The House Mate

by Nina Manning

  ‘Right,’ I said and I went to the door. Don’t do it, I heard the words from my past. But I would do it anyway, to be on the safe side because the uncertainty of not knowing who was behind the door had made my mouth go dry, so I unlocked and locked six times before I opened the door and found myself face to face with Will. I must have exhibited a myriad of expressions as I tried to fathom why he was here before 9 a.m. on a Sunday. I knew I must have looked like hell on a stick and that, oh my God, I lifted my hands and saw I was still wearing the Marigolds. Will began to laugh. I realised how much I had missed that laugh and that smile. It had been over a week since I had last seen him.

  ‘Very fetching. Have I caught you at a bad time? You didn’t have your hand down the loo or anything?’

  I laughed, despite myself.

  ‘No, not quite that rank, just giving the fridge a once over.’

  Will sucked in his breath. ‘Well, as riveting as that is, I wondered if I could drag you away to join me for a coffee at the new artisan place in town. I was headed there myself – they do great coffees and pancakes, so I’m told.’

  ‘New artisan place? I haven’t heard of it.’

  ‘Trust me, it’s real. I wouldn’t make it up just to pull you into the streets this early on a Sunday morning.’

  I heard a scuff on the floorboards behind me and I threw a glance over my shoulder. Mini was standing wide-eyed with a wry smile in duck-egg-blue cotton pyjamas, her hair tousled up on her head.

  ‘Hello,’ she said in her most angelic voice.

  ‘Oh, hi there, I’m Will.’ Will gave a quick wave. ‘Sorry to disturb so early.’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said unable to stifle the giggle that came out as she scooted off towards the kitchen to gossip about me to Karen, no doubt. But Karen would be in no mood for gossiping about men.

  I looked around awkwardly to make sure no other house mates were loitering where they shouldn’t be.

  ‘I just need to, um, freshen up. I’ll be five minutes, do you want to…’ I gestured towards the house.

  ‘No, no,’ Will said firmly. ‘I’ll wait out here, I’m enjoying the fresh air.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around enthusiastically.

  I widened my eyes and gave a small smile.

  ‘Okay, great. Gimme five.’ I closed the door and immediately ripped off the Marigolds. What must Will have thought of me in them?

  I raced up the stairs, dropping the Marigolds on the way. I knew I would need to perform the full repertoire of behaviours after the shock of Will turning up unannounced. I brushed my teeth, counting to thirty-four even though I was sure I had done them already.

  The bedsheets hadn’t been stripped, so I ripped off the day-old sheets and threw them in the corner. I swapped my T-shirt and leggings I had put on this morning to have a good cleaning session in for light-blue skinny jeans and a baggy white T-shirt. I sprayed on some deodorant, ran a brush through my hair, rubbed some tinted moisturiser into my face and applied a little lip gloss. Will said there was a chill to the air, so I pulled on a grey chunky cardigan. I took a deep breath. There were a few pound coins on the bedside table, so I quickly lined them up, then closed and locked the door to my room six times before letting myself out. It was the most behaviours I had ever performed in such a short space of time, and I felt full with satisfaction. Nothing bad could possibly happen now.

  Once downstairs, I tried to bring my heart rate down as I took slow breaths. I had already gone over the promised five minutes. I opened the door and saw Will leaning casually on next door’s front wall, his hands in his pockets. I stole a look towards the top-floor window and saw the flicker of a blind.

  ‘Come on,’ I said as I began walking at speed.

  ‘You look fab.’ He stood up, leaving his hands in his pockets as he fell into stride next to me. ‘Blimey, someone’s keen.’

  The café was already starting to fill up, even though it was only nine thirty. Early-morning dog walkers and parents with tiny babies strapped to them and toddlers in tow. It wasn’t the ideal place with so much going on, and I felt my mouth go dry as I looked around at the amount of small children I was suddenly forced to share the vicinity with. But I did what I usually did and began to phase their chatter out. It was a finely tuned process, but with a little perseverance and concentration, I eventually succeeded. I began by making conversation with Will, asking him about his weekend so far, how he found out about this place, what his favourite brunch dish was until, finally, the sounds of the children were a murmur in the background.

