What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (14 page)

As I make my way to the pub on Tuesday evening, I can’t wait
to see Emma and Annie.  When I get there I am the last to arrive, and there is
already quite a crowd at the table.  It seems Pete did decide to come and has
already introduced himself to Emma, chatting away to her happily – and
Stuart has accompanied Annie too.  They are by far the noisiest group in our
little local, and I see a few of the regulars peering over at the newcomers
looking disgruntled.  Brian the barman is positively surly when I walk in,
clearly blaming me for the intrusion.  In truth I imagine he’s upset to see two
other men sitting with Annie and Emma, given the evil eyes he’s casting in
their direction. 

Pete jumps up when he sees me walk in and rushes over to
offer to get me a drink, reassuring me everyone else has only just got one in
and so have no need for a refill.  I give him a peck on the cheek as a hello as
we wait for my drink to arrive.  I can feel Emma watching me from the table. 
Pete makes a big fuss about pulling over a chair for me and putting me next to
him,  and I know a couple of the locals have clocked him with me, so I’m glad
when we are finally all sitting down at the table.  Emma is looking even
bonnier than when I last saw her, and I tell her so.

“I feel it,” she laughs, “only eight weeks to go now, and I
can’t wait.” I smile at her in the superior way that only someone does who
knows about a week after the birth she’ll be wondering why she didn’t make the
most of those last eight weeks: when she’s sleep-deprived, leaking from
orifices she never expected to leak from and bewildered by the varied demands
of a new baby. 
Knowing Emma and her luck, though, the baby won’t even cry
,
I reflect. 

Pete is chatting away to her now about the baby and all her
plans, while Annie leans over to me and whispers, “And how are you really? 
Everything okay at home?”

“Yes, fine,” I say automatically, and then when she just
keeps looking at me I add: “Greg’s painting a lot at the moment so I’m hardly
seeing him, and I’ve started to write a bit.” 

Emma overhears and is delighted.  “Really, Lil, that’s
fantastic! You always wanted to be a writer at college – I’m so glad you’re
finally doing it.  What made you decide to start?” 

I’m touched she remembers my college dream; it’s nice to
know someone knew me back then, but I can’t really tell her that James
suggested I should.  I’m kind of lost for words for a moment, and then I finally
fall back on the same reasoning I gave Greg about the boys being off our hands
now and me having a bit more time.  It’s based on the truth, so I’m not lying,
just omitting some of the facts. I’m getting a bit sick of all the lies I seem
to be telling – it’s not good karma.   

Annie then changes the subject by asking about Greg’s
painting and what he’s doing at the moment, but I have to confess I haven’t
been down to his shed to look at it recently, so I don’t really know.  It
sounds a bit tragic when I say it, like we live separate lives, which I suppose
we do, really.  The chat eventually gets on to the trip to the Peaks.  Emma is
shown loads of photos of the various walks and all of us dressed up for the
evening.  She exclaims again about the photos that Annie took of me dressed
up.  I blush and she takes it as being because I’m embarrassed by the compliments,
when in fact it’s because I remember how the rest of the evening unfolded and
exactly where that dress ended up.  Pete puts his arm round me and tells me I
was the ‘belle of the ball’; it’s really sweet how kind he is to me still
despite my rebuff to him, so I lean in to the hug and enjoy it for a moment. 
It’s only Emma’s eyes turning huge in her face and colour fading as she looks
towards the door that has me sitting up and turning in my seat to see what has freaked
her out.  Greg has just walked in.

The rest of the group catch Emma’s and my stunned silence
and turn to see who we are looking at, while I swallow to try and moisten my
suddenly dry mouth.  Greg is walking straight towards us, and he looks mega-pissed. 
I cringe, fearing just how embarrassing the next few moments of my life are
likely to be.  Pete is still woefully unaware beside me with his arm around my
shoulder until Greg marches straight up to him and says: “Who the fuck is this?” 
He’s talking to me but staring straight at Pete, who still has no idea what the
hell is going on. 

His mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish.  I hurry
to make introductions. “Oh hi, Greg, everyone, this is Greg – my husband,
obviously.” I know I’m sounding jumpy, but I just don’t know how to stop it. “Greg,
this is Pete, Stuart and Annie.  They’re all friends from the walk the other
week.  We were just showing Emma some photos if you want to see?  Can I get you
a drink?” 

I speak so fast I’m surprised anyone can understand a word
of what I’m saying.  Greg’s still looking at Pete, and I know we aren’t out the
woods yet.  Actually it’s Annie who saves the day.  She stands up and puts her
hand out to shake Greg’s, forcing him to turn away from Pete to finally look at
her.  I see the same gobsmacked expression pass over his face as every other
man that sees Annie tends to get as he takes in her appearance.  It helps that
they’re eyeball to eyeball. I take all this in as Annie begins speaking.

“Hi Greg, it’s nice to finally meet you and put a face to
the name.  We were just talking about you.  Lily was telling us you have been
painting lots recently – I’d love to see some of it sometime.  I run a
gallery in town; my name’s Annie Lord.”  Now she really has his attention.

“Oh really, which one?” he says, finally taking the offered
hand.

“The
Lord
gallery in Trafalgar Street,” she answers in
a way that says,
did you not think it might be, after I introduced myself as
Annie Lord?
 

Greg has the grace to look embarrassed as he slaps his hand
against his forehead and smiles, at last breaking the tension.  Stuart is
already pulling him up a chair as Greg sits down next to the pair of them.  I
can hear Greg saying something about a recent exhibition Annie had had on that
he liked, and the two of them get lost discussing the merits of different local
artists.  Stuart is just watching Greg all the while, his eyes occasionally
flicking back to me.  Pete, on the other hand, still looks tense by my side. 
He swiftly finishes his pint and starts making some apology about having an
early start in the morning and needing to leave.  I know it’s a lie, but I can’t
really blame him for wanting to get away.  Everyone makes the usual half-hearted
protests as he stands to go, but I can tell there’s relief all round.  Greg doesn’t
even pretend to smile; he just glowers at him as Pete puts his coat on before then
turning and glowering at me. 
Shit
, I think. 
I’m not out of the
woods yet
.  Annie distracts Greg with another question about his work, so
he turns back to her while I glance apologetically up at Pete.  He gives me a
small smile but it doesn’t meet his eyes, and I can tell he can’t wait to get
away from me.  I feel tears prick in my eyes as I watch yet another friend walk
out of my life, chased away by my beloved husband.  It’s been a bit of a
recurring theme over the years.

“You okay?” I hear Emma whisper, trying to keep below Greg’s
hearing.

“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not.  I look round the room,
wondering which of the local shit stirrers decided to text my husband to let
him know his wife was in the local with a couple of blokes.  No one meets my
eye.  I’m fuming now at the ongoing humiliation my life seems to be.

“He saw Pete’s arm around you,” Emma whispers again, “his
face was horrible.  Are you going to be okay later?” 

I can see she’s worried.  So am I if I’m honest.  The irony
is that I am actually planning to meet another man tomorrow if not have an
actual affair, but not with Pete. 
This can be like a dry run for if he ever
finds out about James.  God help me
, I think.

“I’ll be fine,” I try to reassure her, but she knows me too
well and her worried expression doesn’t lift.

“What are you two whispering about?” Greg’s voice pierces
our conversation; clearly the art discussion has ended.  I can tell he knows
exactly what we’re talking about – him – but Emma does a brave job of
improvising.

“I scratched my new car; I’ve been worrying about telling
Phil.  Lil was just suggesting how to break the news.” She tries to laugh it
off, but it sounds hollow.

Greg looks at me, and it says,
you’ll tell me later
. 
I actually feel afraid for a moment.

