The Debt & the Doormat (18 page)

I flinch when I feel someone’s cold hands on my shoulders.  I know that it’s Ryan, but I can’t turn and look at him.  He grabs hold of my hair and holds it back for me as I continue to chuck my guts up, my whole body shaking from the motion.

God, I’m dying.  I’m actually dying.  The tears are coming thick and fast.  Why do I always have to cry when I’m sick!?  I stop for a second and look up into the dirty garden, the bushes seeming to be laughing at me. 

‘Jesus, Poppy!  Are you ok?’

I turn my head to follow the voice and to my horror Izzy and Grace are sitting at the breakfast table.  Grace looks totally disgusted and pushes her toast away from her.  Oh my God.  The humiliation is too much to bear.

‘I’m...I’m sorry,’ I cry before dramatically running from the room. 

I run up to the bathroom, tripping on a step on the way.  I park myself down on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet bowl.  The cold tiles feel nice against my hot sweaty skin.  I hear footsteps and wish whoever it was would just leave me alone. 

‘Do you want a drink of water or something?’ Ryan asks me.

‘No.  I’m fine than-‘ 

But the vomit train is passing through again.  He sits behind me again.  He pulls my hair back and rubs my back.

‘Please just leave me,’ I cry in agony.  ‘I don’t want you to see me like this.’

‘Just shut up.’  He ignores me and rubs my back. 

I pray to God to just let me die quickly.

*                            *                            *

About an hour later I’m better enough to be lying on the sofa with a cold flannel on my head.  Thankfully Grace and Izzy have gone out, probably disgusted from the smell of vomit wafting through the house.  

‘How are you feeling?’ Ryan asks.

‘Well, I don't think the restaurant is there anymore, because I drank it.’

‘Do you want me to put a film on for you, or something?’  He hands me a cup of tea.

‘Yes please,’ I say pathetically.

‘What do you wanna watch?’ he asks, scanning the small DVD collection in the TV cabinet.

‘I know I sound really gay, but do either of the girls have Singing in the Rain?’

He smiles.  ‘You’re into old films like that?’

‘Yeah...I know it’s weird, but they always make me feel better.’ 

There’s no need for me to be embarrassed – he’s seen me vomit.  There are officially no more barriers between us.  And it could be worse, I remind myself.  It's not like I danced to Simply the Best and then showed him my fanny.  This was not prom.     

‘Well the bad news is that neither Grace nor Izzy have anything like that.’

Oh God, I’m gonna end up watching Die Hard.

‘But the good news is that I have it.’

‘What?’  I sit up in shock and immediately wish I hadn’t.  My head is still so sore.  ‘You own them?’

He’s not gay is he?  Is my gay-dar working? 

‘Well, I don’t actually own it.  It’s my Grandma’s birthday soon and I’ve got DVD versions of all of her favourites.  I got her a DVD player for Christmas but she hates how she can’t watch any of her old movies on it.’

That's so nice of him.  Maybe I could just handcuff him, drag him to Gretna Green and force him to marry me.

‘Which films have you got?’

‘Come and see.’  He smiles and offers me his hand. 

I take it, revelling in its warmth.  He leads me slowly up the stairs while I try and push my headache out of my head.  We walk into one of the double bedrooms.  It's clean, if not a little impersonal.  The walls are painted magnolia and he has matching light coloured furniture.  But his walls don't have any pictures on them and I can't see any photo frames anywhere. 

It still feels strangely intimate for me to be in his room.  I sit on his brown and cream patterned bed spread and check for mirrors on the ceiling.  I wonder how many women have been in this room.  I discreetly look at his bedpost in case there are actual notches on there.   

‘Here they are.’  He takes a box out of the cupboard and places it on the bed.

I crouch over it and flick through them, my eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning.  All of my favourites are in here.  Casablanca, Brief Encounter, It happened one night, Gone with the wind.

‘You like them, then I take it?’  He sits down next to me, his smell waking my nostrils.  How can he smell that beautiful after just waking up?

‘I love them.  Your Grandma really has good taste.’

‘Yeah, she’s great.  You should meet her some time.  You kind of remind me of her in a small way.’

I blush, but then realise that he’s comparing me to an old woman.  Probably not the best compliment I’ve ever had.

‘So, you and her are close then?’ I ask, trying to sound casual, when really I’m completely intrigued.

‘Real close.  She raised me actually.’

