Our House(23)

The force blasted the parked car against the front of the house. The noise was horrendous, not a crash so much as a crumpling, deafening even through sealed windows; God knows how it must have sounded outside. Now I moved into the correct lane, not daring to look over my shoulder at the wreckage before pulling over. A little way ahead of me, the Toyota waited, idling, and I could see the guy holding up his phone, calling for help, I assumed. Then, not quite believing it, I watched his brake lights go out and the car roar off.

I sat there, nauseous and immobilized, the pleading in my ears some shrill, desperate version of my own voice:

Pull yourself together. Turn around.

Go back. Get out of the fucking car and help.

At least phone for help!

Do it!

My hands floundered, hunting for my phone in my pockets, on the dashboard, in the door pocket full of coffee cups and bits of plastic toy. It was on the back seat, possibly. My right foot was on the brake pedal and the leg had begun to spasm. I put the handbrake on, turned to reach over my left shoulder, but the seatbelt locked.

Then I remembered who I was. I was a man banned from driving, on the road without insurance, against the law, probably over the alcohol limit. A man with prior criminal convictions (we’ll come to that). What had just happened was dangerous driving by anyone’s standards, even before the question of human injury or damage to property. There was no way around this, I was looking at a prison sentence. Shame. Confinement. Violence. Leo and Harry taken from me. The end of everything.

Breathe. Think. The road ahead was empty, the pavements clear. The Toyota was long gone. Light-headed now, scarcely capable of conscious thought, I took the handbrake off, hit the accelerator and pulled away.

Miraculously, I was able to drive fifty metres to the next junction without anyone passing in the opposite lane. The only moving car I saw was in my rear-view, its driver having clearly come to the crash scene and stopped to help, just as any normal citizen would have.

Looking in the mirror before making a left turn, I expected to see smoke or some other evidence of carnage, but there was nothing. Only the same rooftops, the same sky.


‘Fi’s Story’ > 00:57:22

On the third Friday, I arranged to stay overnight with friends in Brighton. While not following any formal strategy, I was once again avoiding time alone in the flat – this in spite of being exhausted after a day out with Alison, not to mention concerned about the expense of all this gadding about.

When Bram arrived at the house for the 7 p.m. handover, he was subdued and I guessed that he too was still adjusting to the new regime, trying as I was to align the serrated edges where practice joined theory.

‘It takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it?’ I said.

‘Huh?’

‘This. The new us.’

Before he could reply, the boys descended from their rooms, Harry first, then Leo, who shouldered ahead of the noisy upstart and misjudged the manoeuvre so they arrived in a sharp-elbowed tangle.

‘Daddy, we’re staying up late, aren’t we? Aren’t we?’

‘Shut up, Harry,’ Leo snapped.

‘You shut up.’

‘I said it first. But we are staying up, aren’t we?’

It had plainly been established that Bram’s nights were for fun, following the austerity of school nights, my nights. This was an unavoidable consequence of carving up the week the way we had, Rowan had warned, and I needed to remember it was not a popularity contest. Bram and I were comrades, not rivals. No longer a couple but still partners.

‘Not too late,’ I told the boys. ‘But Daddy will decide, he’s in charge. You okay, Bram?’ I noticed now the telltale pallor of the mortally hungover.

‘Sure. You know these team-building days, by the end of it you’ve lost the will to live.’

I nodded, my sympathy waning. I hadn’t been aware that he’d had a work event, but if he was stupid enough to indulge in a drinking session the night before then what did he expect? Besides, one of the benefits of our being separated was that I was no longer duty-bound to listen to his complaints about work (nor he mine, let’s face it). So long as we each made our financial contribution and respected the terms and conditions, we had a free pass on that. ‘Anything I need to know about the flat?’

‘No.’ He gathered his concentration. ‘The hot water issue finally seems to have resolved itself. There’s milk in the fridge, should be okay for the morning.’

‘Thanks, though I won’t be there till later tomorrow. I’m going down to Brighton tonight.’

Bram looked faintly alarmed. ‘You’re taking the car?’

‘No, I assumed you’d need it for swimming tomorrow, and Leo’s got a party in Dulwich, remember? I’ll take the train. I’m visiting Jane and Simon,’ I added, though he hadn’t asked. I supposed it was on the phone calendar if he was interested. ‘Kiss Mummy goodbye,’ I said, trying to encourage Harry and Leo towards me, but they evaded my affections.

‘Only boys allowed,’ Harry said, with cheerful callousness.

#VictimFi

@IngridF2015 He’s obviously got a drink problem, poor

#VictimFi having to deal with that.

@NJBurton @IngridF2015 Or he’s just a normal guy and she’s a sanctimonious b*tch?

@IngridF2015 @NJBurton WTF?!!! She’s the victim here.