Unlike the first few months of me living here James doesn’t rush through the front door at the end of the day and wrap his arms around me. He doesn’t call me his ‘angel’ or his ‘kitten’. He barely even acknowledges me. As for sex I can barely remember the last time we made love. Neither of us sleep naked anymore and, when James comes in from the bathroom he’ll say ‘night’ and turn his back to me. Five minutes later, he’ll be asleep.
I started to wonder if it was me. I can’t stop comfort eating (chocolate mostly, on the walk back from the supermarket. I don’t get the bus anymore, it makes me feel claustrophobic) and I thought maybe he didn’t fancy me anymore. I tried wearing a dress instead of my normal uniform of jeans and t-shirt one day but, when James came home and saw me, he shook his head and said I might want to consider getting a bigger size if I didn’t want every roll and ripple on show. I ran to the bedroom and cried.
James still makes an effort with his appearance. Every Sunday before rehearsals, and once or twice during the week, he’ll spend over an hour in the bathroom then emerge in a cloud of deodorant and aftershave with a towel wrapped around his waist then he’ll spend another ten minutes ironing a shirt, twenty minutes doing his hair and then, when he’s checked with me that he looks good, he’ll leave. I’m pretty sure he’s having an affair – possibly with Maggie – but if I dare say anything he turns it on me and accuses me of flirting with the male customers at work (I had to get a job at Tescos six months ago when Jess let me go from the bar job). I wanted to teach TEFL again but James said he didn’t want me travelling up to North London on my own. Besides, his mother needed me he said, and I could get back quickly in an emergency if I worked close to home. What he said made sense but I fought him anyway. I didn’t want to work at Tescos. I had a degree. I was a trained TEFL teacher and dressmaker, not a cashier. James didn’t listen. Instead he twisted my words and made out that I was a snob, too spoilt to rough it with the normal people for a couple of months while I got back on my feet.
I took umbrage at that but he took my hands in his and said it was okay to have ambition but my sewing business wasn’t going to take off immediately and I just had to have patience. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so incredulous. I hadn’t touched my sewing machine in months – his mother’s demands had seen to that.
I miss my mum so much my heart aches. I haven’t visited her in forever but there hasn’t been the time, money or opportunity. I called her a couple of times, a few months ago, but she got upset and confused and that made me feel terrible, like I was the cause of her distress. I haven’t rung since and I’m plagued by guilt, terrified she’ll think I’ve abandoned her.
I’ve nearly called Hels too, dozens of times, but I always put the phone down before the dial tone starts. I can’t bear to hear her say ‘I told you so’ and remind me of all the time and money she and Rupert spent helping me get over James, only for me to go back to him again. And besides, what have I really got to complain about? I’m not starving, I’m not being beaten and I’m not being forced to sleep in the garden shed. I’ve got a job, food to eat, a roof over my head and a warm body sharing my bed. Sometimes James and I go out together – more often than not it’ll be a trip to the theatre, cinema or a restaurant with his mother (she hates being left alone at home) – and, when he’s in a good mood, I fall in love with him all over again. He’ll wink at me at the table, put a hand on my leg and whisper in my ear that he wants to drag me into the toilets and fuck me. He never does of course but it’s moments like that – and him occasionally reaching for me in the night and wrapping his arm around me – that keep me here, that make me think that he does still love me, deep down, we’ve just got into a bit of a domestic rut and we need to shake things up again so he sees me the same way he did when we didn’t live together. I got myself into this situation and I need to get myself out.
I haven’t told James this but I’ve started to stash some of my Tesco wages away so I can get myself a bedsit again. It’s not much after I’ve given him ￡200 for rent and the same for food each month (he said he’d only agreed for me to live here rent free until I started earning again) but the small pile of notes in the bottom of my rucksack is starting to grow. I’ve probably got a couple of hundred pounds now, nowhere near enough to put down a deposit and a month’s rent but I’m getting there slowly. Another six months maybe? That’s what’s getting me through this, knowing there’s a light at the other end of the tunnel. When I get my own place I’ll be able to work full-time at Tescos because I won’t be looking after James’s mum and I can start eating healthier again and lose some weight. I might even make friends with some of the girls at work. A couple of them have smiled at me but I’m so scared they’ll think I’m a snob when they hear my voice I rarely speak (James says I’m so well spoken people find me snobby). I used to be so chatty too. I think back to my first day with the Abberley Players and the way I’d have a banter with everyone. I miss the woman I used to be. And I can’t help thinking that maybe James does too.
Chapter 22
‘My seven-year-old daughter’s in a coma,’ I say, hoping the same line that worked on Steve Torrance’s PA will work on the Greys bouncer. ‘And Alex Henri’s her favourite player. I just want a recording of him saying “get well soon, Charlotte” and I’ll be off. Honestly, I’ll be in and out of the VIP area in no time.’
The security guard crosses his arms but doesn’t look at me. He’s still scanning the crowd at the bar.
‘Please, she’s very ill.’
‘Look love,’ he gives me eye contact at last, ‘Your daughter could be drawing her last breath but I’m still not going to let you up the stairs. If I let you go I’ll have to let everyone go up there.’
‘But they haven’t got sick children. Please, I spoke to his agent’s PA earlier today and she said it was fine for me to approach him.’
‘What was her name?’
‘She didn’t say.’