Our House(70)

‘Fi’s Story’ > 02:09:56

The bell was already ringing a second time as I reached the door. I expected to be greeted with an after-hours sales pitch or a local councillor on the campaign trail. It’s a bit late, I’d say, mildly reproachful but also sympathetic because everyone had to make a living (my main objection was the doorbell waking the children).

What I found, however, was the one man who had a key of his own. ‘Bram!’

‘Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to come on a Tuesday, I—’

‘That’s right,’ I cut in, ‘you’re not. It’s too late to see the boys, anyway, they’re already asleep. It’s almost nine thirty.’

‘I know, but I needed to see you.’

He was charged with an energy I couldn’t diagnose, though my guess was that he’d been drinking. ‘Is something wrong?’ I said, not masking my impatience.

‘I just need to talk to you, Fi. Can I come in?’

I felt exasperation run through me in a way I recognized from when we were together. (Perhaps there was also an undercurrent of relief that he had not let himself in and caught me in the playhouse in a grisly re-enactment of his own sin.) ‘It’s not the best time, actually. I’ve got a friend here. We’re just eating.’

‘Oh. Any way you can get rid of her? This is important.’

Before I could register relief at his gender assumption – I didn’t want to have to admit to breaking a condition of our bird’s nest agreement – the matter was taken out of my hands. Toby had followed me to the door, clearly ready to offer his protection:

‘Everything all right here, Fi?’

Mid-breath, before making the introductions I would have preferred to defer, if not avoid entirely, I could only watch, stunned, as Bram barrelled past me, knocking me off balance, and launched himself full throttle at Toby. The two of them crashed violently into the stair panelling, the back of Toby’s head smacking against the spindles.

‘Get the fuck out of my house!’ Bram yelled, making an unsuccessful attempt to grapple Toby towards the front door. Tall though he was, he was a terrier to Toby’s mastiff.

‘Come on, mate,’ Toby groaned. ‘Get off me and let’s talk about this.’

‘Bram!’ I rushed forwards and clawed angrily at his jacket. ‘What are you doing?’

His eyes frightened me: protruding, unblinking, fixed with savage intensity on poor Toby. ‘Keep away from her or I’ll fucking kill you!’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘Stop this, Bram! Stop it now!’

Inevitably, the boys, woken by the commotion, were soon at the top of the stairs. ‘Daddy!’ Harry shouted.

‘Daddy’s just leaving,’ I called up. ‘Aren’t you, Bram?’ Again, I tried to haul him off Toby, succeeding only in getting a fingernail bent back, which caused me to cry out in pain.

‘Mummy? Are you all right?’ Leo was on his way down the stairs and I abandoned the men to cut him off halfway.

‘You go back to bed, sweetheart. I’ll come up in a second.’

‘Is there a burglar?’ Harry asked his brother and as Leo spoke to him I could hear the alarm in his voice.

‘Nothing like that,’ I called, but my voice was shrill, frantic, exposing my own panic.

At last Bram released Toby, who retreated to the kitchen, rubbing his head and swearing.

‘Wait out front,’ I instructed Bram and hurried upstairs to settle the boys. Lights blazed in Leo’s room, where they’d taken refuge, their faces pale with fright. ‘Who was Daddy fighting? Are the police coming?’ they asked.

I hugged them close. ‘No, it was just a disagreement with a friend. Try to forget about it and get some sleep.’

‘Remember to lock the door, Mum,’ Leo said, when I left, and I could have sobbed at his innocent trust in a locked door, in me.

Sorry, I’m getting upset. I can’t stress enough how this was everything I’d been striving to avoid: a scene between estranged man and wife, the children disrupted and scared, uncertain who was in the house and where the crucial loyalties lay.

Deep breath. Anyway, when I joined Bram in the front garden, I was hot with anger. He was pacing the paving stones, cigarette smoke rising through the stripped branches of the magnolia. Nine thirty on a Tuesday in November was practically the dead of night on Trinity Avenue and in every visible window the curtains were drawn; it felt as if the whole neighbourhood’s allotment of drama and rancour had gathered in my house. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ I spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Are you drunk?’

He glared at me, clearly as enraged as I was. ‘Of course I’m not. We agreed no dates, not here.’

‘How do you know that’s what he is? That he’s not just a friend?’

‘Is he?’

I paused, torn. ‘I am seeing him, yes, but that doesn’t mean that what you just did wasn’t completely out of order.’

He sucked the cigarette, its tip firing. ‘The boys are here.’

‘They were asleep. At least they were until you barged in. You assaulted him, Bram. You’re lucky he didn’t fight back properly!’ I smoothed my hair from my face and throat. The chill air was astringent on my skin. I sighed heavily. ‘But you’re right, we agreed conditions and I’ve broken one of them. I’m sorry. This was just meant to be a one-off visit because we couldn’t make it work any other time. It’s dinner, that’s all. He’s not staying the night.’