Beth
Beth
Five years after
This evening’s argument with Paulo was the final straw.
Once he was asleep – passed out on the sofa, stoned as usual – she went into their tiny bedroom, packed a bag, and left.
Leaving was easier than she expected. Death by a thousand cuts. Their relationship was like a runaway train – she wanted to get off almost as soon as she’d boarded, but it was going too fast and the terrain either side was too rocky. So she hung on for as long as she could, until it ran itself out of steam.
Perhaps all relationships are like that. Perhaps they all have a finite end, a fixed point determined by the heavens, and you only knew it was the end once you’d finally reached it.
They had been arguing non-stop for months about money, understandably, because it consumed their every waking thought. Or at least, it did hers.
When her friend Meredith came over last week for a catch-up, she noticed that Beth used the same teabag for both of them. And she’d probed, ever so politely, Beth wincing at her words. Knowing that she was about to lie.
‘No,’ Beth said. ‘We’re just nearly out of them that’s all. I haven’t had time to get to the shops this week. Been knee-deep in auditions.’
But Meredith didn’t believe her. It might have been slightly more convincing were it not for the fact that they literally lived above a Tesco Metro.
And now she feels nothing for Paulo or their relationship, as she stands outside the very same Tesco Metro, with barely ￡100 left in her bank account, and no idea what to do.
To go home to her parents would be a humiliation worse than death.
Maybe that’s a little melodramatic. Paulo has not been a good influence on her with his penchant for hyperbole. But even so, it would be a failure that she can’t endure. They have judged her for years on her choice of profession, pleading with her to pursue something more sensible, like teaching.
She can’t give them the satisfaction of knowing that she fears, deep down, that they were right. That trying to make a living from acting actually means making a living from waiting tables and auditioning in every spare free moment.
She’s so angry with herself. For letting it get to this. For relying on a man.
Hadn’t she said, all those years ago, when her dad had cheated on her mum, breaking her heart and shattering their family harmony, that she would never, ever let herself get into a situation like this?
And now look at her.
This is the price she’s paying for her love of – no, obsession with – this stupid career. This stupid career that leaves her completely vulnerable.
It feels so desperately unfair.
She takes her phone out of her coat pocket and lets her finger drift down the list of contacts.
She fled to Meredith’s last time. After an initial bout of sympathy, Meredith gave her short shrift. She was furious, demanded that she call the police immediately.
For some reason, her finger hovers over Nick’s name.
Promise you’ll call me if you ever need something.
Over the past four years they have been in touch intermittently since he phoned her on the first anniversary of the fire. They’ve emailed every month or so, updating each other on their news. They’re still friends on Facebook, commenting on each other’s photos from time to time.
Keeping things light, friendly, like the ‘friends’ Nick requested they become. There was no mention of the fire again, or of Anna.
She checks the date on her phone. The fifth anniversary is coming up soon. On Friday. Two days’ time. She hasn’t forgotten – of course she hasn’t – but she had been right to hope that with every year that passed it would become slightly easier to get through. Her life has become busier, there are other, more immediate things to worry about: like where to live and how to pay her bills, and that night – that time – has begun to feel more and more like something that happened to someone else.
She learnt that the key to it all was to keep busy. That there’s nothing more dangerous for your mental health than empty time and an empty head.
Promise you’ll call me if you ever need something.
Well, she needs something now and he owes her this.
Before she has the chance to think about it anymore, she taps Nick’s name on the screen, putting the phone against her ear.
‘Beth!’ he says, as he answers. She can’t read his tone. But he sounds surprised. Understandably.
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Sorry to… Sorry for the unexpected call. How are you?’
Her heart is pounding, with both fear and excitement. Why is it so comforting to hear his voice?
‘I’m…’ he says, then he tails off. ‘Wow. I’m… good. It’s nice to hear from you. Random but nice. How are you?’
She takes a deep breath. Random .
‘I’ve… I’ve been better. Um, I know this is probably very presumptuous of me but are you busy? Now?’
He chuckles, and she feels a warm glow spread across her body.
‘Presumptuous!’ He’s teasing her. ‘Why? What have you got planned?’
The banter. She forgot about it. She forgot they once had this.
‘Nothing. I just… I’d really like to see you. Are you at home?’
‘Just leaving the office now.’
It’s nearly 10 p.m.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Is there any chance…’
There’s a pause, and then he speaks again, his voice more sombre this time.
‘Are you OK, Beth?’
That same question again. She hopes one day she can answer him ‘yes’. But not today.
Before she knows what’s happening, she is crying.
‘Not exactly,’ she says. ‘I need… Can we meet? It’d be so good to see you. If it’s not too weird. Or inconvenient.’
‘Can you get to Canary Wharf tube?’
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘I can.’
‘Great. I’ll meet you outside,’ he says, without hesitation.