Nick
Nick
The text message from Beth actually woke him up. It was the longest, deepest sleep he’d had in… well, as long as he can remember.
He replied straight away, and now he’s lying here, in his pitch-dark room at – Christ – 2 p.m., trying to remember what happened last night.
The fight. With Maggie.
‘Ugh,’ he says, rolling over. He opens the app and looks at the message he sent Beth. Was it too keen? He’d just been so happy to hear from her, after last night. Perhaps it freaked her out, him asking her to meet up today.
Why hasn’t she replied?
He squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t think about that. He can’t think about anything right now. He needs coffee.
He stumbles into the bathroom, splashes water on his face. In the small kitchen, he takes the glasses that were left out from last night and puts them in the dishwasher, then scrubs furiously at the drips of red wine that have stained his quartz worktop. He scrubs and scrubs until they disappear.
Then, he turns the coffee machine on, briefly grateful for Maggie, despite everything. She’s the one who finally stocked his cupboards. She’s the reason he doesn’t now have to go out in search of caffeine.
All the while, he clutches his phone in one hand, hoping that Beth will text him back.
Coffee made, he sits on his sofa and looks out across the Wharf. When he was in the bathroom, he deliberately didn’t look in the mirror but as he takes a sip of his coffee he feels the pain whiplash across his jaw.
He touches it, gingerly.
Why hasn’t Beth replied?
Why is he so bothered about it?
He picks up his phone again, checking to see if the message has changed colour, or if there’s some way of telling whether or not Beth has read it yet. Then he reads over her words to him again.
Hey, how are you? Long time no… whatever. Shall we try to grab some dinner soon? I’ve got a bit of downtime coming up. I would love to see you. Beth x
Why would she send this message and then ignore his response? It didn’t make any sense.
He scrolls upwards, taking in their past communication. It’s almost painful to do this now. He can see the gradual thinning-out of their friendship. The way that, like a plant if not consistently watered, their friendship has withered and died.
But it wasn’t just him that stopped replying. Beth stopped too.
He remembers one of his most ferocious arguments with Maggie. It was just after Beth’s film had come out. She was everywhere. It was everywhere.
He had texted Beth a simple congratulations. He was amazed by her success, and so, so pleased for her. It hadn’t surprised him though. He had never forgotten that night, just before the fire, when he watched her perform in The Master Builder , and she literally took his breath away.
Beth had replied an hour later. His phone lit up on the coffee table in front of Maggie, who was sitting with her legs curled up underneath her. Large glass of red wine, as always, in her hand.
And she’d gone ballistic.
The questions were never-ending.
How did he know Beth Millen? What was she thanking him for? Why had he never mentioned her before? How long had they known each other? Did he think she was pretty? Had anything ever happened between them? If they were ‘just friends’, then why the hell hadn’t he mentioned her before?
He lied, of course. Because he was a coward and because Maggie’s rages were fucking terrifying, and because, well, he wanted an easy life, didn’t he? He hated confrontation.
And yet, today, sitting here, feeling hollowed out, with a bruise that his sixteen-year-old self would have been delighted by, he felt like he had anything but an easy life.
He closes his eyes – gently, because everything in his skull seems to hurt now he’s completely awake – and he thinks of last night.
The sinews in Maggie’s neck as she screamed at him.
You’re going to end up alone and fucking miserable and do you know what? You’ll fucking deserve it!
He had ducked as she chucked his phone at him. But his reflexes were slow – he was pissed, he’d been smoking weed – and he didn’t move quickly enough. There was a split second of slow-mo before the phone smashed into his jaw.
She has a good aim.
And then after that, of course, came the tears. She doubled over, sobbing so loudly and so dramatically that he wondered how she didn’t choke to death with the struggle to breathe.
It feels ironic that this happened last night, and that Beth got in touch today. Last night’s altercation was the consequence of Maggie discovering another, different message. He had rushed home from his mother’s house, determined not to be late for the dinner Maggie was cooking.
But after dinner, while he was in the bathroom, his phone had lit up on the kitchen worktop with a message. Not from Beth, but from one of the PAs at his work, who was checking whether he’d got her email about her birthday drinks?
And Maggie saw it.
He hadn’t mentioned the drinks to her, because he had no intention of going. But now, he realises… Now, he has been educated. He should have told her.
‘Hiding things makes it so hard for me to trust you,’ she said, her silk camisole streaked with tears. ‘Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter if you think it’s insignificant! Hiding it makes it seem like it’s a bigger thing than it is! And how can I trust you after that?’
He hadn’t meant to hide it. He just hadn’t thought to tell her.
In any case, Lisa, the girl whose birthday it was, was dating Danny, a guy from his team.
And even if she wasn’t, Lisa wasn’t his type. At all.
But that didn’t make any difference to Maggie.
‘So you’ve thought about it?’ Maggie screamed, gearing up for round two. ‘You’ve actually thought about sleeping with her? I can’t believe you’re admitting this to me! Well, at least we’re getting somewhere now!’
He closes his eyes to the memory. Maggie left at around 3 a.m., saying she would come back when he was sober so that they could ‘finish discussing things’.
Sometimes he wonders if Maggie’s rages are her way of processing things she finds painful, so that afterwards, she feels better, while he feels utterly drained. As though by screaming and berating him she takes some of his energy away from him and transfers it to her. Literally as though she’s draining him of life.
