Between You and Me (5 page)

‘OK, Mags, we get it. Let’s go. The sooner we leave, the sooner we arrive!’ I scoop her up and carry her to the car, where I buckle her in before helping Laura pack her huge bag into the boot. Seeing Maggie this excited about a trip to the beach makes me feel hideously guilty for keeping her at home all week, even though I don’t feel as though I had any other option. I am angry with myself for being so weak and pliable when it comes to you and your demands, ashamed of myself for bending to your will in exchange for a quiet life. A sweep of anger washes over me towards you, for making me feel I can’t do things like this with Maggie all the time, for making me fear the outcome of a trip somewhere nice, all because of your uncontrollable jealousy and fear that I will leave given half the chance.

The day passes in a heat-filled haze, the children spending the morning splashing through the waves and building elaborate sandcastles, only to knock them flat two minutes later. Laura and I take it in turns to keep an eye on them, especially near the water, and when it’s my turn to watch them, Laura drags her Kindle out of her bag and turns onto her stomach to tan her back. I walk down to the water’s edge where the kids are overturning stones to see if they can find any life underneath.

‘Kids, if you want to find living things I’ll take you over to the rock pools. Come on. Grab your buckets and spades and we’ll go exploring.’ Maggie and Lucy clap their hands and make a grab for their buckets, while poor old Fred just looks bemused.

‘Come on, Freddie.’ I take Fred by the hand and follow the girls, who are racing ahead to the rock pools. We find a good-sized pool, water slightly warmed by the heat of the day, and start flipping over slimy, seaweed-covered rocks in search of any form of sea creature we can find – the girls shrieking in delight at a tiny jellyfish, while Fred finds a dead crab fascinating. We fill plastic buckets with seawater and the girls add their treasures to them, pieces of coral, shells and crab legs all making their way into our haul. An hour later, we return to where Laura has obviously given up on her book and fallen asleep. I ever so gently tip one of the buckets over her back, splashing her with cold sea water, and she jumps up shrieking.

‘Bloody hell, Sal, you git! I’m soaked! And I was having a very enjoyable dream in which Johnny Depp was telling me how much he loves a red-head.’ She shakes herself off and sits back down on the beach towel next to Lucy and Maggie. ‘What have you got there?’

Maggie grins up at her. ‘We’ve got a hermit crab, and a little tiny fish, see?’

‘Sal helped us find them,’ Lucy pipes up, sloshing seawater from the bucket in her haste to show her mother.

‘Well, aren’t you lucky?’ Laura smiles down at them both. ‘You’re both incredibly lucky to have Sal.’ Her eyes flick to my bare legs, exposed to the sun after even I couldn’t justify wearing jeans to the beach, to the marks that are still visible from the hot lasagne a week ago and, grateful that she doesn’t question me, I say nothing.

We spend the afternoon at the pier, watching the fishermen casting their lines, and when Fred is so exhausted he can’t walk any more but refuses to be pushed in the buggy we head back to the car. By the time we pull up on our driveway all three children are fast asleep in the back. I turn to Laura, who has been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive home.

‘Thanks for today, Laur. I didn’t realise quite how badly I needed it.’ I turn the car off and unclip my seatbelt.

‘Sal? Is there anything you want to talk to me about?’ Laura gazes at me steadily, forcing me to look away and fiddle with my shirt buttons.

‘What? No. Of course not. What do you mean?’ I swallow nervously. There really is nothing at this moment in time that I want to talk to Laura, or anyone, about. I’ve tried that before and it’s safe to say that it wasn’t a success.

‘Your legs, Sal. What happened to your legs? It looks like they’re burnt. And you were wearing jeans last week, even though it was really hot, like you wanted to cover them up, or something. Then you just stayed home
all week
. Like you weren’t allowed to leave the house. Please, Sal; if there’s something wrong, please tell me. I’m your friend; I want to help you.’ She reaches out a hand towards me, but seems to change her mind at the last minute, dropping it back into her lap.

‘My legs are fine, Laura. Fine. I dropped a hot dish, that’s all, and it splashed up. I wore jeans because that’s what I wanted to wear and I stayed home because I didn’t want to go out. There’s nothing sinister going on, and I don’t need you making out like there is, OK? I went out with you today, didn’t I?’ I feel myself getting angry and defensive, even though I know Laura is only trying to help, but I can’t,
I can’t
, talk to her about it. It would only make things worse.

