by Tanith Morse
Chapter Nine
After that, I didn’t hear from David for a couple of days. It didn’t bother me too much, as I knew he’d probably need some space after the awful party. But I was confident that our relationship had progressed to new heights of intimacy. The way we had defended each other at dinner was an indication of our allegiance to each other, of the bond we had forged.
I thought about him constantly: the good times we’d spent together and marvelled at how a man I’d only known a few short weeks had managed to have such an impact on my life. Even work didn’t seem so bad because I knew I had someone who cared. So what if our relationship remained forever platonic; it was still better than nothing, wasn’t it?
I bided my time, counting down the days until I thought it safe to call on him again. I didn’t want to appear too pushy. I knew I had to take my time, had to be patient. After all, as my father used to say, patience is a virtue. And patience was something I’d learned to exercise for twenty-five long years.
I managed to hold out until the following Tuesday, by which time I was simply gagging to see him. As usual it took him forever to answer the door.
He’s probably adjusting his wig, I thought humorously.
When he finally appeared, he looked morose; his eyes were red and puffy, like he’d come down with a cold and he seemed to have layers and layers of clothing on underneath his towelling dressing gown.
‘Oh, I’m sorry David, did I wake you?’
‘No, no, not at all.’ It was the first time I’d seen him without his glasses, and he looked younger somehow. Fresher.
‘Are you okay? You don’t look too well.’
He gave a massive sneeze, rubbed his nose vigorously with a tissue. ‘No, I haven’t been feeling too great of late.’ He sneezed again, causing his eyes to water even more. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘Thanks.’
David stepped aside for me to enter. I followed him tentatively through the hallway and was shocked by what I saw. The place was a complete state: piles of dirty plates crowded the sink, socks and shirts scattered everywhere. He clearly wasn’t taking very good care of himself.
I took a seat in the living room.
‘Do you fancy a coffee or something?’
‘Er, yes. Actually no, I’m fine.’ The thought of coffee poured into one of those scummy mugs from the kitchen wasn’t too enticing.
David coughed loudly, his whole face contorted with discomfort.
‘You’re really not well, are you darling? Have you taken anything for it? Seen a doctor?’
‘No, no, I’m fine Madeline, really. In a couple of days I’ll be right as rain.’
I stood up, put my hand on his arm. ‘Do you want me to pop to the chemist and get you something? You can’t not take anything, David. At this time of year, a cold could turn into pneumonia, and you don’t want that.’ I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about, but hoped I sounded convincing.
David beamed at me through his muggy haze. ‘You’re so good to me, Madeline. But really, you don’t have to.’
I held up my hands to shush him and led him out of the living room into his bedroom, which was even more chaotic: piles of clothes strewn unceremoniously on the floor. Pulling back the duvet covers, I gently eased him towards his bed. ‘You need to rest darling. Look, tuck yourself in, give me your keys and I’ll get everything sorted.’
He reluctantly obliged. God, men could be so difficult sometimes!
‘Do you need any money for the chemist?’ he called as I headed out the door.
‘No, don’t worry. I’ve got money. Just relax, David. I’ll be back in a minute.’
The chemist was fifteen minutes of a walk from our flats. That was one of the downsides of Blackwall - shops in either direction were a bit of a mission. God help you if you ran out of milk in the middle of the night.
When I got to Wellworth’s, I made straight for the pharmacy at the back. Without a GP’s prescription, I knew I would only be able to get David something fairly tame in terms of medication. I’d have to put on my doctor’s hat and make my own diagnosis. In the end, I opted for a packet of throat lozenges and a bottle of a sickly sweet cough mixture. Then I went to the corner shop and purchased some vegetables and spices. I had decided to go the whole hog and make David some soup.
When I got back to the flat, he was sitting up in bed and reading a newspaper. He looked pleased to see me. I felt rather like his wife coming home from a shopping trip.
