by Dawn Goodwin
Tom
He sat in his car in the dark, looking up at the house looming in front of him. Supposedly his castle, lately it had begun to feel more like a prison. The windows were dark, the curtains drawn. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, then loosened the claustrophobic tie at his neck. He knew there were problems that they needed to face up to, but he just couldn’t bring himself to confront it or V. He wasn’t afraid of her anger, but rather of opening up a wound that he knew he wouldn’t be able to heal. Sometimes sadness clawed at him, but he pushed on, not giving in to it, knowing one of them had to be strong. He reached towards the ignition key and hesitated, before starting the engine of the car again. He had no destination in mind, but knew he couldn’t bring himself to go inside just yet.
He looked across at Felicity’s house, illuminated and bright in comparison. Ian’s car wasn’t parked in the road yet. He could…
No. Lately, all she wanted to talk about was V. She had phoned him again that afternoon, ranting about how rude V had been to her – something about a shoe that she’d found. Tom had actually laughed when she told him what V had said because it had sounded so ludicrous and unlike V these days. He’d been a little bit proud too. Sometimes Felicity could do with being put in her place, although he’d never say that to her face. He was under no illusions; he knew she could be poisonous. He could smell the venom coming off her in waves whenever she saw V these days.
A light flicked on in the main bedroom above him and he looked back towards his own house. He could make out V’s shadow as she moved about, which was unusual. Normally he would get home and she would either be in bed with her back to him, asleep or pretending to be, or she would be sitting in a tight ball tucked in the corner of the couch watching mindless TV programmes, her face an empty canvas. She would say she had eaten already (although her skinny frame suggested otherwise) and he would sit alone with his ready meal in the kitchen and Newsnight on the small flat screen on the wall.
Tonight something seemed different. With a last glance over to Felicity’s door, he reached around the steering wheel and cut the engine again. V was still moving around in the bedroom, from what he could tell. His eyes dropped to the lounge windows that had appeared dark and unwelcoming when he had pulled up, but now he could make out a faint flickering behind the curtains, as though candles had been lit.
He took a fortifying breath, climbed out of the car and opened the passenger door to grab his jacket and briefcase. As he pushed the door closed, he noticed movement at the Greens’ window and caught a brief glimpse of Felicity as she ducked out of sight. For a split second he faltered. He felt ashamed at how he had distanced himself from Ian of late, but he was worried that one beer too many in the pub and he would blurt everything out. Besides, the shame was just another facet of the guilt he was harbouring.
Their affair had started slowly. It certainly wasn’t something he had gone looking for. After the dinner party, they had acted like polite acquaintances, but it was clear she was interested. Little glances when they were out, subtle touches of her hand – it was obvious. V was so distracted then. The only thing that seemed to matter to her was how she was perceived by the mothers at the school gate, whether she was wearing the right shade of grey, was she involved enough with school events, and any spare attention was lavished on Grace. He came far down her list of priorities. He had needed more than that and Felicity was offering it on a plate.
*
He pushed through the front door, his legs heavy with exhaustion. He could hear the tinny sound of the television from the lounge. As he rounded the door, he smiled to see Grace curled up in V’s lap, wearing warm pyjamas and ridiculous pink unicorn slippers.
‘Hey you two.’
They both acknowledged him with a small, ‘Hi.’
He came over to where they sat snuggled together and Grace offered up her tired face for a kiss. V mirrored her, then they turned their attention back to the CBeebies bedtime story on the television.
‘I’m starving – what time do you want to eat?
V raised weary eyes to him and replied, ‘Sorry, I ate with Grace earlier. There’s some leftovers in the fridge though.’
His heart sank. He’d eaten on his own nearly every night this week.
‘Right.’ He left the room and went upstairs to change. When he returned, they were in exactly the same position.
All of a sudden he felt angry at both of them. They weren’t exactly overjoyed to see him. They probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t come home at all. He needed a beer.
Fed up, but also aware he sounded like a kid, he said in a huff, ‘I’m going next door to borrow Ian’s leaf-blower. Might stay for a beer.’
He got a half-hearted ‘okay’ in return.
He knocked on the door, expecting to see Ian, but it was Felicity who opened it.
‘Er, hey, I was hoping Ian was home? He said I could borrow the leaf-blower.’
‘Oh, sorry, he dropped Tabby at her dance class, then went to the golf club. But come in, I’m sure he won’t mind if you have a look for it.’
‘Oh, it can wait.’
‘It’s fine, really. Come in.’
Tom hesitated, looked back towards his own front door, then stepped over the threshold, feeling awkward after the last time they were alone together.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked with what seemed like genuine concern.
‘Yeah… no… it’s nothing.’
‘No, tell me. Come on, we’re friends, aren’t we?’
‘I’m fine, really…’
‘Come through, I’ll put the kettle on.’
He perched at her kitchen counter, sipping hot tea out of a geometric-patterned blue mug and found himself telling her all about how overlooked he felt, even though he sounded childish to his own ears. She was surprisingly easy to talk to. He had never noticed that side to her. She had always been one part of the foursome, Ian’s wife, V’s friend.
