MInE: A Hate Story

by Andie M. Long

  ‘That is always worth coming home to. You know how to keep your man happy, Mel.’

  I turn and smile as I reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. I didn’t manage to come. I was so near, but as soon as he reached his orgasm, he left me behind. I feel like I want to go into the bathroom and fuck myself with my own fingers until I’m sore and replete. But I don’t. I’d feel too embarrassed afterwards. Anyway, Jarrod is the only one I want to create my orgasms. He’s all I’ve ever had and all I’ll ever want.

  ‘Tell me how it felt when I was inside you?’

  He’s always been so attentive to how he makes me feel. I describe in detail, embellishing my retelling with fictional details of my non-existent orgasm.

  He’s mine, and I’m his. It’s how it’s always been.

  I follow him through into the lounge where he sits on the sofa, remote control in hand, flicking through TV channels.

  ‘I was hoping to watch Brookside,’ I tell him.

  He switches it over to Channel Four. ‘Be my guest, there’s nothing on the other three channels.’

  I lie on the sofa and put my feet across his knees. ‘They’re having a card game tonight. It’s at Dave’s. Why don’t you pop over there and get to know some of the blokes?’

  Jarrod scratches his chin. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Hey, what’s up? Why are you so reluctant?’

  He turns to me. ‘They’re all a few years older than me. A lot of them are family men and have jobs that require suits and stuff. I’d hate to think they judged me. Found me immature or stupid.’

  ‘Jarrod,’ I chastise him. ‘They’ll love you like I do. Go and see. You could be missing out on a great time.’

  He chews on his lip, then moves my legs. ‘Okay, I’ll go. If they make me feel stupid, you have to promise to pee in their lemonade next time you’re over there.’

  I giggle. ‘I promise.’

  Jarrod has a great night. He starts making sure he can get home in time to join in their card and poker nights twice a week. We settle in, and life goes on. One night Jarrod comes home drunk, stating that it’s time to start making babies.

  I waited until he’d sobered up to quiz him. My heart thudded in my chest, an excitement fizzing deep within me. Hope he could extinguish just as quickly now he hadn’t had a drink.

  I walked into our bathroom where Jarrod was having a soak in the bath. ‘Jarrod?’

  ‘Yes, darling? Have you come to wash my back?’

  I picked up the sponge and squirted some shower gel on it, lathering his back and around the nape of his neck where his light blonde hair reached midway.

  ‘Did you mean what you said about starting a family?’ I kept my voice light.

  He grinned. ‘Yes. The guys had a word with me last night. Well, Dave really. He said you can’t wait forever. He’s right. That man makes a lot of sense you know? I’ve saved quite a bit up now. I can stop working such long hours. We can get pregnant.’ He winked at me. ‘Then I can go out playing cards and poker while you change dirty nappies.’

  I squeezed the sponge over his head so soap got in his eyes. He grabbed me in a split second and pulled me into the bath with him. The water splashed over the sides, and I feared for the lino and floorboards.

  Jarrod kissed the tip of my nose.

  ‘Get into bed. We should get started now.’

  His wish was my command. It always had been.

  By the end of the year, I was expecting our first child.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SAM

  31 August 2014

  I’ve opened the blind on the window so my therapist can see some daylight. Or rather can see me from his fixed viewpoint. I’m in my shorts and tee. They display my abs and glutes to perfection. As I dig the ground, he’ll see my strength as my muscles cord with the push and pull of the spade. I’m digging a rectangle. For no reason other than to let him think I’m digging his grave. Psychology is the bomb. My house is an old miner’s cottage. One house on its own, at the bottom of a country lane. There used to be others living here before the council bought them with the intent of developing the land. I planned to fight them, but they gave the idea up anyway, the land was deemed unsafe after a shaft collapsed on the old colliery. The other houses fell into ruin, but I looked after mine, even when I didn’t live in it for a time.

