Chapter 14
Oliver
“You’re nowhere near ready for this. Are you?” I said sternly, because what else could I say? The obvious was staring me in the face – a man, a man so consumed by grief, reaching out for my hands and holding them in between his.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he whispered, through strained breaths, grasping at my skin. “What am I supposed to do, Oliver?”
“Nothing. Because you shouldn’t be here,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. Soothing. Not that this kind of talk was my forte, because it definitely wasn’t. I wasn’t a carer, or someone who looked after people. I had no idea how to do that.
“I suppose I thought I was, you know? Ready to move on? Meet some new people? The thing is, Oliver, I don’t think I want to. I was happy, you know? I like being at home and having the boys around and just working. I didn’t need anything else. Is that wrong? Am I wrong in thinking that?”
More tears. I hated seeing him upset. This guy who was all strength and…grey wisdom. A man who had lived a bit and didn’t care so much. I cared far too much about things that were not important. I knew that. Peter didn’t care about any of that.
“You’re a really good person, Peter. You’re kind and considerate. And…you loved Mary. Nobody expects you to just get up and move on. You’re clearly not ready for that.”
I had no idea what I was talking about. I was still talking, though. Nervously rattling on about nonsense, when he was just staring at me in fear.
“I know I’m not what you wanted to find in here. I know that, Oliver. And it kills me that I’ve ruined all that for you too. You should have been out there finding someone to love, and here I am, messing this up.”
“You’re not messing anything up.” I tried to calm down.
Speak slowly and be soft. Not scare him more than he already was.
Frazzled breaths and shaking hands. I wanted to get him out of here.
Bundle him up and take him home to wherever he felt safe.
Because there was something in me that was so immensely triggered by everything in this bathtub.
That overwhelming place of fear.
I’d been there. So many times.
“Where would you be? I mean, if you weren’t here?”
“At work?” he offered up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
It left my hands uncovered and cold. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t quite dare to grab that hand back.
“Is that where you go when you feel… I don’t know?”
I didn’t know what I was doing. Or saying. I was no doubt as frazzled as he was.
Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave. Just stay with me.
“Home?” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “I have my own house. It’s…home. Where do you go when you feel down? For comfort? Do you go see your parents?”
I shook my head violently. I didn’t mean to react like that, but things…triggered me easily. And I wasn’t used to these kinds of conversations.
“My parents kicked me out when I was like…sixteen or something. Well, my mum did. My stepdad and I didn’t get on.”
“I see,” he said quietly.
“I wasn’t an easy child.”
“Don’t make up excuses for your parents being irresponsible.”
“They were… I could look after myself.”
“Isn’t that what we all say when we’re teenagers? We think we can, but we’re pretty crap at it. I have two living proofs of that who still come home and trash their rooms on occasion.”
“I did… Look. I put myself through school and went to uni, and I have a double master’s in Economics and Maths and then I did my German degree.”
“Impressive,” he said quietly. “You have a German degree?”
“Yeah. Did a year abroad too. Got a scholarship.”
“I went straight to work once I qualified. I would have liked to travel.”
“You still can.”
“I go to dentistry conventions?”
I had to laugh. Brilliant. “Mmm. Exciting.”
“It actually is. I have some good friends in the community. It’s a very social event.”
“I bet.”
“Probably as social as German economics conventions.”
“Not a thing.” I smiled. “At least not one I get invited to. I work with the office in Frankfurt. We have subcontractors in Berlin and Munich. I deal with Vienna. The Basel office is a pain in the arse; I try not to go there.”
“Switzerland is nice. I took the boys skiing one year.”
“You said you hadn’t travelled?”
He smiled, letting his shoulders drop. A little more relaxed.
“Travelling with kids is not the same as travelling for exploration and relaxation. It was a week of constant chaos and praying the kids wouldn’t break their necks. I hated it. Hated every minute.”
“Peter,” I whined, but I was smiling.
“You,” he said, tensing up a little again, then letting a smile develop. I liked how his face seemingly cracked open when he smiled. Lots of little laughter lines. A glitter in his eyes.
“You’re going to make some man very, very happy one day.”
I didn’t expect that, my defence mechanisms powering up to max before he’d even finished the sentence.
“I’m…”
“I know,” he continued quietly. “I think you’re wonderful. And I’m sorry this hasn’t been what you deserved. I couldn’t give you all the things you…”
“Shut up,” I hissed.
“No, I mean it.”
“Do you think…”
Fuck. I needed to get this conversation to go elsewhere.
Because this? No. I didn’t want to talk about this.
I wanted to talk about Peter feeling better about not being over his bloody dead wife.
I wanted him to feel okay about freaking out because God knew I was.
I just wanted the normal Peter back. The quiet, carefree, happy Peter who would crack a beer open and hand it to me as he sat himself gently down on the bed, then laughed as I threw myself onto my stomach and made him spill his beer. That was what I wanted.
