’

  ‘He will, you know he cares. We all do. Go easy on him, OK.’

  I only have to think of Ethan to realise with shame she’s right.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say, calling Tom after Cat has left. I’ve decided to follow her advice and give him space. ‘Are you sure you can’t come over later?’ Hang on, I wasn’t meant to say that.

  ‘By the time I finish it’s going to be so late and—’

  ‘I’ll still be up.’

  ‘I could really do with a night at my place.’

  Listen to Cat. ‘Sure. Sure. Sorry. Anyway, the meeting with Pete—’

  ‘Oh Alice, I can’t believe I forgot to ask.’

  ‘It’s fine, honestly.’

  ‘I’m so sorry . . .’

  ‘You’ve had a full-on day.’

  ‘How did it go?’

  He knows the answer. ‘Idiots,’ he says. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes. No. Not really.’ I’m thinking of Susie too.

  ‘Listen, I could try and come over later.’

  ‘Hello, funny feet.’ Tom touches them, before kissing my cheek. I open my eyes, glance at my bedside clock. It’s eleven o’clock. Tom settles down on the bed next to me, his bicycle clips still on. ‘I can’t stay, but you sounded as if you needed a hug.’

  I hold on to him, not wanting to sleep alone tonight. ‘How did your meeting go?’ I ask.

  ‘We’re not going to get the funding.’

  ‘After all your hard work?’

  Tom shakes his head.

  ‘Idiots. I’m so sorry.’ His bad news is another kick in the gut. ‘Are you OK?’

  I feel his pain when he laughs. Both of us are asking others to put faith in our work, to believe in what we’re trying to do. It’s frustrating not to be in control, not to be able to move forward without backing.

  I rest my head on his shoulder. ‘You’ll get there. I know you will, Tom.’

  ‘I wish I had your faith,’ he says, stroking my hair.

  ‘Stay,’ I urge him, already comforted by his touch.

  He looks torn.

  ‘Want to see my tattoo?’ I suggest provocatively, taking off my top.

  The following morning I wake up with that thud of disappointment that Pete and I had had a rejection yesterday, before slowly remembering Tom stayed last night. It’s becoming a familiar sight seeing him asleep on the sofa. When I wake him up he groans, asking me what the time is. He stretches out his arms, circles his neck as if he lay in an awkward position.

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Eight? Eight!’ He jumps up and shoves on his clothes.

  ‘What about breakfast?’

  ‘No time,’ he snaps, before stubbing his toe on the coffee table and hopping up and down cursing.

  ‘A quick coffee then, let me make you one.’

  ‘Got a meeting at nine.’ He gathers his coat, wallet, keys and mobile and is about to leave before giving me a peck on the cheek.

  ‘Will I see you tonight?’ I ask, immediately wishing I could take it back when I see his face clouding with irritation.

  ‘I need some space, Alice.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I follow him towards the back door. Space? It sounds as if he wants to break up.

  He might as well go up to space given how little time we’re spending together.

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘It means I need some time at my own flat, in my own bed.’

  He resents me for making him stay last night. I should have listened to Cat. I bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears. ‘Fine. Go. Have your space.’

  I hear him outside, unlocking his padlock before carrying his bike up the stone steps without as much as a glance over his shoulder.

  Never before has he been so keen to escape.

  35

  Later that morning, I’m brushing my teeth, worrying about how I left things with Tom. After he’d gone, I slipped back into bed feeling guilty that he’d stayed over. When I hear my mobile ring I rush to answer it, desperately hoping it’s him. It’s Pete, asking if I can get to the studio by eleven instead of this afternoon.

  After hanging up I realise I need to get a move on to finish all my treatments before I leave. When my mobile rings again I hesitate to pick up until I see Susie’s name lighting my screen. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask when I hear her crying down the line.

  ‘I can’t do this anymore, Alice. Can’t.’

  ‘What’s happened? Where are you?’

  ‘I can’t do this, can’t be with him. I’m scared.’

  ‘Has he hurt you?’

  ‘Can you come . . .?’

  ‘Yes. Is he there?’

  She doesn’t answer.

  ‘Stay exactly where you are, Susie, do you promise me? I’m on my way now.’

  I ignore speeding cameras as I drive down the Uxbridge Road, towards Ealing. I fly through a light that’s about to turn red.

  If he has hurt her . . .

  I park outside her flat. It’s permit or pay at meter only. There’s no time to get a ticket from the machine.

  But what if I need to drive Susie home or to the hospital? I can’t be clamped.

  I rush to the parking machine, scramble around my purse to find some loose change before sliding it into the coin slot with a trembling hand.

  Finally I press the buzzer to flat 3A. No answer. I knock on the front door and press the buzzer again, this time leaving my finger on it for a long time. I open the
letterbox and shout her name through it. ‘Susie, it’s me, Alice. I’m here!’

  I look up to her bedroom window. The curtains are closed. ‘Susie!’

  My imagination runs wild. Ethan could be inside, not letting her come to the door. Who knows what’s happened between them? Should I call the police? What if Susie is unable to escape? I have no idea what Ethan is capable of.

  Just as I’m about to press the buzzer again, wishing I had the strength to break down the door and force my way in, an elderly woman in a navy hat opens the door, a carrier bag looped over one frail arm. I slip through, almost tripping over letters and catalogues still strewn across the doormat. The corridor is dark and smells musty; the walls are a nicotine-stained colour. I switch on a light, unable to stop coughing as I climb up the stairs, thankful she’s only on the first floor. My mobile rings. It’s Tom. He rarely rings me in the morning from the office. I can’t do this, not now. Thoughts race through my mind that he’s calling to break up with me, that he really does want space—

  ‘I can’t talk now,’ I say, not allowing him to start that fateful conversation, before telling him what’s happening. ‘Hang on,’ he says, ‘what if Ethan’s there, Alice?’

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of this.’

  I have no choice. ‘I’ll call you later, promise.’

  ‘Alice! Where does she live? Alice!’

  I bang on the door, overwhelmed by relief when I hear footsteps, intuitively knowing they’re Susie’s. I hear someone sliding the chain across before the door opens.

  Susie feels painfully thin when I hold her in my arms. ‘It’s going to be OK, I’m here, you’re with me now. It’s going to be fine.’ Slowly I guide her back into her bedroom, trying not to show my shock at what a mess it is, broken glass on the floor. She crawls under the covers, as if her duvet is her security blanket. I prop her pillows behind her back, just as Mum does for me, before I hear Bond whimpering. Following the sound I crouch down and see him cowering under the bed. Gently I coerce him to come out before lifting him into my arms. ‘There, there,’ I say, before handing him over to Susie. She buries her face in his dark fur before bursting into tears.

  I clutch Susie’s hand while she tells me what’s happened. ‘The pub, the late nights, the drinking . . . that’s all new,’ she confides. ‘He’s never drunk that much because of his job . . .’ Ethan works at their local gym. He’s a personal trainer. ‘He’s a control freak, normally he’s obsessed with his weight and alcohol units . . .’ She looks away, wiping her tears, ‘I dread it when I know he’s drinking. I lie awake, fearing the key in the lock; he doesn’t even want to talk to me, he just wants sex . . .’