The Things I Should Have Told You Read online

  The best moment of my life that night. Evie, the geek, only went and got the boy.

  I sigh as I look down at the yellow t-shirt I’m wearing, with ‘Never Trust an Atom … They Make Up Everything!’ blazoned on its front in bold black writing. Geek humour at its best, there. Luke would get the joke. I know he would. But I don’t suppose I’ll get the chance to show him this now.

  Because it appears that the geek lost the boy just as quick as she got him. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him disappear, but it hurts. Like the time I fell off the tree at the end of our garden. It felt like an eternity till I hit the cold, hard ground. But when I did, every bone in my body rattled and screamed out in protest at the pain inflicted.

  Ann then appears to read my mind, sending me another message with uncanny timing.

  AnnMurphy: Are you like, going out with Luke?

  EvieGuinness: No.

  AnnMurphy: Oh. Do you like him though? You looked like you did at the disco.

  EvieGuinness: Dunno. Maybe. A bit. Yeah. I do.

  AnnMurphy: He’s like Harry from 1D.

  EvieGuinness: Don’t say that! You’ll put me off him.

  AnnMurphy: You’re funny.

  EvieGuinness: We kissed at the Valentine’s Disco.

  AnnMurphy: That’s not news. Sure was the talk of the class. Martina was green. Sick as a small hospital. She’s been mad about him for ages.

  EvieGuinness: I didn’t know that …

  AnnMurphy: That’s why she’s been gunning for you. She’s jealous. The big green nuclear explosive spotty wagon.

  Crying with laughter here. I love this girl.

  EvieGuinness: As much as you are making me feel better, she’s got nothing to be jealous of. Luke disappeared off the face of the earth a few weeks back.

  AnnMurphy: That sucks. And Evie, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but I need to tell you, that I know I should have stuck up for you before. I wanted to. I don’t know why I didn’t. I don’t even like those two. You didn’t deserve what happened.

  I don’t know what to say.

  AnnMurphy: You still there?

  EvieGuinness: Yeah.

  AnnMurphy: I had nothing to do with the dare. I thought it was all kinds of wrong. But I should have stepped in. I’m sorry.

  EvieGuinness: It’s k.

  AnnMurphy: k.

  But before I can answer her, Jamie bursts in and jumps onto my bed.

  ‘Get out.’ I don’t even look up. If I ignore him, he might go away.

  ‘I’m bored,’ he replies. ‘What you doing?’

  ‘None of your business. Go on, get out.’ I try to twist myself away from him as he tries to use me as a climbing frame. ‘I swear if Mam and Dad don’t let me lock my door again soon …’

  How can I persuade them that if I lock myself in I won’t get locked again? Ha, that’s funny. Must tell Ann that one.

  ‘What you laughing at?’ Jamie asks.

  ‘None of your business.’ But I’m still smiling. Feels weird, my facial muscles haven’t done it in so long, they’re all out of shape. ‘Go on, get out of here, squirt.’

  He sticks his tongue out at me as he slides off my bed. Loser.

  AnnMurphy: I promise that it will be different next term.

  AnnMurphy: Evie?

  EvieGuinness: Soz, little brother came in. Wasn’t ignoring you. Thanx. I can’t think about school right now. With everything going on …

  AnnMurphy: I know. Hugz.

  EvieGuinness: Hugz.

  I can’t shift this horrible, heavy feeling of shame. I can’t move with it sometimes. I feel guilty about so much in my life right now. The thought of going back to school again fills me with dread. Even with Ann on my side this time. I don’t think I’m strong enough.

  I stretch out and am relieved to note that physically, at least, I’m beginning to feel better. The body part, at least. It doesn’t hurt so much now when I move or walk about. My splitting headache has reduced to a low throb and, when I look in the mirror, the old me stares back.

  But I don’t suppose I am the old me any more. I’m not sure who I am. I used to think that I didn’t care what people thought about me. I used to think that I was confident enough to stand apart and be myself.

  That was before I let a bunch of people define me and get inside my head and now I can’t get them out. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I need to change, to fit in with the others. Be less geek-like.

