by Lisa Hall
‘Please, Gareth, I know you’re not keen, but will you try and enjoy today? It’s a barbecue, for heaven’s sake, it’s supposed to be fun.’ Flicking my hair over my shoulders and smoothing the flyaway ends down, I stand, ready to head downstairs and put the finishing touches to the food. It’s our turn to host the cul-de-sac’s annual summer barbecue, much to Gareth’s horror.
‘I’ve got things to sort out – work to finish – this is the last thing I want to do this afternoon. You could have spoken to me before you agreed to it,’ Gareth grumbles, shoving his feet into deck shoes, before marching over to the bedroom door and shouting for Robbie to get a move on.
‘He’s nearly ready.’ I lay a hand gently on his shoulder, wanting to soothe him a little, or at least make him a little less fractious. If we’re going to spend the afternoon and into the evening with the rest of our friends and neighbours on the street, then I want to him to at least be civil, even if he can’t completely shake off the tension that seems to surround him lately. ‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, us hosting the barbecue when you’re so busy with work, but look at it this way – at least it won’t be our turn to host it for a few years after today.’ I give him a smile, but he just rolls his eyes.
‘OK. Let’s get on with it. Hopefully the sooner people get here, the sooner they’ll leave.’ Gareth shrugs my hand off his shoulder and thunders down the stairs, leaving me with a familiar feeling of rejection, one that seems to be all too common at the moment.
The afternoon is warm, the sky a perfect, deep blue, and I’ve made a huge pitcher of sangria that is going down a little too well. I am hot and exhausted by mid-afternoon, having spent much of my time dashing backwards and forwards between the barbecue area and the kitchen, and topping up everybody’s drinks. Gareth has spent the afternoon hunched over the grill, flipping burgers and shouting instructions to me every five minutes, somehow managing to avoid too much interaction with our guests. I’m pretty sure that none of them have picked up on the tension between us, but Lord knows I could do with a drink. Satisfied that everyone is happy for a moment, I double check Gareth has a drink before sliding into the garden chair next to Amy, my best friend. She smiles as she looks up and holds her glass out for me to top up from the jug I’ve brought out from the kitchen.
‘Hey. How’s things?’ She glances over to where Gareth now stands with Neil at the barbecue, beer in hand and seemingly in a better mood, and raises her eyebrows at me.
‘Hmmm. Could be better.’ I take a large sip of the sangria, wincing slightly at the burn of the brandy on my tongue, still feeling raw and ever so slightly hurt by the way Gareth spoke to me before people arrived. We haven’t had an opportunity to speak at all since people got here, apart from his barking instructions at me, and last time I looked he’d still got that frown on his face. ‘He’s got the arse because he doesn’t want to be hosting today.’
‘He seemed OK when I arrived? Well, not miserable anyway.’ Amy looks at me quizzically and I sigh inwardly. Gareth has this knack of turning on the charm when it suits him. No one would believe that he doesn’t actually want any of them to be here, or that we’d had a disagreement before they arrived, he hides it so well, coming across as good old Gareth, so friendly and charming. What a guy.
‘Believe me, he doesn’t want the neighbours to be here. He said he’s got things he should be doing – work, you know,’ I roll my eyes, ‘but it’s our turn. We argued about it before everyone arrived – he said that I shouldn’t have agreed to host, not without discussing it with him first, but what was I supposed to say? We couldn’t very well just say we weren’t doing it, not after everyone else has hosted.’
‘So things are still a bit difficult?’
‘So fucking difficult at times. It’s like a rollercoaster – sometimes he’s just … brilliant. The Gareth I married – funny, kind, the old Gareth, you know? He’ll do something unexpected, something that makes me think, oh, that’s why I love you. And then other times …’ I resist the urge to lay my head on Amy’s shoulder and cry. ‘Other times he’s just … impossible. Constantly in a foul temper, but when I ask him he tells me it’s none of my business, or that nothing is wrong. Either that or he just completely ignores me – literally, he just blanks me when I speak to him, just carries on staring at his phone. And then when he does speak to me, all we do is row. It’s awful for me – it must be hell for Robbie.’ I look over to where Robbie stands with his primary school best friend, Sean, and his father. There’s no sign of Angela, Sean’s mother. The West Marsham rumour mill has it that Ted and Angela are on the verge of splitting up – apparently, she’s been getting friendly with her yoga teacher – and the fact that she doesn’t seem to be spending much time with Ted at the moment is only fuelling the gossip. Robbie says something and they all laugh, Ted – Sean’s father – clapping Robbie on the arm. Ted obviously doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the rumours. Either that, or he has utter faith in Angela’s fidelity. Across from them, Gareth stands alone at the grill, his mouth set in a grim line. I incline my head towards him and Amy follows my gaze.
