This was surely Phil’s lucky day. Titanic Tuesday. Four brand new cars all on finance, a text message from Sue to say that she wouldn’t be bothering him again but she would always treasure their special times, and Des was asking pertinent questions about the Classic Car business and would call round to the house later for five minutes. Yeah, well, Phil would only give him five minutes before chucking him out. He wasn’t going to have his plans for him and Lou that night upset for anything. Fat Jack rang to say someone wanted them to find a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost–and tonight, he had goodness-knows-what to look forward to. Christmas had come fast and early–as would he, if he and his wife had a marathon make-up-sex session.
He had some
P.M. Autos
champers already on chill to take home with him, and rang up to order a huge bouquet from
Donny Badger’s Floristry
, which he sent Bradley out to collect. The flowers were gorgeous, if pricy, but if he kept the receipt he could write them off against his tax, couldn’t he? He’d casually ask Lou about that the next time she was doing his accounts.
‘Honey, I’m home!’ he boomed comically as he came through the door brandishing the bottle and assorted blooms, but there was no answer. The lights were on but no one appeared to be in. He called her name but there was no answer.
Where was she?
He went into the kitchen to plug in his mobile phone, and there he found the letter propped up against the charger. He opened it and read the words on the lined paper.
Phil, I’ve left you. I think you know why. Lou.
He looked around, expecting her to spring out from somewhere and yell, ‘Surprise!’ It didn’t cross his mind that it could be true. Still full of disbelief, he went into their bedroom and paused for a moment before he opened their wardrobe doors. There followed a slight shift in his thinking when he discovered that her clothes were gone, and that her jewellery box and her make-up bag were no longer on the dressing-table, but that appeared to be all that was missing. He nodded and smiled. When wives left, they took half the house and the roof with them.
Touché
.
‘I get it!’ he said, grinning.
Lou wouldn’t–
couldn’t
leave this house and all these things she’d so carefully chosen over the years–and there was
no way
she would leave her new bathroom. Not after the battle she’d had to get it done. She was playing her own little game, showing him she had grown up a bit from last time and wasn’t going to lie down without putting up a fight.
He checked his own wardrobe tentatively, though, just in case. His shirts weren’t ripped up; his trousers didn’t have the crotch cut out of them. No–if she really had left him, there would be more drama to it than this.
Phil defrosted one of Lou’s superb chillis in the microwave and read the letter again. He’d had far too good a day for any silliness to spoil it, he thought, rubbing his hands together. My, there was going to be some red hot loving tonight when she turned up!
Lou carried the last of the boxes up into May’s old flat. At least it wasn’t as jarring on the eyes now that Tom and Deb had attacked it with the emulsion brush. She clicked on the electric fire, hoping the small room would heat up quickly as she felt chilled, both inside and out.
She set down the old cracket she had retrieved from the skip–it hadn’t taken much sanding and waxing to give it a new lease of life–and rested her radio alarm clock on it. Pulling the curtain shut at the side of the bed, she plugged in the bedside light which she had just bought from Argos, along with a cheap double quilt and a pair of pillows. Switching on the radio for the comfort of some background noise, she unpacked some sheets and made up the bed, trying not to think about who might have slept there before her–although, was it in fact, possible
to
sleep on all those lumps? It could only be good for the back, she thought positively, and she was feeling remarkably positive in the circumstances.
She was just about to put the kettle on when someone pounded on the flat door. That was worrying, as no one could actually get to the door unless they came up through the café–and the café was all locked up.
‘Who is it?’ she asked, grabbing the breadknife from her box of basic supplies.
‘Lou, is that you?’ said Tom’s voice.
She unlocked the door and he came in, followed by his faithful hound.
‘I saw the light on and thought someone had broken in,’ he said, looking around. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m, er, moving in,’ she said with an embarrassed little smile.
‘Moving in here?’
‘I’ve left my husband,’ Lou explained. Said out loud, the words made everything seem suddenly very real, very scary. She felt a bit wobbly and reached for the diversion of the kettle.
‘Tea?’ she said.
‘Yes, I will, please,’ said Tom slowly. ‘So, hang on, you’ve left home and you’re moving in here?’
‘Yes,’ said Lou, with her face turned away from him.
‘Why here?’
‘I’ve nowhere else to go,’ said Lou with a shrug.
‘Deb’s, surely?’
‘Deb’s only got a tiny little place and I need to think. This place will be fine for now.’
‘But Lou, it’s cold and grotty. It’s a storeroom, for Christ’s sake.’
‘It’ll do. Honestly, I’ll be fine.’
‘There isn’t even a wardrobe or a sofa.’
‘There’s a chair and a bed. It’ll do until I get myself sorted out.’
Tom scratched his head in thought and then, having decided what to do, he grabbed one of her suitcases.