‘Really?  Where were your mum and dad?’  As soon as I’ve said it I wished I hadn’t. 

His smiling face turns sad.  Oh God, what happened?

‘My Mum had me when she was 19.  She was a drug addict and couldn’t even stay off them when she was pregnant with me.  My Grandma took me off her as soon as I was born and she died a few years later from an overdose.’

‘Oh my God,’ I blurt out.  Well, that's hardly helpful Poppy.  ‘And what about your Dad?’

‘I never knew him.  He could be anyone.  Apparently she was sleeping around at the time, desperate for a hit.’

Does that mean she was a hooker?

‘My Grandma tried everything to get her off them.  She even locked her away in her room, but she’d escape.  It just turns out that she loved the drugs more than anything or anyone.’  He smiles as he pretends to look out of the window but I can see sadness clouding his eyes.

‘God, I’m so sorry.’  I wish I’d never brought it up. 

‘Don’t worry.  People always say that, I’m sorry.  It makes me laugh to be honest.  It’s not anyone’s actual fault.  It’s just life.  But...I don’t really make a habit of telling people.  The girls don't know and if it’s ok with you I’d prefer to keep it that way?’

‘Yeah, of c-c-course,’ I stutter, falling over my words.

‘It’s just that its no-one else’s business and I don’t want pity from anyone.’

‘Oh no, I totally understand.’

‘Thanks.  That's why I could tell you’ he smiles.  ‘I knew you’re not the sort to judge someone on their past.  Even if you do keep calling me a man whore,’ he winks.

‘Well, you are a man whore, but of course I won't tell anyone.  If I pity anyone right now, it’s me.  I just spent half the morning vomiting in front of you in my bra.  I’m totally mortified.’

He laughs and I’m glad my joke has broken the tension.

‘By the way, how come I was in my bra?  Did I get sick on my top last night or something?’

‘No...Actually,’ an amused smile spreads on his lips.  ‘You kind of took it off yourself.’

‘What?’  Oh God, the horror.

‘Yeah, you just kind of threw it off and started saying how pretty my hair was.’

‘OH MY GOD!’  I actually want to die. 

‘Don't worry about it.  You were drunk and I do have incredibly pretty hair.’

I cover my face with my hands, wishing I could be someone else.  Some classy woman that didn’t do ridiculous things like this.

‘So anyway, which one do you want to watch?’

‘I think I’ll go with my old classic, Singing in the Rain.’  I smile at the memory of the film and already I’m feeling its calming effects.

‘Cool, that's one of my favourites too.  But...don’t tell anyone that or they’ll think I’m gay.’

*
                            *                            *

We spend the next few hours on the sofa watching it.  He insists on me lying down and so sits with my legs on top of his lap.  I do wish I was in something sexier than my pink fleece pyjamas and slipper socks.  Even if he doesn’t fancy me, it’s nice to just have a friend to enjoy this with.  Even if every time he moves it sends tingles down my spine.  Jazz has never shared my taste in old films; in films at all to be honest.  She’s says there's no point staying in and watching someone live their life when you can be out living your own. 

In fact, I’ve decided.  I’m going to let go of these foolish fantasies where we ride off bare back into the sunset and instead focus on being a good friend.  What more could I ask for?  A big hunky friend.  Like a gay best friend, but smouldering with sexiness. 

A knock on the door makes us both jump. 

‘Are you expecting anyone?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I say, annoyed that someone has interrupted the film.

He jumps up to answer the door and I turn down the volume so I can hear who it is.

‘Oh, hi.  I wasn’t expecting you today.  Or...did we arrange something?’

‘No, I just thought I’d surprise you.  Are you pleased?’ a loud squeaky female voice says.

‘Um, yeah of course.  I just didn’t expect it is all.’

‘Well, are you going to let me in?’

‘Oh yeah, of course, come through.’

I quickly sit up right on the sofa and turn the volume back up to the normal number.  I try to straighten my knotted hair down.  He comes through the opening grimacing and mouthing ‘sorry’.

‘Oh hi!  I didn’t know you had company,’ a big breasted blonde asks him, eyeing me suspiciously.

She looks almost identical to Claudine.  All fake hair extensions, breasts and nails.    

‘This is just my housemate Poppy.’

Just my housemate.  Nice.  My boobs suddenly feel like fried eggs.

‘Well it’s nice to meet you Poppy,’ she says insincerely.  ‘I’m Tabitha.’  She quickly turns back to him.  ‘Ryan, it’s so strange to see you without a suit.  You look so scruffy.’  She eyes up his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt. 

