Haven't They Grown(70)

‘It means going to Florida.’





18


From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Hi Dom,

I’m at Heathrow. My plane’s delayed by two hours – great!

I don’t think it’s ever happened before that I’ve left the house with you refusing to speak to me or say goodbye. For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s fair. We’ve never disagreed about anything serious before, not once in our whole marriage. About this one thing we disagree, and that ought to be fine. Married couples don’t always have to agree about everything.

You think a trip to Florida is an unnecessary expense. I don’t. I need to do this. I think Flora and her kids might be in real trouble, and I can’t just ignore that fear. No, she’s not my friend any more, but if I hadn’t been so blinkered and pig-headed twelve years ago, maybe she still would be. I have to do what I can, and either I’ll be able to help or I won’t. Or I’ll find my help isn’t needed and I’ve been wrong about everything. Either way, I’ll be glad I tried. And if I’m creating drama where there’s no need, if I find out that I’ve been totally wrong to make a fuss, then I’ll be relieved – and it will have been worth the money to find that out, because you’re not the only one who wants their life back. I do too.

I wouldn’t force you to go to Florida and spend more time on this, knowing you didn’t want to. That wouldn’t be fair. Can’t you see that you trying to stop me when I feel I need to go is unfair too? I don’t think it’s irresponsible of me to go. I think it’s the opposite.

All right, I’m going to stop now because I sound like a two-year-old: ‘It’s not fair!’ I’ll be back as soon as I can, and the kids will be fine. Work will be fine. I sent a nice email to all my regulars and they all got back to me saying they understand completely, even though I hardly told them anything. I don’t think I’m going to lose a single client. Zannah says she’ll help round the house while I’m gone, and Ben won’t worry as long as you don’t panic him by making him think I’ve done something crazy. Instead, you could tell him that you support my decision to go to America, or at least that you understand it.

I’ll ring you when I get to my hotel if it isn’t too late.

B xxx

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] I’m glad you emailed. Sorry I was off with you when you left. I’m just worried. But, yeah, I could have expressed it better. At the risk of sounding like a selfish twat, your safety is all I care about, not Flora’s, and I don’t like the idea of you walking up to Lewis Braid and calling him a liar to his face. The guy’s not right in the head. He never was. We just didn’t care because we were young and undiscriminating, and he threw great parties and was fun to hang around with (except when he wasn’t). But I’ve been thinking – imagine being Flora all these years, having to live with him and deal with his bad side as well as his good side. He was always dead set on getting his way, and that tendency’ll only have got worse as he’s got older. For me, that explains why Flora’s stressed and miserable, and why she ran away from you. If she feels trapped, if their relationship has turned ugly and she’s too scared to leave him, she might not want you to see that. Neither of them would want you to see it.

Maybe I’m being over the top. I heard something on the radio this morning about coercive control in relationships. Some of the behaviours that were discussed sounded a bit like Lewis even as he was before, even without the getting-worse-with-age factor. That might have influenced me. Just don’t meet him alone in any secluded places, okay? He might make a pass for all you know, and not take no for an answer.

This memory has just come back to me, a second ago: Lewis and I were having a drink at The Baron of Beef once and I said, ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you, Braid,’ (I can’t remember what made me say it) and he said, ‘You’d be right not to, Rom-com Dom.’ I still don’t think he’d harm any children, though. That’d be a step too far even for him. But you’re right: we can disagree about that. I just want to know that you’re fine. Stay safe and come home soon.

D x





19


It’s a little after eight in the evening, Florida time, when I arrive at the Delray Beach Marriott Hotel. According to my stiff body and aching brain, it’s past one in the morning. The check-in desk, less than a minute’s walk from the entrance doors, looks unfeasibly far away. Instead of feeling as if I’ve arrived, I’m looking at the reception staff and thinking, ‘Right, last leg of the journey, one final push.’ The prospect of having to fish out my passport and credit card, sign forms and make small talk makes me want to lie down on the floor and close my eyes.

The high-ceilinged lobby smells of several things all at once: mainly the sea, grilled meat, leather and suntan lotion. There’s a heap of suitcases on the floor that looks as if it might once have been a pile. Children hop around them, try to sit on them, end up pushing them over. Grown-ups scoop their offspring up off the tiled floor and try to shush them. One little boy breaks free of his mother, runs over to a potted tree by the side of the entrance door and sticks his hands into the soil it’s planted in.

Eventually, the suitcases and families are all processed and I’m at the front of the queue for the reception desk. I hand over what I’m asked for and sign where I’m told to. Eventually, I get to my room, which contains two double beds. I lie down on one of them, stretch out and think about what I need to do before I can go to sleep: ring Dom, eat something …