Mhairi McFarlane - It’s Not Me, It’s You

‘Do you not think we should talk before you move to the other end of the country indefinitely?’

‘Do you?’ Delia said. ‘Is there new information?’

She zipped up the vinyl flowery wash bag, then did a mental inventory: favourite dresses, liquid eyeliner, laptop. Those were the can’t-live-without essentials, she could buy anything else.

‘We’ve been together ten years, yes, I think there is more to talk about.’

‘So, talk,’ Delia said. ‘I’m going to call a taxi.’

She produced her mobile and booked one for ‘as soon as possible’ while Paul frowned.

‘Come downstairs while you wait for it?’ Paul said.

Before she could stop him, he’d darted round, got hold of her trolley case and bumped it down the staircase, standing it upright in the hall.

Delia followed him and bent down to pet Parsnip in his basket, making it quick so she didn’t cry. She kissed the top of his head, rubbed his ears and inhaled his biscuity smell. He blinked baleful chocolate eyes and did what passed for a wonky Parsnip smile, before resuming snoring. Paul would take good care of him in the interim, she still trusted him that much.

‘Are you leaving for good?’ Paul asked, once Delia had made it clear she wouldn’t be sitting down.

‘I’m leaving for a while. I don’t know how long,’ Delia said.

‘Does this mean you don’t want to stay together?’

‘All I know is, I can’t live here with you for the time being.’

‘… OK. Can I call you from time to time?’

‘You still have my number.’

‘You’ll be looking for work in London?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll probably be there for a while, then.’

Delia simply shrugged.

‘Can I ask you some questions?’ she said, after a short pause.

Paul nodded.

‘When did you start seeing Celine?’

Paul coloured, instantly. ‘As in a date …? I don’t know …’

‘You went on a date?’ Delia said, to increase the discomfort, folding her arms.

‘No. I mean as in, the day it started.’

‘Was it before February this year?’

Paul frowned. ‘No …?’

‘Later, then?’

‘Yeah. Like I said, about three months ago.’

‘You bought a Valentine’s card. I saw it, and you never gave it to me.’

Paul frowned. ‘You saw one before you were meant to, so I had to buy another one. You still got one.’

‘You never buy me Valentines’ cards.’

‘I know. It being the twentieth anniversary with my parents … it made me more sentimental than usual.’

If he was invoking his parents’ death to get Delia to back down, it was the most craven gambit imaginable. If he wasn’t? Delia’s former feelings finally stirred.

‘So, what date did you get together with Celine? I find it hard to believe that it wouldn’t stick out in your memory.’

Paul ruffled his hair, shifted from foot to foot.

‘Late March,’ he said, gruffly.

‘You know that, how?’

As with the text, Delia had the sense that Paul was trying to edit his reply to filter out sensitive content, but had no time.

‘It was Mother’s Day, the next day.’

‘You said you never even noticed when it was Mother’s Day. Did you go to the graves after all?’

She and Paul had a whole conversation about how he never celebrated Mothering Sunday when his mum was alive, so it had no particular meaning for him. They’d planned to do something for the anniversary of the crash, in November, though it had been fraught, discussing it with his brother. Michael felt differently about that date: he saw marking it as according importance to a senseless, horrible event.

Delia didn’t know how it felt to lose your parents but suspected you never get to choose which dates in life are significant for you, bar your wedding.

‘No. We talked about it. She asked if I had got my mum a gift.’

Ah. Now Delia got it. Paul’s emotive orphaning had got Celine into bed? The idea that Paul might’ve seduced Celine occurred for the first time, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t properly considered it before.

‘Where did it happen, the first time? The store cupboard? It’s your happy place.’

‘No, I told you. I’d never … do that, in the pub. It was at hers.’

‘She said, fancy a nightcap?’

‘Not exactly. I was locking up on my own after that … and she came back. I was outside.’

‘You went home with her, that easy?’

‘It had been building up. Then there she was.’

‘I need the words. I need to know what was said.’

Paul cast his eyes heavenwards and ground his teeth. ‘Dee, I get this is the grimmest thing. Why torture yourself with the details? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.’

‘It matters, because it’s the only way I can start getting my head around how you could do this. It’s such a mystery to me, I need to know how you went from “I don’t shag twenty-four-year-olds I meet in my bar” to, “yeah sounds fun, whereabouts in Jesmond?”’

Delia hated how bitter he’d made her sound.

‘She came up and said she couldn’t stop thinking about me and we should do something about what was going on between us. She said you only live once.’ He rattled it out.

Delia sensed what wasn’t being said.

‘She used your parents’ deaths as an argument for why you should cheat on me? I assume she knew there was a me.’

‘Yeah, not much, but she knew.’

‘That is …’ Delia shook her head, ‘Tasteless isn’t even the word, is it?’

‘It sounds worse than it was. Pissed people talking nonsense …’

‘Nonsense that was good enough to see you going back with her.’

‘Yes.’

Paul looked beat. Not much hope of gilding the lily.

‘And that was enough, what she said?’

‘In that moment, yes. It was a take the red pill, follow this thing and see where it leads . It was about risk taking, I guess.’

‘Was it monkey sex?’

‘What?’

Paul looked befuddled.

‘Was it wild? Give me some idea of what you did.’

‘It was sex. Plain, average sex.’

‘Who on top?’

Paul’s jaw tightened further.

‘Her on top.’

Delia’s stomach contracted.

‘Lights on? Off?’

‘Off. Well, she had some of those lights on a string, they were on.’

Delia felt the triumphant sizzle of being proven right.

‘Why did Aled say he talked you out of a trip to Paris?’

‘I honestly have no idea,’ Paul said, visibly relieved at being allowed his own anger at last. ‘I’d already finished with Celine by the time I spoke to him about it. If he ever answered my calls, believe me, we’d have words.’

Outside, there was the roll of a car’s engine and a beep.

‘Look, Delia …’

‘What’s Celine’s last name?’ Delia said, to cut Paul off.

‘Roscoe. Why?’

‘In case I ever need to know,’ Delia said. ‘Look after Parsnip.’

She reclaimed her luggage trolley and flew out the front door before Paul could persuade her to stay. Before she could see her dog wake up, before she could look around and think about what she was leaving behind, possibly forever.

Halfway to Hexham, her phone pinged.

I got you the Valentines card on impulse, thinking about how much my mum would’ve liked you. Please come home. Px

In that moment between sleep and wakefulness where you remember who you are, where you are and what you do, Delia spent longer than usual arranging all the pieces. It made a strange picture.

As the sun leaked through her bedroom blinds and she sensed she’d slept beyond nine, Delia felt the weightless weirdness of having no job to go to.