He turns on to his side to face me and moves my face towards his. Even as it’s happening, I’m thinking that I’ve never been kissed so carefully – with such attention, as if he’s trying to imprint the way our lips fit together on to his memory. I know what it means. I don’t want to lose this. The desire is primal, and I push myself up against him wordlessly and hard, willing him to read what’s in my head.
‘We’d better get out of here,’ he says after a while. It’s not what I wanted, but glancing at the time, I see that he’s right. I nod silently and reach for my clothes.
It’s barely half an hour before I’m home, but it’s already getting dark, and I realize I’ve stayed out later than I thought, later than I would plausibly be working. I brace myself as I turn the key in the lock, but as soon as I enter the hallway I hear the sound of Francis’s snoring coming from the lounge, uneven and jagged.
I check on Eddie first, finding him sleeping serenely, tucked up in bed. I stroke his hair softly, feeling guilt surging through me. It feels as if I’ve barely seen him this week. Tomorrow, I’ll come home early and spend some time with him, maybe take him to the playground. Quietly, I back out of the room, then close the door.
Tiptoeing into the lounge, I peer at Francis where he lies sprawled on the sofa. With a shock, I see that he’s left a pill packet out, tossed next to him carelessly. I can’t remember how many there were last time I looked, but the foil is torn all the way along now and there’s nothing left. The sight of it lights a bright flare of anger inside me, white hot and hopeless. I reach out and shake him roughly by the shoulder, redoubling the pressure when he barely stirs. He makes a noise, something that might be a greeting or a command to leave him alone. His eyelids peel open for a fraction of a second, then droop closed again.
‘For Christ’s sake, Francis,’ I say, hearing the hysterical rise in my voice and knowing I’m on the path to losing it. ‘What the hell are you doing to yourself? Do you even understand what’s happening here? Have you got a fucking clue?’
His eyes open again, a slow, painful movement, as if he’s wrenching them up with pliers. There’s little recognition in the glazed look he gives me, and even less acknowledgement of what I’m saying. I stand there in the middle of the room, my arms wrapped around myself, and I can still feel and smell Carl all over my body, and all at once my heart lurches sickeningly and I have no idea how we’ve got here. Tears are pushing themselves out of my eyes, choking my throat. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ I hear myself saying. ‘You’re supposed to be looking after our child, for God’s sake. What if he woke up and needed you? How can I trust that you wouldn’t just ignore him?’ It’s my own hypocrisy as much as the fear that’s driving the tears. I have no idea what trust means now, between my husband and me.
Francis struggles aimlessly in his seat, wiping a hand across his face and trying to collect himself. ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he says. ‘I know my responsibilities. I look after him.’ The words are placatory, but there’s a bite behind them and his frown is thunderous. It’s all I can see.
‘Well, that’s good to know,’ I spit back. ‘It’s good to know that you’ll do it for him, but—’ I pause for a second, unsure if I really want to say the words that are trembling on my lips. ‘But not for me,’ I force out.
He frowns again, as if confused, thrown off base. Perhaps it’s the emotion implicit behind what I have said – an emotion that seems to have no place between us these days. I don’t even know myself why I care any more. His mouth opens briefly, then snaps shut, and he leans his head back against the sofa cushions, closing his eyes again.
Anger is still burning through me, making it hard to breathe. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ I say, loudly and clearly, spacing the words out. When there is no response, I grit my teeth, hug my arms tighter around myself. ‘I don’t want to be married to you any more,’ I say. ‘I think I’m done here.’
His eyelids flicker minutely, but still there is no response. I stare at his dark eyelashes, the mouldings of his face that remind me of Eddie’s, the shadow of the bones that I once used to trace with my fingertips while he slept, trying to transmit my love for him secretly through his skin.
‘I’m leaving you,’ I finish. The words are simple and strong, but I can hear the tremor of uncertainty in my voice and I know that, on some level, he will hear and understand it, too. Now that I’ve said it, we both know that I don’t quite mean it yet. But I will, I tell myself. Sometime soon, I will.
They’re back. This time, I’m ready for them. As soon as I see them pause outside the building, I’m pulling on my shoes and running down the staircase to the ground floor. I fumble with something in my coat pocket as I push my way out of the front doors, feigning self-absorption, then I let myself glance in their direction and do a double-take, smiling in surprised recognition.
I address the little boy directly. ‘You’re Eddie, aren’t you?’ He half smiles back, then puts a fist to his mouth and sucks on it, shy. His eyes slide up towards his grandmother, who is eyeing me with polite suspicion. ‘I’m house-sitting for Caroline and Francis,’ I explain. ‘Eddie’s photos are all over the flat.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Caroline’s mother sounds relieved to be presented with such a pat explanation. ‘We’re not really lurking,’ she explains. ‘The flat’s on our route back from school, and—’
‘Paddy,’ says Eddie suddenly and clearly, his silence temporarily broken. His wide grey eyes are filled with expectancy. For a moment, I have to stop and think, but then I remember the little silvery hamster that occasionally reminds me of its presence by scuttling around its wheel like a creature deranged. Caroline left painstakingly detailed instructions on its care, but I’ve simply thrown a handful of food into the cage every so often and nothing catastrophic has occurred. Most things take less effort than you think to keep alive.
‘I’m sorry,’ Caroline’s mother says gaily. ‘He’s been talking about him a lot. We could have had him this week, only I’m allergic.’
‘Well,’ I find myself saying, ‘you must come up and see him. Would you like that, Eddie?’ The child nods, his face brightening with anticipation. Even as he does so, I realize that I can’t let them into the flat now. Not with the possessions slung haphazardly all over the floors, the mutilated photographs in the hallway. ‘I have to go out now,’ I add, ‘but maybe tomorrow, on your way back from school?’
Eddie jumps up and down, letting loose an excited volley of approval. Caroline’s mother smiles, a little tightly. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you,’ she says. ‘We’ll see how we go tomorrow. Anyway, we won’t keep you any longer. Nice to meet you, um …’
She pauses, expecting me to fill the gap, but I simply smile and head off down the street, giving a quick wave of farewell. My footsteps are echoing in my head like gunshots. I’m not sure what I’ve just done, but it’s flooding me with exhilaration and my head is light and giddy. I was stupid to think that the way to get close to someone was through the place they lived, the things they owned. It’s the people they love that tell you the most about who they are.
Away
Caroline, May 2015