‘OK.’ Laura opens the car door and swings her legs out, before turning back to me, her gaze unwavering. ‘But remember, Sal, I’m only next door, I’m always only next door, whenever you need me.’ She pulls a sleeping Fred out from his car seat and I sit for a moment, unsure of what to say, before deciding to say nothing. Reaching in to unclip Lucy from her car seat, I breathe in the scent of Laura’s perfume, a stain on the air left by her presence in the car, and wish, beyond everything, that I could tell her.

Chapter Ten

CHARLIE

The golf day goes well, and Mr Pavlenco and his team are happy when we all head back towards the clubhouse at the end of the day. I feel like the weight on my shoulders has lifted briefly, now that I know Pavlenco is happier. Mr Pavlenco and his team head through to the bar and I take the opportunity to call Sal. The phone is answered immediately, so I relax and find myself able to enjoy a meal and a few drinks with the Otex team before catching a cab home. The day has been a small respite in the relentless torrent of paperwork and phone calls this demanding case has generated, and although I am feeling a little better about the potential outcome of the deal, I am still aware that there is a lot of work ahead of me if I’m going to pull this off successfully.

As I walk in the door, I catch sight of Sal snoozing on the sofa – there is no sign of Maggie, and as it’s past 8pm I guess Sal has already put her to bed.

‘Sal, wake up.’ I lean over and hiss quietly, shaking Sal by the shoulder.

‘Huh? Oh, Charlie, you’re home.’ Sal smiles up at me groggily and struggles into a sitting position, dark curls skewed at crazy angles. ‘How did it go?’

‘Excellent. The team at Otex are happy that we’re doing what we can to make sure the merger goes ahead as smoothly as possible, so fingers crossed all good. What did you do today? You seem exhausted.’ A tiny niggle of irritation burrows away at me, at the idea of Sal snoozing away on the sofa while I’m out slogging my guts out, schmoozing clients and bowing to their every whim.

‘Oh, nothing much. It must be the heat, takes it out of me.’ Sal yawns, stretching long fingers out in an arch. It is still ridiculously hot and muggy outside. ‘We just stayed at home, had a spot of lunch, nothing exciting.’

‘Sounds like you had a good day. And Maggie? She’s in bed?’

‘Yep, she was exhausted. I think the heat is a little too much for her, too, poor thing. I just hope the weather breaks before she starts school. It’ll be awful for the little ones to have to go to school in this heat.’

‘I’m sure it will – this is England not Africa! We need to enjoy it while it lasts. Come on. Let’s sit out on the patio and open a cold bottle of wine, pretend we’re enjoying this heatwave.’ I pull Sal up from the couch and we go through to the kitchen to hunt out wine glasses. I grab the cold bottle of wine from the fridge and a tub of green olives and we head out onto the patio, the early evening air still warm and fragrant with the jasmine that curls upwards from the pots next to the back door.

Maggie’s toys still litter the garden, where she was obviously playing with them today. Dollies with all their clothes piled up in a heap next to them lie alongside a bucket and spade, a football and a skipping rope. A pair of Maggie’s pink sandals lie next to the sandpit, while a stuffed toy lies face down in the sand, and Maggie’s cardigan hangs over the swing frame. I feel what was left of my good mood start to slip – how difficult is it for Sal to make sure the garden is tidy at the end of the day? I’ve spent all week working my arse off at the office, early starts and working all the hours God sends, while Sal does, literally,
nothing
. It’s not like there’s a huge amount to do, just put the toys back in the toy box, and make sure that shoes and cardigans are put away. Sal catches sight of the look on my face and scurries over to the sandpit and starts to pick up the mess that lies scattered over the garden. This infuriates me even more – the scurrying about, like I’m some irrational clean freak who flips out over mess; like I’m someone to be feared. I just want a clean and tidy house – surely that’s not unreasonable?

Sal scrabbles to pick up the toys from the sandpit, watching me warily. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I meant to get this all sorted before you got home, but I was just so tired and I thought I’d sit down for just a few minutes and … well, I fell asleep.’