‘One thing we both know about V is how much she loves Grace, but she’s never been a tactile person and never will. But she showers Grace with affection – look at her: she’s bright, happy, well-mannered, never misbehaves. V can’t be doing too much wrong there,’ Felicity reasoned.
‘I know. And I know I sound like a spoilt child. It would just be nice to have V to myself sometimes.’
‘She has a lot on. She is a bit bogged down in the social politics of the school, the PTA and stuff, but that’s because she doesn’t have anything else except school and Grace to keep her busy. You just need to talk to her, tell her you’re feeling left out.’ She smiled sympathetically, her eyes shining. ‘Here, let me take that mug from you.’
Her fingers brushed his much like they had the evening of the dinner party, lingering ever so slightly.
*
That was how they had ended up half-naked on the cold kitchen tiles in an undignified and messy tangle. Ashamed at himself, he had made it clear that there would be no repeat performance, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind after that. He took to popping in on his way to work once Ian had left for the day, sometimes texting her to meet him in between appointments. Then the initial excitement of the first few weeks had inevitably cooled and they met less frequently, but that irked Felicity and she had started putting pressure on him to decide on what their future would be. She started to take more risks, sneaking her knickers into his pocket for him to find later in the day, texting in the evening when she knew he was at home with V, as though she wanted V to find out, even relished the idea of it, and he started to regret the whole thing.
Then the unthinkable happened and he was awarded a ‘get out of jail free’ card. Not the way he would’ve liked to end things, but there it was.
He knew without a shadow of a doubt before the accident that he didn’t love Felicity. She was too high-maintenance, too needy. But she was a physical distraction that he had needed right then and he had enjoyed the attention she poured on him, how she made him feel like he was the only
important person in the room when they were together. She had stroked his ego. He’d become a walking, middle-aged cliché. Felicity had become like a drug to him and it had taken a catastrophic event to make him go cold turkey.
He didn’t want to acknowledge the damage that would be inflicted if V ever found out about them and he hated himself for what he had done.
With heavy footsteps and contrition gnawing at him, he approached his own front door, took another deep breath and put the key in the lock. The hallway was illuminated and he could hear music playing softly from the kitchen. Ironically, it was the same tune that had been playing when Felicity had accosted him at the dinner party. Ed Sheeran – irrationally, Tom suddenly hated him.
He set his briefcase down gently, hung his jacket on the banister, and dropped his keys into the bowl on the table. The clatter reverberated in the still air. He paused as the smell of baking potatoes hit his nose.
‘Hi V,’ he called out, not expecting a response. None was forthcoming, so he wandered through into the kitchen. He took in the steak waiting on the counter, the table set for two. He noticed the glasses and cups standing in the sink, red lipstick kissing the rims. Picking one up, he sniffed at the glass but couldn’t discern whether it had held a soft or hard drink. With no sign of V as yet, he wandered over to the recycling bin and pulled out an empty brandy bottle. There was his answer then.
He sighed. A voice in his head suggested he leave this battle for another night, especially since she was clearly making an effort and he didn’t want to ruin their first chance in ages of enjoying a relatively normal evening like a regular couple, like before. He knew this new friend of hers had something to do with the excessive drinking, but also suspected she may have had something to do with the light that had started to flicker behind V’s dead eyes. She had mentioned this friend on and off recently – Susan or Sherry, something like that? Perhaps she was starting to come back to him, although it seemed to be on the back of alcoholic fumes, which, considering V had always been a careful drinker, was a worry in itself. But in light of his own behaviour, if having a few drinks was the worst of her sins, he could ignore it for now.
He replaced the empty bottle in the bin and headed to the fridge to try and catch up with a beer. Taking a few long swigs, he headed upstairs, amplifying his footsteps as best he could.
‘V?’ he called again.
He found her standing in the bedroom, her back to him, as though she was ready to dart into the cupboard and hide. One of her hands was frozen on her blouse buttons, mid-way through fastening them. At first, she said nothing and the air between them crackled. Then she finished fastening the buttons, smoothed her skirt and turned towards him with a strange, plastic smile plastered to her face.
‘Hi. Good day?’
She had applied a little make-up, but it didn’t disguise the purple shadows under her eyes. If anything, the rather garish red lipstick on her lips amplified her pallor.
‘Yeah, not bad. Yours?’
‘I made dinner.’
‘I see that. Great, thanks.’
They watched each other awkwardly.
‘I, er… I’ll see you downstairs then,’ he said and turned to go.
Back downstairs, he changed the music straight away to the radio, preferring the normality of traffic reports and football results. Loosening his tie, he picked up his beer and drained it before opening another.
‘You changed the music.’
He looked up. ‘Yeah, sorry. I’ve gone off Ed.’ He paused. ‘You look nice.’
‘Thanks – this old thing?’ she chuckled, which surprised him.
‘I made dinner,’ she repeated, as though looking for kudos. ‘Steak okay?’
‘Absolutely, I’m famished.’
An uncomfortable silence followed. He stared at the pool of condensation forming on the counter around his beer bottle. His fingers itched to pick up his phone and check his emails or catch up on Twitter – anything to break the awkwardness.