  I love it here. I’m a seven-minute walk away from the nearest house. I fixed a post-box at the end of the lane for any mail, so I’m left entirely alone. No one bothers to come all the way down here. Except children. Children and their enquiring minds. They come and play on Red Mountain. That’s what they’ve named the red earth mounded into the hills surrounding my home; leftovers from Handforth’s time as a mining community. I watch them sometimes as they climb up and then back down the hills, taking red dusted clothes back for their mothers to try to clean. They don’t bother me. I have signs everywhere saying Beware of the Dogs. The children have assigned ghost stories to the row of abandoned-looking houses. I’m a wicked witch, and there’s a curse on the rest of the row. The scrap cars piled up in the lot in the distance take their eye now and again, and they risk their lives to find a car they can make a den in. There’s no fear when you’re young and innocent.

  I never look back at the room when I’m here, so I don’t know if he watches me dig, or thinks of his potential demise. I couldn’t face the disappointment if he chose to ignore my efforts. It’s better I remain unaware.

  I cease digging and go to shower. I have another session with my therapist after lunch.

  ‘I worked for Ed for a year. A whole year where I proved I was the best assistant ever. He could trust me with anything. I waited patiently for him to show me that trust. Sure enough, a test arose. Ed invited his boss, Mr Jacobs, to dinner at a city centre restaurant with a casino. He asked me to accompany them. Called it a business dinner. The invitation came with the words, “I hope I don’t regret this.” I knew then that I was on trial. To see if I was made of the same stuff he felt he, himself was made of. I remember that evening so well. I wore a long black chiffon dress that gathered at the waist and split up to the knee. When I sat, the material shifted to reveal a shapely calf, and gave Jacobs a hint of my black lace panties. I don’t know what Ed slipped him during the evening, but come the time to gamble, Jacobs was like a racehorse that had thrown its rider. He blew money while attempting to get me to blow him. I’d smile and say let’s bet again, the next one’s bound to be a winner. But once again, Ed proved himself my superior. I was completely unaware that Mr Jacobs had a prior gambling addiction. Ed had purposely taken him to that restaurant and not revealed the casino attached until they’d had a few drinks. At which point, Jacobs had tried to leave. Then I’d shown up. Apparently, his ex-wife was a short-haired blonde.’ I laugh.

  ‘Something amusing?’

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d been playing a great game until then - getting Ed to trust me. I knew my employment was based on my appearance, but I wasn’t aware that I bore more than a passing resemblance to Jacobs' ex-wife. No wonder he employed me. It had nothing to do with my talents. But Ed knew why and made it part of a long game to destroy him.’

  ‘How did that make you feel?’

  ‘Like I was out of my league. I went home that night and smashed up my apartment. I’d been totally played. I felt like he’d won again.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Jacobs put a rope around his neck the following morning. When he didn’t turn into work, I went to his home to apologise during my lunch break. I wanted to see if I could salvage anything. Maybe find a way to exact my revenge on Ed for using me. Instead, I saw his dangling feet when I peered through the letterbox.’ I’m quiet for a moment as if paying my respects over again. ‘After a couple of months, Ed was promoted to Jacobs’ job.’

  ‘That must have been frustrating?’ The chains rattle, ‘For fuck's sake, take these off!’

  I stand up and lick my bottom lip. ‘Still such venom after all these days. You really are
impressive. That’s why I had to do what I did next.’ I sigh. ‘You’re not much use as a therapist, Ed. You’re not designed for considering other people, are you? I think you need some time out to consider your outburst.’

  ‘No, not again, please. We can sort this out. What do you want, Sam? Is it money? I have money. I’ll give you money.’

  I upturn my chair and throw it at the wall at the side of his head. He flinches.

  ‘I don’t want your money. I want you to take some responsibility for your actions. Your actions and your decisions have consequences. You don’t even care. How many decisions have you made during your lifetime that have impacted on other people, huh? Have you given a thought to Jacobs’ kids? How it felt to have a father who killed himself?’

  ‘Oh, my God, are you Jacobs’ daughter?’ A ghost of a smile hints at Ed’s lips.

