‘The battery was dead. I had no way of charging it. As if you’d care.’
‘Alex. I’ve barely slept a wink I was that worried.’
‘Really? You have a funny way of showing it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You didn’t call. You haven’t even asked how my mother is.’
‘I did call, Alex.’
‘You didn’t leave any messages.’
No, I didn’t, I realise, but Alex’s logic seems rather flawed to me. Didn’t he just say his phone was out? I decide to let that one go. He’s probably a bit short on sleep himself.
‘I sent you a text. How’s your mum? Is she ill?’
‘You didn’t bother asking in your text message how she was. After everything she’s done for you. Helping with the baby and all.’
‘Alex, I’m asking now. What happened? Why is your mum in hospital?’
‘She fell. They’re keeping her in for a few days for observation and a few more X-rays and until the swelling goes down.’
I should probably be more worried than I am, but Alex is prone to exaggeration, and I’m still mad at him for abandoning Chloe and me. ‘What happened?’ I sound worried, at least.
‘I already told you what happened!’
I’m having trouble following Alex. ‘When did you tell me?’
‘I left you a message, because unlike you, I’m considerate.’
‘What message?’ I’m beginning to feel like I’ve been here before. We just go round and round in circles. Arguing with Alex is like trying to reason with a goldfish.
‘I left a Post-it. Here, in the kitchen, in the usual place. I came home yesterday to see if you were OK, but you were out. Then the hospital rang about Mum.’
‘I didn’t see a Post-it. It’s not here now.’
But as I turn my head and glance up at the worktop, I catch sight of a square piece of orange paper next to the kettle. Alex leaps up, grabs the Post-it and waves it triumphantly above his head. Then he slams it down on the table in front of me, making Chloe jump. Her little face twists up as if she’s about to start crying again, but then she carries on sucking away at the bottle, apparently more hungry than startled.
‘If you didn’t see it, how did you know she’d been hospitalised?’
Luckily, he’s hissing rather than shouting. I don’t want him to scare Chloe. I’m trying hard not to feel scared myself. I don’t even answer. I give up.
My eyes are locked with Alex’s. I don’t want to look away, as if that would make me the loser of some sick game. I need to process this. I’m sure the Post-it wasn’t there yesterday evening. I made the dinner and I made several cups of tea. I would have seen it. Definitely. Wouldn’t I?
But that could only mean that Alex has just stuck it there. Which would be a very cruel thing to do. I can’t even imagine why he’d do that. To make me doubt myself? Or is he covering up the fact that he forgot to leave me a note in the first place?
Alex breaks our eye contact first, but I don’t feel like I’ve scored a point. Far from it. Once he has turned his back, I glance down and read the note.
Mum has been rushed to A&E.
She is badly injured.
I’ve gone to the hospital.
Call me later?
Alexxx.
At least the kisses are back. But probably not for long.
Alex is back, too. I should feel relieved. But I feel numb. My husband is home, but I’ve never felt so far from home in my life.
Chapter 11
~
As it happens, Alex isn’t home for long. He picks Sandy up from hospital the following evening and for the next two nights he sleeps over in his mother’s guestroom. It turns out she sprained her ankle when she tripped and fell on her own doorstop – literally. Alex, who was there, took her to hospital. He pops home after work on the Wednesday just long enough to drop off his dirty clothes for the wash and to fetch a freshly ironed shirt.
I seem to have gone from one extreme to the other. Just a few days ago, I resented the fact that Alex and Sandy were around so much that I could hardly pick up my own baby and I was looking forward to having some time to myself with Chloe. Now I’m on my own every minute of the day and night with her. Be careful what you wish for!
On the Thursday, Julie calls to confirm that she and her family are coming up to the Lake District this weekend. As it will be late when they arrive, they plan to go straight to the hotel on the Friday evening – tomorrow evening – and come round to the Old Vicarage on the Saturday morning. Julie intends to stay at the Old Vicarage for a week when everyone else goes home.
‘You’d clean forgotten, hadn’t you?’ she asks when she gets an embarrassing silence in response.
