True Things About Me A Novel (Deborah Kay Davies) (14 page)

Apart from the fact that I probably had some sort of gross STI, all my friends had gone, and my parents were sobbing,
their blood pressure zooming out of control at this very moment because I had been so horrible to them. The thought of him spread out on the sofa made my forehead prickle and itch. I wanted to rush about, and collect all the crap belongings he always dropped here and there, and throw them to hell. His underwear entwined with mine in the washing basket made me heave. I couldn’t have him in my house any more. Everything became brilliantly shiny and smooth, like the surface of a pool as it recovers from a stone’s throw. I had to get rid of him. It wasn’t too late to put my life back on some sort of track, even salvage my job if I tried hard enough.

I crept downstairs, impatient to get it over with. I shook him until he stirred. Finally he awoke. What the fuck is going on? he said. What’s happened? He stood up, and looked quickly around. Then he squinted his eyes at me. Have you flipped? he said. You’d better have a good reason for waking me up. I heard my voice saying I wanted him out of my house, out of my life. I told him I didn’t even like him. My voice piped away like a mechanical bird’s. Get out now, I shrilled. And never come back. You don’t love me, you don’t even know me. He started to laugh. I beat his chest with my fists. He thought it was funny. So I slapped his face.

His expression changed immediately. His mouth grew ugly. With stiff fingers he patted my cheek firmly three times, not very hard, but I lost my balance and fell over, hitting my head on the coffee table. No one had ever done anything like that to me before. He might as well have smashed in my skull
with a baseball bat. I knew the blood in my veins and arteries was stalling. I could sense things coagulate as I lay on the carpet. I felt so stupid.

We’ll pretend this hasn’t happened, he said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. Then he bent over, and inspected me as I lay on the floor. You’re going to tick me off once too often, he said in a confidential way, and helped me up, straightening my clothes. Then we’ll all be very sorry. I swayed a little as he lay down on the sofa again, adjusting the pillows behind his head. Bummer really, he said, grunting as he got comfortable. We were having such a great time. Now get lost for a bit. I feel like watching the telly.

I’m on the outside

I WANDERED THROUGH
the streets in my neighbourhood. All these pretty gardens, window boxes, trellises. It was amazing how people worked so hard to make their little patches of mud nice. I wondered why they did that. We were all perched on the earth’s crust so lightly. Anything could blow us away. The perfumed flowers spilling over garden walls seemed so pitiful to me. The carefully staked ornamental trees made me want to cry, they were so pathetic. We are all skeletons, I thought. Dragging our clicking bones around, clacking about, waiting to collapse and be carted to the rubbish heap. All we can do is grin, grin, grin. Through the lighted windows I passed families gathered together, but they couldn’t see me, drifting like a wraith up and down the darkening streets.

My mobile had died. I walked until I found a phone box that wasn’t smashed up and pissed in. I left a message for Alison saying I was sorry for everything. That I needed her.
I asked her if she would meet me soon, so I could explain. Lastly I told her I missed her, and I loved her a lot. Standing in the phone box I felt like someone who’s been given one last phone call before they disappear into the underworld. Then I went back to the house.

The TV was still chuntering away, and he was asleep on the sofa, so I climbed the stairs and got ready for bed. Before I turned off the bedside light I plugged my phone into the charger, and hid it under the valance. I fell asleep immediately. I woke up to the sound of someone moving about in the room. It was still night time. He was standing at the foot of the bed holding my mobile. You’ve got a message, he said, and threw the phone towards me. From that interfering cow, Alison. I thought you’d given her the push. I sat up and grabbed my phone. She’s not welcome in this house, he said, walking out of the room. But she’s my best friend, I called after him, sounding like a primary school kid in the playground. Then I whispered under the covers, This is my house, she can come if I want her to.

In the morning I left him in bed. Before I tiptoed out of the room I watched him sleeping. His face was perfectly serene, and he didn’t make the slightest sound as he slept. The scar on his chest was silvery now. It could almost have been the place where someone had extracted his heart, and roughly sewn him back together. Then he sighed, and turned over onto his stomach. He’d come to bed with his shorts on and they rucked up as he turned, exposing one buttock. It looked
like some exotic, furry fruit but I had no desire to bite it. I quickly sneaked around getting ready, and went out without even having a glass of water. As I walked away from the house I felt light-headed and alert.

