Behind Her Eyes(39)

BUT I DID IT. I can’t fucking believe I did it. I fucking did it! I can be the king of my own dreams. The next time will be better. I know it. I’m too pumped to go back to sleep. It’s four a.m. and everyone’s asleep but my heart is racing. I haven’t felt this good about anything in forever. It was like magic. Real magic, not a drug high. I’m itching to go and tell Adele but the girls are in the other half of the house and I can’t risk getting caught in there. They’d kick me out. When I got here I’d have welcomed that, but not now. I’m totally buzzing. I’m grinning like a twat just writing this. I won’t tell her that I imagined her on the beach with me, that she appeared straight away as if it were meant to be. As if I can’t imagine being happy without her. That freaks me out enough, fuck knows how she’d feel about it.

Nearly halfway through our stay now. What will happen when we leave? Can’t imagine Doctor-David wanting me around. Adele says he’ll love me, but she doesn’t know people like I do and he seems like a control freak to me.

I’m still wondering what that solicitor shit was all about. I haven’t pushed her on it, but she was weird after. She’ll tell me eventually. I’m good at getting people to talk. I do more listening than talking in the sessions now. Everyone wants to talk about themselves. Fundamental. Maybe I should get a fucking job here. (JOKES).

The birds are waking up outside. I still can’t believe I did it. All that pinching and finger counting paid off. I controlled my fucking dream. David can’t do that. This is something that’s hers and mine …

My eyes are blurring and I find myself reading the last sentence twice as the wine makes my head fuzzy. I close my eyes. Just for a second. The book slips from my hand. I need to brush my teeth, I think, vaguely, and then I’m asleep.





24




ADELE


It’s just awful. Awful. There are no other words to describe this morning. The shouting has stopped, but this deathly quiet is worse. I feel sick. I’m shaking. I don’t actually know what to say, or if there’s anything I should say. Or can say. This is all my own doing.

‘I’m moving into the spare room. For now. For a while. I think that’s for the best. Until we decide what we’re going to do.’ His voice is professionally calm, but he’s livid. I know him. All I want to do is cry, but I don’t. I keep my face haughtily impassive. I don’t want him to know how much he’s hurting me.

‘Where’s the credit card?’ he asks, his eyes cold.

The things I’ve ordered from the shopping channel started arriving at 8 a.m. and were all here by nine. I timed them all perfectly, paying extra for a specific time slot. The buying only took an hour or so of dedicated effort, but David’s American Express account is now hyperventilating at the cost of my random purchases. A new coffee machine – the finest model. A new bread maker – the same. Some jewellery. A very expensive camera. A slicer/dicer/steamer with all the accessories. And the pièce de résistance, a top of the range treadmill. Thousands of pounds gone.

Like a child I take my handbag from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and pass it to him, and then watch as he pulls the precious card from my wallet and cuts it up.

‘I thought this was supposed to be a fresh start,’ he says, as he throws the plastic quarters into the bin. He looks so cold. I want to tell him that everything is going to be okay and to trust me, but I can’t. I’ve started down this path, doing things to push him away from me and towards her, and I have to stay on it. I can’t be weak. I have to have faith in Louise and me and David to make this work.

‘I thought all this was done with a long time ago,’ he mutters, and stares down the hallway where it looks as though we’ve just moved in again, boxes everywhere. ‘I’ll arrange to have everything sent back.’ He pauses. ‘You can keep the treadmill if you want.’

I know what he’s thinking. He can trap me in the house for more of my time with that. ‘It can go back,’ I say. He can’t cancel the gym membership anyway. We’re paid up for the year. It was cheaper that way, and I was trying to please him at the time. Our fresh start.

I stare at him. Does he still have even a tiny ember of love left for me? He must do. He must. He goes back into my bag and takes my house keys.

‘I have to go to the outreach centre. I don’t have any choice. They’ve arranged a clinic, but I’ll only be two hours.’

Of course he has to go out. Work comes first. He always wants to help people. Except us. Except me. He’s given up there. For me it’s just pills, pills, and more pills. I don’t understand why he’s taken my keys until he goes to the kitchen door, locks it, and pockets the key, and then I bark out an unpleasant half-laugh. I can’t help it.

‘You’re locking me in?’ I’m incredulous. Our marriage has felt like a prison for some time, we both feel that, but is he now becoming my gaoler?

‘It’s for your own good.’ At least he has the decency to redden and not meet my eyes. ‘Only for this morning. I can’t be … I can’t be …’ he struggles to find the words, ‘I can’t be distracted.’ He gestures feebly at the corridor and then at my face. ‘By all this.’ He looks away. He can’t bear to look at me. ‘Get some rest. Maybe we need to change your meds again. I’ll sort it out tomorrow.’