‘Right,’ I said, laying his keys and medicines on the dresser, ‘I’ve got you some cough mixture and some other stuff. I hope it helps.’
‘Thank you, Madeline. You’re very sweet.’
I blushed, turned to go. ‘You’re not leaving yet, are you?’ His voice had an air of desperation. This warmed me.
‘No, I was just going to the kitchen to make you some food.’
‘Oh God, don’t go in there, please. It’s in such a state. I haven’t been on top of things recently, sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, David. I’m sure I’ve seen worse. Now just you rest and concentrate on getting better. I’ve got everything under control.’
He smiled appreciatively, and returned to his paper.
I went into the kitchen, washed up the dishes, wiped down the draining board and mopped the floor. Then I opened the cupboard, took down a large saucepan and, after cleaning it thoroughly, proceeded to make the vegetable soup. My aim was to make two day’s worth, enough for David not to have to cook for a while. As I fried the cubed vegetables over a low heat, I thought about how cosy we were, how right it felt being together like this. Not since Mum had died, had I been able to fuss over someone like this. For a moment, I actually dared to imagine a life of domestic bliss with David.
‘That smells marvellous, Madeline. You’re really spoiling me.’
‘Thanks. Shan’t be long.’ My heart was racing. I added the vegetable stock, almond flakes and ground coriander then left the soup to simmer for a while. I was totally in my element.
When it was ready, I ladled some into a bowl and took it to him on a tray. David put down his paper when he saw me and patted down the duvet in preparation for his food.
‘You’re such an angel,’ he beamed.
I perched at the edge of the bed and watched him eat. He told me the soup was delicious, the best he’d ever tasted. I swelled with pride. Turning, I gazed around the room. It was spartan - very white and very bare. Impersonal, I thought. Not homely at all.
David wasn’t very talkative after he’d finished eating. He looked like a puffy little frog. I could tell that he was really struggling to contain his flu-like symptoms. Poor lamb. I studied his face and wondered just how bald he was under that wig. I could definitely see it was a wig now: it had the dry straw-like quality that synthetic hair has after a while. I wished I could let him know that he had nothing to fear, that he could be free with me: I didn’t care if he was as bald as a coot under there.
I bit my lip. Was this why David had been so standoffish with me physically? Was he terrified of me discovering his wiggy secret? I wanted to hug him and reassure him that I was every bit as insecure as he was, probably more, in fact.
After a while I left him to sleep. I went into the living room, picked up some socks, tidied up a bit. Then I went to the toilet. As I was washing my hands, my eyes fell on a small, round container on the bathroom shelf next to the toothpaste and the soap. Gingerly, I picked it up, examined it. The label read: Screenface Foundation.
I frowned. Surely David didn’t wear make-up?
I unscrewed the lid, sniffed at it then dipped my finger in. The liquid was a pale pink colour and had a thick consistency. I rubbed some into my hand and watched it slowly blend into my skin. No, there was absolutely no doubt that it was foundation. Hastily I put the tub back on the shelf and shook my head clear. I was jumping to silly conclusions. Perhaps it belonged to an ex-girlfriend, or perhaps he’d done a photo shoot and one of the models had left it th
ere. There had to be a logical explanation. It just wasn’t conceivable that it belonged to David. That would be a step too far, what with the wig and everything else.
Suddenly I felt terribly guilty for poking around in his things. I had no right to pry and was disappointed in myself for giving in to temptation. Sometimes it was best to leave well enough alone. I decided that now was probably the best time to go home. So I saw myself out and left David to sleep.
* * *
About midnight, I was awoken by the harsh sound of my doorbell ringing. Cursing under my breath, I climbed out of bed, threw on my dressing gown and went to the intercom.
‘Hello?’ My voice was croaky with sleep.
‘Maddy, it’s me.’
‘Beth?’
‘Yes, yes, let me in!’ My sister sounded agitated.
Hastily, I buzzed her in. Wondered what on earth brought her to my house at this time of night. A shiver coursed through me. Had something bad happened?
