Coming Down (12 page)

“
That sounds good.” It really does. It might be self-indulgent to take an hour to talk through my problems, but Lara’s made me a great believer in the power of counselling. It’s an opportunity to reveal my darkest fears, my rawest emotions, with someone who holds no stake in my life.

Louise opens the session by telling me a little bit about herself and the type of therapy she offers. She also promises me complete confidentiality. I find myself relaxing in the chair.

“Let’s start with why you’re here. What made you come?” She’s still wearing that open expression; making me feel special, as though she’s genuinely interested.

“
I guess I want to save my marriage.”

“
What are you trying to save it from?”

I give a small smile.
“I don’t know. From failing, I suppose.”

“
What makes you think it’s failing?”

Her question makes me stop and think. Why is it failing? Is it me or is it Simon? Both of us, perhaps? Is it sinking under the weight of expectations we
’ve both put on each other? The silence lingers as I try to find the words.

“
We both want different things. Simon wants me to be his wife first, to put him before everything else. And part of me wants that, too. But if that’s all I am I think I’d end up disappearing. I want more. I want to help people. I want my job to mean something.”

“
What sort of work do you do?”

“
I help at a substance abuse clinic. I run an outreach club for children of addicts, and I fundraise on the clinic’s behalf.”

“
That sounds like an important role.”

That surprises me
. I’m not sure anybody has said that before. That I’m important. That what I do counts. “It is to me.”

“
What makes it so important?”

Another moment of thinking.
“It’s the fact I’m able to make a difference. These kids don’t have a lot, and I can tell by their faces they really get a kick out of the program. Sometimes when they’re having a rubbish week, that’s about all they have to cling to.”

“
The kids mean a lot to you?”

“
They mean everything.” I choke up. “They can be annoying and argumentative but they’re kids, that’s their job. At the end of the day most of them simply need some attention and love. Even if I only get to give them it for a few hours a week, it has to be better than nothing, doesn’t it?” I can feel myself getting emotional again. Hot tears scald my eyes. “I don’t want to leave them, not even for Simon.” Grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table, I dab at my eyes. My skin feels puffy and painful, and the tissue makes it worse.

“
What do you think will happen if you don’t leave?”

“
Simon will leave me instead.”

“
Is that what he said?”

“
Not in so many words. But he told me I had to quit.” I screw up my face as I try to think what the consequences of non-compliance would be. I assumed from his ultimatum that it meant we were over if I refused. “I suppose I should have asked him.”

“
Sometimes people say things in the heat of the moment that they don’t really mean. And you won’t know unless you talk things through.” She leans toward me. “This week’s homework is for you to try to explain to Simon why the clinic is so important to you. Try not to get over-emotional, or to back yourself against the wall. Just make sure he understands what the clinic means to you. Nothing more.”

While she speaks, I nod in agreement, but deep down I
’m wondering if I can actually do that. I’m not even sure we’re at a point where we can talk things through without it descending into an argument. Though that would be better than the silent treatment I’m currently getting.

I
’ve always found it hard to defy authority. I hated being told off at school, and would have done anything to avoid being reprimanded by my parents. Simon is merely one in a long line of authority figures I’ve found myself cowering before.

When we finish, Louise hands me a notebook and asks me to start keeping a note of my moods. I shove it in my bag and stand up, my legs feeling wobbly as I do. Even when I
’m back in reception, I’m still shaky. I don’t like how the world is becoming such an uncertain place.

Buttoning
up my jacket, I wrap my green scarf around my neck, before pulling open the glass-and-metal door that separates the clinic from the street. When I step out into the fresh air, there’s a certain comfort as London swallows me whole, dragging me deep into her pumping veins.

I’m curled up in bed, suffering from a combined white widow and wine hangover, when there’s a knock at my door. Grumbling, I turn my head until it’s facing the pillow and shout out muffled words.

“
I’m asleep.”

“
Then wake up.”

