WHEN ALL IS LOST
By
Suzanne Readsmith
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Suzanne Readsmith on Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 Suzanne Readsmith
Thank you for downloading this story. It follows a number of stories that I have uploaded for readers to enjoy which include:
‘Letting Him Stay’
‘Caught on the Hop’
‘The Girl with No Name’
‘Wistful Thinking’
You are welcome to share it with your friends. This story may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
I lift my head to scrutinise my surroundings and notice how battered my leather settee is. Strictly speaking it isn’t mine. By next week it will be hers and then it will become theirs. She is taking it away to be strategically placed in her new home; their new home and other bums will sit on it. The only bum that will not is mine. In Viv’s eyes I am a bum and therefore banished from her life. Some new dude whom Viv has stated is a real man has replaced me. This man writes jingles for an advertising and marketing company, which I consider befitting practice for someone who is under the witless illusion that somehow I will crawl away and die. I do feel as though I am dying though. My back hurts from sleeping awkwardly through the night on the rug curled into a foetal position hugging the fire with no cover over me. If Viv had been here she would have placed a blanket over me, perhaps.
I can see from this position that the artificial coals on the gas fire are covered with soot and the little brass owl on the hearth is staring back at me blankly as though to chastise me for my pathetic behaviour. I hate this metal-hearted wise guy but today he is my only friend. My forte at school was to hold the stare of the teacher and to charm my way out of most situations. From an early age I emulated my Irish bred mother whom when she was alive had been sharp in manner and often banshee-like when she had wanted to be. Cross that with a Scottish Brave Heart father often misguided and definitely disillusioned by life and what did you get? Me. A worthless, lost, unfulfilled piece of....!
“Shut the **** up!”
My therapist has told me to think in a more positive way to think of myself as being a beautiful person. Either way I feel neither beautiful nor desired. I feel rejected, abandoned and bereft and I am pining so acutely for Viv it is more appealing to fantasise about different ways to make myself a dead person. This would also satisfy my need to find a new address before becoming evicted, which could be ‘Number 1 Cemetery Way’. It would suit me just fine, and in fact it is just situated around the corner! If my mother were alive she would call upon all the Saints in Heaven to forgive me for these thoughts. If I believed in life after death, which I sometimes do and ought to having been brought up a Catholic, my mother would be despairing of me now.
I hoist my weary body up from the floor and settle onto the settee. This will do. From this position I can carry on purveying all that is mine which amounts to nothing really. Lamps, stupid wallpaper, a fireplace, CDs in broken cases, the rudiments of life I have felt compelled to surround myself with. I actually debate the point of wearing clothes. What’s the point? I feel so exposed and vulnerable I might as well be naked. On top of that I am hung over. I drank myself stupid last night. It’s an unhealthy pattern that has been going on for weeks now and I need to stop.
I can still see Viv in my mind’s eye positioning her tiny packages of perfumes and potions into designer luggage in a measured way. Treasuring her possessions because Viv likes to treat herself to nice things. She sees self bought '‘pressies’' as recompense for having to put up with my ways, my inconsiderate manner and my witticisms. I have suggested to her that she might like to wear garlic to ward off my festering evil spirit, which she has no trouble telling me I have. I am the devil himself apparently. I prefer seeing myself as a Vampire, at least then I could ravish her in a porn theme kind of way. It is the trend these days is it not? Viv’s intention is to take herself away from me and to leap into the comforting open arms of … what had she said his name was? ‘Guido!’ ‘Guido Giffard’. “What kind of God forsaken name is that?” He quickly became ‘Dweebo Piss-hard’ to me. Viv hadn’t liked that at all and in return she called me ‘Ranting Ralph.’ Pathetic!
At school they nicknamed me ‘Razor’, (Viv isn’t aware of this fact), which I liked, it gave me a bit of an edge! Those who didn’t know me well sometimes thought I was ‘hard’, which I wasn’t of course. The name came about because of the supposed sharpness of my wit. I was the ‘class fool’, which didn’t worry me too much at the time because by nature I have levels of intelligence. There was room for me to mess around at school and pass every exam I ever sat with ease. This is not grandiosity on my part, it is fact. I may fail at relationships but as an academic I do okay. This changed at college after mum died then both failed!
