What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (4 page)

By the time I get home that evening, all the boys are
already in.  They have now adjusted to my new routine of going to the gym after
work, happy to wait for food a little later if it means they don’t have to cook
for themselves.  I had been mulling on my way home over how to position the
trip away, worrying about how the boys and Greg were likely to react, but it
seems as if the fates are smiling on me for once in my life.  As I’m serving up
plates of chicken with salad and potatoes (the rotisserie in the supermarket has
recently become a personal lifesaver and worth the cost of a few of my personal
luxuries), Ethan announces that the agency has found him a new job.  There are
general encouraging noises from around the table as he explains he will be
doing silver service waiting on tables at posh events.  The agency apparently keep
a supply of people trained, whom they then draft in when a client has a big
event that they need extra staff for. It seems the job would involve a weekend
training course, because apparently there was a certain etiquette and technique
which needed to be adhered to.  But after that, assuming he passed his
assessment, he had been told they tended to be needed most weekends and some
weekday evenings too; and the money was excellent.  I don’t hear much more
after he mentions the training weekend is the same weekend as the planned Peak
District trip.  One down, two to go. 

It’s like some sort of divine miracle when Adam, who’s
waiting to start an English degree course at Exeter in October, pipes up.  “Well,
since Ethan is buggering off and won’t be around at weekends, there isn’t much
point in me hanging around much longer at home.  My room in University Halls is
available from the middle of September, so if one of you can take me down there,
I’ll head off the same weekend to give myself a chance to settle in and get the
lie of the land before term starts properly.”  I hold my breath, not daring to
show the hope on my face.

Greg grunts before saying, “Well, your mother is too crap a
driver to cope with such a long journey, so I’ll take you.” As if warming to the
idea, he adds: “If you let me crash on your floor, we can have a boys’ night
before I have to drive back, and I’ll show you the tricks to being a proper
student.” 

Lost in his moment of reverie, Greg misses the look of
horror that flashes over Adam’s face, and the smug grin on Ethan’s, before Adam
politely says, “That would be great, dad, thanks.”

Greg smiles warmly at his son, looking excited at the
prospect of a weekend away, before turning to me and saying: “So you’ll have a
weekend to yourself for once.  What will you do with the free time?”

“Well,” I pause as I feel three pairs of eyes look up at me
from their plates, clearly not expecting me to have any plans. “There is a
weekend fundraising event in the Peak District for a kid with leukaemia, which
the gym has organised. I wasn’t going to go, but since you guys are all away
and don’t need me, I think I’ll go and support it... since it’s such a good
cause.” I really emphasise the bit at the end.  Deathly silence meets my
announcement.  Clearly Greg was fine with the idea of him going off for a
weekend, but the idea of me doing the same is somewhat less palatable.  I hold
my breath, waiting for some sort of reaction from Greg.

“Who are you going with?” he asks, seemingly just out of
interest, but I know him well enough to recognise the edge to the question.  He
runs his hand through his hair, another sign of irritation and stress.

“Just some people from the gym.  I don’t actually know a lot
of them.  People like me who need the exercise,” I say, laughing slightly
nervously, knowing I was deliberately painting an image of fat people for some
reason.  “We’ll spend each day walking up a different peak, and the evening
recovering,” I add.

“Where will you be staying? We can’t afford a hotel for you.”

I bite back the response I want to make – which is that
since I have earned all the money coming in to the house, if anyone deserves a short
break at a hotel in the Peaks, it’s me – and calmly reply instead: “Someone’s
donated a big old house for the group to stay at.  It’s not going to be
comfortable, but it is free, so the only cost will be my food.  I’ll have to
share a room with another girl, but it’s all for a good cause.”  For some
reason I can’t explain, I know I need to make it sound like it isn’t going to
be any fun or Greg will kick off about it.  I hold my breath again while trying
to look like I don’t really care. 

Greg eventually grunts before looking at me and saying: “Well,
it looks like you’ll need to arrange someone to feed the cat.”  I know it’s as
good as I’m likely to get from him, so I smile and reassure him I’ll make some
arrangements, while calmly spooning extra chicken onto his plate. 

The rest of the meal passes relatively smoothly.  I keep the
growing excitement inside me firmly harnessed.