‘Ahhh. I see what you mean. I don’t know what to suggest – if he won’t talk to you properly, have you tried suggesting counselling?’
I drain my glass, letting out a bark of laughter.
‘Are you kidding? If he won’t talk to me, there’s no way he’ll even consider counselling. To be honest, Amy, Rob’s old enough now … sometimes I think it would be easier to leave him and just start again.’ Abruptly I get to my feet, under the pretence of finding a fresh pitcher of sangria, but in reality, it’s so Amy doesn’t see the tears that spring to my eyes.
‘Rachel!’ Gareth’s voice cuts through my thoughts. ‘Little help here, please!’
I walk over, trying to keep a smile on my face as our guests look on, the empty pitcher dangling from one hand.
‘Can you get rid of these things, please?’ Gareth forces a smile, but you could cut the tension between us with a knife. He leans in close. ‘You did say you’d take the empty trays in to leave me some space.’
‘I was busy,’ I hiss, anxious not to let our guests overhear, ‘I’ve been trying to keep people entertained.’ I snatch up the trays, trying to balance them and the empty glass jug without anything crashing to the floor. Walking away, I don’t wait for Gareth to reply, knowing that whatever I say today won’t help things.
‘Here, let me.’ A voice stops me, and a warm hand lands on my wrist. I look up to see Ted. ‘You look like you’re about to overbalance.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile up at him, letting him take the top two trays and the jug. He walks away, towards the kitchen and I glance over to see if Gareth has noticed. He hasn’t.
I manage to relax a little after that, the tautness of my nerves loosening as the drink flows and the afternoon cools into early evening. Gareth also seems to be more like his old self, putting away the scowl that’s permanently fixed to his face lately and actually engaging with people, now that the food is cooked and he doesn’t have the excuse of the barbecue to hide behind. He still doesn’t speak to me, though, and before long I stop worrying about what he is doing and whether he is making an effort, and try to enjoy the party.
Robbie disappears after a little while, telling me he’s going to meet Courtney, a girl I know he has his eye on. I wish him luck and tell him to make sure he has a door key, before settling back in to conversation with Liz, Amy and Natalie, all of us gossiping and swapping stories. It is dusk when Jonno and Melody, the neighbours from two doors down arrive, Melody greeting me with a hug and Jonno greeting Gareth with a hearty clap on the back, a fug of alcohol already surrounding them as they squeeze into the circle of friends and neighbours that sit around the small bonfire Robbie lit before he left.
Staggering slightly as I get to my feet, the sangria I’ve been steadily drinking hitting me as I stand, I wander towards the kitchen intent on getting drinks for the new arrivals, as Liz greets them with boozy kisses and Neil forage
s under the cover of the grill to find them a leftover burger. I am humming slightly under my breath as I peer into the wine rack for another bottle of red, the alcohol firing a warm buzz through my veins, when someone grips me tightly by the arm. Shocked, I drop the glass I’m holding and it shatters across the kitchen floor.
‘Shit.’ I pull away, rubbing at my arm as Gareth appears beside me. ‘What the hell did you grab me for?’ Scowling, I open the cupboard under the sink and start rummaging around for a dustpan and brush.
‘Party’s over.’ Gareth pulls at my arm again as I stand, dustpan in hand. ‘Come on, it’s time to wrap it up. You’ve had enough to drink.’
‘What? No, the party isn’t over – Mel and Jonno have only just arrived! I need to clean this mess up. And I’m not drunk.’ I bend and start to sweep clumsily at the glass on the floor, but Gareth shifts so that he blocks my way. ‘Gareth, move, please. Someone could cut themselves.’
