Swimming Upstream (26 page)

I heard the front door slam and realised he was
gone.

I opened my eyes and let the room come back into
focus. I lay where I was for several minutes. My head felt sore, but the
coolness of the wall felt good against my cheek.

“Lizzie? Who was that?” said Zara, poking her head
sleepily round the bedroom door. “I thought everyone had gone?” I sensed her
stop in her tracks when she saw me lying at a funny angle on the bed, my cheek
still pressed up against the wall.

“Do me a favour Zara,” I asked, shakily. “Get me a
drink?”

Zara nodded. “Sure.” She disappeared, unquestioningly,
and came back a moment later with a glass of water, which she placed carefully
on my bedside table.

“Are you all right, Lizzie?” she said, softly, and
knelt down beside me. I shook my head, bit my lip, and tried very hard not to
cry.

“I’ll be okay, sweetie,” I said. “Just give me a
minute, would you?”

“Okay.” Zara bent down, picked up the doll, and
put her on the bed next to me. Then she left the room. I could hear her moving
around. Eventually I got up, picked up my clothes from the floor, showered and
dressed shakily and wandered into the lounge.

Zara was sitting on the sofa, looking at a
magazine. She had emptied the ashtrays and cleaned and washed up all the
dishes, and all traces of the party had been more or less wiped away. All that
remained in the kitchen were a couple of French sticks, a pile of napkins, and
most of the plastic glasses, still stacked upside down on top of the washing
machine.

Zara followed me into the kitchen and paused in
the doorway. “Whatever’s happened,” she said. “You can be upset. I’m okay.”

I turned and forced a smile. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll
be all right.”

“I’m not going to crack up,” she persisted.

“Ditto,” I smiled again. “I promised, right?”

“I know,” she said. “I
know
. And it’s okay
to be upset.”

I put my hands palms down on the worktop and
breathed steadily for a moment. Zara was still standing silently in the
doorway. I walked over, picked up the napkins and opened a drawer, then paused,
changed my mind and dropped them into the bin instead. Something strange was
happening inside me; my legs felt weak and my skin was prickling, and I had
butterflies in my chest. I opened the window to let in some air, and before I
really knew what I'd done, I'd picked up the remaining two French sticks and
hurled them out in the direction Martin had just gone. And then I stood in the
middle of the kitchen and screamed.

It wasn't a high-pitched piercing frightened-type
scream, but a deep angry, throaty roar. I picked up a stack of plastic glasses
from the washing machine and hurled one across the kitchen at the window. The
plastic glass shattered on impact and splinters flew off in all directions. I
threw another, and it hit the wall and bounced off the cupboards and smashed
against the floor. I threw another, and another. Something inside me took over
and soon the whole pile had gone and there were splinters of plastic glass all
over the worktops and the floor and in the sink. One by one, I worked my way
through stack after stack of glasses until there were no more left. The kitchen
was a sea of broken plastic. I sank to my knees on the floor in the midst of it
all and put my head in my hands and cried.

Time seemed to stand still, then; I seemed to be
locked on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor with a vague impression of
Zara hovering uncertainly in the doorway. After a while, she took my arm and
lifted me up out of the pile of broken plastic and took me into the lounge. I
was still crying; I couldn't stop - I just went on and on, weeping gently one
minute, and then sobbing violently the next. All the while, Zara sat next to
me, holding my hand.

“It was Martin,” I said eventually, my voice
hoarse. “I slept with him. Or so he says. I don’t remember a thing.”

“Martin?
Catherine
’s Martin? I didn’t even
know he was here. Was that him who just left?”

I nodded.

Zara looked angry, and I was scared for a split
second that her anger was directed at me. She put her hand on my arm and I
breathed out. “Did he hurt you?”

“A bit,” I admitted. “Not much. He just frightened
me mostly. He made me promise not to tell.”

“
What
?”

“He said I led him on. Maybe I did, somehow. I
don’t know. But I let it happen. With
him
. What does that make me?”

“You didn’t,” said Zara.

“Didn’t what?”

“Lead him on. Let it happen.”

“That’s what he says. He says I’ve been coming on
to him for months.”

