Lisa Hall - Between You and Me

‘If I gave a shit about us?’ I feel my temper fraying, and although I know there will be consequences I can’t help myself. ‘Why do you think I put up with all of this, Charlie? Why do you think I let you treat me the way you do? Because I don’t care? I stay because, believe it or not, I do love you, and I love Maggie and I want us to be a family! I put up with everything you throw at me so we can be a happy family – so Maggie grows up with two parents!’ You look down at me, still sitting on my hands and knees in the dirt, your lip curling in disgust.

‘Really, Sal? I treat you so badly? Don’t you think that maybe you get treated the way you deserve to be treated?’ With that, you turn on your heel, the sole of your shoe landing on my fingers as you storm off. I feel the bones crunch under your heel and a shocking, sharp twist of pain makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Chapter Fourteen

CHARLIE

I turn on my heel, catching Sal’s fingers under my shoe as I storm out of the little vegetable patch and head back towards the house. I am still shaking with rage. Why doesn’t Sal understand that people get treated the way they deserve to be treated? Sal needs to realise that I don’t do the things I do out of hatred; I do them out of love. This is all Sal’s fault – you can’t lie to your partner and think you can get away with it.

I pour myself a whisky and sit at the kitchen table, waiting for Sal to come back in from the garden. Maybe I did go too far with the allotment; perhaps I did lose control a little bit. But the rage was all-consuming and I’m not too sure I could have stopped myself even if I had tried. Thinking back to that first summer we were together, I remember how once Sal had moved into the shared house with me and the two other housemates, our relationship began to feel more stable. I loved nothing more than coming home and knowing that Sal would be waiting for me. There was the odd hiccup, where I arrived home and no one was there, with no note or anything to say where Sal was, or who Sal was with, but once I got the message home that I needed to know if Sal wasn’t going to be there, and ideally that Sal would be home each evening when I got back from work, things were much better. It was one Sunday, a few weeks after Sal had moved in, that it was decided I must meet Sal’s family, so we travelled to Kent on a sunny but chilly October afternoon.

‘They’re going to love you – and you’re going to love them, I promise.’ Sal tucks cold fingers into the crook of my arm as we walk up the path to Sal’s childhood home.

‘Let’s hope so.’ Sal knocks and the door is flung wide open immediately. Sal’s mother appears, her wide frame filling the doorway, a shock of dark curls, so very similar to Sal’s, standing out around her head.

‘Sally! Oh, my baby, it’s so good to see you! And this must be Charlie!’ She squeezes Sal hard and makes a move towards me. I hold out my hand stiffly before she reaches me, and she pauses for a moment before shaking it, smiling at me all the while.

‘Nice to meet you.’

‘And you, Charlie. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to put a face to the name and see exactly who’s been keeping our Sal from us!’ She turns towards Sal. ‘And YOU! You look … well. It’s been so long. We didn’t see you all summer, so don’t be cross but your sisters are here, too. They’ve missed you!’ She ushers us into the house and through into a poorly lit living room, which is probably quite spacious but it’s hard to tell given the number of people that have been squeezed into it. Cries of ‘Sal! You’re home!’ and ‘It’s been so long!’ fill the air as Sal is immediately surrounded by tall, tanned girls, all with the same shock of crazy dark curls that Sal has. I stand to one side, watching as Sal greets each and every person in the room while I just stand and wait for someone to remember I’m still there.

‘And this is Charlie!’ Sal turns to me, arm outstretched to point at me in the corner. I muster up a smile, raising my eyebrows at Sal, who doesn’t seem to notice quite how uncomfortable I’m feeling. The sisters all turn towards me and I feel as if I’m something under a microscope.

‘Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Julia. I’m the oldest, believe it or not.’ Laughing a ridiculously tinkly laugh is the smallest of all the girls, a petite little thing with dark hair tumbling down her back. ‘And as I’m the oldest, I’m the one in charge, so watch it!’ She laughs again as Sal and the other girls join in. What’s that supposed to mean? I make a mental note to let Sal know when we get home that I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that by anyone, regardless of whether they are part of Sal’s family or not. Sal introduces me to the rest of the sisters, who are all as loud and boisterous as each other, and we all descend on the dining room for Sal’s mum’s amazing Italian feast. Maria passes me the huge tray of pasta and a serving spoon.

‘Charlie, is that all you’re having? You’ll waste away! Here, have some more.’ Sal’s mum heaps another two spoonfuls of creamy pasta onto my plate.

‘Thank you, Maria, but please. That’s enough.’ I hold my hand up to stop her from loading any more on to my already full to bursting plate.

‘Well. If you’re sure. There’s plenty more if you change your mind.’ She moves away from me and attacks some other poor soul with her serving spoon. Jesus, they like to eat. Every plate is piled high with pasta, homemade garlic bread, gnocchi and salad. Sal, having returned home like some sort of prodigal son, is seated at the other end of the table from me, next to the head of the family, Giovanni. He, like his wife, is large-framed, which comes as no surprise seeing how much the entire family like their food, but instead of the tumbling, glossy dark curls shared by the rest of his family he has only a smattering of grey hair around the sides of his head. He is considerably quieter than the rest of his family, seemingly more content to observe and chime in every now and again, his hand reaching for his wife to pat or squeeze each time she passes by him and I realise that Sal must take after him. Sitting where I am, between Maria and Paola, one of the middle sisters, a barrage of questions is hurled at me.

‘Charlie, what do you do for a living?’

‘Where are you from, Charlie? Do you come from round here?’

‘Where do your parents live? Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘Are you the oldest or are you the spoilt baby like Sal?’ This last question is greeted with howls of laughter, as if it’s the funniest thing ever. Sal pulls a face, making them all laugh even harder.

‘I’ll be a corporate lawyer eventually, I’m from Lincolnshire, and no I don’t have any brothers or sisters.’ I keep my answers short and sweet; the less said about my family the better. If I don’t give out any information, hopefully they’ll all get the message. Sure enough, the sisters soon lose interest in me once they realise they’re not going to get my entire life story in one meal, and go back to regaling me with tales of Sal’s childhood and reminiscing about how they had such fun doing this, and has Sal told me about when that happened, etcetera, etcetera … They all talk over each other and it’s difficult to get a word in edgeways. Sal sits there, next to Giovanni at the head of the table, grinning like an idiot, completely failing to realise that I am not enjoying myself.

‘Come on, Sal, you can help me do the dishes while the others finish quizzing Charlie. You’ve got out of it all summer so far.’ Julia jumps to her feet, and pulls Sal up by the hand. Sal grins at me and mouths, ‘OK?’ as Julia tugs Sal away into the kitchen, Maria trotting behind carrying an armful of dirty plates from the table. I shrug and turn my gaze coldly away from Sal. What else can I do?