The Stranger Within (5 page)

I smile as I remember. Neither of us ate much because we were so engrossed in our conversation.

James leans forward. “I couldn’t believe you’d agreed to come out with me. I felt like I’d won the lottery.” The cheeky grin I love so much spreads across his face, making me sadder and guiltier about the tension at home. “Do you remember after? We went back to yours. It was amazing, Callie.
You
were amazing. I knew then I couldn’t let you go, that even if you kicked me out afterwards I would fight for you.”

I reach across the table for his hand and stroke it, letting the familiar feel of his skin comfort me, wash everything else away, letting his words remind me who we are.

              “But like I said, we really should do this more often. I know I’ve been busy but I’ll make time, I promise.”

“Well, it’s difficult, isn’t it? We’re both so busy and we’ve got the boys.” I want it to be true: for the boys to be mine as much as they are his. Will the void left by my silent baby ever be filled? I don’t look at him, but stare at my menu, trying to make my voice sound casual. Unlike James, who always knows what he wants to eat, I need to study each option carefully because I am never sure what to order until I see it. James puts down his menu and watches me, his expression serious. Mentioning Dillon and Luke will have reminded him of the problems we have both left at home.

              But then his face relaxes. “Oh, that reminds me. I’ve got to shoot a wedding in Leeds the Saturday after next. It’s a bit far to drive there and back in one day so I’ll have to stay overnight. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, if you need me for anything –”

              “No, no, don’t cancel work.”

              Before he can respond, the waiter comes over to take our order. He is short, and his eyes are more yellow than white, but he has a kind face, and I try to focus on his smile while I tell him what I’d like, because in a few seconds I will have to deal with what James has just told me.

              Without hesitation, James orders Tandoori chicken, and because I have been too distracted to make a decision, I ask for the same.

              When the waiter has gone, James reaches for my hand. “Look, I know it’s the first time you’ll be alone with the boys overnight, but maybe it will be a good thing? Without me there you might bond or something?” He flashes a smile, as if he really believes this is possible. That the answer is as simple as the three of us being left alone together. But to me it is the worst possible scenario. The way things are at the moment, a night alone with the boys is my worst nightmare. But James is always optimistic, always wanting to believe things will work out, no matter what evidence there is to the contrary.

              The waiter returns with a bottle of red wine, pouring us both a glass. “Cheers!” James says, holding his up and clinking it against mine.

I offer a more subdued cheers. And suddenly I want to tell him that I’m sinking into a pit because nothing is how I thought it would be. None of it is real. I am not a real mother, and how can I be a real wife when I can barely let my husband know me? But then I hear Emma’s words in my ear, and know that it is selfish to burden him with this. He has been through enough losing Lauren so he doesn’t need to deal with my troubles too; he needs peace, to know that the worst is behind him. So I will keep quiet and put on a face for him that is not my own.

              James’ phone beeps in his pocket, but he doesn’t notice. He is too busy telling me about his and Tabitha’s plan for extending the business. I can’t see how it is
their
plan because Tabitha is his receptionist, not business partner, but I won’t push my negativity onto him. Whatever I feel about her, she does a good job.

              “Your phone,” I say, pointing to his pocket. “You got a message.”

              “Oh, right.” He fumbles around then eventually pulls out his iPhone and begins pressing buttons. “Tabitha. Asking if she can drive up to Leeds with me.” He reads a bit more. “Apparently she’s got a cousin up there she wants to visit.”

              How convenient. “Oh, okay.” I sip some wine and try to ignore the fact my insides are sinking. I can trust James. He is not interested in Tabitha. “I hope they hurry up with the food. I’m starving!”

              There is often a power struggle in relationships; one person having the upper hand. It can be subtle, unintentional, barely noticeable to the couple, but it’s still there. I watch James tapping his reply to Tabitha, feeling the heavy reality of how things have altered. Before we got married, he was the widower who needed to love again. He needed
me
. He needed me to help him enjoy life again because all he did was work and look after the boys. But now I am the one who needs him.

              The food arrives, sizzling on silver hotplates, the strong, spicy smell doing little to improve my appetite. James puts away his phone, once again oblivious to the instant beep as Tabitha wastes no time in sending a reply. I can see her message now: flirty with exclamation marks and kisses for a man who does not belong to her.

              “You do look great in that dress,” James says, and I allow his compliment to fill me up, spread through me and energise me. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.

              We eat in silence, neither of us conscious of it. My silence stems from anxiety, while James’ only results from comfort. After eating only half my chicken, I push my plate aside. “We can’t let it go to waste,” James says as he devours it for me, unashamed of his appetite.

When he’s finished and our glasses are empty, he asks the waiter to call us a taxi.

              “No, let’s walk,” I say. Despite having very little skin left on the backs of my ankles, I am not yet ready to go home. James will want me to sit and have a coffee with him and Emma, while they reminisce about days before I was around, things I had nothing to do with, and people I don’t know.

              Even though James must be surprised by my suggestion – I usually complain about being too full to move after a big meal – he humours me, and I am granted an extra half-hour of time away from the house, and everyone in it. I make the most of each second, linking my arm through his as we walk, clinging to him, letting his laughter comfort me.

              I remember that I have forgotten to tell him about my arrangement to meet Bridgette and Debbie for lunch on Friday.

              “That’s great,” he says. “You haven’t seen them for ages. It will do you good to get out.” He pulls his hand from his pocket, loosening my hold on him, and drapes his arm around my shoulder instead.

