Between You and Me (7 page)

‘That’s it, Sal. Lying, going behind my back, leaving my car in a
fucking state
. Leaving crap all over
my
car, which
I
pay for – not you. I pay for it, it’s mine and when I do let you use it you treat like it’s just another piece of shit that belongs to you.’

You loom over me as I look up in confusion. ‘Charlie, what are you talking about? There’s nothing in the car. I drove it to the beach and back. Nobody had anything to eat in it; it was clean. And nothing justifies what you’ve done here. This wasn’t just mine, it was Maggie’s.’ I thought this was about the beach, not the car.

‘Clean? If you call a stinking baby bottle full of curdled milk clean! And sand,
fucking sand
, everywhere. We haven’t even got a fucking baby, Sal, so why the hell is there a filthy, stinking, kid’s bottle rolling around in the back of my car?’ Shit. I realise that when Laura pulled Fred out of the car yesterday when we returned from the beach she must have left Fred’s bottle in there. I was so exhausted when we got back that I didn’t even think to check the car.

‘So what’s this then, Charlie? Revenge? I can’t believe you would do this to me. To
us
. This was just as much Maggie’s as it was mine. This will break Maggie’s heart.’ This time you have gone too far. Hurting me I can deal with for Maggie’s sake, but when you bring her into it? No, no way.

‘It’s about
respect
, Sal. It’s about thinking about other people, having respect for their things, respecting the stuff they care about. It’s about not lying to your partner, covering things up so you can sneak about with other people behind my back. That’s what it’s all about. It’s about supporting your other half in the relationship instead of just taking, taking, taking all the time, and putting me under so much pressure. Maybe if you actually gave a shit about our relationship you would understand.’

‘If
I
gave a shit about us?’ I feel my temper fraying, and although I know there will be consequences I can’t help myself. ‘Why do you think I put up with all of this, Charlie? Why do you think I let you treat me the way you do? Because I don’t care? I stay because, believe it or not, I do love you, and I love Maggie and I want us to be a family! I put up with everything you throw at me so we can be a happy family – so Maggie grows up with two parents!’ You look down at me, still sitting on my hands and knees in the dirt, your lip curling in disgust.

‘Really, Sal? I treat you so badly? Don’t you think that maybe you get treated the way you deserve to be treated?’ With that, you turn on your heel, the sole of your shoe landing on my fingers as you storm off. I feel the bones crunch under your heel and a shocking, sharp twist of pain makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Chapter Fourteen

CHARLIE

I turn on my heel, catching Sal’s fingers under my shoe as I storm out of the little vegetable patch and head back towards the house. I am still shaking with rage. Why doesn’t Sal understand that people get treated the way they deserve to be treated? Sal needs to realise that I don’t do the things I do out of hatred; I do them out of love. This is all Sal’s fault – you can’t lie to your partner and think you can get away with it.

I pour myself a whisky and sit at the kitchen table, waiting for Sal to come back in from the garden. Maybe I did go too far with the allotment; perhaps I did lose control a little bit. But the rage was all-consuming and I’m not too sure I could have stopped myself even if I had tried. Thinking back to that first summer we were together, I remember how once Sal had moved into the shared house with me and the two other housemates, our relationship began to feel more stable. I loved nothing more than coming home and knowing that Sal would be waiting for me. There was the odd hiccup, where I arrived home and no one was there, with no note or anything to say where Sal was, or who Sal was with, but once I got the message home that I needed to know if Sal wasn’t going to be there, and ideally that Sal would be home each evening when I got back from work, things were much better. It was one Sunday, a few weeks after Sal had moved in, that it was decided I must meet Sal’s family, so we travelled to Kent on a sunny but chilly October afternoon.

‘They’re going to love you – and you’re going to love them, I promise.’ Sal tucks cold fingers into the crook of my arm as we walk up the path to Sal’s childhood home.

‘Let’s hope so.’ Sal knocks and the door is flung wide open immediately. Sal’s mother appears, her wide frame filling the doorway, a shock of dark curls, so very similar to Sal’s, standing out around her head.

‘Sally! Oh, my baby, it’s so good to see you! And this must be Charlie!’ She squeezes Sal hard and makes a move towards me. I hold out my hand stiffly before she reaches me, and she pauses for a moment before shaking it, smiling at me all the while.

