The Secret to Happiness, page 9
It had been such a confusing week and she’d found herself treading on eggshells, wondering whether she was going to wake up next to Jekyll or Hyde. She’d grabbed the moments of affection with both hands, determined not to burst the bubble by talking about holidays or the kitchen, or telling him she’d started bootcamp. On those few good days, she fantasised about him producing travel tickets or suggesting they go for a drive which happened to end up at the airport. On the dark days, she knew there was as much chance of that happening as there was of her ever fitting into a pair of size twelve jeans.
‘Do you want some toast?’ Dave asked when she made her way down to the kitchen.
Alison stopped dead in the doorway. Dave offering to make breakfast? That was a first. ‘Yes, please.’
Dave smiled at her. Actually smiled. Wow! If he was in a good mood again, she wouldn’t initiate any conversation. He could pick the topics and she’d go with the flow.
‘I’ve got a present for you,’ Dave said when they’d finished eating. He handed her something wrapped in newspaper. ‘I think I’ve got the right ones.’
She peeled back the paper, gasping as she revealed two cerulean Denby dinner plates.
‘Don’t tell me I’ve got the wrong bloody colour,’ he said.
She slowly shook her head. ‘No. It’s right. It’s just that… I can’t believe you did that.’ As she said the words, she wasn’t sure whether she meant about him replacing them or about him smashing them in the first place.
‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry and all that. I know your grandma gave you them and you were a bit precious about them.’
Precious? No. She wasn’t precious about them; they were precious to her. He of all people should have understood that. They were the last gift she’d ever received from a member of her family. He knew that. He knew that was why they meant so much to her. He got it. Or she thought he did. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he never had. Maybe she’d just dreamt that he understood her because she’d needed him to.
Silence.
Dave cleared his throat. ‘So, erm, I was thinking about what you said before about going on holiday this week instead of doing the kitchen…’
Alison’s heart started pounding. ‘Yes…?’
‘And I think you’re right.’
‘You do?’ She fought hard to contain the squeal of excitement building inside her. He didn’t like it when she was ‘giggly and girly’.
‘Some of the lads from work are going to Ibiza this week and I’ve always wanted to go there.’
Ibiza? She’d been hoping he’d suggest Corfu again but, hey, it was a holiday and Ibiza might be even hotter and steamier than Corfu. Yes!
‘Ibiza sounds good,’ she said, already mentally working her way through her wardrobe and trying to think what she had in light colours rather than her signature black.
‘I know I said that stuff about not spending the savings on a holiday, but I was thinking it’s been so long since Corfu—’
‘Yes. Go for it.’
Dave screwed up his nose. ‘Actually, I already have.’
‘Oh my God!’ Alison clapped her hand across her mouth. ‘That’s amazing. When do we go?’
Silence.
‘Dave? When do we fly?’
He suddenly seemed very interested in a groove in the table, scraping toast crumbs out of it with his thumbnail.
‘Dave?’
‘The flight’s late tomorrow so we’re driving down early afternoon, but it’s er… it’s not we as in you and me.’
Alison’s stomach churned. ‘What do you mean?’
He looked up, his expression guilty. ‘I said the lads were going and they’ve invited me.’ He laughed nervously.
He was going on holiday. Without her. Using their savings. Without her.
‘How long have you been planning this?’ she whispered.
‘Not long. Greavesy called while you were out babysitting last weekend.’
Oh my God! He’d been nice to her when she’d got home. He’d apologised about calling her fat. They’d made love. And it had all been because he’d been trying to sweeten her. She’d known it. She’d known he was up to something, but she’d never imagined something as low as this.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
He shrugged apologetically. ‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I? We’re not leaving till tomorrow.’
Replacing the plates. Making her some toast just now. All pathetic attempts at easing his guilty conscience. He’d obviously chickened out of telling her during the week, probably knowing he was bang out of order.
She watched him dump his mug on the table for her to clear away before making his way towards the door. Then he stopped and turned around.
‘Was that sports gear I saw in the washing basket?’ he asked.
Heat rushed to Alison’s cheeks.
‘You’ve never gone and joined a hockey team, have you?’
‘No.’ She straightened her shoulders and stared at him defiantly. ‘I’ve joined a bootcamp.’
He laughed out loud. ‘Yeah, right. You? At bootcamp? That’s hilarious.’
‘Why’s it hilarious?’
‘Have you looked in the mirror lately? Jesus Christ, Ali. Bootcamp? That’s classic.’ He left the kitchen, chuckling to himself.
16
Danniella
‘I’m so sorry. I know we’ve only just met, but I didn’t have anyone else to turn to…’
Danniella held out her arms and hugged Alison. ‘Hey, don’t cry. You came to the right place.’ She led Alison into the lounge and sat beside her on the sofa.
‘You’re sure you don’t mind me staying here? It’s only for one night. If I’d had to stay there a moment longer, I might have smashed one of those damn plates over his head.’
‘How about I make us a cuppa then you can tell me all about it?’
