The Blame (16 page)

Laura knew just how concerned David really was. It wasn’t yet midday and he’d already called three times to check up on her.
Dona
Maria, bless her, seemed to be rather watchful, too.  Had he asked the maid to keep an eye on his wife?

Dona
Maria, please call me if my wife freaks out or collapses on the floor. Oh, and by the way, make sure she doesn’t hit the bottle too hard, will you? Just take it away from her if she starts to slur? Okay? All right then. Have a nice day now.

Fine. She was being bitchy, but she was tired of being afraid of being afraid. Did that even make sense? She’d once read an article about depression at the hairdresser’s. One of those editorials that help you diagnose and assess all your issues by taking a quiz. She clearly recalled a line that said worrying about having a panic attack was just as serious as actually having one, and that professional help should be sought at once.

At the time she’d scoffed at the whole thing. Panic attacks indeed. People just losing it out of the blue, ridiculous. Of course if they’d suffered a traumatic event, a vicious attack, say, then it was probably entirely understandable. Normal, even. Nothing to be concerned about; certainly there was no need to see a psychiatrist.

It was nothing a shot or two of Muscatel wouldn’t cure. Although to be honest she was beginning to find it a bit too sweet now. Perhaps she should change to white wine. Or perhaps a shot of vodka.

Her legs propelled her to the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, listening to see where the housekeeper was. She could hear banging and thumping coming from upstairs. She was probably dusting Vanessa’s toys. Quickly, she opened the fridge, took out a bottle of white wine from the cooling rack, and not bothering with a glass, took a healthy swig. Ahh! That was more like it. Nice and cool and not as sweet.

Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs, she hastily corked the bottle and put it back. Then she scuttled away—just like a cockroach does when someone turns on the light.

She stood at the sink, pretending to wash her hands as the housekeeper came in. A feeling of shame washed over her. What had it come to? Drinking on the sly? Slinking furtively round her own home?

She bit her lip. This wouldn’t do. She’d either have to sort herself out or get help. Not that she balked at the idea of seeing a psychiatrist; she wasn’t prejudiced or narrow-minded. But if she did so, she’d be admitting she had a serious problem, one she couldn’t deal with herself. And what if the shrink wanted to know the cause of her anxiety? What would she say? No, she’d rather try and deal with her issues by herself first.

She went upstairs, changed into her workout gear and hit the home gym.  She pondered which CD to select. No opera today. She was already feeling too emotional as it was. She wanted something combative; something that would pick up her spirits, make her fight back and not give in to this dreadful anxiety.

She settled on a recent workout music medley that would get her blood pumping. She inserted the CD and cranked up the volume. She could feel the bass vibrate through the floor. That should keep the demons out.

She went through the procedure of wrapping her hands, and was annoyed to find that they were shaking. She gritted her teeth. She’d give them something to shake about. 

Laura approached the bag, shoulders hunched and head curved, gloves under her chin. She danced around the bag; then she lashed out.

Jab! Jab! Jab! Right cross! Left hook!

The rage that drove her punches said it wasn’t a bag she saw before her.

One hour later, she sank to the floor, legs trembling.
At least now it’s justifiable
, she thought with satisfaction.

***

Laura kept up her gruelling exercise schedule over the next few days. Every time she felt the overwhelming constriction in her chest, she hit the gym. Sometimes more than once a day.

Punishing the body to save the soul.

But it worked. She began to feel like her old self again—more in control and better equipped to deal with the mundane events of daily life. Like a weekend away.

***

“I’m all packed,” said David, throwing a gym bag into the boot of his car. He’d changed into a pair of faded jeans and hoodie, and looked more like a surfer than a stockbroker.

“Let me just feed the dogs, and then I’ll pack my stuff.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.”

They waited while the dogs double-checked their bowls for any residual scraps of food. When they were finally satisfied that nothing had escaped their attention, David collected all six bowls and rinsed them under the garden tap.

“These dogs love pasta almost as much as Vanessa does,” he joked.

“Yes, quite a treat they had this evening.”

“They won’t be so lucky this weekend.
Dona
Maria will make sure they stick to a healthy regimen. No scraps allowed.”

"I still don’t know where we’re going."

“It’s a surprise.”

“But how will I know what to pack?” she demanded.

“Just pack a casual outfit, a track suit and your running gear.”

“Running gear? That doesn’t sound much like a relaxing weekend,” she protested.

“Trust me. You’re going to love it. Now go and pack Vanessa’s things and don’t forget Mariana’s present.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Laura, realising David had taken charge of the household. Even though he’d always shared the housework, lately he had taken over the management, too—essentially supervising her the way she normally supervised her daughter to ensure things ran smoothly. How odd that their roles had been inverted; normally she was the one issuing orders and lighting fires under everyone’s backside. 

***

“I can’t thank you enough, Sara,” said Laura as she handed Vanessa’s overnight bag to her friend.

“Don’t be silly, Laura. Vanessa is no trouble at all. See,” she said, “they’re already keeping themselves busy.”

The girls were on all fours, pouring over the scattered pieces of a Barbie puzzle, totally taking over the uncarpeted part of the living room floor.

“This weekend getaway was long overdue; you and David need some time to yourselves.”

Laura smiled. “Yes, I can’t believe that we’re finally having a weekend away by ourselves,” she said. “I’d better run, David is double-parked. But, Sara, please call if anything…”

“Oh, be quiet, woman,” Sara interrupted. “Stop fussing like an old mother hen. Vanessa won’t even know you’re gone.”

