by M K Farrar
“And all this noise won’t wake her up?”
“No, she sleeps through anything. She’s an absolute angel, she really is.”
“It’ll be your turn next, won’t it?” Ashley said, nudging Gary in the side.
Gary threw up both hands, grinning. “Hey, I’m not the one dragging my heels. You need to be talking to Amy.”
She pasted on a grimace of a smile. “I’ve been focusing on my career.”
“That’s right.” Ashley nodded. “You just started in a therapist’s practice, didn’t you?”
She could tell they were trying to feign interest. Nothing would have made them happier than if she’d turned around and declared that she was giving up her degree and six years of training in return for popping out a couple of miniature people.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m really loving it.”
“You career girls,” he said patronisingly. “Just don’t leave it too long. That clock is always ticking. Tick-tock, tick-tock.”
Amy balled her fists in her effort not to punch him in the face. She needed to remember some of the anger control techniques she taught during her sessions.
“Leave her alone, Ash,” Liz said softly, clearly picking up on Amy’s expression. “It’s not the sort of thing you can just rush into when you’re not ready.”
He didn’t take the hint. “What about Gary, though? He’s thirty now. Definitely a good time to start a family.”
In her defence, the other woman grabbed her husband’s arm. “Gary isn’t the one who has to do all the hard work.” She turned back to Amy. “Now, let’s get you guys a drink. I bet you could use one after that!”
Amy risked a small laugh. “Yes, please. A glass of wine would be lovely.”
“Great, come into the kitchen, and I’ll pour you a big one.”
“I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” Gary said. “I’m just going to have a chat with Ashley.”
She sent him an imploring look not to leave her alone, but Gary was oblivious, already turning his back on her. She couldn’t not follow Liz, who was already heading towards the kitchen, so Amy had no choice but to go after her.
The kitchen still had the yellow laminate cabinets and worktops, together with a bold tiled splashback and avocado appliances, of the seventies. Their modern kitchen at home was more restrained in its colour choices, with terracotta tiles and wooden cabinets. Still, Amy thought she perhaps preferred these brighter choices of the previous decade.
There were other couples standing around, talking. They smiled politely at Amy as she passed. Clouds of cigarette smoke wafted through the air. At least half of the people there were smoking. It wasn’t a habit she’d ever taken up. She’d tried a cigarette during school, when she’d been a teenager, and had coughed so hard she’d almost made herself throw up. That had been enough of a bad experience to put her off ever trying again, and even the smell took her back to that moment where she’d thought she was going to vomit in front of a group of other school kids. She’d only tried because she wanted so badly to fit in, and instead, everyone had laughed at her.
Liz plucked a bottle of wine out of a cooler and poured Amy that large glass she’d promised. A selection of finger food was laid out on the kitchen table—cheese and pineapple on sticks, prawn-filled vol-au-vents, sausage rolls, and mini quiche—and Liz gestured to them. “Please, help yourself to something to eat. I just have to go and check on something.”
“Sure.”
She left Amy standing alone in the kitchen, the glass of wine in her hand, hovering awkwardly above the buffet. She searched for a sign of Gary following, but he seemed to have vanished. To cover her nerves, she took a good swig of the wine, tart and cold, and then picked up a paper plate and helped herself to a selection of the nibbles. She wasn’t even particularly hungry, but she wanted something to do so she didn’t look like she was standing there with no one to talk to.
Where the hell was Gary? He’d promised her he wouldn’t leave her alone like this. These were his friends, not hers. She hadn’t even wanted to come.
Others came over to help themselves to food, and she smiled awkwardly at them and tried to manoeuvre herself to not be in the way. She drank from her glass again, the wine relaxing her body and making her mind pleasantly foggy. After the confrontation with Robert Swain, she needed it.
She kept going over the conversation she’d had with Edward. Had she really said something that had given Edward the idea that she thought his father could have been involved with the mother’s disappearance? Or had Edward twisted things in his head and gone back and told his father she’d said something completely different from what she actually had? But Edward had said that he’d always heard his parents fighting, and that Mrs Swain had no family or friends, and didn’t work. Those were all classic signs of being in a controlling relationship.
She’d placated Robert Swain, but should she have? Was she more worried about causing problems with her job than she was protecting Edward? If she thought the boy was in danger, she had the responsibility of going to the police and voicing her concerns. But right now, she didn’t have any proof, other than a gut instinct, that there was anything more going on than what she’d been told.
If she went to the police with her suspicions, would they reopen the missing file case for Mrs Swain? If that happened, both Edward and Robert, and Timothy, would know it was because of her. Robert might pull her sessions with Edward, and then she’d lose the boy completely. It would cause problems with Timothy, especially since he’d already told her to leave things well alone. Maybe it would be better if she just kept her mouth shut and did what she did best—talk and observe and wait for something more definite to emerge on its own.
A hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped.
“Hey, there you are,” Gary said. “Can I get you another one?”
