by Nina Manning
I could write that in in the comments if I wanted to, but I had been put off responding after the cryptic message I received from Lucy.
I looked at Mrs Clean’s Instagram stories: one was a boomerang of her watering her plants, another one was the cat walking past her perfectly manicured foot as she sat in the garden.
I could have imagined her living alone had I not seen that toddler boot. Had I really seen it? But, of course, there was no other evidence of any child in any of her photos. And now I would never be able to see the image again as it had gone for good.
I put my phone down and found that half an hour had passed since I had taken my materials out of the drawer and become distracted. But it was a good distraction.
I placed my phone down on the desk and decided I would focus fully on the work I had come here to do.
Before long, I had fully immersed myself in the fabrics. I enjoyed working with the glue and the sewing machine, adding piece by piece to the coat that would be a statement artistic piece, not really something practical and wearable. But it would play its part in the whole exhibit, which would focus around my autumn theme.
Time passed in a haze of reds and yellows and oranges, with the sound of the sewing machine buzzing gently and lulling me into a meditative state.
Eventually, I looked up at the time. I needed to use the toilet. It was almost nine. I had about an hour left to use the room. I downed tools and hopped off the stool and headed off down the corridor to the closest ladies’ toilet, which was at the very end. The sole of my Doc Martens were squeaking against the lino floor with every step; it started to form a little beat in my head, and so I went out of my way to move my foot outwards slightly as it landed to make it squeak even more. As I did this, I was sure I could hear another squeak on the off-beat. I looked around quickly, but the corridor was clear. There were bound to be cleaners doing their rounds, but I had yet to see one. The door to the toilet made a loud screeching noise that I would never have noticed during a busy college day, but now made me flinch at the sound. A small stirring within me drove me to lock and unlock the cubicle door six times. Then I used the toilet and when I came out I stood at the mirror, looked down and washed my hands. I looked back up and for a second I saw movement from the corner of the mirror. I looked behind me to my right. There was nothing there. It was late. And I was starting to feel weary from the concentration.
I dried my hands with a paper towel. I walked back along the corridor and back to the art room, only to find the door locked and the room in darkness.
‘Goddamn it.’ I patted my pocket, but I already knew I had left my phone in there.
I started to feel the panic rising inside.
‘You are okay. The room has only just been locked – you are going to be okay. Nothing terrible is going to happen,’ I said aloud to myself. The build of panic at something so silly was so strange and sudden. But I was overwhelmed with the thought of feeling out of control, not being able to call anyone, or have my purse to get the train home. I was literally stuck.
Then I remembered, Will had told me where his room was located in the college, should I ever get lost. I made my way back to the main reception and main hall where he said his classroom was situated. But it was so late, there was no way he would be there.
I popped my head around the door whilst giving it a little knock, and I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard Will’s voice.
‘Yeah?’ He looked up and saw me. ‘Regi!’ He jumped up out of his seat from behind his desk and was at the door greeting me.
‘Have you been staying late to start your piece? How’s it going?’
‘Well, it was going, but I popped to the loo and the bloody cleaners seem to have locked the door, locking all my stuff inside.’
‘What? Surely not, they know they have to leave all the rooms unlocked until last thing, someone was obviously trying to get ahead of themselves. Come on, I can help you.’
‘What, but no, you’re busy.’
‘No, not busy as such. It’s just quieter here than… than where I live.’
I was intrigued by Will’s hesitation. What was it that he wasn’t telling me?
‘Follow me.’ We left the classroom and headed to the main reception. Will jumped over the desk and crouched down and unlocked a cupboard to the left.
‘All the keys to the art rooms are kept here.’ His voice was muffled and strained. ‘It was Textiles 1 you were in, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’ I was slightly unnerved.
‘I only say that because it should be the only one they keep open – I wasn’t stalking you or anything.’ He turned and jumped back over the counter, clutching a key with a flat rectangular wooden key ring. ‘There we are.’
‘Great, thank you.’ I felt relief pour through me.
We walked the few minutes back to the art room and I began to make small talk. Now the anxiety had lifted, my body tuned in to the nerves I felt at being alone in the school with Will at such an hour.
‘Your hair.’ I touched my own hair to demonstrate where hair was as though perhaps he wouldn’t know. ‘It’s different.’
Will tugged at the small amount of length that was left. ‘Oh yeah, I had my ears lowered.’
I smiled at the expression, which never failed to amuse me no matter how many times I had heard it.
‘Suits you.’
‘Er, well, I couldn’t get my usual barber and this one got a bit trigger happy with the old scissors, if you know what I mean. If I hadn’t been on the ball, he would have chopped my whole bleeding barnet off. I like it a bit longer, you see.’
‘I see,’ I said as I turned to look at some of the displays along the corridor walls.
‘Right, here we are,’ he said as we arrived at the door. He put the key in the lock. ‘Let’s hope this works…’ He gave the key a quick fiddle and it opened.
‘Thank you so much.’
Will turned the light on and I walked into the room to find all my things as they were.
Then he was behind me, looking at the scrapbook I had open on the bench.
