Between You and Me

‘Thank you, Sal.’ Mrs Wilson hands me a steaming cup of strong, brown tea. ‘You’re a gem – and Maggie is a little dote. You’re lucky; you have the perfect family. Make the most of it – they grow up too quickly.’ I give her a small smile and look down at my cup. Perfect? I’m not too sure about that.

An hour later, as Maggie and I come strolling down our street, swinging our hands together and occasionally jumping over the cracks in the pavement, I realise you are outside in our front garden, talking to Laura. Usually I wouldn’t worry too much, but following on from yesterday’s illicit trip to the beach, which I was too ashamed to tell Laura should be kept secret, my heart starts to beat a little faster, and I feel hot and clammy.

‘Everything OK?’ I try a wobbly smile in your direction.

‘Of course, you silly thing, why wouldn’t it be?’ You squeeze my shoulder affectionately. ‘Laura was just telling me about your little trip yesterday. I’m not surprised you didn’t mention it, after being so tired yesterday evening.’

‘Oh, yes. We didn’t go out for too long, just to get the kids some fresh air, that’s all. I meant to tell you but … well, I was asleep when you came in.’

‘You’re lucky, Laura. Sal’s been extremely busy this week, haven’t you, Sal? Indoors all week, making the most of being home with Maggie, I should think, before school starts. I’m surprised Sal could find the time to spend a whole day out!’ You put your arm around me proprietarily, clutching me ever so slightly too tightly.

Laura flicks her eyes towards me, almost an apology, as she obviously didn’t realise I hadn’t told you we’d been out.

‘Well, Charlie, I realise that. I haven’t seen Sal or Maggie all week – unusual since you live next door, eh? I almost thought you guys were avoiding me!’ Laura gives a little laugh, and Charlie joins in. Despite the supposed hilarity, you could cut the air with a knife.

‘Of course not, Laura. You’re our neighbour, aren’t you? You must come over for dinner soon. I know this lovely chap at work – he’d be perfect for you.’

‘In all honesty, Charlie, I’m not really looking, but I appreciate the offer. Dinner would be nice. Sal, I’ll catch up with you in the week, OK? We can make an arrangement for dinner then.’ Laura turns to go back into the house and, feeling awkward, I face you, unsure of exactly what I’m going to find. Maggie runs into the house, intent on carrying out whatever game she’s cooked up on the way home. You stare at me, eyes cold like chips of blue ice.

‘Get indoors, Sal. That chicken will be getting cold.’

Chapter Twelve

CHARLIE

To say that I’m furious is an understatement. Sal’s deceitfulness and constant lies are ruining our relationship. I find myself feeling more and more wound up all the time and it’s all Sal’s fault. How difficult can it be to just be honest? I don’t feel like I can trust anything Sal says and it’s just adding to the pressure I’m already under at the office.

When Sal and Maggie leave to go to the park, I decide I’ve had enough of sitting around and head out to the driveway – my pride and joy sits on the drive, gleaming, looking more beautiful than anything else I’ve ever owned. A 2014 BMW X5, black and sleek. Practical in that it has five seats (to keep Sal happy, though God knows we are definitely not going to have any more children, no matter how much Sal bitches about it) and expensive enough to keep me happy.

Growing up we had very little in our family. My stepdad was a hard worker who kept my mum at home so she could look after me, but for all his hard work we still went without, as my dad thought nothing of spending all his wages in the pub on a Friday night, leaving us with nothing for the week ahead. He was partial to a whisky and woe betide anyone who tried to stop him. He was a hard bastard, who ruled our house with an iron fist. I swore blind from when I was a child that I would never go without, once I was an adult. This car is my testimony to that – Sal has to drive it through the week and I keep an eye on the mileage, but at weekends she is my baby, for me to enjoy.

