by B P Walter
‘I know,’ I say. ‘You’ve told me three times.’ I don’t mean to sound prickly, but I’m not sure how else to cope with his fussing. The truth is, I’ve forgotten how to reciprocate kindness.
‘I thought you might have forgotten,’ he says, then gives a little chuckle, to show it’s a joke. A rather unfunny joke, I think to myself.
‘Well, I’m pleased you’re finding my near-death experience so amusing,’ I say quietly, meaning it in a semi-humorous way myself.
He sighs. ‘You know I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘It’s OK… I didn’t either.’
We fall into one of our trademark, tension-filled silences. In the car, we drive through the empty streets, the rain still pouring, hammering a steady thud on the windscreen. I want to ask if it ever stopped raining whilst I was in hospital, but I can’t be bothered to croak the words out. My mouth is still so dry and it hurts my back to keep having to take sips of the water bottle Alec’s brought. After a while, the silence seems to get too much for him and he tries again to make conversation.
‘The hotel has been in touch. They know we’re leaving and are just coming to get your things, but they said something about a TV.’
I don’t reply. I can’t think of anything to say.
‘Apparently you’ve got one. A TV, that is. A very big one. You bought it and bribed a member of staff to let you have it in your room. He’s in a lot of trouble, according to the woman on the phone.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I murmur.
‘So you remember buying the TV?’ He sounds hopeful, but also a tiny bit something else, too. Suspicious?
‘No.’
He sighs and changes gears as he moves off onto a quieter road, heading downhill. I see signs pointing in the direction of the seafront and before long we’re there, gliding along the edge of the road just before the sand, with little huts and restaurants valiantly staying open in spite of the awful weather.
‘We can stop and have lunch, if you like?’ he says, and without waiting for an answer he swings the car into one of the vacant parking spaces facing the sea. I’m quietly thankful he has his umbrella in his car and I don’t protest as he helps me across the road and we walk slowly towards the nearest seafood restaurant.
We’re greeted by a smartly dressed middle-aged woman, holding a clipboard in a managerial sort of way. ‘Sorry, I hope you haven’t been waiting long,’ she says, even though we’ve literally just stepped through the door. She conjures up two menus as if from nowhere and motions us towards the nearest table on the right. ‘You’re our first customers of the day, so food shouldn’t take long. Do you want to peruse the menu or do you know what you’re having?’
Usually I’d have told her we need time to decide, but for some reason I can’t shake off a strange feeling of vulnerability and nerves, so I just nod and say, ‘Large cod and chips, please.’ Alec orders the same and two Diet Cokes, and then we sit in silence again watching the miserable weather ruin the seafront view.
‘Hello again,’ a male voice says. I start out of my daydream and see a young man standing by our table. He’s holding our drinks and as he sets them down he beams at me and says, ‘Couldn’t resist coming for seconds?’
I stare back, baffled, then something stirs in my head. ‘I’ve… I’ve been here before?’
The young man is still smiling, but something falters in his expression. ‘Er… yeah. A few weeks ago. I never forget people’s faces.’
Alec’s staring from the boy to me then back to the boy like a gormless child, and just to cover the awkwardness I say, ‘I’m sorry, of course, I remember now. Thank you very much.’ I mean it as a dismissal and reach for my Coke and start drinking. The young man lingers for a few seconds more, then retreats, leaving me with Alec and his confused expression.
‘You’ve been here?’ he says.
‘Apparently so.’
‘And you can’t remember?’
‘No.’
He shakes his head, ‘I don’t think they should have let you come out so quickly. If there’s still major holes in your memory…’
‘What do you want me to do?’ I hiss, exasperated. ‘Pretend I can remember so you can go on acting like everything is fine? Like we’re on some jolly holiday jaunt?’ I don’t succeed in keeping my voice low and can now see the staff looking over at us.