I recognise that voice. That lilt. A little pulse of excitement pushes through my leaden body.
“I can’t. Your friends have poisoned me.”

A low laugh
. “Is the door locked?”

I
’ve no idea. Before I can work it out, the handle turns and the door swings open. Through half-shut eyes I see him enter the room, clutching a bag of crisps and a bottle of non-diet Coke.

“
You’re a bit late for the munchies,” I tell him.

Niall sits down at the end of my bed
and pushes the hair from his eyes. “I looked for you today after lectures.”

“
I didn’t go.” That’s pretty obvious. I’m almost certain I have the look of a girl who’s been in bed all day.

“
So I noticed.” He pauses for a moment. “I hear last night was fun.”

Finally, I sit up and catch his eye.
“I thought you were going to be there. I didn’t realise I was supposed to invite you. It was all really confusing.”

“
It’s not your fault. Digby’s useless at organising anything. That’s what comes of having money your whole life. He needs a secretary.”

I smile, remembering the way he looked after me. I
’m beginning to have a soft spot for him. “What kind of parent calls their kid Digby anyway?”

Niall starts to laugh.
“You think his parents called him Digby? Does he look like the biggest dog in the world to you?”

“
Not really. So why’s he called Digby?”

“
No idea. I assume he had a penchant for digging holes as a kid or something. His real name’s James.”

There
’s no stopping the giggle that comes out of my mouth. I stare up at Niall, marvelling that this beautiful, funny boy is spending time with me. If I wasn’t feeling so crap, I’d be pulling him down on top of me.

“
Here, drink this.” He passes me the litre bottle of Coke he’s just opened. I lift it to my mouth and take huge gulps. The sticky-sweet liquid pours down my throat. After I’ve swallowed almost half the bottle, I pass it back to him.

“
Now you can get up.” He pulls the covers off my bed. I’m still in my jeans and top from last night. “Come on, hurry.”

I frown.
“Why, what are we doing?” I like the sound of ‘we’. Want to say it again.

“
We’re breaking into the art building. All my supplies are there. It’s about time I get to paint you.”

11

Silence can be so much louder than words. Maybe not in volume, or decibels, or however you choose to quantify it, but in meaning and intent, Simon’s muteness is deafening. He hasn’t mentioned missing our appointment, or asked me how I got on. Over the past month since then, he’s stopped making any attempt at pleasantries or conversation. In fact, he’s become active in his avoidance of me. Early meetings, late-night dinners, weekend working. He’s finally started to text me with excuses, when all I long for is his voice.

W
hile I feel angry, I also feel guilty. Just a few simple words from me and we’d be able to work our way back to where we started. All I have to do is promise to give up my work and I know he’d thaw. That thought, though, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. He’s trying to emotionally blackmail me and it just doesn’t seem fair. I’ve already failed on my first homework assignment for Louise. I’m too afraid to explain why I want to stay at the clinic.

He
’s made it patently clear it’s his way or the highway. He’s used to making the decisions while I do as he asks. I’m not living up to my side of our bargain.

On Thursday he disappears to the country for the weekend. I go into the clinic early to
seek out Lara, to ask her if she wants to do something on Saturday; anything to avoid four days alone.

“
I’d love to, but Alex is whisking me away.” She looks a lot happier than she did last week. “We said we’d go to a nice hotel in the country and talk. Try to work things through.”

I smile at her
as if it’s the best news in the world. And it would be, if I didn’t have that little bit of envy gnawing at my stomach. “That sounds lovely. You two will work it out, I know it.” They will, because they’re speaking to each other.

A smile stretches
across her face. “It’s not cheap, but separating would be more expensive, so we’re going for it anyway.”

Separation
. I wonder if that’s where Simon and I are headed. I wish I could see into his mind, work out if he’s playing brinkmanship or has simply thrown in the towel. How can I fight for something if he’s already given up on it? Even if I want to.

Lara looks at me quizzically.
“Are you okay?”

I snap out of my thoughts.
“Yes, I’m fine. Why?”