“You haven’t! I’ve never seen you. He’s bound to
say that. He’s just trying to justify what he’s done. Please don’t blame
yourself.”

“How can I not blame myself? I’ve slept with my
best friend’s boyfriend!”

“Oh Lizzie, I think it was the punch. Giles kept topping
up your glass and giving it to you. I saw him do it. But I don’t think anyone
realised it was that strong.”

“But I didn’t have to drink it. I didn’t have to
let him near me.” My words began to tumble out so fast that I barely stopped
for breath. “This has all happened because of me. Because I’m lonely. Because I’m
empty. Because I miss Larsen so fucking much that I sometimes can’t bear it,
can’t bear to be alone for one more second. But no-one compares, Zara. No-one
compares. And I’m terrified! I’m absolutely terrified. Because I don’t know if
they ever will!”

Zara nodded and continued to hold my hand.

“I know,” she said. “I know. And I think you’re
really brave.”

“Brave? Or stupid?”

“Brave. If it was me…well, I know I would have
taken the easy option. I would never have let him go.”

I looked down at my knees and sighed. “Look where
it’s got me.”

“It’s got you your independence. You’re your own
person,” said Zara. “You’re so capable and strong. You don’t need a man to feel
whole. Not like me. I really admire you for that.”

“I need love too,” I said. “That’s why this
happened.”

“No it’s not. You were out of it and he took
advantage of you. That’s what happened. I admire your self-honesty, Lizzie, I
really do, but you take too much responsibility for things that are not your
fault and people like him, they can see it. They know that’s your weakness, and
they take advantage of that.”

“You think?”

“I
know
,” said Zara. “I know. And the
reason I know is because I’m the same. When someone falls out with Shelley she
turns round and she tells herself “What’s their fucking problem?” But me, I
always think it’s me.”

“I know. Me too. It’s
shit
,” I said.

“Shit,” repeated Zara.

We sat that way for a long time, me curled up in a
corner of the sofa and Zara just holding my hand. Eventually, she stirred
beside me.

“Don’t go!” I said.

“I won’t,” she said. “I promise. I’ll be back in a
minute. Tea,” she added. “We need tea, at a time like this.”

I lay back on the sofa, exhausted. Behind the
humming in my ears I could vaguely hear the sounds in the background of Zara
filling the kettle and clearing up in the kitchen, sweeping up the broken
plastic and dropping it into the bin. I was aware of her coming back in with my
duvet and putting it over me. After that I must have fallen asleep.

When I woke it was late afternoon. Zara was
sitting on the arm of the chair hugging her knees and staring out of the
window. The weather had turned bad and streaks of rain were making runny broken
lines down the window pane. Raindrops pattered gently against the sill.

“Hi. How're you feeling?” Zara said, seeing my
eyes open. I thought about it for a moment.

“Better,” I said.

The phone started ringing.

“It’s okay,” said Zara. “I’ll get it.” And then, “It’s
Catherine,” she said.

My heart stopped in my chest and a wave of guilt
washed over me. Catherine. What on earth was I going to say to her?

Zara passed me the phone.

“Hi Catherine,” I said, as brightly as I could
muster.

“Hi,” she said. “It’s all okay, everything is
fine. Dad’s on the mend. He can talk, and move, and he’s already giving my mum
a hard time.” She laughed. “I’m going to stay another day or two, though. It’s
been quite nice spending time with my mum again.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m so glad, so pleased
that everything’s all right.”

“You okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” I looked up at the ceiling
and screwed my eyes up tight. All I wanted was to see her, to fling my arms
around her and tell her that she meant the world to me and that I would never
in a million years have deliberately done anything to hurt her. And yet, I knew
that this would kill her. There would always be a wedge between us, whatever way
you looked at it. Even if she understood. Even if I ignored Martin, and told
her. She would be so hurt. And then it would always be there, simmering away between
us.

“Come on Lizzie. It’s me you’re talking to. What’s
wrong?”

I took another deep breath. “Oh, nothing. Just
drank a bit too much of your punch last night.”

“You had the party!” Catherine sounded pleased.

