The Man Behind Closed Doors

by Maria Frankland

  Paul’s tone sounded different, as though he was on the phone. She strained to hear who he might be talking to but couldn’t make out his words. Then he laughed. He was probably on the phone to that bloody Alana. The bane of her life. What she would do to make her disappear. Mostly, Michelle managed to keep her out of her own life and had recently only been subjected to her at the wedding when the silly cow had tried to dance with Paul.

  Oh, and at their housewarming party, the year before. She had looked forward to it with every fibre of her being, but now tried to banish it when the memory came bubbling up. Here, as she lay in her hungover state, she could not shake it away.

  Even in August, they had known they were taking a gamble, having an outdoor party. Michelle had kept a close eye on the weather forecast in the preceding days and had borrowed a couple of gazebos just in case. She spent the previous night decorating the garden with fairy lights, candles and had prepared a playlist of carefully chosen songs.

  Paul had done the shopping for the barbecue, so the shed was full of alcohol, although they had told guests to bring a bottle, something to sit on and a contribution to the barbecue. Paul hadn’t been as bothered about the party, but she had put that down to him ‘being a man’ and not wanting the ‘hassle.’

  She’d had various ‘run ins’ in previous months with his friends and family and was determined to show everyone how happy she and Paul were and for them to accept her. She could no longer bear living on the outskirts. And if she was to be honest, it would be good to put Alana in her place. As the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  She’d searched all over for a dress. The first one she’d bought, Paul had described as ‘frumpy.’ I bet he wouldn’t say something like that to Alana, she thought. She settled on something not unlike what Alana would wear. Short, sexy, asymmetric, summery – perfect. And once she’d had a spray tan and the hairdresser had arranged her long dark hair in tumbling curls, she knew she looked the part. And yet she’d spent the best part of the night stood in the kitchen, frying onions. In between running around, waiting on everyone and having to make polite conversation with people she’d never met, who clearly didn’t like her. By ten o clock, she’d barely seen Paul. David had been at his side as he presided over the barbecue. Socialising. Enjoying himself.

  The barbecue had finished. Michelle scanned the garden, looking for Paul, desperately wanting him to wrap his arms around her and show the world how they belonged together. Instead she found him, sat in the garden chair swing her mother had given them as a housewarming present, swinging as he chatted to Alana. Michelle went back inside, poured a large glass of wine and decided she wouldn’t allow herself to be side-lined in this way.

  “Great party,” one of the neighbours commented as she passed.

  “Er, yeah.” Carol, her neighbour was stood alone and looked like she would welcome company, but Michelle had a more pressing item on her mind. Like separating Paul and Alana. Though she was furious, she attempted to swallow the emotion as though it was a glob of chewing gum. If only it was that easy.

  “Hi gorgeous man.” She stood beside Paul and reached for his hand. His fingers didn’t curl around hers as they usually would. In fact, his hand stiffened. Alana looked the other way.

  “Would you mind giving us a few minutes Alana.” Michelle stood firm. “Paul and I have barely seen each other this evening. Perhaps you could go and find your husband.” She spoke with a bravery she was struggling to emulate.

  “Actually Michelle. Paul and I were in the middle of a conversation. I…”

  “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

  Alana quickly stood up and strode away without looking back.

  “Michelle, that was rude. There was no need for that.”

  “There was every need. Who the hell does she think she is? And you?” Michelle took a huge swig from her glass. “What the hell are you playing at? It’s supposed to be our party.”

  “She was right though Michelle. We were in the middle of a conversation.” Paul stared into his pint glass. “And it was important.”

  “More important than me?”

  “Grow up Michelle. For God’s sake. I’m off to the loo.”

  “You mean you’re off to find her.” Michelle watched as he retreated and slumped onto the swing in the spot from where he had emerged. Hot tears prodded the back of her eyes as she avoided making any eye contact with people. She drank the remainder of the wine in her glass then made her way back towards the kitchen for a refill. She forced a smile at a heated conversation that was taking place between her mum and Paul’s brother.

  “Michelle will tell you how it was,” Susan affirmed. “There’s no way you will be able to argue with what she has to say.”

  “Later Mum. There’s something I must do.” She would give it a few minutes and then it would be time to catch them in the act. If that was the case, she had to know. She stole a glance around the congregated people in her lounge. No sign. She tried the handle of the downstairs loo and was surprised to find it open. She pulled the front door ajar and peered around the cul-de-sac. Still no sign. They must be upstairs.

  Michelle inadvertently bunched her fists and with a heavy pulsating sensation in her chest, she gingerly ascended the staircase. She could hear muffled voices coming from within one of the rooms. Her bedroom. Resisting the urge to burst in, she stood and listened for a moment. The tones of Paul and Alana were indistinguishable, clearly they were making great efforts to keep their voices low. Hardly daring to breathe, she continued to listen.

  Finally, Alana’s voice resounded with clarity. “Without that, it all falls apart.” Paul’s deep, guarded lilt followed but Michelle couldn’t make it out. Without what? What falls apart? She asked herself. What were they talking about? What were they doing in her bedroom? Finally, she could bear it no more and stormed in.