Alison and I had brunch at our fave café in town. We talked about her kids, their teachers and Tom. She told me I wasn’t missing anything in work. We ate scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, and sipped orange juice. Alison said it was her treat. She told me they were decorating the kitchen. I watched her lovely face as she spoke, and concentrated on how she formed and projected every word. I felt that if I listened hard and long enough I could piece together some sort of raft that would float me back to the quiet world of decorating and the school run, and even, eventually, stumble on my old self. The food was delicious; I could feel it doing me good. We agreed to keep in touch. She didn’t ask me questions, or give me an opinion about my life. I didn’t tell her anything. We kissed each other goodbye.

When I got back and opened the front door I could tell there were people around. The TV volume was high, and something was going on in the lounge. I pushed the door open. The room seemed to be full of children. The boy from the café was sprawled on the sofa, and wedged beside him were two toddlers, one asleep, the other sucking from a bottle of baby milk. They looked about two and three. A pair of girls, six and eight maybe, lay on their tummies on the rug watching TV. The room smelled of grubby clothes and
unwashed hair. Not one of them took the slightest notice of me. I shut the door and stood in the hallway. For a moment I even thought I’d come into the wrong house.

He was in the kitchen, frying bacon. What’s going on? I asked. Making bacon sandwiches, he said, slinging a tea towel over his shoulder. Want one? I sank down on a chair. In my back garden I could see some beaten-up kids’ toys and a bike. I felt all my strength slipping out from my extremities. Who are these children? I managed to mouth. What are they doing in my house? He turned, and leaned back on the cooker, grinning. They’re mine, he said, folding his arms. What’s the big deal? It’s only for a couple of hours. But I didn’t know you had a family, I said. He pulled me up, and hugged me. Well, you do now, he said. I’ll reward you later for being a good girl. Then he kissed me firmly on the mouth.

I have a houseful

I DIDN’T HAVE
anywhere to go. I was in my own place, and I didn’t know what to do. There was no point in going out into the empty streets. But it felt wrong to be at home. My house was infested with strangers. He was bashing around in the kitchen, his children filled the lounge. I stood in the hallway, and waited. Every so often a child would come out, and go upstairs to the bathroom. Each one ignored me. I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Sure enough there I was, standing in the hall. I watched as my face formed itself into the face of a woman crying, but no tears came out of my eyes. My down-turned mouth looked ridiculous.

There was a shout from the kitchen, and all the children ran out of the lounge cheering and pushing each other. Grub’s up, I heard him say. I hovered in the kitchen doorway. The kids sat around silently, eating their bacon and bread with deep intent. What can I give them to drink? he asked. I pointed to the fruit juice. Not sure they’ll like that, he said.
I left them, and went into the lounge. The toddlers were both tumbled on the sofa, asleep. I sat on the edge of a chair, and inspected them. Both blond, with pale, luxuriant lashes. Maybe a boy and a girl, I thought.

I talked myself down as I listened to the sleeping babies breathe. I told myself this was OK. I mean, what could be nicer? My lover introduces me to his children. Why so tragic? Why so disturbed? I decided to behave as if this was all normal, nice even. That’s what this was. Something I could laugh about with work friends at the water cooler-type stuff. Another part of me was unimpressed. She pointed out some things like, firstly, what friends? Secondly, which water cooler? To be strictly accurate we didn’t have one in our office. And also, excuse me, but,
lover
? Who he? She didn’t know what he felt for me, but it certainly wasn’t lurve. I knew all this was true. I touched one of the babies on its warm leg. I told myself the children weren’t to blame. But I blamed them anyway. I actually called them little bastards, to myself. How sad was that?

As I climbed the stairs I heard someone in my bedroom. I felt reluctant to find out who it was, but someone behaving naturally would dash in and find out, so I did. The whispery twelve-year-old was looking through my things. What do you think you’re doing? I asked. He was holding something silky, a camisole I think, rubbing it between his hands. Nothing, he said, in his weird little voice. Give that to me, I said. Now. He scrunched it up in his hand, and shoved it
in his pocket. What you going to do about it? he said. Tell my dad? and walked slowly past me down the stairs.

