Going Up and Going Down (3 page)

I scanned my
key fob, struggled through the security door, and along the corridor with my
own supermarket bags. As I turned the key in the lock, and was pushing the door
open wider with my foot, I could hear the Aerosmith CD playing. That memory
engulfed me – Gavin and I making love, and that was what I looking forward to
in the next five minutes. I crept towards the lounge to surprise him. I knew it
was unlikely that he would be expecting me so soon, or that he had heard the
key in the lock with the volume of the music. The door to the lounge was just
slightly ajar and I held the shopping bags out in front of me to push it open
wider. I was frozen to the spot at the sight that greeted me - Bobbie was on
her knees bent over the armchair and my Gavin was shagging her up the backside.
Judging by his groans of ecstasy and her very vocal gasps, I guessed he had
just ejaculated. I felt physically sick, numb and unable to move – I was rooted
to the spot. So wrapped in themselves they weren’t even aware of my presence.
My so-called best friend and the man I loved – had been fucking – in my flat! I
let the bags drop from my hands, and they both spun around quickly, guilty eyed
and mouths gaping in surprise. Gavin pulled out of her muttering “Oh fuck! Oh
fuck!” and made a rapid exit to the bedroom (our bedroom,
my
bedroom.)
Bobbie stood up and grabbed at the nearest cushion in an attempt to cover her
nakedness, as if it made a difference to me.

“Get your
clothes on and get out of my flat. Get out of my life for fuck’s sake, you
bitch!” I screamed, my anger rising rapidly, “I loved you and trusted you, and
you’ve abused it all. You come to my flat and screw my boyfriend - and whilst I
have been helping my Mum care for my sick father! I never want to see you
again! GET OUT!”

I was almost at
boiling point and her lack of emotion was pushing me beyond that. I didn’t
trust myself to act. I feared I would go too far so I remained, trembling near
the lounge door. Within two minutes, she was dressed, she walked past me and
was gone without a solitary word to say – not even a sorry. Gavin shiftily slid
back into the room when he heard the door slam shut after Bobbie. He had put on
his dressing gown and from the look on his face, he thought we were going to
sit and have some cosy little chat, in which he would try to talk his way round
me.

“Babe…I…” he
started.  I hated him, couldn’t bear to look at him, and I felt ready to lose
control, I was shaking so much.

“Save your
breath you bastard! Just get your clothes on, get all your things and fuck off!
Don’t you ever come near me again!”

The pained
expression on his face served to anger me even more. “But where will I go,
they’ve got somebody for my old room – I have nowhere to go!” he tried
pleading.

No thought for
the shock and pain he’d just caused me, he was thinking of himself only - it
cut through to my core like a laser.

“That’s
your
fucking problem, Gavin! Did you think I would still want
you
in
here,
in
my
flat, when you’ve just been found, up to your fucking nuts into
her
?”
I screamed.

He fled.[Do all
men look so stung and hurt when you kick them out for sticking their dick up
another female? Like it’s you that’s the bad cruel bitch? Are they for real?]

It was fifteen
minutes before he emerged from the bedroom with his black bin bags. His eyes
were tear-stained, but I could not bear to look at his face for more than the
fleeting glance. Was he genuinely sorry for hurting me or just sorry that he’d
been caught? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. He came towards me, arms
outstretched, until he saw me recoil.

“Babe…I…love
you, since we met. Always!”

The bloody
nerve of him!

“GET THE FUCK
OUT MY FLAT – NOW!” I screamed at the top of my voice.

All I could
find in the fridge was some dregs (maybe one glass, at a push) of Pinot.  In my
desperation to numb the pain I threw it down my neck then rummaged through the
sideboard to see what spirits I could lay my hands on. Half a whiskey tumbler
of Jack Daniels, his! What the fuck? URGGH…I knew there was a reason I’d never
tried it before. I downed it anyway, and almost instantly brought it straight
back up again – tasting worse on its way out than it did going in, if that’s at
all possible. I must have cried solidly for almost two hours. With insufficient
booze to drink myself stupid I turned the music off and sat in silence,
thinking things through. I thought of the plans we had made for our future how
much I would miss him, how much I would miss our lovemaking. I was struck with
a sudden desire to get out of the flat. The flat I had always loved, the flat I
had shared with
him
, I now hated. I had to get out, I couldn’t breathe.
My toiletries were still in my overnighter. I grabbed the few bits of washing
that were in the bag threw them into the washer and replaced them with some
clean undies, denims and a T-shirt.