When Viv first told me that she had met someone else I was sad, in fact I was sad enough to look up the meaning of his surname, which is ‘Chubby cheeked, bloated.’ Seriously! It suits me knowing this fact. I asked Viv if she had found this guy on ‘findadickhead.com’. She told me that she hated me and flounced out of the apartment but not before telling me that Guido had a dick, which he used and that made a nice change for her. Touché!
Murdoch, my own surname is both Scottish and Gaelic meaning ‘Sea’, with no proof of origin. Nice! I do feel all at sea at the moment and awash with problems, certainly. I am sinking and I do feel overwhelmed. My life is stormy and by nature I am deep. Viv keeps telling me that. Also that I am manipulative, spoiled, arrogant and conniving. I could go on into murkier deeper depths here but what is the use? My mother died when I was aged 15. She often joked with my father that she wasn’t sure where I had come from - the inference being that either I was a ‘generational throw back’, or that my parentage was in question. They hadn’t seemed to care either way.
I stalked Viv’s new beau for a while. Viv found out and called me pathetic. He offered to meet up with me to talk man-to-man and all that! I declined the invitation of course having learned that my contender was a sharp dresser, an Audi owner (top of the range), and decent earner. He has an apartment in Chelsea and a cottage in Dorset. The list is endless. Oh, and he received his education at Cambridge. Good! All this is very nice for Viv. I have no chance of winning back her affections. According to her he has an excellent sense of humour. He makes her laugh! Quite the Oscar Wilde! A Noel Coward even, because believe it or not, in his spare time, when he isn’t splaying himself all over Viv, he writes plays. Now that hurts! Enough that he has taken my woman! Front line boundary crossing when he treads on my career path!
“He’s sensitive, and gentle, and he listens.” Said Viv. “He cares about my feelings.” “He buys me things and looks after me.”
These are the things that Viv wants supposedly. I am only as good as the last bottle of perfume I bought her, which I might add, was priced at £62. The fact that it had been reduced to £40 she didn’t need to know.
“He washes himself.” He’s groomed.” “He reads.” “He gets on well with my friends.”
“Does he know how much you whine yet?” I asked her.
The fact that Viv had been preparing to create a new life that didn’t include me hadn’t seemed to concern her.
“You have been unfaithful!” I pronounced.
“Just the once.” She had replied. “Unlike you!”
This is a fallacy. I have never been unfaithful - to Viv at least. Rather I have fallen asleep at many a friend’s house and this translates to the fact that I have slept with each house owner concerned, or perhaps any of their living relatives or friends. That she attributes me with such prowess pleases me deep down. However it isn’t true. I don’t like Viv’s trait of jealousy. I did once ‘feel a girl up’ apparently in front of Viv at a party and she captured this scene on her phone, which she then played back to me in evidence having firstly plastered it all over the Web! I had been kissing the girl yes, and my elbow had moved in a way that looked suspiciously dubious, but it was ominous as to what I was actually doing with my left hand and as I couldn’t sufficiently remember I remain guilty as charged. I liked the clip it made me look quite the Adonis, however sadly Viv deleted it. Viv had kissed Ben on that very same evening and it had been New Years Eve - we were both smashed. I hadn’t chastised her about that had I?
Somehow I was accused of being smug, self-assured and well adjusted enough to keep on hurting her. She always thought I had psychopathic tendencies. She had downloaded a questionnaire, which asked ‘How well do you know your man?’ Tick boxing some of my traits she produced results that proved she should have left me at once. I took all this with a pinch of salt (maybe one of the symptoms). So what if Viv needed to think I was unreasonable and difficult to live with to counteract her own shortcomings, then so be it. The fact was that I loved Viv. I held faith in our relationship and if she didn’t then it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t compete with her insecurities, so I didn’t. She saw this as me being laid back and uncaring. If I reacted she would tell me I was being patronising. It was a no-win situation, not stuff that wars are made of, which requires stamina!
The fact is that last night I was unfaithful to Viv, despite us being officially separated, after all Viv lives with him now. I did it in desperation really which didn’t bode well for the poor girl who ended up in my bed. I only remembered her this morning when she made a groaning sound, which made me jump out of my wits. It was then I remembered – there’s a stranger in the house! I heard her stirring and began to panic. What does she look like? How old is she? Too late – she’s here.