  ‘Of course not. I showed him my snatch, you sick fuck. Stop trying to guess why I’m here and listen for once in your life.’

  ‘I’ll listen if you let me out of these cuffs.’

  ‘You think you’re unbreakable, Edward Bonham, and you still think you’re in control. Open. Your. Eyes.’

  I close the door on him and return to my digging. It’s that or put the shovel into his skull, and that’s not part of my plan.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MELISSA

  May 1986

  I’ve been going around to Gaynor’s a lot. Her son Andrew is now four months old.

  ‘How did you decide on a name?’ I ask her.

  ‘Oh, we went through the baby name book and chose three each. We’d both picked Andrew. I’d picked it because of the royal wedding, but I didn’t tell Trevor that, or it would have put him off. He doesn’t believe in the royal family, thinks they’re a waste for the taxpayer.’

  I nod as if I know what she’s talking about. I ignore politics and financial news. It’s so deadly boring.

  ‘So how are you feeling?’ she asks me.

  ‘Being pregnant is amazing.’ I make a rubbing motion with the hand more or less permanently placed on my stomach. I’m showing now.

  ‘You’ve been so lucky with no sickness.’

  ‘I know. I’ve just been exhausted.’

  ‘Make sure you rest. Get Jarrod to look after you.’

  ‘Oh, he has.’ I don’t tell her how fussy he is, treating me like a delicate antique. He’s so nervous about hurting the baby, and point blank refuses to make love while I’m pregnant. ‘As soon as he gets home, he makes me put my feet up, and he won’t let me lift anything.’

  ‘Lucky bugger. Trevor just let me get on with it. Third child, all done twice before. You make the most of that special attention and get all the rest you can. Once that baby’s here, you’ll forget what sleep is.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ I reply. ‘He or she will be worth it.’

  I spend hours imagining who our child will resemble. Sometimes a boy who looks like his father, at other times a daughter with my dark-brown hair. I imagine she’ll be beguiling and adorable, with huge chocolate brown eyes she’ll peer through shyly while claiming her daddy’s heart. I imagine us on shared shopping trips. We’ll be able to have play-dates with Andrew, and Joanne before she starts nursery school. I visit the library and bring home several books on the subject of babies, careful to only choose light volumes, so I’m not carrying too much. I fill up on information, wanting to be as prepared as I can be. Jarrod laughs, saying you can’t learn about babies from books. I have though. I know about feeding, winding, and how to bathe our baby. Literature is a joy and a wealth of information. My practical husband – who works with his hands – just doesn’t see it; in my mind, I have several different scenarios of how and when to respond to our baby. I’ll try them all until I get the best response. It’s all in the research.

  Over the last months, while I’ve been so tired, Jarrod has often met with one of the guys for a beer, or a card game. A new guy moved onto the estate at the beginning of the year. Edward. Jarrod says he’s around the same age as us. He’s an accountant. I sometimes watch him go to work from my bedroom window. He’s a good-looking man. Tall. Walks very straight, as if there’s a coat-hanger in his back. He and Jarrod hit it off. A fact that surprises me. They seem such opposites. A lot of the men’s nights take place at Edward’s home, as he doesn’t have a wife to placate. Jarrod says Edward has told him he dates, but he wants to focus on his career.

  June 1987

  I’ve become obsessed with watching Edward. He does everything with military precision. It’s like he’s a living robot. I think it’s because I’m so bored. I’m getting quite large now, and I’m easily tired. I’ve become obsessed with people-watching, and Edward is by far the most interesting to spy on. Last weekend he had gardeners in. They fitted hedging. It is all uniform. The top of the hedge the same height all the way around. He waters his garden at ten pm every evening, even if the men are around playing a game of cards. They come out and drink their beer while he waters and they chat. At weekends, he heads off with his gym bag at nine am and doesn’t return until twelve. Jarrod says he swims and then uses the weights. If he passes me in the street, he just nods his head. He’s never actually spoken a word to me, and I want to know what his voice is like, the timbre of it.

