The Girl I Used to Be(16)
TEN
CAITLIN CAME BACK to our house with me that night. I knew she was bored and a bit lonely at home since Ben had started to work away. They moved up to Liverpool a couple of years after we moved to the northwest and now lived thirty miles from us. We usually saw her at least once a week, particularly when Ben was away.
She came upstairs with me and we sat on the bathroom floor as Rory played in the bath. It was a Friday night and Joe had gone out to pick up some pizzas. I sat with my back against the tiled wall and closed my eyes. The late-summer sun was coming through the colored-glass window, and the air smelled of Rory’s bubble bath. He was singing a little song to himself, one that he’d learned in nursery that week.
I patted Caitlin’s hand. “Watch out for Rory, won’t you, if I doze off.”
“Of course I will. He’s the one I came here to see! But why don’t you go and lie down for a bit? He’ll be fine with me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t see enough of him as it is.”
“You look really tired. Are you working tomorrow?”
I grimaced. “Yeah. Not until the afternoon, though. I’ve got to be there for twelve.”
“And Sunday?”
“I’m working the morning. Well, until two.”
“So when are you getting time off?”
“I’m not. I can’t afford to. But I’m not working nine to five every day. Occasionally I’m working half days. Well, more like three-quarter days. I go in midmorning sometimes, or finish early and then go back to lock up. Or I come home for a longer lunch.” I stopped, confusing myself.
“So you’re in work every day?” Her voice softened, and immediately my eyes filled with tears. “That must be exhausting.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “I am tired. I’m tired all the time. I just miss seeing Rory. Some weeks I’m working until seven for a few nights on a run, if people need to view later on or if I have to value someone’s house. He goes to bed at half past, so I hardly see him.”
“Eight o’clock on a Saturday!” piped up Rory.
I hadn’t realized he was paying any attention to us and shook my head at Caitlin. “Pas devant l’enfant.”
“Did you know I can speak French?” Rory asked Caitlin. “That means ‘not in front of the child.’”
She laughed. “Come on, mister,” she said. “I’ve just heard Dad come in; let’s go down and have that pizza.”
* * *
*
LATER THAT EVENING Caitlin and I sat on the patio with Joe. They were drinking wine, but I poured Perrier for myself.
“How come you’re not drinking?” asked Caitlin, and then she laughed. “Oops, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Joe.
She shook her head. “It’s none of my business whether she has a drink or not.”
“She’s wondering whether I’m pregnant,” I told Joe. “That’s always a clue if someone refuses a drink on a Friday night. She’s being discreet.”
“I was trying to be!”
Joe said, “You’re not, are you?”
I laughed. “Of course I’m not. Don’t you think I would’ve told you?”
He reached out and put his arm around me. “I’d hope so!” He kissed my cheek. “Maybe one day.”
I smiled at him. “Maybe.” I drank some more Perrier, then said, “I haven’t felt like a drink for the last few weeks. But yes, we’ve been talking about having another baby, but not yet. Next year might be good. Nothing’s guaranteed, though, obviously.”
“You lucky thing,” said Caitlin. For a moment she looked glum. “No point in my getting pregnant, with Ben being out of the country all the time.”
“You could always go with him.”
“What, and be a trailing spouse? He’d be out of the house for fourteen hours a day and I’d have nothing to do. No thanks.”
Ben was an engineer who worked away for months at a time. On the one hand they were rapidly paying off their mortgage, but on the other I wasn’t too sure how long they would last with hardly seeing each other. I was always grateful to have Joe, when I thought of her relationship with Ben. It was so hard for her not being able to spend much time with him.
We talked then about her trip to see him in Dubai in August, and the issue of my not drinking didn’t arise again.
* * *
*
WHEN I WENT up to bed I thought how different that night was from the Friday I’d spent in London. I hated that feeling of being out of control. I knew I’d drunk those gins that night far too quickly, and again, I got a flash of the two empty bottles on the table. I shook my head. I should never drink like that again.
While Joe was in the bathroom, I went back downstairs to find my bag. In the zip compartment was the receipt for the meal at the hotel that I’d received in the post. I took it out and looked at it again.
Paté and smoked salmon. Those were the starters. Then steak and chicken.
I closed my eyes. What had I eaten? I had no idea now. How could that happen? No matter how many times I looked at the items on the receipt, I couldn’t remember eating any of them.