There
’s no way I’m telling her about Simon and me. She has her own worries. She’s been so strong for me in the past, the least I can do is show some support to her now.

“
I don’t know, you just looked far away. Sad. You’d tell me if there was anything wrong, wouldn’t you?”

I force a smile.
“Of course I would. Stop projecting on me. You and Alex are going to be fine. You’re back on track.”

She grins.
“D’you know what? I think we are.”

At two
thirty that afternoon I’m pulling supplies out of the art cupboard when the door swings open. Niall walks in and hangs his jacket over a chair, revealing a baggy, paint-stained t-shirt that barely reaches his waistband

“
You didn’t have to dress up just for me,” I say, deadpan.

He catches my eye and laughs.
“What, this old thing?” He pulls at the hem and I get a brief glimpse of skin. I quickly raise my eyes so I’m looking at his face. “Just something I found at the bottom of the wardrobe.”

“
All crumpled up in a paint pot?” I ask, trying not to look down again. I can picture the red and green streaks that criss-cross the front of the fabric, and the pale, taut stomach that lies underneath.

“
Something like that.”

“
Well, it suits you.”

He walks over and takes the pot
from my hands. “You, of course, look as beautiful as ever.”

His words light a little fire inside me.
“Thank you.”

We work together, putting the equipment out, making small talk as we go. We both try to take the
rise out of each other, and fall into a comforting banter. It’s such a contrast to the silence I’ve been enduring; easy, pleasant.

“
Hey, I meant to ask. Have you heard from Cameron?” Niall turns to me when we’ve finished getting ready. There are a few minutes until the kids arrive. “He hasn’t been here lately.”

“
No, he’s laying low.”

“
Is that a good thing?” He looks at me as if I have all the answers.

I slowly shrug my shoulders.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s normal to lick your wounds when something like that happens. A kid his age doesn’t like to show weakness or emotion. The last thing he wants to do is apologise.”

“
The affliction of a teenage boy. So many emotions but no ability to put them into words.” He sounds almost wistful. “Christ, I’m glad I don’t have to be a teenager anymore.”

“
You sound as if you’re talking from experience.”

His voice thickens.
“I am.”

The a
tmosphere turns on a sixpence—from carefree and playful to charged and deep. He stares at me and I gaze right back, guessing at the meaning in his words. I want to ask him what emotions he had then, what regrets he has now. For the first time, I want to tell him about the ones that I still carry. I even open my mouth to say the words, to spill my story out like blossoms on the wind.

Then
all thoughts of confession are silenced by the sound of the door opening. Kids pour in, their chatter drowning everything out, and the moment passes. I get caught up with talking to Allegra, while Niall explains what we are going to do all afternoon.

I can
’t help feeling relieved that my secrets are still safe.

* * *

“I painted this for you.” Allegra hands me her picture. This week Niall has them trying Impressionism. The paper is covered with thick paint strokes, each colour blending into the next; blue outer, red inner. I think it’s a London bus in the pouring rain.

“
That’s beautiful. Is it really for me?” My throat constricts as she gives me a small smile. “I’ll put it up in my kitchen. Every time I look at it I’ll think of you.”

“
It’s to say thank you. For taking care of me.” She pulls at her bottom lip with her paint-crusted fingers. “Are you still coming to take me out on Saturday?”

I want to hug her. To pull her close until I squeeze the uncertainty right out of her.
Only a kid, and she’s already used to being let down.

“
Of course I am. Is there anything special you’d like to do?”

“
Can you take me to see my mum?”

I shake my head sadly. She asked the same question last week. I even called her social worker to
see if we could, but was told there was to be no contact. Allegra is still at risk, and though Daisy has been released from hospital, knowing Darren is still at large makes me agree with them. “How about we go to the cinema?” I suggest. “You can choose the film. We can share a bucket of popcorn.” I bump her with my hip, but there’s no sign of a smile.

“
I miss her.” A wobble of her bottom lip. “When will I get to go home?”