Within ninety
minutes I’d settled into a room in a run-down hotel at Piccadilly Circus – the
only one available that night. I made two resolutions during my waking hours. I
would never get too close to a female again. Secondly, I vowed never to fall in
love again –
ever
! Just for good measure I added a third one – never to
cry again over any man.

On returning to
the flat the next morning I called Uni, giving ‘personal reasons’ for my
decision to quit. Secondly, I called the estate agent to terminate my tenancy
agreement one month from that day. My third and final call was to Mum and Dad
to inform them that their daughter was returning, full time. By late morning I
had packed up all my clothes and personal things, loaded my car, and had
cleaned throughout the flat.

Seeing my car
pulling into the drive, Mum and Dad came out to help me in with my bags. Mum
and I took the cases and a few other items to the front door. Dad was still
having to take things cautiously, so he came up and put his arms around me. I
didn’t cry. I rested my chin on his shoulder and took comfort from him, the one
man in my life who I have always been able to rely on. He didn’t say a word -
he knew not to! He never asked me what had gone wrong. He wouldn’t ever push me
- I would talk when I was ready to talk and he respected that.

Mum had
prepared my favourite meal, and we sat around the dining table enjoying a glass
of wine and discussing Dad’s progress. We were just covering the same ground as
the previous day before I had left them to return to Gavin, my flat, and Uni.
The events of the previous 24 hours seemed like it all happened a life-time
ago. When we left the dining table to relax in the lounge, Mum brought through
a second bottle of Chardonnay and the topic of conversation turned to current
affairs, the weather, Uncle David’s stocks and shares, in fact any subject that
skirted around my problems. I knew they were sparing my feelings. They hadn’t
asked, but probably already suspected my reason for returning home. They knew I
would reveal all in due course. I drank far more Chardonnay that night than the
pair of them, relaxing more then turning maudlin as the night turned into the
early hours. Dad needed his rest though, so not wanting them to feel obliged to
sit with me all night, I made my way upstairs about 1am. I heard the door to
their bedroom close shortly after. I wept (silently, I hoped) and much as I
fought against it, I could not help relive the horrendous scenes of… was it
just 36 hours ago? My mind flitted quickly back to school, and I compared this
new type of hurt to the hurt I had experienced from being bullied. This new
hurt was totally off the scale. Sometime around dawn, when the stress and
exhaustion finally caught me in their grasp, I succumbed to sleep, restless
though it was.

At about 11am,
I heard Dad trying to open my bedroom door without making a sound. Thoughtful
as ever, not wishing to disturb me in case I was sleeping, but nevertheless, he
just had to check to see if I was OK. I waited until the door softly clicked
shut then shouted after him,

“Dad, tell Mum
to get the coffee on, I’ll be down in ten minutes!”

He paused for a
second outside my door before answering, “Okay, darling, when you’re ready.”

Until I had
dragged my weary self into the en suite, I didn’t realise just how exhausted I
was. Splashing my face with cold water, I caught sight of my reflection in the
mirror – very pale. Dark rings encircled my eyes, (in part, due to the mascara
I had not troubled to remove before climbing into bed) and all I could think of
to ask that reflection was, ‘Why me?’ The reflection had no answers – nothing
to say!

I padded
downstairs in my dressing gown and slippers. I hadn’t even brushed my hair but
just gathered it all up and clipped it in place for the time being. I could see
Mum and Dad were sat in the conservatory as I approached the dining room. A
fresh pot of coffee (and enough toast to stave off hunger for the rest of the
day) sat on the coffee table.

“Hi,
sweetheart,” Mum greeted me as I sat down to join them, concern showing in her
eyes despite the smile. “Don’t try telling me that you slept, because I shall
know that you’re lying.

”I smiled
weakly at her “I won’t! Although I knew my parents wouldn’t push me, I
recognised that I was under close scrutiny.

“We thought
that since it’s such a lovely morning, it would be nice to have coffee in here for
a change.”

Yes! I had to
give her that one – the sun was shining. A lovely morning – if you weren’t
hurting. If your boyfriend hadn’t just fucked your best friend, it might be a nice
morning.

“Well it’s
certainly brighter than my mood.” I mumbled.

I realised I
had to get it out there and then, make them understand how I was feeling. I
couldn’t just sit around depressing the hell out of them for days with my sad
puppy eyes, could I?