  I know that accepting their dare to drink a cocktail is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And the worst thing is, I KNEW that as I downed the poisoned chalice.

  Mam said yesterday that we need a big talk. She said that she’s giving me a little space because of Pops dying, but that the subject of my drinking is not closed. Someone shoot me now. Part of me feels that I should just tell her everything. But the bigger part of me, the part that answers to the name ‘coward’, wants to just go ‘la la la la’ and not think about it at all.

  I know she’s confused and I know that at some point I have to explain myself to them both. But I don’t know what to say. When Mam showed Jamie and me YouTube clips and online articles about alcohol-related deaths a few months back, I felt so sorry for those people. And a bit superior too. I just couldn’t fathom the recklessness of the people involved. I kept questioning what on earth would make them do something so ridiculous? But now I know.

  Desperation. Fear. Loneliness. And a good dose of stupidity.

  I hate myself for letting Martina and Deirdre get to me. I hate myself for being a victim. I hate that Luke seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him and that kiss. I hate that my parents seem to loathe each other now. I hate that Pops is dead.

  I hate my life.

  Chapter Nine

  MAE

  I’m not in the door five minutes and Olly is already having a go. This time I’m in trouble because I dared to kick my shoes off in the hall. My right little toe has a blister on it and it’s been killing me all day. Every chance I could I’d kicked my shoe off and laid my poor little toe on the cold office floor to try and numb the pain. I’d been dreaming of getting home so I could get into my soft slippers.

  Okay, Olly may have just tidied the hall. I get that. But how have we got to a place where we are now arguing about shoes in the hall. There was a time when we couldn’t wait to see each other, to find out how the other’s day had been.

  But now he shows no interest in my work whatsoever. If I bring it up, he gets all fidgety and changes the subject. It’s as if he’s blaming me that I didn’t lose my job and he lost his. Like yesterday when I said I’d had a tough day, he sighed one of his long, God-awful, mind-numbing sighs and muttered something about how it’s well for some to have a job.

  He’s just thrown in another sigh, worthy of my mother, and that’s saying a lot, because she’s one of life’s non-stop whingers. One of those types who think that they’ve been given a raw deal all their lives. Truth be told, people like that enjoy being martyrs, whilst making the rest of us miserable too.

  I can’t help myself and snap back, ‘For God’s sake, you’re turning into my mother!’

  The look of hurt and horror on his face makes me regret the insult instantly. Because, in fairness, I can’t imagine anything worse than being compared to my mother. I apologise and, like a chastened child, pick up my shoes. I then apologise for being sharp and hobble my tired feet to our bedroom, careful to put my shoes in their rightful place in our wardrobe. The temptation to sink into the soft mattress of our super-king is too much for me, so I lie down and close my eyes. But the sound of Olly sighing up a storm again puts paid to that respite. Now what have I done?

  ‘Are you not even going to ask me about how Evie was today?’ he complains.

  I feel shame flood me, rising from my chest up to my face. I redden, ‘I’m sorry, of course I want to know.’

  And the most annoying thing is that Evie has
been on my mind all day. I wish that I could be the one here, to worry and fret for her. But with exams on and end of year admin to take care of, I can’t take any more time off. I already missed several days, because of Pops’ funeral.

  Oh, for feck’s sake, now I’m sighing. It must be catching. I heave my aching body upright and look at my husband, apologising all the while and urging him to tell me how Evie is.

  ‘She’s been in her room most of the day, didn’t want any company. Won’t eat. Throws daggers at me, whenever I go to check in on her. I don’t know whether to force her to eat or not. She looks so unhappy, I’m at a loss as to what to do.’

  I put my daydream of a long soak in a hot tub out of my head. I walk back to the kitchen with Olly, just so we could pretend for another evening that we were not disappointing each other more and more with every passing moment.

  ‘We need a holiday,’ Olly declares. This is the real reason for his need to talk. He wants to discuss the Nomad trip again. I just cannot believe how set on this crazy idea he is. It’s all he’s talked about, over and over, around and around like a broken record. My head is melting by the minute as he tries to wear me down. He does this all the time. If he wants something and I don’t, he’ll keep asking and asking because normally I’ll give in just for an easy life. But I’m not giving in this time.