He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

‘So, do you fancy going out for a drink or a bite to eat?’ she asks, touching his arm possessively.

The mention of drink makes my stomach churn in protest.

‘We have wine here,’ he says, going towards the kitchen.

‘No.  I wanted to go out,’ she says sternly.

God, she’s demanding.  I look over at him.  He catches my eye and smiles.  He must be thinking the same thing.

‘Ok.’  He turns to me apologetically.  ‘Pops, do you mind if I leave you?’

‘No, of course not!  You go and have fun,’ I say as brightly as I can.  In reality I want to burst into tears.

‘Sure?’ he asks, his forehead full of concern wrinkles.

‘Yeah.  Go.’  Go have fun with your cheap slut of a girlfriend.

‘Ok.  Feel better.’  He smiles kindly towards me and pats me on the head.  Like a dog.

‘Yes, do feel better,’ the bitch says, smiling with her lips, but warning with her eyes.

When I open my flat door on Monday night, giggles peal over into the hallway. 

‘Jazz?’

More giggling.  It's definitely Jazz and someone else.

‘Ssshh!’ I hear her say.

Oh my God, who has she got here?  I walk very slowly into the living room, worried I’ll find her in a newly installed sex swing.  Instead I find her and my brother Oliver on the sofa.  They’ve got tight smiles on their faces and wide black pupils.

‘Hey Po Po,’ Oliver slurs, his eyes blood shot.  Smoke dances up from behind him.

‘Ollie, is your arse smoking?’

‘Oh, um...no.  It's just...I’m hot stuff.  I’m actually smoking hot.’

Jazz explodes over in fresh giggles.  Ollie pulls the joint that he’s been hiding from behind him and takes another deep drag.

‘I can't believe you two have been getting stoned!  I told you no drugs in my flat!’

‘Oh chill out Pops,’ Jazz laughs.  She gets up and tries to hug me, but misses me completely, falling flat on the carpet.  She looks up disorientated, only to throw her head back laughing. 

What the hell are these two doing together anyway?  They don't normally hang out.

‘You ready to go?’ Ollie asks me, standing up and wobbling a little.

‘Yeah, although I really don't feel up to it.  You know Mum called just now and reminded me not to wear my hair up.  Did you know that my ears are my worst feature?’

He smiles at me.  ‘Sometimes it's all I can think about.’

I slap him on the shoulder and take a good look at him.

‘Jesus Ollie, your eyes are so blood shot.  How are you gonna hide this from Mum?’ 

‘She’ll be too pissed to notice anyway,’ he laughs.  ‘Right, come on then.’  He turns to wink at Jazz ‘Bye cheeky.’

Jazz winks back, a tight smile on her face.  What the hell is going on between them?

‘What are you two doing hanging out together anyway?’ I ask, not able to help myself. 

Awkward silence fills the air and I wish I’d just kept my big mouth shut.

‘I think he fancies me,’ Jazz jokes.  ‘I can't blame him really.  I mean, look at this.’ She points over her body, pushing her boobs out.

‘Yeah right!’ he snorts, playfully hitting her on the shoulder.  ‘Other way round maybe.’

This flirting is outrageous.  I can't believe my eyes. 

‘Look,’ Ollie says to Jazz.  ‘If you wanna fuck me, you know where I live.’  He blows a kiss as he dances away.

Jesus.  What a tool.

‘Bye Romeo,’ Jazz sings after him.  I shoot her a warning look and follow him out. 

‘Jesus Ollie, are you wearing Timberland boots in June?’

‘Yeah, so what?’ he says, attempting to look at me, but instead getting distracted by a pigeon.

‘So, who do you think you are, P Diddy?’

‘I’m telling you, the only difference is I’m not black.’

‘Yep, only difference,’ I drool sarcastically. 

We drive around to Mum’s house, whilst listening to Ollie’s Dubstep album, which he’s insisted on playing.  We’re going round for our weekly Sunday roast, which for some bizarre reason we always have on a Monday.  I haven’t been in a while but I know I’ll just get another whinging phone call if I don't, and it's really not worth it.

‘Oh, hi my little darlings,’ Mum sings from the kitchen.  ‘Come and give Mummy a hug.’  She puts down her glass of wine and heads towards us.

