Ice and a Slice (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Another thing SJ had noticed since she’d given up drinking was that she’d started to remember things she hadn’t thought about since they had happened – or at least not for a very long time – which wouldn’t have been so bad if any of them were nice. But they weren’t. Sometimes the memories were incomplete – she’d get fragments of the past flicking into her mind; random scenes that weren’t connected would play out in her head like some surreal film. This usually happened at night when she was trying to get to sleep, which was virtually impossible when the only nightcap she allowed herself was camomile tea.

When she mentioned it to Kit he told her that alcohol was a very good memory suppressant, which was often why people drank, and that eventually the memories would work themselves out of her head.

“It might help if you talked about them,” he added idly.

“To you?” she asked, half wanting to talk to him about them, and half afraid.

“It doesn’t have to be me. You could see another counsellor, maybe a psychotherapist if you prefer?”

SJ shook her head. She trusted Kit, but she didn’t want anyone else poking about inside her mind.

There was a small silence.

“Did you mean now?” SJ asked, noticing with a stab of alarm that they had forty minutes of the session left.

“If you like?” He gave her a half smile and said nothing else until eventually she said, “Okay ...”

Kit nodded, his dark eyes interested but not impatient, and SJ went on slowly. “A lot of things I remember are about my parents …” He nodded again. “… This is probably very childish and stupid but I don’t think they’ve really ever loved me.” She bit her lip. “No – that’s wrong. They do love me, but they love Alison more.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“They always take her side,” she said, swallowing hard. “They always did it when we were kids, and they’re still doing it now.” She paused. “Even when she slept with Derek they sided with her. Well, they were shocked for a while, but then as time went on they thought we should move on, put it all behind us. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her. They still don’t.”

Kit shifted in his chair but he didn’t speak, and after a while she went on quietly. “They’ve never once said that Alison should miss a family gathering so I can go for a change. They don’t blame her for breaking up my marriage. They just blame me for being an unforgiving cow.” She could feel tears sliding down her face, but she couldn’t stop them and she couldn’t look at Kit. “It’s their party in a week’s time and I’ve got to take Tom to meet Alison.”

“Are you scared it might happen again, SJ? Is that what you’re thinking?”

She reached for the box of economy tissues and narrowly avoided knocking over the leaflet stand.

“I don’t think I can do it without a drink,” she said.

“Yes, you can. You’re stronger than you think, SJ.”

“I’m not,” she said sadly. “I’m really not.”

It was only when she had tidied up her face in the loo downstairs with the aid of some cold water and a paper towel and was outside again in the sunshine of the Soho street that she realised she had never answered Kit’s question.

Was she afraid Alison would make a move on Tom?

Tom wasn’t like Derek. Tom was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person, whereas Derek had been far more complex.

As far as she knew Tom had never lied to her – unlike Derek, who’d kept on lying, even when he must have known it was futile. Even when he must have known all his lifelines were used up.

“I’ve just been to see Alison,” she’d announced on that evening five years ago, as she’d walked back into their kitchen.

“Oh, yeah – how’s she doing?” There was nothing in his face. Not a flicker of apprehension, not an echo of remorse. She’d felt anger building.

“You know how she’s bloody well doing – you slept with her on Saturday night.” SJ didn’t recognise her own voice; it was so choked with bitterness, every word twisted with pain.

Yet still for a moment he hadn’t reacted. He’d just stared back at her, his eyes blank. For an awful moment SJ had thought he was going to carry on denying it. Tell her she was imagining things, being paranoid.

Instead, he scratched his nose, coughed, and cupped his hand over his mouth, almost thoughtfully. Not thoughtfulness, but guilt, SJ registered, remembering something she’d learned in psychology. People always touched their faces when they felt awkward or were about to lie – it was almost as if they could take some of the power out of their words if their hand was across their mouth. Make the lie not quite as potent.

“So?” she prompted quietly. “Tell me your side of the story. Is it true? Did you sleep with my sister as soon as I was safely in Dublin? Or has she made the whole thing up?”

“Um…” He took a couple of paces backwards, half turning so he was facing their kitchen window.

SJ followed his gaze. On their patio the rotary clothes line was strung with a line of his socks and pants, the Armanis amongst them, stirring slightly in the evening breeze. She could see the line of tension in his jaw.

She trembled. “For God’s sake, Derek, just tell me what happened.”

