Beneath the Skin(90)
Sami takes a deep breath, trying to stifle the sob, but it’s impossible. ‘Fat boy, don’t blubber or I’ll give you a slap,’ he remembers.
He cried too much as a boy, alone in his bed. But not as a man. Not since receiving the news of his dad’s stroke from his sister, the one sister who isn’t a clone of his mum. Ramona told him straight about what had happened to Dad. The man Sami appreciated it, but the fat boy inside fell apart, certain that his father would die. But he had Sophie then. She put her arms around him and she held him, keeping him together, keeping him safe.
He stays at the kitchen table for a while, playing out scenarios in his head. He wants Sophie back. More than anything he wants her to come home. It’s pride, he knows, fucking foolish pride that’s holding him back. He reaches for the kitchen roll, then wipes his face and blows his nose. ‘What the fuck,’ he announces to the room.
Please come home, he texts. Missing you badly. Love you very much.
He presses send, waits for the swooshing noise and then places his iPhone in the middle of the table. That wasn’t so bad, he thinks, knowing the hard part is waiting for a reply, if ever. He stands up to close the front door, spots the champagne and the bottled water in the hall. He feels a last stab of shame, then opens the fridge door and places them inside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sophie sits in the car, breathing deeply and reflecting. Who would have thought it? Sophie Richards saying sorry without being asked, not once but twice. The old Sophie would laugh at the suggestion that saying the S word is therapeutic. ‘A load of right-on church-loving bearded hippy crap.’ Or words to that effect. But there’s no doubt that the sorry feels good, a weight off her shoulders, if not her thighs. So easy too.
Her heart still races boom, boom in her chest. Without warning or obvious cause most of the time. But at least she has insight from an expert now. ‘It’s deep-seated anxiety, Sophie,’ the therapist said. ‘Think of how long you have bottled it up and allowed it to ferment. But you can beat it if you face it.’ So Sophie breathes deeply, from her diaphragm. Which helps some of the time. Not all, but it keeps the panic at bay. It saves her fingernails from total annihilation.
The ‘sorry’s were easy, but Sophie understands that she’s lucky. By some miracle her mum and Antonia made it easy. Because they love her, she supposes. The thought makes her want to cry. So many tears. She hopes the tough old Sophie will make a comeback soon.
She thinks of her morning with Antonia as the beat of her heart starts to slow.
‘So, what was the sorry for?’ Antonia teased with a grin. ‘Shall we start at the beginning? Year Seven, maybe, and work up from there?’
‘Don’t push your luck.’
‘Come on, it’s like a life achievement award, I have to milk it for all it’s worth.’
They settled on the sofa, just like old times, Antonia eating one chocolate button to Sophie’s handful. Sophie glanced at Antonia’s contented face and took a deep breath of resolve. She knew Antonia didn’t expect a reply or an explanation, but Sophie didn’t want to cheat. As the therapist said, ‘You only end up cheating yourself.’
‘I’m sorry that I didn’t come to David’s funeral. I should’ve been there for you, like before. I should’ve stayed with you and comforted you.’
Antonia nodded. It wasn’t the usual shut-down cloud, Sophie noticed, but there was a strange reflective look on her face, almost a smile. But that was the easy apology. That part wasn’t personal, that part didn’t jangle in her chest with anxiety and fear. She took a deep breath. ‘Also, I’m sorry I was so horrible. The things I said. I imagined some stupid things about you and Sami.’
‘Paranoia, loss of self,’ Sophie recalled as she waited for Antonia’s response. But sometimes it was hard to know what was real and what wasn’t. ‘A step at a time, Sophie. A step at a time.’
‘Bloody right they were stupid,’ Antonia replied. ‘You know I love Sami, but never like that. Besides, I’m not a married man type. You’re my friend, Sophie, my best friend. I wouldn’t do that to you. People shouldn’t do that to their friends.’
She studied Antonia’s face as she spoke. Now there is a shadow, she thought. But then again, she knew that Antonia didn’t tell her everything. The night of her father’s death, for example. Antonia had never talked about it, not once to that day. Sophie knew not to ask. She never asked and never probed, as much as Norma and Barry had wanted her to.
There are some things one is entitled to keep private, Sophie mused as she sat snug with Antonia and ate another handful of buttons. Like the counselling sessions she’d had for the past two weeks. She couldn’t hide the anti-depressants or keeping off the booze, but she could hide those, close to her chest. Sessions which were comforting and painful, brutal and honest. She didn’t know why, but having them wasn’t something she wanted to share with Antonia. At least not yet.
They were both silent for a while. ‘And you knew too many of my secrets,’ Sophie said eventually, needing to say it, needing to know. ‘About the chlamydia, the PID, the lies to Sami.’
Antonia looked at her face and reached for her hand, held it firm. ‘No need to worry about that, Soph. Those secrets are safe with me. I promise.’