“We are not
expecting you to talk darling” said Dad “if it takes months until you are
ready, we will respect that.”

“Dad, I have to
get it all out in the open now, a problem shared and all that. If not, it’s
going to eat me up inside, so when we’ve eaten, I’ll get it off my chest,
okay?”

The mountain of
toast was wasted (they had already had breakfast earlier). I simply didn’t feel
like eating. I felt physically sickened but empty at the same time. I nibbled
slowly on a couple of slices, just to keep Mum happy, or else I would get the
lecture on how I must look after myself better. I was struggling to swallow
even the smallest of nibbles so I discarded the toast and started talking. They
hadn’t needed me to tell them how happy I had been when I had first met and
then fallen in love with Gavin – they’d seen the evidence of that for
themselves over the last year. I told them about all the special times we had
together, how much we had laughed together. The only details I omitted were
about our raunchy sex life. I told them about all the places we had visited as
a couple, the meals we went out for, the films we had watched together, how
special he had been to me. I also revealed what our joint plans for the future
had been – to go and live in New York. Devastated yet again at the thought that
New York would not be happening, at least not with Gavin, the tears started
rolling.

I stopped
talking and poured myself another cup of coffee. I also took another piece of
toast (that I didn’t want) and by doing so I bought myself a little more time.
It was going to hurt to have to speak about that scene, it hurt for me to
relive it in my mind, and it was going to hurt to have to tell them.

“Darling, you
are not ready – leave it for now.” pleaded Dad.

“It is going to
hurt, whether I do it now, or in ten years’ time. So now it’s got to be.”

I left out all
the vulgarity of the description of the scene that had greeted me when I’d
arrived back at the flat. I had never heard either of my parents swear or use
obscenities, so I described how I had found Bobbie, bent over the lounge chair,
and how Gavin had been doing it to her, like a couple of dogs. The tears
continued to flow. Mum kept handing me the tissue box, my voice seemed croaky
and I couldn’t stop shivering. Taking a few more minutes to collect myself, (it
was out now) I vowed to keep calm long enough to finish my story. Describing
Bobbie and Gavin’s reactions on realising that I had seen it all, I felt the
bitterness inside pouring out.

“That bitch,
Mum! My so-called best friend moved in on the man I love whilst I was here. Dad
was really ill. How could they do this to me? I would like to bet it wasn’t the
first time it happened.”

“Sweetheart,
whether it was once, twice or twenty times is irrelevant, it’s all cheating.”
She hesitated for a few seconds before confessing “We haven’t really been too
keen on Bobbie since you first introduced us - there was
something
about
her.”

I was a bit
shocked to hear her say that, they had always been pleasant to Bobbie when
they’d seen her.

“Why didn’t you
tell me what you thought? I would have listened to you both - I’ve always
trusted your judgement.”

“Darling, we
knew how happy and excited you were to have a best friend for the first time
ever. How could we spoil that for you by expressing our doubts? We might have
been totally wrong about her - it would have spoilt a good friendship for you.”
Dad explained.

“It might have
spared me this heartache though.” As soon as I’d said it I instantly regretted
it. It sounded as if I was now laying the blame on my parents.

“Did you ask them
how many times it happened?”

“I wanted to
know - but I didn’t want to know, so no, I didn’t. I’ve already been punished,
Mum, why add to the suffering? I really wish you had told me your doubts, it
would have saved this heartache, but I understand why you kept your thoughts to
yourselves. It’s not your fault – they are the ones that have hurt me, not you
two.”

For the rest of
the day, putting Gavin and Bobbie out of our minds, we talked about me possibly
leaving London behind, but more so my decision to quit University. Mum and Dad
made some suggestions, offered advice, and I listened to all of them. I did
stress to them that I was incapable at that point of making any life changing
decisions. I didn’t know what I wanted (the clocks turned back, to before Dad’s
heart attack? No. That wouldn’t have changed anything. I would still have
rushed to be with Dad). When would I be over this waking nightmare? I didn’t
know anything anymore. I know they were upset about me quitting Uni but Dad
assured me he wasn’t too concerned about it. He knew that when I was ready, I
would have a lot to offer future employers, whichever path I chose to follow.

