Between You and Me (17 page)

You’ve gone off to work early this morning as usual, and although I am awake when you leave I fake sleep, once again, in order to avoid you. I seem to be doing it more and more these days, the effort it takes to sustain a conversation with you getting harder and harder. You have been a different person these past few days, since Stan told you the dinner party was a success. You’ve been a
nicer
person, making an effort with Maggie, doing the dishes so I can put my feet up, all the little things that give me a tiny glimpse into how our lives could be all the time. The only trouble is, now I recognise it for what it is – a tiny glimpse and no more – I don’t find myself thinking that maybe you’ve changed this time, that maybe the tiny glimpse will become the norm and, it frightens me a little bit. It frightens me that maybe I’ve recognised you for what you are, that maybe I’m realising I’m not as worthless as you make out.

That evening, although you seemed a little preoccupied, as though there is something else on your mind, you come home with a takeaway so I don’t have to cook, and a bottle of wine.

‘Here.’ You thrust the carrier bag at me as you walk in the front door. ‘I got us a curry. I didn’t think you’d want to cook after I woke you up this morning.’ You kiss me, and scoop up Maggie, who has run to the front door to welcome you. ‘Look at this, my perfect little family.’ You smile at me, a tiny dimple appearing in your cheek, which tells me it is a genuine smile and I manage to raise a smile back. We go through into the kitchen and I start to serve the food up onto plates. Maggie has eaten, so it will be just you and me at the table. Bringing out a bar of chocolate from your jacket pocket you wave it at Maggie and laugh as she squeals and makes a grab for it.

‘Nicely!’ You laugh, before handing it to her. She runs off to the living room to eat it and I lay the cutlery out for our meal.

‘Listen, Sal, I was thinking. It’s been a busy few months – we should go away. Just for the weekend. Somewhere by the sea. We could even let Maggie stay with your mum.’ I turn to you, open-mouthed. You never,
never
, let Maggie stay with anyone else.

‘Really? You would do that?’

‘Why not? I know I haven’t before but I think we need a break, Sal. Just think, walks along the beach, fishing on the pier, we can go to the pub for dinner. It’ll be nice.’ I nod, agreeing with you, but not getting too excited, as I know the offer could be retracted at any moment.

‘OK,’ I say. ‘That would be nice, just you and me. Maybe once you’re done with the Otex thing and you’re a partner.’ You beam at me, and I know I have said the right thing this time. I resolve not to ask my mum to have Maggie just yet, not until something is booked. I don’t want to disappoint her, or Maggie, if you decide to change your mind. It’s been known before – almost as though you dangle a carrot to get your own way, only to withdraw it at the last minute.

Stretching, I yawn and close my eyes. Despite feeling so tired, I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep. Maggie is beginning to stir next door, little shuffling noises coming from her room as she fidgets in bed, and it won’t be long before she is up and ready for another day. My eyes fly open at the thud of the post hitting the mat downstairs, so I pull on some pyjama bottoms and make my way downstairs. If I’m really quiet I can maybe sneak in a quick coffee before Maggie gets up and starts her daily demands. Much as I love looking after Maggie, love being at home with her, sometimes it is just exhausting and I’ll take a little snippet, a little moment here and there, just to be by myself whenever I can. I pad silently downstairs, the house already warm from the sun streaming in through the patio doors to the garden. It’s going to be another scorcher of a day, no sign of the heatwave abating. I should try and enjoy it; goodness knows when we’ll ever have a summer like this again. Scooping up the post from the mat, I head into the kitchen and switch on the coffee machine. I normally just have time to grab a quick cup of instant, but while Maggie is sleeping I’ll take the time to make a proper pot of coffee. I flick through the post while I wait for the pot to warm. Mostly junk mail, a couple of bills and then, finally, a smooth white envelope addressed to me. The envelope is handwritten and postmarked South-East London. As I move to open it the gurgling of the pot alerts me that my coffee is ready. Discarding the envelope, I pour a cup, just as Maggie enters the kitchen.

‘Hey, Mags. Good sleep?’ I lean down and ruffle her crazy dark curls. She looks adorable, all mussed-up bed hair, her chubby face lined with sleep.