  When our coffees arrived, along with our pancakes, I sat back and sipped it gratefully.

  ‘Sorry for throwing your morning into disarray by turning up at such an ungodly hour.’

  ‘You’re forgiven. This place is lovely.’ I looked around at the décor of copper and distressed wood.

  ‘I think so. How’s your coffee?’ Will asked as I took another sip of my decaf with coconut milk latte. I didn’t feel confident to relay my preferred coffee style to Will just yet so I threw caution to the wind and ordered one from the menu. It had felt liberating.

  ‘Delicious,’ I said, feeling a sense of betrayal towards my local café. But now Heather had left, I really had no reason to visit there any more. Maybe this could become my local haunt? Maybe, just maybe, I could meet Will here from time to time. I knew he lived fairly close by.

  We ate our pancakes in almost silence, occasionally making an appreciative noise. I surprised myself at how comfortable I felt eating next to him.

  Will put his knife and fork next to one another in a neat line, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  ‘Fabulous. I’m officially a regular.’

  ‘It was great,’ I agreed.

  Will cleared his throat, looked down at his lap and then up at me. Immediately, I sensed a question forming on his lips.

  ‘Regi.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, and tell me to mind my own if you like, but I wanted to ask… I say ask… I had rather hoped you might share with me, any problems you are having at the moment, or maybe whatever it is that you are running away from. You see’ – he edged himself forwards in his chair – ‘I like you. Very much. But I can see there’s pain in your eyes. And I don’t mean this to sound wanky, so please receive it as sincerely as I mean it.’

  I looked at Will for a moment, then tore my gaze away. My eyes prickled with tears, but I would not allow myself to cry. Even though I wanted to weep, knowing that he had truly seen me for who I was and he still wanted to date me.

  ‘I mean, listen, you don’t need to tell me anything today. I think what I am trying to say is that I would like to try, at least, to get closer to you, and I believe from past experiences – one that I am still dealing with, in fact, but which I hope will be wrapped up very soon – it’s best if two people, who seem to share an avid interest in… coffee and pancakes’ – he gestured to the table – ‘and who might like to get coffee and pancakes again, maybe one day might like to only get coffee and pancakes with one another and no one else.’

  I couldn’t help but break into a small smile at that.

  ‘What I want to say is, I want you to know that if you like me as much as I like you, then, when you are ready, you can talk to me about anything you like. There are no judgements here.’ He held his hands up in surrender.

  I looked down at my feet as I felt the emotional tears burning my nose and throat.

  ‘I’m here. Just… I want you to know that I’m not just looking for an easy catch, which, by the way, you most certainly are not. The next stop for me is forever.’

  I looked up and my smile morphed into a laugh.

  ‘God, did I just say that?’ Will put his hand on his forehead.

  ‘You did.’

  ‘Oh hell, I just stepped over the line into official wankiness, didn’t I? I think I need to call Richard Curtis. I think I just nailed a line for his next blockbuster. My God, I’m so cheesy.’

 
‘I don’t mind a bit of cheese.’ I sniffed out a small laugh. It was probably what I needed more than I knew.

  ‘Good, cos I have been known to dish it out on occasion. Only when it’s necessary, mind.’

  ‘Like just then.’

  ‘Like just then.’

  I sniffed out another nervous laugh and cleared my throat. ‘Right, I think it’s time to walk off those pancakes.’

  That night in my room, I opened the window with the intention of only leaving it open a fraction all night. I stood and waited. I waited for the racing heart, the dry mouth and sweaty palms. Something that would urge me to feed the beast with repetitive locking and unlocking. But I lay down in my clean sheets and allowed a small breeze to come in through the window and wash over me.

  When I woke early at around five the following morning to the lively chatter of birdsong. I looked to see the window was still open. I smiled to myself and fell back to sleep and dreamt of Will calling me by my real name.

