Underground Rivers (4 page)

Deeply Red

by Jean Mutch

For a moment it all feels like a slow motion sequence from a Hollywood film I once saw. The bouquet leaves my hands and soars towards the cloudless, sapphire sky. Charlie's on my left, suited and slicked. His steel-blue eyes glinting with laughter as he turns to me. Mum and Dad a little further off to the right. Dad's chest puffed to match his stomach. The veins visible through the thin moisture on his forehead. Mum still with the deepening line between her eyebrows she says was never there before I was born. No need to worry now, though. I've got Charlie. His hand finds mine as we watch the bouquet arc and begin to fall. It's a good, strong hand. Like Dad's. A safe hand. He smiles as the squeals behind us reach a crescendo. I turn to see Emily holding the bouquet triumphantly aloft. A dozen roses. So deeply red, they're almost black at the heart.

It's the perfect climax to the perfect day he promised me. Charlie's free hand cups my chin and pulls my face to his. The stubble's roughness round my mouth tells me it's been a long day, although it feels like no more than a moment. Strange how you can know someone so well after such a short time. My beautiful Charlie. It's sad his mother couldn't be here though.

“We could wait till she's better,” I said, when Charlie got the call from the hospital.

“She wouldn't want that,” he said. “Anyway, we've sent out the invitations now.”

Back at the hotel there's a four-poster bed. Champagne and oysters waiting on ice. Charlie's thought of everything. I've never tasted oysters before. Charlie shows me how to slide them into my mouth, like a slug of seawater.

“They're an aphrodisiac,” he says, draining his glass as he watches me swallow.

“I don't need one when you're around.”

I lean in to kiss him, but he's grabbing for the second bottle of champagne. Just for a second, I think he's forgotten I'm here.

Tonight in the four-poster is the closest thing to heaven. Charlie's just the best lover in the world. Gentle. Considerate. Insatiable. It's like we're in our own private world. An endless bubble where nothing can touch us. I have to get up around 4am. When I come back, Charlie's at the window, lighting a cigarette. He's drawn back the heavy, brocade curtains and the sky's just tinged with pink. The formal garden below casts deep shadows and the silver birch near the window is shivering and whispering. I slide my arms around Charlie and kiss him between the shoulder blades. He shudders and leans back against me, drawing in in a deep draught of tobacco smoke.

We decided some time before the wedding that there was no point in going away for a honeymoon. Just the wedding night in a really posh hotel. Actually, I think it was Charlie who decided, but I couldn't help but agree when he rolled over around 7.30 one morning, kissed me and slid his hand slowly down over my stomach.

“There'd be no point really,” he said. “We wouldn't see anything but the hotel room.”

Somehow he was on top of me then and the discussion was over.

And of course, he was right. We got home four days ago and we've barely emerged from the bedroom. I've lost all sense of time. And if I'm honest, I could do with a decent meal. The wedding dress on the back of the door is the only reminder that there ever was a world outside these walls. It's hanging at a very slight angle and I keep wanting to get up and straighten it. Charlie follows me every time I go anywhere. I'm starting to crave personal space, but I have a niggling sense he wouldn't like it much if I told him. The butterflies in my stomach don't feel quite so good any more.

Charlie gets up to go to the bathroom. I'm about to follow when a strange sound intrudes. My phone. Charlie scowls and walks out. Everyone's left us in peace since the wedding, but Emily hasn't been able to wait any longer. She wants all the gory details. We're deep in conversation, so I don't know how long Charlie's been standing there when I put the phone down. His face is half-covered in shaving foam and the razor's in his hand. He looks comical and sweet.

“Who was that?”

“Emily.”

“Didn't sound like Emily. What did she want?”

“Just a chat. She wanted to know how I was.”

“Well, you're OK aren't you? Why wouldn't you be?”

“Yes, I'm fine. Of course I am.”

“So why did she call?”

“She's my friend. We call each other.”

“Hmph.”

He disappears into the bathroom again. I sit on the bed, trying to make sense of the change of atmosphere. Charlie reappears, wiping his face.

“Suddenly you don't want to come with me, then?”

