Kasabian: ‘Club Foot’
Until recently, if anyone had ever asked me to describe Greg, I’d have said he was solid. Dependable. Kind. Thoughtful. Then they would say how wonderful he sounded, and how lucky I was. And of course, I was. Who didn’t want to feel loved and safe?
For years – eighteen years to be exact – it had been more than enough for me. Greg’s love had kept me grounded, focused. Happy. Things might be on more shaky ground at the moment, but Greg’s mild manners and kind demeanour were what was on my mind and what was making me feel so wretched as I walked through the door after leaving Sam’s flat, having spent the entire evening talking and thinking about another man.
As I closed the front door behind me I called his name and heard a muffled reply from the back of the house. I slipped off my shoes, hung up my coat, and made my way into the kitchen as my cat, named Dog (don’t ask), purred round my feet. I bent to give him a stroke and found Greg in the kitchen chopping vegetables with his back to me. He turned when he heard me and smiled, waving a knife in the air.
‘There’s a bottle of white open in the fridge,’ he said, indicating the half-drunk glass he already had next to him.
‘Thanks.’ I smiled gratefully, grabbed the bottle and poured myself a large glass and topped Greg’s up. As I leant over him, he planted a kiss on my forehead and I forced another smile.
‘Good day?’ he mumbled into my ear as I pulled away.
‘Not bad.’
‘Get all your Christmas shopping done?’
‘Most of it, yeah.’
He peered round the kitchen to see where the bags were, like a child searching for Father Christmas, and I felt a flame of anger.
‘There’s nothing for you; I can’t afford it,’ I snapped, and then instantly regretted it as I watched his face fall. ‘Sorry.’ I took a gulp of my wine and didn’t meet his eyes.
‘I wasn’t—’ He stopped, floundering. The knife in his hand hovered in mid-air, glinting off the kitchen spotlights. ‘I know I fucked up, Erin, but you can’t keep punishing me. I’ve said I’ll make it up to you.’
I gave a curt nod, the words caught in my throat. I knew I was being unfair. Greg was doing his best to make up for his gambling mistakes. But right now I was feeling confused, thrown, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
The trouble was, despite Greg’s promises, I was terrified he was never going to be able to make things right again and that we’d never get over this.
When he first started gambling a few months ago I should have seen the warning signs. He’d begun being secretive for the first time since I’d known him, hiding away in his office after dinner, not letting me have the password to his bank account. But the first thing I’d really noticed had been the empty space where his beloved collection of trainers had previously been carefully stashed away in their original boxes. On this day, though, when I’d opened the wardrobe door, there had been nothing there.
‘I got into a bit of debt gambling online and had to sell them,’ he later admitted. But when he insisted he could handle it, that he’d sort it out, I’d believed him. Why wouldn’t I? Greg had never lied to me; I had no reason not to trust him. I’d even felt sorry for him, having to sell the trainers he’d spent so many years collecting.
But then I’d discovered the emails that had shattered our world, and that had revealed the true scale of his problem. While I’d been putting in increasingly long hours at the clinic where I worked as a counsellor and where, since the pandemic, I’d seen more and more patients struggling, Greg had been idling away the hours he usually spent in the office online, gambling – and losing – more and more money.
Our savings had all but gone, he’d maxed out four credit cards, and taken out a loan that he was struggling to pay back. But worst of all, he’d also been talking to someone about borrowing against the house. The house that we’d bought together, that we’d both poured all our time, money and energy into over the years to make it somewhere we loved. Our sanctuary.
And he had been prepared to risk it all.
Things had been tough since then. Something between us had broken that day, some thread of trust that had previously always existed. My husband became someone I didn’t recognise and I felt untethered. And while Greg had been getting help for his addiction with another counsellor that I’d recommended but didn’t know personally, and between us we’d been trying to pay back some of the debt, bit by bit, it meant that, for the first time since we’d met, I’d been the one to look after him, and it had made me feel less secure than I had for years.
Although I’d forgiven him, in theory, I still felt open, and vulnerable.
And now Adam had appeared out of the blue. No wonder I was feeling rattled.
I took a deep breath and pasted a smile on my face, then stepped forward and took the knife from his hand, laid it carefully on the side, and wrapped my arms around him, relief flooding through me as I felt his body relax. We stood there for a few minutes, letting the sounds of the house settle around us, until I pulled away and stared up at him. His eyes held a sadness I’d never seen before, and I knew he was still terrified I was going to leave him, despite my reassurances that we’d be fine.
Which was why there was no way I could tell him about seeing Adam today. He’d understood the depths of my love for Adam, and had always assumed that, if Adam had come back during those first few months, even years, of us being together, I would have left him at the drop of a hat. But for the last decade, he’d been more sure of us, more secure, happy to relax and let us be Greg and Erin, a solid, strong couple.
‘Sorry,’ I said at last, my voice soft. I felt a heaviness in my belly. ‘Of course I’ve got you something. I didn’t mean it.’
He smiled sadly. ‘You did, but I don’t blame you.’ He cupped his hands round my face a little too firmly. ‘I just – I don’t know what else to say to make you forgive me.’
‘I have forgiven you.’