‘Nice to meet you.’

‘And you, Charlie. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to put a face to the name and see exactly who’s been keeping our Sal from us!’ She turns towards Sal. ‘And YOU! You look … well. It’s been so long. We didn’t see you all summer, so don’t be cross but your sisters are here, too. They’ve missed you!’ She ushers us into the house and through into a poorly lit living room, which is probably quite spacious but it’s hard to tell given the number of people that have been squeezed into it. Cries of ‘Sal! You’re home!’ and ‘It’s been so long!’ fill the air as Sal is immediately surrounded by tall, tanned girls, all with the same shock of crazy dark curls that Sal has. I stand to one side, watching as Sal greets each and every person in the room while I just stand and wait for someone to remember I’m still there.

‘And this is Charlie!’ Sal turns to me, arm outstretched to point at me in the corner. I muster up a smile, raising my eyebrows at Sal, who doesn’t seem to notice quite how uncomfortable I’m feeling. The sisters all turn towards me and I feel as if I’m something under a microscope.

‘Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Julia. I’m the oldest, believe it or not.’ Laughing a ridiculously tinkly laugh is the smallest of all the girls, a petite little thing with dark hair tumbling down her back. ‘And as I’m the oldest, I’m the one in charge, so watch it!’ She laughs again as Sal and the other girls join in.
What’s that supposed to mean?
I make a mental note to let Sal know when we get home that I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that by anyone, regardless of whether they are part of Sal’s family or not. Sal introduces me to the rest of the sisters, who are all as loud and boisterous as each other, and we all descend on the dining room for Sal’s mum’s amazing Italian feast. Maria passes me the huge tray of pasta and a serving spoon.

‘Charlie, is that all you’re having? You’ll waste away! Here, have some more.’ Sal’s mum heaps another two spoonfuls of creamy pasta onto my plate.

‘Thank you, Maria, but please. That’s enough.’ I hold my hand up to stop her from loading any more on to my already full to bursting plate.

‘Well. If you’re sure. There’s plenty more if you change your mind.’ She moves away from me and attacks some other poor soul with her serving spoon.
Jesus, they like to eat.
Every plate is piled high with pasta, homemade garlic bread, gnocchi and salad. Sal, having returned home like some sort of prodigal son, is seated at the other end of the table from me, next to the head of the family, Giovanni. He, like his wife, is large-framed, which comes as no surprise seeing how much the entire family like their food, but instead of the tumbling, glossy dark curls shared by the rest of his family he has only a smattering of grey hair around the sides of his head. He is considerably quieter than the rest of his family, seemingly more content to observe and chime in every now and again, his hand reaching for his wife to pat or squeeze each time she passes by him and I realise that Sal must take after him. Sitting where I am, between Maria and Paola, one of the middle sisters, a barrage of questions is hurled at me.

‘Charlie, what do you do for a living?’

‘Where are you from, Charlie? Do you come from round here?’

‘Where do your parents live? Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘Are you the oldest or are you the spoilt baby like Sal?’ This last question is greeted with howls of laughter, as if it’s the funniest thing ever. Sal pulls a face, making them all laugh even harder.

‘I’ll be a corporate lawyer eventually, I’m from Lincolnshire, and no I don’t have any brothers or sisters.’ I keep my answers short and sweet; the less said about my family the better. If I don’t give out any information, hopefully they’ll all get the message. Sure enough, the sisters soon lose interest in me once they realise they’re not going to get my entire life story in one meal, and go back to regaling me with tales of Sal’s childhood and reminiscing about how they had such fun doing this, and has Sal told me about when that happened, etcetera, etcetera … They all talk over each other and it’s difficult to get a word in edgeways. Sal sits there, next to Giovanni at the head of the table, grinning like an idiot, completely failing to realise that I am not enjoying myself.

‘Come on, Sal, you can help me do the dishes while the others finish quizzing Charlie. You’ve got out of it all summer so far.’ Julia jumps to her feet, and pulls Sal up by the hand. Sal grins at me and mouths, ‘OK?’ as Julia tugs Sal away into the kitchen, Maria trotting behind carrying an armful of dirty plates from the table. I shrug and turn my gaze coldly away from Sal. What else can I do?

