Lisa Hall - The Party

As I try to fall over the edge into sleep I fail miserably, as I attempt to force away the only other answer I can come up with as to what happened at the party last night. The idea clings stubbornly, like a stain that’ll never wash out, which is appropriate really, and every time the words cross my mind I feel that same wave of nausea. Something bad happened. Someone did this to me – someone hurt me, and did things to me against my will. Someone raped me.

3

AUGUST – FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE PARTY

I catch sight of Gareth’s scowling face in the mirror as I lean in to smack my lips together, evening out the pink lipstick that stains them. He is frowning as he buttons up his shirt, his displeasure written across his face, and I sigh.

‘Please, Gareth, I know you’re not keen, but will you try and enjoy today? It’s a barbecue, for heaven’s sake, it’s supposed to be fun.’ Flicking my hair over my shoulders and smoothing the flyaway ends down, I stand, ready to head downstairs and put the finishing touches to the food. It’s our turn to host the cul-de-sac’s annual summer barbecue, much to Gareth’s horror.

‘I’ve got things to sort out – work to finish – this is the last thing I want to do this afternoon. You could have spoken to me before you agreed to it,’ Gareth grumbles, shoving his feet into deck shoes, before marching over to the bedroom door and shouting for Robbie to get a move on.

‘He’s nearly ready.’ I lay a hand gently on his shoulder, wanting to soothe him a little, or at least make him a little less fractious. If we’re going to spend the afternoon and into the evening with the rest of our friends and neighbours on the street, then I want to him to at least be civil, even if he can’t completely shake off the tension that seems to surround him lately. ‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, us hosting the barbecue when you’re so busy with work, but look at it this way – at least it won’t be our turn to host it for a few years after today.’ I give him a smile, but he just rolls his eyes.

‘OK. Let’s get on with it. Hopefully the sooner people get here, the sooner they’ll leave.’ Gareth shrugs my hand off his shoulder and thunders down the stairs, leaving me with a familiar feeling of rejection, one that seems to be all too common at the moment.

The afternoon is warm, the sky a perfect, deep blue, and I’ve made a huge pitcher of sangria that is going down a little too well. I am hot and exhausted by mid-afternoon, having spent much of my time dashing backwards and forwards between the barbecue area and the kitchen, and topping up everybody’s drinks. Gareth has spent the afternoon hunched over the grill, flipping burgers and shouting instructions to me every five minutes, somehow managing to avoid too much interaction with our guests. I’m pretty sure that none of them have picked up on the tension between us, but Lord knows I could do with a drink. Satisfied that everyone is happy for a moment, I double check Gareth has a drink before sliding into the garden chair next to Amy, my best friend. She smiles as she looks up and holds her glass out for me to top up from the jug I’ve brought out from the kitchen.

‘Hey. How’s things?’ She glances over to where Gareth now stands with Neil at the barbecue, beer in hand and seemingly in a better mood, and raises her eyebrows at me.

‘Hmmm. Could be better.’ I take a large sip of the sangria, wincing slightly at the burn of the brandy on my tongue, still feeling raw and ever so slightly hurt by the way Gareth spoke to me before people arrived. We haven’t had an opportunity to speak at all since people got here, apart from his barking instructions at me, and last time I looked he’d still got that frown on his face. ‘He’s got the arse because he doesn’t want to be hosting today.’

‘He seemed OK when I arrived? Well, not miserable anyway.’ Amy looks at me quizzically and I sigh inwardly. Gareth has this knack of turning on the charm when it suits him. No one would believe that he doesn’t actually want any of them to be here, or that we’d had a disagreement before they arrived, he hides it so well, coming across as good old Gareth, so friendly and charming. What a guy.

‘Believe me, he doesn’t want the neighbours to be here. He said he’s got things he should be doing – work, you know,’ I roll my eyes, ‘but it’s our turn. We argued about it before everyone arrived – he said that I shouldn’t have agreed to host, not without discussing it with him first, but what was I supposed to say? We couldn’t very well just say we weren’t doing it, not after everyone else has hosted.’

‘So things are still a bit difficult?’

‘ So fucking difficult at times. It’s like a rollercoaster – sometimes he’s just … brilliant. The Gareth I married – funny, kind, the old Gareth, you know? He’ll do something unexpected, something that makes me think, oh, that’s why I love you. And then other times …’ I resist the urge to lay my head on Amy’s shoulder and cry. ‘Other times he’s just … impossible. Constantly in a foul temper, but when I ask him he tells me it’s none of my business, or that nothing is wrong. Either that or he just completely ignores me – literally, he just blanks me when I speak to him, just carries on staring at his phone. And then when he does speak to me, all we do is row. It’s awful for me – it must be hell for Robbie.’ I look over to where Robbie stands with his primary school best friend, Sean, and his father. There’s no sign of Angela, Sean’s mother. The West Marsham rumour mill has it that Ted and Angela are on the verge of splitting up – apparently, she’s been getting friendly with her yoga teacher – and the fact that she doesn’t seem to be spending much time with Ted at the moment is only fuelling the gossip. Robbie says something and they all laugh, Ted – Sean’s father – clapping Robbie on the arm. Ted obviously doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the rumours. Either that, or he has utter faith in Angela’s fidelity. Across from them, Gareth stands alone at the grill, his mouth set in a grim line. I incline my head towards him and Amy follows my gaze.

‘Ahhh. I see what you mean. I don’t know what to suggest – if he won’t talk to you properly, have you tried suggesting counselling?’

I drain my glass, letting out a bark of laughter.

‘Are you kidding? If he won’t talk to me, there’s no way he’ll even consider counselling. To be honest, Amy, Rob’s old enough now … sometimes I think it would be easier to leave him and just start again.’ Abruptly I get to my feet, under the pretence of finding a fresh pitcher of sangria, but in reality, it’s so Amy doesn’t see the tears that spring to my eyes.

‘Rachel!’ Gareth’s voice cuts through my thoughts. ‘Little help here, please!’

I walk over, trying to keep a smile on my face as our guests look on, the empty pitcher dangling from one hand.

‘Can you get rid of these things, please?’ Gareth forces a smile, but you could cut the tension between us with a knife. He leans in close. ‘You did say you’d take the empty trays in to leave me some space.’

‘I was busy,’ I hiss, anxious not to let our guests overhear, ‘I’ve been trying to keep people entertained.’ I snatch up the trays, trying to balance them and the empty glass jug without anything crashing to the floor. Walking away, I don’t wait for Gareth to reply, knowing that whatever I say today won’t help things.

‘Here, let me.’ A voice stops me, and a warm hand lands on my wrist. I look up to see Ted. ‘You look like you’re about to overbalance.’

‘Thank you.’ I smile up at him, letting him take the top two trays and the jug. He walks away, towards the kitchen and I glance over to see if Gareth has noticed. He hasn’t.