“Hi there.”
She looked at me in fascination only to become more horrified by the state of the room, which we both could see was in complete disarray. There were takeaway cartons on the rug nearby to where I had slept. Empty lager cans and wine bottle. A lid to a yoghurt dip had been used as an ashtray. I hadn’t liked seeing that. A scarf had been placed over a lampshade, one of Viv’s and I hadn’t liked that either. I remembered the previous evening more clearly in reflection. I had started to undress her, yes and we’d both been eager I couldn’t deny that - at the beginning. In the bedroom, later, when I’d needed to come up with the goods, it had been hard, to be hard so to speak. In the end I’d finally managed to go through with the whole sorry act. It had been a game of truth or dare with myself, a personal taunt. The thought of Viv being in bed with him had spurred me on. I asked myself, couldn’t I have sex with someone new as Viv had? I’d forced myself and enjoyed none of it. The girl’s movements had been all wrong, her scent, her touch, the way she had spoken full stop, everything really. Afterwards I had felt sick and self disgusted. It was nothing to do with the girl who was a stunner although I wasn’t convinced her tits were natural. It was all to do with the fact that she wasn’t Viv.
I felt reminded of the evening Dad (or Alastair as I had called him from that moment) had brought home a woman from the pub. Fair do’s. Mum had been dead for seven years at that point and it hadn’t been easy. Alastair had shot me a glance that said something like “needs must.” I’d shot out of the house even though it was late and gone over to sleep at my friend Joe’s for the night. I hadn’t been able to bear the thought of another woman in Mum’s bed. Yet I understood. Alastair was a handsome doer, a lad about town. He’d done well to last as long as he had and he was aged forty-seven back then. Mum had had all on when she was alive to keep tabs on him, but she had, and many a contender had placed themselves in the ring of their marriage only to fall flat on their face. Simple thing was that Alastair loved Mum, his Tralee Rose as he called her, even though she was from Kilkenny and called Mary.
It was the last I saw of that particular woman. Now Alastair is happily married with twin girls. Imagine being a brother twenty-six years older than sisters aged one. It doesn’t bear thinking about but I love the little smashers. Natalie is fun too, my step mummy as she cheerfully keeps reminding me – fifteen years younger than Alastair and she adores him. She makes fantastic meals, which suits me to the ground and she is quite a looker with a neat figure. A no go area of course which Alastair (my father) hadn’t needed to point out, but he had.
I became aware of a movement and realised that I had been in a bit of a trance. The girl was moving around the apartment studying me as though unsure whether to be disgusted with me or seductive towards me. The result was that she appeared false and something was worse - she was obviously only about nineteen years of age, some man’s dream I know, but not mine. It came back to me. A student. Where from? Ah yes, the London College of Dreariness. I couldn’t be sure.
“Why did you choose to sleep on the floor rather than with me?” She asked.
I could hear the internal voice of my mother speaking again.
“She’s not backwards at coming forward is she?”
“Indeed not.” I spoke aloud forgetting myself, which caused the girl to startle. I begged God to send me her name so I could converse with her like a gentleman.
“What do you mean, indeed not?” The girl asked in a perplexed way.
My God she wouldn’t keep still, she was circling me and I felt a little bit frightened. She wasn’t crazy was she? Her name began with ‘L’, I felt sure of it.
“Forget all that.” Said my mother. “Get her out of the house, she’s brazen is this one.”
“I agree.” I said this out loud too.
“Agree with what?” Said the girl.
“That I chose to sleep on the floor rather than with you, because of the snoring.”
The girl was indignant. “I don’t snore!”
She stated this a little too aggressively, which reminded me how she had issued step-by-step instructions to me last night as though she was some sort of Rubik cube that I had to fathom out. Remembering my disgraceful sexual performance I coloured up.
“I do, and I didn’t want to disturb you.” She seemed to buy my ‘cop out’.
I looked across to my wooden fruit bowl, which cradled some shrunken lemons. I’d intended to throw a party and forgotten to invite people, such was the state of my mind. Here was this girl, scantily dressed as though trying to allure me and all I wanted to do was order her out of the apartment. I felt immense levels of annoyance when she began to pick up photographs and books as she wandered around. Intimacy is a funny thing. It had been easier to share my body with this stranger than to witness her touching my things, Viv’s things. It would help more if she picked up a few lager cans and got the Dyson out, but no! Girls these days didn’t do that.