‘I only meant—’
‘There’s no point me lying in a hospital bed for days on end, exposing myself to MRSA and dire hospital food when I’ve been medically advised to go home. I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted your nice little time without me…’
‘Nice little time! Are you joking? I’ve been literally going out of my mind with worry about you, Caroline. Do you know how many times I phoned and texted you? If I hadn’t had your rude and rather nasty replies and rebuttals I would have gone to the police. I just wanted you back home.’
‘Why? Because home’s so fucking fabulous at the moment? Treading on eggshells around each other, wondering who’s going to kick off next. Fighting over stupid little things then retreating to our separate rooms to cry into our pillows. You going out to shag other women who seem perversely turned on by the thought of screwing a sad grieving father, when you should be in your own home supporting your own wife? It’s no wonder I wanted to get out. We don’t do anything. We don’t exist for anything. We just sit around waiting for terrorists to blow up another bus or gun down another load of children, and then we can sit and cry and feel terribly sad. And then nothing changes. So I don’t think anyone could really blame me for running away. I can’t think why I picked this dump of a place to run off to, but maybe it was just better than the slow suicide of living with you.’
When I’ve finished, I look into his eyes and for a second think he’s going to cry. Then he sniffs and the tears don’t fall.
‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ he just says simply. Then we sit in silence until the food arrives, him on his phone, probably tapping out emails, blaming his loopy wife for why he’s not been in work for days.
Ten minutes later I’m crunching through the batter of my cod when he finally says, ‘I want to talk. You say that we don’t but I always want to. But you never do.’
I look at him for a beat, then focus back on the chips I’m in the process of stabbing. ‘Christ, what a man thing to say.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?’
‘Nothing.’
‘It sounded kind of sexist to me. If I’d said you were behaving like a typical woman – which I would never say – you’d be all over me with accusations of misogyny and…’
‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’
He shrugs, ‘I just thought it should work both ways…’
‘I said I’m sorry. Do you want it in writing?’
‘I thought you’d given that up? Writing, that is.’
‘Fuck you.’ The words jolt me as I say them. We’ve never been the sort of couple who swear at each other. I’ve always tried to keep the peace. Biting back every shriek, every stab of anger I’ve wanted to hurl at him.
‘Why are you getting nasty?’ he says, sounding properly hurt.
I feel my eyes flare in anger, my body tensing, all my aches and pains suddenly very present.
‘I’m leaving.’ I get up, the screech of my chair ear-splitting in the empty restaurant. I snatch his keys from the table.
‘Caroline, stop.’
I walk past him, heading for the door. ‘You can get a taxi back,’ I say.
‘What about the hotel? And you can’t drive, Caroline.’ I ignore him.
‘My husband’s getting the bill,’ I say to the boy by the entrance.
‘Caroline, give me back the keys. If you drive off in my car, I swear it, I’ll call the police.’
I freeze and turn around to face him. He’s standing, still at the table, his phone clasped in his hand, as if brandishing a weapon.
‘Oh come off it. Wife steals husband’s car? They’d l
augh at you. And the doctors said I can start driving as soon as I feel able to perform an emergency stop.’
‘Yes, but not in my car.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘Because it’s a fucking manual!’ he shouts.
I stare at him. Then, after a quick glance at the waiter near the door, who is busy looking at his shoes, I walk back to Alec.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can’t drive a car with manual transmission, Caroline. You can only drive an automatic. Always have. You only have an automatic licence.’
I stare down at the keys in my hand. Then back at him. ‘I forgot,’ I say, pathetically. I don’t know what it is – the emotion after the row or the realisation I’m trapped, dependent on the sad, weak man I married, or just the cocktail of pain meds I’m on – but I start to cry. Huge, gasping sobs. And I sink to my knees and suddenly there are two members of staff around me and Alec trying to help me up. But I can’t get up. I just stay here, lying on the floor, writhing and crying, wishing the ground would open and send everything tumbling into darkness.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Mother
May. Three months after the attack.
I’m out in the pouring rain again. Alec’s helping me to the car. I’m sobbing. My clothes are wet and through the blur of tears I can see marks on them – no doubt dirt from the restaurant’s floor.