‘Yep. Got Coco Pops?’ she asks, climbing up onto a kitchen chair to sit at the table. So much for my quiet cup of morning coffee. I pour Maggie a bowl of cereal, and the envelope lies forgotten on the kitchen counter as I run around after her, making sure she cleans her teeth and brushing the wild tangles out of her hair. It’s a few hours later and headed towards lunchtime before I remember about the letter.

With slightly shaking hands I ease open the envelope and slide out the letter. Unfolding the paper, I feel my breath hitch as I recognise the emblem for St Martin’s. Quickly, I skim the letter, before going back and reading properly. And then rereading, before rereading again.
Shit.
My hands are properly shaking now and a smile creeps across my face. Following on from my application, Mrs Prideaux, head teacher at St Martin’s C of E Primary School, would like to invite me to attend an interview on Wednesday 8
^th
July. This will be an all-day interview and will include the opportunity to show my teaching skills.

Fuuuuuck. I can’t believe it. I actually can’t believe it. I honestly thought I would get a letter back, saying thanks but no thanks. I haven’t taught in so long, having been home with Maggie all this time, that I really didn’t think I would have any chance of even getting to interview stage in the first place. I take a deep breath and look for my phone.

Although my first instinct is always to call you and tell you when something happens, I can’t in this case. I still haven’t confessed that I even applied for a job, and I don’t want to tell you anything until,
unless
, I actually get it. I don’t honestly believe you would be terribly supportive; in fact, I think the shit will hit the fan big-time, but I also think that if I actually have a job offer, it’ll make my case for taking up the job stronger.
And
, a tiny voice pipes up inside my head,
if you do end up having to make a big decision regarding you and Charlie, you’re going to need a job.

I decide to text Laura – she knows about the application and I hope she’ll be home with the children. I also know, without a doubt, that she’ll be excited for me. I pick up my phone to text her, but my phone is dead. Typical. There are only two places a phone charger might be. I look in the top kitchen drawer – no charger. There are keys for locks that we don’t even have any more, old birthday candles and a roll of clingfilm, but no phone charger. Checking that Maggie is still happy playing Barbies in the front hallway (where else is there but the front hallway to play Barbies?), I run lightly up the stairs to our bedroom, my good news making me feel altogether lighter all over. I look next to the bed, my side and yours, but still no phone charger. That’s weird. These are the only places the phone charger is ever left – you are extreme in your demands that things have a certain place, and they must always be left
in the correct spot
. That way, nothing ever gets lost. Only, this time, it is lost. I recheck next to the bed, looking underneath and in the bedside drawers. I go back to the kitchen, checking the usual drawer and both drawers underneath. Still no charger. I ask Mags if she has seen it; she says she hasn’t. I even check her toy box. There is no sign at all of the phone charger. Sighing, there’s only one thing I can do. I’ll have to go and buy a new charger to replace the one that’s gone missing, before you get home tonight and want to charge your phone up. There is no doubt in my mind that if you get home and it’s not here, I will be the one who gets the blame, regardless of whether I have used it or not.

‘Come on, Mags.’ I slip her sandals on her chubby little feet and we head out the front door, straight up the path next door to Laura’s. Laura opens the door before we reach it, having obviously seen us on our way up the path.

‘Hey, you two, what can I do for you?’ She grins, pushing her red hair out of her eyes with a pale, slim hand.

‘I have
news
.’ I widen my eyes at her, and she gets the hint. ‘But first, I need to go into town and get a new phone charger. Fancy a trip on the bus? We can get a coffee at that new place, and I can tell you
all about it
.’ I waggle my eyebrows at her and she laughs, a deep, throaty laugh.

‘How could I resist? One thing, though – we’re going in my car. There’s no way I’m taking these two on the bus!’ She calls through to Lucy and Fred and I help her with shoes, cardigans and the pushchair.

An hour later, we are strolling through the town centre, a new phone charger swinging from the small carrier bag in my hand. Mags and Lucy are holding hands and walking in front of us, pretending they are shopping on their own. They have persuaded us they
need
a
Frozen
top each, one they have seen displayed in Primark’s front window as we walk past, so both are swinging their own little carrier bags.

