Boyfriend in a Dress (13 page)

I commuted in from Kent, and spent a couple of nights a
week at his. But more and more, I felt inclined to catch the last train home, and more and more he filled his evenings, in my absence, with old university friends, but also with new friends, from work. These older guys took him under their wing, because they saw what a charmer he was; he attracted women he didn’t want because he still had me, and they could pick up the surplus.

And so Charlie’s job became the thing that made him go out on work nights, and eventually to strip clubs disguised as pubs in the East End, fifty pence in a glass for a full strip.

I moved out eventually, to Ealing, near friends, and my sister and Andrew, now her husband, but on my own, I needed the silence. Charlie bought his own flat, without any protests from me, on the opposite side of town. I bought my flat, without any protests from him, and we began to live our separate lives, punctuated with his arrival at my flat after heavy nights out, singing songs and slurring, tripping up and giggling.

Only in the last six months, however, did I sense that Charlie had started shagging around. We had grown apart, that was obvious, but to solve it, or confront it, was a bigger issue than I felt able to cope with. If he wanted to leave, eventually he would, and it didn’t need emotional outpourings or digging up of the past on my behalf. And through it all I felt that deep down, I was at fault too, even if I wasn’t the one having sex with other people. I wasn’t a weak woman; I didn’t stay because I had to. I stayed to see if he would stop, if things would get better without us having to thrash it all out. Maybe we could skip forward, forget the past, and get comfortable again. I didn’t confront him about the affairs, the one-night stands, which surprised even me. Maybe it was the confrontation that he actually wanted. Typical me – good at getting angry about anything but our emotions, anything that might make me cry. We still attended the functions together,
still did the rounds. But our sex became a drunken formality. And the christenings/weddings became more and more tiring, his behaviour more and more unacceptable. He became the perfect person not to take to a family occasion.

Of course Charlie got all the laughs and reinforcement from the boys in the City. You could split them into two groups – public school or Essex. Neither particularly was better or worse than the other; they were all obsessed with money and sex, but mostly money. One group was just more eloquent than the other. Not that they would be interested in having a conversation about anything other than money anyway, so the real difference was only whether you cared if they used the word ‘fiscal’ or not, and it’s never really bothered me.

My friend Naomi went out with one of the Essex boys once; one of Charlie’s crew. On the third date he had asked her to go back to his place, which in itself was a record in abstinence for a City boy, and she had agreed assuming he lived in a converted warehouse in Spitalfields. But she had somehow ended up on the last train out of Liverpool Street heading towards Southend, a train charmingly nicknamed the ‘vomit comet’.

She eventually got off the train at Rainham, at which point her escort decided he would actually rather have a kebab than Naomi herself, and she ended up following him around freezing cold streets while his pissed up mates came rolling out of local pubs and greeted him with shouts of ‘Oi Gary, you fuckin’ bender, it’s your round!’

Naomi finished it the next day. She rang him to tell him it was over, at which point he told her he thought she was frigid anyway. Besides which he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend, Kylie, and he didn’t care whose baby she was having, he would love it like a brother. But essentially the only difference by then between Charlie, and Naomi’s three-date Essex boy was that Charlie pronounced the ‘t’ in ‘slut’.

I realize I have fallen asleep when a phone begins to ring somewhere in my sleep, and eventually I realize it is my mobile, which has fallen off the side of the bed.

I answer it sleepily.

‘Nicola speaking,’ I slur.

‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ Phil asks, matter-of-factly. I rub my eyes, and glance out of the window at the sun setting.

‘What? Yes, no, it’s fine. What time is it, Phil?’

‘It’s … 7.30.’

‘And you’re still in work?’ I ask incredulously, rolling my neck which has gone stiff.

‘No, I left about … an hour ago. I just forgot to tell you that somebody called, and he said he was an old friend. Hold on, I’ve got it written down here somewhere. Hold that, mate.’

Phil passes the phone to one of his mates, and I hear him shuffling some paper, and music playing in the background, and the noise of a London pub on a sunny summer evening. I’m sure this can wait until Monday, but I’m not going to knock him for being conscientious. One of his mates is asking him if his boss is a ‘bird’ and I hear him say yes. He gets asked if he’d do me, and I hear him say ‘shut up, she’s on the bloody phone.’ And then a whispered ‘no’.

