Chapter 11 #2
He roots in his pocket for the newly cut key, and when he steps inside he expects to be greeted by the familiar smell of home, only this time it doesn’t feel like home.
There is nothing of him here anymore. Objects he bought but nothing that’s his.
It’s the first time he feels like he’s intruding in someone else’s space.
He locks the door behind him. He can’t stay long, he doesn’t have much time before Tara and Walter return.
He goes into the living room, it’s so small it just about fits a three-seater couch and an armchair.
The armchair reclines. Walter used to sit there while he and Tara sat on the couch.
They didn’t always snuggle, they liked their space too, but body parts would always be touching. A toe, or a leg.
Inside his backpack is a bag of frozen mice which he’d purchased from the pet shop on the way here. He will slowly make their life hell and they won’t hold him responsible, which makes it all the better. He will make them wonder, he will haunt their heads as they are doing to him.
The mice are stuck together. He knocks the bag against the floor in order to break them apart.
Wearing gloves, he scatters a few mice under the couch, and under the armchair.
He throws a few up in the air, so they land on the top of the kitchen units in the tight gap between the low ceiling and the cupboards.
He chucks a few at the back of a storage cupboard with the vacuum cleaner and ironing board, one behind the jars, tins and spice mixes.
He’s about to go upstairs when his phone rings. It’s Tara.
The sight and thought of Walter fills him with rage, the sight of Tara’s name on his phone fills him with hope. He sits on the stairs, where they made love.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hi, you answered fast, my phone barely rang. It’s me, Tara.’
She’s talking fast, nervously.
‘Hi, Tara.’
‘Hi, Al,’ she says softly.
He hears the affection in her voice for him. He wants to be so perfect for her she’ll forget this whole thing with Walter and ask him to move back in again.
‘How are you?’ he asks kindly.
‘Oh me? I’m, you know, okay. I’m worried about you actually.’
‘I’m …’ he looks around the hallway and notices the hall table is missing their engagement photograph.
A lump forms in his throat. ‘You know.’ Gaps and spaces where he used to be, soon to be filled with Walter and Tara’s life experiences; their own memories that they’re making while he’s stomping around cursing them.
‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘I know. I mean, I can only imagine. The last thing I wanted to do is hurt you, Al. The last thing.’
She’s walking, outside, he can hear the traffic, and her uneven breath.
He wonders what was the order of things she wanted to do, if hurting him was the last thing. She wanted to do it obviously, but only as the last thing. What was the first thing? Sleep with Walter?
‘I didn’t know you were so unhappy,’ he says simply.
‘I know you didn’t. I tried to tell you.’
‘When?’ He frowns.
She sighs. ‘Look, I don’t think there’s any point in us discussing this again.’
‘Again?’ He doesn’t remember a first time. He’d like to at least know the signs that he missed, in case he ever feels like going on this tortuous journey again.
‘I don’t want to get into it, there’s nothing to be gained.’
‘How about my peace of mind? My fucking sanity? I’m sorry if my well-being is taxing for you to have to endure.’
She turns frosty and he can’t believe she has the cheek to be angry with him after what she’s done. ‘You want to go into the minutiae over and over again, but I’ve moved beyond that, Al. Very far beyond that. I called you because I had a meeting with the bank today.’
Her voice is suspiciously louder. He looks up and sees a shadowy figure through the two marbled panes of glass in the front door. He ducks low, grabs his rucksack and the empty bag of frozen mice and hurries into the kitchen at the back of the house.
‘I wanted to talk to them about our options.’
He hears a key in the front door. He unlocks the back door and gently closes it behind him, ducking down low so that he’s hiding beneath the kitchen window that looks out to the tiny courtyard area.
He hears her footsteps in the house. He quietly tries to lock the back door which has the same key as the front.
He hears her footsteps through the phone and through the wall of the house, she’s making her way to the kitchen.
She’s wearing boots, not trainers. She wasn’t at the gym. Boots for the meeting with the bank.
‘Al, are you there?’
‘Yes,’ he says quietly from the courtyard, hoping she won’t hear him.
‘I know this is hard,’ she says, gentle again. ‘This is not what either of us planned. I wanted to get married. I wanted a marriage that would last forever.’