Anger explodes out of me before I can stop it, like a tornado ripping along, tearing trees up by their roots. ‘For God’s sake, Sal, it’s not like it’s a difficult job, is it? To keep the bloody garden tidy? Despite what you might think, I wasn’t just off having a lovely time today; it was
work
, and the last thing I want to come home to is a total shit-hole. Do you understand?’ I glare at Sal, my good mood evaporated completely by the crap I have come home to. When will Sal ever learn? Marriage is about equality – both sides taking equal amounts of responsibility – not about one person doing all the work and making all the effort while the other feeds off them.

‘Yes, Charlie, I understand.’

‘Good.’ I stride across the garden and grip Sal’s jaw in my hands. ‘I’m going to bed now. You can stay out here and tidy all this crap up. I want it sorted before you come up. I don’t work hard all day long, even on the bloody weekend, just so you can leave shit everywhere. Right?’ I release Sal, and as I sweep past the patio table on my way up to bed my hand knocks the wine bottle off-centre, causing it to crash onto the stones below, taking the wine glasses with it. I don’t glance back as I hear the glass shatter across the paving slabs. It serves Sal right for ruining yet another evening.

Chapter Eleven

SAL

So, your good mood didn’t last for very long. It’s terrifying to see the way you can switch from calm and loving to enraged and furious within a split second. I know as soon as I open my eyes to see you standing over me that I’m going to regret sitting down for five minutes’ peace, remembering that I haven’t tidied the garden before stopping for a moment. When we returned from the beach Maggie was lively after her nap in the car and headed straight outside to play while I prepared us some dinner. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden, sitting in the sandpit playing dolls. Exhaustion had kicked in again by the time we had eaten and I ended up putting her to bed early, thinking I still had a good while to tidy up before you returned home. The next thing I knew I was opening my eyes to you looming over me, and my first thoughts were not of the garden, but a fierce hope that you hadn’t realised Maggie and I had been to the beach with Laura for the day. Luckily, it seems the state of garden has pushed any further thoughts of what my day has entailed from your mind, and you shout and carry on at me, while I quietly start to tidy up. I know the best thing I can do when you’re in this kind of mood is to just keep quiet and let you get on with it – any form of argument or retaliation will just make things worse, and I really don’t want you to wake Maggie up. When you announce you’re going up to bed I feel relieved that I won’t have to risk a further inquisition. I glance towards Laura’s house, checking for any signs that she might have overheard something. With no sign of life from next door I carry on picking up the toys from where they lie, and watch nervously as you stalk past the patio table, your hand brushing across it, causing both glasses and wine bottle to cascade onto the patio. The shattering of the glass makes me jump but I carry on picking up toys, studiously avoiding your gaze. I breathe a sigh of relief when you head towards the house, without any further comment.

The next morning, there is a thick air of tension surrounding you and I make sure I keep out of your way as much as possible. The last thing I want is for Maggie to be around if you flip out – generally you are fairly good about making sure she doesn’t witness too much; however, after last night I am worried it won’t take a lot to push you over the edge.

‘I’ll take Mags up to the supermarket, shall I?’ I lean over your shoulder as you sit at the patio table. ‘I was going to get a roasted chicken for lunch to have with some salad. We can walk up there together and get out of your hair for a bit. I’ll stop off on the way and take her for a push on the swings; you can relax and read the papers.’ I’ve made sure the patio is swept clean and the garden is tidy, so it seems you’re happy to sit outside and read the Sunday papers this morning. You grunt in reply, and as you make no move to speak to me properly, or move from your chair, I assume you’re OK with it.

Shopping takes longer than expected, as Maggie and I bump into our neighbour who lives at the top of the street. Mrs Wilson is pleased to see us, as always. An elderly lady, she has lived alone since her husband died, her children all disbanding to various corners of the globe and not returning home to see her as often as she would like. As a result, she dotes on Maggie and always has a little something for her when she sees her. ‘Sal! And darling little Maggie. What are you up to?’ Mrs Wilson places her shopping bags on the ground and lets Maggie give her a huge squeeze.

‘Hi, Mrs Wilson – just a bit of shopping. Charlie’s at home so we’re cooking up a storm, aren’t we, Mags? Are you going our way?’ I glance towards our street and Mrs Wilson nods.

‘Here, let me take these.’ I rearrange my own shopping bags, enabling me to pick up Mrs Wilson’s shopping as well.