Our Kind of Cruelty

by Araminta Hall

  We sat at the kitchen table to drink our tea, Elaine saying she didn’t want to risk spilling anything in the drawing room. I had bought some fancy cupcakes from the deli and she picked at one, but didn’t seem to enjoy it.

  ‘So, you’ve really set yourself up here,’ Elaine said, looking round the kitchen.

  The house felt vulgar seen through Elaine’s eyes, as I had known it would. You could have probably fitted her kitchen into mine four times over. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a very large house,’ she said and the words hung in the air. ‘You must be making an awful lot of money.’

  ‘You know I am.’ I knew my face was red and it felt no different to being a child and having her tell me off for sneaking another biscuit.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever asked you, Mike. Do you enjoy the work?’

  Remnants from my conversation with Kaitlyn floated back to me. What she’d said about selling up and moving to the coast had stuck to me like flotsam and I realised as I sat with Elaine that I didn’t particularly enjoy what I did. ‘I don’t know really. I suppose it’s OK.’ But even as I said that I thought of the way I jumbled figures and numbers to make them behave as I wanted them to. How I never actually saw anything I had created, how nothing real ever changed hands, how my whole working life was intangible.

  Elaine sipped at her tea, her hands encircling the mug. ‘I suppose there must be a point where you’ve made enough.’

  I thought of all the zeros in my bank balance. ‘I suppose.’

  She looked me straight in the eye. ‘What would you really like to do, Mike, I mean if you could choose anything?’

  I hate questions like that; they go nowhere apart from deep inside. ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’

  ‘But there must be something?’

  I tried to search my brain, but it seemed stopped by mud or grease. If I thought about what I wanted it was only V and it felt like it had only ever been her. Although that couldn’t be entirely true because I hadn’t known her all my life. I couldn’t at that moment remember why I’d gone to university or what I’d hoped to achieve. Everything just seemed blank.

  Elaine sighed. ‘You could do a lot of good with all this money.’

  I nodded, my throat feeling inexplicably full. I needed to make money to make V happy, but it didn’t feel like something I could say to Elaine. ‘I’m hoping to have a family in this house one day,’ I said and as I did so something tugged at my chest. I had never thought about having children before but of course that’s what married couples did and V and I would have perfect children.

  Elaine smiled. ‘Well, that would be lovely. But you’ve got to meet a nice girl first.’

  I smiled back, but my mouth felt taut. Because if you followed that thought through, and if V really thought she loved Angus, then what would stop them having children? I stood up. ‘Sorry, I just need the toilet,’ I said, walking to the downstairs bathroom, where I locked myself in. I leant over the basin, breathing deeply into my stomach, my hands clenched on the white porcelain. Just the thought of Angus’s baby invading V’s body sent convulsions of fear through me, so they fizzed from my head to my feet, popping through my blood and making me weak. It was an abomination, too repulsive to consider. I knew then that I had to get her away from him as soon as possible.

  Elaine was putting on her coat when I came out. ‘It’s been so lovely to see you, Mike,’ she said. ‘And to put you in some sort of context. Barry won’t believe it when I tell him about the house.’

  ‘You must bring him next time.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  I walked her to the door. I think she’d worn the same coat she had on when I’d lived with her. It was her autumn coat, not as thick as her winter one, but good in a rain shower. She rubbed my arm at the door and her eyes were twinkling. ‘You take care of yourself, Mike. And call me anytime. You know our door is always open to you.’

  ‘I know.’ She looked so tiny standing in my giant hall, the top of her head only reaching my shoulder, and I longed for her suddenly. Longed for my room now occupied by Jayden. She would be going home to cook tea and then she and Barry and maybe Jayden would watch Strictly and they’d share a can of Guinness and at some point someone would say something that made everyone laugh. I bent down and kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks for coming, Elaine.’

  ‘You’re a good lad, Mike,’ she said. ‘Don’t you forget it.’

  I opened the door and the wind had picked up, so you could feel the first chill of a dying summer in the air. She turned and waved at me from the gate and I had to swallow down my tears as I shut the door.

  I had an irrational and stupid desire to call Kaitlyn. I knew if I did I could go and sit in her white flat with her wild horses running across the wall. I could imagine her making me a cup of tea and letting me lie on the sofa. I didn’t think she’d even mind if I cried, although she would ask me what I was crying for and I wouldn’t know what to tell her. And anyway it would be a mean thing to do, leading her on unforgivably.

  Instead I went back to the kitchen and opened my laptop, googling 24 Elizabeth Road again, trying once more to see past the sterile image. After that I googled V, but there was still nothing online beyond the very basics. But then I had an idea and I typed Angus Metcalf into Facebook. Sure enough his profile popped up, which of course it would, considering what a self-centred, show-off type of person he was. His last post had been from the day before when he’d checked into Virgin Atlantic’s Upper Class Lounge. A stupid graphic showed a dotted line between London Heathrow and LAX. He was very far away.