‘Looking good. Work-in-progress, obviously, so I won’t ask too many questions.’
‘No, it’s fine. I have it all pretty much mapped out now. But I don’t suppose there’s much point carrying on today. I was only going to stay another hour and I’ve kind of lost my flow now.’
‘Right, well, then, I mean, you can say no if you like, seeing as you’ve turned me down a couple of times now, but that offer for a drink is still open and, well, I’m pretty free now.’
I looked at Will’s face, taut with anticipation.
‘Okay then,’ I said.
We found seats in the bar that Will had told me about. It was not full of students and there was a certain chic to it, which I liked. I would almost go as far as to say that I felt comfortable. Will brought us both a bottle of pear cider with ice and I gulped mine as though it were a soft drink, realising I was thirsty.
‘So what is it that is keeping you here so late then?’ The alcohol loosened my tongue almost immediately.
Will cleared his throat and looked down. ‘It’s a bit complicated.’
‘Okay,’ I said and looked around to get a feel for my surroundings.
‘Actually, no, that’s bullshit, it’s not complicated. I just said that because, well, I feel awkward talking about it, which is not the same thing at all, and you asked me, so the straight-up answer is I am going through a divorce and my wife is still in the house at the moment. We’ve been living in limbo like this for about six months now. There has been a delay at her end, so we’ve sort of been stuck with each other.’
‘Okay, well that’s a bit awkward and annoying, I guess.’ I felt both shocked and weirdly relieved to hear that Will was going through a divorce.
‘So I sometimes hang on longer at school to catch up on my work, work through the holidays, you know time I would normally be spending with my wife.’
I nodded.
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‘Although to be honest, I made a specific effort to stay behind tonight because I knew you said you would be taking advantage of the extended classroom opening times, and so I purposely hung around a little longer. I had every intention of popping down to see you, and then, there you were.’
I felt a swell of something inside and I tried to conceal the smile, but it escaped, and I felt my face light up.
‘And I managed not only to see you but to finally blag you to come out for a drink with me.’ He smiled on one side of his mouth, his eyes sparkled.
‘Yes, you did.’ I laughed.
I finished the cider and Will headed off to the bar and returned with two more. We chatted about my project and I found myself opening up to him about the work I was doing and the inspiration behind it, and we also talked a little about my living arrangements and how I was beginning to notice the age difference between me and my house mates. I could feel an energy building between us as we occasionally spoke over one another, both keen to keep the conversation going.
I looked at my phone at 10.45 p.m. I had missed the last train home.
‘Any chance of a lift?’ I asked.
‘Thank you for having that drink with me, Regi. I had a nice time getting to know you a bit,’ Will said in the car as we pulled up outside the house, and my mind was thrown back to dates that ended with boys in cars and those electric moments seated next to one another, not knowing if the other would turn and try to kiss you. I opened the door and quickly stepped out.
‘Thanks, I’ll see you soon.’ I gave him a small wave.
As Will drove off, the feeling of what could have happened in the car lingered with me. It was nostalgic; there was nothing like the sensation of a new relationship blossoming, and that was the part I would always remember the most.
23
Then
The bruises from the last beating faded, but I knew they would be replaced with new ones soon enough. I had to up my game. I had to get smarter, find a way of doing it all. Plenty of mums managed to raise a baby and keep a house. But our house was bigger than any house I had lived in before, and although I hated to admit it, it was too much for me.
I had tried to make it my own in the small ways I could, but it was rare that I was in town and could meander the shops. I had to plan so far in advance and even then, D was so controlling, never allowing me to spend more than an hour out as he waited impatiently in the car, texting me every ten minutes asking me how much longer I was going to be. I ordered a lot of stuff online. Boxes and packages would arrive and were my only comfort and delivery drivers my only company as D’s trips away grew increasingly longer. He had begun to travel for his work, and he was earning a lot more money. I didn’t know how much and I was never given access to any accounts, just one debit card to order food and essentials with or occasionally a small pile of cash would appear on the kitchen surface the morning he left on his latest trip. There was a temptation to stuff it all under a mattress so I could take me and Baby Boy away somewhere one day. But I allowed those thoughts to evaporate when I imagined what would happen when he found me. And he would find me.
Although D was absent for much of the time, when he returned he would flip between needing me and wanting to knock me into the middle of next week.
I felt as though I was just bumbling through each day, trying to make the best of what was around me. I guessed that I was strong because that was what strong women did, didn’t they? They could manage to stay in a relationship where they weren’t always treated fairly and equally. That too I had learned from films, as well as watching my own mother put up with more than her fair share of abuse. For all the time my dad was there and I witnessed the endless fights and boxing matches, she would pick herself up, slap on the make-up and get on with her day. It was only after he left that she started to fall apart. It was as though the energy that he brought into the house, as negative as it was, was the only thing that fuelled her and gave her the courage to carry on.
Baby Boy, who was now three months old, smiling and gurgling and trying to roll over, gave me my courage. He was too young still to see the abuse, and I told myself that by the time he was old enough to understand, things would have calmed down. D and I would fall into a calmer existence. I knew he had it in him. I just had to help draw it out of him.