*********

In the middle of the following week, I receive a text from
an unknown number:

Hey babe, how about a drink so we can sort out the
details for our trip?

My mind is blank as I gaze at the words on the screen.  And
then it finally clicks – Annie.  Greg has been worryingly quiet about my
planned trip.  I’ve made sure all the arrangements are in place for everyone
else’s plans (I’ve already got clothes washed and ironed for packing, shopping
done, cat feeder recruited, car oil and water topped up), keen to make sure no
complaint can be made of me or my plans.  For some reason Greg has a habit of
ruining any plans that I’m looking forward to, and I still can’t quite believe
the same won’t happen for this trip.

Memories of my 30
^th
birthday flash through my
mind.  Emma had bought me a weekend trip to London that involved an overnight
stay at a cheap hotel and a trip to the theatre.  She had planned it as a great
girls’ weekend, and we’d both been really excited.  Unfortunately, about three
hours after we got to London on the first day, I received a call from Greg to
say he was unwell and not in a position to look after the boys.  You could have
argued the boys, at age eleven, could have coped for a day with sandwiches and
extra T.V. time, but Greg was adamant he needed me home, even if the boys didn’t,
so I dutifully got back on the train and went home again. 

Emma had been fuming.  “He’s controlling you, Lily. You are
allowed a life of your own, you know,” she ranted. “You don’t have to run back
to him immediately when he demands you to. In fact it would do him good to have
to stand on his own two feet without you for a bit; it might make him
appreciate you a bit more.”

I had never heard her quite so angry before, as I sat
embarrassed on the train with her home, cringing inwardly at the loudness of
her voice in the quiet but packed carriage.  “It’s not about the money, Lil,”
she assured me as I apologised profusely for the waste.  “I just want you to
have a chance to enjoy your life too.  You give them everything, and they have
absolutely no idea just how lucky they are.  Greg is too controlling of you; if
he really loved you, he would want you to be happy and do things you enjoy too.
 Instead, all he ever does is make sure you’re there to provide for his own
enjoyment.” She was building up a head of steam now. “And the one time I think
I’ve finally found a way to spoil you, he even manages to ruin that and drag
you home.”

I had yet again made excuses for him, same as I always did,
and eventually she’d had to let it go, but deep down I knew she was right. 
Greg had control issues which were getting worse as the years progressed.  It
was almost as if the more dissatisfied he was with his own life, the more he
felt the need to impact on mine. 

A part of me still can’t believe that he’s just going to let
me waltz off to the Peak District for three days on my own with a bunch of
strangers.  For that reason I don’t want to talk to him about Annie, let alone introduce
her to him.  I can only assume Stuart from the gym must have let her know I had
confirmed my place, and now she wants to meet for that drink and make our
plans. 

It’s Tuesday and a long shot, but I quickly text her back:

Hi, yes gr8.  Don’t spose you’re free 2nite and can
make it to the Anchor in Tudor Street?  Other nights are difficult for me. I’ll
b there at 8, Lily

I wait, not sure what I’m going to do if she can’t make it.
It takes three whole minutes until my phone bleeps again, and I hurry to look
at the message:

Lovely.  C u there A x

With huge relief, I send a quick text to Emma, realising she
probably needs to be forewarned.

Em, hope u don’t mind.  Have invited a friend to join
us this eve.  Will explain when I c u. Lil x

That done, I sit back in my chair and spend some time trying
to figure out why I feel guilty, almost like I’m doing something wrong.

When I walk into the pub just before eight, Emma is already
sitting at our preferred table.  Brian, the landlord of The Anchor, is perched
in my usual seat, having brought her lime and soda directly to the table,
rather than making her walk to the bar like everyone else (including me) was
made to.  Brian grunts at me as he sees me approach and reluctantly rises from
the table, casting a longing look in Emma’s direction.  Emma doesn’t even notice,
as she’s beaming at me.

“Don’t get up,” I say quickly, as she struggles to gain
enough momentum to lift herself and her bump, which seems nearly as big as the
rest of her, off the stool to greet me with our customary hug.