Laura turns to me. ‘Coffee, then? I could murder a latte.’ We reach the swanky new coffee shop, and as we enter the aroma of roasted coffee and buttery pastry hits me, making my stomach growl, and I remember that I never did get to drink that coffee earlier. We get our order and find a booth with big, squishy couches. There is a tiny play area in one corner of the room, so Maggie, Fred and Lucy all hit the miniature ball-pit and we are free to talk in peace.

‘So, come on then,
spill
. I want to hear the
news
.’ Laura waggles her eyebrows at me, in much the same fashion as I had at her earlier.

‘I got an interview,’ I say, and Laura squeals and pulls me into a bear hug.

‘Shit, Sal. That’s amazing. Fucking hell, I knew you could do it!’ I grin at her, unable to hold it in.

‘Steady on, I only got an interview. I didn’t get the job!’

‘
Yet
, Sal. You didn’t get the job
yet
. I’ve every faith in you.’ Laura takes a bite of her lemon and poppy seed muffin, neat white teeth taking neat little bites.

‘Thanks, Laur, for being so supportive. I still haven’t told Charlie yet. I think I should just see how it goes, you know? I don’t want to cause a row if it’s not even going to come to anything.’ I sip my latte, disappointment tugging at me. Surely it’s not right to feel this way?

‘Listen, Sal. You’ve got to remember you’re still your own person. You’re still
you
. What are you going to do when Mags goes to school if you haven’t got a job? You’ll go bat shit staying indoors all day with nothing to do. Charlie has to understand that.’

‘Easier said than done.’

‘Is everything OK with you two? It’s just … sometimes things don’t always seem balanced between you. I mean … you know you can always talk to me, right?’ Sighing, Laura puts her hand on top of mine and I subtly pull away.

‘It’s fine, honestly. Charlie just has a stressful job and not a lot of time to deal with the family stuff. Things can get a bit tense, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong.’ Laura nods slowly, and I avoid her eyes. I wish I could tell her everything, but the last time I tried to talk to anyone about what went on at home it backfired on me hugely, and I am loath to ever try and discuss it with anyone again. The excitement of earlier has firmly abated, and we decide to make a move towards home.

I leave Laura at her door and take Maggie inside. It’s swelteringly hot outside again, and so I get the hosepipe and sprinkler out for Maggie after dousing her in sun cream. I plug my phone in with the new charger, dispose of the bag at the bottom of the bin, and start emptying pockets in order to put a load of laundry on.

When you arrive home, a little later than the other nights this week, your good mood seems to have broken. You are tense, moody, more than a little snappy. I decide to keep out of your way for a little while, while you relax with a cold beer.
Maybe it’s just the heat getting to you?
I’m pretty sure I haven’t said or done anything that could have set you off, but to be on the safe side I go out into the garden, intent on getting Maggie dry and dressed before dinner.

‘SAL!’ My heart sinks as I hear you roar from the kitchen. Obviously our time of peace is over and it’s back to being a war. Another exhausting, bloody battle in which there is only every one victor and it’s never me. Closing my eyes, I stop for a second, before leaving Maggie to carry on her solo water fight and trudging back up the garden to the kitchen. You are standing against the counter, a small white slip of paper in your hand.

‘What the fuck is this?’ You wave it at me, and my throat constricts in terror as, at first, my eyes somehow see the letter from St Martin’s. Then I realise it is just the receipt for the phone charger I bought earlier.

‘It’s a receipt, Charlie.’ I stretch out to take it from you.

‘I can see that, you fucking idiot. What the hell have you been buying from EE? A new SIM card, is that it? One I don’t know about, so you can ring people behind my back?’ I stare at you incredulously. I honestly don’t understand the way your mind works.

‘What? No! I couldn’t find the phone charger this morning, and my phone was almost dead. I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to get hold of me, so I thought the best thing to do would be to go and get a new one. I didn’t want you to not be able to charge your phone when you got in.’

‘No phone charger? What the fuck is this, then?’ I look on in horror as you violently pull the kitchen drawer open to reveal the charger, sitting snugly in its usual place. I know it wasn’t there this morning, I checked
over and over
and it definitely wasn’t there.

‘You’re a liar, Sal,’ you sing-song at me, ‘a fucking liar. Nothing ever changes, does it? Maybe you need to be taught a lesson?’ A tight smile flits across your face as I back away from you, feeling sick. You pick up the boiling hot cup of tea you must have poured while I was out in the garden with Maggie.