What Goes Around... (19 page)

‘Talk to me, Jess.’

‘You don’t need it now.’

‘Jess, please.’

I’m sick of people telling me what I need and what I don’t. I’
m sick of people walking on eggshells around me but then again I don’t want anyone close, I don’t want anyone too near.

‘You pong!’ Jess says, as she pulls away. ‘Have you been down to the stables?’

‘Yeah,’ I smile. ‘I made a start cleaning out Noodle’s stable today.’ I have to go back tomorrow, there’s just so much to be done. I don’t tell Jess that though. ‘Talk to me,’ I offer again.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Jess shrugs. ‘I just,’ she shakes her head; she doesn’t want to talk about whatever it is that’s on her mind. ‘Let’s have a brandy.’

‘Are you sure you ought to?’ I frown. ‘Should you drink with a head injury?’

‘It’s a bruise,’ Jess says and then her eyes light up as I open the sideboard. ‘Oh, my, God!’

‘I know!’ Name a drink and I can make it. Everybody brought bottles for the funeral and for days beforehand too. It’s the same with the cupboards and freezers. They’re full to bursting with food.

I really could hide here.

I could probably not go out for a month.

It’s an incredibly appealing thought.

I pull out some brandy glasses – his nice ones. I pour two glasses and we sit in the lounge and I warm it with my palms. We sit in silence for a moment and I look at my friend and she can tell me anything, I hope she knows that.

Except
, I can’t.

I can’t.

Not all of it.

None of it.

I can’t.

But for a reason, I can’t yet fathom, I do. ‘I slept with Noel.’

I see her face jerk up.

I hear my voice and I can’t believe I’ve said it and
, from the look on her face, she can’t believe that I’ve said it either.

‘After the funeral,
’ I say and I close my eyes, half expecting me to be wearing the brandy she’s holding. ‘He came to pick up the kids.’

Why am I telling her?

Why?

Why?

Why?

‘I’m so ashamed.’

She’s just sitting there stunned.

‘Lucy?’

It all spills out, how he came to the door, how we both just sort of exploded, how we barely made it inside. I’m gagging almost at the end of it; I’m gagging and furious with myself. Not just for what happened but that I’m telling her. I still don’t know why I am.

I just know that it helps. That, when she crosses the room and puts her arms around me, for the first time since his death
, I am held and comforted and I let myself be held and comforted, and it helps.

‘I slept with my stepdaughter’s husband.’

‘She’s the same age as you.’ Jess is calm. Jess is a lot more open minded than me - she was a bit of a wild girl once and she just makes what happens less of a big deal. ‘Come on Lucy, they’ve broken up. You’re making this sound worse than it is.’

No.

It
is
worse.

‘I’m a mess,’ I say.

No, you’re not,’ she promises.

But she doesn’t know it all.

And nor do you.

I didn’t go to the stables today. That was yesterday and I’m still wearing the same clothes.

I’m trying so hard to hold it all together, I’m trying so hard to get back to my routines.

But I can’t.

‘I’m falling apart here.’

‘No,’ she insists. ‘You’re the strongest woman I know.’

But I’m not.

I’m not.

‘I can’t stand that Gloria …’

‘What’s Gloria got to do with this?’ Jess says.

‘What she must think of me.’

‘As if she’s ever going to know.’ I’m too ashamed to tell her that Gloria does, but Jess carries on. ‘And, if she does find out, why would you care what Gloria thinks?’ I don’t know. I just know that I do. ‘Why do you need Gloria’s approval?’

Jess and I haven’t had a night, just us, in ages. We have another brandy and a chat and we discuss that the banks, as Luke predicted, have turned down my application for a mortgage. Jess tells me that she’s going to get Luke to come over and help me sort it out.

This weekend, she says.

We’ll sort it out.

And then we talk about her work, but she doesn’t know if she’s taking the promotion and, I don’t know, there’s something else, I just don’t know what it is. I know she’s just had a car crash, I don’t expect amazing company
, but there’s something wrong and I don’t know what it is.

I’m worried for Jess and normally (just in case you haven’t noticed) I’m only worried about me.

Luke arrives and he’s as disapproving as ever.

I see his eyes run over my roots. I see him glance down at my expanding body and I feel his eyes take in my rather scruffy house as he walks through and then his eyes land on the glasses on the coffee table.

‘Brandy?’ He looks at me. ‘With a head injury?’

He’s pissed off, I can tell.

‘It’s a bruise,’ Jess says and she tells him the state of the car and what happened, but when she tells Luke, she says that it was completely the other guy’s fault and then he says it’s time to get her home. He
thanks
me for taking care of her.

I hear his sarcastic barb but
, as Jess gets in the car, he walks over to me.

‘Are you taking care of yourself?’

‘Yes.’

He stands and jiggles his keys for a moment. ‘We’ll get the money sorted.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You can afford to go the hairdresser
’s, Lucy,’ he tries to make a joke. ‘You’re not
that
broke.’

‘I know.’

And then his keys jiggle again.

I wish he’d just go.

‘How’s Charlotte?’

‘Okay,’ I say and then I shake my head, because, no, she’s not. ‘I guess it’s early days.’

