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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Three accounts of events - part 14
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Extended Work
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| Three accounts of events - part 14 | |
| By teddy | ||||||||
| 15 May 2007 | ||||||||
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I’m in the kitchen loading the dishwasher with the dishes left from dinner. The weather’s been pampering us for the last couple of days, yielding abundance of sunshine and spicing up the air with refreshing scents of an early summer, and I’m trying to hurry so I can take Vicky out in the garden for another half an hour before she goes to bed. Paul’s in the study trying to catch up with some work. He’s been walking on cloud nine since we moved in with him a couple of weeks ago. He goes to the office every morning, but most days he’d be back by lunch time. It looks as if he’s really eager to make up for lost times, and I wish I could tell him to slow down a bit, there’s no need to do it all at once, we’re here now, but I don’t really want to spoil his enthusiasm. It’s touching to see him so happy. It’s Vicky I’m worried about though. It seems she’s taking her time to settle in. She wakes up at night quite a lot, and cries and asks for me. During the day she’s quite agitated and her moods swing unpredictably. But what really pains me is seeing her waiting and rummaging around, especially late in the afternoon, and then I know what she’s looking for: she’s missing George. I tried to call George for ages after Vicky and I had left, but I couldn’t get hold of him, and I was really worried until Tina told me he’d gone away for a while and was going to ring me when he’d come back. But there’s also something else I’m almost frightened to think about. The tiny father-and-daughter bond that had started flourishing between Paul and Vicky seems to have thinned out quite a bit since we’d moved in with him. Vicky has developed a few quite peculiar reactions to seeing him around so much. Well, most of the time she ignores him. If she’s an exuberant disposition, which doesn’t happen very often unfortunately, she might let him play with her a little. However, a few days ago I was sitting on the sofa in the living room and Vicky was standing up next to me, struggling to stick on my head a silly looking hat I’d made her earlier out of a sheet of paper. When Paul sat down beside her and leant over trying to give me a kiss, she grabbed his face in her hands and pushed it away. ‘Ahmmm,’ she puckered her eyebrows. At first we thought it was funny, just an isolated incident really. ‘Hey you, little possessive thing,’ Paul laughed, ‘she’s mine too, you know?’ But it looks as if Vicky can’t stand him coming close to or, worse, touching me. This had never happened before with George. I can see Paul’s making an effort with her, but sometime I can’t stop thinking he should try harder. He gets annoyed when she gets me out of bed at night, especially if we’re up to something when it happens. Once he’d even suggested I should let her cry, she’d calm down eventually he said. I made a face at him, I thought he was joking, but when I came back from the nursery, he had his back turned at me and didn’t speak to me again until the next morning. And last week he mentioned getting a full time nanny. This way I could concentrate on my artwork and we’d also have more time on our own. I got upset. Time on our own? We’re Vicky’s parents, she should be our main priority. We should be concerned with spending more time with, not away from her. ‘There’s no way I’d let a stranger raise my daughter,’ I protested his idea. ‘You didn’t have a problem with Monika looking after her though,’ he looked at me irritated. ‘Yeah, few hours a day, and not even every day, definitely not weekends. I’ve been always there when she got up in the morning, going to bed or waking up at night,’ I said; I thought it would be unwise to mention George’s contribution to my parental duties. I think he kind of guessed he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this so he gave up in the end. I dunno, maybe I should give him some credit, some people are not natural with kids, they have to be taught. Vicky looks a little bored. She’s purposelessly wandering in her walker around my legs – she can walk on her own, but her steps are still a bit unsteady – waiting for me to finish the dishes. ‘Two minutes, baby, and I’ll take you out in the garden where we can have a bit of fun.’ My phone starts ringing. I grab a kitchen towel of the rack and wipe my hands as I rush to answer it. I glance at the screen before pressing the answer key, and my heart jumps up when I see George’s name displayed on it. ‘George!’ I can’t hide the joy when I answer the call. ‘Hey, honey, how are you?’ He seems pleased to hear my voice too. ‘I’m fine thanks, and you? How was your holiday? Where did you go?’ an avalanche of questions erupts out of my mouth. ‘Not far, honey. Just to my dad’s villa in France. Provence’s lovely this time of the year.’ ‘But not only,’ I laugh. He, Vicky and I had spent two wonderful weeks there last year in September. ‘How’s Vicky?’ he asks. ‘She’s …’ I wonder if I should share my worries with him, but I decide not to, ‘fine. She’s here with me. You wanna talk to her?’ ‘Oh yes, please,’ he says. I call Vicky. She pushes her walker towards me, looking curiously at the phone in my hand. I squat in front of her and put the phone next to her ear. ‘Here, baby.’ She grabs it with her hands. I can hear George saying something to her. Her eyes open widely, she tilts her eyebrows and her mouth broadens into a huge smile. ‘Da-da,’ she whispers, staring at me. I freeze. I dread to think what that might mean in her sprouting vocabulary. Neither George nor I had ever encouraged her calling him anything else other than George. But she seems happier than I’ve ever seen her since we’d moved here. ‘Dada!’ she squeals after dropping the phone back in my hands. The wheels of the walker are roaring over the floor tiles, circling around the table. ‘Dada!’ Her voice reaches almost a soprano pitch. I’m watching her, smiling. It’s only when I finish the conversation with George and get up, turning around to place the phone on the worktop, I notice Paul standing in the doorway. ‘Who was that?’ he asks. ‘George,’ I try to put on an impassive voice. ‘What does he want?’ ‘Nothing, just to see Vicky. I told him he can have her on Sunday.’ Paul doesn’t seem happy with the arrangements. ‘Don’t you think you should’ve asked me first?’ I shrug. ‘Well, we don’t have any plans for the weekend so I didn’t think it’d be a problem.’ He moves over and leans against one of the cupboards, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘That isn’t the problem, Adi. I don’t want him anywhere near you or Vicky.’ I look at him trying to find a mocking expression on his face. He is joking, right? But there aren’t any amused traces there. ‘You can’t do this, Paul.’ My voice is imploringly mellow. ‘Oh yes, I can,’ he says and his voice seems cold and very determined, and my heart shrinks. ‘But you had promised me,’ I try again. ‘I’d promised you what?’ ‘You’d always let George see Vicky, …when I was in hospital, remember?’ I’m nearly close to tears now. ‘Come on, Adi, no one knew what was going to happen to you, I had no choice, I would’ve promised you anything back then.’ What? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Frustration and anger push the tears back. ‘But you would’ve never kept your promises, right?’ I say bitterly. So much for trusting the close ones to satisfy your last wishes. Thank God I’m still here. ‘No, probably not, not this one anyway.’ I don’t really know how to deal with this, it’s something I haven’t anticipated, so I start begging again. ‘But why? What have you got against him? If there’s anyone to blame for what had happened before between us then it’s me, not George. Take it out on me, but please, Paul, please don’t do this to him. He doesn’t deserve it.’ Paul seems unimpressed, in fact he sounds quite irritated. ‘I think I’ve made my position quite clear regarding this, Adi, and I don’t want to discuss it any further.’ I squint at him and bite my lip, but I don’t reply. I take my apron off and throw it on the table. Vicky has stopped touring the kitchen and is standing by the window, with her index plunged in her mouth, glaring at Paul. I go and pick her up. ‘Come on, baby. Let’s go play in the garden.’ Before we leave the room I turn to Paul again. He looks at us questioningly, waiting for me to say whatever else I have to say. Well, I can’t let him wait, can I? ‘You might be able to stop George from seeing Vicky,’ I take the gravest possible air, and my eyes are emptied of any warmth, ‘but you can’t stop me from seeing him.’ Now chew on this as much as you like I think, and I know I must’ve touched a sensitive button somewhere ‘cos I can see his face changing colour. ‘Come on, Adi, you’re being unreasonable now,’ I hear him shouting behind us as we’re making our way to the garden through the back door. Me being unreasonable? Sod off, you’re behaving like a prat more likely. I don’t dare say it out loud though, it’s very unlikely he’d take it as a compliment. I’m knelt down on the lawn near the bench, contemplating the surroundings. The garden looks very pretty: red, white and peachy verbena hordes are lurking along the fence amongst congregations of petunias, begonias and geraniums, covering the ground with a very vivid blanket, guarded by evergreen shrubs marching up against the fence. A Gypsy Queen clematis is lazily trailing a green curtain patterned with purple flowers over the top half of the fence. At the bottom of the garden vain rose bushes and rhododendrons are cocking their ready-to-explode-in-colour buds to the sun, their shadows hosting clusters of violas and pansies, which are shyly fluttering their dainty speckled petals under the mild breeze lingering a refreshing stroke over them. From the far end corner the secular chestnut tree is proudly overlooking its suite, a slice of serenity