by Darren Wills
One other thing. He said that Jo Jo, whoever she was, gave a great blow job and liked to dig her nails in, so I suppose in that way it could have been Laura.”
“And what do you think, now. Mistaken identity?”
“Definitely. I was relieved on the way back to the car, glad that he hadn’t known her this summer, because that would have really rocked my world. Laura looked scared when I got back, there, was waiting at the top of the path. Told me she was frightened that I was going to hit him.”
“A bit weird.”
“A bit weird.”
Leoni
Surprisingly, I could hear voices as I entered the house.
This had been a tough day. A teenager had run out of one of my lessons with a knife, a very unusual occurrence at my place of work, and police had had to be called in to the school. It had left me somewhat stressed so I really wasn’t too bothered about entertaining. I was wondering whether Laura had applied for any jobs. Money would be tight this month, with no second salary coming in, and we needed both of us working or my credit card bill was going to grow in an unhealthy way. I still couldn’t help feeling sad that she had given up her job at the gallery. I was struggling with the whole idea that she could see a better alternative and why she would have wanted to quit a position like that, especially since she had loved that job so much for so long. Why leave a gift horse without even looking it in the mouth?
In the living room, Laura was sitting with somebody I didn’t know. “Babe, this is Leoni, an old school friend of mine, the one I told you about.”
I smiled at Leoni, taking in the important details, like her smile, her neat petite figure, brown curled hair and the pale face that suggested she needed to perhaps get out more or recover from some kind of illness. Then I remembered that this was the woman who had had it tough, losing her job and wondered if she wasn’t eating properly. She was very attractive, I concluded, as any man would whose woman had denied him that essential pleasure for three months. She also had a familiar look about her. I had seen her somewhere before.
“Hello, Dominic. Pleased to meet you. Laura’s told me all about you.”
Was she wonderful or awful? She spoke in a high-pitched voice with a North Derbyshire accent and I felt almost like she was searching for answers to questions, but only for a short duration, as she scrutinized me before ultimately returning to a magazine she had resting on her lap.
I couldn’t figure out where I had seen her before but knew I had to make this work. “I can’t help thinking I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Laura broke in. “Leoni does gym where you go playing squash.”
So that was where I had seen her. “I hope you’re going to have a meal with us, Leoni,” I said, as positively as I could muster, thinking that being kind to this woman might make me feel less bitter and frustrated about my domestic circumstances. Also, Leoni needed some support, by all accounts, and that smile she displayed suggested a nice, kind woman and I was usually a good judge of character. Another reason was that it would get me Brownie points with Laura, which had to be positive in the strains of our incomplete marriage. I had never even heard of this friend of Laura’s before last week.
Leoni looked at Laura then agreed to stay. I offered to go and cook spaghetti bolognese and got up. As I left the living room, I heard a giggle behind me. I wasn’t sure whether it was Laura or her new old best friend and I could only imagine what was so funny. Still, if Laura was amused by something, that wouldn’t do her recovery any harm. Vainly, I thought it might be some sexual innuendo that would be helpful, but felt compelled to cast that idea aside as I went to cook.
An hour later, we were gathered round the dining table and tucking into food alongside what must have been a third bottle of Shiraz. I tried to keep the conversation as light-hearted as possible, if only to distract our visitor from her problems. “So what was Laura like at school? A typical teenager?”
Leoni looked at Laura before speaking and few seconds elapsed before words emerged. “She was just normal really. We were into fashion, make-up and stuff like that. Laura was good at lessons, always beat me in tests and exams.”
“And were you there when she had the accident?”
Laura interrupted, looking at Leoni. “The car accident that gave me two broken legs. You missed that. Leoni didn’t arrive at our school until Year Ten. It happened in Year Nine.”
Leoni said, “We were together in art lessons. Even then, she was too much when it came to drawing and stuff like that. I guess that’s how she got the job she had.”
Laura was looking at her intently. I guess she didn’t want the art gallery mentioning, as it was such a sore point as far as I was concerned, and she knew it. “Dom, tell Leoni about Sorrento and how good it was.”
At that point I gave something of a monologue, with occasional support from Laura, who seemed to remember much more about this one of our holidays. “Pompei was a mega place. It just takes you back a thousand years to how the Romans lived and what their houses were like.”
“And the skeletons, Dom. The corpses.”
“Yes, they were quite moving, especially the ones at Herculaneum, where there are really sad skeletons of people who had died waiting for a boat to pick them up. And the brothel! It makes it crystal clear how sexually orientated they were.”
Leoni spoke. “That would be just the men though. Dirty bastards. The women would be victims.”
“I don’t know.”
“It would be. And it’s not changed much. Women are still victims. Men are still the problem.”
“Not all men, and not all women.” I looked at Laura, hoping for a positive response or a reassuring smile at least, but all she displayed was deadpan. Sit on the fence if you must, I thought.
“Most.” Leoni had a serious look on her face. “Most men, anyway.”
I wasn’t going to debate the subject. I felt some discomfort towards her now, though, so I tried to change the subject. “Do you think this wine is OK. It was a two-for-one deal.” I wasn’t a big fan of the red stuff but didn’t mind it so much when pasta or spaghetti was involved. Funny how eccentric the taste buds can be.
