Between You and Me (15 page)

‘Me? It takes two, Charlie. It’s both of our faults. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing – we were always going to start a family; it just means that it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.’

‘Were we, Sal? I don’t remember having any agreement about having children. I never wanted to have kids, after all I went through growing up! And you know what? I don’t think I want to have this one.’ Your words are like a punch in the guts to me. No, we never officially had the conversation in which we agreed that we would have children, but I thought you wanted the same as me – to build a family together.

‘Don’t say that, Charlie. Please. We can work around this, find a way to make it work for both of us. Charlie, you know this is all I ever wanted.’

‘And you must have known that this is all I
never
wanted, Sal. You have no idea what it was like for me, growing up. I don’t want children. It was supposed to just be you and me.’ My heart breaks at the thought of getting rid of our baby.

‘It’ll make us stronger together, Charlie. Think about it – it’ll be you, the baby and me together against the world. We’ll be tied together for ever through our baby.’

This seems to give you pause for thought and, after weeks of to-ing and fro-ing, it’s decided that we will keep the baby, much to my relief. It’s agreed that, once he or she is born, I will stay home and raise the baby while you go out to work – you’ve already impressed the partners at Hunter, Crisp and Wilson. I am ecstatic, and when I make one of my secret phone calls home my mum is over the moon too. The only person who doesn’t seem to be too happy is Julia. She calls one evening, luckily at a time when you are working late.

‘Sal? It’s me. Have you got something you want to tell me?’

‘Julia! Oh, God, you spoke to Mum, didn’t you? I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret – I wanted to wait until we’d had the first scan before I told you.’

‘Well, congratulations.’ Julia sounds a little
off
.

‘Jules? What’s the matter? Aren’t you pleased for us?’

‘I’m pleased for you, Sal. As long as you’re happy, I’m pleased for you.’ A prickle of annoyance tickles the back of my throat.

‘Julia, if you’ve got something to say I’d rather you just said it.’

‘I just … Are you sure, that’s all? I mean, Charlie is pretty …’ She heaves a huge sigh. ‘No one hears from you, Sal. Since you two got married it’s like Charlie’s got you chained up in a dungeon or something. You missed Anna’s birthday party again this year; you missed Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary dinner. You never call. It’s like you can’t do anything unless Charlie says so.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just busy, that’s all. You know what it was like when you and Luca got married – it’s completely hectic for weeks after. The class I’m teaching are a handful and I have reams of paperwork to do every night. Charlie has nothing to do with it.’ Julia assures me that she believes me, even though I can tell by her tone that she doesn’t, and I hang up before one of us says something we’ll regret. I don’t want to admit that she does have a point, that since we got married the few friends I did have, have fallen by the wayside and I don’t see much of anyone any more.

After a long, lonely pregnancy, in which you carry on as normal but I am expected to prepare the house for the baby (‘You’ve got more time than me, Sal.’) and fend off any visits from my family – you are not even happy that I told anyone in my family in the first place, but I have managed to make you realise that that is just weird – Maggie is born at home on a cool October evening. Any worries I have harboured throughout the pregnancy about you not bonding with Maggie go out the window the minute you turn to me, Maggie a tiny, red-faced bundle in your arms and say, ‘Look Sal, look what we made. We did this. Together for ever.’ Now, my heart gives a little squeeze as I think back to that moment, the way your hair stood out on end, the dark, tired circles under your eyes and the pure love that radiated out from your every pore. I had hoped this would mean things would be a little easier from now on, that you would calm down and not be so angry all the time. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Things escalate with the first visit from my parents. They are desperate to meet their new granddaughter, and so they arrive the day after she is born following a furtive phone call from me in the early hours of the morning, once I have settled Maggie and you are asleep.

‘What the fuck are they doing here?’ you hiss, as you come downstairs from a shower to see them standing in the hallway, removing their coats, laden with pink-wrapped gifts. We are in the kitchen, under the pretence of making coffee.

‘Charlie, they are her grandparents; they want to meet her.’ I turn to the kettle, flicking the switch and busy myself getting down coffee mugs from the cupboard and a plate for biscuits.

‘I say when they can meet her – they don’t just fucking turn up. Although I suppose you rang them, didn’t you? Running to Mummy and Daddy again, just like usual. I don’t want them here, Sal. If I wanted them here I would have invited them. You fucking idiot.’ Your face is ugly, contorted with rage.