“Ralph, you stubborn, self-centred, lazy article.”
Oh dear, Mother was with me again.
“This is why you get nowhere in life and I blame myself for waiting on you hand and foot. I made you what you are and now I can’t save you. Pick up the mess yourself! Today it’s equality that counts with the lasses. Although as far as I can see all it’s done is make the lasses as lazy as the lads were in the beginning.”
The girl sat on the settee and produced a cigarette from somewhere. It was a very awkward moment, I couldn’t remember her name and she was about to smoke.
“Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Smoke.”
“You didn’t mind last night.”
“I do now.”
“You live in a dump like this and you are worried about a bit of smoke.”
“It’s not normally a dump, Viv kept it beautiful.”
“Who’s Viv?”
I didn’t want to explain myself in this way. I had little enough power left in my life. Anyway, this girl with no name, it wasn’t her fault.
“Would you like some breakfast?”
“Yes please. Does that mean I can light up?”
“Go ahead, you’re right, who’s Viv!”
This nameless beauty had a point. What was I protecting myself from? Spirals of smoke when my life was in complete tatters. The landlord wanted me out because I couldn’t afford the lease on my own. I didn’t want to live with anyone else but Viv. Why had she left me, why? For Gods sake I worshipped the ground she walked on.
I couldn’t last another hour with this girl without knowing her name.
“Look. Last night, I was a little …. you know.”
“Pissed.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re telling me!”
“Look I’m sorry, I’m usually dead good.” I tried a weak laugh here.
“At what.”
“You know.”
“If you say so.”
He tried again. “The thing is … my memory is shot these days… please don’t be offended but I struggle to remember anyone’s name especially if it begins with ‘L’. She was out of the door. Shame! Her exiting flounce had been marginally more spectacular than Viv’s and it made her appear more interesting. I didn’t chase after her because overall I felt relieved that she was gone. I didn’t know how far she had to travel to get home or whether she had any money. I had never not walked a girl to a tube station or bus stop in my life. I don’t think she even had a coat. It was raining but she was young. Was I now an official low life?
I let an hour pass before taking myself off for a walk in Hyde Park. Sitting on a bench I could visualise myself as Viv might have seen me. I was very ambitious once but it hadn’t helped me get anywhere. What stopped me these days? I’d written one book and it had been published and been fairly successful, but then I’d rested on that little bit of success as though it was a sign that I’d made it. I lacked motivation and drive and when Viv had come along she did enough of that for the two of us. I reverted to ‘child.’ It was an awful moment to realise that I regressed when we moved into together. She had met a cheerful, outgoing, slightly cocky, go-getting writer and I had become …..what? Why couldn’t Mum come forward now with her wonderful witticisms to help me? The fact is that in my head I was still fifteen waiting for her to come home. But she hadn’t come home had she? She gone and parked herself in that stupid hospital and lined herself up to die. Her wonderful Alastair hadn’t been able to save her. I couldn’t go on like this, feeling so angry. It bubbled inside me at the very pit of my stomach.
To see mum go so thin and lose her hair, when she had been so beautiful was more than I could bear! Alastair hadn’t deserved her. Only I witnessed my mother crying after their petty arguments; usually after some woman or other had pursued him. His father had always played the victim as though he couldn’t help being so irresistible and charming. That was the thing. His father always wanted all her attention and he’d got it. Even when she had been dying she had been more concerned about whether he’d take up with another woman than leaving me.
“What about me mum? I mopped up your tears - who mops up mine?
I knew I was crying. My face was wet and my eyes water filled enough to distort my vision. I could hear people walking past me pushing prams and talking about their plans for the day. Some people alone and silent probably listening to music through earphones and casting me sideway glances. I knew I was still a little pissed and that I look like a tramp. I was destined to remain a loser and Viv had been right to leave me. I felt parched, my lips were dry and cracked and my hair was matted.
“You’ve got Spanish hair.” My mother used to say. “Jet black and curly.”