I unlock the driver’s door and peer in to see if Sal is keeping it as tidy as I have requested. Sal grew up in a family that had whatever they wanted and doesn’t seem to understand that things demand respect. Sal never had to wear clothes from a car-boot sale, or watch as all the other kids got to go on school trips. As I peep through into the back seats, something catches my eye on the floor. A baby’s bottle has rolled under the passenger seat and lies there; the tiny amount of milk left in it already turned curdled and sour. In the footwell, in front of the bottle, lies a sprinkling of sand. I feel my pulse start to race and the first feelings of anger spread through my body, leaving my face red and my fists clenched. Sal lied to me AGAIN. This is the only explanation – after promising to stay at home with Maggie yesterday, after not mentioning a single word about the fact that they may or may not have gone on a trip to the beach yesterday, the proof is lying in the footwell of my pride and joy. To add insult to injury, the fact that Sal couldn’t even be bothered to keep the bloody car clean just hammers home exactly how much respect Sal has for my possessions and for me.

Shaking with fury I march back into the house, powerless to stop the anger that courses through my body. There’s only one way to teach Sal the meaning of respect. There’s only one way to show Sal exactly how it feels when someone disrespects you and disrespects your things, the things that you’ve worked hard for and that you hold dear. I’ll make sure that the lesson about respect doesn’t get forgotten again, that’s for sure.

Chapter Thirteen

SAL

You usher me back towards the house, a rigid smile on your face all the while. Feeling a little off balance, I pause for a moment before I open the front door and hold it open while trying to juggle the shopping bags. You sweep in ahead of me, leaving me to close the door one-handed. Following you through to the kitchen, I start to put the shopping away, all the time a sense of unease growing inside me.

‘You never mentioned that you and Maggie went to the beach yesterday.’ Your voice is like ice water dripping down my neck.

‘No, well, like I said outside, Charlie, I fell asleep before you even came home and then there wasn’t really a lot of time for talking before you went up to bed, was there?’ I feel my spine straighten, as I stand a little taller. Do I really have to explain myself? Do I really have to tell Charlie every time I leave the house? Surely this is not the norm for most other couples? I’m starting to feel as though I’m not sure how much more of this I can take – the constant accusations of lying, the permanent state of mistrust.

‘I just thought you might have mentioned it, that’s all. Seeing as you said you didn’t have any plans. You said you were going to stay home with Maggie all day, sorting the house and doing some gardening.’

‘Laura suggested it and I agreed; it would have been a waste of a day to stay indoors.’ I am determined not to back down on this one – I did nothing wrong, unless taking your daughter out to enjoy the sunshine is doing the wrong thing. ‘And Maggie enjoyed herself. She can’t stay home every day, just on the off-chance…’ I trail off. My little spark of courage has burnt out and I am worried about antagonising you further.

‘Just on the off-chance? Just on the off-chance of what exactly? That I might call and try to speak to my own child? That I might call to check and see if you’re OK? Going out with that tramp from next door is more important than building a home for your family, is it?’ Your eye twitches with that telltale tic, the one that prewarns me you’re about to lose your temper.

‘No, that’s not what I said! Charlie, you’re twisting my words, I never meant that; all I meant was that Maggie needs some stimulation – I can’t keep her home all the time; she’ll be going to school soon.’ I place the roasted chicken on a chopping board and turn to face you, desperate to calm the situation before things boil over.

‘Please, Charlie, let’s not make this into a big deal. I took Maggie to the beach with her friends, that’s all it was. It wasn’t an attempt to escape from here, not a chance to neglect my duties at home or to try and get away from you. You weren’t home and I wanted to do something nice for Maggie. Please don’t ruin what’s left of our weekend.’ I take your hands and kiss you gently. You take a deep breath and just as I brace myself for the start of another onslaught you smile.

‘OK. It’s not a problem.’

Confused by your quick change of mood, I give a small nod and drop your hands. I should have known that wouldn’t be end of it.

The afternoon passes in a pleasant haze of scorching hot sunshine and we agree to take Maggie up to the park for a picnic for lunch. We paddle in the stream that runs through the common, watching Maggie trying to catch the tiny sticklebacks that flit through the clear water. Holding hands, all three of us run through the fountains that spurt up from holes in the ground in random patterns, trying to make it through to the other side without getting soaked, before collapsing in a giggling heap on the grass. Lying on my back, with you laid next to me, I watch the clouds scudding past overhead, a gentle breeze lifting my curls and tickling my forehead. We used to do this all the time, before Maggie came along. Just wander down to the common, dragging a picnic basket between us, lying on the grass talking and swigging Prosecco that had gone warm in the sun because we always forgot to pack the ice blocks. We would spend hours planning our future and laughing at your hideous jokes – you have such a wicked sense of humour that you never fail to make me laugh; it’s just a shame we don’t see as much of it as we used to. This morning’s argument has faded into the distance, made almost a memory by the perfect events of this afternoon. I just wish that these moments, when we are relaxed and happy, with no tears or accusations of lies, were more frequent. When we are in these moments we are what we strive to be – the perfect family, a team with a bond that is unbreakable.