‘Charlie, please. Be reasonable. I’m sorry I called them; I thought I should get it out of the way. Then it’s over and done with, see?’

‘God, you’re stupid. You’re lucky I married you, because no one else with half a brain would want you. They’ll be here all the fucking time now, now you’ve invited them. They’ll think they can pop round whenever they want.’ The kettle is boiling merrily, the steam hitting the ceiling, and you grab my hand and hold it hard against the burning metal. I yelp, and try to pull my hand away, but you just hold it tighter and harder.

‘Charlie, fuck, please. OK, I’ll get rid of them, please, please. Please let me go.’ Hot tears are spurting into my eyes and the pain makes me feel sick. You let go and I rush to the cold tap, holding my hand under to ease the pain.
Fuck. What the hell was that?
I hear you push the door open into the lounge, apologising.

‘Giovanni, Maria, I’m sorry. Sal’s just had a little accident. I think it’s best if you go.’ I hear my mother protesting, fussing that she should come into the kitchen and help me, but you wave her away.

‘It’s fine – just a little burn from the kettle. Clumsy old Sal wasn’t paying attention. It’ll be fine. I think it’s the tiredness, you know? Sal’s completely worn out at the moment. New baby and all that.’ I hear the rustle of coats and realise you are shepherding them out of the door, before they’ve even had a chance to see Maggie. I want to run after them, to tell them it wasn’t an accident, that you hurt me on purpose, but fear and shame keep me rooted to the spot.
What kind of person lets their partner burn them on a hot kettle and does nothing about it?
A terrified one, that’s who. The front door slams and you appear in the kitchen doorway.

‘I’m sorry I had to do that, Sal. Don’t put me in a situation where I have to do this stuff, OK? Get ice on that hand.’ Ice-cold and emotionless, you turn on your heel and leave me gaping open-mouthed after you, shaking with shock.

A few days later, there is another incident. It’s almost as though Maggie being born has given you a licence to go from simply abusing me verbally to physically hurting me. When I ask you to just double-check the number of scoops of formula in the bottles you are making up (it’s the first time you have done it, we are both exhausted, and the midwife was very clear on the dangers of under or overscooping the formula), you turn on me, lightning quick, shoving me backwards into the fridge-freezer. As I stand there winded, you pick up an empty bottle and throw it at me, hitting me on the head. Then you throw another and another, until every bottle on the counter has hit me somewhere. ‘You fucking do it then,’ you scream in my face, and slam out of the kitchen, leaving me to pick up the bottles and sweep up the formula that’s spilled all across the kitchen floor. Later that evening, you come up to bed and see the black eye that has formed after a bottle hit me square in the face. You kiss it, making me flinch.

‘I’m sorry, Sal. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m just so tired. I guess we never realised just how exhausting looking after a newborn baby was going to be, did we? Do you still love me?’ You stroke my hair away from my face, and kiss a blue-purple bruise that has appeared like a dark smudge on my forehead.

‘Of course, we’re both tired.’ I think about saying:
no, it’s not OK. We are not OK
. But I’m worried about how you will react, sure that anything I say will set you off again, so I just let you get away with it, taking the easy way out and unwittingly spurring the cycle on to the next phase. ‘Let’s sleep now, while she’s sleeping. We’ve got an hour or so until the next feed. Don’t worry – I’ll get up to her.’ I’ll just put your behaviour down to exhaustion, surely that’s it? You smile, roll over and fall asleep within minutes. I lie awake until Maggie starts squalling for her next bottle.

Even though you promise it won’t happen again, it does. When I come home from the supermarket with the wrong brand of nappies, so tired I am unable to see straight, let alone see which brand of nappies I’m picking up, you hit me hard in the kidneys, leaving me feeling winded and sick. By this point, you have already burnt me, pushed me, and kicked me hard in the shins. The full force of a punch to the kidneys doesn’t come as a surprise. Then, one evening you decide to put Maggie to bed. I jump at the chance. You rarely offer to do anything like this, and I don’t like to ask, given that you are at work all day and I am home with Maggie. All those little things like feeding her, bathing her, putting her to bed, feel like they are my jobs to do. You disappear upstairs and I switch on the television. There’s nothing in particular I want to watch but it’s just a novelty to be able to sit and watch something, even for ten minutes. I feel like I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath since Maggie arrived. I am sitting quietly on the couch, watching the BBC News when, bam! A blow to the side of the head and an excruciating pain knocks my world off kilter.