Her style has never changed over the years, preferring to emulate a Barbie doll than a human being.  Her blonde hair is scooped up into a hair clip, her sculpted cheeks painted with blusher and her thin lips glossed with the brightest neon pink.  Except tonight it's smudged. 

Ollie heads straight for the back door and lights up a fag while Mum squeezes me so hard I’m sure all of my secrets are going to fall out.  Richard and Henry wave politely as they walk into the dining room.  All three brothers share Mum’s gorgeous gene pool, the same blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.  It's only me and Dad that are the ugly ducklings.

‘Hi Poppy Poppet,’ Dad says, as he comes out of the dining room.  His pale milky skin is unusually flushed.  He pulls me into a tight bear hug.  ‘It's nearly ready.’

Dad always has to take over Mum’s cooking attempts.  She’s always the first to offer to cook massive complicated meals, but then when the first item burns she decides to crack open the wine and let Dad save the day.  That's what happens when you insist on drinking two bottles of wine while you cook.

‘Did you hear that everyone?’ Mum shouts.  ‘It's nearly ready.  Everyone in the dining room and remember, no-one is allowed in the sitting room!’

‘More wine Meryl!’ Auntie Beryl shouts, sticking her head out briefly from the dining room.  ‘Hi Poppy darling,’ she smiles.  Mum grabs another bottle and runs in.

I follow Dad into the kitchen and steal a roast potato, throwing it from hand to hand when I realise how piping hot it is. 

‘Why aren’t we allowed in the sitting room?’ I ask Dad. 

He sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. 

‘She’s re-decorating it again.  Doesn’t want anyone to see the new theme.’

‘
Another
theme?’

‘Yep.’  He hands me the spoon and indicates for me to continue stirring the gravy. 

‘Dad, why don't you stop her?  She only decorated that room three years ago.’  It always gets to me how she bosses him around and doesn’t let him have a say in anything. 

‘You know her, love.  Wild horses couldn’t stop her.’

I help Dad carry the plates into the dining room.  I look around at the ‘tropical’ themed dining room and shudder.  I remember when she unveiled this one.  The mural walls of a Caribbean island, the giant fish tanks on either side of the room with tropical fish, the bamboo table and chairs.  When it was originally unveiled she’d actually got sand imported, much to mine and Ollie’s delight.  We spent the entire evening making sand castles, but she wasn’t happy when Ollie got drunk and peed on it and then dragged it all around the house on his shoes.

I’ve just got to get through this one meal.  And hope Ollie doesn’t look suspicious.       

‘So Richard, how are you and Annabel?’ I ask, not being able to fully look him in the eye.

‘Fine thanks,’ he smiles, beaming brightly.  ‘Well actually, really good.  We’re actually going to start trying for a baby.’

WHAT?

‘Oh darling!’ Mum sings.  ‘I’m so happy for you both!’

‘A baby!’ Auntie Beryl screams.  ‘Fantastic news!’

Trying for a baby?  Is he mad?  She’s cheating on you, I want to scream!  But how could I do that?  What the hell is Annabel playing at?  What if she’s off the pill and gets pregnant by Cheryl’s husband and Richard ends up raising it, wondering why the baby looks nothing like him.

‘That's a bit rushed isn’t it?’ I blurt out, without thinking it through properly. 

‘Rushed?’ he asks, turning to face me, puzzled.

‘Yes darling, what do you mean?’ Mum asks.  ‘He and Annabel have been together forever.  It's a natural normal step.’

‘A baby?’ Ollie asks, giggling.  ‘Babies are silly.’  God, he’s stoned. 

‘Oh, yeah...I know that.  I just wanted to make sure you were sure,’ I mumble.

‘They’ve got like really small feet,’ Ollie continues ‘and like really, really small hands.’

Mum looks at him strangely. 

‘Yes darling.  Babies are
generally
small.’

‘I think someone might be a little jealous, hmm?’ Auntie Beryl says, smiling knowingly at Mum as she tops up their wine glasses.

‘No!  Of course I’m not jealous,’ I retort.

They all smile knowingly and start different conversations.  I can't believe this.  Do they all think I’m madly jealous of happy couples or something?  I’m just trying to stop him from making a huge mistake with a woman that's cheating on him.  God, if only they knew.

Two hours later I decide to swap seats with Ollie (who, thank God, has calmed down a bit now) so that I can sit next to Richard. 

‘So Rich,’ I say as casually as I can.  ‘How is Annabel?’

