Chapter Ashleigh Brett and Remy Aller 1983 Aged 21 #2
Jamie was good-looking and funny, so funny, in a very unsophisticated kind of way.
He was no Tony, but still she laughed as he mispronounced words, got the wrong end of the stick and was self-effacing.
All of it the very best medicine, making her laugh long and hard until her sides hurt, her nose ran, and she needed to pee.
He was a distraction from the trauma, the twisty turn her life had taken, the absence of her best friend, the guilt, the lack of closeness with Ashleigh, who was in London living her best life, and the fact Remy couldn’t bear to look in a mirror.
Hooking up with Jamie meant she was not stagnating, not dwelling on the bad, bad thing that had happened.
She gifted him her virginity, they became a couple, they shopped for pasta and sauces in jars and giggled at the doctors as they discussed due dates and birth plans.
It meant her life was moving forward, it meant she was not broken.
The laughter and the man who had instigated it the very best of diversions, or so she had thought.
Her parents were noticeably thin in their praise of the man.
She saw the way they thickly covered Archie with compliments, beaming at him as he walked in the door on the one occasion he’d come home with Ashleigh.
Listening to his every word like he was a guru spewing details of his new job in finance, and how he and Ashleigh were having trouble sourcing decent marble for the guest bathroom in the renovation of their London home.
Poor things. When she spoke of Jamie, or he came with her to eat bacon sandwiches, chewing with his mouth open at her mum’s kitchen table, they offered no more than small-mouthed nods of approval.
Even her mother, who usually had so much to say.
There was, she noted, a quiet lack of enquiry whenever she mentioned him, as if they really didn’t even like him, but were aware that she had been through something, and that any branch of happiness was one worth grabbing.
It made her want to stay away from home, and so she did, spending more and more time in his tiny, messy flat. Ashleigh never called her there, and that was fine. Jamie would only have listened to their conversation and mocked her in the background.
Things had changed when she’d discovered she was pregnant with Sophie, who was now four months old.
It had been a shock – was still a shock!
The last thing she had done before moving out of her little room and moving (officially) into Jamie’s two-room flat above a bookmakers’ in town was kneel by the side of her childhood bed, scoop the prospectuses for universities from under the mattress and pop them in the bin.
She had felt numb almost, carried along by the current of life, simply grateful to have her head above water, to be safe. It was enough.
It was a horrible, horrible experience, living with him, being married to him.
An expectant first-time mum, she was lonely, skint, and silently struggling with the after-effects of the assault, yet on more nights than she cared to count had been forced to sit up, waiting for him to walk through the front door, stinking of a night well spent.
A satisfied swagger to his walk and a mouthful of lies that he thought she was dumb enough to swallow.
It had been the most terrible time, and she was still reeling from it, still walking with hesitation, untrusting of the very ground beneath her feet.
‘Where have you been?’ she’d asked that very morning as he’d put his key in the door at a little after 5 a.m., having left the flat the day before to go for a quick drink with the lads.
‘Oh, here we go!’ He’d exhaled through his nose, thrown his keys on to the table and grabbed the milk from the fridge, drinking it straight from the carton.
‘I can’t live like this, Jamie, I just can’t.’
‘What did you think, Rem? What did you think life was going to be like with me? I ain’t no Archie, there’s no family estate, no fucking bus fund, no title, none of it. You just got me, and I ain’t never lied to you, I’m a scaffolder who likes a pint and a laugh. That’s it!’
‘Do you mean trust fund?’ She had lost the thread a little.
‘Yeah, what did I say?’
‘I don’t . . .’ She shook her head; it didn’t matter.
‘The point is I never wanted you to be anything other than who you are. It was enough, or I thought it was, but you do lie to me, you lie all the time, and that’s the thing I can’t stand.
Knowing you lie and watching you spend so much time trying to convince me that you don’t is literally driving me crazy.
’ She’d knitted her fingers into her hair.
He’d stared out of the window, eyes wide, hands on hips, clearly irritated.
‘I can’t be crazy, Jamie, I’ve got Sophie to look after. I need to put her first, put us first. I don’t like this life, this life with you.’
He had stared at her from a distance. ‘I’m going to have a shit and a shower and then a sleep.’
‘Please can we just talk?’ she’d asked. ‘We need to talk, Jamie! Or nothing changes! Please!’