  26

  Then

  Just before Baby Boy turned six months old, I reminded D we hadn’t yet registered his birth. He spat out an insult, ripped a sheet of paper from a notebook and wrote a name on it. He shoved the paper in my face, and when I didn’t reach to grab it, it dropped onto the floor. I looked down at the paper and saw a first and middle name and D’s surname.

  ‘That is my son’s name,’ he called as he walked away.

  After that D didn’t once refer to him by his name and I continued to call him Baby Boy.

  When Baby Boy was eight months old, D came home from work or wherever he had been one afternoon, and came through the door, followed sheepishly by a petite woman with a mousy-brown sleek bob.

  ‘This is Olga – she is here to help you out, babes.’ D waved his introduction and began rooting through the fridge for a beer.

  I looked at the small woman with a lost expression in her eyes, then I looked at D with confusion.

  ‘What do you mean, help me out?’ Baby Boy was sitting right up on my hip, clutching on to my T-shirt, occasionally rooting for the boob. D looked on, a frustrated expression flashed across his face. He had not got used to having to share me with the baby, and I knew he was expecting me to give up breastfeeding him very soon. But I had no intentions of giving up; feeding my son was the only control I had.

  ‘Well, you’re my girl, that’s my baby, and this is our house. I want you both to be happy and not worry about anything except making yourself look pretty and keeping the baby alive. No more cleaning for you.’ He winked. An act I hadn’t seen him do since we first started dating. I looked at Olga. She shifted uncomfortably. I wondered if she already knew his behaviour was all an act.

  ‘So what am I expected to do with myself all day?’ I could hear the agitation rising in my voice as I looked at this Olga woman that had arrived in our house. I was grateful for the help, but to just bring an actual person into our lives without discussing it with me first was disturbing to say the least. What was more disturbing was that Olga’s repugnance at being here was palpable.

  ‘And where will Olga be living?’

  D approached me. Olga physically shrank backwards.

  I knew D was daring me to push him a little further. I knew what was in store for me if I did, but something uncontrollable within me spurred me on anyway.

  ‘Olga will be staying with us. In the spare room.’ D’s voice was high and stretched. He knew I was testing him, and he didn’t like to be challenged. But I wasn’t sure how he would react with another woman in the house. Something urged me on.

  ‘And would you like me to organise Olga’s room or will she be doing that herself?’

  By this point D was almost at my face, so close I could smell his skin, which reeked of stale alcohol.

  ‘I think it might be nice if we do that for her seeing as she is our guest.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘We?’ I said it so fast I hadn’t realised it had fallen out of my mouth, but knowing it would be me who sorted the room while D drank himself to sleep with a bottle of whisky, I couldn’t help myself. Quick as a flash Baby Boy was ripped from my arms and thrown at Olga who barely had a second to think about what had happened but who managed to catch him by the arm and pulled him, red-faced and wailing, into her chest. I didn’t have time to thank her as I was dragged into the bedroom with only Olga’s shocked and worried face in my mind’s eye and the screams of my baby ringing in my ears.

  27

  Now

  A mere few hours later, I woke to the sound of screaming. I had been dreaming again. I was stuck between sleep and wakefulness, and the sounds of crying were ringing in my ears. I started to grab around me, to pull him close to me, but I woke to empty, flailing arms. I looked up and saw the window had been left ajar. For a second, I panicked; how had that happened? Then I remembered. I had left it open after the serene sense of calm that had followed my date with Will.

  But now the open window that brought me so much joy last night and only a few hours ago at 5 a.m., plagued me. The sounds of the child had entered my dreams and made me wake with a pain in my chest and a gut so tight it hurt. I jumped out of bed and opened the window a little further just to look out. The birds were still tweeting their morning chorus; the sun was already warm and it was going to be a lovely day. But the beautiful morning was marred; I could hear the now muffled cries of the little boy next door. I couldn’t bear it any longer. It was pure torture. I was going to have to deal with this, to speak with her directly. If she refused to speak with me, I would put in another complaint to social services.