  “What’s going on?” She stood in the doorway, observing them sat side-by-side on the bed. They jumped apart.

  “Looks like I caught you in time,” she continued, moving towards them. “You didn’t have the chance to get your knickers off, did you? Get out of my bedroom. NOW.” Alana rose to her feet and marched past without looking at her. Paul remained where he was, his mouth set in a straight, hard line.

  “How could you?” Michelle snapped. “After all we’ve been through.”

  “You need help. Do you know that?

  “You and her in our bedroom!” Michelle fought the temptation to hit him. There were too many people around. “What do you expect me to think? And what did she mean, without that, it all falls apart? Without what?”

  “Leave me alone.” Paul stared at her with cold eyes. “I mean it.”

  A sob caught in Michelle’s throat as she flounced out of the bedroom. If he wouldn’t tell her, she would go and find Alana. But a glance around at the remaining party guests confirmed Alana had gone. As had many of the others. “Right party over,” she shouted, yanking the plug from the speaker out of the wall. “Everybody leave. Now!”

  “Michelle! What the…”

  “I’ll ring you tomorrow mum. Just make them all go.” She hollered into the garden, “the party’s over!” before striding back towards the foot of the stairs as tears took over. Paul barged past her on the landing. “I’m going to stay at my brother’s. I will be back tomorrow.”

  “No! Please, I…”

  “Leave it Michelle!”

  She sat on the side of the bed for a few moments, listening to voices, slams of doors and car engines. She had never been more alone. She kicked off her shoes and tugged off her bracelet and earrings. What a disaster. She had looked forward to this party so much. And she still hadn’t found out what they’d been discussing.

  As the house quietened, she noticed a box on her pillow. With tears in her eyes, she picked it up and untied the ribbon. Inside was a beautiful engagement ring. Under the box was a torn piece of paper. She smoothed it out, one of her tears dripping onto the pa
ge and smudging the thick, black ink. One word. The thing they must have been talking about. TRUST. She snatched it up, screwed it into a ball and threw it at the bin.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A voice jolts Paul into the present.

  “How long you in for mate?” A hefty inmate with rolled up sleeves leans on a pool cue. Paul feels like a specimen under his microscope. Having nearly opted to spend the entire evening in his cell, he has been lured out by the urge to be near others, whatever sort they might be. Stephen is fast asleep in there, so being abandoned with his own thoughts tonight feels like torture.

  “I’m on remand,” Paul replies. “How about you?”

  “Five years.” The balls clink. “ABH,” he adds, as though an afterthought.

  Paul decides not to request further information. I’ll keep on the right side of you.

  “What you been remanded for?” Another man with slicked back hair and sunken cheeks calls from the table beside them. The smooth skin around his eyes suggests he is barely out of his teens, though his teeth tell a different story.

  Paul pauses, recalling what he has been told in the dinner queue. His story is bound to make the papers. He will probably do himself no favours by lying. It’s best coming from him. Not that he gives a toss what anyone here thinks.

  “My wife stabbed herself. I’ve been blamed for it. I didn’t do it though.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” The two men laugh as they exchange glances. “You won’t be the first man who’s done their missus in. Not on this wing.”

  Paul does not return the question to the man with the sunken face. There is something about him. Paul doesn’t want to know what he is in prison for. He senses he is being watched and glances up to meet the stony stare of a huge man who cracks his knuckles. Paul looks away quickly.

  “You alright? You’re fairly new on this wing, aren’t you?” an officer curls his head around the cell door.

  “I suppose.”

  “Just making sure. I’ll leave you both to it then.” He nods towards Stephen, who’s laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

  “Can I have something to read?” Paul is pacing up and down the cell. He hasn’t a clue how he’ll manage another night’s sleep in this hellhole.

  “What do you think it is? A library? You can order papers and magazines with your canteen on a Saturday.”

  “What if I want a drink?” Paul picks up a plastic beaker.

  “Plenty of water in the tap.” He gestures towards the sink. “You can order some juice with your canteen. And if you can have a kettle sent in, then we’ll fit it with a sealed plug.”

  “But I’m not allowed to make phone calls yet, nor do I have any money to order anything.” Paul steps back and sits on the edge of the skinny mattress. “What am I supposed to do? Aren’t you people supposed to be helping me with all this?”

  “Easy mate.” Stephen sits up and looks at him, frowning.

  “No one will be helping you if you’re displaying that sort of attitude Jackson.” The officer, or screw as he’s heard them called, leans against the cell door. “But you can work you know, you’ll receive a bit of money then, has anyone told you? You can receive cheques sent in from the outside as well. Obviously, they have to clear before they can be added to your canteen.”

  “So this is it for a couple of weeks?” Paul gazes at the concrete floor, trying to contemplate how he’s going to survive.

  “Am afraid so. You might be able to borrow some books from the prison library. Or maybe one of the other inmates’ll take pity on you.” He looks at Stephen then. “It’s a ‘you scratch my back’ situation in here.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  “It’s OK.” His expression softens slightly. “The first couple of weeks are the worst. It’ll get better once you become familiar with the routines.” As the echo of the door shutting resounds in Paul’s ears, he trembles at the thought of familiarity in here and it becoming ingrained in his routine. He needs to distract himself. Take himself out of here, in his mind anyway. Laying down on his own bed, he thinks of Emily then of Nick and remembers their recent gym trip.