Once I’m in the passenger’s seat, I manage to stop crying. ‘How far are we from the hotel?’ I say in a tiny voice.
‘Only a few minutes. Walking distance if it were nice weather and if you hadn’t…’
‘Hadn’t been smashed up, bruised, and broken,’ I say bitterly, finishing the sentence for him.
‘You’re not broken,’ he says after a moment.
I don’t reply, just watch the dark-grey horizon across the water as we drive down the seafront. The deep-black thunder clouds look so dramatic; it’s rather mesmerising, like something apocalyptic or otherworldly. As if the end is coming.
Alec’s got the hotel address in his satnav and I glance at the route laid out on the car’s built-in screen. We are indeed almost there.
I think, for the first time since I’ve woken up, about what I might find there. What Alec might find. Clues as to my disappearance? Why I suddenly set off for Southend? I think Alec’s clearly hoping for something – he’s looking tense now and parks the car on a slope in a road away from the seafront.
‘They advised me to park around the back,’ Alec says, undoing his seatbelt and, unprompted, helping me with mine. ‘They said it would be easier. With the TV.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘That makes sense.’
‘How big is it? Will it fit in the boot? Or should we lay it over the back seats?’
‘I don’t know, Alec. You know I don’t know.’ My hand pauses on the door handle. ‘Were you just testing me? You were, weren’t you? You’re suspicious. Of me. You think I’m making all this up? Malingering or something?’
He looks momentarily panicked. ‘I haven’t said anything of the…’
I pull myself away from him and get out of the car. ‘We haven’t finished talking about this,’ I say, giving him what I hope to be a hard look.
‘I didn’t think we had,’ he mutters.
He leads the way, back down a sloping road towards the seafront and makes a sharp turn. ‘I think this is the main entrance,’ he says. I don’t know why he’s sounding so vague – maybe this is his way of trying to get me to answer a question without actually asking one. As if I’d suddenly take control and lead the way, forgetting my attempts to deceive. Is he really that suspicious? Can’t he, in the midst of all this, just be prepared to trust me and comfort me and deal with my flaring temper as and when it manifests?
We stop to let a group of elderly women pass us and make our way to reception.
Alec cuts across the young man at the desk, midway through his welcome speech. ‘Sorry, we’re not guests. Well, she is.’ He gestures to me. I don’t know what to do, so just smile back at the confused boy. ‘It’s a bit difficult. I spoke to the duty manager, a woman named Kristen, a couple of days ago. My wife was – is still, sort of – staying here and we’ve come to collect her things, but we don’t have her key.’
‘Right, no problem sir,’ the young man says. ‘If I could just see some ID from your wife.’ He looks at me, now. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. You’re the lady with the TV.’
I hear Alec take his breath in through his nose. I think the thing with the television’s pissed him off, somewhat. ‘She’s the one,’ he says in reply. I just stay silent.
‘Yes. It’s been a bit tricky. Although we, er, always try to help our guests out wherever we can. I think—’
Alec holds up his hand, rather rudely I think. ‘I’ve been through all of this on the phone with your manager. Can we please have a duplicate key to the room so we can take the TV away and get out of your hair? I also need to settle up anything my wife hasn’t already paid for. Could you prepare a bill?’
The young man looks a little irked by our presence now, but starts tapping at his computer and within a minute has produced a print-out of the charges, and offers Alec the card machine. Once our debts are paid, another young man is conjured out of nowhere and leads us to the lift and then up to the room.
‘I’ve been told to assist you with the television,’ he says. ‘Apparently it’s very large.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Alec says.
A quick scan of the key card unlocks the room and the man steps back so we can enter first.
‘Christ,’ says Alec and freezes, causing the young man behind me to bump against my sore shoulder. I step to the side and see what’s made him stop.
‘I bought that?’ I say, staring at the sleek black monstrous creature situated opposite the bed. ‘That must have cost a fortune.’