The wine was ok. Leoni stayed for a couple of hours after, and I left the two of them playing CDs and chatting about stuff while I went upstairs.
I heard the living room door close. I suppose they needed a confidential chat. There was a time for girls talk and this was probably it, especially with the problems the two women were having. Perhaps they would both encourage each other to find work. Leoni had been a director’s secretary for a large paint manufacturer and had said at the dining table that she was looking for a similar post somewhere else.
It was nine o’clock. “Dom, Leoni’s leaving.”
I gave her a hug and told her I was hoping to see her soon.
“No doubt you will,” said Laura, with an ominous smile at Leoni as she ushered her outside and closed the door behind her. She must have seen Leoni to the Uber vehicle that would have been waiting outside. Laura was a caring woman and this was her friend.
There was no doubt about it though. Leoni’s voice would be irritating with prolonged exposure.
Malevolence
I watched a bird picking at a slug yesterday. I watched intently as the beak pulled away at the outer covering of the creature before piercing the body of the tiny repulsive being, whose slime trail could not save it on this occasion. Does a slug have feelings? Does it have a right to feelings? I found fascination in it all. I loved how the bird felt around for a while, testing the environment, before it pushed its beak further and further into the soft meat of the dead slimy creature that was so soft to the touch of the hard pointed mouth of the predator.
That’s the trouble with prey. They are always too soft. All my victims, ever since I was a teenager, breaking hearts and ripping off arseholes, forging signatures and stealing wall
ets, with the occasional attacking and killing, have been soft and stupid. They sometimes pretend not to be vulnerable but then have no real way of fighting back or resisting. There are too many who try to show a strong side but too often it is just a thin covering for their need to suffer. I hate veneers. Take the tortoise. It looks like a really tough creature with its supposedly thick shell, but that covering counts for nothing when the eagle takes it high then smashes it on the rocks, before satisfying its hunger and feeding its babies.
This Dominic is about as soft as any slug or tortoise I have ever seen. His stupidity is legend. The new Laura has him all over the place and he is so deluded and accepting that she can basically get away with anything she wants. She won’t even be sleeping with him anymore by the look of things, so things for him are going to become even more desperate. He just can’t take it. Sadly, his decline is proceeding and the end is coming. I’m shortening the timescale of this project. It’s boring.
Not only that. What happened in that park the other night also suggests that my timings have to change. This is not going to run and run, as it is more risky than I thought. If I am honest with myself, my aims in all this have shifted. My aim initially was to settle for a while, gradually building things up, but now I’m not thinking that. I’m too impatient. I reckon money-wise I can be sitting pretty much more quickly. I just have to carry on thinking, and strike at the right time.
Understanding?
Things carried on. For the past week, things were pretty dull. I arrived home from work every day with the same anxiety that was my life these days. Sometimes I returned to an empty house and would while away my time in a solitary fashion, usually trying to create an upbeat mood with music. I would try to enjoy songs, for me all too often the deep emotion of Noel Gallagher, the assertiveness of Eminem or the singalong rebellion of Green Day, while nursing a cup of milky coffee or something stronger. I always wanted to find a positive mood then hold onto it.
At other times, I would find the television to be dominant. Laura, on the rare occasions when she was home, might be sitting on the sofa eating nuts or crisps. Actually, I found these arrivals home more difficult, since she was showing all the signs of somebody without direction, like she had no interest in anything anymore, including us. I was pushing myself to remain unselfish, to keep the sympathy and empathy going while there was a chance of recovery but this was becoming so much the long shot, requiring much more in the way of patience than I had ever had. Affection, energy and sex were staples for me and, however much I tried, I was kidding myself if I thought I could become Mother Teresa or Gandhi. I needed more! I had always been seen by fellow university students as selfish. These days, I was biting my tongue, gritting my teeth, strenuously pushing the physical and emotional frustration out of my mind.
Of course, the big question was, could a man survive without affection or intimacy, and for how long? Laura wanted so little of the former, and none of the latter, so what was I going to do? However, I also realized there were things worth fighting for, things worth holding onto as they were necessary to our lives. Things like trust and shared experiences. Deep down, I felt I could go without some stuff for a while if it helped. I hoped Laura would do her bit too.
On this occasion, I could hear a tap running in the bathroom so, realising that I wasn’t really going to be able to relax totally downstairs, I decided to sweep up the leaves outside. The summer was over and nature was now littering the landscape. As I swept and mused about things, I watched as the familiar blue BMW entered the cul-de-sac and parked outside.
I waved to them and went into the house. I shouted up the stairs, “Babe, your parents are here.” More than ever, I wanted Laura and Lillian in the same room. I wanted to see the dynamics when they met again, especially after what Lillian had said.
There was a delay in replying before she said. “Tell them I’m busy in the bath. I’ll see them at the weekend.”
“Can’t do that. Your dad will think I’m being manipulative and controlling. No chance.”