‘What? Charlie?’
I sit up, one hand clamped to my ear, spots dancing in front of my eyes. The pain is unreal, and I swallow hard in order not to vomit.

‘Don’t you
ever
make that much noise when I’m putting the baby to bed again, you hear me?’ Your face swims into focus, leaning over me as I lie back down on the couch. ‘You fucking imbecile. I try to do you a favour and that’s how you repay me. Well, you can fuck off, I won’t be helping you again.’ You stalk out and I lie still on the couch. With the force of your blow to my head, I suspect you have perforated my eardrum. The next morning, you apologise and say it will never happen again. You tell me you love me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CHARLIE

I don’t hear anything in response to my email, so after a few days have passed it feels safe to assume we have seen the last of Radu Popescu. He is obviously just another troublemaker trying to stir things up for Lucian, a man who has worked hard to get where he is today. Things are quiet at home, Sal is behaving properly and I am feeling on top of the world – it seems I am finally getting everything that I have worked for, everything that I deserve. The phone on my desk buzzes, startling me out of my reverie and I hit the answer button.

‘Anita?’

‘I’ve got Alex Hoskins for you.’
Shit.
I forgot all about returning Alex’s call from days ago; the Radu Popescu thing must have preoccupied me more than I thought.

‘OK, fine. Hello, Alex?’

‘Charlie! I thought you were ignoring me – you didn’t return my call. Not avoiding me, are you?’ Alex’s husky voice pours into my ear, warm and comforting like honey.

‘Of course not, Alex. How are you? It’s been years.’ Alex was at university with Sal and I. We had a bit of a thing going on, but then Sal came along and it was like I couldn’t see Alex properly any more. Sal dazzled me. And truth be told, Alex was just a little too feisty for my liking, not as easy-going and happy to fall in as Sal is.

‘Very well, Charlie, very well. I hear you’re doing great things over at Hunter, Crisp and Wilson. You’re working on the Otex buy-out, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am. I don’t know who’s told you great things, but I’ll take it.’ We both laugh, and it feels like the years have been stripped back and we are in our twenties again.

‘Listen. I won’t lie. My company are direct rivals in the Otex deal. I’m working on behalf of Vygen, and I’ll be honest with you – they are very interested in getting their hands on this company. Your name came up in our discussions and it seemed like an omen to get back in contact. It’s been a long time, Charlie. All water under the bridge.’ Alex wasn’t this gracious at the end of our time together, and I feel a slight pang of guilt at how I behaved at the end of our relationship. ‘We should meet up, have dinner or something. Obviously we can’t discuss our cases but it would be nice to catch up. I heard you married Sal and you have a little girl together?’

‘That’s right. Dinner would be good, and I’ll be happy to talk about anything except the buy-out.’

Alex laughs and we make an arrangement to meet for dinner in a couple of weeks’ time. I can tell Sal I’m working late. I’m not sure why, but I don’t think it will be a good idea for Sal to know I’m meeting Alex, and I definitely don’t want Geoff or Stan to find out. Not until I know if I can squeeze any secrets out of Alex over dinner. If I can find out any bits of juicy gossip or information that may work in our favour from Alex after a few drinks, it’ll make the sneaking around worthwhile.

The rest of the morning passes in a busy blur, aided by the slight high left by Alex’s phone call, and when lunchtime rolls around I decide to head out somewhere to grab a bite to eat. The heatwave still has Britain in its grip, and I feel like today I shouldn’t be eating at my desk wasting the day. Who knows how long the sunny weather will last? I grab some cash from my desk drawer and shout through to Anita that I’m going out. As I step outside into brilliant, warm sunshine the pavement is teeming with people – office workers, mums with pushchairs, teenagers slouching their way up the street. Jackets are slung over shoulders, pasty white legs peep out from short hems and shorts, everybody enjoying the novelty that is the great British summertime. There is a faint smell of hot tarmac and exhaust fumes on the air – the delicious smell of London in the summer. I smile, and start walking up towards the bakery at the end of the street; a proper baker’s run by a mad Portuguese man that sells filled baguettes and those tiny little Portuguese custard tarts. I decide to buy a bag of custard tarts to take back to Anita – anything to keep her sweet – when someone grabs my arm.