The Story of Us (33 page)

‘Who's there?'

My heart was still pounding crazily when Richard threw open the door, wildly brandishing a tennis racquet.

‘Christ, Emma, I thought you were a bloody burglar.'

‘Likewise,' I replied, my voice still shaky, even though the threat of danger was gone. ‘And what were you planning on doing with that?' I asked. ‘Challenge them to a match?'

He looked down at the racquet in his hand and shook his head, before throwing the inadequate weapon into the lounge. It landed with a small thump on the patterned rug, right beside Richard's jacket and bag which appeared to have been carelessly discarded on the floor.

‘What are you doing here anyway?' I challenged, not pausing to recognise that
I
was the person who didn't belong there, not him. Amazingly, it was only then that I noticed something that should have been glaringly obvious. Richard was wearing just a faded old T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, and the room he'd just emerged from was in total darkness, with the heavy blinds drawn shut to keep out the spring sunshine.

I reached out and flicked on the hall light, stepping closer towards him as I noted the unhealthy pallor of his face and the thin layer of perspiration on his brow. He squinted in the light and I immediately snapped it off. ‘Sorry. Have you got another migraine?' I asked. He nodded dully, as he reached out to hold on to the door frame for support. ‘You should be in bed,' I advised solemnly.

‘I
was
in bloody bed, until I was woken up by someone trying to ransack the place,' he said. His eye fell to the large cardboard box which I had dropped on to the hall floor. ‘But I see you weren't here to take my possessions, just yours.' His voice sounded pained, which could have just been the headache, or maybe not.

‘Look, I'll just go,' I said, bending to retrieve my box. ‘I only came during the day because I thought this would be easier – for both of us – when you weren't home.' A thought suddenly occurred to me. ‘Where's your car anyway? I wouldn't have come in if I'd seen it outside.'

‘I left it at the school,' he replied, and I saw the effort it was costing him to stand and talk to me. He really did look terrible. ‘One of the guys at work dropped me back, my vision was going weird and I didn't think I should drive.'

I knew Richard's migraines; he'd suffered with them for years. They were largely manageable, as long as he took his medication at the first signs. Only rarely were they severe enough to disturb his eyesight and force him to take to his bed. This was clearly a bad one. The worse ones were usually brought on by stress. Perhaps it was hardly surprising that he had one now.

‘Go back to bed,' I said firmly. ‘I'll let myself out. I'll come back another time.'

He turned back gratefully in the direction of his darkened room. ‘You might as well get whatever it is you've come for,' he said bitterly as he walked jerkily to the double bed, as though even the movement of his limbs caused pain in his pounding head.

‘You're really bad, aren't you?' I questioned, scarcely noticing that I had followed him into the bedroom as he slowly lowered himself back down on to the mattress. There was something about the way he was sitting there on the side of the bed with his throbbing head in his hands that made it impossible for me to leave. ‘Did you take your pills?' I questioned.

He shook his head, and then winced as though he really regretted having done that. ‘No. I just wanted to get straight into a darkened room and see if I could sleep it off.'

I gave an exasperated sigh, and sounded entirely like a girlfriend as I said, ‘Why on earth not? You
know
you can never shake these off without the pills.' I turned on my heel and headed for the bathroom. ‘I'll get them.'

Nothing had changed or been moved in the bathroom since the last time I had been there. The shelf of my shampoo, conditioner, face cream and body lotion was exactly as I had left it. My spare dressing gown was hanging on the back of the door and a couple of my hairclips sat on the edge of his bathtub. I was everywhere. No wonder he was doing such a terrible job of letting me go.

I pulled open the mirror-fronted medicine cabinet and reached automatically for the shelf where he kept his migraine medication. The box was there, but when I pulled out the foil blister sheet, all the holes in it had already been punctured and it was empty. With the box in hand I returned to the bedroom.

‘There are none left. Where's your new packet? You
did
get your last prescription filled, didn't you?' It was surprising how easily I was managing to slip back into the role of nagging girlfriend.

