It’s been two months since the announcement that Lehman Brothers crashed.
Someone knocks on the door. It’ll be Matt. When we argue he always storms out only to have to come back to get his car keys. I open the door, stare blankly at our thirty-something ginger-haired neighbour from downstairs who acts like some social worker.
‘Er, I was just wondering,’ he says, dressed in sloppy trousers and a U2 T-shirt, scratching his head. ‘I heard a lot of shouting again?’ He looks over my shoulder, into the hallway.
‘Everything’s fine,’ I reassure him with a smile. The telephone rings. ‘But thanks anyway. Better get that.’ I shut the door and head to the sitting room. It’s Mum. She’s kindly agreed to pay for us to live here for now, until we know what’s happening to the house. ‘I’m doing it for Louis more than anyone else,’ she’d said, when I’d promised to pay her back. She couldn’t help adding that Matt had been reckless. There had been warning signs, but he’d refused to listen to them, gambling with his money and with our future. Now what’s going to happen? Will the bank repossess the house?
‘Everything’s fine, Mum.’
‘Did you see your GP?’
‘You’re depressed, extremely common I might add,’ he had assured me, when I told him I wasn’t sleeping. ‘Being a first-time mother is exhausting.’ I didn’t argue with him when he wrote out a prescription for antidepressants.
‘Nothing’s wrong, Mum, just the normal tiredness.’ I make a knocking sound against the coffee table. ‘Someone’s at the door …’
‘Hang on! Polly! Call me later …’
I hang up abruptly, thinking of the day ahead, the lone-liness of sitting here in the flat, staring at these four walls or pushing Louis round the park like a zombie, worrying if Matt is going to come home tonight and what mood he’ll be in. I glance at my watch, wondering how long I can let Louis sleep. I think about calling Janey, but then decide against it. Since our argument we’ve patched things up. She said sorry, I said sorry, but we’ve barely seen one another since she’s been busy job-hunting. She’s been approached by someone in the film location industry, to see if she’s interested in joining forces to set up their own company.
I haven’t told her the full story behind what’s going on between Matt and me, but I know Janey doesn’t like him. When there’s no food in the fridge and I point out that there’s nothing stopping him from a trip to the shops, he hits me, saying I waste our cash on vodka. Then he says sorry, he always says sorry, pleading with me that he didn’t mean it and saying it won’t happen again. I know it will. Deep down I think Matt hates me as much as I hate myself. Pretty much whatever I do or say now provokes him, and Louis isn’t his son; he’s some screaming child who wakes him up in the middle of the night. Matt never wants to hold him. During heated rows he blames me for having a baby. ‘I never wanted this life,’ he says. ‘You did. You trapped me.’
I know Matt’s in deep trouble. As he keeps on telling me, he’s up to his eyeballs in debt and if I make any more demands on him he’s going to crack.
I force myself off the sofa when I hear Louis crying. It’s like drilling in my ears. I understand why women say they could kick and scream at their children. I love my son, I do, but I wish he’d stop crying, just for five minutes. I lift him out of his cot. ‘Stop crying, baby boy,’ I say, rocking him in my arms. ‘Please stop crying. STOP CRYING.’
*
Later that morning Louis and I are in Cathnor Park, around the corner from our flat. I can’t even remember dressing Louis in his dungarees and hat, or getting here. I push Louis on the baby swing. What day is it? Maybe I should call Hugo? I need to tell someone about Matt. He and Aunt Viv both understand we’re not happy, but along with Janey, I don’t have the courage to tell them what really goes on behind closed doors. They suspect, but neither could imagine it was this bad. It’s my fault. I’m so ashamed that I’m in this position. Each time I have a fresh bruise I swear I’ll leave him, but end up talking myself out of it, especially when he tells me he didn’t mean to, and that I have to support him. Even if I could leave, where would I go? Surely it will get better when Matt sells the house. The truth is, I don’t want to be alone. There’s comfort in being with someone, even someone like Matthew.
Irritably I lift Louis out of the swing. He protests, kicking his arms and legs, he begins to cry again, snot running down his nose. I shove him back in his pram and look for some tissues. He needs changing too. I swear I could leave him here, leave him and run. I unscrew the vodka bottle I stuffed into my bag, but there’s barely any left. I walk away from the pram. One step, two steps … Go, that internal voice is saying to me. Escape. Leave Matt and this life behind. Grab your passport and take off, Polly. Go anywhere but stay here and face the mess you’re in. I take another step and another step away from my son. Then I hear him cry out. I can’t breathe. I turn back and run. What is wrong with me? I’m a monster. I look at his trusting eyes. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve to be alive. I pick him up and cradle him in my arms. ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry,’ I say, smothering him in kisses. I am a bad person, bad friend, bad daughter, bad sister, bad girlfriend and a bad mother. Bad everything. I’m thankful Louis is too young to see the real me.