She glanced down to see her glass was empty. She must have been drinking while she’d been lost in thought.
“Sure.” She handed him the glass, and he refilled it for her.
“Are you having a good time?”
“Mmm,” she replied, noncommittally. “The food is good.”
“Yeah, looks great.”
“What were you and Ashley talking about?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing much. Just catching up, you know. Guy’s stuff.”
“Right.”
She had no idea what ‘guy’s stuff’ was supposed to be.
They got chatting to another couple, and her heart sank as they were put through the same routine of being asked how they’d met, the other couples’ surprise at how long they’d been together, and yet hadn’t got married or had kids. It drove her crazy. She’d worked hard for her career, and yet people always reacted with condolences, as though her life wouldn’t be complete until she’d had a baby. This was the exact reason why she never came out to these kinds of socialising events. No one was ever interested in what was in her head, only what her womb could produce. For goodness sake, it wasn’t the fifties anymore.
Amy finished her second—or was it her third—large glass of wine, and Ashley came around with a fresh bottle, topping her drink up again. She was definitely feeling the alcohol now. Her head was blurry, and her eyes were sore. How long had they been here? To her surprise, the clock on the wall showed that it was almost ten-thirty. The number of people in the flat had already started to thin out. Maybe it was time they got home as well.
She suddenly realised Gary was no longer beside her.
Taking a step forward to find him, she stumbled, and her shoulder collided with the wall.
“Whoops,” she muttered and kept going, heading into the lounge.
Gary was sitting on the arm of one of the sofas. Liz and Ashley were there, too, and a couple of the other people they’d been talking to, but whose names had slipped her mind. She went up behind Gary and wound her arm around his shoulders, partly to keep herself upright. She’d definitely drunk too much wine and she was starting to regret it.<
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“I want to go home now,” she told him, her voice too loud in her ears.
Despite her booming voice, he didn’t seem to have heard her request to go home.
“Oh, Amy, there you are.” He patted her hand on his shoulder. “We were just talking about what a good baby Sophie is.”
She felt like she’d just walked in on an ambush.
“Honestly, Amy,” Liz enthused, “it’s the best thing ever.”
“It can be the worst thing ever, too,” Amy muttered.
The other woman jerked back. “Sorry?”
“I mean, not everyone is built for motherhood. I’m just saying.” She could hear the slur on ‘saying’—shaying—but she couldn’t figure out how to get her tongue and lips to create the right sound.
“I’m sorry,” Gary apologised on her behalf. “Amy doesn’t have such a great relationship with her mother.”
“Don’t tell everyone my business!” She straightened up and pointed her finger at him. “And anyway, it’s not just that. I work every day with children, and I see the messes their parents make of them.” She looked to Liz and Ashley and their friends. “I mean, even the parents who think they’re being good parents are usually screwing things up in one way or another.”
“I’m sorry,” Gary apologised again. “She’s had a tough week.”
Amy swayed, the room turning in a circle. “Don’t apologise for me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
She hadn’t, had she? He’d been nagging her to go out and have some fun, and so she had, and now she was the one in trouble again. Sure, she’d had a couple of glasses of wine, and she didn’t normally drink more than one or two with dinner. Okay, maybe it had been more than a couple. She couldn’t actually remember how many she’d had, and Ashley had kept topping up her glass, so it was hard to keep track.
Gary got to his feet. “I think it’s time we go home.”
She waved her hands. “Good, finally! Something I actually want to do. It’s not as though I wanted to come here in the first place.” She could feel everyone giving her awkward, sympathetic, slightly repulsed looks, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. All the emotion from the past week suddenly swelled up inside her in a wave, and to her horror, she choked back a sob. She wasn’t even completely sure why she was crying. Was it because she knew she’d never be able to give Gary what he wanted, or was it because of all the sadness she saw at work, or was it even because of her terrible relationship with her mother?
Or maybe it was simply because she was exhausted after several nights of broken sleep and too much wine, and she really did need to go home.
Embarrassed, she didn’t even say thank you and goodnight to their hosts.
Gary put his arm around her waist and helped her to the door, draping his jacket over her shoulders as they went.
The fresh air hit her like a bucket of cold water, and she gasped, her head clearing, if only slightly.
“I’m not taking you on the Tube like this,” Gary grumbled. “We’ll get a taxi home.”
“You hate spending money on taxis,” she only half-protested.
Truth was, she didn’t care how she got home. All she really wanted was to be curled up in bed and for this whole night to be over.
Chapter Nine
Her head thumped like a brass band was playing inside it.
Amy groaned and pried open an eye. From the light filtering through a gap in the bedroom curtains, she could tell it was morning. She was tempted to pull the covers back over her head and try to go back to sleep, but her bladder was telling her it was time to get up. Her thick, furry tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.
She needed water.
Cautiously, she reached a foot across the bed, searching for Gary, but the spot was empty and the sheets cool. She had no idea if he’d slept in the same bed as her last night, but if he had, he must have been up for some time. She forced the other eye open and checked the clock. It was gone ten. She’d normally have been up hours ago.