Alison blew her nose. ‘That would be great. You’re sure I’m not stopping you from working?’
Danniella paused. ‘I do need to do some work today but I’m okay for the moment.’
‘Just say the word and I’ll bury my head in my Kindle. I really, really appreciate this. You’re a true friend.’
Friend. Danniella repeated the word in her head as she made the drinks. It had been a long time since someone had referred to her as their friend and, for a brief moment it made her feel normal. Normal person, normal life, normal friends. Except nothing about her existence was normal. She breathed deeply and slowly, trying to calm the rising anxiety.
Over the phone, Alison had said that Dave was setting off early afternoon tomorrow so Alison would be heading home then. That meant a full day with her. Would it be possible for them to spend that long together and not talk about Danniella’s past? She liked Alison very much and suspected she was the sort of person who could be trusted. Was she the sort of person who’d understand, though? Only time would tell. For now, it would need to be small talk. She could ask Alison about Dave and if that led to questions about Danniella’s past, she’d play the work card. Tonight, they could watch a film or go the cinema; good tactic for avoiding conversation. Or Danniella could pretend she had a bad head and needed an early night. It would be fine. She’d find a way to cope. Alison needed her and, after nine months on the road, she knew exactly what it was like to need someone.
‘Here you go,’ Danniella said, handing Alison a mug of tea a few minutes later. ‘From the beginning?’ Alison had given her some details over the phone but it had been a garbled rant about plates and holidays and kitchens that really hadn’t made much sense.
Danniella listened, sipping on her coffee and trying to maintain a poker face, as Alison talked about Dave, her partner of ten years. Going on holiday without her, paying for it using their savings, and only telling Alison when the deed was done? What a git! The offences kept stacking up as Alison told her in more detail about the plate-smashing incident, the insults about her weight, and the continued failure to fit the new kitchen or do anything else around the house.
‘It’s been a difficult few months,’ Alison finished.
‘A few months? It sounds like this has been going on for a lot longer than that.’
‘A difficult few years, then.’
‘What are you going to do when he gets back?’
Alison picked up a scatter cushion and cuddled it to her chest. ‘I honestly don’t know. What would you do if you were me?’
Danniella sighed. ‘Oh, Ali, it would be so easy for me to sit here and say walk away, but we both know that things are never that simple. Ten years is a long time to invest in a relationship, but perhaps that’s the point. Do you and Dave even have a relationship? I know you’re angry and hurting, quite rightly, which may have skewed what you’ve just shared with me, but all I heard was negative stuff. I’m so sorry.’
Alison nodded. ‘You know what? So did I. As I was telling you all about it, I tried to throw in some positives, but I was struggling to find any.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Danniella asked. ‘But when I ask it, I want you to say the first thing that comes into your head, no matter how it might sound.’
‘Okay.’
‘Why do you stay with Dave?’
‘Because he’s the only family I’ve got,’ Alison responded immediately.
‘But do you love him?’
Alison didn’t answer for a moment, then she closed her eyes and shrugged. ‘Is it possible to love someone but not actually like them?’ She opened her eyes again and looked at Danniella.
‘I’d say it probably is.’ Oh yes. Definitely. Danniella knew that feeling well.
‘After Corfu, we both changed jobs which meant more pressure, longer hours, weekends, shifts. We adjusted to our new work routines but forgot to create a home routine. It seemed that, whenever Dave was home, I was working, and whenever I was home, he was working, playing rugby or out with his mates. We muddled along for a couple of years, but, by then I’d become so lonely that I started over-eating. When he started criticising my weight, I felt so angry with him because if he’d occasionally put me first, I might not have been lonely and I might not have turned to food. How can you have a relationship with someone you hardly ever see? How can you be affectionate when all you feel is anger and hurt? And how do you even start to talk about what’s happening when you’ve let it go on like that for four years and every conversation seems to generate an argument?’
Danniella’s heart raced as she thought of her own situation. She could relate to everything Alison was saying. Everything. ‘I’m so sorry. It must have been tough. I get why it would have become too hard to talk to him. Was there nobody else you could talk to about how you were feeling?’
‘My family…’ Alison stopped and sighed. ‘Let’s just say they’re not around. Long story. Maybe another time. As for friends, Aidan was really my only friend. After I met Dave, we didn’t hang around so much and we didn’t stay in touch when we left college. Now I know a lot of people through work but there’s nobody I’d call a proper friend. We go out occasionally and we chat at work but it’s all superficial stuff. You could probably have guessed that I’m a Billy No Mates, though, given that I need somewhere to stay and the only person I could call has been in my life for less than two weeks.’ Alison exhaled. ‘Oh my goodness, I’ve just registered what a liberty that is. I’m so sorry. Where’s my head at? I’ll leave you to it and check into a guest house.’ She rose from the sofa.
‘Sit back down. You’ll do no such thing. You came to the right place. I don’t have anyone to turn to either so I know what it’s like.’