We have to get home quickly. I walk past a bin and chuck the empty vodka bottle into it, but stop abruptly when I see a bottle of beer. I glance around; there are a few mums playing on the swings and climbing frame with their children. I rummage in the bin to grab the can and also take out a plastic cup, stained with lipstick around the rim. I pour the dregs of the beer into the cup. There’s a good fingers’-worth. It’s accompanied by a couple of cigarette butts. I fish the butts out and drink every last drop.
*
Someone is shaking my shoulder. ‘Sweetheart,’ he says, in a voice I don’t recognise, ‘you have a visitor.’
Aunt Viv is in the sitting room. Matt stands next to her, acting like the concerned husband.
‘You only have to sit down for one second.’ I exaggerate a yawn. ‘Such a busy day, Aunt Viv.’
‘Glass of wine, Vivienne?’ Matt heads into the kitchen.
‘You know I haven’t touched a drink for over twenty years,’ she says coolly.
‘You must be pretty strong to be able to give it up. Wish I had that willpower.’
‘I’m not strong,’ she says, her eyes fixed on mine. ‘It’s only because of my weakness that I can’t drink anymore. One is too much and a thousand isn’t enough.’
‘Well, I’m full of admiration,’ Matthew says, before excusing himself, shutting the sitting room door behind him.
When he’s out of the kitchen Aunt Viv grabs my trembling hand.
‘What’s wrong? How much are you drinking?’
I feign ignorance. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You can tell me, you know I’m the last person to judge.’ Aunt Viv searches my face, my eyes for clues. She glances at the door. ‘I don’t want to see you get hurt. Nor does Hugo.’ She picks up my glass, sniffs it. I grab the vodka from her. Half of it spills onto the table. ‘Aunt Viv! What are you … ?
‘Shut up, Polly!’ She shakes me by the shoulders. ‘And tell me the truth. The truth. Do you understand? How much are you drinking?’
I edge away from her. ‘I don’t know. A lot, but …’
‘How much?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Is Matthew … ?’ She looks at the door again. ‘Is he hurting you?’
‘No! I mean, things aren’t great, the house hasn’t sold and the bank is on his case so he’s very worried …’
‘I don’t care about him. I care about you. What’s this?’ She touches my face. ‘Don’t tell me you banged your head against a door again. Let me help you.’
Every part of me wants to tell her.
‘You can trust me,’ she says. ‘Drink isn’t the answer. Look what it did to our family.’
I place my hand over hers, look into her eyes, and for a moment I recognise myself.
I release my hand when we hear the loo flushing, a door unlocking, footsteps heading towards us.
‘Leave him,’ she urges.
*
‘What were you talking about when I came in?’ asks Matt, the moment Aunt Viv leaves.
‘Nothing. I’m going to bed.’ I walk past him; he takes my arm roughly. ‘What were you talking about?’
‘Let go.’
‘Not until you tell me.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘You’re lying.’
I try to manoeuvre myself out of his way. ‘You were talking about me, weren’t you?’
‘Not everything’s about you, Matt.’
He follows me into our bedroom, paces up and down. ‘She doesn’t like me. Hugo’s been poisoning her, I bet. That’s why she was here, checking up on you.’
‘Don’t be so paranoid.’ I sit down on the edge of the bed and kick off my shoes.
He walks over to my side of the bed. ‘It’s difficult not to be when you lie to me.’
‘Matthew, if you hit me again I swear …’ I reach for the telephone on my side of the bed, ‘I’ll call the police.’
He grabs the telephone from me; hurls it against the wall like an animal. Terrified now, I edge away from him, muttering I’m going to sleep next door, in Louis’s room.
‘I’m sorry, Polly, I’m sorry. This isn’t me! I’m under so much pressure,’ he says, pressing his head into his hands. He looks at me desperately, before trying to kiss me; I push him away. He’s about to raise his hand to me when we hear a knock on the door.
I get up, but he shoves me aside, before heading out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
‘I left my gloves,’ I overhear Aunt Viv saying.
‘Here they are,’ he says. ‘What beautiful gloves.’
I lean against the door.
‘Is Polly … ?’
‘She’s having a bath. I think she’s rather tired from being on her feet all day.’
My hand rests against the door handle. I know this is my moment. All I have to do is open it. I could get out of the house before it burns. Take Louis with me. I could escape with only a few scars.
‘Right.’ There’s a long pause.
‘Is there anything else, Vivienne?’
‘No. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’
I hear the click of the door and await my fate, realising I have made my choice.