‘It must have been on your private account. I’d have been notified if it was on the joint one.’
‘I must have had some serious Netflixing to do,’ I say, then let out a short, weird laugh. Alec turns and looks at me as if I’m insane. The hotel boy is now at my side, looking both awkward and terrified, and the urge to laugh rises in me again. This whole thing is ridiculous.
I walk past Alec and go round to the bedside table and notice with relief an iPhone lightning charger. I plug in my phone and see the Apple logo arrive dimly on the screen. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of reading too, it seems,’ I say, resting my phone next to a stack of books. I pick them up, one by one. Light fiction, mostly, along with Agatha Christie’s autobiography.
‘Shall I take one end of the TV, and you can take the other?’ The hotel boy’s getting impatient, it seems.
‘Sure,’ Alec says. He’s looking at the books on the bed. He seems to be turning away to return to the TV, but then stops. And goes over to the books again.
‘What is it?’ I ask. He’s staring so intently, as if he’s working something out. He doesn’t say anything for what feels like years, then finally looks at me, his eyes wide, and says, ‘Agatha Christie.’
I don’t understand what he’s getting at. ‘Yes, I know. It’s her autobiogra—’
‘I can see what it is,’ he snaps. Out of the corner of my eye I see the boy jump a little. Alec looks back down at the book, back at me, then his mouth twists into a sneer that isn’t like anything I can remember seeing on his face before. It makes him look ugly. And, even in his worst moments, Alec never looks ugly.
‘I can’t believe you’d do this.’
‘Do what?’ I say, exasperated. ‘What are you on about?’
‘She disappeared, didn’t she? Agatha Christie. Took off one day and wasn’t seen for weeks. Vanished into thin air. And then turned up in some random, godforsaken place, claiming she’d lost her memory.’
I can’t do anything but simply stare at him. His meaning hits me hard.
‘What’s the point of it?’ he asked. ‘Why are you doing this? Is it to punish me? Su
rely there are more effective ways of doing that?’
‘Alec, you’re talking nonsense. I promise you. Utter nonsense.’
‘No, Caroline. I’ve found you out. And you can’t stand that, can you?’
‘I was in a car crash! I could have died!’
‘A pretty convenient car crash, wasn’t it? What did you do? Drive into oncoming traffic deliberately? Or are you just a shit driver and when you woke up you took advantage of me, the doctors, everyone around you…’
The hotel boy straightens up, seems to teeter for a moment, then walks out of the room and closes the door. He’s had enough of us, apparently.
‘If you truly believe that, there’s nothing I can say.’ I’m aware of the tears bubbling to the surface again.
‘Oh no you don’t. Don’t start getting upset. You’re trying to shut down this discussion, trying to distract me. You always were manipulative, spiteful…’
‘No, that was you. You were manipulative. You were spiteful. You were like it all the time with Jessica, proving to her you were dad of the fucking year while always making out like I was stupid or too busy with work to care. You stole every happy moment and made it yours, shoving me to the sidelines. And do you know what I think it was? Deep-rooted male insecurity!’
Alec’s face is a picture of outrage, ‘Oh here we go. Here’s comes the self-righteous sexism. One dose of concussion and suddenly you wake up a psychiatrist with a hang-up about gender.’
I ignore his jibes and attempts to distract me and warm to my subject, ‘No, everything I’m saying is true. You’ve always had a problem about me earning more money than you. Always felt disempowered, emasculated. I think that’s why you go off and sleep with as many people as you can get your hands on, because you can fulfil your warped, backward-looking view of what a man is supposed to be like. And it’s why you always made me feel guilty for having a successful career. Because you were jealous of it. It’s the reason for all the games you’d play, the little digs you’d make sure I’d pick up on, the little asides to Jessica about “busy Mummy never getting things right”, the lying to your friends about how important you are in your office and downplaying my achievements. You’re weak. That’s all you are. Too weak to realise that a normal man wouldn’t care about all those things.’
