Before She Was Mine (37 page)

‘What the hell’s that meant to be?’

‘A romantic novel, going by the cover. No, I beg your pardon, it’s a self-help guide. How to tap into your better self.’

He sighed. ‘And has she marked passages out for me with a highlighter or those little sticky tabs?’

‘Who cares?’ I shoved it under the sofa out of sight. ‘What it must be to be loved.’

‘That’s not love, Freya.’

‘No, I know. Hey, what did you mean when you said next year you’d be “sending” me money? Sending it from where?’

Michael laid his head back as if in exasperation. ‘Don’t read so much into everything.’

‘I’m not. It’s common sense. If you were planning to stick around, you’d talk about “giving” me money. You really think you’re off, and soon.’

The silence that followed brought a faint scratching at the front door again. We both ignored it.

He said, ‘Ever since I gave you that book last year, it’s been on my mind. Then I was browsing the internet and this blog came up, Project GOLE. It’s an education centre in the
Middle East, on the West Bank.’

‘You don’t still want to go out there, do you? For what? To get yourself shot? Blown up? Jesus, Michael. Talk sense.’

‘It’s not that bad. Project GOLE’s in a town near the centre, well away from the border areas. There are other internationals out there. And what they’re achieving at
this place, it’s fantastic. In the news you only get to hear about the violence, and yet in-between the skirmishes are all these millions of ordinary people trying to run businesses and
services and keep the economy ticking over. But they’ve a big issue with transport because it’s incredibly hard to get hold of new vehicles.’

‘So you’re going to fix their cars for them?’

‘I’m going to teach vehicle maintenance and a bit of English.’

‘Bloody hell. When?’

‘End of November, ideally.’

‘Before Christmas?’

‘I have to go sometime, Frey.’

No you don’t
, I wanted to shout.
You don’t have to go anywhere! Stay, be with me; Nicky, even.

I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. ‘So were you planning to actually say goodbye, or just take off into the blue?’

He moved off the sofa and sat down on the floor very close to me. His bicep squashed against mine. If I’d tilted my head it would have been against his shoulder.

He said, ‘I would never have gone without telling you – what kind of a mate do you think I am? But there were some important details I wanted to iron out before I said anything.
It’s not even certain now. There’s a questionnaire I have to fill in and I need formal confirmation from the centre director. It’s possible they might not want me, they might not
think I’m suitable. I’d have liked for it to be completely settled before I talked to you about it.’

Big of you
, I thought. ‘Well, that’s nice. I’m going to be pretty busy myself next year, actually. I might buy myself a house boat in the spring.’ Oggy and me both
on the Llangollen canal, my prow approaching his prow, flicking Vs at each other as we chugged past.

‘A narrowboat?’

‘Yeah. Or I might even go back to college. If you think I should.’

I waited, but he knew I was bluffing and I don’t suppose he had the energy to pursue it. From the hall came the clunk of the letterbox again, and Kim’s voice, muffled, whining.
‘Mikey, Mikey.’

I said, ‘Seems to me you’re just running away.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

Rattle, rattle, went the letterbox.

He said, ‘It’s only running away if you can’t deal with what you’re leaving behind.’

‘And you can deal with this?’

‘I can, yes. I’m not worried about Kim. She’ll burn herself out, especially if I’m not around.’

‘So you
are
leaving because of her.’

I felt him twitch with irritation. ‘I’m going because I want to, Frey. Kim is not a factor. I’d be going regardless.’

‘If that’s true, open the door now and tell her to fuck off. Open the door with your phone in your hand and say you’re calling the police so they can slap a restraining order
on her.’

He let out a short laugh. ‘I couldn’t hurt her like that.’

‘I could. Watch me.’

I struggled up again, stumbling over the loose wolf slipper in the process. ‘Hoy, Kim,’ I shouted. ‘Let’s talk. Let’s sort this out once and for all.’ I made
a grab for the giant hairy paw and shoved it back on my foot, then stomped messily into the hall. I was aware of Michael protesting at my back, but I ignored him, wrenching at the handle and
flinging the door wide. ‘Kim!’ I called. ‘Where’ve you gone? We can sit down and have a lovely chat.’

The path was empty, the gate swinging. She was nowhere in sight.

