19th November 2019
Morning
I roll onto my side. Open my eyes, stretch. The edge of a dream lingers for just a moment, and with it a smell. Before I can process what it is, it fades. I can’t remember what was in my dream either, but as my heart is racing, I know it can’t have been good. I wait for my head to begin to throb. Nothing. Maybe I’ve dodged a bullet this morning? Maybe I remembered to drink a pint of water and eat a teaspoon of sugar? They say it helps to stave off a hangover.
I wait to hear Oliver moving in the flat; he has always been better in the mornings than me. I expect to hear him flicking on a kettle or the news playing on the TV in the lounge. But it’s quiet, and then it hits me, hard. A crippling blow to my stomach. Of course, it’s quiet, Neve, you idiot. Oliver left. Oliver left three weeks ago. I must try to not forget that. It only makes it harder. I sigh and roll onto my other side, facing where he used to lie beside me. The corner of his pillow feels cold against my cheek. But then really, if I’m being honest with myself, it was probably cold against my cheek long before he left.
A dim morning light comes through the window. I didn’t draw my curtains, again. From where I lay, I can see the trees in Brent Lodge Park. Oliver loved that about this flat, always saying the trees and that huge expanse of grass on the park was our back garden. He loved how green it was, the birdsong that floated into our bedroom in summer.
Outside looks cold, the sun is early in the sky, I guess it’s about half past six. Colder than yesterday. I think I’ll just stay in bed for half an hour longer. I grab my phone; the screen is blurry. I look in the bedside unit to find my glasses. They aren’t there. God knows where I’ve left them this time. Squinting I open my clock app and set an alarm, just twenty more minutes and I’d get up for work. But I see the time. It’s 8.41 a.m. I’m late. Again. And I knew Esther was going to be pissed.
Jumping up, I make a dash for the bathroom, then as I fumble into yesterday’s clothes which lay in a heap at the foot of my bed, I feel the drill in my skull start to vibrate, its intensity growing with every second until my eyes ache. I never had hangovers when I was young. Now, they were making up for lost time, hammering me harder than I felt they should. Dressed, I run for the door, grabbing my glasses which were on the radiator shelf where I keep my keys, which of course weren’t there. I check the kitchen sides, moving two empty bottles of wine into the recycling bin. I check the coffee table in the living room, down the side of the sofa, coat pockets. I even check in the fridge. But I cannot find them. Deciding I’ll leave and call the landlord to let me in later, I grab my bag and open the front door. Hanging on the other side is a photo fob of me and Oliver, swinging from my front door key which is sat in the lock.
‘Shit, Neve.’
Closing the door behind me I pocket my cold keys and walk as fast as my hangover, which was beginning to steam-roll over me, would allow, towards the station. It was a short walk to Hanwell station where I would hop onto the train to Ealing Broadway. A quick walk across to the Underground and then the Central line for five stops to Shepherd’s Bush. On the other side, ten minutes to work. On a good day, I could do the commute in twenty-five minutes. But I could already tell it wasn’t going to be a good day, and regardless, I was supposed to be at work for nine. It was now 8.52 a.m. There was no way I would be on time. Taking out my phone, I took a deep breath and called Esther.
‘Good morning, The Tea Tree.’
‘Esther, it’s Neve.’
‘Neve? Where are you?’
‘Running late.’
‘Again.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You sound hungover.’
‘I’m all right, just tired. I’ll get an Uber.’
I could hear her sigh on the other end of the phone. ‘That’ll cost a fortune. Anyway, it’s pretty quiet. When do you think you’ll get here?
‘Half past, at the very latest.’
‘Right.’
‘And later, why don’t you go home early? I’ll look after the place. How does that sound?’
‘You’ve just dug yourself out of a hole.’
‘Thought I might.’ I smiled, having lightened the mood which had seemed strained between us over the past few weeks. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
She hesitated and I knew what was about to come; it was the conversation she had started on several occasions in the last few weeks but stopped herself for fear of making me feel worse. I had cut her off every time with some distraction, but this time I just waited for her to continue, knowing she needed to get it off her chest.
‘Neve, I get what you’re going through, I really do, but we are partners in this. That means we share the work, share the responsibility.’
‘I know, Esther, I know, and I’m sorry. I’m going to try harder. This isn’t fair.’
‘I get things are pretty shit for you right now. But they aren’t easy for me either.’
‘Of course.’
‘My childminder costs have gone up, and I can’t afford to be here all the time, both for my family, and my pocket.’