Like a vampire.
Once she’s sated, she becomes patronising, superior. Sometimes she’s even weirdly sympathetic towards him, as though she appreciates it isn’t his fault he’s such a failure. She’s ‘sorry’, and ‘trying to help him understand his issues’, if only he wasn’t so bloody stubborn and determined not to.
But he prefers that. The calm after the storm.
Last night, she held ice to his swollen face and he looked into her eyes and he thought how beautiful she was, and how much he wanted to make her happy. How much he wanted to be deserving of her love. Her intense love, which when it’s directed towards him feels like the most wonderful thing in the world.
‘I have to go,’ she said. Despite her noisy sobs earlier, and the fact it was nearly 3 a.m., she somehow looked radiant in the dim light. A vampire after a good feed. ‘I have Lottie’s brunch in the morning.’
‘Right,’ he said, giving a slight smile. ‘I remember.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s just I really can’t miss it. She’s been planning it for weeks and all the old uni gang are going. But I’ll see you on Monday night, after work?’
She’s a lawyer at the firm. She’s three years older than him, terrifyingly brilliant and hugely respected by all her colleagues.
‘Of course,’ he said, and he kissed her on the mouth.
‘I love you,’ she said, shaking her head from side to side, as though it was a terrible burden for her to love someone so incompetent and hopeless. ‘I love you so much, Puppy. And I hate it when we fight like this.’
‘I love you too,’ he said, and then she placed his hand over the tea-towel full of ice, kissed him tenderly on his non-bruised cheek and slipped out of the apartment. Leaving him to clean up the mess from their fight.
He hasn’t heard from her this morning. He takes a look at her Facebook page and already there are photos from Lottie’s brunch. Six beautiful women, drinking mimosas and beaming white-toothed smiles at the camera. They are all thin. Head-turners with doll-like eyelashes.
And in the centre of the little huddle is the most beautiful of all: Maggie, her hair falling in perfect mermaid waves either side of her perfectly symmetrical face.
She can get away with it, she can get away with anything, because of that face. Her genes astound him. The fact that she stayed up until God knows what time last night, having taken coke and drunk nearly a bottle of wine to herself, had a screaming match with him and still gone out this morning looking like a million dollars. It was inconceivable really. Like a twisted miracle.
He feels a strange surge of pride that she is his girl. Despite everything. It makes him feel like a success.
Still no reply from Beth.
He goes into the bathroom and looks again at his face. The bruise beneath his jawline is developing nicely, the purple tinges showing through the initial shock of red. His eyelids are puffy. He holds a cold flannel against them. Feels some relief.
In the cabinet above the washbasin he has some arnica. He’s not sure if it really makes a difference, but he used it last time, when she’d squeezed his arm so hard her fingertips had left an imprint, and it seemed to help.
Sometimes he imagines telling people the truth. That Maggie gets so mad sometimes that she hits him or throws things at him. But they wouldn’t believe it. Or at least, they wouldn’t understand it. How could Maggie be a threat to him? Maggie weighs less than eight stone. Her wrists are so slender that sometimes he worries they will snap as she pounds him with a force that belies her size.
He should just go back to bed.
He remembers Beth telling him about Paulo’s temper. The way he got so angry he smashed their remote control.
Beth didn’t put up with it. Beth moved on, knew she was worth more. Despite the fact it left her homeless. And look what’s happened now. She’s made a name for herself in the most difficult industry of all. And she has a new boyfriend too. Vaughan. She’s happy.
He’s so proud of her. Brilliant Beth. With her brilliant mind.
But it’s different for him. Maggie works in his office. Maggie knows all the same people he knows. They socialise together. Everyone loves Maggie. No one can believe that he got someone like her.
Plus, Maggie is a woman. They say men can be the victims of domestic violence, but it’s not the same. Not really. He upset her. He deserved it.
He picks up his phone again and texts Maggie. Desperate to restore the equilibrium.
Hey baby, hope you are having a good day. I love you to the moon and back xxx
She replies almost immediately.
Did you just wake up? I love you too. Xxxxxxxxxx
He closes his eyes. She’s a little bit drunk and her question is a trap. If he says yes, then she’ll accuse him of laziness. If he says no, then she’ll be furious he’s taken this long to get in touch.
He always falls into the traps.
He hates himself as he types a lie. He is a coward.
Been playing Xbox for a while. But did have a lie-in yes. That’s what Sundays are for right? xxx
She replies instantly again.
Lazybones! I’ll call you later baby. Love you so much x
He feels the relief roll over him, grateful to have a week off coming up.
He’s taking his mother on holiday next week – four days down in the West Country. He can’t wait. He’s rented a beautiful stone cottage by the sea, and they’re going to read books and throw things away and he can’t wait to show her that there’s a life outside of her hoarding.
A beautiful, empty one, where you have time and space to think.
He looks at his message to Beth again. Still no reply.
Then he googles her. There are so many photos of her online now. She’s lost some of the weight around her face, and although he knows that the industry she works in must appreciate her new, chiselled cheekbones, he prefers the way she used to look.
The way they were, that night when they held hands and went for a walk together, full of optimism for their future together, and came back to a world that would never be the same again.