“So where are these photos, then?” Greg demands, and
suddenly everyone is reaching for their phones to show him.  I hate the idea of
him looking at them.  I desperately cast my mind back to think if I saw any
with blokes’ arms round me.  I don’t think I did, but I can’t be sure, and even
if they were completely harmlessly meant, I know he’ll make a big deal about
it.  I can see the muscle twitching in his jaw, which is a sure sign of
irritation, as he scrolls through.  I know exactly the moment he sees the
picture of me in the evening dress because he freezes and looks up at me. 

His eyes look dark as he stares at me, “Nice dress.  I haven’t
seen you in that before, have I?” I swallow, catching Annie looking aghast
realising what she’s done by showing him the photo.

“It was mine,” she says smoothly, “but it was a bit short
for me.  I always take a few dresses with me, and none of Lily’s clothes were
dressy enough for the night, so I insisted she borrow one of mine and that she
let me do her hair and makeup on the night.  She looked stunning, don’t you
think?”

Greg is still looking straight at me.  I can’t believe now everyone
is telling lies to protect me.

“My wife’s more a cardigan sort of woman, but you did a good
job on her,” he says, putting me firmly back into the dowdy box I’ve been
living in for the last eighteen years.  I see pure anger flash over Annie’s
face at that, and I pray inwardly she lets it go.  Stuart must see something in
my expression because he suddenly moves to hug Annie and suggest they should
make a move. Everything about the way he does it suggests he can’t wait to get
her home to bed, but I suspect he just wants to get her away from Greg before
she says something we’ll all regret.  I could kiss him, but that would only
make matters even worse.  We spend a few minutes saying goodbyes; Greg promises
to bring some pieces in to show Annie while I exchange hugs with them both. 
Annie says, “I’ll call you,” to me.  I can tell she wants to say more but doesn’t
know how to in front of Greg, and then we’re left with just Greg, Emma and me. 
I can tell Emma doesn’t want to leave me with him, but I know I have to get
this over with. 

I reach for his hand, which seems to surprise him, before
saying, “Do you want another, or shall we head home?  I’m tired.  You must be
shattered, Em, carrying that baby around all day.”  She nods and smiles thinly
at us.

“Oh, I think we should go home, love,” is all he says, and
it sounds completely innocuous, but I know there is an implied threat in there,
and so does Emma.  By the time we are hugging our goodbyes in the car park she
is almost crying.  She seems reluctant to let me go.

“I’ll call,” she promises before whispering, “if you need me,
you know where I am – anytime.  I mean it, Lil, you’ve done nothing wrong.” 

But that right there’s the problem, isn’t it?
 
Because
I have
.  With a heavy heart I wave to her again before heading to our car
where Greg has already positioned himself in the driving seat.    

We don’t speak at all until we’re inside the house standing
in the kitchen together as I put my bag on the side.  The first thing he says
surprises me: “I didn’t know you were friends with Annie Lord.”   Maybe the
lure of a chance with a gallery, now that I am friends with the owner, is going
to outweigh how pissed off he is with me for being in the pub with an unknown
couple of guys.

“Well, it’s only been a few weeks, really, we were put
together as roommates for the trip, but we just really got on.  She’s met Emma
and me a few times now at the pub.  She gets on really well with Emma, too,
although most people do, I suppose.”

“Was that bloke she was with her boyfriend or husband?”

“Boyfriend.  He’s one of the instructors at the gym, the one
who organised the trip.”

“And the other bloke? Did you fuck him?” I roll my eyes,
thinking
here we go
.

“No, Greg.  No, I didn’t ‘fuck’ him.”  I’ve already mentally
decided that I am going to answer his questions honestly – if he asks if I
fucked anyone else, I will tell him the truth.  I hate all the compounded lies
that are filling my life now.

“Did you want to?” he persists.

“No, I didn’t want to.” I answer honestly.  “He’s a friend,
that’s all.  Or I thought he was going to be a good friend, but after your
little performance tonight I’ll be lucky if he even says hello next time I see
him at the gym.”

“So you like him, then?”

“Yes, I told you…as a friend.  That’s all.”