‘Right, you’re coming home with me. There’s loads of room at the house.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Oh yes, you are. Now move it.’
‘No, Tom,’ said Lou decisively. ‘It’s really sweet of you, but no, I’m staying here. I want to be on my own.’
Satisfied that she wasn’t playing at being serious, he put down the case and dropped heavily onto the chair, which creaked in shock. Lou passed a cup of tea to him. He took up half the room when he stood to take it from her. He was all work-dirty, he needed a shave, his hair was full of dust, he was gorgeous. Then her head went into reverse thrust and suddenly she wanted to go home to the familiarity of Phil and all her nice things and her big warm house. It was all very well when Miss Casserly leaped from stages at college hoping someone would catch her–which they always did–but the leaps got riskier as you got older. She felt as if she had jumped off the edge of the world this time, and realized halfway down how stupid she had been not to attach a bungee rope that could have taken her right back to where she started. In saying that, if it pinged back now, it would probably send her eyeballs into orbit.
‘What are you having for tea?’ Tom’s eyes rested on a bag of crisps on the top of a box. ‘I hope that’s not it.’
She smiled a little at his concern. ‘I’m not very hungry, Tom.’
‘The workmen have started, you know. They’ll be here at seven. They’re ripping out stuff, you won’t sleep past then.’
‘I’ll be OK. My eyes usually snap open at half-past six anyway.’ She tried to joke but her throat went all croaky. Not that she imagined she was going to sleep much anyway.
‘Lou, please, let me help you.’ Tom’s hand came out and at the moment of its contact with her arm, Lou
stood up to top up her cup with hot water.
Please don’t touch me,
she thought. She wasn’t sure what that would release in her.
‘I need to think, Tom, please. I’m all right, really. I just need to be alone.’
He took the hint, drained his cup and reluctantly stood. His head was less than six inches below the ceiling.
‘OK, but I’m leaving Clooney. I won’t take no for an answer on that one. He knows where to do what in the morning, when you let him out. I’ll just whip him out now for you. He’s been fed tonight and I’ll feed him myself in the morning when I get into the office.’
Lou drew some warmth from the cup in her hands. The room was heating up from the bars on the electric fire, but she still felt cold, right down to the bone.
‘Very well.’ She allowed herself to be defeated on that point.
Tom returned ten minutes later with Clooney, a box of dog biscuits, a water bowl and the bean-bag bed that Tom kept for him in the ironmongery.
‘Can’t I change your mind?’
‘No, you can’t, Tom,’ said Lou. ‘And please don’t tell Deb, not tonight. I’ll ring her myself tomorrow. Please, promise me. I need space and she’d be round here like a flash.’
‘You shouldn’t be alone,’ he said.
‘I’m not alone.’ She stroked Clooney’s head fondly. ‘You’re leaving me this big bad burglar detergent.’
Detergent?
He felt himself smiling inside at her Louism, despite his concern. He wanted to pick her up and put her in his pocket.
‘I do know what’s best for me tonight. Really,’ she said, in a voice that closed the subject.
She looked so little, so cold, so vulnerable, but he didn’t try to touch her in any way. Her body was missiling out vibes that he was not to do so. He walked out as if in slow motion, giving her ample opportunity to change her mind. But she didn’t.
Clooney and Lou slept soundly, and yes, she had to admit, having him there was a big comfort. It was scarily quiet in the flat and the absence of streetlights made it very dark outside, but the big dog’s snuffles in the night, his little yelps and twitches as he chased something fast, and probably rabbity, in his dreams took the edge off any fears. Plus it helped having a living presence in the room, especially one that she didn’t have to put on a brave face for, who didn’t fuss around her when she sat up in the middle of the night to stare out of the window at the stars and to whom she didn’t need to explain why she was taking a bath at such an unearthly hour in the morning before climbing half-damp back into the lumpy, bumpy bed.
She couldn’t sleep past six o’clock so she got up, had a coffee and dressed. Clooney got up with her and she took him outside where he went around to his usual spot of grass to do as nature intended. Lou gave him a few dog biscuits to tide over his tummy until Tom arrived. The builders were there at seven prompt, singing loudly to their radio, every rip and bang bringing her one step
closer to their grand opening, but that thought gave Lou no thrill. She felt so numb she wondered if she were emotionally capable of feeling anything again.
Half an hour later, just as Lou had delivered four cups of tea to the builders, female shoes clattered up the stairs and there were no prizes for guessing whose they were.
‘How crap a friend do you think it makes me feel, that you can’t ask me for a bed for the night,’ said Deb crossly.
Oh, that old chestnut, the guilt tactic, thought Lou with a wry smile.
‘Coffee?’
‘Damn right I want a coffee,’ said Deb. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving Phil so quickly?’