For the next
two weeks I hung around home most days, (except for five hours one day when Mum
and I went out for a girly day. I read for much of the time and became
engrossed in some of Mum’s thrillers - an author I hadn’t heard of before. He
was an excellent writer and I became addicted to the stories, and fell in love
with all the characters. My reading was frequently disturbed by my thoughts of
Gavin. One question that kept plaguing me was if Bobbie had been out with us
that first night, would Gavin have been attracted to her instead of me? Try as
I did to put that question to the back of mind, the lack of an answer haunted
me. Dad pottered around his garden (pottering was all he was capable of at the
time) and he would sometimes creep in through the front door, tiptoe in his
stocking feet into the conservatory and lean over the back of my chair, hug me
then plant a kiss on the top of my head. He’s always been like that. That’s why
I love him. I sometimes surprised him in a similar manner. Under normal
circumstances we would laugh at these surprise hugs, so full of affection. This
time though, that laughter wasn’t appropriate - chiefly due to my dark moods.

 If I wanted to
be alone, I went up to my room. This was usually when I needed to think or feel
sorry for myself, and I’d put on a DVD or a CD for a bit of background noise.
Sometimes I didn’t realise what disc I was loading (the first one I grabbed)
and I got drawn into some of the films, usually my old favourite chick flicks,
reaching out for the tissues before the end, which brought my own misery and
worries back to haunt me again.

Every night
after our evening meal we would sit at the dining table for hours, talking
about anything but my troubles and enjoying a couple of bottles of wine between
us. I was lucky to have such wonderful, caring parents who were so supportive
to me as they always had been. They loved me and would do anything for me, buy
me anything I wanted - if there
was
anything I wanted. I didn’t want
material things. I just wanted to be there with them. They had never done
anything to hurt me, and never would. They were the only ones who could get me
through this.

Half way down
our second bottle of wine on one such night, Dad went into the kitchen and
returned with an armful of holiday brochures.

“Your Mum and I
need a break, darling, and so do you. We’ve all been through a tough time
lately, so no arguments. You choose. I’ll go anywhere you choose but preferably
somewhere we’ve not been before. Just bear in mind - no sightseeing tours or
traipsing around cities, museums or temples. I’m going for a rest, so I suggest
sunshine and sun-loungers around a pool - and doing absolutely nothing.”

Whilst I was
appreciative of their generosity, the last thing I wanted was a holiday. I
wanted to stay at home and mope but I knew they would only fret about me if
they left me at home. The last thing Dad needed was to spend a holiday
worrying, so for two days I concentrated on browsing the internet, looking at
the countries that we were yet to visit. After some discussion with Mum we both
agreed on Cuba – a place we had wanted to go in the past but still hadn’t been.
After Dad visited his doctor and got the all clear to fly we booked the holiday
through an online travel shop. The next six days were spent frantically
shopping for lotions, potions and new bikinis for Mum and I. Dad paid a couple
of visits to his office for the first time since before his episode as we now
called it. He wanted to check up on things and to see how his new recruit
Anthony, was settling in. Planning to return to work after our travels, he’d
said his goodbyes and picked up the latest set of management accounts to peruse
by the pool.

Although Cuba was still very much a poor country, we found everything about the place charming and
quaint, if somewhat run down in places. Our holiday resort at Cayo Coco was
reasonably new and had everything that we required. The food was good (although
we did hear some very negative reports on the food served in hotels nearby),
our rooms were immaculately clean, and the staff, excellent. We heeded advice
not to leave towels, sandals and sun creams etc on the loungers overnight,
otherwise they would disappear. I had never seen Dad look so well, considering
what he had been through recently. He was fully relaxed, and was either
sleeping or reading the days away, with a little gentle swimming and some short
walks thrown in.

After three or
four days of chilling out with Mum and Dad I decided I needed to give them some
space, plus I needed some time alone. My darling parents, when we were
together, talked incessantly. I knew that much of the time it was to keep me
occupied. If they were getting my attention I didn’t have time to brood. I
needed some me time though, I wanted to brood, to get things straight in my
mind. I needed to make sense of everything that had happened and start thinking
of a way forward. Basically I wanted to put all the shit behind me. I went to
see one of the tour reps and booked myself a day’s sight-seeing in Havana, a salsa night on the beach and a dolphin experience. Swimming with dolphins, I was
told, could be quite therapeutic – and I needed therapy. Dad looked at me, a
question in his eyes when I told him about the three excursions I’d booked. I
instinctively knew what he was thinking. He was wondering if I could cope on
these tours when it was highly likely that I would be accompanied by couples.
They understood me. They knew I was seeking time for myself as Mum did not
offer to accompany me, although she would love to have come along too (well,
perhaps not the salsa).