“
I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Daisy isn
’t able to look after herself right now, let alone her daughter. Her bruises may have faded, but she’s so anxious and highly strung she can’t sit still for more than a few minutes. When we met for coffee two days ago she could barely light her cigarette, her hands were shaking so badly. Darren really did a number on her.

“
I don’t like it at the home. Can I come and live with you instead?” Allegra grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. “I’ll be really good and I’ll do whatever you tell me. I promise I won’t make a mess.”

Tears sting at my eyes.
How do I explain to an eight-year-old that my husband wouldn’t let her stay? That my marriage is in crisis and she’d probably be unhappier at my house than at the group home. “Why don’t you like it?”

“
The other kids are mean. One of them threw my book in the toilet.” She takes a shaky breath. “They told me I’ll have to live there until I’m eighteen because my mum doesn’t love me.”

I crouch down until our faces are on the same level, and reach out to hold her.
“You know that’s not true, right? She loves you so much. She’s just not well enough to take care of you at the moment. But she’s trying to get better, and she told me she misses you. So much.”

“
You’ve seen her?”

I nod, aware of the unfairness of it all. That I can see them both but they can
’t see each other.

“
Will you tell her I love her, too?”

I hug her close, as much to hide my tears as to give her comfort.
“Of course I will.”

* * *

It’s nearly six by the time we finish clearing the room. The kids took Impressionism seriously, mixing a myriad of colours together until they all blended into a muddy brown mess, spilling paint onto the desks and floors. After I put the mop and bucket back in the cupboard and Niall places the last few containers of paint on the shelves, we turn out the lights and walk into the lobby. I’m in no real hurry to go home to an empty house, and Niall seems to be of a similar mind. We lean against the wall and chat as if we have all the time in the world.

“
Are you okay?” He rubs his chin. “You seemed a bit upset earlier. Allegra did too.”

I don
’t know whether I’m surprised that he noticed, or shocked that he’s said anything. “She misses her mum. And poor Daisy misses her, too. But they’re not allowed to see each other. Not until Daisy’s back on her feet and able to prove she’s responsible.”

“
Even though she’s her ma?”

“
She’s a drug addict who got beaten up so seriously she was in hospital for over a week. I don’t even want to think what could have happened to Allegra if she’d been there.”

“
Jesus.” He looks as though I’ve just kicked him in the stomach. “That poor kid. She doesn’t really stand a chance, does she?”

“
No.” I stop talking because more tears start to threaten and I’m so sick of feeling like this. As if I’m walking on a knife edge, inching my way along, frightened of falling.

“
She’s got you on her side, though. That has to count for something.” Niall reaches out and lifts my chin up with his fingers until I’m looking right at him. “Don’t forget that.” He’s still holding me, his fingers cupping my face, and it makes my pulse speed.

“
I won’t.”

We
’re still staring at each other. My skin tingles. Every time he gets this close I have the same reaction. It’s not conscious, but the strength of my response still surprises me. I want to reach out and trace his bottom lip, touch the part where soft skin becomes moist mouth. I want to feel his teeth digging into my thumb as I push it inside, before he closes his lips around me.

More than anything, I want him to pull me close,
meld his body to mine and kiss me like he used to. As if he had no choice.

But I
’m married.

I
’m married, I’m married, and I’m married.

If I
think it enough times maybe my body will listen.

“
Have you got anything nice planned for the weekend?” I change the subject, making my voice breezy and light. When I take half a step back his hand falls from my face.

“
My ma is visiting for the weekend. A few days with me then she travels north to visit her sister.” His face turns almost comical when he adds, “I’ve been cleaning all week.”

I burst out laughing and it
’s such a relief. Niall grins as if he’s accomplished something.

“
Are you scared of her?” I ask.

“
My mother? Of course.” He looks at me as if I’m stupid. “She’s lovely and all, but if I don’t clean before she visits she insists on spending the whole weekend clearing out the flat. There’s stuff in there I’d rather she didn’t see.”