‘Because I just wanted to do it, not talk about it, Deb. Don’t you see?’
Deb mumbled something whilst she was pouring milk into her cup.
‘When did Tom phone you?’ said Lou.
‘Seven this morning.’
Lou shook her head with exasperation. At least he fulfilled his promise.
‘You can’t blame him–he’s worried about you,’ said Deb in his defence.
‘Well, he shouldn’t be. Why, what did he say?’
‘He said “I’m worried about Lou”.’
‘Oh.’
‘The bloke’s in love with you–of course he’s worried about you, you daft cow.’
Lou spilled her coffee all over herself and yelped.
‘God, are you OK?’ said Deb.
‘No, I’m not!’ said Lou, hopping about in pain. ‘What did you say that for?’
Deb threw a tea-towel at Lou and went to make her friend another coffee.
‘I’m not blind or thick,’ she grumbled. ‘You two might be, but I’m not.’
‘Yeah, right. He’s all over you like sliced bread, not me.’
‘The expression is, “to be all over someone like a rash”,’ corrected Deb. ‘Except he’s not. He only wants to be my friend–and that certainly is not his primary intention in your case. Lou, the guy’s eyes light up like a kid that’s been told he’s going to be locked in a Toys R Us overnight whenever he sees you.’
‘Naw,’ said Lou dismissively. And then: ‘Do they? His eyes? Light up?’
‘Yes,’ said Deb. ‘And vice versa, don’t deny it. This is me you’re talking to. I noticed how bloody relieved you were when you found out Tom and I weren’t an item.’
‘No, that’s rubbish,’ said Lou, convincing neither of them. ‘He wouldn’t anyway…’
‘He wouldn’t what? Fancy someone like you?’ said Deb with a laugh. ‘Well, here’s news for you, Lou Winter: he does and that is because you are gorgeous and you’re sweet and you’re funny and you’ve got great knockers and beautiful eyes, and any bloke who got you should get on his knees and worship you like the sodding goddess you are, every night of his lucky life.’
Lou stared at her open-mouthed.
‘Don’t you dare cry, Lou Winter!’ cried Deb fiercely.
‘Then stop saying nice things,’ said Lou, as her eyes started to fill up.
‘I can’t lie and tell you that I’m not over the moon about seeing you and that baldy knobhead split up, Lou,
but I don’t want to see you hurting and I don’t want you to go through any of this on your own. I’m your friend. Use me, please. Come and stay with me in my bijou pad,’ Deb pleaded, taking her hands.
Lou said, quietly but firmly, ‘Please, Deb, I need to be on my own. I know what I’m doing. I want to be by myself. I have to get my head straight about things.’ And when Deb gave her the same sort of look Tom had given her umpteen times the previous night, she added, ‘Go on, go to work. I have to see my mother.’
Deb enfolded her in a comforting, sisterly hug.
‘Don’t let her talk you into anything that isn’t right for you. Don’t let any of us try to influence you.’ Deb knew that, last time, she had been guilty of that one more than she cared to admit.
‘I won’t,’ said Lou. Not this time.
By nine o’clock, Lou was on the telephone working her way through the listings for solicitors. She wanted an appointment that day. Number five on the list said that if she could get there for ten, there was a window with Beverley Brookes. Lou said she could and she did. First, she dropped Clooney off at the ironmonger’s with Eddie. Tom, apparently, was on his way in. She didn’t wait to see him; in fact, she positively avoided it. She didn’t want the sight of him fuzzing up her thoughts.
At the solicitors, she cited ‘unreasonable behaviour’ as just cause. It seemed easier to prove than adultery and she had plenty of rock-solid back-up proof for that one. As she gave Beverley Brookes some cold examples of Phil’s treatment of her over the past few years, she wondered how she had managed to stay sane through it all. When
said aloud to a complete stranger, it sounded terrible, but when Beverley Brookes read it back to her, it was worse. How had she put up with so much for so long? When did hurt and betrayal–that Lou Casserly wouldn’t have put up with in a million years–become the norm for Lou Winter?
Phil would get the divorce papers within twenty-one days, Beverley Brookes said as she shook Lou’s hand on the way out.
Lou came out into a typical British summer’s dull and drizzly day with the sudden realization that she had started divorce proceedings. It chilled her more than the weather did. And talking of chill, now it was time to tell her mother.
Phil had slept soundly although it was odd sleeping in that big bed without Lou. Her scent was still on the sheets, which made him feel rather horny. His arm hooked over the space where her body should have been. He knew she hadn’t left permanently. Late last night, just in case, he had gone online and checked their joint bank account: it hadn’t been touched. But just in case, he had transferred the funds over to his personal account. He wondered what she would have on the table for his tea tonight when she came out of her woman-sulk.