“So who was that performance with the dress for, then?”  I
have to give it to him, he doesn’t miss much.  I think about how to answer him
as honestly as I am able.

“I got dressed up first and foremost for myself.”  It’s true –
I was planning to wear the dress before I’d even met James.  “I wanted to feel
good about myself and the weight I’d lost – the dress, hair and makeup did
that.  Annie helped me feel attractive for the first time since, well, ever.  Everyone
was getting dressed up, and I just wanted to do the same – be the same as
everyone else.  Is that such a big deal?  Really?”

“I’ve never seen you look like that.”  He sounds so sad the
way he says it that for a moment I can’t reply.  It’s sad we would never do
that sort of thing for each other.

“No,” I agree, “we haven’t really ever made time to do that
sort of thing.  Maybe we should.”  He moves to me and wraps his arms round me
in an unusually gentle way.  I lean in to him.

“I saw the way he was looking at you, Lil.  He wants you.” 
He breathes into my hair. 

“Who?” I say confused, momentarily losing the flow of the
conversation as this rare tender moment overwhelms my senses.  If only it could
always be like this.

“That guy in the pub, Pete.”  And so quickly I’m back in the
real world, and I can feel the tension radiating off Greg again.  I don’t speak.
 I can’t be bothered to keep repeating the same things, and he’s not listening
to me anyway.  Typical Greg, he’s made his mind up, and now nothing will change
it.  His touch on me has changed, his grip on my arms tighter, as he pushes me
back towards the table.  I stumble, but he doesn’t slow at all, half dragging
me until I can feel the table edge pressing against my arse.  He pushes me down
so I’m sitting on the table and reaches for the button on my jeans, yanking both
my jeans and pants off in a couple of pulls.  I start to protest:

“What about Ethan?  We can’t do this here.”

But he’s not listening; instead he’s pressing my thighs wide
open now and unzipping his fly, pulling out his cock.  I realise what’s
happening here – this has nothing to do with love; this is about
possession.  He couldn’t make it clearer if he pissed on me.  He shoves into
me, heedless of my lack of readiness, as ever, grabbing my arse and pulling me
closer, pressing deeper into me, bruising my thighs.  A part of me tells me to
fight him, that another person should not do this without me wanting him to,
but a bigger part of me that has developed a coping mechanism for this over the
last eighteen years tells me just to lie there and let it happen, that it will
be over sooner if I do.  And that’s what I do in the end.  I look up into his
lust-crazed face as he thrusts into me, just willing it to be over soon, hating
the anger I see there. 

He sees me looking and doesn’t
like what my expressions must be telling him, withdrawing from me before
flipping me onto my stomach.  When he plunges back into me, it’s with a renewed
vigour.  His balls slap against me with each move he makes.  It’s taking him
longer than normal, but my body isn’t responding this time – it’s like it’s
finally learnt sex doesn’t have to be like this, plus I’m terrified of Ethan
coming home and seeing this.  No kid should have to see his mother like this,
however old he is.  Eventually, after what seems like an age of him using my
body like one of those blow-up sex dolls, he grunts and pours himself into me. 
Immediately after he’s done he pulls out, wipes himself on one of the tea
towels and leaves the room.  My legs feel like jelly as I try to stand; the
circulation has been cut off while I was pressed against the table.  I gather
my pants and jeans and shuffle back into them, grabbing the soiled tea towel
and pushing it into the washing machine.  Once all that is done and I can relax
for a second, I collapse heavily onto a chair.  My body has started to shake,
and I no longer have the strength to stand. 

I don’t know how long I sit there, but the noise of a text
coming in eventually rouses me to find my bag.  I know Emma must be worrying
about me. When I eventually dig my phone out from the depths of my bag, there
are five unread texts.  The first two are from Annie and Emma, just checking I’m
okay.  I reply quickly to them both, reassuring them I’m fine.  The other three
are from James.  I read them in the order they arrived, the first obviously
having come in while I was at the pub with the others.  I just hadn’t checked
my phone all night.

