Between You and Me (3 page)

‘Ha. I know that feeling, Fred had me up four times in the night, didn’t you, dude?’ Laura smiles down at the chubby little boy who toddles into the kitchen behind her. Looking me over, she frowns. ‘Jesus, Sal, aren’t you hot in that outfit? It must be nearly thirty degrees outside; speaking of which, has Maggie got sun cream on? She’s outside playing dolls under the apple tree, I’ve left Lucy out there with her.’

‘What? Yeah, she’s got sun cream on; they’ll be fine out there, and it’s shady under the tree. And no, I’m not hot, I’m fine.’ I turn to the sink and start to fill the kettle, feeling the weight of Laura’s gaze on me. I am too hot in my jeans. It’s June and the heatwave that was forecast last week is in full force today, but the only other option is shorts, and that would mean revealing the red, angry scald marks left by the splashes of food from last night, and that would mean questions. Questions that I really, really don’t want to have to answer. Questions that I’m not even sure I have the answers to – I have no idea how events like last night’s ended up being almost the norm in our relationship.

Laura settles herself at the kitchen table, spreading out across it with Fred’s juice bottle, a pot of grapes, Fred’s dummy and Lucy’s security blanket. She brings over a hell of a lot of stuff for someone who only lives next door.

‘Are you sure you’re OK, Sal? I thought I heard shouting last night, that’s all. You know how thin these walls are; I just … well, I just wanted to check that’s all.’ She doesn’t look at me, pretending she is busy with Fred’s juice bottle.

‘Laura, I’m fine, I promise. Charlie must have just had the telly up too loud; you’ve just said these walls are hideously thin! Nothing to worry about, honestly. And I appreciate your concern, but believe me, I’m big enough and ugly enough to look after myself.’ I squeeze her shoulder as I lean over and place a cup of tea on the table in front of her and swing Fred up for a cuddle. Nearly two, Fred still has that chubby baby feel about him that I miss so much in Maggie now she’s four and almost ready for ‘Big School’. I would have loved another baby, a boy, to balance out our family and keep Maggie company. I would have loved lots more, coming from a big family, but you weren’t keen on even having one more, let alone three or four, saying, ‘We can provide a better lifestyle if we only have one child, Sal. Don’t be an idiot.’ I can’t help feeling that Maggie is missing out somehow. I give Fred a big nuzzle and blow raspberries on his neck until he shrieks with laughter and squirms to be put down. Lowering him gently to the floor, Fred runs over to the toy box in the corner of the living room, ready to search out toy cars and bits of Lego that I’ll be scooping out from under the sofa later on.

Laura sips at her tea and eyes me closely. ‘So, if you’re not too tired, or too hot …’ – she winks at me – ‘what do you want to do today? Shall we take the kids to the park? Get an ice cream and slag off all the yummy mummies with their bugaboo pushchairs and glamorous white-jeans-and-heels summer park outfits? It’s roasting out there, and before you know it it’ll be September, Lucy and Maggie will be starting school and you’ll spend all your days cleaning and tidying like a proper housewife.’

‘Fuck off.’ Smiling, I throw a tea towel at her and she bursts into laughter, her mouth open so wide I can see her back teeth, filling-free thanks to a dad who practises as a dentist.

‘To be honest, I think I’m going to give it a miss today, Laur. I am really shattered from last night, and I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today. I might just fill the paddling pool and let Mags go crazy in there this afternoon.’ I look at her apologetically, not sure of her reaction, but I really can’t risk going out today, not after last night.

‘Loads to do? Like what? What could be more fun than spending the afternoon in the park with your fantastically gorgeous, pale-skinned, red-headed mate, in a thirty-degree heatwave, while she bitches and moans about the perils of being so fair-skinned in said bloody heatwave?!’ Laura laughs again, and I am relieved. I need to learn that not everyone reacts in the same manner you do to things. I remember why she is one of the best people in my life, despite what you say about her behind her back. I laugh, too, and then decide to tell her my plans.

‘I’m going to look for a job. I’ve decided that once Maggie starts school I want to go back to work. I only stopped working for Maggie. Charlie could earn twice what I earned, and we agreed that I would stay home and look after the baby, but I think it’s time. Charlie doesn’t want another baby and I don’t want to sit around here, twiddling my thumbs all day while Maggie is at school. And I want Maggie to know that it’s OK for both parents to go to work, that it’s not a case of one parent going to work while the other stays home.’ I look down at my feet, suddenly feeling a bit shy that I’ve actually told someone.

