Ralph's Party

by Lisa Jewell

  Finally, the familiar rumble of the old Embassy. She watched him slowing down, looking for a parking space, not finding one – good – reversing back down the road with his chin on his shoulder and his arm over the passenger seat, into the space in one smooth movement – he’d always been a very good parker – reaching into the back seat to pull out his briefcase and a carrier bag from the off-licence, locking the door, striding up Almanac Road. Look at him, she thought, just look at him. Who the fuck does he think he is? Prick. Oh, yes, skipping up the stairs now with a bounce in his step. Cunt. She remained where she stood by the window and waited for the sound of his key in the door.

  ‘Hi.’ Bastard.

  Silence for a second and then his voice from the hallway.

  ‘Shit. What’s happened here? Shuv, where are you? Are you all right? What’s this stuff doing all over the floor? Shuv? Shuv? Shit!’ He walked into the living room and a tiny pink-glass bauble crunched under his foot. He took a step sideways and looked around the room in horror. ‘Jesus Christ, Shuv, what’s happened?’ He walked precariously towards her. ‘Are you all right?’ He reached out a hand to touch her arm. She jerked it away from her.

  ‘Get your filthy hands off me. Don’t you dare touch me!’

  He backed off. ‘Oh, Jesus, what’s happened? Who did this? Has someone hurt you?’

  Siobhan laughed bitterly. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Who? Tell me.’ He attempted to touch her again.

  ‘It’s you, you revolting piece of shit. Get off me!’

  ‘Me?’ asked Karl incredulously. ‘How?’

  ‘Yes – you! You’d love it if it was someone else, wouldn’t you? Then you could get all angry and phone the police and roam the streets seeking revenge. But there’s no one else to blame. I trashed the house and it’s your fault, you fucking bastard.’ She pushed him out of the way and stormed into the bedroom.

  ‘What are you talking about? Shuv – please – talk to me.’ He followed her through the hall and into the bedroom. ‘What’ve I done wrong?’

  Siobhan turned to face him. Her face was red with anger. She slowly lifted her head up to the ceiling and pointed above her with a finger. She put her other hand on her hip and stared at him.

  ‘What!?’ asked Karl in exasperation. What the hell was going on? This was insanity. All day long he’d been looking forward to coming home. It had been a hectic, problem-ridden day of hassle upon hassle, but at the end of the tunnel were Siobhan and Rosanne and the flat and a blissful weekend of relaxation and warmth and television and the pub. Not this. What was this?

  ‘That!’ she hissed, still pointing upwards, ‘that’s what you’ve done wrong. That trashy little tart up there. In the office at the dance club, apparently …’

  Karl’s jaw dropped and his heart began to hammer against his ribcage. This could not be happening. Not now. His mind hurtled through a million possible responses in a couple of seconds. Denial? Admittance? Tears? How the hell did she know? Had he left something lying around the flat? No. It must have been that venomous little bitch. She must have told her. Why? Why now after so long?

  ‘Are you going to say something or are you just going to stand there looking like a retard? You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? You’re not going to deny it, are you? I’d hate you even more than I already do if you did.’ She folded her arms and regarded him with icy disdain.

  Karl felt his stomach constrict and the contents swill around nauseatingly. He sat down heavily on the bed and exhaled a deep, painful breath. He had to find out how she knew.

  ‘Shuv, oh, God, I … er … who told you?’ He looked at her desperately.

  ‘You did. You told me, you stupid fucking careless bastard. Here,’ she said, turning to walk out of the room, ‘wait here.’

  Karl heard the sound of glass and vinyl crunching underfoot as Siobhan walked through the living room. He felt, like people he’d heard on talk shows and films say a thousand times before, as if his world was falling apart. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

  Siobhan returned a second later holding something small and silver in her hand: Rick’s state-of-the-art tape recorder. Karl mentally rewound and fast-forwarded through his memories until he found what he was looking for. That night at the chapel, when Siobhan and Rick had gone outside, he and Tamsin. He heard Rick’s voice in his head, word for word: This thing’s brilliant, it tapes for six hours.’ Siobhan rewound the tape a little and pressed Play – it was Tamsin’s voice, shrill with bitterness and alcohol: ‘you think no one knew about you and Cheri in the office at the dance club? Did you think we were all stupid?! Cheri told me all about it. All the sordid details. She told me about the abortion, too – your baby that she had to get rid of …’ He screwed his eyes closed. How stupid. Oh, God, how painfully stupid.