‘I said leave it. The party is over. You need to come out and help me tell everyone it’s time to go. Now.’ He leans down and pulls me upright, almost knocking me off balance into the broken glass, as I put out a hand to steady myself.
‘And I said no. Everyone is out there having a good time – everyone apart from you! I don’t know what the problem is Gareth, but I’ve just about had enough – do you realize that?’ My voice is raised, my throat thickening with tears of anger. ‘You’re unbearable at the moment, I don’t know what’s going on but …’
‘Keep your bloody voice down. There’s nothing going on. These people have had our hospitality all day – I said the party is finished, so let’s go out there and wrap it up.’ He grips my upper arm again and I tug away violently, alcohol and the slight buzz of fear making my stomach clench.
‘No. No, I’m not telling people to leave, it’s far too early.’ My palm throbs, and I look down to see a thin line of blood welling up.
‘Fine. If what these people think is more important to you than I am, that’s fine. You do what you want.’ With that he storms towards the front door, leaving me shocked and confused by his outburst, with no idea what has brought all of this on, before shouting after him.
‘Fuck you, Gareth!’
There is a light tap on the bathroom door as I lean over the sink, splashing cold water over my puffy, tear-stained face. I’ve picked a shard of glass out of my hand and managed to stop the bleeding, before dissolving into tears at the thought of Gareth storming out and having to deal with his bad mood when he decides to come back. Thinking it’s Amy checking up on me, I call out a soft, ‘Come in,’ before burying my wet face in a towel.
‘Are you OK?’ The voice isn’t the one I’m expecting to hear, and as I lower the towel I see Ted’s face peering round the doorframe at me, concern in his eyes.
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Hanging the towel over the edge of the bath I turn back to the mirror, avoiding Ted’s gaze as I fuss at my fringe.
‘I didn’t mean to … barge in on you or anything. I just, well I overheard you and Gareth in the kitchen and I wanted to make sure you were OK. It looked like you’d cut yourself.’ Ted steps fully into the bathroom and gently pushes the door closed.
‘I did. I mean, it’s fine, just a scratch. Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Covering my face with my hands I swipe quickly at the tears that spring easily to my eyes, the way they do when you’ve been on a crying jag, made worse by Ted’s kindness and concern. ‘I’m so embarrassed, I didn’t realize anyone overheard us.’
‘Hey, shhh,’ Ted crosses the room in one easy stride and yanks a length of tissue paper from the holder, handing it to me as I start to sob.
‘I’m sorry,’ I hiccup again, scrubbing at my face with the tissue, but Ted pulls my hand away, his fingers closing easily around my wrist as he pulls me towards him. ‘Oh, God, I have to go out there and tell everyone they need to leave.’
‘I can do that. I’ll tell them that you’ve got a migraine and Gareth is looking after you. Don’t worry.’
I let out another hiccup-y sob at his kindness. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I can’t seem to …’
‘It’s OK, Rachel, you can cry if you want to.’ I bury my face in his shirt, inhaling the cool, fresh scent of his aftershave, something sharp and citrusy that makes me think of Italy, and a holiday we spent staying on a lemon grove. I stay there for a long moment, feeling the thud of my heart against his chest, as he breathes in and out, before I look up to see him staring down at me. Without thinking, without even trying to stop myself, I reach up on my tiptoes, planting my lips firmly against his. Holding my breath, I wait for him to pull away but he doesn’t, instead just moves his mouth against mine. I feel light-headed, the booze and the intoxicating smell of Ted’s aftershave making the room spin lightly and I hold tight to his shirt in a wave of dizziness.
‘What about Angela?’ I breathe, pulling back, my heart pounding in my chest. What about Gareth? Yes, I know it’s wrong, and I know that I am probably going to regret this in the morning when I wake up with a raging hangover, my head thumping and my mouth sour, but it’s been so long since Gareth has been anywhere near me that my skin is aflame by Ted’s touch, and I’m not sure what I’ll do if he stops.
‘She’s left. Angela and I aren’t together any more.’ Ted mutters, pulling me back towards him. Our mouths crush together and I can taste beer and cigarettes on his breath. It was just a kiss – at least, that’s what I try to tell myself after, when I wake the next morning feeling sick with shame. One drunken, unexpected kiss when I was feeling low, that eventually leads to so much more. That’s how it starts. That’s how I end up tangled in a dirty, sordid – and if I’m brutally honest – intoxicating, exciting, enjoyable affair with Ted Durand.