Richard had laid back on the crumpled pillows during my absence, his face pretty much the same shade as the white bed linen. ‘No. I kept meaning to, but I never got around to it.'

‘Richard,' I said, my voice rising slightly in irritated exasperation.

He flinched at the increase in decibels. ‘Yeah, well, I've had other things on my mind lately.'

I may have hesitated for a second or two, but not for much longer. I didn't really have an option here, did I? Without waiting for permission, I opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet where I knew I'd find the prescription. I plucked the small green sheet from Richard's belongings.

‘What are you doing?' he asked, his aching head clearly not firing on all cylinders.

‘Filling your bloody prescription for you,' I replied, preparing to go. He turned his head slowly on the pillow to look at me, carefully, as though his neck was lying on a surface of broken glass.

‘Thank you,' he said weakly.

I didn't know what to say or how I felt about seeing him like this, so sick and vulnerable. I think that's what made my voice so unnaturally brusque. ‘Go back to sleep. I won't be long.'

There was an annoyingly long queue in the pharmacy, and by the time I let myself back into the flat I knew Richard's headache was probably a roaring giant beating a club on the inside of his skull to get out. I managed to find a clean glass in the kitchen, no small achievement, and filled it with icy cold water before returning to his bedroom. To keep the light from bothering him, I had shut the bedroom door when I left, and I hesitated now on the threshold, not sure if I should knock and risk disturbing him, or walk right in. It was ridiculous, because despite our break-up, this place still felt very much like my second home. I curled my hand around the door handle and pushed it slowly down. Richard was asleep, but not in a peaceful, relaxed kind of way. In his restlessness he had thrown off the covers, and they were now twisted into a tangled origami knot beneath his legs. Even in the darkened room I could see a glistening sheen on his exposed torso, for he'd discarded the T-shirt which was now lying on the floor in a damp and unpleasant ball. I didn't know what to do for the best: leave him sleeping or try to get him to swallow the pills? His head was moving restlessly from side to side and occasionally a spasm of pain crossed his face. Pills, I decided.

‘Richard, I'm back.'

He made no reply, but his brow furrowed as though he'd heard my voice.

‘Richard, open your eyes. You need to take these.' I pressed out two of the pills into my palm, but there was still no sign from the bed that he'd heard me.

‘Richard, it's me. Can you hear me? Wake up and take your pills.'

I know he recognised my voice then, because his expression changed and he mumbled something which may very well have been my name, if it had been spoken underwater, with a mouth full of cotton wool. I put both the pills and drinking glass on to the bedside table and crouched down beside the bed. If anyone had told me that I would be here, in Richard's flat, looking after him like this, I'd have called them crazy. But what was I supposed to do? Just leave him suffering and walk out?

I slid my hand beneath his neck and gently raised his head off the pillows. With my free hand I picked up the two small white tablets. His lips felt hot and dry as I gently parted them with my fingers and slipped both pills on to his tongue. I had touched those lips a thousand times, I'd felt them on practically every inch of my body, but the intimacy of this moment made me so uncomfortable I could actually feel my face begin to flush. This felt beyond inappropriate, especially given the way things were between us. I reached for the glass of water and held it to his mouth.

‘Swallow, Richard.' Obediently, still more asleep than awake, he did as I asked. When I was sure the pills were gone, I tilted the glass once more to his parched lips. ‘Drink some more,' I requested and obligingly he took several small mouthfuls of the refreshing liquid. Suddenly his hand came up and covered mine, so unexpectedly that I almost dropped the entire glass of icy water all over him. That would have been one sure way to wake him up, I guess. His fingers moved across the back of my hand in a slow caressing movement. He's asleep. He doesn't know what he's doing, I told myself as I removed the glass before trying to slowly slide my hand out from under his.

‘Don't go, Emma.' His voice was thick and muzzy, spoken from the depths of a dream. I lowered our conjoined hands until they rested on the wall of his chest before I finally managed to inch my own away from his without waking him. I stood for a long moment with just my fingertips left resting on his upper body before finally breaking our contact.

‘Shhhhh…' I said, my voice sounding like I was soothing a toddler. ‘Go back to sleep.'

