What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (12 page)

As the coach approaches the car park, James suddenly gets up
from his seat and comes to sit down beside me.

“You arrived in a cab,” he says. “How are you getting home? 
Will he be here?”  He looks and sounds angry.

“No,” I say quickly, “my friend, Emma is picking me up.” 
I’m thankful for once that Greg is too thoughtless to come and collect me; it
would not have been a good idea to have had Greg and James near each other
while we were both so tired and emotions were running high.

“Why?  Couldn’t he be bothered?”
James asks, his anger still evident. I don’t answer, as it won’t help anything
even though it’s true.  We don’t speak any more, just sit there side by side
until he reaches down finally and takes hold of my hand, entwining his fingers
with my own. 

People are collecting their things and making their way to
the front as soon as the coach stops.  I don’t even want to leave the seat, but
eventually it’s unavoidable.  The group spends a few minutes muttering
farewells to each other, in that awkward way people do when they have formed
new and close relationships but are now being watched by their old world and
are suddenly feeling uncomfortable and unwilling to explain what transpired
while they were away.  I hug Stuart and thank him for making me go, promising
to be in to the gym soon before turning to Annie and giving her an enormous hug
too.

“Keep in touch,” I plead.

“Don’t be daft, you silly mare.  Emma invited me to the pub
tomorrow night, so you’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Bloody Emma,” I mutter, looking over towards the pretty A3
I can see parked a short distance away, and she laughs, but secretly I’m pleased
Annie is going to continue to be a part of my life, and she knows it.  We give
each other another brief hug before I turn to look at James, who I can sense is
beside my shoulder.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, hoping my eyes can
tell him what I want to say.  He catches hold of my hands briefly and gives
them a squeeze before reluctantly letting them go, finally saying, “Don’t
forget to start writing.”

I nod and shoulder my pack, turning quickly towards the
waiting car while I still have the strength to walk away from him.  Emma gets
out as I approach, helps me put my bag in the boot and, sensing I need it, gives
me a big hug.  It’s sweet with her baby bump poking into me and I smile
gratefully at her as we get into the car.

“Nice motor,” I say smiling as we climb in.  It still has
that lovely new car smell.

“I know,” she says, grinning, before looking more serious: “Is
everything okay, Lil?”

“Yeah, fine,” I say quickly, “just a bit tired – too
much exercise and a long drive.”  She seems to accept that as she puts the car
into gear and slowly drives towards the exit.

“Who’s that?” she suddenly asks.  Just the impressed tone to
her voice tells me she can only be talking about James.  I turn to look towards
where she’s pointing, and sure enough he’s standing there watching us.  As we
pass he raises his hand in a half wave.  I try to smile, but it feels small and
sad.

“Just one of the group, James,” I say, by way of explanation
before turning to look out my window so she doesn’t see the tears that are
filling my eyes and threatening to spill out over my cheeks.  

“So, was it good?  Are you glad you went?” she asks. 

I pull myself together to answer her. “Absolutely,” I say
emphatically, “It was wonderful.” 

She turns and looks at me as if she can hear something in my
voice.

“Your hair looks great.”

“Annie straightened it for me last night for the dinner.  She
made me promise I would buy myself a pair of straighteners to get rid of my
frizz.”

“I can see why; it looks loads longer.  I wonder what Greg
will think,” she says impishly.  

“I know!  I bet he hates it,” I laugh.  “By the way, you and
Annie seem to have been doing lots of plotting behind my back, young lady,” I say
with a mock-serious tone to my voice. 

She giggles. “I love her!” she says emphatically.

“I know, me too,” I laugh.  “I hear you’ve invited her to
the pub tomorrow.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” She sounds anxious for a moment.

“Of course not.  It’ll be fun.”

“So you will be there?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”   

“I don’t know, I was just worried how Greg will be with you
having been away, I thought he might not let you go.”