I wasn’t to know that what I really should have been doing was looking at the future without him. If I had the foresight to know that things rarely got better, that they only got worse, then I would have told myself to run, take Baby Boy and go far away. Find someone somewhere, a refuge, anything where we would be safe.
The beginning of the end was when D brought home the other guy. At the time I had no idea who he was or what he did, but very soon I would come to know how he would change my life forever.
‘This is my new business partner, babe, Fabrice.’ D looked pleased with himself.
Fabrice was a stocky man, about fifty, with a Mediterranean look about him. I could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on him. He was wearing a dark-brown coat that was too heavy for the time of year, and his balding head twinkled with beads of sweat. Fabrice walked boldly over to the crib and picked up my sleeping baby. Then he cooed and stroked his cheek until Baby Boy began to stir. I stood rigid, frozen to the spot, unable to put into words what I was feeling, and even if I could articulate it, I knew it was best for everyone, especially me and Baby Boy, if I stayed silent.
‘Ain’t he a natural?’ D said as he squeezed my arm, the pressure as always was too firm.
I flashed a smile that felt more painful than the arm squeeze. ‘He is.’ I pressed my other arm against my body, I felt the tingle in my fingertips, my heart pounded. I wondered if both men could hear it. I knew they could sense it, that they could smell my fear. I had learnt that people like them fed off it.
I wanted to ask Fabrice if he had experience with children; if he was a father himself. Perhaps then he would give me some sort of clue as to who he was and what sort of role he was about to play in my life, as he was giving nothing away. Maybe I should have said something, asserted myself. But I stayed silent until finally Fabrice walked towards me, his eyes half closed as though he were stoned.
‘I think someone’s ready for a feed.’ His top lip glistened with sweat as he approached me, his large hands held my son, one around his head, the other cupped under his bottom, as though he were offering him to me for a baptism. I looked him in the eyes, making sure I wasn’t reading the situation wrong, then I slowly reached out my hands, took Baby Boy and pulled him close to my chest. Immediately he began rooting, even though he had only been fed an hour ago.
‘Ah, yes, I thought as much,’ he said with a crooked smile, revealing two gold teeth on the right. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’
D gave Fabrice a friendly slap on the arm. ‘Let’s go and talk business then.’
They disappeared outside, taking a bottle of whisky with them.
Baby Boy had a quick comfort feed and went straight back off, but I did not dare lay him back in his crib. I didn’t want Fabrice picking him up again. I held on to him and even used the toilet with him still in my arms.
I kept hold of Baby Boy, I kept him on me for the rest of day and all night, listening to the whoops and laughs coming from the garden. I clutched the baby to my breast where he stayed content and happy until I heard Fabrice stumble out of the house towards the sounds of the chugging engine of a waiting taxi.
I clutched my baby son tightly to my chest. Still so young, being on me was where he was happiest, but that day we bonded more than ever. Which was what made it so much harder when I finally had to let him go.
Instagram post: 14th May 2019
I feel happy tonight, guys, so I’m having a cold glass of bubbly in the back garden. I bought these glasses from Oliver Bonas about three years ago. I couldn’t resist how beautiful they looked with the gorgeous gold design. And who doesn’t love a bowl-shaped champagne glass – they are so retro, I feel as thoug
h I am in the 1920s. I am teaming up with Oliver Bonas when I decorate the spare bedroom. I just love the retro feel of their products and the colours are going to look so great against the grey and white background in the bedroom. Once I begin, I will post a before shot and have you guys help me out making all the choices for which key pieces to use in there. It’s going to be such great fun and I can’t wait to get started. Until then, chin-chin, and have a great evening.
Mrs C x
#champers #champagne #oliverbonas #mrsclean
178,223 likes
parfait91 Aww enjoy your day.
lucybest65 Bit sad drinking on your own. Where’s your family? Any friends?
happyhev I would be quite happy for everyone to leave me alone. Especially mardy trolls like you @lucybest65.
jerico88 Have a great day, you deserve it.
plainjane00 What gorgeous glasses, I need to get some of those right now.
lucybest65 Hello, is no one listening, this woman is weird? There’s something not right…
alanheeks_1 There’s something not right with you, love, @lucybest65. She just said she’s happy – give the girl a sodding break.
24
Now
I was starting to wonder if Karen was right and that maybe I needed to think about some more therapy. I had felt as though I was turning a corner, having some sort of awakening. But now all these emotions and feelings were igniting inside of me, anger, frustration, contentment, like old friends crawling out of the woodwork. Could I trust them after so long? I had been sleepwalking through life, and if these feelings were resurfacing, then I needed to make sure I was fully equipped. I would never forget. I would always live with the regret, the guilt, but maybe the fear could be replaced. Maybe I needed a little more help. Just a final push to get me there. Which was why I picked up the phone the following morning after my impromptu drink with Will and heard the soothing tones of my psychologist’s voice on his recorded answerphone. I left a message, knowing he was always busy in the morning with his clients, but confident he would call back promptly.