“I was off my face. I don’t really remember.”

“Well, Alison does.” She moved across his line of vision so he was forced to look at her. “Alison remembers all the gory little details. She even remembers what boxers you were wearing. And what sheets…” she broke off, haunted by fresh images.

Derek shook his head and stared at the floor. A muscle was twitching in his cheekbone. His brown hair was ruffled like the feathers of a bird after a dust bath. He had never looked so beautiful. She had never hated him so much.

He cleared his throat again, spreading his hands in front of him; his wedding ring glowed dully in the golden light.

“I’m sorry, okay. I’m really sorry. Like I said, I don’t even remember it – I was really pissed.”

“But you still managed to do it. Was it good? Or did you just think, well I’ve tried one sister I’d better try the pretty one. Is that what you thought?”

“No. No, of course I didn’t.”

For the first time he looked shocked. When she raised her hands to slap him, hardly aware of what she was doing, wanting only to hurt, he didn’t even try to defend himself. He just stood there mutely, letting her vent her rage and pain and grief.

She’d bloodied his nose and he hadn’t tried to stop her. Afterwards, she’d sat at the kitchen table while he cleaned off the blood with a wet dishcloth at the sink. Then he’d turned back to her, his shoulders straighter now as if he somehow thought that it was done with. An eye for an eye, a bloodied nose for the worst pain he could have inflicted. SJ had felt wrung out, all the fight and anger gone. But she’d known he could never make up for what he’d done.

All through their marriage she had ignored it when he flirted with her friends because she had trusted him utterly. She had felt secure in the knowledge that he’d chosen her. That she came first in his life and always would.

But now that trust was shattered. She knew it could never be rebuilt.

While Alison had gone back to her adoring husband and been forgiven – sometimes SJ thought Clive would put up with anything for a quiet life – SJ had thrown Derek out and filed for divorce. The unbearable pain had slid slowly into black depression, but she couldn’t take him back. She couldn’t risk letting him do it to her again. She couldn’t risk letting any man do that to her again.

Chapter Twenty-Four

There were twenty-four hours to kick off, and all SJ’s fears about seeing Alison were swirling around in her heart. There was still time for something to crop up and detain her – but she’d had her hair done at Oliver’s, just in case. He’d chopped off loads – SJ had watched in horror as it fell in chunks to the salon floor, but it did look better, she had to admit. To her surprise it didn’t seem that much shorter, but it no longer turned witchy five minutes after she’d dried it.

She had a feeling she’d lost a bit of weight too. That was probably because she’d eaten very little lately – she was too nervous to eat. Or perhaps her wine-free evenings were beginning to make a difference.

“What are you going to wear?” Tanya had asked when she’d phoned the previous evening, and the question had sent SJ into a panic.

A frantic search through her wardrobe had increased the panic tenfold. It was ages since she’d been anywhere that required dressing up. Her old party clothes were all too small. Her Monsoon jacket needed cleaning and it was too late to get it done. Anyway, it wasn’t really party wear.

When she’d mentioned it to Tom he suggested she buy something. Then he’d put his money where his mouth was and had given her his credit card. Her guilt at spending more of his money overridden by desperation, SJ had nipped into town and returned with two outfits, neither of which she was sure were suitable. She never had been able to make up her mind where clothes were concerned.

Now she laid them out on the bed and wondered whether she should phone Tanya and ask for advice. Finally, she did.

“I’ve got this long black skirt from Next, which sort of skims over my bulgy bits and hides my legs, and a floaty white gypsy-style blouse to go with it.”

“Right …” Tanya didn’t sound very impressed. “Don’t tell me – the other outfit includes black leggings?”

“Well, yes it does ….” SJ bristled. “What’s wrong with black leggings?”

“Nothing’s actually wrong with them, but you never wear anything else, so they’re hardly special, are they?”

“So what do you suggest? I can’t be bothered to take everything back.”

“You must – I’ll come with you. We can get you kitted out in something glam. I’ll meet you outside Next in half an hour.”

SJ wasn’t sure she fancied the idea of something glam. It was okay for Tanya, who always looked stunning, but she had far too many lumpy bits that needed covering up. She pointed this out to Tanya as soon as she arrived, waving her Next bag defiantly.

“You’re talking rubbish,” Tanya said, without even a glance at the skirt and blouse she’d spent hours choosing. “Now let’s get rid of these and find something more suitable.”