  ‘Camping is not a holiday,’ I hiss back. ‘A holiday is somewhere where I’m lying on a sun lounger with a piña colada in my hand. A holiday is somewhere I can feel the sun on my bones, as I relax. We are NOT driving to God knows where in a rust box on wheels!’

  ‘She’s not a box!’ Olly shouts in horror.

  I am so irritated with him right now, I could belt him. But of course I can’t because his father just died and that trumps all my irritation at his annoying camper-van excitement. I have to play nice, but the more I think about it, how the hell does Olly think we can survive being in such close proximity to each other in Nomad for eight weeks, twenty-four-seven? One of us will go down for murder.

  I mean, this whole idea of Pops’ is beyond crazy. We don’t even know where our first stop on the crazy mystery tour is. And I’m supposed to agree to it all, without even having all the facts?

  ‘Have you any idea how much pressure I’m under in work at the moment?’ I say. ‘I can’t do anything to jeopardise my position. One of us has to …’ I stop.

  ‘One of us has to what? Bring in a wage?’ Olly shouts. ‘Because your no-good-for-nothing husband doesn’t?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Olly. I’m worn out from this merry-go-round. For the last time, I know it wasn’t your fault that you were made redundant. The current market out there is not your fault. No one blames you. But YES, goddammit, I have to protect my job, because one of us DOES need to bring in a wage!’

  I need a gin and tonic. My mouth dries up and I glance at the clock, wondering if it’s too early to start drinking.

  Silence thunders around the room, with our annoyance at each other crackling like lightning between us.

  Am I justified in my annoyance here? I mean, who in their right mind would contemplate just taking off for eight weeks? It’s okay for Olly, he has no commitments, other than the children and home. And speaking of the children, is this the right time to bring Evie off to the great unknown? She needs stability and support – at home. Not gallivanting around the world on a mystery tour.

  I’m right and I intend to make sure that Olly knows that too. But arguing is getting us nowhere. I smile at him and decide to try the charm offensive. It used to work all the time back in the day.

  ‘Who likes camping anyhow?’ I say brightly.

  ‘Lots of people do,’ Olly answers, looking a little bit startled by my abrupt change of demeanour. He thinks I’m beginning to change my mind. Think on, boyo, I’ve not even started yet.

  ‘But do they? Really?’ I say. ‘I mean, people pretend to like camping all the time. In the same way that people pretend to like reading Ulysses or listening to jazz.’

  Olly starts to laugh, then stops. ‘But you like Ulysses!’

  ‘No, as it happens, I don’t, and that’s my whole point, Olly. When I was young and pretentious and wanted to impress people, I thought it was a cool thing to say that Ulysses was my favourite book. But be careful of the lies you spin. Because I’ve had to spend twenty years pretending to like a book. When the truth of the matter is, I’ve never even read beyond the first one hundred pages!’

  Olly’s eyes look like they are about to jump out of his surprised face and then he breaks into laughter at my confession.

  ‘You old fraud!’

  I hold my hands up. ‘We all do it to some extent. All because we want to impress someone. You do it too, if you’re honest,’ I add.

  ‘I do not!’ Olly defends himself.

  ‘Yes you do. Don’t pretend that when you are watching primetime every week, you’d not rather be switching channels to watch Top Gear!’ I accuse.

  In fairness, he acknowledges that I am right.

  ‘Well, just like you pretending to enjoy political debate, it’s a fact that people pretend to like camping. It’s become one of those trendy things to enjoy right now. But most people, after about two hours of roughing it, would all agree that it’s time to retreat home to a warm house and soft bed!’

  I’m on a roll now and gain momentum as I continue, ‘I mean, come on, look at us. Our definition of roughing it is having beans on toast for dinner.’

  When Olly laughs, I find myself smiling back. But this time a genuine smile, not one trying to make him agree with me. There was a time that we used to make each other laugh all the time. When did we stop doing that?

  No time to start pondering the state of our mirthless marriage. Not right now, anyhow. ‘Remember when that storm happened last year, we’d no electricity?’