  ‘OΚ, so now you know,’ said Siobhan, waving the gadget at him. ‘You fucking bastard.’ She threw it on to the bed beside him. ‘I want you to go, Karl. I want you to pack a bag, right now, this instant, and leave. I’m going to my mother’s tomorrow. You can come and move back in then. I can’t live under this roof any more, I can’t share a roof with that whore. I don’t want to talk about this and I don’t ever, ever want to set eyes on you again.’ She choked on her tears as she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Karl sat numbly on the edge of the bed for a minute. This could not possibly be happening. His stomach churned and his head ached with tears that he was too shocked to set loose. This could not be happening. But it was happening. This was real. This was horribly, horribly real. He had to stop it!

  He leapt to his feet and strode into the living room. Siobhan was sitting on the sofa, their new sofa, staring into space, Rosanne lying uncertainly across her lap, her eyes darting awkwardly around the room. Karl got down on to his knees and began to collect small shards of coloured glass and black vinyl.

  ‘Leave it, Karl!’

  ‘It’s dangerous,’ he whispered. ‘Rosanne might hurt her paws.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Siobhan snapped, ‘after you’ve gone. Talking of which – can you please leave.’ She wouldn’t look at him.

  ‘Siobhan – please – can’t we talk about this …?’

  ‘Why on earth would I want to talk about this?! Listen to your excuses. Hear all the sordid details. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic! Nothing means anything any more. Just go!’

  ‘Oh, God, Siobhan! No! Please! Please don’t do this! I love you. I need you. I …’

  ‘Oh, stop it, for God’s sake, stop it – you sound pathetic! Look, Karl, I mean it. I want you to go. I don’t want to talk about it!’

  Karl’s face crumpled and he began to cry.

  ‘Shuv – no!’ He dragged himself on his knees to her feet and wrapped his arms around her legs, his whole body quaking with silent sobs. ‘No … no! I won’t go … it was nothing, it was a mistake, it was crap, rubbish, I was stupid, I was weak. It was … all a huge mistake. I’m so sorry, so sorry …’

  The sight of Karl prostrate at her feet, crying, opened Siobhan up. It broke through the cold hard shell she’d been determined to wear, and she started to cry too. ‘I trusted you. I always trusted you. I asked you about her, remember, in Scotland? And you made me feel like a silly little girl. How could you?! I was honest with you, about Rick. Why couldn’t you be honest with me too? That’s what really hurts. The lies. The dirty, ugly, stinking lies. You made a mistake. I made a mistake. Why couldn’t you admit it? And why, Karl – why did you do it? Because I was fat, that’s why! “Oh, no, Shuv, you’re beautiful, I love you whatever size you are.” Bollocks! You lied to me! You must have thought I was so fucking stupid. I hate you, Karl, I hate you so much!’ Tears flowed down her face and her shoulders heaved up and down. Karl gripped her legs even tighter and cried even harder.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! Oh, God – what have I done?’

  ‘Ruined everything, that’s what you�
�ve done, you stupid cunt.’ The unfamiliar word felt like poison spilling from her lips. ‘Ruined absolutely everything.’

  For a few moments they sat stock-still, Karl still wrapped around Siobhan’s legs, crying so deeply and painfully that neither of them could talk. Rosanne looked from one of them to the other, her dark eyes full of concern and confusion. She whimpered quietly and snuffled at the top of Karl’s head. Karl raised his head and looked up at her. He kissed the top of her head. He caught Siobhan’s eye, the first eye contact they’d had since he’d got home. He knew what to do. His face brightened slightly. He took Siobhan’s hand.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be ruined, Shuv. We can work on it. We’re strong enough. We can get through this. Other couples couldn’t. We’re not like other couples. We’re special, we can get through this. I’ll do anything it takes – anything. I’ll move out for a while if that’s what you want. But please, let’s fight for it. We can’t give up on this because of something so … so … stupid. If we gave up it would be the most tragic thing imaginable, we’d regret it for ever – please.’ He squeezed her hand tightly and looked up at her pleadingly. ‘Imagine it, Shuv. Us, not being together. Me, on my own here. You, somewhere else. Not together. Imagine what it would really be like. Imagine it. We can’t do it, we can’t let that happen to us – can we?’