To SJ’s horror, Tanya’s idea of ‘something more suitable’ turned out to be a tiny black shift dress with spaghetti straps.

“I can’t wear that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too short. Everyone will see my legs.” Everyone would probably be able to see her knickers too, if she leaned forward, she thought glumly. She wouldn’t even have been keen on that ten years previously, when there’d been a lot less of her.

“There’s nothing wrong with your legs. Now humour me. At least try it on.”

SJ did as she was told, then poked her head around the changing room curtain where Tanya was on guard so she couldn’t do a runner.

“I’m not coming out, I feel naked. You’ll have to come in.”

“It looks gorgeous,” Tanya said. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” SJ didn’t want to admit she hadn’t actually looked in the mirror because she knew she would look hideous. It had taken her ages to sort out the spaghetti straps, which had lived up to their name and tangled into knots.

“Well, I think it suits you. You look ever so slim.”

“Do I?” SJ sneaked a glance and saw that while slim was a slight exaggeration, she didn’t have any untoward bulges – the skirt skimmed rather than clung. Her arms looked okay too – they weren’t flabby at all, which was a nice surprise; she hadn’t worn any arm-revealing tops lately. Pity about her legs.

“All you need now is some nice heels, and the right bag, and some suitable bling. Come on, let’s go and pay for the dress.”

The shoes Tanya made her buy were lovely, feminine and delicate so even her size eight clodhoppers looked good. Her legs looked slimmer in heels, too. She felt like Cinderella. The right bag turned out to be a black clutch bag with diamante detail, but Tanya turned her nose up at the display of jewellery.

“Too expensive for what it is. You can borrow something of mine. Come on, let’s head back and you can choose.”

“Are you sure it’s not too late?”

“No, Michael won’t mind – he never goes to bed early. Come on. I want to get you sorted out properly.”

Michael was watching a black and white film when they got back. It was the first time SJ had seen him to talk to since Tanya had told her about his penchant for cross-dressing. Although she’d waved at him across the squash court once or twice, they hadn’t been out as a foursome lately – Tom had been too busy with work.

She’d been afraid she might feel differently about him, but when he leapt up and gave her a hug, she realised with relief that she didn’t. He was still the same old Michael, with his boyish grin and floppy fringe. She pushed the images of Lizzie firmly out of her head as she returned his peck on the cheek.

“How you doing, SJ?” His eyes sparkled. “Been shopping? What have you bought?”

She got the dress out to show him, and he made all the right noises. Man-type grunts of approval, rather than Lizzie-type girly comments – phew!

“Tanya’s going to lend me some bling.”

“Uh huh. I’ll leave you girls to get on with it then.” With another quick grin he went back to his film, and they escaped upstairs.

“Right, all you need to do now is to put your hair up and you’ll knock ’em dead,” Tanya announced when SJ had got the whole outfit on again – complete with a chunky pink and gold necklace. “You look stunning.”

SJ wouldn’t have gone that far, but she had to admit she did look better than she’d done in the skirt and blouse, which had been more sensible A-level tutor than party girl.

“Don’t forget nail varnish.” Tanya scooped up two bottles from her dressing table. “One of these would look good. How are you feeling now?”

“Like I might actually be going, after all,” SJ admitted, swallowing a choked-up feeling of gratitude. “Thanks, Tanya. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

When she got home she hung everything in her wardrobe and told Tom he’d have to wait until tomorrow before he saw what she was wearing. She didn’t want the short dress giving him ideas. They hadn’t made love lately and she didn’t know how she was going to manage it without the help of a few glasses of wine.

It struck her she’d have the same problem after the party – but the following night was aeons away. She couldn’t think of anything beyond facing Alison.

While Tom was getting ready for bed she phoned her mother from the privacy of the lounge, guessing correctly she’d be up late doing party food.

“Sarah-Jane, I hope you’re not ringing me with any last minute excuses about not being able to come, because I’ve got enough on my plate already.”

SJ was about to make some indignant denial, but then she reminded herself Mum had every right to be worried. After all, that was exactly what she’d done on every previous occasion in history. “Of course not,” she soothed. “I was just checking that everything was set for tomorrow – and there was nothing else you wanted us to do.”

She was also harbouring the faint hope that Alison, by some miracle, had decided not to go. But her mother’s next words dashed this to smithereens.