When my sister got upstairs she looked like death: her eyes were red from crying and her hair was all over the place.
‘I’ve left him, Maddy’ she whispered. ‘It’s over.’
‘What, you mean with Phil? You’ve left Phil?’
She collapsed on the sofa. I sat down next to her, put my arms around her.
‘What happened Beth?’
‘You were right, Maddy. Phil’s been having an affair with that bitch receptionist.’
‘Oh my God. What a bastard.’
She wrung her hands, spoke in an anguished rush. ‘Last night, I checked his phone. There were so many messages. Awful, awful messages, Maddy. Messages going back more than three months . . . it makes me sick to think of them together. The lies, the deceit. I just keep thinking of all the times he said he was working late, all those bloody charity dinners. It was all a cover for them to be together. I feel like such a fool.’
My head was reeling. ‘Have you confronted him yet?’
‘No. And that’s the worst part, Mads. It’s like I’ve been struck dumb or something. Like I’m too scared of what he might say; like, I know he’s having an affair, I have the proof, but I can’t face hearing him say it. It’s like at some level I still want to cling to the fantasy that everything’s okay with us. But I know it’s not. It’s like I’m cracking up, like I’ve lost the plot.’
I shook my head incredulously.
‘And I keep blaming myself,’ she continued, ‘I keep thinking that it’s
my fault, that I’ve been pushing him away. I’m under no illusions that I can be a cow to live with sometimes. I know I wind him up, but there’s just been so much going on, so many things stressing me out, I couldn’t help myself.’
‘What do you mean?’
She looked at me. ‘There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know, Maddy. Stuff I couldn’t tell you.’
‘Talk to me, Beth. Is there anything I can do? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me. Right?’
My sister took a deep breath. ‘Vicky’s autistic.’ I stared at her. She continued: ‘She was diagnosed last year. It’s been very hard on us. That’s why we were so desperate to get her into Broadwood. They’ve got fantastic facilities for children like . . . like Vicky.’
I was mute, felt terrible. All those times I’d been so critical of Vicky, all those times I’d chided her for being so hyperactive . . . it wasn’t her fault.
I got up, went to the kitchen. I needed some space between us to get my head together. So many things were starting to make sense now. Phil’s kid glove treatment of Vicky, Beth’s gentle understanding of her manic outbursts. The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle had finally come together. But why hadn’t they told me? Why hadn’t my sister trusted me enough to confide in me?
And yet, at the same time, my heart was suddenly filled with love for Vicky. The poor kid. I now saw the error of my ways and realised how terribly unfair I’d been in my damning judgement of her.
I switched on the kettle, took two mugs down from the cupboard, spooned in some Nescafe. I needed to concentrate on something to keep myself from getting too emotional.
After a minute or so, Beth wandered into the room with a lost, faraway look in her eyes. She was more composed now, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Apparently, her confession had liberated her to be fully candid with me.
‘You know Mads, it’s funny. All those years that Phil and I longed for children. It was like the glue that held our marriage together. We were like a team. We had a common goal, something to work towards. In a way, childlessness united us and helped us not to focus on the cracks. Now when I think about it, things haven’t been right with us for some time.’
I raised my eyebrows. This was another shock.
She came up beside me, took the kettle from me and proceeded to pour the coffees. She didn’t look at me, almost like she was scared of my reaction.
‘But you always made out that things were so perfect between the two of you,’ I said reproachfully.
Beth shook her head. ‘It might have seemed that way, but after you’ve been married for as long as we have, things start to grow stale. You have to try twice as hard to make it work. Phil stopped being the man I married a long time ago. We spent so many years yearning for Vicky and then, when she finally came . . .’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Motherhood isn’t quite what I thought it would be. I mean, God, I love Vicky to bits, but it isn’t the be all and end all, you know? Your problems don’t just miraculously disappear because you’ve got children. If anything, they help to highlight the shortcomings in your relationship.’