‘Aw, come on, love. No need to try and climb through the letterbox. Here we are. Don’t be shy.’

I padded across the front lawn and scanned the wide streets in both directions. A moment later I caught some movement by the entrance to the sheltered housing complex.

‘On the other hand,’ I yelled, ‘I could just dial nine-nine-nine, report a case of repeated harassment. What do you say? Your choice. I know you can hear me.’

Opposite us a porch light came on. The shape in the shadows vanished.

‘Kim?’

I turned and walked straight into Michael.

‘Bloody hell, Freya. How drunk are you?’

I took his arm, feeling giddy and pleased with myself. ‘She had it coming. No, she did. Honestly. Even
you
need someone to look out for you occasionally. Anyway, you’ve
nothing to lose now you’re leaving the country. Can I use your bathroom?’

He ushered me back into the house and waved his hand in a dazed way at the stairs. I couldn’t tell whether he was genuinely cross with me or not. Surely he could see he’d given
enough over the years; that however he might convince himself he’d failed Kim during the marriage, since then he’d more than paid his due. Obviously he’d be wracked with guilt
right now, but when that cleared he’d see I’d done him a favour. And I’d meant what I’d said. I would report her. If she hassled him one more time, I’d be straight
onto the cops, giving a statement about how I spent an evening cowering in Michael’s house on a carpet of broken glass while Kim raged outside.

As I was washing my hands I rashly glanced up into the bathroom mirror and saw the state I was in. It’s one of the many pitfalls of alcohol that the foxier you feel, the higher your
chances of looking like a clown in crisis. My make-up was blurred, my hair mussed on one side but not the other, my pendant twisted and the neckline of my vest askew. I began to repair the damage
as best I could, wiping away melted eyeliner and pushing my fingers through my fringe to re-shape it. As I fiddled, I tried to remember when I’d ever seen Nicky in anything like a similar
mess, but all I could think of was the afternoon she met me in the rain to tell me about the First Big Row with Christian. Even then she’d managed to look all gorgeous and fragile, her slim
arms gleaming and her lashes spiked.

Why did you come here?
I imagined Michael challenging me.

Because it could be one of the last evenings where we’re just us
, I might say.
Because I thought something important was going to happen tonight.
Except it had: he was
leaving.
Because I wanted to tell you, before Nicky gets in, that I—

But I couldn’t even admit the words in my head, let alone out loud. Let alone to him, and face the consequences. Way too dangerous.

Plus it was pointless now.

I slipped off the troublesome paws, straightened my top, and headed downstairs.

‘Your birthday card. It was under a magazine.’ He’d made two coffees and now he was stretched out on the sofa, zapping through his iPod with the remote. On the low table next
to the mugs was a daffodil-yellow envelope with my name scrawled on the front.

I said, ‘I still can’t believe you’re going away. Sometimes I wish someone would hand me an air ticket and fly me off somewhere. You know, present me with a fait
accompli.’

He looked at me. No one’s going to do that, his expression said. I slit the envelope open and drew out the card, and it was just a card: a red squirrel with googly eyes Photoshopped under
the caption,
Know why I like ya so much?
I opened it up.
Cuz you’re nuts!
‘Love, Michael’, he’d written at the bottom. Love, but no ticket to anywhere.

‘What about your terror of planes?’

‘Yeah. It’s a shit idea, I don’t know what I’m talking about. As usual. What are you going to do with this place when you’re away?’

‘The house? Contact an agency, rent it out. Make sure there isn’t a gaping hole in the window first, obviously.’

‘Do you have to declare stalkers?’ I went and sat on the floor with my back against the sofa, about level with his knees.

‘I’ll make sure she knows I’m not around. End of problem.’

Soft broken chords coming over the speaker, sad as anything.
Everybody hurts.

‘Michael, are you really angry that I had a go at her? Because if you are, best tell me, then we can get the bollocking over and move on. It’s my birthday.’

He didn’t answer, but when I turned round to check, his eyes were closed. ‘I don’t know, Frey. I give up. Maybe you’re right. You find yourself drawn into these
situations gradually and then your sense of perspective goes all to cock. I get that you were trying to help – drunkenly – and I suppose I appreciate that. So no, no bollocking this
evening.’