Finally, after what might possibly be the longest evening of my life, in which I have had to suffer hours of inane jabbering from Sal’s entire family and have batted away countless attempts to discover all manner of details about my life, the meal is over and we are free to go. I endure kisses from Maria and all of the sisters, while Sal is hugged and squeezed to death and they all behave as if they aren’t going to see each other for years and years. This is all completely foreign to me, and I thank my lucky stars that Sal hasn’t asked to meet my mother yet.

‘Well? What did you think of them? Aren’t they amazing?’ Sal waves frantically at the gathering on the doorstep, before turning to me once we are safely seated in the car and heading back towards our house.

‘Honestly, Sal? It’s all a bit much, isn’t it? I mean, your mum treats you like you’re five years old. And you’re not a fucking god, you know, despite what your sisters might think.’ Sal reels back slightly and couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d delivered a slap across the face.

‘What? Nobody thinks that! We’re a close family; I didn’t see them all summer because I stayed in London with you! It’s not normally that intense, to be honest; it’s only that they were excited to meet you. And my mum is just … a normal mum. She likes it when I go home; she likes to cook a big meal and spoil us all. She’s excited that you’re going to be part of the family. They were just trying to make you feel welcome.’ Sal doesn’t look at me, choosing instead to concentrate hard on the road.

I stare out of the passenger window, biting my tongue hard in order not to give rise to the anger that is bubbling away deep inside my belly. I’m not going to be part of the family.
I don’t want to be part of the family.
Your mum didn’t even seat us together at the dinner table, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want Sal’s sisters and mum poking their noses into our business, knowing everything about us. I want it to just be Sal and me on our own, always. I don’t have anything to do with my family, and I’m OK. We don’t need Sal’s family in our lives, not to that extent. Signalling to take the turn leading to the motorway, I resolve that the less we see of Sal’s family, the better.

Chapter Fifteen

SAL

I take my time clearing up the vegetable patch after you storm back into the house, believing that the longer it takes me to tidy up, the longer it gives you to calm down and see sense. The majority of everything that Maggie and I have grown is completely and utterly ruined, plants and bits of vegetable strewn across the whole fenced-off section of garden. I get to work on clearing the patch, piling everything up in one corner to be burnt next time we have a bonfire. The only items worth salvaging are a few straggly carrots that I put to one side, so I can at least tell Maggie we have something to cook. It’s slow, painful work as the fingers on my right hand have started to throb now that the initial hot, sharp pain has subsided and they are already swollen and awkward. I’m ninety per cent sure they’re broken. By the time the sun sets and the garden is filled with shadows, I’m done, sweat making my T-shirt cling to the small of my back. I look towards the kitchen in the hope that the room is in darkness and you’ve already gone upstairs to bed but I see the warm, yellow light spilling from the window and your silhouette cross in front of it, a glass of whisky in your hand. I sigh heavily, but I can’t put it off any longer. The night has turned cool despite the heat of the day now that the sun has disappeared below the horizon and I am only wearing a thin T-shirt. I shiver and struggle to my feet, feeling stiff after sitting for so long. Wearily I trudge my way up the garden path to the kitchen, where I know you will be waiting for me.

You look up from your seat at the kitchen table, hair tousled and eyes bloodshot, when I walk in through the back door. I head straight for the medicine cabinet, screwed to the wall behind the kitchen door, and start rooting through it for strapping and cotton wool.

‘You shouldn’t have made me do that, Sal.’ Your voice is low, and you studiously avoid looking at my poor, broken hand. ‘I warned you so many times not to lie to me, but it’s like you can’t help yourself. It’s like you deliberately do it, because you want me to lose my temper and get angry with you. It has to stop, Sal. I’ve been thinking and I realise that it’s been like this right the way through, from the beginning. Since that first time I met your mum and dad and your sisters – I’ve been thinking about that, how you ignored me that day and put my needs second and you’ve been doing it every day since. I love you so much, Sal; no one could ever love you like I do.’ You get up and move around the table towards me. I brace myself but you just put your arms around me and squeeze me tightly, either not noticing or not caring that my swollen hand is also being squeezed painfully tight as it’s trapped between our bodies.