Remy had watched him walk into the bathroom and lock the door.
Sophie, the angel, had mewled in her crib and Remy had known it was time to go.
She waited until he emerged from the bedroom post his very long nap, all spruced up, ready for another night on the town, and he bent down to kiss her.
His liberally applied aftershave filled her nose.
‘I won’t be that long! I’ll be home soon. We can talk when I get back.’
She rapped now on the door of her parents’ house, and held her baby girl close, kissing her perfect scalp and inhaling the addictive scent of her. She was home, where she’d curl up in bed, take warm baths and sit with her mum and dad on the sofa. She would seek out peace and safety. A quiet life.
Ruthie opened the door wide, and sighed, taking note of the big bag on the path. Her mother’s expression spoke volumes, and Remy got the message loud and clear. I told you so . . .
Ashleigh
‘Here she is!’ Ashleigh stood on the front path and could hear her mum almost squealing. ‘Ashleigh’s here!’
‘I heard!’ Remy’s voice, her beloved twin, the reason she had ventured home this weekend and was missing Purdy and Raff’s brunch because Ruthie had phoned her in tears.
‘You should see her, Ash . . . we just don’t understand it at all, any of it, she’s lost her spark . . .’
And so she had changed her weekend plans, made her apologies, packed a small bag, and bought a train ticket, because that was what you did when your other half was hurting.
The door was flung wide, and her dad stood there with his arms open. ‘Come in, love!’
He held her tightly and she looked over his shoulder as her mum pulled off her apron and shoved it in the broom cupboard.
It was an odd thing to witness, her mum behaving as she did when a guest arrived, someone she might want to impress.
Ashleigh would have found it hard to express her sadness at it.
‘You look so lovely!’
‘How was your journey?’
‘Shame Archie had that work thing . . .’
‘How’s the house going?’
It was a bombardment no less, and she didn’t know what to respond to first.
‘Hey.’ Remy came out of the kitchen with a tea towel in her hand. It was a shock to see her complexion; almost grey, with dark, dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted.
‘Hey.’ She smiled at her sister and wished she hadn’t taken so much care over her appearance – her straightened blonde hair, her ditsy-print Laura Ashley frock with the dropped waist and mutton-leg sleeves, her black patent pumps – knowing there would be the inevitable comparison drawn between the two of them, when only ten years ago it had almost been impossible to tell them apart.
‘You do, you look lovely.’ Remy spoke sincerely, and ran her hand over her own short, tight curls.
‘You chopped it off.’
‘Observant as ever.’ Her sister pulled a face and returned to the kitchen.
Ashleigh exchanged a brief look with her parents, who stood like scared mice, hands clasped by their chests, stock still, unusually quiet, waiting for what, she wasn’t sure, but they now looked at her like she just might be the cavalry.
‘Cup of tea?’ Remy called.
‘Yep. I’ll give you a hand.’
Her parents shuffled into the lounge, in an obvious display of leaving the two to talk. The atmosphere was tense, as Ashleigh folded her arms across her chest, feeling a wave of pity for her parents, who had to live in the ripples of this negative, soul-sapping energy that emanated from her twin.
‘You’ve lost weight, Rem.’ The observation made as her sister reached up to the top shelf of the cupboard by the kettle to get the big mugs, her 501s gaping at the waist, revealing her ribs and back, without an ounce of spare flesh on them.
‘Haven’t really got much of an appetite.’
‘Half your luck, I’m eating like a horse!’ She laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
‘That’s me. So very very lucky.’ Remy clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth.
This wasn’t like her sister at all – the snarkiness, the hurt, the lack of interest in her appearance.
Ashleigh felt a little afraid for her, more than a little.
They hadn’t spoken much since Remy had taken up with Jamie, and when they did their chats had been perfunctory, brief.
The formal and awkward nature of their conversations meant she preferred not to call.
It was that simple, although the sight of her sister right now made her feel guilty and awash with intentions to do it differently from here on in.
‘Where’s Sophie? I’m dying to see her!’ Her enthusiasm was genuine, the thought of holding her niece! It thrilled her.
‘Sleeping.’ Remy pointed at a baby monitor from which came the faintest sound of snuffly breath that was at once cute and hypnotic.