Shall I pick you up from work about 12.30 tomorrow?

I decide to read the others before replying. 

I heard about the pub tonight.  Are you ok?

Good news sure travels fast in this town
, I reflect. 
I can only think Stuart spoke to him about what happened.  I scroll down to the
last message.

Jesus, Lil, if you don’t let me know you’re ok I’m going
to come and get you.

I think my heart actually stops beating for a moment as I
wonder how long it was from when he sent the message to now.  The very last
thing I need right now is James hammering on the door, however well-meant his
intentions.  I reckon it’s been no more than ten minutes.  I quickly reply,

I’m ok, don’t do anything silly.  I’ll see you in the
surgery car park at 12.30

I wait holding my breath until the response comes back:

OK, but just call if you need me – any time day
or night

For some reason the thought of everyone, especially James,
worrying about me makes me cry.  I sit there sobbing into my sleeve until I
hear Ethan quietly opening the front door and letting himself in.  I quickly
rinse my face, knowing full well my puffy red eyes will be evidence enough of
my tears, before letting myself out the kitchen.

“Oh, hi mum,” he says, surprised to see me still up.  “You
okay?” he asks, sounding concerned and peering closer at me.

“Yeah, fine,” I reassure him as I pat his arm.  “Think I’m
getting a cold, and it’s making my eyes and nose run.  Your shift okay?” I don’t
think he buys the cold comment, but he’s happy to be distracted off an awkward
emotional topic to talking about his shift and the famous people who were at
the tables this evening.   

I nod and smile at the
appropriate times until he’s done, before we wish each other goodnight.  He
surprises me by reaching out and giving me a quick hug, it’s kind of stilted
and awkward, like he’s not used to doing it, but I’m touched by the gesture and
feel tears pricking my eyes again.  I quickly wish him sweet dreams and scurry
up the stairs, before he spots my renewed tears.

Greg is already asleep when I let myself into the room,
thank the gods.  I have no more energy tonight for conflict.  I move as
silently as I am able, getting ready for bed, before slipping under the duvet
beside him.  Once there I lie rigidly, waiting for sleep to enfold me, only to
still be there an hour later.  My mind is restless, flitting between the events
of the evening and thoughts of James.  At about 2am I suddenly have the thought
that I don’t actually have to put up with any of Greg’s crap anymore.  I could
actually leave if I wanted to. 
Do I want to?
  I ask myself.  I’m not
certain. 
If I break up the family, would the boys mind?
  They are older
now. 
But if I left where would I go, what would I do?  What would Greg do
without me to look after him?

The thoughts buzz around in my
head until the early hours of the morning.  I eventually fall into an exhausted
sleep where I dream I am cowering in the kitchen from an angry crowd, with Greg
and the boys at the front, all shouting at me and calling me a whore. 

It’s actually the silence of the house which eventually
wakes me.  I have slept through my alarm and only have the minimum time to get
ready for work.  I shower, trembling as I wash the dried come from my legs,
hating the tenderness I feel between my thighs as I notice a couple of
bruises.  I half contemplate cancelling James given my fragile emotional state,
but I figure it will likely cause even more stress if he’s determined to talk
to me.  I resolve to see him and finish it.  It was a decision I came to last
night: if I was going to leave my husband, it was a decision I needed to make
based on our relationship (or lack of it), and not to just run into the arms of
another man, however lovely those arms, chest and face may be.  Having made the
decision I am somewhat disturbed to find myself putting significantly more care
and attention into my dressing preparations for the day.  I wear a skirt for
once that has a plaid design, with opaque tights and a fitted V-neck black
jumper.  It shows off my curves in the right way.  I even add a little mascara
for a change. 
For someone who is breaking up with a guy today, I sure am
making a lot of effort
, I reflect as I look at myself in the mirror before
grabbing my bag and coat and heading out the door.  I don’t have time for
breakfast, and I don’t bother calling out to Greg to let him know I’m leaving.