Amy managed to sit upright, and then she reached for the glass of water Gary must have left on the bedside table for her. She drank the whole thing down in one, grimacing as the liquid swirled around her stomach. She managed to keep it down, though, and stumbled into the bathroom to relieve herself and splash some water on her face and scrub off the remnants of last night’s makeup.
When she was done, she went to see what sort of damage she’d done to her relationship.
Gary was sitting on the sofa watching the television. A quick glance at the screen told her he was engrossed in the Saturday morning cartoons. He hadn’t noticed her standing in the doorway, or if he had, he wasn’t speaking to her.
“Aren’t you too old to be watching that,” she teased, trying to sound playful. She didn’t want to have another argument. The thumping in her head couldn’t handle it.
“You’re never too old to watch cartoons,” he replied, without looking up.
The chill he was sending off cooled her to the bone. She wasn’t going to get away with just pretending like how she’d behaved around his friends had never happened.
“I’m really sorry about last night.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I should listen next time you say you don’t want to go out.”
He was being off with her, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d behaved terribly. She didn’t deserve either his kindness or his forgiveness. The space between them was widening every day, and she didn’t think there was a way she could pull it back again.
Amy didn’t know what to say. If she agreed, she’d look like she was trying to defend herself, but she also didn’t want to disagree. She had told him she hadn’t wanted to go.
“It’s like you’re punishing me all the time,” he added.
His comment surprised her. “Punishing you? How am I punishing you?”
“Everything always has to go your way, Amy. And on the odd occasion you give in and do what I want, you make sure we have a shitshow to deal with.”
Her cheeks burned. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
Was she punishing him? Punishing him for wanting a normal life? She was the psychotherapist. Wasn’t she supposed to be able to analyse her motives in more depth?
“Do you want us to break up?” she asked, suddenly fearful of the answer.
He sighed again and shook his head. “No... I don’t know. I love you. I just want things to be normal.”
Normal. What was normal? She wasn’t sure she’d ever known, not fully, and certainly not while she’d been growing up. She knew it was why she’d chosen the profession she had—wanting to understand how people’s minds worked and what motivated them to do the things they did. She was perfectly aware that her reaction to having a family was linked to her own experiences, and that her choice to work with children was as well. The idea of turning into her own mother was about the most terrifying thing she could think of.
“I’ll try,” she promised. “I’ll try to be more normal.”
“We’ll see.”
He still hadn’t looked up from the television. She considered going over and sitting beside him, perhaps seeing if he’d put his arm around her shoulders, but she was still horribly aware of the barrier between them. She was sick of always being the bad guy—being late home from work, not wanting to go out, not wanting to start a family.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” she said instead and backed out of the room.
Maybe they both just needed a little space.
She took a shower and brushed her teeth and proceeded to go through her usual routine of cleansing and moisturising and taking her contraceptive pill. She went to pop out that day’s, only to discover the foil backing was already broken and the pill was missing.
Amy frowned.
Why wasn’t the pill there? She was meticulous when it came to taking it—her fear of pregnancy making sure of that. Could it have fallen out when she’d picked up the packet? She checked the packa
ging. It appeared as though the pill had been pushed through the foil, the plastic indented at the front. Had she mixed up her days and taken the wrong one yesterday? If she’d done that, there would still be another one left.
A sudden spurt of anger rose inside her. Wouldn’t it be convenient for Gary if she fell pregnant by accident due to something like her missing her pill? Then neither of them would look like the bad guy. He wouldn’t have pressured her into it, and she’d be stuck with the pregnancy.
It would just be one of those things.
With anger burning through her and only a towel wrapped around her body, she went back into the lounge. Gary was sitting in exactly the same position, the only difference was the new cartoon showing on the television, the theme tune for Fraggle Rock playing from the speakers.
“Did you mess with my pill?” she demanded.
He glanced up at her this time, a frown on his face. “Huh? What pill?”
“Don’t act dumb. My contraceptive pill. I went to take it, and today’s one is missing.”
“You probably already took it,” he said, turning back to the television.
“I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t.”
“After the state you were in last night, I’m surprised you’re in much of a frame of mind to remember anything.”
It was true, she did still feel awful. Her head was pounding, and her eyes were gritty. All she really wanted was to crawl back into bed and wake up the next day, but it was as though giving in to her hangover was like admitting just how bad she’d been the previous night. If she could battle through it, maybe she could convince both herself and Gary that she hadn’t been as embarrassing as she’d thought she’d been.
“I really don’t think...” she started but trailed off. Her head was pretty foggy. She did have a routine that she normally stuck to rigidly—her mother’s influence had been felt on that account—but maybe she had done things the other way around that morning. Had she popped the pill before she’d got in the shower? She’d normally have been up and dressed for a good hour or so by this time in the morning, so perhaps subconsciously she’d been worrying about leaving taking it for too long.