Zero stickleback, one ice cream and three hours later we head for home. Maggie, with the energy that only a four-year-old can have, runs ahead, while we stroll slowly along together, holding hands. Mrs Wilson spies us from her kitchen window and we both raise a hand to her. I feel content, and immensely relieved that this morning’s storm has passed. I managed to defuse the situation before you lost your temper – does this mean you’ll relax a bit more now? Maybe this means you’ll change and not get so angry so easily any more. I think how nice it would be if this afternoon were to mean a turning point in our relationship – maybe things will return to how they used to be between us, before we had Maggie and everything got a bit crazy. It would be worth hanging in there, through all the crazy stuff, if it just meant we could maybe get back to that.

‘Happy?’ you ask and I turn to you and smile. ‘You know what? I am. Today has been really, really lovely, hasn’t it? We should make an effort to do things like this more often.’ You smile and nod your agreement, and I am just so relieved that everything is OK.

‘Sal, I’m putting Maggie to bed – do you want to get us some dinner on?’ you shout down the stairs to me, a little while later. I smile and put the newspaper I’m reading to one side. You must really be making an effort to rein it all in, to make a change. Maybe this is the start of a new you, not just a new stage in the never-ending cycle that we usually live in. You very rarely put Maggie to bed, even on the evenings when you are home, preferring to let me deal with it all, saying you don’t have the patience for finding numerous stuffed toys, drinks of water, chapters of whatever book Maggie and I are reading together. I go into the kitchen and dig the chicken out from the fridge. Picking up the small wicker basket that we keep by the back door for collecting our spoils I head out the back door for the vegetable patch, ready to pick some salad to go alongside the chicken for our evening meal.

When I reach the vegetable patch I stop, my heart racing. My mouth hangs open in shock. What the hell happened? The gate that secures the patch is hanging off its hinges and the entire patch is destroyed. Every single thing I’ve grown from scratch with Maggie has been pulled from the earth and thrown into piles in every corner of the plot, so there is no chance of saving anything. This is not the work of rabbits, or of foxes; this can only have been done by a human being. And there is only one person who would know how badly something like this would hurt me. I should have known that an illicit day out at the beach wouldn’t go unpunished. I put the basket gently down and sink to my knees in the hard earth, stones and small rocks digging into my skin. Nothing has been spared, not a single tiny cherry tomato, all of which have been pulled from their plants and squashed underfoot. My heart breaks a little at the thought of all the hard work Maggie and I have put into our little patch. Maggie. She’s going to be devastated, especially as it’s now too late in the year for us to even try and fix things and grow something else.

A shadow falls in front of me and I look up to see you sneering down at me.

‘You didn’t actually think you could get away with it all, did you?’

‘What? Get away with what? Taking Maggie to the beach? Giving her a little bit of freedom from here? From you?’ I am so angry I am past caring about the consequences of losing my temper with you.

‘That’s it, Sal. Lying, going behind my back, leaving my car in a fucking state. Leaving crap all over my car, which I pay for – not you. I pay for it, it’s mine and when I do let you use it you treat like it’s just another piece of shit that belongs to you.’

You loom over me as I look up in confusion. ‘Charlie, what are you talking about? There’s nothing in the car. I drove it to the beach and back. Nobody had anything to eat in it; it was clean. And nothing justifies what you’ve done here. This wasn’t just mine, it was Maggie’s.’ I thought this was about the beach, not the car.