“Nonsense,” she says with one final rock that rolls her body
sufficiently to propel her into my arms.  She giggles as we hug, adding: “Bloody
hell, Lil, I have absolutely no idea how you managed to do this with twins.”  I
laugh as we both sit back down, and she continues in a whisper, “Glad you’re on
time.  Brian was just telling me about his dog’s labour again, the time when
she had eight puppies.  If it’s not bad enough that everyone who has ever had a
child wants to tell me about their nightmare labours, or their friend’s
nightmare labours, if theirs weren’t bad enough, I now have Brian’s dog’s
nightmare labour to add to the list.  Doesn’t anyone ever have an easy birth?” 

I laugh again, feeling obliged to reassure her, “You will,
Em.  You’re good at everything you do, and I can’t imagine this will be any
different.  Anyway, if it is hell, then there are always drugs or epidurals.  ‘Never
say never’, that’s my childbirth motto when it comes to pain relief!” 

She laughs. “Thank God for you, the lone voice of childbirth
sanity, Lil – actually, I think you might be the only voice of sanity
against a tidal wave of natural-childbirth Nazis, judging by the antenatal
classes I’ve attended so far. By the way, what have you done to yourself this
time?” she asks, pointing to the remnants of my forehead bruise that is now
turning yellowish. 

I grimace.  “Head-butted a door.”

“Oh God, Lil, I’m not sure you’re safe to be let out alone.”
She rolls her eyes before adding, “Do you want a drink?” while looking over at
Brian again, who fortunately is already gazing longingly in her direction and ignoring
all the other people waving notes over the bar at him. 

“Sure, vodka, lime and soda to keep you company... well sort
of.” 

Emma calls over to Brian, somehow managing to be heard over
the noise in the pub, “Brian, sweetie, can I have a vodka, lime and soda,
please.” 

Brian’s eyebrows nearly rise through the top of his hairline
before Emma adds with a giggle: “Not for me, silly, for Lil,”  pointing at me
in case he couldn’t hear her, at which point he scowls in my direction before
making it, plonking it on the bar and looking at it and then at me
meaningfully. 

I sigh; clearly I don’t warrant any special treatment.  I stand
up and weave my way through the groups of people until I reach the bar, hand
him my note and stand there waiting for my change while he fiddles with the
till.  As I wait there with my hand out, the door opens and a wave of murmurs
ripple through the bar in reaction to the newcomer.  I can’t immediately see
who’s arrived, but I guess just from the impact in the bar that it can only be
Annie.  The first part of her I see is her hair.  Out of the ponytail this time,
it forms a riotous cascade of red ringlets that frames her face and flows out
over her shoulders.  She stands a few inches taller than several of the men in
the pub and has to duck under the beam as she sees me, waves and makes her way
over. Brian, at this point, is now openly staring at Annie – as is the
rest of the bar, including Emma, to be fair. 

Annie sweeps me up into a huge hug that speaks of years of
friendship rather than minutes, then announces loudly: “Lily, at last!” She
gives a huge laugh, as if she’s just heard the most amusing joke ever.  I can feel
the room leaning in towards her, as if magnetically pulled towards an orbit
where she was the sun, and we were all the planets worshipping her warmth.

“Can I get you a drink?” I stutter. 
God, why is it she
paralyses me into near incoherence?

She smiles benevolently at me.  “What are you having?”

“Vodka, lime and soda.”

She frowns at my response.  “God no, not that.” She sounds genuinely
horrified. “Landlord, please, will you tell me what single malts you have?”

Brian just blinks at her until I prompt: “Brian?” 

He starts and visibly comes to before stuttering, much like
I had, through a list of Scottish malt whiskies.

“Talisker, please,” she says assertively. 

Brian nods and tells her he’ll bring it over. 
Bloody
hell, am I the only one who doesn’t rate sufficiently highly to warrant
personal service from Brian?
I wonder as we make our way to where Emma is
sitting.  Emma’s expression is equally bemused as she takes in the vision that is
Annie.  However, she seems more amused by the reaction of everyone around us,
rather than overwhelmed by the presence of a living goddess
.  I guess that’s
what comes from having confidence in your own beauty
, I reflect.   

“Emma, this is Annie; Annie, meet Emma,” I introduce.  They’re
shaking hands as Brian comes over, clasping the small malt glass carefully and handing
it to Annie.  For a moment he looks like a cartoon as his head swings wildly
between Emma and Annie, finally settling on Annie as he tells her there’s no
charge for the first drink in his bar for a new customer.