‘Shit, Sal, that’s brilliant.’ Laura stands, and comes over to give me a hug. ‘But what is Charlie going to think? I mean, I thought the whole “stay home and bring up baby” thing was most important? God, I envy you, Sal. Since Jed left me bringing up these two on my own I can’t see myself ever getting back out there in the real world.’

‘I think Charlie is probably going to go mad in all honesty,’ I say. I am not looking forward to talking to you about it, which is the reason why I think, if I look for a job now, and tell you when,
if
, I land one, hopefully the fallout will be less. Don’t get me wrong; I know there’ll be fallout – it’s almost something to be expected now any time I do something that you don’t approve of – but I’ll be able to use the salary and the fact that I’ll be around in the school holidays as a bargaining chip. ‘But I can’t sit around all day here, Laura, not without Mags to take care of. I’ll go mad.’

‘I know, Sal. You still need to be your own person.’ Laura kisses my cheek, and scoops all her debris from the kitchen table into her bag. ‘Listen, good luck. I’m going to take Fred and Lucy to the park, sneer at some yummy mummies and bitch to myself about lobster skin and red hair. You let me know if you need anything, OK? And Sal? You can do it. I know you can.’ She squeezes my hand and scoops Fred up from the Lego that’s exploded all over the living room carpet.

Once I’ve waved Laura and her brood off, I fill the paddling pool and clear up all the Lego, including the rogues that have hidden under the sofa, just waiting until someone sneaks down for a midnight glass of water before they pop out to savage bare feet. I
am
going to look for a job, starting today, but I didn’t want to tell Laura the real reason I didn’t want to take a trip to the park. I didn’t want to tell her that I need to be at home, just in case. Just in case Charlie rings and I’m not here. I need to be home in case the house phone rings, and if I’m at the park and Charlie calls my mobile I might not hear it. I just want one peaceful night tonight, and if it means staying indoors and waiting for the phone to ring, then that’s what I’ll do. I check the ringer on my mobile for the hundredth time, making sure the ringer is turned up to full volume and not on silent. Just in case.

Chapter Six

CHARLIE

I manage to get through a ton of paperwork in the office today and, with Anita’s help to keep any distracting calls at bay, feel like I’m actually getting somewhere with the Otex merger. The only slight dampener on my day is that I don’t hear from Alex Hoskins, but no big deal. It’s Friday and it can all wait until after the weekend. I make a note in my online diary to call Alex on Monday.

‘Charlie? Do you need anything else?’ Anita pops her head round the door of my office, her summer scarf already tied jauntily at an angle and her huge handbag on her shoulder. ‘Only, it’s just that it’s Friday … and my daughter is bringing the baby over tonight – we’re going to have dinner and then …’ She hesitates.

‘It’s fine Anita – go. Like you say, it’s Friday and family has to come first.’ I turn on my most prize-winning smile for her, all gleaming white teeth.

‘Thanks, Charlie – you are the best, and I mean
best
, boss. Have a brilliant weekend!’ With that, she flicks her scarf over her shoulder and heads off towards the lifts.

I stretch out, and peer through the blinds that separate my office from Geoff’s. His computer terminal is switched off, and his jacket and briefcase are gone. Taking this as a sign that he has also had a productive day on his side of the Otex merger, I decide to pack up early and head home to Sal and Maggie.

I’ve called Sal repeatedly today and the phone has been answered every time, each time within a few rings. Hopefully yesterday’s tiff has hammered home the idea that I really don’t see the need for Sal to have so much contact with that side of the family. We don’t have any contact with my family. I moved down to London from Lincolnshire to go to university and haven’t looked back since. My mother is still living in the house I grew up in, that shabby little terraced house with its worn-out carpets, stained kitchen lino and tiny rooms full of dusty, old-fashioned furniture. I couldn’t wait to escape from there and, after living under my drunken father’s violent regime for so many years, university felt like my life had begun again. There’s nothing for me there and I haven’t been back since, not even for my father’s funeral, when that last glass of whisky proved to be just a little too much for his poisonous old soul to take. I’m not the same person that walked out of there eighteen years ago. I won’t go back there again, ever.