It was the first time my sister had truly opened up with me, and I found, surprisingly, that we had more in common than I thought. We each had our own private torments, our own private turmoil. And strangely, I found it deeply satisfying. Her so-called perfect life was a sham.
She stirred the coffees and inquired whether I wanted milk or cream. I said neither, so we both settled for black. Mug in hand, Beth leaned against the sink despondently. ‘Did I tell you that Phil and I don’t sleep together any more?’ I shook my head. She continued: ‘We haven’t done since Vicky was born. At first I thought it would just take a bit of time for us to get back into the swing of things. But, well, I’ve gone off him, Mads. Physically, I mean. I don’t find him attractive anymore. When he reaches out for me, it’s like I’m gonna be sick. He totally repulses me.’ She took a sip of coffee, winced. ‘It’s like we’re brother and sister now. There’s no sexual spark there anymore.’ She broke off, looked at me for reassurance. ‘You probably think I’m being a bitch, don’t you?’
‘No, I just think you’re being honest. If that’s how you feel, then there’s no point denying it.’
Beth smiled faintly. ‘I don’t know, Mads, I really don’t. Sex used to be such a big part of our relationship. We used be at it like rabbits. I don’t know where it all went wrong.’
‘Do you think perhaps it’s something psychological? I read that after giving birth, a lot of women lose their libido. Perhaps you should have seen a therapist or something.’
‘Phil did suggest that. He was even going to pay for this really expensive one in Harley Street. He said I needed to sort out my issues, or he was going to look elsewhere. I didn’t think he was being serious. Didn’t think he had the guts. And now look what’s happened. Oh Maddy, I’ve really fucked up haven’t I?’
‘No you haven’t! It still doesn’t give him license to cheat on you, Beth. You deserve better than this.’
She stared at me for a second. ‘Sometimes I envy you so much, Mads.’
‘Me? Why would you envy me for Christ’s sake?’
‘I envy your freedom, the fact that you have no ties. You can travel the world. Do anything, be anything. I can’t. I’m trapped.’
‘Yeah but what’s the point of freedom if you’ve no one to share it with? Do you know how much of my life I’ve spent alone? Trust me, you wouldn’t want to swop places with me.’
‘I always hated the f
act that you were Mum’s favourite.’
‘No I wasn’t,’ I replied indignantly. ‘She loved us both equally.’
‘No she didn’t. It was always you, you, you. The baby. I could never do anything right. I was always the bad one.’
‘Maybe that was so when we were kids, but look at your life now. You’ve achieved so much. You’ve brought a beautiful child into the world. You’ve got a husband. I’d give anything for that.’
‘Would you really?’ she snapped. ‘And what about when the honeymoon period is over? What then? Everything’s falling apart. I don’t recognise what my life has become. I’m so scared. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. My head’s so screwed up.’
I felt a deep connection with my sibling that I hadn’t experienced before. We were united in our misery, and in so doing, had forged an impenetrable bond.
‘Do you still love Phil?’ I asked quietly.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think he still loves you?’
‘How would I know? If his behaviour is anything to go by, I’d say not.’
‘Beth, you need to confront him. You need to talk to him, sort this out. Find out if there’s a way forward.’
‘But I don’t know if I’ll ever trust him again, Mads. Even if he promises never see that bitch again, it still feels like such a betrayal. He’s destroyed everything we built together. Everything I believed in.’
‘I know, I know. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll be there for you every step of the way. Look, why don’t you stay here tonight, clear your head and see how you feel in the morning? Don’t make any rash decisions. You need to think about what’s best for Vicky in all of this.’
Beth smiled angelically through her tears. She looked twelve years old again. I knew then that I really did love my sister.
Chapter Ten
Phil’s charity was located in a plush office block on the Holloway Road. I had never been there before yet somehow, seeing it for the first time filled me with an uncanny sense of déjà vu. It was just as I imagined it: flashy and pretentious.