  It was one of those upmarket gyms where membership costs a fortune. Paul recalls striding beside Nick, as they made their way past the indoor tennis courts. It was as though he was entering another world - one inhabited by happy, normal people in happy, normal marriages with happy, normal wives. He shed his clothes in the changing room, like he was peeling off the skin that contained him. For the time being, he could be happy and normal too.

  All morning Paul crackled with unspent anxiety and anger. Some of it was emitted on the treadmill and a bit more was released as he wrestled with the weights. Swimming up and down the pool helped him to think a little clearer. He needed a plan of how to deal with Michelle. For all their sakes as well as for them as a couple. He could not go on any longer like this. As he sat in the jacuzzi beside Nick, he felt human again. But the prospect of returning home was causing him to regret how he had chosen to spend his morning. Had it been worth it?

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or what?” Nick pressed the button to reactivate the jacuzzi. “You’ve barely said two words since we arrived. Is it her again?”

  “Nothing to tell, honest.”

  “I’ve noticed your arm, and your nose.” Nick nodded towards Paul. “C’mon, I’m not daft. You’ve not been yourself for a while. What’s going on?”

  “Nowt. Look, I can handle it.” He extended his arms across the tiled ledge behind them as the chlorinated bubbles popped into his face, making his eyes sting. He absently watched as the swimmers in the adjacent pool swam up and down, down and up.

  “You want to leave her, you know. She’s going to drag you down to where she is.”

  “Nick leave it. I’m having a break from it all.”

  “Maybe I should have a chat with her.” Nick’s face hardened.

  “Stay out of it.” Paul’s stress levels rose with his voice. “I’m not involved in rows you have with your missus, am I?

  “My missus isn’t a psycho.”

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Paul’s thoughts were whirring like a washing machine. He wished he could switch them off.

  “Right, that’s me.” Nick hauled himself out of the bubbles. “I’m off for a shower. Are you stopping here?”

  Paul restarted the bubbles. “I’ll have five more minutes in here then have a blast in the steam room, I think.”

  “I’ll meet you in the bar.” Nick rubbed at his head with a towel. “I’ll give the missus a bell and let her know we’re having a pint before we head back.”

  Paul watched him retreat along the poolside. From his head to his toes, he ached, nothing to do with the weights he had lifted, but the constant contemplation of the mood Michelle might be in when he returned home. Without meaning to, he envied his friend for the comfortable simplicity he had in his life. I’ll give the missus a bell and let her know we’re having a pint. Jacqui, Nick’s wife was a pleasant woman, who always made him and Emily welcome.

  It had become necessary to refrain from involving Michelle in his friendship with Nick and Jacqui due to her hostility towards them and Nick hated Michelle right back. She would latch onto each snippet of conversation, only to blast it back at Paul later when they were alone again. She hated hearing about the past, about days which did not include her.

  Jacqui and Nick had not invited them out as a couple since a few weeks after his and Michelle’s wedding. Jacqui had made a throwaway remark about Paul’s ex-girlfriend. Noticing the expression on Michelle’s face, Paul had wanted to crawl under the table. Michelle had wound herself towards a jealous crescendo before eventually storming out of the house and into the night, forcing Paul to go after her.

  Being in company of any description had been curtailed. It was a risk. Something would always be said that could be misconstrued. Or one of their friends or a friend’s partner might happen to be physically attractive. It became easier to turn invi
tations down. Until eventually, they dried up completely. Why had he married her? Idiot.

  The bubbles subsided, signalling the jacuzzi was entering its rest period.

  Paul plodded across the tiled floor and into the steam room. He sank onto the bench, grateful for the anonymity which the steam provided. If only his gloom would mingle and evaporate with it. He was oblivious to the heat as he sat, drowning in his thoughts, knowing he would soon have to leave here, then return home to face the music.

  As he pulled up outside his house, he checked his phone, having been absent for nearly four hours.

  Seventeen missed calls! As he yanked the handbrake on, he studied the exterior of their house, stalling for time. He wanted to restart the engine and go. Anywhere but here. His hands gripped the steering wheel vehemently; the veins in them looked as though they might explode. She was going to kill him. If only he could enter their home, plant a kiss on her forehead and flop out in the armchair with the Sunday papers. No way.

  All was quiet. “Hello,” he called, his voice hesitant in the quiet hallway.

  “Daddy, I’ve been playing with Phoebe and Sam and they have a big trampoline in the garden, and …”

  “Go to your room Emily. Tell him later.” Michelle didn’t look at her.

  “There’s no need to send her to her room.” Paul opposed her in the hallway. “Why are you sending her to her room?”

  “Where’ve you been? Bedroom Emily. Now please.”

  “To the gym.” His voice shook, though it had a defiant edge as he watched Emily disappear up the stairs.

  “The gym! Who with? Alana?”

  “Alana! Of course not.” Tugging off his jacket, he hung it on the peg. “Don’t be ridiculous.”