‘Honey, I’m home!’ Sal comes out of the kitchen, smiling nervously as I shout my arrival through the front door, holding out my gift of Haribos. Sal is the only grown-up I know that actually likes Haribos, even after that awful Channel 4 programme showed the actual ingredients used.

‘Did you have a good day?’ Sal accepts my kiss on the cheek, and the bag of sweets, and leads me into the kitchen where I can smell something delicious simmering on the stove. I am glad to be home and the bitter taste of last night’s argument has dissolved, meaning I am feeling more affectionate towards Sal.

‘We had a perfect day,’ Sal says. ‘We stayed home and played in the garden all day, the weather was so lovely. We had a picnic under the apple tree, and Mags ran through the sprinkler for about two hours. Oh, and look, we checked on the veg patch and picked our own little harvest!’ Sal opens the fridge to show me a large ceramic baking bowl filled to the brim with fresh strawberries, and another, smaller, bowl filled with tiny new potatoes. ‘Dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you run up and get changed and I’ll open the wine.’

I head upstairs to our bedroom to change into something cooler, the windows wide open in an attempt to get some air moving through the house. Even though it’s close to 7pm it’s still ridiculously hot and muggy. I lie on the bed in my underwear, hoping for a cool breeze to wash over me, but the air is thick and still. I hear Sal singing in the kitchen while preparing dinner, something low and sweet in Italian, and I smile to myself before pulling myself upright and grabbing a pair of shorts. Sal is obviously making an effort after ruining our evening yesterday. Maybe – just maybe – some lessons have actually been learnt and I feel optimistic that tonight will be a better night.

After a meal of poached salmon and new potatoes from Sal’s vegetable garden, Sal puts Maggie to bed and we settle down for a night in front of the television. Sal brings through another bottle of wine, and the bag of sweets, and I finally feel relaxed. My family are all under one roof, together, with nobody snooping around, poking their nose in, interfering in how we do things, and Sal seems to have realised that all we need is each other. Sal is showing me respect today, by doing what I asked, and the effect of that is that everyone is calm, relaxed and happy, which just goes to prove my point. Anyone looking in from the outside would see us for the perfect family. Which is, of course, what we are.

Chapter Seven

SAL

Our Friday evening is just about perfect, as far removed from Thursday evening as it possibly could be, and I can’t help wishing every evening could be like this. We almost seem like a normal family. My plan to keep Maggie at home all day so I could be near the phone seems to have worked, as I manage to answer every time you call (I think, at the last count, by 4pm, you had called me six times), and when you stride through the front door just before seven o’clock, waving a bag of sweets at me, your mood is buoyant. I heave a sigh of relief and come through from the kitchen to greet you. Your good mood is infectious and I find myself humming under my breath as I cook – an old Italian love song that my mum used to sing to me at night when I couldn’t sleep. It’s moments like these, little fragments of our lives together, when everything is peaceful and you’re happy … these moments are part of the reason I stay when things are bad. There is nothing that compares to an evening indoors with you and Maggie, a nice family meal eaten together, time spent as a family, with no arguments, recriminations or fear. These few and far between moments are what I wanted when I married you, when we had Maggie. These moments are what I hang in there for, when you’re screaming at me, or throwing something at me because I’ve let you down again.

After a meal complemented by vegetables that Maggie and I have grown in our vegetable patch, we settle in for the night. Maggie and I are very pleased with ourselves today, after plucking a bumper crop from our little mini allotment. We created our patch at the back of the garden last year, as soon as Maggie was old enough to start helping out. I dug the patch over myself, weeded it and set up a little fence to try and keep the rabbits out. We visited the local farmer and requested his help with fertiliser (it turns out that horse poo comes free of charge) and then, once it was all ready, Maggie helped to plant various fruits and vegetables. It’s become a little parcel of pride for me, down at the bottom of the garden, a small achievement that doesn’t mean a lot to anyone else, but when I stand back and look at it, I think, ‘I did that.’ You, on the other hand, don’t think it’s anything terribly special and can’t see the attraction in growing things from scratch, telling me that it probably works out cheaper just to buy the vegetables ourselves. You don’t understand that it’s the sense of pride that comes with it all that makes it all so worthwhile.