I hadn’t forgotten, but it’s only sinking in now that it’s nearly the weekend. Every day seems to be the same at the moment and I’m losing track of time. As soon as Julie mentions their visit, I panic. I haven’t said a word about it to Alex. Then she says they’ve found a hotel that accepts dogs and they’re bringing Dad and Jet, too.
I can’t wait to see them all, but I’m dreading Alex’s reaction when he finds out my family are going to be here. He has scarcely spoken to me since we rowed about the Post-it. And somehow, I don’t think this is going to help matters.
It’s not until I’ve hung up that I remember the barbecue. Shit! I feel like slapping my palm on my forehead. I’m just not joining up the dots at the moment. I really did lose part of my brain in childbirth.
Alex comes home again a little later that same evening. My family are going to show up on his doorstep the day after tomorrow. I have to tell him. He’s not going to like it! But why shouldn’t my family visit? After all, we see a lot of Alex’s mother.
Politely, I ask Alex how Sandy is. I’m stalling. I sent my mother-in-law a text message earlier in the day to enquire about her health. I already know from her reply that she’s feeling “foolish, but better”. I feel a twitch at the corners of my mouth as Alex describes a woman in considerable pain and in a critical condition, but I manage to suppress the smile.
‘Mum is more mobile on her crutches now,’ Alex admits, ‘so she doesn’t need me to sleep over at her house anymore.’ He sounds a little wounded, as if he would rather tend to his mother’s needs than help look after his baby daughter. ‘She’s a brave trooper,’ he continues. ‘She’ll be hobbling around on her own two feet in no time.’
To my surprise, when I do announce my news to Alex, he takes it really well. So well in fact that I’m suspicious. I narrow my eyes at him.
‘What?’ he demands. He’s holding Chloe while I heat up the shepherd’s pie from Monday for tonight’s dinner.
‘I thought you’d be angry.’
‘Why would I be angry?’ He combs his fingers through his tousled hair. ‘I didn’t want them to stay until you’d recovered from childbirth, but if you think you’re up for it, that’s fine.’
‘I’m up for it, Alex,’ I say, giving him my warmest smile. ‘I’m ready. Really. I coped very well while you were at your mum’s.’
‘There’ll be lots of guests, then. The more the merrier, though, I suppose.’ His voice hardens. ‘Better make sure everything is perfect.’ I can’t decide if it’s meant as a warning or not. ‘For everyone.’
Alex tells me he has invited five friends. ‘You already know Mike and his girlfriend Sarah,’ he says.
So, Mike’s girlfriend is called Sarah. I nod, but I don’t say what I’m thinking, that I don’t know the first thing about Mike and I’ve only met Sarah once – at our wedding – but I’ve just this second learnt her name. The only thing I know about her is that she can jive. Clearly, I really don’t know them at all.
That reminds me, I still haven’t asked Vicky what her full name is.
‘Then there’s another three friends from the triathlon club,’ Alex continues.
When we’ve eaten, Alex feeds Chloe while I make out a shopping list. ‘Crisps, obviously, and canapés,’ he say
s and I scribble it down.
I have no idea if I’m to buy them or make them, so I ask, ‘What do you mean by “canapés”?’
He gives a derisive laugh.
‘What?’
‘Weren’t you a French teacher?’ he scoffs.
‘I am – still, officially – a senior lecturer in French.’
‘Oh, go on. Any excuse to rub it in.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, thinking we’re talking at cross-purposes.
‘You just can’t resist lording it over me because you happen to have a PhD and I’ve only got a degree.’
‘I’m sorry, Alex,’ I say, although that hadn’t been my intention at all. I had no idea he was sensitive about that. My stomach gives a little lurch in apprehension, but to my relief, Alex seems to accept my apology and he carries on.
‘Prosecco or champagne or cava or something similar; sausage rolls, homemade, not that crap from the supermarket shelves; dips, olives, melon with Serrano ham, crostini with goat’s cheese …’
I’m not sure what that is, but I know better than to ask this time. As I write down what Alex dictates, I reassure myself. I’ll have all day tomorrow to start organising this and I’m sure Julie will help me on Saturday if Alex is busy. I’ll make sure everything is perfect. For everyone. But especially for Alex. And I do know why he wants me to get this right. I’m sure he thinks I’ve forgotten that Saturday is his birthday, but I haven’t.