Eventually, they both went to speak at once, him saying, ‘How was your day?’ and her ‘Good day then?’
When had things become so awkward between them?
Veronica wandered over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine, but he darted from his seat and took the bottle from her. She flinched, but all he said was, ‘Here, let me do that,’ and went to fetch a glass from the cupboard.
‘So, what did you get up to today then?’ he said as the wine glugged into the glass.
‘Oh, you know, the usual: a bit of housework, ran some errands. Oh, and Scarlet came over this morning.’ Her hand was already reaching for the glass before he had screwed the lid back on. He pretended not to notice the tremor in her fingers.
‘You’ve been seeing a lot of her lately. You should have her over for dinner some time. I’d like to meet her.’
Part of him didn’t want to meet this woman who had managed to breathe life back into his wife when he couldn’t. He had a sudden strong feeling that he wouldn’t like her very much.
Veronica chewed on the inside of her lip – something she used to do when she was nervous or uncomfortable.
‘Mmmm, maybe,’ she replied, then quickly veered off in a different direction to ask questions about his work. It was as though she had made a mental list of questions to ask him, but they sounded hollow. Each was preceded by a gulp of wine and a chew of her lip.
He found himself rambling on and cringed inwardly at how uptight he sounded. She didn’t seem to notice, just made vague comments at appropriate moments while she prepared the steaks.
At one point, just as she placed the frying pan on the hob, she froze, as though she had completely forgotten why she was there. There was a faraway look on her face. She took another gulp of wine, then carried on with the task at hand, but Tom could see her lips moving slightly, as though she was reciting the cooking process like a mantra to keep herself focused. Tom felt dread tighten like a belt around his chest, but kept chattering away.
She passed a comment without realising that he had already changed the subject, as though the synapses in her brain were failing to ignite quickly enough, so the conversation lurched backwards and forwards, but, pleased to be at home and spending an evening with her, Tom kept up a steady stream of commentary. She concentrated on the dull slabs of meat changing colour in the pan, still chewing on her lip, so much so that he noticed she was drawing blood.
‘V, your lip…’
‘What?’ She raised her hand tentatively, then inspected the blood on her finger with apparent fascination.
He came around and grabbed a tissue from the counter, before holding it up to the bead of blood. He caught a flash of impatience in her eyes and noticed how she baulked as he approached her and a familiar feeling of resignation settled on his shoulders, as though he had let her down again, but without knowing how. He backed off.
‘Sorry,’ she said. He assumed she was apologising for pulling away, but she said instead, ‘I couldn’t hear you over the steaks frying. What were you saying? I think these came from the new butcher – really nice in there.’ Now she was babbling.
Tom took another drink of his beer. ‘I was just saying that Zara and Will are starting their new extension soon. The architects have come up with a very clever design. It won’t be cheap though.’
‘Oh, yes? I should phone Zara and organise another coffee, look at the design. She’s been planning it for so long, she must be thrilled.’
He knew she wouldn’t do any of these things.
‘You should – Will was asking after you when I spoke to him yesterday. Little Phoebe is apparently the star striker for the girls’ football team.’
She turned the steak, the sound of sizzling and spitting fat punctuating the conversation with a full stop.
Neither said anything for a moment.
‘V.’ He tore at the label on his beer bottle, shredding it into tiny bits of damp paper.
She drained her glass.
‘I just wan
ted…’ he continued and moved towards her, wanting to reach through the mist surrounding her.
‘Right, dinner’s ready, I think,’ she interrupted and lifted the steaks onto a board to rest, the steam obscuring her expression. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to warm the sauce.’ With her back to him, she busied herself with pouring a mushroom sauce into the steak pan. As it began to bubble, she reached into the cupboard for plates, then held them out to him.
His fingers brushed hers as he took the plates from her, but she didn’t react.
While he set the plates out, she opened the oven, lifted the steaming baked potatoes out and carried them over to the table.
Tom said, ‘I’ll bring the steaks and salad over, you sit,’ but even he could hear the flatness in his voice.
She went to the fridge and refreshed her glass. Now it was his turn to bite his tongue.
As she sat down, he reached across the table and gently took hold of her hand. She recoiled again, but he persevered in trying to catch her eye, daring her to look at him. ‘Thanks V, this looks great – and means a lot.’ Their eyes met for a second, relief showing in his; he couldn’t read hers.
‘That’s okay,’ she said with forced joviality. ‘Nice to get back into the kitchen.’
Tom handed her the salad bowl and began to cut into his steak. ‘Will was saying it’s Penny’s fortieth next weekend? Did we get an invite to that?’
She avoided the question. ‘I had a very strange – well, funny really – run-in with Felicity today.’
His hand paused in mid-air, the steak dripping blood onto the white plate.
‘Oh?’
He lowered his fork without eating.
She frowned. ‘Is your steak okay?’ Was that feigned innocence on her face? He couldn’t tell. Just his paranoia? Is this why she had made dinner? To confront him? Felicity’s claim that Veronica knew about them echoed in his ears.