4
JANUARY – NEW YEAR’S DAY
A dip in the mattress as somebody’s weight leans against the back of my leg pulls me from the uneasy doze I’ve fallen into. I’ve slept for a while – the light is almost gone, the bedroom swathed in darkness with just a faint orange glow from the streetlights outside – but it’s not been a restful sleep; dark images and shadowy thoughts exaggerated in my dreams. Turning from where I lay on my side, I roll over to see Robbie perched on the side of the bed. He leans over to switch on the bedside lamp and I squint slightly as the yellow warmth chases the last of the shadows from the room.
‘How are you feeling?’ He hands me a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol as I struggle my way into a sitting position, the duvet tangled around my legs.
‘Better,’ I lie, swallowing the pills with two huge gulps of water. The insistent thumping in my head starts up again as my brain protests at being upright, but the nausea seems to have subsided a little, so I’m not completely lying. ‘Where’s Dad?’
There is only silence from downstairs.
‘He’s gone out. He said you were up here sleeping it off, but when you didn’t come down for dinner I thought I’d just better check that you were OK.’
‘Dinner?’ I look at the clock on the bedside table, squinting at the numbers in the dim light. ‘Oh Rob, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. Did you eat? I can get up now and make you something.’
‘No, Mum, it’s fine, honestly. Dad made a curry earlier – he said you always like a curry when you’re hungover. We saved you some.’ I give him a grateful smile, even though the thought of food makes my stomach roll.
‘And now Dad’s gone out?’ I frown, the chalky aftertaste of the pills thick on my tongue. ‘Did he take Thor for a walk?’ Thor, our ancient beagle, and possibly the most inappropriately named dog in England. A splatter of rain hits the bedroom window and I frown again, knowing how Thor hates to go out in the rain, and hates to go out in the dark even more.
‘No, I don’t think so. He just said he was going out. Look, Mum, are you OK? You look really pale.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. Just a little bit hungover, like Dad said.’ I can’t tell him the truth – not yet, anyway – that deep-seated maternal urge to protect m
y child from knowledge that will hurt him is in full swing. I smile to make the lie seem more like the truth, but my mind is whirring away in overdrive.
It’s New Year’s Day – where on earth would Gareth have gone? Surely everything is closed, it’s not like he’s got shopping to do. There is a little tickle at the back of my mind, a familiar one from the summer – the voice that whispered to me that maybe the reason why Gareth was so unbearable – snappy, irritable and secretive – was because he was having an affair. Then that makes me think about Ted, and the party, and what could have happened last night – no, not what could have, what did. My stomach turns over, and I have to swallow down the saliva that spurts into my mouth.
‘I could make you some tea?’ Robbie says tentatively, looking like a small boy again, and I wonder exactly what Gareth has told him about last night. Judging by Rob’s reaction to me, he thinks I’ve just overdone it on the wine and I’ve got a raging hangover.
‘That would be lovely. I’ll be down in a minute.’ Robbie leaves the room, thundering down the stairs like a baby elephant and I lie back on the cool pillows for a moment, before I force myself from the safety of the bed, the comfort of the bedroom, downstairs.
It’s almost midnight before Gareth comes home. Our roles are reversed, and this time it’s me sitting in the dark, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, with Thor snoring at my feet. Robbie asked me if I minded him spending the night at Sean’s again tonight, and I told him to go, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t be home when Gareth came in, wouldn’t be there to hear what I have to say. My head feels less foggy now after my sleep, and the more I think about things the more I am convinced that whatever happened to me last night happened against my will. I wouldn’t have done that to Gareth – not after Ted, despite what people may think about me now, the thought of an affair never crossed my mind before Ted – and the fact that I can’t remember anything past the start of the evening fills me with terror, especially as I don’t think I drank that much. I hear the front door close, the lock engaging with a snick, and a few seconds later Gareth stealthily creeps into the living room, where I sit, waiting. He gasps as I flick the lamp on, clearly expecting me to be upstairs sleeping.