‘Have you thought about seeing your GP?’

I nod. ‘She’s got an appointment next week.’

‘I meant, for you.’

For me?

Because my house isn’t immaculate and my roots aren’t done?

Arrogant prick.

I don’t say that though, I just say goodnight and give Jess a smile and a wave, but as soon as they drive off, I head back into the house and I start to tidy it.

Really tidy it.

I start in the kitchen and when the washing up is done I wipe down the benches and I remember to put out our breakfast things – for all the routines I’ve broken, that one’s remained.

I go through to the lounge and I polish.

And then, while the ironing board is still up, I get a whole lot done.

I start to feel better.

I head upstairs and Luke’s words still irk.

As if Doctor Patel can help.

She didn’t get me even before it all happened, she certainly won’t get me now.

I take off my boots and I glance at the clock and set my alarm
.

It’s three am and I’m too tired to undress, in fact I’m too tired to even get in the bed, so I lie on top, though, I’m actually not that tired. I just lie there thinking and maybe Luke’s right about one thing.

Maybe it is time to see Ricky.

Just not yet.

Get it together Lucy.

I drop Charlotte at school and I go to the stables.

Good news awaits
, because the float has sold.

Nearly four thousand p
ounds!

But I don’t want to get rid of her tack.

‘Sort it Lucy.’ I can hear his voice.

I’m trying to sort it – I’m trying to sort out the mess you left, I think, as I pick up shit for the last time and hose down Noodle
’s old stable. There are flies everywhere and it’s a filthy job but, now I’m here, now I’ve set my mind to it, I get it done in a few hours.

I want her to have a pony.

I want her to be happy again.

It’s been six weeks and, i
f anything, she’s worse.

I’m worse.

It’s going to get better, I tell myself, as I pick up her tack and load it into the car.

She will get a pony.

So, instead of polishing it up to go on eBay, I stack it in the garage and I cover it up, because I don’t want the constant reminders for her.

It’s already after three, so I head to the school. I almost droop with relief when I pick her up and she tells me she’s been invited to sleep at a friend
’s tonight and that they’re all having pizza.

She packs up a little bag and I drive her to her friends.

‘I shan’t come in,’ I smile when invited. ‘I’ve been at the stables.’

That’s the mad thing about the village - you can look and smell like shit, just as long as you’re wearing boots and have
been at the stables
.

I wonder what to do with my night off.

I’m in a vaguely good mood, maybe because I’ve got some cash – even better, cash that Luke doesn’t know about. I might say we sold it for five hundred pounds.

I change lanes as I drive past the supermarket and I consider going in.

I can have what I want for dinner.

Ice cream
if I like but I keep on driving towards home.

I park in the drive and get into the house.
I ignore the cupboards and freezer, instead, I head straight for the laundry and I strip off.

There and then.

I throw them all in the washing machine and I watch the black water go around.

God, Lucy!

Despite my resistance to what Luke suggested about seeing my GP, I do read some of the pamphlets that Doctor Patel gave me. I sit naked at the table and read and apparently, not washing and poor personal hygiene can be a sign of depression.

I’m not depressed – I look up and into my tidy kitchen and things are starting to come together I’m sure.

I don’t have poor personal hygiene; I’m just overloaded at the moment.

Busy.

You’d stink too if you’d spent a day cleaning out shit.

I just need a bit of space.

And tonight I’ve got it.

I’m going to have a beauty night, I decide.

I’m going to exfoliate and shave and rub in moisturiser, I’m going to put on a face mask and cut my nails and then paint them.

I run upstairs and I run a bath then I look in the mirror and it’s me that wants to run.
I see how much I’ve let myself go, how being the perfect yummy mummy was, in fact, a full-time job.

I’ve put on weight, I don’t want to know how much, but I step on the scales for the first time in six weeks.

I used to get on them every morning.

Up, have a wee, jump on scales.

Now, I step on slowly and I’m scared to look down.

They’re wrong.

I step off and let it go back to zero and then I step on again and I’m a pound heavier this time – bloody hell – I’m putting on weight at a rate of one pound a minute.

Almost.

I’ve put on a stone and a half in six weeks.

I’ve always felt like I’m a day away from things falling apart.

I was right.

I lift my arms and I’m like a French woman.

I look at my hairy legs and down to my toenails that need to be cut, then back up to my face.

I’ve got roots too.

I usually go to Ricky every three weeks – it’s been six.

I c
an’t pretend I’m naturally blonde now.

I’m a brunette.

With a smatter of grey.

I look for a razor but I can’t find one.

There’s only his and I’m not using that.

A bath, Lucy.

Baby steps.

I get in and I lie there.

A bath used to relax me.

It doesn’t tonight.

I can see my big fat body and when I get out I will cut my toenails I think, while they’re soft. As I wash my hair I decide that I’ll paint my toenails and pluck my eyebrows….

But I don’t.

I put on a dressing gown.

I watch the dirty water go down the plughole and I’m ashamed of myself.

I didn’t remember to exfoliate but I do rub in moisturiser, that expensive one I bought the Saturday before he died.

Jess said yesterday that I pong and I did nothing about it but I’m doing something about it now…Jess.