“Sort of.”

“Did all the food get eaten? Did Martin come? I
still haven’t been able to get hold of him.”

I paused. “No,” I said.

“Oh. Right. That’s strange.”

I tried to think of something to say, but was lost
for words.

“Oh well, I’ll try him again later,” said
Catherine. “I hope you feel better, honey. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

I put the receiver down and put my head in my
hands.

“What sort of a friend am I?” I asked Zara,
through my fingers. “I sleep with her boyfriend and lie to her.”

“I told you. It wasn’t your fault. Any of this.”

I looked at her and shook my head. “I doubt
Catherine would see it that way.”

“She would if she was a real friend. Maybe you
should just tell her.”

I shook my head again. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because he told me not to. And if I do, he’ll
twist it so that it
was
my fault, and she’ll believe him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, I know that.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” I said. “She loves him.”

Zara shrugged. “The truth will out,” she said. “It
always does.”

“Only in the movies,” I told her.

Zara was silent.

“Look,” she said, eventually. “I was thinking
about going over to see Uncle Silbert.”

“When?”

“Now. Do you want to come?”

I realised that it was very much what I wanted. I
nodded and got up off the sofa and went into the bedroom and sat down in front
of the mirror. I stared at my reflection; my eyes were swollen and red. There
was a slight lump at the back of my head where I had fallen against the wall. I
ran my finger over it. It was tender to the touch and I bit my lip to stop
myself from crying again.

Then I remembered Uncle Silbert’s words to me:
know your own truths. And I realised with sudden clarity that what Zara had
said was the truth,
my
truth. The way I was feeling right now, this was
evidence that it
did
happen the way that Zara said. I hadn’t invited
this. I hadn’t invited any of it. Any decent bloke, like Larsen, or Tim, would
never have done what Martin had done and then tried to pass the blame onto me. I
realised that the only way in which I had let myself down was by not trusting
myself, by being so hard on myself.

Zara came into the bedroom behind me and sat down
on the bed.

“You know,” I said, looking up at her. “It’s not
just Larsen. I think I miss my dad.”

Zara nodded. She bent down and picked up my doll
and placed it into my arms. I hugged the doll and smiled up at Zara’s
reflection in the mirror.

“Don't worry,” said Zara from behind me. She put her
arms around me. “You mustn’t worry. Everything's going to be all right.”

The lift still wasn't working and we had to walk up the
stairs again. When we got to the top, I walked up to the edge of the railings
and peered over. It was such a long way down. The cars in the road below all
looked so tiny, like matchbox ones. It made my head spin to look at them. I
flattened myself against the wall while Zara banged on the door.

“Uncle Silbert!” she called through the letterbox.
We waited for a few minutes, and then she tried again. She turned to face me. “It's
awfully quiet in there,” she said.

Five minutes later, we decided we would have to
break the lock, but neither of us knew how to do it. In the end we found a
brick and smashed a window into one of the unused rooms, and Zara climbed
through. A few minutes later the front door opened and she was standing in the
hallway. All the blood was drained from her face.

“Call an ambulance,” she said and skidded off back
down the hallway.

I raced downstairs to find a neighbour with a
telephone, then ran back up again, and into the kitchen. Uncle Silbert was
hunched over in a chair by the gas stove, his head hanging forward and his eyes
closed. He was wearing Zara's red jumper over his pyjamas and a dressing gown
over the top. His face was chalky white and his lips were blue. His bony
fingers were twisted together in his lap.

“Is he... all right?” I asked, stupidly.

“No,” said Zara. “He's not all right, at all. He's
breathing, but only just.”

She crouched on the floor in front of him and
grabbed his hands.

“Uncle Silbert. Can you hear me?” she shouted.

Fear crept up inside me. My heart started thumping
in my chest and I felt my legs starting to give way from underneath me. I
grabbed at the wall and propped myself up. “Oh God, no,” I whispered. “Please
don't let anything happen to him.”

“Uncle Silbert,” shouted Zara again. “Can you hear
me? Can you hear me?” she repeated over and over again. She stood up and
slapped his cheeks, pushed his head back and reached into his mouth.