  ‘Yes I do! And we had the best night ever. You said that too, don’t deny it. We lit the fire, ate peanut-butter sandwiches with candles flickering in the background and we turned on the radio! You and Pops taught Evie and Jamie how to waltz!’

  ‘Yes, it was a great night. I think it was the last night of true fun we all had before Pops was diagnosed, wasn’t it?’

  Olly nods. ‘I can remember thinking how beautiful you looked in the candlelight. And later that night, you know …’

  I do know. I remember us slowly undressing, kissing and making love, tenderly. I felt overwhelmed with love for my man and so lucky to have him by my side, in my life. I told him that we were lucky, that after ten years, we still wanted and needed each other. That we loved each other more now than ever before. And I meant every word.

  Now, I don’t recognise that couple … I’m not sure we even exist any more.

  The air crackles with tension as Olly waits for me to say something. He walks towards me and I want to tell him that I remember it all. But instead, like picking at a scab, I can’t stop myself and continue arguing my case against Nomad.

  ‘It was fun, but for one night only. Do you not remember how much of a pain it was on day two with no electricity? And then by day three you wanted to pack us into the car and book into a hotel for the night.’

  Olly’s face falls as he acknowledges the truth in my words. He’s furiously trying to find a rebuttal argument for me. I know he is.

  ‘But, we wouldn’t be roughing it without electricity or soft beds. Nomad has both – ha!’ He is triumphant in his revelation.

  ‘And if you said that we were going to head off for a long weekend in Nomad, I’d be a good sport and go along with you. I’d pretend that I don’t care if I have to shower and wash in a room that is smaller than our downstairs loo. And I’d even go along with the fact that we’d be driving and living in the same tiny space, but this isn’t a long weekend we’re talking about. It’s eight weeks, for God’s sake!’

  ‘But Mae, it could be fun. Just think about it. The four of us against the world once again.’

  ‘We can do that from here, Olly,’ I remind
him, thinking to myself that it would be more likely the four of us against each other than the world.

  ‘It’s what Pops wanted,’ Olly says.

  The ace up his sleeve. The dying wish of Pops. Shit. I feel petulant and want to stamp my feet and I wish I had a wittier riposte, but the best I can come up with is, ‘You can do it alone, then, Olly. I’m not going, and that’s that.’

  The thing is, if he goes on his own, I know that will be the end of our marriage. Philip called me at work yesterday. I didn’t take the call, but he left a message saying he wants to meet. Part of me, if I’m honest, wants Olly to just go away. I’m sick of the fights, sick of trying to make him feel better about himself, sick of feeling unloved, unwanted. I’m bruised from the dozens of rejections I’ve suffered when I tried to initiate sex. Not that I bother any more. It doesn’t take Freud to tell me that Olly’s lack of sex drive is linked with him losing his job. I know that. I just don’t know how to fix all of this. And I’m tired from trying.

  I want to go back to that shady corner of a bar and feel wanted, desired for the first time in months, as I did when Philip caressed the back of my neck.

  ‘And that’s your final word?’ Olly asks and I flush scarlet, putting my hands to my face, afraid he can read something that would betray my thoughts. ‘You won’t go?’ He frowns.

  ‘No.’ Stay firm, Mae, stay firm.

  He looks crestfallen and I see him work through my words and decide what his next move should be.

  Go on, Olly, I dare you. Just go.

  ‘You win, Mae,’ he says, as he walks towards the door.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Olly. It’s not about winning or losing, it’s about what makes sense and what’s right for our family!’

  I feel guilty and in turn feel annoyed with him for making me feel that way. After all, all I’m doing is being responsible.

  ‘What’s right for you or the rest of us?’ he asks.

  I look at Olly and I have no answer. My family matter more to me than anything else in life. But lately, I feel like a stranger to them. I don’t know how I have come to be in this situation, nor do I know how to make it right. I ask myself often, do I even love Olly any more? With all my heart I believed on the day we married that he was the man I’d love forever. But now the only thing I’m sure of is that I don’t like my husband any more. He’s changed so much over these past few months into this new, indifferent model.