“I was thinking.”

His face darkens.

“Thinking, huh? Boyfriend made you think, did he?”

He hurls the towel across the room. It catches on the top of the mirror and hangs.

“Boyfriend?”

The towel flops to the floor.

“See. You admit it. That wasn't Emily at all.”

“Of course it was Emily.”

I can't take it in. A moment ago we were happy. Now I'm a naughty child. I've no idea what I've done wrong. Tears well up.

“Don't start none of that crying. Just ‘cause you've been caught out. Slag.”

“I'm not. I mean, I haven't. How can you say that? Check the phone if you don't believe me.”

“Do I look stupid?”

“Of course not.”

He's right in my face now. He's cleaned his teeth. Everything's minty. I flinch. He flips.

“You really think I'm a twat, don't you? All that lovey-dovey stuff. Laughing. I could hear his voice from the other side of the room. That wasn't a woman you were talking to. You think I'm deaf as well as daft?”

He recoils and stomps off to the bathroom. I follow. Bewildered. He turns on me. His lip curls.

“By the way, your breath smells. Brush your fucking teeth.”

That's so unfair. I trail after him.

“Charlie.”

“What?”

He's pulling on his boxers. He doesn't even look at me.

“I love you.”

I know it's pathetic. He zips his trousers. Pulls the belt a notch too tight. Drags a clean T-shirt over his head. Then he comes towards me and cups my chin in his hand. I purse for the kiss. He spits in my face. He shoves me against the doorpost and stalks down the stairs.

I'm shaking. I wash my face. Once. Twice. It doesn't feel any cleaner. I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans and follow Charlie. He's in the kitchen, rooting through the fridge.

“There's nothing in here.”

And that's my fault? He pulls out the milk. Sniffs it. Growls and throws the bottle in the sink. A fountain of off milk splatters everywhere.

“This is a fucking joke. I'm going out to get something to eat. You'd better clean up this mess before I get back. And don't you be phoning the boyfriend. I'll be watching you.”

He's gone.

The house is still and scary without him. It's my house for fuck's sake. How can it be scary? I don't know where he's gone or how long he'll be, so I decide to clean up the kitchen first. At least he won't be able to have a go about that. I've just wiped the last of the milk off the tiles when the phone goes. A text. I want to ignore it. Best not.

Love you little brown eyes xxx

Love you too my blue eyed boy xxx

It makes me feel better. Maybe he was hungry. Or stir crazy. Like me. I've no appetite now though, so I sit down on the sofa and open up the laptop. I can upload some of the wedding photos. There's a great one Emily took of Charlie and me cutting the cake. My Facebook page is covered with messages. I click ‘like' on each one and post a status update:

Thanks for the messages everyone. I'm officially the happiest woman in the world :-)

How easy to believe my own lie. On the other hand, something tells me Charlie won't be the happiest man if he comes home and finds me on Facebook, so I don't hang around. I'm about to log out when
People you may know
catches my eye. I always check in case some blast from my past is skulking there. Today, there's someone called Anna Denning. I don't know her from Adam. We have one mutual friend. Charlie. I check her profile. She's pretty. About my age. Looks like me, come to think of it. The profile says she's married, but it doesn't say who to. I know so little about Charlie's family. It's almost like he doesn't have a past.

I'm watching
Come Dine With Me
and drinking disgusting black coffee with loads of sugar when the next text arrives. My hand's all trembly.

Huge kiss and cuddle for my little brown eyes xxx I love you so much xxx

Huge kiss and cuddle for you my blue eyed boy xxx I love you too xxx When r u coming home?

He doesn't reply.

By nine-thirty I've drunk four cups of coffee. Each with more sugar than the last. My mouth's sticky, my stomach's growling and I'm worried. Part of me longs to hear Charlie's key in the door. The more rational part tells me it'd be better if I never heard it again. The phone goes. I hate that sound.

In King's Arms. Come and join me xxx

It's not a request.