  I spent the rest of the day and night trawling his Facebook page, reading every comment and post. The past year was dominated by Verity, with shots of them in various locations, with people I didn’t know, in places I couldn’t make out. He had been tagged in endless shots of their wedding, so I was treated to the first dance I missed in actuality, the cutting of the cake, the throwing of the bouquet. It was easy to tell how happy he was, but I thought V’s smile seemed a little bit forced, her eyes not quite as sparkling as they should have been, as if she was holding back in a way only I would recognise. And the more I looked and the more I read, the more I realised what a prize idiot Angus Metcalf was. How everything he did was clichéd and contrived and designed to be noticed. His life appeared to be nothing more than one big boast, one big lampooning monstrosity. He enraged me, so that my blood danced in my veins and my head throbbed with a deep, sickening beat. I felt violated by him, as if I had somehow let him inside me, as if his existence on the computer alone was an outrage.

  I snapped the lid shut but it wasn’t enough, I knew he was still there, still existing within the virtual wires. I picked the laptop off the table and felt its lightness in my wrist, so light I could lift it up and over my head easily, my muscles tensing and readying. I hurled it through the air, watching it arch and fall, watching it connect with the wall, splintering and shattering, all its innards tumbling to the ground. The floor was strewn with a mess of glass and wires and pieces I didn’t even recognise. Nuts, bolts, circuits, letters, numbers, signals – it was all there but would never go back together again.

  I arrived outside V’s house early on Sunday morning, but the curtains and shutters were still drawn so I went to the park, where I walked along the deserted paths. Kensington Palace was right there, overlooking everything in its grandeur, and it struck me as outrageous how it just existed, amongst all us normal people. How it didn’t fence itself in or cower behind walls. How it assumed its right to be there, and so it was. And I was aware as I walked round ponds and up and down giant alleyways that we were all trespassers in this private garden, and that the residents of the palace had had to make compromises as well.

  The curtains and shutters at number 24 were still drawn when I got back, but I couldn’t wait any longer, so I knocked on the door. I could hear the sound echoing inside and I knew suddenly that V wasn’t there. My heart sped at the thought that she might not be where I
had placed her in my mind.

  I bent down and lifted the letter box, but all I could see was the black insides of a metal box. I straightened up and leant over the stone balustrades, cupping my hand against the glass. One of the wooden slats of the shutters hadn’t quite met its partner and I could see a sliver of the drawing room beyond, some pale sofas, a streak of a fireplace, nothing more. I ran down the stairs and into the basement area again, but this time there was a blind across the window, its billowy fabric concealing everything. Finally, I went and stood on the opposite side of the road once more, against the ivy wall, looking up at the tall house. But it was still and silent, giving nothing away. I wondered if she had gone to Steeple House for the weekend and I considered for a moment getting on a train and joining her there. But I knew that would be all wrong and that Suzi was the last person I would want witnessing our reconciliation.

  I walked instead towards Islington and our old flat, the thought of not seeing V so disappointing that I had to find some way to be close to her. I hadn’t seen the flat for ten months now, hadn’t even been there when V had packed it up and left. It looked no different from the road, dark windows reflecting the sky, and yet I was filled with a strange longing just by looking up at it. I crossed the road and pressed our old buzzer, still nameless. A woman answered and I nearly walked away, but by then it seemed imperative that I stand once more inside the place where V and I had been our happiest. I told her a stupid story about how I’d used to live there and my girlfriend had lost a very precious ring and how I’d suddenly had a brainwave that it might have fallen between the loose floorboards in the kitchen. She sounded dubious but I guess knowing about the floorboards must have done the trick because she buzzed me in.

  A man opened the door to the flat. He extended a skinny arm towards me and tried to hide his nervousness behind his beard. But I was as friendly and calm as possible, as we all knew I could have snapped them both in half in a minute. We went to the kitchen and looked under the floorboard and there was nothing there and I said it had been worth a shot and they agreed. I told them I liked what they’d done with it and she said she was an artist, so she loved experimenting with colour, and I had to hide my smile because of how much V would have hated the bright tones. I shook their hands and thanked them as I left and I really meant it, because it was like the flat still retained our energy and I had sucked it all up, storing it deep in my stomach.

  I bought a new laptop on the way home as it was stupid not to make use of the gift of Angus’s Facebook page. But he still hadn’t posted anything new, which I found surprising, expecting a barrage of photographs of him in LA. But then again what would be the point of pictures without V in them?

  There was one Crave V and I never did. She said she’d always had this fantasy about fucking a really disgusting man. Her idea was to go to some shithole of a bar and pick up an ugly freak whom she would take back to our flat. I obviously would follow close behind and let myself in with our keys. She didn’t actually want to go as far as having sex with him; she wanted me to pull him off her just moments before. It was never a serious suggestion and never something we were actually going to do. We’d talk about it sometimes, lying in bed, but we both knew it wasn’t going to happen. It was just one of those fantasies we liked to bat about between our brains.

  I spent most of the next day checking Angus’s feed, which stayed stubbornly silent until 5 p.m., when it informed me he had checked into Virgin Atlantic Upper Class to fly from LAX to London Heathrow. He would be home the next morning, which meant I absolutely had to see V that night. I remembered how she’d casually said that he was going away for a few days and how I’d been too embroiled with everything else to listen to her properly. What if she’d gone away on Sunday because I hadn’t shown up on Friday or Saturday? What if she had been waiting for me and I’d been too stupid to realise?