‘Clean? If you call a stinking baby bottle full of curdled milk clean! And sand, fucking sand, everywhere. We haven’t even got a fucking baby, Sal, so why the hell is there a filthy, stinking, kid’s bottle rolling around in the back of my car?’ Shit. I realise that when Laura pulled Fred out of the car yesterday when we returned from the beach she must have left Fred’s bottle in there. I was so exhausted when we got back that I didn’t even think to check the car.

‘So what’s this then, Charlie? Revenge? I can’t believe you would do this to me. To us. This was just as much Maggie’s as it was mine. This will break Maggie’s heart.’ This time you have gone too far. Hurting me I can deal with for Maggie’s sake, but when you bring her into it? No, no way.

‘It’s about respect, Sal. It’s about thinking about other people, having respect for their things, respecting the stuff they care about. It’s about not lying to your partner, covering things up so you can sneak about with other people behind my back. That’s what it’s all about. It’s about supporting your other half in the relationship instead of just taking, taking, taking all the time, and putting me under so much pressure. Maybe if you actually gave a shit about our relationship you would understand.’

‘If I gave a shit about us?’ I feel my temper fraying, and although I know there will be consequences I can’t help myself. ‘Why do you think I put up with all of this, Charlie? Why do you think I let you treat me the way you do? Because I don’t care? I stay because, believe it or not, I do love you, and I love Maggie and I want us to be a family! I put up with everything you throw at me so we can be a happy family – so Maggie grows up with two parents!’ You look down at me, still sitting on my hands and knees in the dirt, your lip curling in disgust.

‘Really, Sal? I treat you so badly? Don’t you think that maybe you get treated the way you deserve to be treated?’ With that, you turn on your heel, the sole of your shoe landing on my fingers as you storm off. I feel the bones crunch under your heel and a shocking, sharp twist of pain makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Chapter Fourteen

CHARLIE

I turn on my heel, catching Sal’s fingers under my shoe as I storm out of the little vegetable patch and head back towards the house. I am still shaking with rage. Why doesn’t Sal understand that people get treated the way they deserve to be treated? Sal needs to realise that I don’t do the things I do out of hatred; I do them out of love. This is all Sal’s fault – you can’t lie to your partner and think you can get away with it.

I pour myself a whisky and sit at the kitchen table, waiting for Sal to come back in from the garden. Maybe I did go too far with the allotment; perhaps I did lose control a little bit. But the rage was all-consuming and I’m not too sure I could have stopped myself even if I had tried. Thinking back to that first summer we were together, I remember how once Sal had moved into the shared house with me and the two other housemates, our relationship began to feel more stable. I loved nothing more than coming home and knowing that Sal would be waiting for me. There was the odd hiccup, where I arrived home and no one was there, with no note or anything to say where Sal was, or who Sal was with, but once I got the message home that I needed to know if Sal wasn’t going to be there, and ideally that Sal would be home each evening when I got back from work, things were much better. It was one Sunday, a few weeks after Sal had moved in, that it was decided I must meet Sal’s family, so we travelled to Kent on a sunny but chilly October afternoon.

‘They’re going to love you – and you’re going to love them, I promise.’ Sal tucks cold fingers into the crook of my arm as we walk up the path to Sal’s childhood home.

‘Let’s hope so.’ Sal knocks and the door is flung wide open immediately. Sal’s mother appears, her wide frame filling the doorway, a shock of dark curls, so very similar to Sal’s, standing out around her head.

‘Sally! Oh, my baby, it’s so good to see you! And this must be Charlie!’ She squeezes Sal hard and makes a move towards me. I hold out my hand stiffly before she reaches me, and she pauses for a moment before shaking it, smiling at me all the while.

‘Nice to meet you.’

‘And you, Charlie. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to put a face to the name and see exactly who’s been keeping our Sal from us!’ She turns towards Sal. ‘And YOU! You look … well. It’s been so long. We didn’t see you all summer, so don’t be cross but your sisters are here, too. They’ve missed you!’ She ushers us into the house and through into a poorly lit living room, which is probably quite spacious but it’s hard to tell given the number of people that have been squeezed into it. Cries of ‘Sal! You’re home!’ and ‘It’s been so long!’ fill the air as Sal is immediately surrounded by tall, tanned girls, all with the same shock of crazy dark curls that Sal has. I stand to one side, watching as Sal greets each and every person in the room while I just stand and wait for someone to remember I’m still there.