‘Yeah, good thanks,’ he nods politely.  This is what I hate about my two older brothers.  They always talk to me like I’m some office acquaintance, not their baby sister.  I want to be someone that they can confide in.

‘Oh, good good.  Good, good good.’

I think that may be a little too many ‘goods’.  He stares back at me as if I’m doing a Britney Spears, crashing his car with an umbrella, only moments away from shaving my head.  Perhaps I should have tried this before I sunk a bottle of wine. 

‘So, how long have you guys been together?  God, it's been years, hasn’t it?  And still.....good.’

‘Yes Poppy,’ he says very slowly, as if speaking to a toddler.  ‘It's been twenty years and still going strong.’

‘Fuck!’ I shout, spitting out a bit of my wine.  ‘Twenty years?’

‘Yep.  We got together when we were fourteen and now we’re thirty four’.  He smiles to himself.  ‘Time flies when you’re having fun.’

My poor clueless sap of a brother.  He has no idea what an evil conniving bitch his wife is.

‘Yeah,’ I nod.  ‘And you are still having....fun?  You know, date nights and stuff to spice it up?’

His mouth drops open slightly and his eyes boggle out of his head.

‘Are you....’

Oh my God, I’ve said too much.  He’s figured it out.  He knows she’s having an affair.  He’s had his suspicions before tonight and now he’s put it all together like at the end of those murder mysteries.

‘Are you....asking me,’ he lowers his voice to a whisper, ‘about my sex life?’

This time I definitely spit out my wine.  It sprays in several directions and manages to get Auntie Beryl on the face.  She looks horrified and starts cleaning herself off with a napkin.

‘No!  Not sex!  Just, you know....date nights and stuff.’

‘Oh Pops,’ he says, resting his hand on my shoulder.  ‘I think I know what this is about.’

Finally!

‘Don't beat yourself up.  It's not your fault,’ he says kindly, smiling weakly.

Huh?

‘I know it's not my fault?’

‘Stuart just didn’t want to go out with you anymore.  It wasn’t because you didn’t do enough date nights or anything like that.  He just wanted to invest in himself, do something on his own for once.’

Is this guy for real?  He looks at me, his face pained from how apparently pathetic I am to him.  I open my mouth to reply, but no sound comes out.

‘Annabel and I make time for ourselves.  It's like at the moment, she’s doing this writing course.  It's two nights a week, every Tuesday and Thursday and I let her get on with it.’

‘Mmmhmmm,’ I just about manage.

‘I try to get her to read some out to me, but bless her, she’s so shy.’  He smiles fondly.

Writing course, my fucking arse!  Those are obviously her booty nights.  I know I should feel really sorry for him at the moment but I can't help but want to punch him in the face.  How can he be so condescending to me?

‘But don't worry Pops.  It will happen for you.  One day you’ll be as happy as me and Annabel.  I’m...almost sure of it.’

I nod, the skill of speech seeming to have escaped me.  I look away from him, desperate for some kind of distraction.  Does my own brother honestly think I am this pathetic? 

I look over at Mum, desperate for her to behave like a Mum for once.  For her to notice just by looking at me that I’m upset.  To take me into the front room, put a blanket over me and make me some hot chocolate while I tell her all about it.  Instead I notice her and Auntie Beryl swapping insults, swaying from side to side on their chairs.  Why can these two never handle their wine?  You’d think with twenty years’ experience they’d have it down to a tee. 

‘Well, it's like I’ve always said, you can't buy class,’ Mum snorts, eyeing her disapprovingly. 

‘And what on earth is that supposed to mean?’ Auntie Beryl slurs.  She attempts to smooth her hair back, only making it stand more on end.

‘It means that you’ve got no class,’ Mum retorts.

‘Mum!’ I shout.

‘Oh, back out Poppy.  This is between me and her.’

‘Don't get angry with Poppy.  You’ve never been a good mother!’ Auntie Beryl slurs back, spilling her wine on the table.

‘A good mother?  How
dare
you!  You don't even talk to Carolyn anymore.’

Auntie Beryl gasps and freezes in horror.  Carolyn is my cousin, who was always a goody two shoes.  She was always the golden girl in the family, until she announced on her twenty first birthday that she was a lesbian.  Well actually, I think her exact words in her speech were ‘massive muff muncher and if you don't love me you can go fuck yourself mum’.  It was one of those excruciating embarrassing family events that we all pretend never happened.  Shortly after, she moved to India to teach English and we haven’t talked about her since.