“Don’t be silly.  Why would he do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Ignore me, I’m just being silly and
worrying about nothing.  I blame the hormones.” She has slowed the car to a
stop outside the house and is peering at the windows anxiously.  We both see
the curtains twitch.  He’s waiting for me.

“Don’t get out,” I say to Emma, reaching for my door handle. 
“Thanks so much for picking me up, Em; you have a beautiful car.”  I get out
and go to get my pack from the boot.  “Nice boot, by the way,” I call to her, “perfect
for that buggy.”  She smiles at me as I blow her a kiss and make my way up the
path.  It takes me a few seconds to find my key which has, as ever, migrated to
the bottom of my bag, and then let myself in.  When I do Greg is waiting in the
hall.

“Hi,” I say, trying to calm my racing heart. “How did it go
with Adam?  Did you have fun?”

“It was alright.  He’s settled fine now.  He didn’t really
want me there, though.  I came back early.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” I say, although I’m not really
surprised. “Was the drive okay?”

“It was crap.  I had a flat on the way back.”  This isn’t
sounding good.

“How’s Ethan?  Did the course go well?” 

“He’s fine.  He passed okay, and he’s working tonight
already.”

“Well, that’s good.” That’s the pleasantries done, and I’m running
out of things to say.

“Whose car was that?”

“What car?” I say, momentarily confused.  “Oh, you mean Emma’s
new car!  She picked me up from the coach.  Phil bought her a new car for when
the baby comes because the other one was a bit small.  She couldn’t fit a buggy
in the boot.”  I smile, but he doesn’t return it, so I pick up my pack and head
up the stairs with it. 

When I get into the bedroom I start to sort the washing from
the things that need to be put away.  I’m slightly startled when Greg, who I
hadn’t realised had followed me up to the room, suddenly says, “What have you
done to your hair?” 

My hand rises up to touch it before I answer, “Oh, my
roommate Annie had some straighteners.  She insisted she show me what they can
do, so she did and this is the result.  Do you like it?  She thinks I should
get some; what do you think?”  I’m aware my voice is sounding falsely bright –
wrong somehow, forced.  

“I don’t really care.  So what did you do?”  His voice is so
flat when he asks that my first thought is he knows I’m guilty about something,
somehow he knows about me and James and is asking about it.  Images of our
night together flash through my mind.  Then my logic clicks in and I realise he
means what did we do on the trip generally.  I realise he’s still waiting for
me to answer him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across his
chest.

“Oh, you know, we walked up three different hills over the
three days and managed to collect over £4000 for the little girl, Emily.  The
house was nice, I think it was Georgian or something, but it was big.  The
people were nice.  We had a nice time.”

“Sounds ‘nice’,” he says sarcastically.  I ignore him.

“It was,” I say a tad
defensively as I finish putting my things away.  “Look, I’m really tired; it
was a long journey after an even longer walk this morning.  I’m just going to
have a shower and hit the sack.  I’ll see you in the morning if you don’t mind,”
I say, grabbing my wash bag and heading for the bathroom.

As I stand there under the shower, letting the water run
over my body, I pray he leaves me alone tonight.  I can’t face the thought of
sex with him.  Not tonight, so soon after James.  To my relief when I come out
of the shower, Greg has gone back downstairs, I can’t hear the noise of the T.V.
from the front room, so I assume he must have gone back out to the shed to
paint as he sometimes does.  I climb into my pyjamas and get into bed quickly,
turning out the lamp before pulling the covers up to my chin.  When Greg
finally comes to bed an hour or so later, I lie very still with my eyes closed,
pretending to be asleep.  I don’t relax until I eventually hear his breathing
slow into the pattern of sleep, and even then it’s some time before I finally
let my body relax enough to fall into unsettled dreams haunted by blue eyes.

When I awake Greg is already up.  It’s later than usual for
me; my disrupted sleep seems to be impacting on my ability to wake up at the
normal time.  Ethan is still in bed, having got in late from work, so Greg and
I sit in silence over the breakfast table as I quickly spoon my muesli down. 