I wanted normality. The only small piece of it I had in here.
I just wanted things to be… The truth was? I was terrified he would make good on that threat to leave. To walk out and leave me in here. I needed to tell him that. Beg him to stay. Make him believe he had to.
Manipulate things my way. I was good at that. But that was in situations so different to this that I couldn’t even start to compare them.
I wanted him to stay. I needed him to stay with me. To…shit.
“My stepdad was an…arsehole.” I was talking too loudly.
My voice all monotone in desperation. “He had this obsession with being the man of the house, and he kept trying to make me man up. Me. The guy who was all cocky and camp. I was obviously not the kind of kid he thought I was supposed to be. I just…wasn’t.
I was different, I knew that, and all I wanted was for someone to acknowledge that, and instead?
I just lashed out. I was completely out of control at times, but it was never good enough.
My mum was just terrified of me and of my stepdad and his temper, and then she kept having more kids, and the house was a mess and my stepdad was… It messed me up? Okay?”
Please shut up, Oliver. Please. But no. Here came more.
“I used to rile him up when he got nasty. And it wasn’t just because I was messed up.
It was mostly because if he was drinking?
He could get mad at me. Have a go at me, and try to beat me up instead of giving my mum a hard time.
He used to kick the little ones around. Throw them up the stairs if they annoyed him.
For a long time, I thought being a ‘man’ meant…
” I slobbered on. Fuck. “Being like him. Being hard and violent. I wasn’t like that, so instead I just shut up and dealt with everything alone.
Don’t cry. Don’t talk. Don’t ask. Just pretend you’re fine, and hope no one notices you’re actually crumbling.
I never learnt to talk about stuff, letting people in, actually admitting when I’m not okay…
And now here I am. And I still don’t feel like I’m… ”
Fuck knew what I was on about, but Peter’s hands were back in mine. Holding me. Keeping me from… I was breathing, but just.
“Being a man, or ‘man enough’ isn’t about being tough. It’s about being yourself. Feelings, mess, softness, all of it…” he said quietly. “You’re all of that, babygirl.”
If he was trying to make me laugh? He was failing badly. There were still tears falling down his cheeks. Wetness in his eyes. And I was still desperate. So, so desperate.
“I’m not. I have this high-powered job, and I fuck up. And I do this, and it just goes to hell.”
“I don’t believe that at all,” he said calmly.
“After. When this is all over,” I started. Please make this conversation go well. Please.
“I hope we can keep in touch,” he stated. “I told you before. We’ll exchange numbers. Meet up.”
Not what I’d wanted to hear. Not where this conversation was going.
“Why?”
Fuck.
“Because I think we have a shared experience here. A friendship. I’d hope you’d keep in touch.” So sensible, Peter. Neutral. He’d obviously learnt the script. Memorised the required conversation. Fuck him.
“We could go for walks,” I snuck in. I meant it sarcastically, but he smiled. A small, weak smile.
“For our health.”
“It’s good for us.”
“Sure.”
He shook his head.
“Oliver, you’re amazing. Remember that. You’re funny, and kind, and you have a lot to give. I know you don’t see it, and you deflect with all this –sorry, but it is – cocky behaviour sometimes, but you don’t need to. You’re great, just being you. I want you to be happy. Remember that.”
“Don’t,” I said.
He shook his head. I hoped he meant it, because the thought of all this just…ending?
“Shall I go get us some tea?” I needed out. A breather. I needed to stop this absolute bullshitting I had going on.
“I’m not going out there again.” He looked serious as well. But not as frazzled as before. Good.
“We can probably skip Gina and get away with it, but it’s the group filming later. Simple and easy. We just have to sit on the sofa and smile on cue. I’ll be right next to you. But I completely blame you for this tea addiction I have going on now. I’ll need to take a piss when I come back.”
“Fair enough.” He shuffled. “No bloody oat milk.”
“Got it. Have we still got biscuits?”
“Nope. We finished them last night.”
“I’ll get some from catering. That blonde girl from yesterday is here again. She likes me.”
“Everyone likes you.”
“No, they don’t. Tea. Biscuit. Anything else Sir desires?”
I wanted to see him smile again. Make sure he was alright.
I wondered why I cared so much. If it was just fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of everything that was around me. Or just the familiar feeling of being so utterly unsafe.
I hated it.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
He nodded as I untangled my legs from his. Hoisted myself out on unsteady legs. Stood myself up and straightened my crumpled suit. We were both in suits. How ridiculous was this?
He looked like a cutout from a fashion magazine, lying in that bath, his jacket flung open, and his bow-tie undone. Staring into the tiles, letting a finger trace the grouting.
It could have been an ad for something expensive and exclusive. A small glimpse of something people desired.
I wonder why I did. Desire.
I shook myself out of this ridiculous state I’d got myself in.
“See you in a bit,” I said. Then I took a deep breath and walked out.