Pearced (57 page)

D piaffe 12 steps. Dressage like a grown-up.

Then after I’ve seen to my animals, I’ll open a fresh bottle of Jack, drink half and cry myself to sleep, and that’s exactly what I do, you know, like grown-ups do.

I awake from a fitful half-sleep to my phone buzzing.

PF: “Have you seen Danny?” Hello friend, I’m trying not to think about it, does everyone call him 'Danny' now?

TC: “Still no” it hurts.

PF: “He’s at a party tonight, I can see him” what?

TC: “What party?” Not funny Pete, now I’m cross.

PF: “Does it matter? I’m here too and he’s with a girl” he’s what!

TC: “Not funny Pete, not funny at all” tears are welling, as I know she wouldn’t joke about a thing like that.

PF: “Sending you a picture honey” do I really want to see this? I decide I do.

A photo is coming through, its Daniel in a tux looking incredible, with a very attractive young woman wearing a backless dress, he has his arm around her posing for a photographer. I feel sick, and tears flow down my cheeks, what has he done to me.

I take a large gulp of tears,

TC: “It’s over then” typing becomes difficult.

PF: “Sorry honey, shall I kick his arse!” That’s the spirit, I laugh.

TC: “Has he seen you?” A plan is blossoming.

PF: “What does that matter?” You’ll get the idea in a minute.

TC: “He won’t be able to lie if he knows he’s been seen” there you go.

PF: “I’ll go and give him a kiss hello” hope they get a photo of that too.

TC: “Thank you” it’s what friends are for.

I pull myself together and my plan develops.

TC: “Meet me for a drink?” Hopeful.

PF: “Usual place, one hour” great.

Next part of the plan. (And before you ask, it's not hair related Mum).

I open the door with the swipe key card Daniel gave me I pause first making certain I want this, I decide I do.  I hear a mechanical ‘click’ each side of the large smooth featureless door. Worried by his reaction to me turning up, would he even be at home?   I tiptoe inside, listening more than looking, silence and chilled air too? I am floating on my nerves, like I’m drunk but aware of everything around me, plus I am a little drunk.

My phone demands a response.

PF: “Did Barbara call you yet?” What? Why would she?

TC: “No, why would she?” I already know don’t I?

PF: “She wasn’t happy when I kissed Daniel, her words were, ‘isn’t one of my sons enough’?” Bloody cheek.

TC: “And…?” Don’t leave me asking.

PF: “Barbara and that woman are friends” what!?

His Mum was there?  Hardly an affair then surely?

TC: “Home safe honey, love to James, then...I need a new plan” one's already starting to brew.  That brings me to another plan, tea, now let’s get that kettle on, whilst I send a text.

TC: “Barbara, who is she?” Apart from a friend of the family.

BP: “His old flame, reacquainted” how did she manage to deliver a few words so smugly.

TC: “Does he still love her?” Why did I ask that?

BP: “They have lots in common Tharie, I’m sorry” liar!

TC: “But does he love her?” I daren't ask, but I can't help myself. 'Click', the kettles boiled thankfully.

BP: “Didn’t I see a photo of you with another man Tharie? Keep your own side of the street clean before you criticise my Son” they're a suspicious lot those Pearce's, oh dear.

TC: “What picture?” I really don't know, then something begins to bloom in my memory. Henry.

BP: “Like heavy rock music don't you? Well that's not Daniels scene” leave him alone.

TC: “Henry is my Brother” my tears are of frustration, and they roll freely down my cheeks, I’m spent.

BP: “Leave it Tharie, he's forgotten all about you already, and is now with Jess” I can't speak, I just swipe my screen until its black.

“Henry.” I whisper to myself.

Empty, his huge house is cavernous, lights pop alive as I wander through without the use of any switches, it’s a hygienic thing I suppose. It’s bigger than I remember and lighter too, embarrassed by being here I reverently walk straight to the living room, disturbing nothing, touching nothing, since it feels like we are no longer together these are things I have no right to be leaving my fingerprints on. It smells familiar, and welcome I’m so disappointed that he’s not here my insides drop sharply at the feeling.  I am so very tired, I curl up in the corner of the sofa, kick off my boots and pass slowly into unconsciousness. My cup of tea barely touched and getting cold on a coaster on the table top.