Eventually I break the silence.  “It’s Tuesday.  I’m meant
to be meeting Emma tonight at The Anchor.”  Greg just looks at me for a moment
before standing up and walking out the back door, making his way down to the
shed again.  It seems an odd reaction; I’m more used to managing his anger than
this odd sort of silence.  As I travel to work and sit behind reception, I try
to fathom out what was niggling me about the exchange at breakfast.  
Eventually as I’m eating my sandwich, enjoying a rare moment of late autumn sunshine
on the bench in the surgery garden, I finally realise what it was.  He had
looked sad.  I’m so used to seeing him looking angry or disappointed that it’s
not an emotion I’m used to seeing on his face.  On the spur of the moment I send
a text to Emma and Annie:

Ladies, not going to be able to make it tonight. 
Really sorry.  Can we do it next week instead? L x

Emma is quickest to respond:

Everything ok? E x

I respond just as quickly:

Yes, fine, just got a few things to catch up with.

I’m touched by her concern.  I don’t hear from Annie until
much later:

Emma and I are going to have to spend the evening
talking about you then
. 

I laugh as I read it.

Never doubted it.  You would have done that anyway,
have fun x.
 

It’s kind of weird to know they’re
becoming such good friends because of me.

I don’t go to the gym after work, figuring I’m still on
credit after all the walking at the weekend, and instead buy the ingredients
for a steak and salad dinner, grabbing a bottle of wine at the last minute. 

Am I feeling guilty?
I wonder as I go about preparing
things at home. 
I should do; I’ve been unfaithful
.  It crosses my mind
I should tell Greg. 
What would he do if I did?
  I honestly don’t know. 
I’m not sure if he would actually even care. 
How would I feel if the shoe
was on the other foot?
  Again, I’m not really sure. 
Not all that
bothered, really, if it meant he didn’t want sex all the time
, I think.  I
didn’t always feel like that, I realise.  Not in the beginning.  I would have
been devastated if Greg had gone elsewhere.  Somehow, over the course of the eighteen
years and in the midst of child care responsibilities, I’ve stopped caring. 
Has
Greg too?
  I honestly don’t know.  We never speak about ‘us’, we have
always just got on with it, really, like most people do –
don’t they?
 

James, on the other hand… the thought of him with other
women makes me surge with jealousy.  I have no right to expect anything from
him after three days of albeit intense relationship (on my part). 
It could
have been anyone
, I reassure myself. 
It has just woken me up to what’s
missing in my marriage, and any feelings are better than no feelings.  I need
to concentrate on that and work out what I can do to improve my relationship
with Greg before I start condemning my last eighteen years of marriage,
I
realise.  With renewed focus I go about dinner preparations.  Greg comes in as
I’m pouring a glass of wine for us both.  He pauses for a moment, looking at
me.

“What’s all this for?” 
Am I really that obvious? Do I so
rarely make an effort that when I do it’s noteworthy?

“Nothing, really.  I just thought it might be nice to have a
glass of red with our steak,” I say brightly.  Greg just shrugs and sits down
without washing his hands.  That bugs me, but I hold back from commenting.  He
would call it nagging.  He doesn’t wait for me to sit down before he starts,
inhaling the food at his usual rate – he can rival a dog at times.  I
watch him for a moment before sitting down and starting to pick at my own
serving. My appetite really isn’t there these days, and Greg wolfing down his
food with so little regard for how it tastes only makes it worse.

“You should eat,” Greg eventually comments, as he pauses
from eating for a moment to sip at his wine.  “You’re losing too much weight.” 
I’m genuinely surprised; I didn’t know he’d even noticed.  “I prefer you bigger,”
he shrugs.  I smile; it’s nice he wasn’t bothered about my larger size.  He
used to be –
I wonder when that changed?