              It is hard not to overanalyse James’ words. Does he think I’m spending too much time in the house? That I have completely changed since he met me, when I was barely out of bars and pubs? Always wanting to drag him off somewhere new. But I realise I am overreacting. Paranoia has a grip on me and it’s getting hard to shake off.
Is this where it starts, Dad? Is this how it began for you?

              James stops suddenly and turns to face me. “I’m proud of you, Callie. For everything you’re doing. I know it’s not easy. The boys…”

              “Thank you,” I say, saving him from finishing his sentence. He will never know how much his words mean, his faith in me. As long as I have that I will be okay.

              We get to the house and his stride increases; he is eager to spend time with Emma before she leaves and I understand this; she is a link to his past. I glance at the house next door but all the lights are off. For once Mrs Simmons is not watching.

              Emma is in the kitchen, already boiling the kettle. “Just in time,” she calls. “Anyone for coffee?”

              I fake a yawn and turn to James. “D’you mind if I go to bed? I’m really tired after all the brain power I’ve used today.” Sleep is the last thing I want, but I can’t sit with Emma and pretend our earlier conversation didn’t happen.

              “Course not.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be up soon.”

              Upstairs, light shines from under Dillon’s door so he must still be awake. I consider knocking and calling goodnight, but his silent response would be too humiliating. I whisper a goodnight to both the boys instead and somehow it brings me some peace.

              I sit up in bed, letting my food digest. I always feel better once I get into bed, as if I am distanced from everything else in the house, untouchable somehow. This space is just for James and me. Flicking through the magazine I still haven’t read, I check my horoscope for the week, but as usual it bears little resemblance to my life. I start reading an article about how to change your life but must fall asleep because the next thing I know, it is past one a.m. and my magazine is beside me on the bed.

              The murmur of voices drifts from one of the boys’ rooms. I pull off the duvet and slip on my dressing gown, trying not to disturb James. He has an early shoot tomorrow so I will deal with the boys myself.

              Trying to avoid the creaks on the landing, I approach Dillon’s room, guided by the sound of voices. I prepare the lecture in my head, which will be hard to deliver in a whisper, but then I hear my name and stop in my tracks. The voices are muffled until I step closer to the door and press my ear to the cold wood.

              “I hate her. I can’t believe she’s still here. Dad should have got rid of her by now.”

              I freeze. I have known Dillon’s feelings all along, but hearing him speak these words, and not in front of me, makes my heart ache.

              He continues. “It’s not working to make Dad kick her out. I think we have to force her to leave. Just keep making her life miserable and she won’t last five more minutes.”

              “But –”

              “But nothing. We’re doing this for Mum as well, remember? She would have hated her just as much as we do.”

              “But the accident and everything, I thought –”

              “Yeah, sorry you had to do that. I really hoped that would do it.”

              I can no longer listen. This is worse than I thought.

              Forgetting about my lecture, I creep back to our room and sink onto the bed, closing my eyes. I feel as if I am falling, spiralling down an endless hole. But rather than being scary, it is comforting because it is taking me away from here. An image of Dad pops into my head, from the time before he was ill. He is picking me up and spinning me around, and we are both throwing our heads back and laughing. I’m not sure if it’s a real memory or something I wish had happened; all I know is that he is not the father I have now.

When James wakes in the morning, I pretend I am still asleep. Otherwise we will start talking and right now I don’t know if I can keep from him what I heard the boys say last night. The words are still too raw, like knife cuts on my skin. And I am in a state of shock over the lengths they have gone to, will go to again. Talking to James about it is a bad idea. I can’t force him into a corner.

              He tiptoes around, pulling on his clothes. When he’s dressed he sits on the side of the bed, reaching across to stroke my back. His hands are soft, but I can’t feel anything at the moment. I roll onto my side, away from him, still feigning sleep.

I need to do something about this before my marriage comes crashing down around me.

Chapter Six

Over the next few days, I replay the boys’ conversation in my mind. It is worse than I suspected and I have taken the blame for the accident, something which was not my fault at all. Their capacity for malice horrifies me, but I cannot go to James; it would only drive a bigger wedge between us. Instead, I keep silent for now, like I have to do with so many things to protect my marriage. When everything is against you there are choices to make: wither away defeated or stand up and fight. I will not be like Dad.

              It is only six a.m., but James is already up and dressed, excited because he’s just found out by email that an advertising agency has commissioned him to do some work for them. “You know, I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without your support,” he says, leaning over the bed and kissing me on the cheek.

              Despite the early hour, hunger forces me out of bed and into the shower. I keep an eye on the time, conscious that at half seven I need to get the boys up, dressed and fed. I decide I will make bacon and eggs, maybe even fry up some hash browns as a treat. No doubt I will continue to receive the silent treatment, but I will still do my best to look after them.

              As I potter around the kitchen, once again their words try to invade my thoughts, but I turn on the radio, as loud as I can have it without disturbing them, and let the music wipe away everything they said. The other night I was deflated, but I won’t let this beat me.

              Everything is timed to perfection, and at half past seven – with just a few minutes left until the food is ready to be served – I head upstairs and wake the boys. I knock loudly on each of their doors, but don’t go inside. Instead, I wait until I can hear them both stirring, grateful for the creaky floors for the first time since I moved in.

              Back in the kitchen I dish up, just as Luke pads in, still in his pyjamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes. I look at him and feel sad that he is so easily led by his brother. Dillon follows, half-dressed in his school trousers and white shirt, his tie hanging out of his pocket. Their noses crinkle at the smell of bacon and their eyes drift to the plates laid out on the breakfast bar.