I knew what she was saying without actually saying it. She was telling me I didn’t have responsibly like she did. I didn’t have a two-year-old who needed my time. I didn’t have the mortgage she had. My life was a mess, but it was still less complex than hers. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m sorry, Esther.’
‘I hate being a nag.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re more than entitled to be pissed off. I’m just grateful you can say it.’
‘Me too. See you soon.’
She hung up and I knew, despite her being kind and understanding, she had had just about enough of my apologies. As I entered the train station, I vowed to make it up to her somehow. Although I wasn’t quite sure how or where I would start. Hanwell station was packed, as expected. And as I fought my way through the small gaps in the crowds, I wished I’d showered as I became conscious of my own smell of sleep and booze and regret. Ducking behind a brick pillar I opened my bag and rifled until I found a small canister of body spray, quickly coating myself in its sweet floral scent. An older person stood close by looked at me disapprovingly, but I didn’t care. I still didn’t smell clean, but at least I didn’t smell of body odour.
A train pulled in and I jostled with the crowd on board, my shoulders pressed between two men who were much taller than me – one had his armpit perilously close to my face. Still, at least he had had a shower that morning. As the train lurched from the station, I felt my stomach lurch with it and within a minute I could feel a sweat start to break out across my top lip. I tried to remember how much I’d had to drink last night. I remembered coming home from work about seven, eating a Pot Noodle for tea and pouring my first glass of wine. From there, I know I drank more – there were two bottles on the side this morning. I had to wonder: was it OK I had become someone who drank to excess most nights? I almost let myself wonder what Oliver would say about it. Thankfully, the train announced we were pulling into West Ealing, stopping me from hearing his voice. It wasn’t healthy. I wanted to convince myself that I still didn’t know why he left, and that it was a complete shock, but I think deep down I saw it coming. He said we had grown apart; we had become different people. He was right, of course. He was open, honest, he had no shadows, he thought of the future, of the things that came with the future. Things I couldn’t bear thinking about. I guess I had always known it, but I didn’t see it, I didn’t want to. I saw us having our problems, as all couples did, but I thought we would work through our differences. I knew he loved me fiercely. And I loved him the same. I really thought we would go the distance. But love isn’t enough, is it?
When I found his letter three weeks ago, I assumed, right up until the moment I opened it, it would be a note saying something sweet and funny. My heart crumbled when I read that he wasn’t coming back. The things I thought were little and we could work through were impossible for him.
The man beside me coughed, making my head thump. He apologised and I smiled, but judging by his reaction, I was fairly sure it looked more like a grimace. Embarrassed, I looked away and opened my bag to grab a packet of ibuprofen. I swallowed three dry, then I pressed my head against the cold glass of the train door and counted my breathing, stopping myself thinking about Oliver, until Ealing Broadway came into view.
Fighting my way off the train, I allowed myself to be swept up in the crowd heading towards the Underground and onto the Central line to finish my journey. I grab a bottle of water en route from a newsagent to stave off the claggy feeling in the back of my throat, forewarning me I would throw up, unless I was careful. As I paid, I looked through the gap in the sliding door where the cigarettes sat, wanting to be smoked. I almost asked for a pack of Marlboro but stopped myself. I was fucking up today as it was without having a cigarette after so long without one. So, I boarded the Tube with a fault sense of victory. After what felt like a lifetime crammed into the metal carriage, I made it to Shepherd’s Bush, unscathed.
The Tea Tree, the coffee shop Esther and I set up three years ago, was about half a mile from the station and the walk usually took about ten minutes. However, as I stepped in the front door, the blast from the overhead heater making me feel nauseous once more, I saw it had taken me nearly twenty minutes to cover the short distance.
There were five people inside, two older couples sitting and talking, and a woman on her own stirring a cup of tea. I didn’t catch a single eye as I made my way out back. As I passed the till, I couldn’t even look at Esther. I knew what face she would have on – her ‘I’m really pissed off but worried’ look she’d perfected ever since our second year at uni. I was feeling too sensitive to deal with it. She would calm down, she always did. Then we would talk and laugh and enjoy our work together. And she would go home to her family, and I would hold the fort until closing time this evening.
Disappearing into the stockroom-cum-staffroom, I took off my coat, hung my bag on my peg and donned the floral apron that was my only uniform requirement. I hesitated before stepping back into the shop. My head was still pounding but I knew it wouldn’t be long until the ibuprofen kicked in. Until then, I needed to paint on a smile, and pretend I hadn’t drunk and probably cried myself into oblivion the night before. Easy, right? Just another Tuesday. Just another morning.