“Oh dear God! How many bloody nationalities are there in me?”
“The Spanish took over Ireland and pinched all the lasses, hence the beauty of the Irish.”
I never argued with my mother when she was like this, nor did I doubt her, there was always a little truth in everything she stated.
Taking myself back home and realising on the way that my diet was that of a slob, I purchased some fruit intending to eat it, but I chose instead to have creamed cheese on a bagel. “Sod it”. Perched at my breakfast bar I looked again at the state of the apartment and realised that almost everything in it was Viv’s. She’d taken only a few personal items and left lots of things behind. I hadn’t touched a thing of hers since she’d left and I understood that I was keeping the apartment a shrine to her. It was time to put things into boxes.
I meant to start with the scarf that the girl had draped over the lamp. When I noticed that the bulb had scorched a hole in the silk I felt distressed. I picked it up and sniffed it hard. “Oh Viv”. The smell of her enveloped me and I slumped into ‘the big chair’ as we had called it. It was no use. I couldn’t live without her. I didn’t look forward to the future without Viv. I’d intended for us to be married and for us to become old together and have kids. Hadn’t she realised that? Had I shared that with her? I realise not. I had been so busy living in the present that I forgot to explain to her how much the future frightened me. Viv couldn’t know that to me the future meant loss and facing up to the fact that anyone I loved would most certainly die. So what’s the point? I couldn’t dare to consider happiness beyond what I experienced in the hour, hence my lack of ambition and my inability to write. I’d lost my imagination because the colour had been taken away the day my mother died. My lights became dimmed. The shutters came down. Until Viv everything had been black and white and even her colour had been muted, vague even. I hadn’t let her into my big bubble of pain.
By that evening the apartment looked bare. The supermarket had given me some boxes. I’d needed to pack everything away because soon I would have to move. Where would I live? The only thing left out was the kettle, microwave and my lap- top. It was all I needed. I liked the bareness it matched my mood, which was now what? Empty! There wasn’t even a title to give to my emotions. Joe had said I could move in with him (he was married now with two children), until I found somewhere to go, but I didn’t want to. Alastair had a property in Scotland I could go to when the current tenant’s lease ran out but I didn’t want to do that either. I felt like a petulant baby. I wanted Viv. Where was she? What was she doing now? When would she be coming home?
“She’s not coming back son.”
I faltered unsure of myself.
“Please Mother …don’t always put things into words … stay quiet just now.”
I went over to the laptop and began typing. Rubbish really but at least my fingers were moving and I could kid myself I was being industrious. My writing style was cynical these days reflecting the bitter and twisted way I felt.
“Fight back.” Said mother.
“I can’t win.” Was my reply.
Night descended upon me and I was soon a full bottle of wine down. I’d directed myself not to drink while I had actually been pouring it down my neck. Interesting! I had no willpower. I’d pulled off the sheets and was lying on a bare mattress. Viv had done all the Laura Ashley stuff. I didn’t do the washing. I was a lazy bum! What did I do? I loved her. Always chased her. Never shouted at her. Cooked for her. Took her about. Thought up little surprises. Spent all my money on her. Gave her everything I had and more. Got into debt for her. We laughed together. Went to the pictures. Went on holiday all the time. I met up with her at lunchtimes and we went for walks. In my eyes it had all been good. Why did she want - a fake plastic guy? A ‘Radiohead’ disc! That would cheer me up – not! Still I went ahead and then started crying again. I tried Frank Sinatra and then a bit of Ella. By two a.m. I had planned my funeral. I fell asleep.
I was awoken by a strange sound. It took a few moments to understand what the sound was as I hadn’t heard it for so long. It was my landline. Everyone contacted me by mobile. I stumbled from the bed. Was it Alastair? When I answered there was no one at the other end. I looked around to find the clock, which stupidly I had packed away. I hadn’t my watch on and the curtains were closed. I sensed it was early morning but in London one rarely heard birds except in parks. I lived high-rise so I could see birds and I liked that. Hold on there was a sniffle sound. Oh no! That girl, she knew this number. I was about to put the phone down. As yet I hadn’t spoken because by nature I am suspicious of people who are not up front. My mother had always said to people on these occasions.
“You were calling me were you not?”
I was as stubborn as my mother.