“Yes, we’re all set. Your sister’s done most of the food – she’s a godsend. I couldn’t have managed without her.”

“Great.”

SJ could hear the hollowness in her voice and maybe her mother could too, because she added gently, “She’s ever so pleased you’re coming, pet. It’s going to be lovely having my two girls together again.”

SJ wondered what she meant by
together.
Her mother probably had some rosy picture of her and Alison telling each other jokes over a G&T. Oh God, don’t think of gin.

“And it’s so long since you’ve seen the children, isn’t it? Sophie’s a proper young lady now – just like her mother. You won’t recognise her. Kevin hasn’t changed much, unfortunately. Alison caught him smoking in his bedroom the other day. I ask you.” Her mother tutted her disapproval. SJ had a feeling she might like Kevin the most. He was obviously the black sheep of the family. They’d have a lot in common.

“Anyway, love, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all this now. But I’m so pleased you and Tom are going to be there.” Her mother’s voice dropped an octave. “I do love you, you know, Sarah-Jane. I’ve hated all this upset. It means the world to me that you’re coming.”

It crossed SJ’s mind that her mother might have had a couple of glasses of something herself. She wasn’t given to unprompted declarations of affection.

“We’re looking forward to it, Mum,” she lied huskily. “Now, you go and put your feet up, and don’t worry about a thing. Tom and I will see you tomorrow.”

She hung up just as Tom came into the room, wearing nothing but his boxers. Considering he had a desk job and ate pasta whenever he felt like it, he was in pretty good shape.

“Everything okay, love?” He crossed the room and sat beside her on the window seat.

“I need a wash,” she protested, as he slipped his arms around her waist and tried to kiss her.

“I’ll help you get your clothes off.”

“No need,” she yelped as she escaped. When he came up to bed she pretended to be asleep, ignoring his hands as they ran over her body and discovered she was still wearing her pants. That should be a big enough clue, surely? She threw in a little snore for good measure and eventually Tom got the message and rolled over with a sigh.

SJ knew she wasn’t being fair, but she couldn’t have made love with him tonight if her life depended on it. Yet now he’d left her alone she was far too tense to sleep.

When she finally drifted off, her dreams were fragmented and filled with Alison. In one of them SJ and Kevin, who’d morphed into a twenty-five year old Bruce Willis lookalike, were running away from Alison down her mother’s garden, each of them carrying a box of two hundred Marlboro.

“If I ever catch you smoking again, I’ll kill you,” Alison raged, as she closed the gap between them.

“In here,” SJ gasped, yanking open the door of the summer house, shoving Kevin inside and instructing him to hide behind the tomatoes. “She’ll never find us in here.”

She woke up, her heart thudding madly, as if she really had been running. It was three a.m. She got out of bed, fetched a glass of water from the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath, sipping it and listening to the creaks and night noises of the old house and Tom’s gentle snores from next door.

‘You’re stronger than you think, SJ.’
Strange how it was Kit’s voice, not Tom’s that flickered into her head, offering reassurance and a smidgeon of comfort, like a tiny candle in the black old night.

SJ crept back across the landing to bed, wishing that Tom would wake up and reach out and cuddle her. He wouldn’t even have had to speak; just the feel of his arms would have been enough. Perhaps if she woke him? But that wasn’t very fair – and if she woke him and he was cross, she didn’t think her wired emotions would cope. She curled up on her side and then spooned into the heat of him and shut her eyes.

The rest of the night was fragmented between restless sleep and nightmares. In the last nightmare she was sipping wine from the spout of a watering can.

SJ woke up with a sickening feeling of dread and her head pounding from the hangover. Oh God, she’d caved in and had a drink. Dorothy was going to be furious. Kit would shake his head and give her one of his serious raised-eyebrow looks, which were far worse than if he’d just told her she was a weak-willed silly cow. Tanya would be bitterly disappointed. Shame flooded through her – she’d been so determined, so sure she wasn’t going to drink again. Drinking out of a watering can too.
Watering can!

It took her a few moments to realise she hadn’t been doing any such thing. As the echoes of the hangover flicked out of her mind, like little scurrying night demons that giggled as they ran, SJ heard
Alco’s
taunting voice. She blocked it out – she knew now that the voice wasn’t a separate entity, but her own doubts and low self esteem converging into one in her head. Trying to sabotage the good she was doing.