I closed the drawers and straightened things out, then lay down under the covers. Though I was rigid and cold I fell asleep quickly. When I woke I got up immediately, and combed my hair. In the bathroom the floor was wet and the loo roll used up. I cleaned up and went downstairs again. He was talking to a woman in the kitchen. I almost didn’t care who she was. They were both smoking, and drinking coffee at the table. When she saw me she coughed. I knew it was the woman I’d seen before.

He unfolded himself from the table. Here she is, he said, holding out his hand to me. Sit down. I thought maybe they’d been talking about me, and she was angry, but she seemed completely calm. He started massaging her shoulders, staring at me. He was waiting for something to happen. She tried to shrug him off. I was surprised he didn’t react. Instead he went on squeezing her shoulders; I could see it was hurting her. Any questions? he asked me, smiling smugly. He told her I was the mother of all questioners. Never stops, he said, laughing. Why? Where? How? over and over and over. Well, here’s my question, she said. Why don’t you get lost? He stretched. You two’ve probably got a lot to talk about, he said. She didn’t answer. She just waited for him to leave. He looked from her to me and back several times. Finally he left.

What a wanker, she said. He was hoping for a scene. You know, two women fighting over him. Sort of thing he loves.
She lit a cigarette. OK, what do you want to know? She rested back against the chair. Ask me anything. She was unbelievably thin and white. Like someone who’d spent her lifetime in an underground cavern.

As she took deep drags from her cigarette I asked her if she was his wife. God, no, she laughed quietly and chestily. No one in their right mind would marry that nasty piece of work. So do you live with him then? I felt I had to ask, even though I was indifferent. Are these your children? She leaned across the table and put her hand on mine. She seemed nice, unthreatening; entirely colourless. Even her eyes were pale, like solidified water. Look, she said, yes, I live with him, on and off. Or should I say, he lives with me sometimes, as in, when the mood takes him. Obviously not at the moment of course. And yes, some of these children are his. What I want to know is, how somebody like you got mixed up with him?

I couldn’t answer her. The events of the past months were like tears in a pool of water. He sort of swept me up, I suppose, I said. Do you know what I mean? God yes, she said. He is a bloody champion sweeper. But you know that already, don’t you? Look, she said, sitting up straight, I know he’s gorgeous to look at. Not bad on the shagging front either. So what? He’s still an absolute shit. She stubbed out her fag. It’s none of my business, but I will tell you this: you’re not the first. I’ve lost count. Then the kids started trooping in. Right, you lot, bugger off outside, she shouted. Wait in the front garden.

She got up as if her joints were stiff, and put her hand on my shoulder. No offence, she said, but my advice to you is, get rid of him ASAP. She shook me gently with her fragile hand. Or he’ll suck you dry. She gestured with her thumb towards her concave chest. Just look at me, for God’s sake. We gazed at each other. Have you still got a job? I nodded. Not for long though, if you don’t do something soon. Am I right? I nodded again.

Thank you, I said as she was leaving. I wanted her to stay with me. She reappeared in the doorway, holding a sleeping child like a sack of washing under each arm. Good luck, she said. You’ll need it. He can be such a charmer when he wants something. She gestured around. And this is all very comfortable for him, I can see. She gave me a little smile. I know, I don’t practise what I preach. And let me guess, you’ve fallen out with your friends? Make it up with them. You’ll need all the friends you can get.

The house was quiet and I sat down to absorb it. Then I started to clear up. There was a lot to do, but I did it, dragging myself around. It felt important to get the house neat and sorted, so I didn’t stop till it was done. I threw open the back door and the windows, but the smell of smoke and bacon lingered. Also the smell of stale clothes and grubby kids permeated the lounge so I lit a perfumed candle in there. Then whisked up a chicken curry with all the trimmings, opened a bottle of wine and started drinking.

When he came back he plonked himself on the sofa, turned
the TV on and opened the first of a six pack of lager he’d bought. I served him the food on a tray. I was weaving about but he didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t very interested in eating, but he drank several cans of lager. He messed the cooling curry with his fork and continued to smoke, watching the TV. I stood over him with my wine glass in my hand. Why didn’t you tell me you were involved with someone? I said, gesturing so that wine spilled on the coffee table. Bloody oops, I said. And how many more kids have you got? How many more women? He went on drinking, his face dark red. Answer me, I sobbed, kicking his foot with mine.