  Siobhan looked down at him in her lap. She couldn’t imagine it. It filled her with dread and pain. But she couldn’t imagine making it work again either. She didn’t trust him any more. He’d had sex with their neighbour, impregnated her, he’d lied to her, he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, the honest George Washington, incapable of telling a lie. How many other lies had there been? She would become an insecure wreck, worrying constantly when he was out of her sight, like one of those women she’d always pitied. She’d go through his jacket pockets, interrogate him about his activities, sniff the air for perfume when he came in from work, steam open suspicious-looking mail, eavesdrop on his telephone conversations, look for his love, his attention, all the time. She didn’t want to become like that. She couldn’t live with someone she didn’t trust. She’d rather be alone for the rest of her life. She looked away from Karl’s intense gaze and withdrew her hand from his. Every muscle in his body was taut with anticipation. She shook her head sadly.

  ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘it’s too late. It’s over.’

  Karl wailed. ‘No! Please, God, no! Don’t say that. It’s not over, it’ll never be over. We’re soul mates. We have to be together, Siobhan, we just have to!’

  She pushed him gently off her lap and stood up heavily.

  ‘I don’t trust you any more, Karl. I can’t live with someone I don’t trust. Now, please, I beg of you, pack a bag and go. If you really care about me you’ll go. Please!’

  Very slowly, Karl got to his feet. Tomorrow,’ he sighed, ‘I’ll go tomorrow.’ Siobhan shook her head again. He walked numbly to the bedroom while Siobhan waited in the living room, listening to the desolate sounds of cupboard doors opening and shutting, drawers being slid back and forth, the zipper being pulled open around the circumference of Karl’s suitcase, and then pulled shut again. The saddest sounds she’d ever heard in her life. Her tears ran silently.

  Karl stood slackly in the doorway, weighed down by his suitcase and his misery. Siobhan wanted to ask him where he was going but didn’t let herself. That would be too caring, too personal, too … ordinary. She saw him for a second, as he’d looked skipping up the front steps just half an hour before, light-footed, ready for the weekend. In another world they’d be eating now, watching a video, drinking a bottle of wine, curled up together on the sofa, bathed in garish, twinkling reflections from the fairy lights on the Christmas tree they’d put up the weekend before. They’d discuss his show like they did every evening and Siobhan would tell him how the wedding plans were progressing. One of them would take Rosanne out for a walk and then they’d go to bed together, cuddle up in each other’s arms for a while to get warm and fall asleep.

  But this was a different world, a world in which she’d been bored in the afternoon and had found that little tape recorder of Rick’s. She’d switched it on and enjoyed listening to it, laughing out loud to herself. Because she was cooking she hadn’t switched it off at the end, she left it playing. And then everything had gone psychedelic. She’d thought it was a joke at first, Tamsin and Karl messing around together, so she’d rewound it and played it again. And then she was sick, physically sick, shivering and gasping and heaving over the toilet bowl. She’d splashed her face with cold water and the shock woke up the anger in her and she’d gone insane for quarter of an hour, destroying their home. This was the world she was in now. This was reality, Karl standing in the doorway with a suitcase about to leave home. The tears kept coming.

  ‘I’ll phone you later,’ he said quietly.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. Don’t phone me.’

  ‘I’ll phone you later,’ he repeated. Rosanne jumped off the sofa and walked up to Karl. He crouched to hug her, muttering tear-stained farewells into her soft ears, and then he stood up, looked at Siobhan and walked out of the front door. The slam echoed around the barren flat.

  Siobhan walked slowly to the window and watched him unlock the boot of the little black car, swing the suitcase in and then manoeuvre himself into the front seat before starting the engine and driving away.