‘You’re sure it’s okay?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Thank you. I really appreciate it,’ Alison said. ‘You’ve got work to do and I’ve kept you chatting too long so how about I earn my keep and make us some more drinks while you do whatever you need to do? I’ll read and I promise not to disturb you.’
‘Sounds good. Thank you.’
When Alison left the room, Danniella moved across to the table and opened her laptop. She did have work to do but none of it was urgent. None of it needed to be done that weekend but the conversation with Alison had hit that inevitable point where it was appropriate for Danniella to share something about herself. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t ready. Saying it out loud would make it true and she still couldn’t face the truth.
17
Alison
Alison opened her eyes in the second bedroom at Danniella’s the following morning. She reached for her phone to check the time and tutted. Six missed calls, eight texts, and two voicemails, no doubt all from Dave. She unlocked the screen to check. Yes. All Dave. Bollocks.
Grinding her teeth, she scrolled through the texts, starting with the earliest, sent about an hour after she’d stormed out the house:
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (11.51 a.m.)
Where are you? How do I work the tumble dryer?
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (12.35 p.m.)
Why aren’t you answering your phone? Where’s my passport?
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (2.17 p.m.)
Still can’t find my passport. Answer the bloody phone!
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (4.44 p.m.)
I’ve found it. Cheers for your help on that. Not. Are you in a strop?
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (6.52 p.m.)
Will you be home for tea? Fancy a takeaway for our last night together? x
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (11.21 p.m.)
This isn’t funny. I’m getting worried. Where are you? I’m sorry. I should have told you about the holiday sooner. Please come home xx
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (2.03 a.m.)
Please call me. I miss you. The house is empty without you xxx
* * *
✉︎ From Dave (8.50 a.m.)
Been awake all night worried about you. I know I screwed up big time and I’m sorry. Greavesy’s picking me up at 1.30 I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye. Please come home xxxxxxxxx
* * *
Shaking her head, Alison listened to the voicemails. The first had been left mid-afternoon and was a frantic tirade of abuse about her leaving him on his own with his washing to sort, unable to find his passport, struggling to find a beach towel, wanting to know where to buy currency… She didn’t bother listening to the end.
The second message had been left in the early hours and was the complete opposite, begging her to come home because he was sorry and he missed her. Apparently he’d come across the commemorative album during his passport search and registered that he’d missed the fifteen-year anniversary. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he asked. ‘No, scrub that. I should have remembered. Shit! You tried to tell me, didn’t you? It was the day you were up early. You even told me what date it was and all I did was moan about the pears and… oh, Christ… that’s the night I ate all the lasagne and sent you out for lager. You must have hated me for that. You probably still hate me. Come home, Ali. Please. Or call me. I just… I’m really sorry. I know I’ve been a crap boyfriend and… it’s just that… Forget it. It doesn’t matter. You’re still my favourite girl. Always will be. Please call me. I need to know I haven’t lost you.’
Warm tears cascaded down Alison’s cheeks as she listened to the second message over and over. She’d never heard Dave sounding so emotional. And he’d called her his ‘favourite girl’ again.
‘He still loves me,’ she whispered.
Wiping her cheeks, she peeled the duvet back, then hesitated. Did she really want to rush home after what he’d done? Did one soppy message mean instant forgiveness? Yes, it had been a lovely message, but… Maybe one more listen before she dashed home to reassure him that he hadn’t lost her; that they were fine.
Dialling back into voicemail, she connected to the first message by mistake. The abusive message. The message full of venom. Her hands scrunched the duvet and her jaw clenched. No, they were not fine, and she was not going to rush home and pretend they were.
‘What do you think?’ Alison asked Danniella. They’d wandered down to the seafront for a takeaway breakfast, eaten on Stanley’s bench.
Danniella handed the phone back to Alison. ‘It’s like listening to two different people.’
Alison sipped her tea. ‘And if you’d only listened to the second one?’
‘I’d say Dave’s had a light bulb moment and he’s genuinely sorry. But you can’t ignore the first one, Ali. He was so rude to you.’
‘I know.’
‘Is he like that at home?’
‘Sometimes.’
A young couple walked past them, giggling, arms wrapped round each other. It had been like that with Dave at first. No, not just at first. It had been like that for six years. Not anymore, though. Her shoulders slumped as she forced back the tears.
‘Have you ever been rock-pooling?’ Alison asked, looking down onto the beach. It had recently been high tide, leaving only a narrow stretch of sand interspersed with freshly-filled rock pools.
‘Erm… no, I don’t think so. Maybe as a kid. I don’t specifically remember, though.’
‘My whole family loved rock-pooling. I had a younger sister and brother, Fleur and Max. We used to compete to see who could find the biggest starfish or crab, or the brightest coloured shell. It was so exciting, wading through the pools in our wellies, carefully turning over stones and hoping to find something special. My parents and my grandma would join in too. Grandma always found the best stuff, but would call one of us over and make out that we’d found it.’