He shook his head miserably ‘No, you haven’t, and I totally understand why. But I’ll make sure you do one day. I promise.’ He planted a soft kiss on the end of my nose then turned back to the worktop to resume chopping. ‘Starting with this,’ he said. I peered round him at the food he was preparing.
‘What is it?’
He tapped the side of his nose and closed the recipe book so I couldn’t peek. ‘You’ll see.’
I knew he was trying his best, and I loved the fact that he was cooking something special for me, but I couldn’t help feeling a stab of sadness at the distance that had opened up between us. I hoped we could bridge it before it was too late.
Later, as we were finishing off the enormous selection of curries that Greg had spent the afternoon preparing, and a Christmas soundtrack played softly in the background, I finally began to relax. The events of the afternoon seemed a million miles away, and we cleared the plates away in companionable silence, Greg humming along to ‘Fairytale of New York’ absentmindedly as we stacked the dishwasher.
‘Another glass?’ he said, holding up the bottle of red we’d started over dinner.
‘Why not?’ I held my glass out and he filled it almost to the brim, and grinned. ‘Trying to get me drunk?’
‘Definitely.’
We made our way into the living room and settled on the sofa in our usual positions, me curled into the end, Greg spread along the length of it, his feet tucked beneath my thighs, Dog nestled in his lap.
‘Alexa, play “Club Foot” by Kasabian,’ he said, loudly and clearly, to the device in the corner.
‘One of our songs,’ I said softly.
‘You remember.’
‘The playlist you made for me? Of course I do.’
I tipped my head back, closed my eyes and let my mind wander as the repetitive ‘ooosh’ of the song washed over me, bringing with it a sense of contentment I hadn’t expected to feel. I forced Adam out of my mind and turned my thoughts to Greg, and how we’d got here.
I’d been in a bad place when Greg and I had finally got together. We’d known each other for a year, having met during Freshers’ week, and lived in the same block of flats, but at first we were just friends. That was my choice – I was still officially with Adam, who was travelling round the country with his band, playing in pubs and bars and trying to make a name for himself. He came to stay whenever he was nearby, and I was still desperately in love with him.
‘You can do better than him,’ Greg told me one day after Adam had been to visit during those first few weeks.
‘You don’t know him,’ I’d snapped, then felt bad. I knew by then – everyone did – that Greg had been in love with me from the moment we’d met. I’d never led him on, never promised him we could ever be anything more than friends, but I understood from experience how that didn’t always stop the feelings from existing. He was just looking out for me.
Greg was important to me. As a friend, sure, but from the very beginning there was something about him that made me realise he was going to be in my life to stay. During our first week, a group of us had gone drinking together at what turned out to be a bit of a rough pub when a group of locals had got rowdy, goading the new students, seemingly desperate to start a fight. I’d hated it, hated any kind of threat of violence, and some of the others were getting riled. But Greg had handled it calmly, stepping in and asking them if they fancied a game of pool and getting in a round of drinks, instantly defusing the situation. He’d been a hero in my eyes after that, and we spent most days together. He’d come to my room and we’d listen to music, go to the library and study, or just hang out at the student union, drinking, smoking and laughing. He was unlike any of the other friends I had – and the complete opposite to Adam – but he was funny and kind and self-deprecating and I liked being with him. Perhaps it was because he made me feel so safe during the times Adam was away. And even though everyone knew he wanted us to be more than friends, that he hated the way Adam treated me, he never pushed it, and he never, ever made me feel uncomfortable. With Sam and Rose off in different corners of the country, I loved having him as a friend.
Then two things happened: Mum was diagnosed with early onset dementia, and, shortly after, Adam and I split up. Just when I’d felt as though my entire world had fallen apart, Greg had been there for me. He’d become my world, and over the weeks that followed we’d fallen into a relationship.
Whether it should have developed into what it eventually became I couldn’t say, but the truth was I did love Greg, and I’d never want to hurt him. The roots of our marriage ran deep, and I loved him with all of my heart. It perhaps wasn’t the kind of all-consuming passion he’d always hoped for, but it had always been uncomplicated, absolute. Comfortable.
I pushed the memories away now, fearing my thoughts might slide back to Adam again, and how different it had always felt between us. Things were delicate enough between Greg and I, the last thing I needed to do was bring another problem into the equation – not to mention the fact that dreaming about some wild, unobtainable passion felt childish, naïve. Life doesn’t work that way, Erin.
Slowly, I became aware of Greg running his fingers along my arm, and up to my shoulders. I opened my eyes to find him watching me, a question on his face. Was this okay? I smiled to let him know it was and tried not to feel guilty at the look of gratitude in his eyes as he pulled himself up until his face was level with mine. As he lay alongside me on the too-narrow sofa, I felt the familiar press of his body against mine, the places where we’d learned to fit together, despite our bodies changing over the years. The truth was, physically, Greg had hardly changed from the trim boy he’d been when we met, and I was only slightly heavier. The familiarity was a comfort to us both.
‘I love you,’ he whispered, and his breath tickled my lips. In that moment I made a decision. I needed to show Greg how much I cared, and push Adam from my thoughts for good. And so, without reciprocating his words, I kissed him deeply.