“Ralph?”
It was Viv. She was crying.
“What is it”, I said, shoving the joy I felt at the sound of her voice aside along with finding it incredible that she had actually phoned me.
“Can you talk?”
“Of course I can.”
“Can I come over?”
“Yes.”
There was a voice in the background. A man was shouting and it sounded as though he was throwing things around. He was swearing and I heard my own name mentioned alongside the word ‘bastard’.
“He’s the bastard!” I shouted. My hackles were up and adrenalin was surging through my body. “Is he hurting you?”
“No. He’s just upset. He wants to come over too. May he?”
“What the hell is going on Viv? I don’t want him here. You come. Come alone.”
“I’d better let him come it’s only fair.” The phone went dead.
I didn’t know what to do. I began to tidy up rapidly. There wasn’t much to do. I found some old tea bags slopped in the sink, which I squeezed and winged into the bin. In a demented state I circled the kitchen island twice. I lunged forward to close the bedroom door, no need for tawdry displays and then positioned myself on my guitar stool, legs crossed, aiming to look nonchalant as though reading a magazine without a care in the world. It would be good if they could find me like this, in a supposed calm state.
“Will they be walking through a closed door son?”
She was right! I ran the tap and filled the kettle. I was making a fool of myself. There was nothing I could do to prepare myself for what might be coming, literally. I couldn’t imagine what was going on. Viv had sounded sad, frightened, flat and immune to everything. They were half an hour away from getting here. I had time to nip out to get some fresh coffee and a few provisions. I didn’t want to look impoverished in front of him at least. I regretted having packed most of her things away.
Back from the shops when I got out of the lift they were outside my door. Viv was staring at the closed panel as though willing the door to open with super hero powers and he was standing behind her staring at her back angrily. When they sensed my presence only he turned to look at me glaring. Without turning her head Viv spoke quietly.
“Could you let us in please?”
Standing beside her I turned the key my stomach retching. She wouldn’t look at me and I could smell her. Inside we assumed a comfortable triangular formation, which was good, no one was closer to anyone else, or further away. I broke formation to fill the kettle, Viv went to the window and he stood by the big chair.
“Tell him!” Said Dweebo.
“I’m pregnant” said Viv still looking out of the window. She hadn’t yet met my eyes.
“Oh God, you didn’t take much time!” I felt sick. I’d lost her forever.
“Tell him the next bit.” Prompted Dweebo.
I didn’t like his tone. He spoke in a commanding voice to Viv as though he was completely in charge, which perhaps he was. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I was too dense to fully gather the implications. There was only one thing I could say which killed me.
“Congratulations.”
“It isn’t mine.” Said Dweebo. “It’s yours!”
The room began to spin a little. There was a rushing sound in my ears. I remembered the time when Joe had crossed some slimy locks and slipped into the canal. We had both screamed and screamed with the shock and then Joe had realised that he was the most disadvantaged in the situation and he needed my help.
“Go get someone you stupid bastard, before I go under.”
The rest had been easy, once I had been able to make my feet move, I had managed to get a passer by to call the fire brigade and they’d arrived at the scene just after I had fished Joe out. The fire fighters were not amused to see us sitting on the gravel path wet through and smoking.
Right now my feet were stuck to the wooden floor as though glued to the spot. I felt like I was experiencing a similar life and death moment, as with Joe. My heart was thumping with fear because I couldn’t make out what all this meant. I laughed nervously at first and then with a little more confidence and then I indulged myself to take a momentary glance of ‘claiming kin’ into the eyes of a guy who had robbed me of everything, almost!
“How dare you!” Said Viv to Dweebo turning on him venomously. “How fucking dare you tell Ralph like that. What gives you the right to tell him at all?”
The man who had everything, who had taken everything from me started to plead with Viv. He begged her to go home with him. His voice was whiny. I suddenly understood that he had no power at all, just like me and just like Viv.
A silence fell between the three of us. We resumed our formation. Viv was now much closer to me. Still Viv had not looked at me as though she didn’t trust herself. Her lip was trembling and I knew she wanted to cry. I didn’t hold back. I went to her and put my arms around her. She let me.
“I’m glad.” Was what I whispered into her ear.
“What’s that?” Said Dweebo. “If you don’t mind backing off.”