And sure enough, she didn’t even respond when her mother called out a final farewell.

Both women laughed. As Laura turned to go, Sara reached out and hugged her tight.

“Make it work, Laura,” she whispered.

By the time they reached their destination, crimson streaks ripped through the cyan velvet sky along the horizon. David drove slowly down the coastal road that led to the fishing village. There was little traffic now, but in August it would come alive with tourists, and emigrants who were coming home for the summer.

Laura lowered her window and inhaled deeply. The crisp, salty sea air filled her lungs and lifted her spirits.

“Why are we here, David? It’s been years since we’ve been here.”

“Fifteen, to be exact,” he answered.

“So?” she asked enquiringly.

“So wait and see,” he replied mysteriously.

The village prepared to greet the night. The street lights were already on, and most cottages had a light or two burning. As they passed each of the trees that lined the boulevard, a cacophony of birdsong floated up to them. Here and there stragglers hurried to find a free perch, only to cause even louder squabbling.

A group of rowdy teenagers made their way up from the beach, surfboards tucked easily under their arms. They tossed their trademark sun-streaked hair as they laughed and shoved one another.

Laura watched them with a pang akin to envy. Oh to be so young and carefree: to be immortal, to be king of the world. A time when life was yours for the picking, and sorrow, pain and death were merely words in a dictionary, words uttered by tiresome old people.

The familiar breathlessness and racing heart threatened to take hold of her, but she valiantly fought them down. She lowered her window further and focussed on the horizon, taking slow deep breaths and controlling her breathing. Discretely, so that her husband wouldn’t notice.

David carried on driving until the houses started to dwindle, giving way to farmland. He turned into a narrow little lane and came to a halt outside a picturesque cottage, perched on a hillside overlooking the ocean.

Laura gasped as she realized where they were. David cut the engine and she jumped out excitedly. She twirled around on the lawn, arms widespread and head thrown back, like an Olympic figure skater. David looked on, obviously pleased by her reaction.

“Oh, David! What a sweet thing to do,” cried Laura as she hugged him tight. “How did you think of it?”

“Well, this is where we spent our first night together. I thought if we came back here, just the two of us, like before, we could recapture some of that old magic,” he said, somewhat embarrassed at sounding so corny.

Tears filled her eyes. He had been so supportive and understanding. How could she ever have thought they weren’t good together anymore? She stroked his cheek and smiled at him.

They stood together a minute, holding hands and looking out across the lawn at the sea. The horizon was a deep indigo now and a line of lights twinkled across the seascape—fishing boats heading out for their nightly harvest.

Laura inhaled deeply and let her breath out slowly, feeling her muscles relax completely for the first time in weeks.

David squeezed her hand and led her to the porch. He turned the doormat over and retrieved the front door key. Laura quirked an eyebrow at him: “Are you kidding me? People still do that?”

“They do here,” he grinned.

He opened the door and stood aside to let her in. Laura walked round the cosy cottage, examining everything and trying to find traces of their presence there fifteen years earlier. The terracotta floor tiles were still highly polished and the rustic stone walls were still adorned with wooden barnyard relics. A pile of wood was neatly stacked in the fireplace even though the nights were now sufficiently warm to forgo heating.

“Nothing’s changed, David. It looks exactly the same!” Laura said in wonder.

David smiled, but he was pretty sure the lounge suite had been reupholstered and the curtains replaced. But he was happy to let nostalgia work its magic on his wife.

“I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to get our bags.”

***

Laura couldn’t quite believe it. There she was having dinner in a restaurant, just like an ordinary person. She had even laughed a few times, momentarily forgetting the burden she carried with her wherever she went.

She glanced around at the other patrons. They appeared to be local families out for a meal, or city couples on a weekend getaway. Did any of them harbour secrets, too? Would they cringe in horror if they knew hers? Would their eyes widen in disbelief as they shepherded their children out of the restaurant?

I have to stop doing this! I must not allow that evil man to take over my life
!

She forced herself to focus on the moment and clear her mind of her other troubles. Discipline was all it took, she told herself.

While David had already demolished most of his grilled sea bass, she had been picking at hers absent-mindedly. Now determined not to let David’s efforts go to waste, she concentrated on enjoying her evening out. She tucked into her meal with gusto.

Her appetite seemed to be back.

David smiled at her and she was suddenly aware of the toll recent events had had on him. His face was gaunt and the furrows on his brow seemed deeper. Even the sparkle seemed to have left his eyes. All this time she’d been so wrapped up in her own misery she’d forgotten his. She’d all but forgotten her fling with Hugo, but she was pretty sure that David hadn’t. He must still be hurt, and there he was having to deal with another crisis. She’d make it up to him, show him he was the one that mattered, the one she truly loved.

She placed her hand over his.

“David, this weekend was a lovely gesture. Thank you.”

She saw him swallow the lump in his throat. She wasn’t the only one who’d become more emotional, more easily moved to tears.

“All I want is for you to have some peace and quiet,” he said softly.

They both knew that the kind of peace she needed—they needed—came from within, and not from a bucolic country setting. But it was as good a place as any to start their emotional healing. It would take time for the scar tissue to form around the deep wounds. But form it would; slowly yet inexorably, until all the hurt was gone.

She realized that this is how it would be: good days followed by bad ones, until eventually there would be more good than bad.

And today was a good one. She’d had two glasses of wine with her meal—to wash it down, and not to steady her nerves.

Progress was the succession of tiny steps.