When Chloe falls asleep, Alex takes her upstairs. Then he comes down again to suggest we get an early night.
‘Sounds great to me,’ I say and clear up our dinner things in the kitchen before following Alex up to our bedroom.
When I come out of the bathroom, Alex is lying on his back in bed, his arms behind his head, his chest exposed above the bedcovers. As I climb into bed beside him, he kicks the quilt off the bed and turns towards me, propping himself up on his elbow.
‘How long after giving birth until you … you know?’
I’m a bit slow to cotton on. ‘What are you talking about?’ Then I notice it’s not just his chest that’s bare. He’s bare from the waist down, too. Completely naked. And he has an erection.
‘Until you can have sex, Katie,’ Alex says, making no effort to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He stares at me with his piercing blue eyes.
‘About six weeks,’ I say. ‘Another three weeks to go.’ I expect him to get up, pull on his boxers, lie down with his back to me and sulk. But he doesn’t move. His eyes have a dangerous glint in them.
‘Earlier, you said you’d recovered. You seemed so sure you’d healed.’ He pouts, but it quickly transforms into a smile. It’s an act. ‘I’m ready, really,’ he mimics. ‘I’m up for it, Alex.’
‘Alex, this isn’t funny.’
‘I’m not joking.’ He takes my hand and presses it against his erect penis. ‘Can you feel that, Katie? Who’s up for it now, hey? I’m up for it.’
‘Alex––’
‘Six weeks?’
‘Yes.’ I want to stand up to him, but it comes out as a whisper.
‘That’s how long you are supposed to wait,’ he says, ‘but I can’t wait that long.’
He’s going to force me to have sex with him. I shudder as I think of my episiotomy stitches.
But instead, he rolls onto his back and pushes down hard on my head with both his hands. I have tears in my eyes as I begin to perform oral sex on my husband. Alex wraps my hair around one of his hands and pulls on the makeshift ponytail. Then he pushes down on my head with the other hand. Like a puppeteer controlling the strings, he repeats this pulling and pushing to dictate the rhythm. It gets faster, rougher. He’s hurting me.
Thankfully, it doesn’t last long. As Alex moans loudly and releases his hold on my hair, I’m left feeling dirty and used. I even get the vague notion I should receive payment for what I’ve just done. But I’m the one who has paid. That was the price I had to pay for my family gate-crashing his barbecue.
Alex doesn’t even look at me. He rolls onto his side and curls up into a ball, facing away from me. I get out of bed and pick up the quilt from the floor, throwing half of it over his naked foetal body.
‘Night, Katie,’ he murmurs as I get back into bed.
I don’t reply.
‘Night, Katie,’ he repeats, without turning towards me.
This time when I ignore him, he sighs emphatically. I anticipate a stronger reaction and my stomach twists in dread. But before long, his breathing slows and I can tell he’s asleep. My breathing slows, too.
A few months ago, before Chloe came along, I would have been staggered and distraught at what has just happened. I’d have found it impossible to get to sleep. I’d have sobbed silently next to Alex in bed.
But now, this sort of incident seems to be par for the course. I’m not indifferent, but I feel detached as if I’ve just witnessed it instead of experienced it. I feel only a sort of numb apathy, as though I’m becoming immune.
As I lie there, rubbing my sore scalp gently, I think about Alex’s moods and behaviour. Sometimes he snaps and shouts at me. On a couple of occasions now he has hurled all sorts of obscenities and insults at me. At other times, I get the feeling he’s building up to something but I don’t know what until he explodes.
Occasionally, like this time, he metes out a punishment. Evidently, he was not happy about my family coming to Grasmere, but he pretended everything was fine while all evening he must have been plotting his revenge.
Often, when Alex is in one of his moods, he gives me dark looks, which I can handle, or the silent treatment, which, to be honest, I find less frustrating than I used to. When he ignores me now, it still makes me feel worthless and non-existent. But at least it gives him time to calm down and it gives me time to pull myself together.