‘Good. I just don’t like to see anyone bullied—’

The words choked in my throat. With no kind of warning, Kim had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Her hair hung lank across the shoulders of her parka, and her eyes were sunken and bleary.
She looked like one of the undead. I had this flashback to when I first met her, how perky she’d looked in her snakeskin boots, how animatedly she’d talked about the store where
she’d worked. Buzzing, she’d been, full of infectious energy. It had been easy to see why Michael wanted her. But we found out later the flip side of that energy was sudden slumps into
depression that lasted for months. It was as if she had no control over her emotions. And that was before the miscarriage.

She brought her arm up from her side and I almost shouted out in fear. Wrapped thickly around her right hand was one of the tea towels we’d used to stuff the broken window, and sticking
out from that makeshift glove was a shard of glass as long as a carving knife.

‘Michael,’ I said. But there was no need to warn him. He’d seen.

‘Hey, Kim,’ he said calmly. ‘How you doing?’

At that she advanced towards the sofa, the piece of glass still half raised.

I suppose I panicked. I grabbed the cup of coffee nearest me and slung the contents at her with all the force I could manage. The hot liquid spattered in a wide dramatic splurge across the
carpet, only a few drops landing on her legs and feet. She halted and looked down, then up at me.

‘For God’s sake, Freya,’ Michael began.

The next instant she’d made a lunge like a fencer, one knee bent. I pushed myself backwards out of the way and Michael jumped up and stood facing her. ‘Kim, stop, now!’

That made her retreat slightly. I thought that behind her hair she was smiling.

‘Put it down.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘There’s no need for any of this. It’s OK.’

‘I hate you,’ she said.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Well, I’m calling the police,’ I said. Though even as I spoke I realised my phone was in my jacket pocket, in the hall, and I’d no idea where Michael’s mobile
was.

He waved me silent. ‘What is it, Kim? Do you want to talk?’

She laughed. ‘Talk talk talk.’

‘We can talk if you want to. Although it’s very late. Your boyfriend’ll be worried. How about we give him a ring and let him know where you are?’

‘There is no boyfriend, stupid.’

Of course there wasn’t. Another line of fantasy she’d spun him. I watched her turn the glass shard this way and that, like someone testing a key in a lock. I wasn’t afraid now,
I was angry. I thought,
If she hurts a hair of Michael’s head, I will kill her
.

‘Come on, give me that,’ he said, moving towards her slowly so that she backed into the wall by the window. ‘You don’t want to cut yourself.’

‘Don’t I?’

‘Nah. Dirty old bit of glass. Chuck it away. Come on, now.’

He’d almost reached her when she jerked her arm upwards and slashed down, catching the curtain and ripping the material to the hem. My heart leaped sickeningly. ‘Michael!’ I
called out.

‘It’s fine,’ he said, without looking round. I guessed he didn’t want to take his eyes off her.

Kim let her arms drop to her sides. ‘Hah. Fine, is it?’

‘I meant—’

‘You know, it’s funny, people say they don’t mean to hurt you, but they do anyway. Might as well be honest about it. I
want
to hurt you, Michael. I do. Some days
it’s all that gets me out of bed in the morning.’

I cast a glance at the door. However carefully I inched towards it she was bound to notice, and then what would happen?

‘You don’t,’ said Michael. ‘Not really.’

‘Watch me.’

She slid away from him along the wall till she arrived at the corner. Here she took a moment to check her weapon, pulling the tea towel tighter round her fingers and possibly admiring her
reflection in the surface of the glass. I noticed her hands were perfectly steady. Then she took a great stride across the room to the sofa where we’d so lately been sitting, and in a series
of short stabs tore four or five ugly lines down the top edge.

Michael said, ‘Please.’

At that she spun to face him. ‘Please, is it? Good one. Do you know how many times I said “please” to you? How much notice you took? “Please”. Oh, how hilarious
that you should be saying it to me now.’

‘I’ve said a million times how sorry I am. What else can I do?’

A flicker of something crossed her face, and again that small smile. With difficulty, because she was still gripping the glass with her right hand, she managed to nudge the sleeve up from the
left wrist so the skin was bare. Then she took the shard and drew it diagonally across her forearm in one smooth movement. ‘There,’ she said, as if she’d clinched an argument.