‘Nicola?’ he comes back onto the phone.

‘Phil,’ I say.

‘Dave called.’

‘Phil, I don’t know anybody called Dave.’

‘Sorry no, Dale, Dale called, American guy. He left a number, do you want it? Nicola – are you there?’

A thousand images flash through my mind.

‘Nicola, are you there?’ Phil asks loudly.

‘Yes, Phil, I’m here. Have you got the number?’

The doorbell rings suddenly, and I jump out of my skin.

‘Hold on, Phil, I’ve got to answer the door …’ I walk,
dazed, to the door, holding the phone by my side. I answer it, bewildered. I look at the policeman.

‘Can I help you?’ I ask. I remember where I am, and who I am with. I look past the policeman into his car, and see Charlie, sitting in the front seat, wrapped in a blanket, looking guilty.

I can hear Phil shouting my name from the phone.

‘Just one second,’ I say to the policeman, and put the phone back to my ear. ‘Phil, keep the number, give it to me on Monday, I can’t take it now. But don’t lose it. Phil, you mustn’t lose it, okay?’ I plead with him to be responsible.

‘Alright! I won’t.’ He gets annoyed when I expect him to fuck up.

‘No, Phil, this one is important, you mustn’t lose that number.’

‘I won’t,’ he says, a little calmer, realizing how serious I am.

‘Okay, I’ll see you on Monday.’

Turning back to the policeman, I see a second officer escorting Charlie out of the back of the squad car.

‘Are you Nicola Ellis?’ the first policeman asks, looking at his notebook, and then back at me.

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘What has he done?’

The second officer brings Charlie over.

‘Again?!’ I shout at Charlie. ‘Why can’t you keep your bloody clothes on?’

‘Can we come in?’ the policeman asks me, to break the silence, and stop my death glares at Charlie’s head. Charlie stares at the floor and refuses to look me in the eye.

‘Sure, come in.’ I step back and hold open the door, and the policeman ushers Charlie in, while I growl at him. Charlie walks quickly into his parents’ bedroom, and closes the door behind him.

The policemen stand expectantly by the sofa.

‘Please, sit down,’ I say. ‘Can I get you a drink? We have wine, beer, whisky, gin, I think there’s some port …’ Silence.

‘Water?’ I ask.

‘Two glasses of water would be great,’ the first officer says, and they both position themselves on the sofas, sitting forwards, on duty.

‘I’ll be two seconds,’ I say, and move towards the kitchen, but instead duck quickly into Charlie’s parents’ room. Charlie has got dressed, and is lying on the bed with a pillow over his head.

‘Charlie, you are not staying in here. Bloody come out.’ I seethe under my breath.

‘I’m too tired. They want to talk to you anyway. I’ve already spoken to them,’ he replies. Muffled by the pillow, he is barely audible.

‘Ahhhgggg,’ I growl at him, and then storm back out of the room into the kitchen. I get the policemen their water, and sit on the chair opposite them.

‘So, what do you need to talk to me about?’ I ask, as they look at me expectantly.

‘Well,’ the first policeman pipe up again.

‘Charlie didn’t exactly do anything wrong. He was causing a bit of a disturbance, but nobody wants to press any charges. We just thought you might be able to shed some light on … why he was … doing what he was … doing.’ The policemen both seem mightily embarrassed.

‘So he’s not really in trouble?’ I ask.

‘We just gave him a caution,’ the second policeman says, apologetically, sipping his water.

‘Are you sure a night in the cells isn’t called for?’ I ask.

The policemen look at each other quickly.

‘I’m just kidding,’ I say quickly, although quite obviously I wasn’t.

‘Look,’ I sigh, ‘what exactly has he done?’

The first policeman flips open his notebook, and just as quickly flips it shut again.

‘There was a minor … assault,’ he says, again apologetically. These guys feel really sorry for me, I can tell. I hate that.

‘Oh my God, he hit somebody?’ I ask, shocked.

‘Well, not exactly,’ they say in unison.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand – did he … kick somebody? I don’t understand.’ I am completely bewildered. I notice it is very dark in the room suddenly, and we are all talking to shadows. I reach over and turn on the lamp. Both of the policemen seem to relax a little. Charlie has obviously made them nervous.