He did.

I cleared the flat, of me. I went systematically from room to room removing every last trace of everything I had unthinkingly left behind over the last twelve months. When I had collected everything except the clothes inside his closet, I cleaned the flat. I told myself I was just doing it to pass the time, not because I cared about how the place looked or how its occupant chose to live within it. By the time I was done, the kitchen surfaces were once more clear and the dishwasher was thrumming through its cycle. The late afternoon shadows had lengthened and I had no real reason to remain. Yet it felt wrong to just walk out and leave.

When Richard still showed no signs of stirring, I eventually decided I would have to risk waking him by retrieving the final items left behind in his bedroom. I tiptoed into the darkened room, and eased open the wardrobe doors. I worked quickly in the semi darkness, using just the light coming from the hall, as I plucked my few items of clothing from their hangers and slid open the dresser to remove the small collection of underwear I had kept there.

When the bedside light behind me was suddenly switched on, I almost dropped the well-laden cardboard box I was carrying from his room. I had no idea he was awake or how long he had been watching me. Richard levered himself up into a sitting position, resting against the pillows.

‘How are you feeling?' I asked.

He ran a hand through his hair, making it look even more dishevelled than all his tossing and turning had done.

‘Better,' he said, then his eyes went from me to the large box that I was holding. ‘Worse.' There was no point in pretending I didn't know what he meant.

‘I've made you a sandwich and there's fresh water in the jug,' I said, nodding at the tray I had left beside the bed.

‘I thought…' he said, his voice trailing away.

I shook my head. ‘No, Richard. Nothing has changed.'

‘But you stayed.'

‘Just until you woke up. I'm going now,' I said, moving toward the door as I spoke.

‘Is this about that American—'

My sigh was weary. ‘He's not the issue.'

‘But you still care about me, Emma. I
know
you do.'

I looked at him sadly. His headache might have improved, but he still looked far from well. But I couldn't afford to let him think that what had happened today was anything more than just basic humanity.

‘Not enough, Richard. Nowhere near enough.'

I saw him looking sadly at the overflowing box in my arms. ‘You're really not coming back?'

I could feel unexpected tears thickening my voice. ‘No, I'm not.'

He turned his head away from me, and I think we were both glad of the dim light that kept our faces in shadow.

‘I've just been fooling myself all this time, haven't I? I kept thinking that if I proved to you how incredibly sorry I was, if I could make you understand how much I love you, that you'd give me another chance. I know I don't deserve it, but it's the only thing that's kept me going.'

I could think of nothing to say that we hadn't already been over far too many times before. I waited until I reached the door before I turned back to face him.

‘I honestly don't know if I could have forgiven you for cheating on me, if things had turned out differently, if the accident hadn't happened,' I admitted, with an honesty that surprised me as much as him. ‘But what I
can't
forgive you for, is what you've taken from me.'

His look of total bewilderment confirmed he had no idea what I was talking about.

‘Amy,' I said quietly.

He jerked and I saw his throat move convulsively at her name.

‘You took Amy from me with what you did. You took her memory from me.' My tears were falling now, and I didn't give a damn if he saw them or not. ‘I should be grieving for my best friend but, thanks to you and what you did, I can't. I can't think of her at all without seeing the two of you together, kissing… touching…' I shuddered and Richard looked ripped raw at my reaction. ‘Because of you, I can't mourn her or even
think
about her without getting angry, without feeling betrayed. And I don't think I'll
ever
be able to forgive you for that.'

It felt more like an ending than our actual break-up had done. And, as I drove home with the box of my life with Richard jiggling and rattling on the seat beside me, I had finally believed Richard's parting words: ‘I won't put pressure on you any more, Emma. I'm not going to keep trying to win you back, or get you to change your mind.'
I had nodded gratefully, feeling both the freedom of a huge weight being lifted from me, yet strangely a simultaneous sensation of panic as the door to our story clanged shut with noisy finality
.
‘But just know one thing: when you change your mind – and you
will
change your mind – I am going to be right here waiting for you.'