I nearly snort my vodka over the table, as Annie merely
smiles at him beatifically.  Brian scowls at me, clearly having heard my snort,
before stomping away back behind his bar.  Emma lets out a tinkling laugh,
saying: “Well, I’ve never seen Brian quite so overcome that he would give away
free drinks, Annie.  It seems you have quite an effect on men.  When I’ve had
this baby, promise me you’ll take me out for a night, please; I think it would
be the cheapest night out ever.”

Annie smiles her most wicked smile, making Emma laugh again as
she says: “You’d better believe it, but only if Lily promises to come too!”

I just grimace.

“So tell me, how on earth did you two meet?” Emma asks.

I open my mouth to speak, but Annie is in there before me. “We
are soon to be roommates on a wild and romantic trip to the Peak District,” she
says overly dramatically. 

I wince as Emma raises an eyebrow and looks at me
incredulously. “Really?” she enquires, sounding frankly shocked at such
atypical behaviour from me. 

I giggle nervously and look around, aware that more than one
person in the bar is acquainted with Greg, and that with all the attention
Annie draws to her, it feels at the moment like there is a hushed silence in
the room as they all lean in, awaiting my response.  

“We’re doing a three peaks weekend to raise money for a kid
with leukaemia,” I say, more loudly than I need to, fervently hoping that this is
the version that will get back to Greg, and not the ‘wild and romantic’ one. 

Emma smiles as the tension bubble in the room seems to burst
and normal chatting levels resume, and I add, “Annie and I are sharing a room
while we’re there.  I thought you wouldn’t mind us meeting to chat about what
we need to take?”

“No, of course not.” Emma smiles at Annie before frowning as
she turns back to me.  “But is Greg okay with you going?”

I glance nervously at Annie, who immediately asks: “Who’s
Greg?”

“My husband,” I answer quickly.

“And why would your husband not be okay with you going?” 
Annie asks smoothly, in the style of someone who could never imagine another
person having that sort of influence over her actions. 

I swallow, trying to consider how to respond when Emma chips
in, “Because he’s a complete control freak who doesn’t let Lily out of his
sight, except to let her go to work while he sits on his arse and tells her he’s
an artist, when he really does bugger all.” She pauses for a second, looking
apologetically at me – as if she thinks she’s being disloyal to me, when
all she’s really doing is telling the truth – before continuing.  “He
barely lets her come here to meet me, except he has spies in the room who’ll
report back her every movement,” she says, looking around.  “He never lets her
go anywhere, so I’m frankly amazed she’s off to the Peak District without him,
and more especially with you,” she says, looking meaningfully at Annie. 

Jeez, Emma
, I think,
why don’t you say what you
really think?
 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s brilliant,”  Emma
continues, “I’ve been trying to break my beautiful friend out of her cage for
years, so anything you can do to help is much appreciated.”  She actually looks
teary as she finishes, and I just don’t know what to say.  I’ve always known
she feels anger towards Greg about the way he is with me, and the way I always feel
the need to defend him, however outrageous his behaviour, but she’s never
expressed it so openly before, let alone in front of a virtual stranger. 

What is it about this woman?
I wonder,
looking
at Annie again
.
  I reach out for Emma’s hand and clasp it in mine as she
uses her other hand to point at her bump and mumbles: “hormones”, as if her
outburst needed some sort of excuse. 

Annie just looks at us both and smiles. “Well, it seems I’ve
got here in the nick of time,” she laughs, as she necks her whisky before
loudly demanding a second from Brian and slamming her glass on the table.  “And
one for my friend here, please,” she adds, indicating me. 

Brian immediately moves to fulfil her request, ignoring his
other paying guests.  I get up to collect the drinks from the bar, managing to
knock into a table and topple a glass on my way, so I end up replacing that
person’s drink too.  When I finally get back to the table, I’m sure I didn’t
imagine Annie exchanging a look with Emma, as if I’d missed a significant part
of the evening’s conversation.  I have the distinct impression there is a
conspiracy forming between the two of them, and I’m not sure if I should be
worried.