  As his car passed the window he slowed down and looked up at the flat. Their eyes met for less than a second and a look of unbearable intense pain passed between them. The Embassy made a small, bloodcurdling screech before disappearing from view and out of Almanac Road.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Ralph checked the clock on the bare white walls of his studio for the hundredth time that hour. It was 5.18. Time to go, nearly. Well, if he took his time, dawdled a bit, he could probably leave now. It wouldn’t matter if he got to Bayswater a bit early; it was a nice evening, he could wait outside the station. And that way, if Jem got there early, too, they’d have longer together.

  He switched off the little radio, put it in his rucksack, picked up his jumper and coat from the chair by the blow-heater where he’d been warming them up, threw them on hastily, turned off the light and locked the doors behind him.

  The concrete corridor was cold and filled with the clackety-clack of interlock machines from the dressmaker’s studio next to his and muted drum ‘n’ bass coming from her CD player. He took the steps two at a time out into the dark courtyard, past Murray, the permanently stoned security guard, and into the bleak, traffic-infested thoroughfare of Cable Street.

  Another wasted day. Another totally wasted day. He hadn’t even picked up a brush. He’d spent the first hour pacing the studio, getting up the nerve to go to the payphone down the corridor and phone Jem. And then, when he’d finally done it, he’d spent the rest of the day pacing the studio in anticipation, watching the minutes die slowly on the studio clock, his stomach clenched tight in a knot of excitement, fear and dread. Shit. He didn’t know what the hell to do, how to handle it. His loyalties were split asunder.

  Smith, you arsehole, you stupid, stupid fucker. Why did you have to tell me? And that was the irony of the whole situation. Smith had told Ralph because Ralph was Smith’s best friend – who else was he going to tell? And since Jem had moved in, that was something that Ralph had almost forgotten. For the last three months he hadn’t seen Smith as his mate any more, his best buddy. He was his rival, his opponent. He was the person who was getting in the way of his dreams and his destiny, the person who stood between him and happiness. Ralph had forgotten, forgotten that, first and foremost, before Jem, before nearly everything else, Smith was his best friend. He’d felt bad about it – but not as bad as he’d felt about Smith’s pathetic little outburst of childish excitement when he had got back from his team-building weekend the night before.

  Smith had been edgy from the moment he’d got back to the flat on Sunday night, overanimated, overblown, loud and
irritating, going on and on about his weekend. Jem had gone to have a bath. Smith had waited until he heard the bathroom door bang shut and then leant towards Ralph conspiratorially.

  ‘It’s happened!’ he’d said, his face almost splitting at the seams with delight and excitement.

  What’s happened?’

  ‘Finally, finally!’ continued Smith, oblivious to Ralph’s lack of comprehension, ‘I knew it. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you!’ He punched Ralph playfully on the thigh and grinned at him like the Cheshire Cat.

  ‘Spit it out, Smith, for Christ’s sake. What the hell are you going on about?’

  ‘Cheri, of course! Cheri!’ He was rocking back and forth. ‘Ma Cheri amour! Ha!’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, Ralph, my friend. My patience has paid off. It is, as they say, in the bag. Tonight I bumped into the glorious Ms Dixon outside Sloane Square Tube station. Uh-huh! We shared the bus stop for a while and we just chatted … like you do.’ He raised his eyebrows mock-nonchalantly and then broke back into a ludicrous smile. ‘Can you believe it? Me and Cheri. Just chatting! I didn’t stutter, stammer, grimace, drop anything, break anything, sweat or trip over. We … just … chatted. Ha! And she is only about three hundred and eighty-five times more beautiful when you’re talking to her than when you just glimpse her in passing. God! It was amazing. Anyway, we waited ages for a bus, just chatting, as I said, and then I suggested we go for a quick drink at Oriel to warm up and then maybe get a cab a bit later. Cool, or what?! So we did. I asked her what she wanted and she ordered a bottle of wine. A whole bottle! So I knew she wasn’t just being polite – she’d have ordered a tomato juice or something then, wouldn’t she? And she is just unbelievably nice, you know – really, she is. I know you think she’s a snooty cow but she isn’t at all. Oh, Jesus, Ralph. She is beautiful. She is so beautiful. I have never seen skin like that in my life. And her hands are perfection and her hair is like … like …’