abandoned in one of the most hectic places on the earth. I have to find a way of making Paul change his mind. I can’t possibly tell George he can’t see Vicky anymore, he’d be devastated. I want him to be part of her life, she needs him. It’s not long before Paul follows us in the garden. He sits down on the grass next to me, but I’m not in a talkative mood and his attempt at making conversation gets monosyllabic replies. He moves over to Vicky who’s practicing her walking dragging herself along the bench, but she wouldn’t have any of it either. She stomps her foot and frowns her face when Paul sits down on the bench and he has no other choice but to get out of her way. It’s not even ten o’clock when I decide it’s time for bed, not my usual bedtime of course, but tonight there isn’t anything else I’d rather do. Vicky’s peacefully sleeping in her room, I’ve checked up on her a minute ago after I got out of the shower. I’m wearing the ugliest pyjama I found amongst my nightwear, pink brushed cotton stripe, long sleeves loose fit nightshirt and trousers; the silk and lace glamour is banned from this bed tonight. I can hear Paul coming up the stairs, then the bedroom door opening. He walks in quietly and goes to the bathroom. A minute later the sound of the running shower makes its way through the walls. I’m lying on my front slightly turned to the opposite of Paul’s side of the bed. I’m very close to the edge, there’s enough room between me and the other side to fit an army in there, and I hope that gives Paul enough clue to keep the distance tonight; I’m so pissed off with him at the moment I don’t want him anywhere near me. But his brain must be taking a nap right now ‘cos back in the room, he slips underneath the duvet and moves right beside me, resting a hand on my bum. I pretend I’m asleep, trying to adjust my breathing to a sleeping rhythm. I don’t think he’s fooled though. His hand finds its way underneath my top, marching up on my back, and I can feel his breath on my neck. ‘Adi, he whispers. I don’t move, I don’t say a word, but he doesn’t give up. ‘I know you’re awake.’ He slips an arm underneath and wraps it around my waist while the other one joins from above, and pulls me towards him. He shifts his leg on top of mines, imprisoning them. I squirm, trying to pull away and my mouth gives away frustrated squeals, but his grip is tight and he laughs teasingly: ‘Stop fighting. Listen, Adi,’ his voice is swaying now, ‘we can make a deal.’ Deal? What is he talking about? It does stir my curiosity though. ‘What deal?’ I ask. ‘I’m willing to let George see Vicky…’ he pauses for a second and I know in an instant there is a conditional ‘but’ to follow, ‘as long as he stays well away from you.’ I can’t believe what he’s just said. ‘But George is a dear friend, you can’t possibly ask me this.’ ‘He’s not a friend, Adi,’ his voice becomes icy, ‘if he’d been one he would’ve never got involved with you the way he had.’ ‘He’d been always there for me and Vicky, have you got any idea how much he had helped us?’ I wince before carrying on, just the thought of not being able to stay in touch with George makes me feel ill. ‘He would’ve never made a move on me if I hadn’t encouraged him, how many more times I have to tell you this?’ ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t see things the way you do. I think you’re just confused at the moment, I’m sure one day you’ll understand my point.’ ‘Please Paul,’ maybe now it’s the right time to persuade him George’s not a threat to us, he’s already agreed to compromise about Vicky, one more little push and I might be able to win my case, ‘it wouldn’t do any harm if…’ ‘Don’t push it, Adi,’ he interrupts me coldly. ‘That’s all I have on offer, it’s either that or nothing.’ Now I know I’m fighting a lost cause. I have to make a decision quick, there is no doubt who George would pick if forced to choose. ‘Ok,’ I give in. I feel empty and painful inside, but I have to consent to his requests for George and Vicky’s sake. Paul kisses the back of my neck. ‘Good girl.’ He sounds happy. ‘One more thing: when I said I don’t want him to have anything to do with you anymore, I meant everything, no phone calls, no messages, no emails. Any arrangements regarding Vicky he can discuss with me or your aunt Tina.’ His hands slip underneath the waistband of my pyjamas trousers and start pulling them off. I gulp. ‘You break the rules, and trust me, Adi, I will find out if you do,’ his lips are teasing my earlobe, slightly biting it, ‘and the deal’s off. And there won’t be any room for re-negotiations. Understood?’ ‘Uh-huh,’ I nod. With all the witty tone his voice’s trying to adopt I know he’s not joking. He starts undoing the buttons of my nightshirt. 'Uhmmm,’ he groans when his hands cups over my breasts. He buries his face in my hair and I can feel him growing hard against my back, but my mind and my body are refusing to turn on. Ten minutes later, after enough panting and sweating, for the first time in my life, I learn how to fake it.
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