My phone never leaves my hand, I have been sleeping with it just in case.

I am dreaming again, soft kisses and tight curls of cats sleeping, a heavy drum beat and the taste of cheap red wine.  I have little idea how much time has passed before I am woken, I’m a light sleeper. You have to be when you keep two gorgeous horses in your front garden.  Have to keep them safe.

There's a sudden drop in temperature, a door to the outside has been opened, accompanied by a shuffling sound. I lift my head, still sleepy but on high alert, I always assume the worst just in case, then you can never be disappointed or disagreeably surprised can you?  I pat the hoof-pick in my jeans pocket, yep! I'll be safe.

Daniel walks in, I am hit square in the stomach by how much I’ve missed him, my tired body beginning to come awake my senses alive.  The man is just so bloody handsome, I can't help but stare.

His jacket thrown over his shoulder, hanging by a finger, tie loosened at the neck top button undone, his free hand in the pocket of his skinny trousers, 2 days stubble at least.  His mask is on, his gooseberry grey eyes cool, pale and sensuous.  Too cool.  Seeing me lying there, messing up the clean lines of his living space, he puts down the jacket over the back of a chair and turning on his heel heads to the kitchen, cold, not cool. “Tea?” He shoots at me not turning back.

“Please.” I feebly reply.

I’m in trouble for letting myself in, he doesn’t want me here. 
I straighten myself out, my plan to swiftly release us from each other so no more harm is done breezes past me unnoticed, and dissolves with my resolve.  Reignited feelings are confusing me, because Daniel is behaving so cold, but I love him don't I? Don't I?

He is pacing up his kitchen when I get there, phone to his ear, listening not talking.  Is it Barbara? When he turns, he sees me and stares into me, eyes aflame and angry, a dam is about to break I think.  I keep my distance, passive and quiet, I slide up onto a barstool and rest my elbows on the counter top, shiny wet-look clean and white, then instantly remove them to avoid marking it’s perfect surface, I pull my jumper over my hand and polish the surface  nervously just in case. Cups are out, handles pointing the same way, teabags in, no pot, it must be bad.

A working trot along the long side.

He growls a command into the phone, “just get it done and call me once it’s finished.” He leans both hands on the counter top bending at the waist, his tie swinging like a pendulum, I focus on that, back and forth, my eyelids are growing heavy, stop it.  An intake of breath, then he speaks, “Tharie,” he lets it all out in one lengthy hiss of air, “you're…hard work baby.” His head turns to glare at me.

Not sure what exactly I’m in trouble for now, I look at my hands wringing in my lap. “Kettles boiled.” I answer as a puff of steam escapes the spout and it ‘clicks’ off.

Shaking his head and muttering to himself, “what's wrong with this?” Under his breath, but not quite quiet enough.  The mechanics of tea making help calm us both.  “You go to a bar, get pissed out of your head...”

“With Pete” I remind him, “not by myself.” Stop being so defensive, he has no right to tell you what to do, you don’t belong to him, I suddenly wish I could believe that.  “And when did you take responsibility for me Daniel, you’ve been with Jess.”  There, said it now, he looks madder, his face boiling in a rage, true bloody story though, I heard it from your Mum.

He collects himself, regains composure, “who told you that?” He shoots me a glare, but his words are quiet almost melancholy.

“Your Mother told me,” he closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, gripping the counter top harder, his knuckles white. Yes, that's right traitors in your midst. “Barbara told me, she’s more your type!” I tell him, but look at my lap.

Exasperated he answers, “
Is this what it’s all about? Jess?” He thumps a fist onto the surface, the cups clink together, “she’s...” he’s searching for the correct word, “old news,” and fails.