OK.
C u soon xxx I love you xxx

The King's Arms is just round the corner. Its garden backs on to my street. It's a nice, basic pub with cheap pool tables, good beer and an excellent juke box. My stomach's churning as I reach the door. Charlie's in the back bar by the pool tables. There's a half-empty pint glass next to him. He kisses me. He reeks of booze and he's unsteady on his feet. No mention of this morning. He drains his glass and disappears to the bar. While he's gone, I watch the couple at the other pool table. Laughing. Joking. All those little touches and smiles. They look genuine. But who's to say what's really going on?

Charlie reappears with another pint. A bottle of red wine for me. I'd prefer a pint, but he doesn't like me drinking beer. He puts them on the table and heads for the juke box. A tall, blonde girl with a short skirt gets there ahead of him. I watch, mesmerised. Charlie puts his arm round her. She's startled, but she soon melts. Something about Charlie's irresistible. Even when he's legless. They pore over the playlist together. He feeds money into the machine, insisting on paying for her choices. He pats her bottom and comes back to me.

“Not drinking?”

He fills my glass with one hand and takes a deep draught from his own with the other.

I've drunk the best part of a bottle of wine, but I'm in a better state than Charlie when we leave the pub. We're half way home when he starts crying and apologising. He'll never hurt me again. Please forgive him. He's crushing my hand. Tears and snot everywhere. As soon as we're through the front door, he pushes me against the wall and starts kissing me. He's hungry. Desperate. Tearing my clothes. Biting my neck. Struggling to undo his belt with one hand. Holding me still with the other. We drag one another up the stairs. His urgency becoming mine as well. He throws me onto the bed. Stands over me for a moment.

Triumphant.

Then he falls down beside me and passes out.

Charlie's phone wakes me. It's broad daylight. He's oblivious. I can't go back to sleep. I lean across and kiss him. Something in me still believes in the man I thought I knew. He grunts and snores. The phone rings again. It's probably half an hour since the last time. I've been wide awake, so it feels like half a lifetime. Charlie's arm shoots out from under the covers and grabs for the phone. It falls on the floor. He swears and scrabbles for it.

“Yeah? What? ... Who? ... Oh. Yeah.”

Suddenly he's awake. He rolls off the edge of the bed, taking the duvet with him, and stumbles out of the room, leaving me naked and shivering. I'm in the bathroom when he comes back. He marches in and turns on the shower.

“I'm sorry, love. I'm going to have to go out.”

“What, now?”

But his head's already under the water. My pathetic attempt at protest is quietly drowned.

I'm starving. I glance at myself in the mirror above the fireplace on the way back from kissing Charlie goodbye. I'm a sight. I never knew I had cheekbones before. There are four or five livid, red bruises on my neck and a scratch on my chin. That's the visible damage. One good thing - I don't think Charlie'll be back in the time it takes to go to the corner shop. I want bread, bacon, and some milk, so I can have a decent cup of tea. When he's been gone ten or fifteen minutes I wind a scarf around my neck and venture out. I can't believe how good it feels to be in the sunshine. Free. The phone goes as I'm coming out of the shop. I'm sweating and fumbling in an instant.

Why the scarf? Are you ashamed of me? Love you little brown eyes xxx

I look up and down the street. How the hell does he know I'm wearing a scarf?

Cold. Not ashamed. Love you too my blue-eyed boy xxx

I'm watching you little brown eyes. Take care xxx

I don't think he's concerned for my welfare. Something moves in the pub garden. I look again. There's no-one there.

The bacon sarnie works wonders. I feel almost normal. I sit down on the sofa with my second cup of tea and open up the laptop. There's a friend request from Anna Denning. I accept, out of pure curiosity, and click on her profile.

“So that's it. You bitch.”

I must've nodded off. The room's half dark. I didn't even hear the key. Charlie's standing over me. Face flushed. Eyes narrowed. The open laptop's on the sofa beside me.

“You think you're so fucking clever, don't you? You can't talk to him on the phone, so you use the computer. ‘
I love you Charlie
',” he mimics. “It's fucking bullshit.”

“No, Charlie ...”

He grabs the laptop. I dive for it, but I'm too slow. He rips the screen away from the keyboard, and hurls the whole thing against the wall.