  It’s Saturday, and he returned from the gym an hour ago. It’s about time I properly spoke to him, given he’s so close to Jarrod. Maybe I could invite him around for a meal one evening? After considering, I decide to ask him for some gardening advice. Wanting to look my best, I shower, dry my hair and use a scrunchie to tie it back into a ponytail. I’ve no need for makeup as my skin has a light glow from sitting in the garden in the sunshine, but I add a little Seventeen light pink lipstick, and I’m done. My sandals are next to the door, so I push my feet into them, noticing the tightness as the pregnancy has swollen them. Pulling the door closed behind me, I walk the three houses down to Edward’s.

  There’s an open pathway to Edward’s front door. Plain brown curtains hang at the windows. Net curtains ensure you can’t see in. The door is painted an emerald green, which blends in with the garden. It’s boring. I’d expect Edward to have a striking house, given his exactness. I press the doorbell and hear its buzz. Net curtains are pulled aside, then I hear the chain removed and the door opens.

  I look up. My mouth drops. Up close, Edward is exotic looking. His skin is tanned from the sun and golden-brown. He looks almost apache Indian. His neck is thick, and I wonder what size collar his shirts are.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  His voice is deep like it comes from the earth itself. Commanding. I expect winds to swirl as he speaks. He has an unearthly presence like he’s some kind of a god. I’m fascinated by his aura.

  ‘Are you okay, Mrs Simmons?’

  I jolt. ‘Sorry. Pregnancy brain.’ I pat my stomach as if he can’t see the significant bump protruding from below my bust. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you could tell me if there’s anything you’re feeding your hedges? They are well, fantastic looking and ours, well…’ I peer over my shoulder to my own house where our hedge is uneven and full of half-dead, brown twigs.

  ‘You’re taking a keen interest in gardening now?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I would have thought you had lots of preparations to do for the baby.’

  His tone is flat and cold. Suddenly I don’t want to be here. I feel foolish. He is looking at me as if he knows full well that I have no interest in gardening.

  ‘I’m prepared for my baby, but I’m becoming restless and need something to do.’ I reply, my voice running out of steam by the end of the sentence. Why did I come here? I should just go. I turn away.

  ‘Other than sitting in the window watching people? Wait there. I’ve just bought a new packet of feed. I’ll get it for you. I can buy another.’ He closes the door, gently, but still in my face. I wait, though right now I want the ground to swallow me up. This man is around the same age as you, I tell myself. Why are you so intimidated? I straighten my
shoulders as the door opens again.

  ‘There you are. Instructions are on the packet. Follow them precisely. Will that be all?’

  I note the name of the product. ‘Thank you, but I’m perfectly capable of buying my own feed. I won’t need to inconvenience you by taking yours.’ I keep my hands firmly by my sides, not taking the offered item. ‘Good day, Mr Bonham. I appreciate your time.’

  A hint of a smile appears. ‘Call me Edward,’ he says.

  ‘I doubt I’ll need to call on you again at all, Mr Bonham.’

  I walk away, trying to salvage what remains of my dignity. The man is awful. I don’t want Jarrod around him.

  July 1987

  From then on, when I pass Edward in the street he nods his head and says a curt, “Mrs Simmons”. On one occasion, he passes as I am coming out of my house. He looks at the still messy hedges and raises an eyebrow before continuing down the street. My fascination with him turns into hatred, the hormones from my pregnancy no doubt fuelling what would ordinarily be an annoyance.

  It’s a Wednesday evening when Jarrod once again leaves me to play cards. I’m seven and a half months pregnant, feeling fabulous, and like I want to have sex with my husband.

  ‘Oh, do you have to go around there tonight? I was hoping we could have a night in.’ I smile in what I hope is a teasing fashion.

  Jarrod pulls me towards him and kisses the top of my head. ‘You know I’m not doing anything to risk that baby.’ He strokes my stomach.

  ‘You’re always out with the guys.’ I pout.

  Jarrod laughs. He strokes his chin. ‘You were the one who said I had no friends and needed to go out with them. Now you want me at home. Those hormones really do mess with a woman.’