  I went straight from work to Elizabeth Road. The shutters and curtains were open, but there were no lights on. I knocked on the door anyway, but no one answered. Still, she had clearly been home since the day before and was probably on her way home from work.

  I went to sit in a pub round the corner and ordered a double whisky and soda. It was only six thirty and I knew she didn’t usually leave work until around six, so I made myself give it an hour before I went back. And I had been right to do that because there were now lights on in the hall and the kitchen. I paused on the kerb, feeling the second double whisky melt into my blood. This was the moment I had been waiting a very long time for and it was important that I get it absolutely right.

  I climbed the stone stairs and stood under the porch light, which hadn’t yet been turned on. I took a breath and knocked. It was amazing how much more alive the house felt this time, as if it loved V’s presence as much as I did. I heard footsteps on the stairs and then she opened the door. She looked like she had recently changed as she was dressed in baggy jogging bottoms and a white T-shirt, which strained across her bust. The eagle was round her neck.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of me. ‘What are you doing here, Mike?’

  ‘Can I come in?’ I said, giving her my best smile.

  But she stayed standing in the doorway. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Please. I just want to have a chat.’

  ‘We’ve tried that.’ She started to close the door but I put out my hand and she was no match for my strength. It was easy to push the door slightly more open and step inside. ‘What are you doing?’ she said as we stood facing each other in the hall.

  I shut the door behind me. ‘I didn’t say what I really meant the other evening.’

  She glanced behind me at the door. ‘I’ve got a friend coming in a minute.’ It was an obvious lie.

  ‘V, this is ridiculous. I love you; you love me. We know each other like we’re the same person. This has all got to stop now. You need to tell Angus it’s over and come and live with me.’

  She didn’t answer at first, but then she said, ‘You need to leave.’

  And that’s the thing about V. She makes you work hard. She’s not easy like women like Kaitlyn or Carly because she’s worth it. She’s like that TV ad; she’s what every woman wants to be and what every man wants to possess. I smiled at her.

  ‘I crave you, V.’

  ‘Mike,’ she said, but then she stopped and her hand went to her throat, clutching at the eagle. It was all I had been waiting for. The moment we had both always known was coming. The signal only we understood.

  I stepped towards her and took her in my arms, pressing her against my chest. She was very still, but we still fitted together in the way we always had done. I knew she would be able to feel my body through my clothes, the way it worked only for her, the way it throbbed between us.

  ‘My darling girl,’ I whispered into her hair. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

  I let her go a bit then, holding her by the shoulders so we were standing opposite each other. We were both crying, overcome with the emotion of the moment. ‘It’s OK,’ I said, ‘I’m here to save you. I’d never abandon you.’

  ‘Mike, please,’ she said, but her voice was very weak, drowned out by the force of the desire which existed between us.

  I leant down and kissed her on the mouth. At first it felt hard against my own and I worried for a mad second that she wasn’t going to let me in. But then I felt something give in her body, some recognition of all we had ever meant to each other, a realisation of desire. I encircled her waist with my arm, pulling her towards me.

  I could feel her breath on my face, her body shaking and quivering. I lifted her and laid her down on the rug on the floor, which made her exclaim slightly. I was so hard I thought I was going to burst. V was crying, releasing all the lies and tension of the past few months, and I felt such a surge of love for her I brought my face close to hers so our breath was conjoined. She looked beautiful lying there, her hair splayed out around her head, her eyes wide, her skin pale. The eagle resting quietly on her n
eck. I pulled at her tracksuit and eased her legs apart with my knees.

  ‘Oh God, Mike, no,’ she said. But the moan and her words were ones of pleasure. It is hard sometimes to get what you want, to succumb to what you need. I kissed her and felt her lips part to reveal the sumptuousness of her tongue; I traced the outline of her teeth.

  Never have – or will – two people exist who fit together more perfectly than we do. We are like superheroes together. If sex could save the world then we would rule the planet.

  I reached for my zip, but I felt her hand on mine. ‘Hey, Eagle. This isn’t the way it should be.’

  Her words cut through my thoughts and I raised myself on to my arms. ‘V, please.’

  But she smiled so sweetly through her tears. ‘Come on, you know this isn’t right, Mikey.’

  ‘Of course it’s right,’ I nearly shouted.

  ‘No, no, we’re not the ones who skulk around.’

  I hovered over her, unsure what she meant.

  ‘Mike,’ she said, more firmly now, ‘I don’t want it to be like this. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  I rolled off her and we lay next to each other on the floor for a while, neither of us speaking or moving. In the end I rolled on to my side and traced my finger down the side of her face. Her eyes were open and she was staring at the ceiling. I leant over and kissed her cheek. ‘Do you want to come home with me now?’

  She sat up slowly, her back turned towards me, and I saw she was shivering. It wasn’t cold, so it made me worried that she was ill. ‘Do you want me to get you a jumper or something?’ She shook her head. ‘You should pack a bag at least.’

  ‘You can’t expect me to just leave Angus like that.’