  As a way of pain relief, I opened my phone to Mrs Clean’s account. I was instantly soothed by her easy tone and aesthetic symmetry. I could feel the pain in my gut easing as the sound of the cries faded.

  The usual Monday-morning routine of everyone getting ready to leave the house was in full swing by the time I got downstairs.

  I hadn’t seen or spoken to Karen since our little chat at the table before I went for brunch with Will. I think she had spent the rest of the day in her room, and I wanted to catch up and check in with her before I went to my seminar. I didn’t think I would be very good at harbouring Sophia’s and Steve’s secret. The weight of their lie hung heavily within me.

  Karen wasn’t downstairs, but Sophia was. Her skin looked pale and shiny.

  I wanted to speak of her pregnancy outright, but the words wouldn’t form properly. I had hoped she would have said something to me by now, but that hadn’t happened either.

  ‘Morning,’ I managed and sat at the table.

  ‘How are you feeling after your hot date yesterday?’ I had seen Sophia and Mini when I came back and was subjected to half an hour’s grilling over my ‘mystery man’.

  I smiled at Sophia who was trying her best to sound chipper but I recognised the strain, the way each word came slowly and with effort. I had experienced the worst kind of morning sickness. I wanted to put my arm around her, to tell her it was okay, but I would have to wait until she spoke to me.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a date,’ I said, taking out some fruit from the fridge, which still filled me with a surge of delight whenever I opened it to reveal sparkling shelves and everything sitting snugly in its home.

  ‘Yes, it was.’ Mini strode into the kitchen, looking fresh and funky in tight, blue trousers and a red-and-white-spotted shirt, her long, dark hair was freshly washed and blow-dried.

  ‘Wow, Mins, you put us all to shame,’ Sophia said, looking her up and down.

  ‘Yeah, well, you’ll get your mojo back, Soph – you’re just feeling a little out of sorts.’

  How was it that Mini had not yet managed to work out that Sophia was suffering from pregnancy sickness? Unless perhaps the two of them were in cahoots about the whole thing, and perhaps they thought I was none the wiser.

  ‘Anyway, are you still feeling high after the brunch?’ Mini looked excited.

  ‘Well, I was, and then this morning, the damn child next door was
crying again.’ I spoke boldly and then noted how Sophia and Mini exchanged a brief look; Mini’s was something that resembled despair.

  ‘So will you do anything about it?’ she asked.

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I sort of want to go round there and have it out with her.’

  ‘Do you think that’s wise? If it’s a social-care matter, then leave it in their hands,’ Sophia said.

  ‘But that’s just it, they are telling me there is nothing to be concerned about – they have assessed the situation and they have no concerns.’

  ‘But you still think there’s something going on?’ Sophia asked.

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. It doesn’t bother you guys?’

  ‘I haven’t heard a thing,’ Mini said.

  ‘Me neither,’ Sophia said.

  ‘But you know there’s a little boy living next door, don’t you?’

  ‘I couldn’t say for certain.’ Mini looked again to Sophia for reassurance.

  ‘Nope, never seen him,’ Sophia said. ‘But then your room does look right over their garden, so that gives you the advantage there. Or rather, disadvantage in this case.’

  I shook my head. ‘Maybe I’m just letting it all get on top of me.’

  ‘Have you got your psychologist’s number?’ Sophia said.

  ‘I have an appointment tomorrow.’ I felt the familiar wave of serenity wash over me when I imagined myself speaking freely with Joe.

  Mini and Sophia looked at one another again, this time Mini’s face looked hopeful.

  I sat on the train on the way to uni and looked at Mrs Clean’s most recent post. It was a photo of a potting bench, something I had never heard of before. It was a normal workbench, but a little taller and more elegant. I presumed you would stand and pot your seeds on it. She had written that she had been wanting to get one for ages and she was over the moon with it. On the worktop were a few tiny pots and packets of seeds.