Liz Nugent - Lying in Wait

‘Laurence, it’s me.’

He pulled the door open reluctantly.

‘They said you were sick. Are you OK?’

‘Yeah.’ He opened the door wider to let me in. He was clearly unwell, still in his dressing gown and unshaven. I followed him into the bare sitting room. The curtains were closed, blocking the amazing views of the bay, and the air was sour.

‘You look terrible. Have you seen a doctor?’

‘I’m fine.’

He was clearly not fine. There was a single mattress and a duvet on the floor in front of a muted television, and it was surrounded by crisp packets, cereal bowls, cake boxes and empty brandy bottles.

‘Laurence, what’s going on?’

He pulled me towards him, rested his head on my shoulder and began to cry. I was alarmed.

‘What is it?’ I embraced him and tried to squeeze his pain away.

‘I can’t… my mother…’ he sobbed. I could smell alcohol and stale sweat.

‘You should take a shower, clean yourself up. I’ll put the kettle on.’

He nodded and headed towards the bathroom. I rummaged through a suitcase on the floor and found a clean towel, which I hung on the towel rail amidst the rising steam. I went into the kitchen, which was laden with dirty dishes and empty food containers. I began to wash up and clean the place as best I could. He had clearly moved in a hurry, because there were no cloths or scourers and only a handful of old chipped plates and crockery, left over from his granny’s time.

I always knew that Laurence was sensitive and could be emotional, but I wondered what could have happened to cause this sudden collapse.

He emerged clean-shaven, and I gave him a fresh set of clothes. He turned away from me as he dressed, as if ashamed.

‘Lar, whatever has happened, you know I love you, right? That still means something.’

‘I’m so, so tired,’ he said. ‘I just want to sleep.’

‘You mentioned your mother…?’

‘I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to see her. Ever.’

‘But she loves you. You always said she loved you too much.’

‘Please don’t ask me about her, please? I just can’t.’

‘Will you come and stay with me for a few days? For as long as you like.’

He bowed his head. ‘I don’t deserve you, I really don’t deserve you.’

Laurence let me drive – he wasn’t sober enough – and when we got back to my apartment, he went straight to bed and slept for twelve hours.

He never told me what the row with his mother was about, but it certainly affected him deeply. I couldn’t imagine what had caused the upset, but some part of me felt relief, I must admit. He had been attached to her in a way that even his work colleagues found odd. They joked about it, and he had always been mildly embarrassed about living at home. He stayed with me for a week and then went back to work. He had a friend, Helen, who retrieved some stuff he needed from his mother’s house while I flew off to Milan for a lipstick shoot. When I returned, he had moved into the cottage permanently. He had been to Avalon and used a rental van to take beds, ancient sofas, odd chairs, tables, rugs, curtains and a dinner service, all things he said were never used and wouldn’t be missed. He said the attic of his house had been covered in dust sheets for years. I helped him unpack boxes of books and records and hang pictures and curtains. I met his friend Helen when she delivered other bits and pieces one day. Laurence had gone to the hardware shop for paint.

‘So you’re the one.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, he should have moved out years ago, but his mum is very vulnerable at the moment.’

I thought we’d got off on the wrong foot. ‘Hi, I’m Karen.’

‘Helen. I was his first girlfriend.’ She seemed pushy and mean, and barged past me into the sitting room. She took a look around.

‘I knew his granny you know, who owned this cottage? She was a right battleaxe.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Have you moved in already?’

I was embarrassed. I was trying to be polite, but I realized I sounded as if I owned the place.

‘Oh no, I’m just helping Laurence – but the kettle’s just boiled.’

‘Grand so.’ She dumped her boxes in front of the TV and sat in Laurence’s armchair.

I made an effort to be mannerly. ‘So, about his mum? I know they had an argument, but I don’t know what it was about.’

Helen’s eyes narrowed. ‘He didn’t tell you? Me neither, but I’m assuming it’s because he moved out. His mother is insane, but I really think he should still talk to her at least. He could pick up the phone. I’m around there every other day. Laurence pays me to keep an eye on her, but she isn’t eating and barely sleeping. She is refusing to talk to Malcolm. You’ve heard about Malcolm? The psychiatrist? He says she’ll have to be sectioned if something doesn’t change soon.’

‘Oh God, I had no idea she was that bad.’

‘She’s sleeping in his bed, for Christ’s sake. Laurence really needs to go and see her. He won’t listen to me. Yeah, she’s mad as a brush, but he’s being unfair to her. She just keeps crying and saying that he’s all she has. A visit even once a week shouldn’t be too much.’

‘He was upset too, about the argument, really upset.’

‘And you have no idea what it was about?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘It could have been about you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yeah, him choosing you over her. You should tell him to go visit her.’

‘Nobody is making him choose . I will tell him to visit.’

She leaned back in the armchair. ‘So how long have you been going out with Lar?’

‘A few months.’

‘Yeah? How did you meet him?’

Her questions were rude and nosy, but I wasn’t going to pretend. ‘My dad used to sign on in his office.’

Helen smirked. ‘Lydia’s not going to like that.’

‘Lydia?’

‘His mum. She’s a pathological snob.’

‘She’s not going to like that I’m separated from my husband either.’

‘Fuck’s sake! Really? No wonder they had a row.’

Helen hung around for a bit longer, waiting for Laurence to arrive. We chatted cordially enough, but I could tell she didn’t like me very much. Eventually, she had to go.

‘No harm to you, you seem all right and you’re pretty and all, but it’s never going to work, you and Laurence. You come from different worlds.’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

‘I’ve known him a lot longer than you.’

‘He loves me.’

‘Touché. But it’s not enough. Good luck.’ She swanned out the door, brazenly swiping a bottle of wine off the table as she left. ‘He owes me.’

I was deeply unsettled. When Laurence came home, I quizzed him about Helen and what she had said.

‘Ignore her. She’s jealous. You and I? We were thrown together in the most bizarre circumstances, but we were the good to come out of it. We can’t let others interfere.’

I didn’t think that Da signing on in his office was so bizarre, but I was comforted by his words. ‘What took you so long at the hardware shop?’

‘I tried to walk there, but I got so tired, I had to get the bus and I had to wait ages. I’m so tired and hungry all the time. I’m trying to stop eating. I don’t understand why I suddenly crave food all the time, like I used to.’ He flopped down on to the sofa and put his feet up, turning the television on.

I hadn’t commented on it, but Laurence had been looking increasingly bloated over the last few weeks. I was sure it was just a phase, something that would correct itself when he resolved this row with his mother. He hadn’t been his usual attentive self. He seemed moody and depressed.