Gus #3
‘You’ll want a shower,’ she said, stating it as fact.
‘I’ve put the immersion heater on so you don’t run out of hot water.
’ He imagined that she had probably drained the tank dry with one of her epic baths, soaking in expensive bubbles and applying all manner of lotions and potions to her face and hair.
As if reading his mind she looked sheepish.
‘I’ve already washed,’ she said. ‘You know me. Never happier than when I’m in the bath.
’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It was one the reasons we rented this place, wasn’t it?
That big Victorian-style bathtub.’ She tilted her head down and looked up at him through thick lashes, sultry, seductive.
‘You remember what we used to get up to in there?’
He banished the image. She knew what she was doing and in a way he admired her for it; this was her modus operandi, she was an experienced seductress, used to getting her own way.
But she’d forgotten that he was wise to these tricks– or at least, a little wiser than he used to be.
And besides, other things had happened in this room since she’d left it, since she’d left him.
He had new memories, ones that didn’t involve her.
With a squeeze of regret the image that now popped into his head was that of Violet, caught red-handed after searching the chest of drawers, the look on her face when she’d asked him to kiss her.
Open, vulnerable. The expression of fragility belied by the steel in those swim-strengthened arms as she’d clung to him.
He sighed, this was no good. He needed to clear his head.
‘I’ll– uhm…’ He nodded in the direction of the main bathroom.
‘Why don’t you shower in here,’ she said inclining her head towards the en suite. ‘I won’t interrupt you.’ A smile played upon her lips. ‘I’ll be good, I promise.’ Her voice dropped a notch, huskier. ‘Unless’—that coy look again, beneath the lashes—'you want me to be bad?’
‘Amelia…’
His warning tone had not been the reaction she was after and her face fell.
‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice laden with disappointment.
‘I thought– I hoped – you might still want me.’ She gave a little shrug, laughed.
‘Stupid, I guess. I mean, why would you?’ She gestured to herself, her flawless face and perfect figure, as if acknowledging the fact of her own repulsiveness.
Her self-loathing had never been far from the surface– it was another dangerous element to their relationship and he had learned to tiptoe around it.
Sometimes in the past when they’d been in bed together she had wanted him to be unkind, say mean things, tell her she was ugly, that she was worthless.
He had never felt comfortable doing it, always felt like something out of a bad porn film, stagey and ridiculous.
Most of the time he had refused, despite knowing that she’d be offended and that his refusal to participate in her debasement would lead to guilty recriminations, often ending with Amelia hating herself more than she had to begin with.
‘You can’t do this,’ he said now. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that sometimes I feel so– so worthless . Like, what’s the point in even being here anymore? Who would even miss me if?—’
‘Amelia. Please .’ Gus hated it when she spoke like this.
She had a way of making him feel responsible for her happiness and self-worth, or lack of it.
And she knew about his dad. Knew all about the guilt he already harboured and the fear that chewed away at his insides.
The overwhelming dread that someone who needed and relied on him might find themselves pushed to the edge– it was the kind of thing that kept him awake at night.
Amelia knew how helpless he was in the face of emotional blackmail and was deploying every weapon she had.
But– the little voice of doubt niggled at him– what if it wasn’t some cold, calculated scheme?
Maybe she did feel worthless and desperately lonely.
What kind of man would he be if he turned her away and she spiralled into a deep depression, or worse?
This whole situation had to be handled carefully.
He took a deep breath. ‘Please don’t say things like that. You’re not worthless. We’ll talk when I get back from work.’
She wiped her eyes. Nodded at him. ‘Of course. You’re right. It’s just…’ She gestured around the room. ‘Being back here– it’s easy to slip back into– you know– familiar routines. It feels like home.’
‘A home you chose to leave.’ He tried not to sound resentful. He was just stating facts. Like Violet would have done.
She looked at the floor, her expression filled with remorse.
‘I’m going for a shower,’ he said, just about stopping himself from apologising for causing her distress.
As he crossed back to the corridor, heading towards the bathroom she called out. ‘I’ve made dinner by the way,’ and he nearly stopped in his tracks. Amelia never cooked.
She came to the bedroom doorway. ‘I used the chicken and the veg you brought back this morning? I mean, I bought some other stuff too– I didn’t know how hungry you’d be, but I thought we’ll probably need some provisions, get through the bank holiday so, if there’s leftovers it’s fine, isn’t it.
’ She smiled, all sadness forgotten and he squashed down the feeling of annoyance that she’d used his ingredients to probably make something that looked fancy but didn’t taste of anything much.
He knew this thought was unkind. He should feel touched, grateful that she’d made the effort.
She must really want to get into his good books if she’d gone as far as tackling a chicken dinner.
He wondered, when he got out of the shower, whether he heard voices in the corridor, possibly felt the draught of colder air from the front door seeping in through the steam of the bathroom, but once he’d shaved and changed into his scrubs the table was set in the living room and there was no sign of any disturbance to Amelia’s careful preparations.
Thank goodness he’d had the sense to fend Violet off at the pass with that text message.
Much as he could have done with her cool-headed clarity right now it wouldn’t have been remotely appropriate to bring these two women into the same orbit and his negotiating skills were almost spent.
After he’d eaten a slightly overcooked chicken, soggy vegetables, and a pudding that had clearly been bought and transferred to a stylish earthenware pot to look homemade, he told Amelia that he had to make a move as his shift started at seven.
It was a lie but he had to get out of the flat– it no longer felt like his space.
And besides, he needed to speak to Violet, explain why he’d cancelled dinner, make her understand that there were now further complications in his already messy life…
He paused as he pulled on his jacket, realising that he had no idea what he was going to say to her, no way of describing the turmoil in his head or the acidic guilt in his stomach– but it didn’t matter what he said, it didn’t matter what questions she asked him or how he responded, in that moment he just desperately wanted to see Violet, full stop.