‘And this is Charlie!’ Sal turns to me, arm outstretched to point at me in the corner. I muster up a smile, raising my eyebrows at Sal, who doesn’t seem to notice quite how uncomfortable I’m feeling. The sisters all turn towards me and I feel as if I’m something under a microscope.

‘Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Julia. I’m the oldest, believe it or not.’ Laughing a ridiculously tinkly laugh is the smallest of all the girls, a petite little thing with dark hair tumbling down her back. ‘And as I’m the oldest, I’m the one in charge, so watch it!’ She laughs again as Sal and the other girls join in. What’s that supposed to mean? I make a mental note to let Sal know when we get home that I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that by anyone, regardless of whether they are part of Sal’s family or not. Sal introduces me to the rest of the sisters, who are all as loud and boisterous as each other, and we all descend on the dining room for Sal’s mum’s amazing Italian feast. Maria passes me the huge tray of pasta and a serving spoon.

‘Charlie, is that all you’re having? You’ll waste away! Here, have some more.’ Sal’s mum heaps another two spoonfuls of creamy pasta onto my plate.

‘Thank you, Maria, but please. That’s enough.’ I hold my hand up to stop her from loading any more on to my already full to bursting plate.

‘Well. If you’re sure. There’s plenty more if you change your mind.’ She moves away from me and attacks some other poor soul with her serving spoon. Jesus, they like to eat. Every plate is piled high with pasta, homemade garlic bread, gnocchi and salad. Sal, having returned home like some sort of prodigal son, is seated at the other end of the table from me, next to the head of the family, Giovanni. He, like his wife, is large-framed, which comes as no surprise seeing how much the entire family like their food, but instead of the tumbling, glossy dark curls shared by the rest of his family he has only a smattering of grey hair around the sides of his head. He is considerably quieter than the rest of his family, seemingly more content to observe and chime in every now and again, his hand reaching for his wife to pat or squeeze each time she passes by him and I realise that Sal must take after him. Sitting where I am, between Maria and Paola, one of the middle sisters, a barrage of questions is hurled at me.

‘Charlie, what do you do for a living?’

‘Where are you from, Charlie? Do you come from round here?’

‘Where do your parents live? Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘Are you the oldest or are you the spoilt baby like Sal?’ This last question is greeted with howls of laughter, as if it’s the funniest thing ever. Sal pulls a face, making them all laugh even harder.

‘I’ll be a corporate lawyer eventually, I’m from Lincolnshire, and no I don’t have any brothers or sisters.’ I keep my answers short and sweet; the less said about my family the better. If I don’t give out any information, hopefully they’ll all get the message. Sure enough, the sisters soon lose interest in me once they realise they’re not going to get my entire life story in one meal, and go back to regaling me with tales of Sal’s childhood and reminiscing about how they had such fun doing this, and has Sal told me about when that happened, etcetera, etcetera … They all talk over each other and it’s difficult to get a word in edgeways. Sal sits there, next to Giovanni at the head of the table, grinning like an idiot, completely failing to realise that I am not enjoying myself.

‘Come on, Sal, you can help me do the dishes while the others finish quizzing Charlie. You’ve got out of it all summer so far.’ Julia jumps to her feet, and pulls Sal up by the hand. Sal grins at me and mouths, ‘OK?’ as Julia tugs Sal away into the kitchen, Maria trotting behind carrying an armful of dirty plates from the table. I shrug and turn my gaze coldly away from Sal. What else can I do?

Finally, after what might possibly be the longest evening of my life, in which I have had to suffer hours of inane jabbering from Sal’s entire family and have batted away countless attempts to discover all manner of details about my life, the meal is over and we are free to go. I endure kisses from Maria and all of the sisters, while Sal is hugged and squeezed to death and they all behave as if they aren’t going to see each other for years and years. This is all completely foreign to me, and I thank my lucky stars that Sal hasn’t asked to meet my mother yet.

‘Well? What did you think of them? Aren’t they amazing?’ Sal waves frantically at the gathering on the doorstep, before turning to me once we are safely seated in the car and heading back towards our house.