I can't let that go, I’m stubborn like my Grandma, “then why spend all your free time with her?” I jab my finger at him, instantly sorry for being rude and return it to my lap where it continues ringing with my other fingers. “When you could be with me” I whisper so quietly to my lap, he doesn’t hear me. It sounds so churlish and I instantly feel stupid.  A gasp from Daniel, he leans his body forward, tight sculpted under his slim shirt, I have missed touching him.

He licks his lips, his mouth is dry, “baby, she’s a friend of Mum’s, she gets invited to these affairs, she…. was just there.” Don't be baited Tharie, leave it.

“For you to hold on to?” I snap, my voice shaking, “
The photos, I saw them.”

“Tharie.” A harsh sounding warning shot across my bow? To use my name against me, it's not fair.  “And you're clean as snow are you?” He means Henry, and the photo in the glossy.

“Daniel” I look unflinchingly into his face, “Henry, is my brother.” I leave the words hanging.

Daniel shuts his eyes, and looks like he's about to speak but is choosing his words with care for their delicacy. But I don't want to hear it, not sure why, he has put me through this for what? 
“I think we’re over,” I whisper to myself, but hoping loudly enough to be heard, I place my key card gently on the kitchen worktop as I leave, that'll do it.   I don’t even drink my tea, it wouldn’t taste of anything anyway right? What a waste.  And this time, I don't mean the tea.

Stan stares ahead concentrating on his driving. “Apologies miss Charles, are you OK?” He asks concerned.  “Daniel has been frantic the last few days I’ve never seen him like it.” Is he trying to help? He indicates and makes a right turn.  “He is a good man Tharie,” his eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I suddenly understand.  All this behaviour, it’s my fault. I’ve driven him crazy with my jealousy. Tears come fast and I am once again in pain.

TC: “Daniel, please let’s forget all this silly jealousy.” mine, not yours.

DP: “…?”

Subtle.

Need tea. True bloody story, but you were expecting that by now eh? Otherwise, in all likelihood, you’re not paying attention.

Chapter forty-one, Saturday
:
9thnovember2013 lost

The leaves are turning the countryside aflame with colour. The earth freshly turned by plough a rich gorgeous shiny chocolatey brown, delicious colours. Does everything have to have a food reference? Well it’s me.

My phone in my hand, still no contact.  What am I expecting?

The biting wind swirls around our legs, catching my hair up into a hurricane of strands, flicking and snapping around my head. It clears my head in more than one way, inside and out. Cold, the sky is a pale grey almost white, free of white clusters of vapour and clean.  I like the feeling of cold. I like the feeling of clean.  The leaves have darkened and the wonderful sweet decay of fallen foliage catches in my lungs, comfortable and familiar.

I love England, there's nowhere else on the planet I’d rather be, and Essex is in my heart and my blood. I might travel and marvel, I have seen some sights I can tell you, but won’t.   And trust me, nothing beats coming home. The clean taste if the country air and chilled lungs, I am in heaven, the sounds of the horses chomping, the finches on the feeder, the branches whipping in the sharp wind, beauteous.

The horses are furry, they don't care about cold weather so long as there’s room to charge about with carefree abandon ridden or not, plenty of freshly opened hay and mud to roll in.  Their manes and tails are shaggy from lack of grooming with neat little beads of dried mud hanging like corn rose decoration. Their breathing is hot dissipating vapour in the air as they snort a hello. I reach for them smelling their mud covered bodies and delight in them sniffing me.  I have missed them terribly, it hurts.  These horses are my pill. I offer a handful of treats, they grab and go, throwing up hooves full of earth in their speedy escape. They are just playing and showing off, and it all leads to feeling fit and healthy, which is how we all want to feel isn’t it?

George and Harry are my real life, they're the one steady constant that keeps me from heading down a self-destructive path of anxiety and neurosis. They are medicine, and no pill can beat flinging my arms around their strong beautiful necks and giving them a big hug. That they allow this makes me feel they know what it means to me, because horses don't really like being cuddled! No, they don't like it at all.