I stepped away from Viv at that moment. Not because of ‘Commando Boy’ but to give Viv some space. It was the first time we had touched for two-months and it had been electric. I felt shaky as though I might faint. She too was trembling. Our moment had been brief and fiercely connective, yet I felt an island apart from her. I regretted that all this had had to be witnessed by him and that I’d had to learn about becoming a father, from him. The moment I heard it though, I knew it to be true.
“A father, well, well!” Said my mother.
I imagined her pleased expression and silently inside my head I blew her a kiss. I felt glad of my mother’s presence right now and I knew she was here to stand up for me. I felt strong as though I could fight.
The man who wasn’t to become a father right now was speaking again as though in authority.
“We’ve come to sort the whole thing out. I’ve told Viv that I am willing to bring the child up as my own.”
“My child?” I said. “You deem to talk to me making decisions about my child?” I was trembling with white-hot anger.
The tables were turned and suddenly he looked fearful. Although I didn’t yet know how Viv felt about any of this I could sense his energy and enthusiasm waning. It wasn’t an ideal situation for someone with a fat Filofax and a fat head. His surname was quite apt I thought to myself. Once again, the man with the most opinions began to pontificate again until I held up my hand to stem his flow.
“Would you be so kind as to let Viv speak for herself? In fact, why are you here?”
“It was me who insisted she came to tell you.”
“Well de-insist yourself.”
“Look.” Said Viv. “We did a DNA test. He’s upset.”
“And you?” I said, biting my bottom lip, which was quivering a little.
“I knew it already really. Straight away in fact when I realised I was pregnant.” There was a pause from her. Upset? “No.”
It was the best negative expression I had heard in my life and despite the circumstances I couldn’t stop myself from grinning broadly. The song “The Boys are Back in Town” sounded inside my head. If I could have I would have danced a jig. Still though I didn’t know what any of this meant.
“Stay with him then.” Said the sad guy.
I felt for him, a little. The pain in his eyes was immeasurable. I had never been a gloater and my happiness was pure joy about the baby and not connected to feelings of victory.
“She never stopped talking about you anyway!” He said.
And suddenly he was gone, and there was just the two of us. We cut a sorry picture. She the dejected and abandoned tinder box girl, and me the lonely sailor home from sea. I remembered suddenly what my surname meant and I smiled.
“What are you smiling at?” Ventured Viv curiously.
“Oh, many things. Thinking of sea faring names, ‘Jack’ perhaps.”
“Like hell.” Said Viv smiling too. “Where are all my things?”
“In the cupboard.”
“You kept it tidy and didn’t want all the girls to see evidence of me then?”
“You left the evidence for them to see.”
“How many were there?”
“Less than two and the same amount as you.”
“Ah well”. Said Viv. “Could you make me a cup of tea without milk please?”
I jumped to be of service feeling suddenly so alive. I loved doing things for her and I loved Viv massively. Honest to God, if the baby had been Guido’s it wouldn’t have mattered. We sat side by side on the settee and didn’t talk for a while. Viv sipped her tea and slipped off her shoes.
“God my feet are killing, look how bloated they are.”
I slipped onto the floor and lifted her foot to give her a massage. Viv groaned lightly with unconcealed pleasure. I laughed then and Viv laughed too as though the whole sorry mess that we had both just been through had been absolutely ludicrous.
“You soft lad!” Said my mother.
I made my way to the kitchen to make Viv a drink and I spotted her best silk scarf the one with a hole scorched into it, which I hadn’t been able to pack away. I picked it up deftly and pressed it into the kitchen bin pushing it underneath the tea bags.
End
Did you enjoy reading this story? You can read more.
‘Letting Him Stay’
The angst of a woman who learns about the precarious state of her marriage.
‘The Girl with No Name’
Is all fair in love and war?
‘Caught on the Hop’
What can a woman do but fight back when the concept of her marriage is blown wide apart?
Wistful Thinking
A marriage is at threat and a couple tread very carefully.
Writers like to know what their reader is thinking! By now you will know that I am very interested and intrigued about the twists and turns of life. Contact me at Twitter or directly review my work at the site you have chosen to download from. Alternatively via my email address at: suzanne.readsmith@virginmedia.com