Tonight is the first time that I’m the one sulking and refusing to answer him. Until now, it has always been the other way around. Am I giving him a taste of his own medicine? Or am I starting to become like him? One thing’s for sure, I don’t like who I’m becoming. I don’t like who I am when I’m with my husband anymore. But I haven’t stopped loving him in spite of everything. In spite of myself.
~
Alex wakes up early. He’s happy and energetic. He brings me a mug of tea in bed.
‘Thank God it’s Friday,’ he says. ‘I can’t wait to spend some quality time with you and Chloe this weekend.’ A kiss on the cheek. ‘And it’ll be great to see your family again.’ A kiss on the other cheek.
‘Mmm.’ That’s the only reply I can muster for the moment.
‘I’m swimming after work,’ he announces, picking up his kit bag as if to make the point.
He leaves shortly after that. He gives me a minty kiss on the lips before he goes. I don’t get time to drink the tea as Chloe wakes up.
Chloe cries all morning. I put her in the baby carrier and fire up my laptop. I fetch the shopping list Alex and I made the previous evening and I add a whole load of things to it that he has forgotten or that I’ve thought of since making the list. Then I do as much of the shopping as possible online and select a delivery time late in the day. That will give me time to go and shop for everything I haven’t been able to purchase online, like the bloody canapés. Tomorrow, we’ll have plenty of time to make the pies, pastries, sausage rolls and other nibbles.
By the time the shopping has been delivered and tidied away late that afternoon, I’m exhausted, but I wanted this evening to be special, and I’m determined not to let last night’s incident in the bedroom deter me.
Chloe is fractious, so I put her in the baby carrier while I make a meal for Alex and me. I bake a cake as well – for Alex’s birthday. As we’re going to be entertaining tomorrow, I’d like to celebrate it with him tonight. I’m going to make meatballs and serve them with the fresh pasta I bought earlier. It’s one of Alex’s favourite meals. I’ve also opened a bottle of Segreta Rossa, a Sicilian red wine, to let it breathe. And also to have a little taste.
Just to make sure it’s not corked. Obviously.
As I get to work in the kitchen, I think about all the presents Alex has bought me. He used to buy me presents all the time. Pretty much every week. He sent them to the university; he sent them to my home address. On one awkward occasion, I had to pretend to Kevin that the huge bouquet of roses, delivered by Interflora, had been sent by a grateful student.
Alex hasn’t bought me any gifts for a while. Not even when Chloe was born. Not since the gold medallion he got me to replace the heart pendant and silver chain. I don’t think he has forgiven me for losing that necklace.
He put a lot of thought into the presents he bought me, and the gifts I’ve given him have always seemed lacklustre in comparison. This time, I want to spoil him, particularly as he’s celebrating his fortieth tomorrow. I had to rack my brains to come up with something I’m confident he’ll love. Then it came to me: he loves whisky. He has a Scotch to unwind most evenings.
Alex is in a jubilant mood when he comes home and after he has fed Chloe and she has fallen fast asleep, it’s our turn to eat. Alex compliments me on the meal, on my hair, which is simply tied up in a ponytail as usual, and on getting all the shopping in for tomorrow. His good mood is infectious and it buoys me up and boosts my energy level for a while.
After dinner, we sit down side by side on the sofa in the sitting room and I give Alex his birthday presents. I watch him eagerly as he unpicks the Sellotape and unwraps the bottle of twenty-one-year-old Irish whiskey I ordered online from a distillery in my mother’s hometown in Northern Ireland. I let the memory of my family and me visiting that distillery many years ago play out in my head. Louisa held her nose the whole time, including in the gift shop, and complained about the smell. Lost in my thoughts, I smile nostalgically to myself as Alex folds up the wrapping paper painstakingly.
‘It’s rare,’ I say, ‘and it’s supposed to be the best Irish single malt that exists.’ I don’t mention how much it cost.
Alex hasn’t noticed I’ve had the glass bottle engraved with his name and date of birth. He’s carefully opening the second present. He’s so meticulous in his task that I tell him what it is before he gets there.
He Will Find You Page 12