“Shit. Don’t be a twat!” Her voice was as sharp as a steak knife, like she felt I was hurting her so she had to hurt me back.
“Just throw something on and get down here. I’ll be the hospitality for a few minutes, then you can take over.”
As they came in, Lillian led the way, furtively indicating to me that I wasn’t to mention her last visit here.
I’d figured that anyway. “Would you two like a drink?”
“Cup of tea will be nice for me,” George replied. “We’re just here to see how Laura is. Wanted to check that she was OK.”
We had been sitting in the living room for about ten minutes when Laura finally emerged, hair still wet, clothed in a black T-shirt and blue shorts. “Hi,” she said with apparent confidence, with a broad smile on her face that contradicted her earlier reaction from the bathroom, as in turn she hugged her father then her mother. I noticed that the latter kept her arms firmly at her sides. Lillian still doubted then, even if she was wrong.
“How are you, girl?” George was all smiles.
“Getting better, Dad. At least I hope so. That’s right, Dom, isn’t it?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure why. Things were pretty shit, if I’d had the guts to be honest.
“And how’s the job hunting going? Dom told us you quit the gallery.”
I watched, as Laura went on the defensive. “Jobhunting’s going ok. Not found the right job yet.”
“You don’t need me to tell you this but I’m going to say it anyway. Perhaps you should have carried on working until you found the job you wanted.”
“Oh, really? Well you’re not me, Dad.”
“Have to say, it was a bit of shock. Thought you loved that job.”
“No. Not anymore.”
Lillian wasn’t saying anything. She was just looking at Laura, tension etched on her brow, studying every reaction, probably every detail. Her scrutiny was making me uncomfortable, never mind Laura.
August made an appearance. He sprang up onto the sofa and made his way onto Laura’s knee. In front of all of us, Laura abruptly swept him onto the carpet, probably making the poor fellow feel unwanted, and in a way that I knew was the total antithesis of how she used to be. I loved August and I loved Laura, so what could I do?
Lillian looked at me, with her eyebrows raised, but only for an instant. She turned her attention back to Laura. “I have to tell you about Mrs. Kelly.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Laura, tell Dom about Mrs. Kelly.”
Laura made an evasive hand gesture. “Dom doesn’t want to know about Mrs. Kelly.”
“Of course he does. She’s funny.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk about her. The last time I spoke to her she wasn’t nice.”
“When was that?”
“About a year ago. Outside her house.”
Lillian carried on. “OK, Laura, do you know, for a moment there you reminded me of when you had that tantrum over school uniform? Do you remember?”
“Of course I do. I went mad. School uniform is pretty horrible though.”
“That’s interesting. Laura, you never had a tantrum over school uniform. What’s going on here? Mrs. Kelly died in an old people’s home last week. Her daughter told me. She’s not been anywhere near her house in eighteen months. Alzheimer’s.”
Laura scowled. “I’ve got amnesia, for fuck’s sake. I don’t remember things properly.”
“Laura!” I think George and I spoke at exactly the same time.
George reacted first. “You can’t speak to your mother like that.”
“I’m just trying to explain myself. Can’t I do that? Against the law?”
“You’re being mean. After all we’ve done for you.”
“What you’ve done for me! What I’ve done for you, you mean. Got yourself a neat little daugh
ter that you virtually stole.”
“How can you say that? How can you speak like that?” George spoke with such a pained voice, like his soul was being ripped apart by a daughter I didn’t recognise as my wife. I actually felt for this man who had been so hostile to me, justifiably, for over a year.
“Well, I can’t remember a lot of things and you’re not helping. Especially you, Mum.” She looked across to me. “Support me here, Dom.”
I could barely believe this. “What? Why don’t you just explain things without being horrible?”
“Well, fuck you too. I’m off.” With all the petulance of a teenager, behaviour I had never imagined before in this house, she grabbed her car keys and left the room, shouting as she went, “And don’t come here again unannounced like this. Fucking winding me up. I’m not having it. Stay away till I’m better.”
“Within seconds, from the silent living room, we heard screeching tyres and Laura was out of the cul de sac before George had reached for his jacket. I had never seen him looking so affected, so much so that any previous animosity on my part had dissipated, and I wasn’t sure whether his wife was puzzled, angry, miserable or a combination of all three.
Times-A-Changing
We didn’t speak again that night. I had tried to cope with the strangeness of it all and had wanted to bury my head in the pillows to find unconsciousness as soon as possible. It hadn’t worked. I was too disturbed by the evening’s events and was wide awake when Laura returned sometime in the early hours of the following morning and, with discretion being the better part of valour, I decided to let her mull over how ridiculous she had been. I pretended to be fast asleep. It was just as well that I heard her settle in the guest bedroom, so that I could mull over everything.
However, the following evening, Laura was surprisingly defiant. I was in the bath trying to relax when she walked in. She plonked herself down on the toilet seat and looked ahead at a spot somewhere above my head and below the ceiling. “I’m making a request and it’s important. I’m saying it because it’s vital if I am going to be well again. First of all, I don’t want my parents at this house again, not until my memory properly comes back. I need to recover, and they don’t help.”