‘It was with a loaf,’ the first one says.

‘Sorry?’

‘And a fish,’ the other one remarks.

‘That’s right, once with a loaf, and once with a fish,’ the first one says.

‘A crusty bloomer, and a small haddock.’ The second policeman refers to his notes.

I stare at them. My mouth is moving, trying to say something, but I don’t know what. I take a breath. ‘What? Sorry? He hit somebody with a small haddock?’

‘Well,’ the policeman puts his water down on the coffee table, ‘it wasn’t at close range. That’s mostly why we aren’t having to press any kind of charges.’ He says this like it should make all the sense in the world. Which is ironic because I don’t have a fucking clue what is going on.

‘Look, I’m sorry if I’m being dense, but I don’t know what you are talking about. What exactly did he do?’

‘In total, he threw four loaves, and maybe, what, half a dozen fishes?’

‘Yeah, about half a dozen,’ the second one agrees with him, nodding his head.

‘He threw four loaves and half a dozen fishes, and a couple of them struck some passers-by. From about thirty feet. No injuries, but you will have a dry cleaning bill, I believe.’ He smiles at me slightly, as my head twitches from one to the other, trying to make sense of what they are saying. We all sit in silence for a couple of minutes. The policemen sip their water and put it down, rearrange the cushions behind them, tap tunes out on their legs. Eventually one of them coughs, and I look up, nodding my head.

‘So he threw some bread, and some fish. Like a biblical thing? Where was this exactly; in town?’

‘Yes, that’s right, in the square.’

‘Right,’ I carry on nodding my head. ‘Right.’

‘So nobody is pressing any charges then,’ I say.

‘No, but we thought we should bring him back, because he seemed a little …’ The policemen look at each other again, to try and find the right word, and not offend anybody.

‘Insane?’ I ask.

‘No, no, no,’ they both laugh, uncertainly.

‘Sad?’ the first one says.

‘Yes that’s it, sad,’ the second one says.

‘He seemed sad, did he?’ I ask, nodding my head again. The policemen look at me with anxiety. They know I’m not happy. ‘Is there anything you need me to do, officers? Do I need to sign anything?’

‘No, no, it’s fine, we just wanted to bring him home. He’s a good kid is Charlie, I’ve played cricket with his father,’ the first one says.

‘Yeah, he’s just great,’ I say, sarcastically.

‘Seriously, do you think he’s okay?’ he asks me, like I know.

‘You know what? I don’t know. I thought maybe he was just tired … but now, now I don’t know,’ I say quietly.

‘And the bible thing – the fishes and loaves thing – I don’t know what that’s all about. He’s not religious. He was singing earlier …’ I stop myself. I don’t think the bowling green incident, coupled with this, will look good. I don’t know why I am protecting him.

‘At what point did he start taking his clothes off?’ I ask.

‘Oh no, he was just in his shorts when we found him. He was using his top to carry the fish.’ The policeman reaches down and picks up Charlie’s top, which is next to him, and offers it to me.

‘No thanks. You can just leave it there for now,’ I say, all of a sudden smelling fish.

‘Of course.’ He drops it on the floor again.

The first policeman gets up, and the second one follows him to the door.

I follow them, and hold the door as they walk out.

‘Thanks a lot, guys, I’ll speak to him, calm him down,’ I say, trying to sound calm myself.

‘Look, don’t be too hard on him,’ one of the policemen says. ‘I know how much stress these young boys are under, with these high-flying jobs – sometimes they just need to let off some steam. There’s no real harm done.’ He smiles at me weakly.

‘Aha,’ I say, and smile back, jaw set, anger flashing in my eyes. They climb into their squad car, and I wait at the door as they sit and chat for a minute, looking anxiously at me. I think they are worried about a case of domestic violence blowing up as soon as they drive off. I do really want to smack him, but that won’t solve anything. And in the back of my mind, I’m worried. Maybe he really is having some kind of breakdown. Up until now I thought it was just a mini-crisis, an emotional outpouring, a little depression and a little shock. But it’s getting out of hand. How easy is it to get somebody committed anyway?