“I’m just trying to be a bit
healthier, you know – lose some weight, do some exercise.  It’s not good
for me to be carrying the excess now I’m getting older,” I try to explain.  He
looks straight at me as he holds his glass in front of him, elbows on the
table.  His expression says he doesn’t believe me. 
Does he think I’m doing
it to attract other men?
I wonder.
  Am I? Well, I did, but I wasn’t
expecting to – I didn’t set out with that in mind.  I just wanted to
improve myself, my life.... my marriage?  Maybe, if I’m being really honest
with myself.
  I look down at my plate and cut some steak, deliberately
taking time in the movements and chewing slowly to break the intensity of his
stare. 
Does he know about James?
 I suddenly wonder. 
Maybe one of
the other members of the group saw me with him, maybe they knew Greg and told
him?  No
, I decide,
he wouldn’t be this calm.
I feel at the same
time reassured and anxious at the thought. 
What would he do if he did find
out?
  I’m not sure I want to know, and for the first time I feel anxiety
about the potential storm I’ve sewn into my life.

By the time we have both finished and I’ve cleared, washed
and put everything away it’s gone nine.  Greg is already in the lounge watching
T.V.  He looks up as I enter.

“Thought you were going out?”

“I put it off ’til next week.”

“Why?”

“Thought I’d been out enough recently, and I’d stay in with
you for a change.” It’s nonsense, really.  I hardly ever go out; the last few
weeks have been a complete exception.  We spend nearly every night sitting side
by side on the sofa watching crap T.V. exactly as we’re doing now.  I’m
behaving weirdly, I know, but I don’t seem able to stop myself. 
At this
rate I’m going to be blurting out I’d fucked someone else in the Peak District
before we get to the weather on the news at ten.

In the end we sit there in silence, as we always do.  After
the weather I brush my teeth and get into bed.  Greg is a few minutes behind
me.  We both read our books for a few minutes, although actually I just lie
there holding my book and staring at the page, my mind whirring over what I know
is about to happen.  Eventually I can delay the inevitable no longer.  I put
the book down, lean over and turn off my lamp.  Greg holds out for another
couple of minutes and then does the same.  I hold my breath in the darkness,
wondering for a second whether Greg is going to leave me alone for a second
night when I feel the tentative brush of his fingers against my thigh. 

This is it
, I think as I feel
him move towards me.  I try to relax my body and disconnect my mind in an
effort to give myself over to the sensations and the moment, but every touch feels
intrusive. 
What is wrong with me?
I want to cry out. He touches my
breast, teasing the nipple until it’s erect before kissing it.  In the dim
light cast into the room from the street I watch his head bobbing over my
breast dispassionately, my body ramrod-straight.  I can feel his erection
already nudging my side.  It’s a routine I’m well familiar with – breast,
kissing, clit (if I was lucky), penetration – we would be done in 10
minutes.  I roll towards him, grasping his length in my hand and beginning to
jerk him off, hoping to speed up the inevitable process.  I can feel him swell
and harden further under my touch, a small groan escaping his lips.  After
several minutes he pushes my hand away as he nears his limit, wanting to come
inside me.  He rolls me onto my back and pulls himself over me, uncaring that
I’m nowhere near as aroused as he is, his knees pushing my thighs wider when,
at first, they resist.  I can feel I’m dry as a bone as he pushes inside me. 
Greg is too far gone to notice my lack of involvement as his body presses
heavily over mine, thrusting into me. I hate it, I realise as I lie there.  I
hate how he continues relentlessly, despite my obvious lack of participation, I
hate feeling used – like a whore must feel. I especially hate that he will
remove the last traces of James from my body.  At the moment when he finally comes
I feel a tear run down the side of my cheek and into my hair as he fills me,
immediately withdrawing to the other side of the bed when he’s done.  I lie
there long after his snores start, wondering what I’m going to do.  
Could I
return myself to the stupor of the last eighteen years and be happy with that?
 
Now
I had experienced the difference in what life could offer, would I really be
able to accept my lot? 
I don’t know. I fear not.

In the morning after my shower I look at myself in the
mirror – watching my hair return to its habitual frizz, and realise whether
I like it or not my life is sucking me back in.