Authors: Janelle Harris
‘Doesn’t your mother play bridge on Saturdays?’ I snap.
Mark laughs. So hard he snorts unattractively. ‘Laura, you’re hilarious. I’m hardly going to ask my mother to be my date.’ More snorting follows. It’s growing louder and more irritating by the second.
‘Nicole was only saying last week how exciting the ball sounds. I’m sure she won’t mind coming. You guys are about the same size too so the dress won’t go to waste either.’
WHAT?
He’s taking the piss, right?
Mark’s phone conversation flashes through my mind. Maybe he’ll drug me up, and I’ll just sleep through the ball.
Stop it
, I tell myself.
‘I hope purple is her colour,’ Mark continues.
Is he still talking? Is he actually serious?
I can’t believe what I’m hearing
.
Nicole is a Pilates junkie. Any dress of mine would wrap around her three times, so technically, I should extract the hidden compliment in Mark’s suggestion, but I’m too upset that Mark has noticed Nicole has a body of any shape. I snap the dress from Mark’s hands nearly ripping it.
‘I said I liked it, didn’t I? As a matter of fact, I love it. I can’t wait to wear it...and I can’t wait for the ball. I’m so excited,’ I lie, blushing as I pull my arm back down from a dramatic air punch.
‘That’s my girl,’ Mark says in a much calmer tone than before.
Time crawls by and days blur. My weekly visits to Doctor Hammond are my monotonous timekeeper. The waiting room in Doctor Hammond’s surgery is the dreariest room I’ve ever had the misfortune of occupying. Subtle, classical music plays in the background; the kind where you wonder if the harpist is plucking nostril hairs rather than strings.
I look around the room. The other patients waiting are as careful as I am not to make eye contact. Every second person looks like a suicidal mass murderer. I freak myself out wondering if Doctor Hammond does actually counsel any reformed lunatics. Maybe the quiet and slightly creepy young man sitting beside me is capable of flipping out at any moment and slitting my throat with his grotesque, excessively long fingernails.
‘Laura Kavanagh,’ the secretary calls.
Great! I think. Just tell the psychopath my name. Tell all the psychopaths in here my name. Then let’s give them my address and an axe and we’ll make our own low-budget horror movie back at my house.
I roll my eyes and laugh inwardly at my overactive imagination. I’m sure everyone else is thinking the same less-than-pleasant thoughts about me. But I’m still suspiciously optimistic that I’m the only sane one in here. Even the secretary looks a little off; a bit like a cartoon character, only with more makeup.
‘The doctor will see you now,’ she says and mumbles something about helping me get past the small fish tank. She’s slowly walking towards me, and I suspect she’s about to wheel me off. I hate that. It’s frustrating enough not to have the use of my legs; I really don’t need the embarrassment of borrowing someone else’s. I’m already sour enough about being called to visit Doctor Hammond when I was just here yesterday, so I don’t need anything else to piss me off even more. I think my vicious glare scares her away because she swiftly retreats behind her desk and leaves me to my own devices.
I bang and clunk my way towards the door and make a less than graceful entrance into the room. Doctor Hammond is sitting behind his desk, but he stands up as soon as he sees me.
There are other people sitting in the chairs in front of his desk. They have their backs to me, and they don’t turn around to acknowledge my presence. I blush, decidedly uncomfortable, and begin to apologise for barging in on someone else’s session.
‘I’m so sorry. The receptionist told me to come on through,’ I stutter, trying desperately to reverse out of the room.
‘It’s okay, Laura,’ Doctor Hammond says softly. ‘Come on in.’
I wheel forward very slowly as I analyse the back profile of the people in the seats.
Mark and Nicole?
I squint and shake my head, certain my eyes are deceiving me.
Mark finally turns around to face me. He looks deathly serious. Nicole doesn’t turn around.
How long have they been in Doctor Hammond’s office? I was in the waiting room for over forty minutes, and I didn’t see them pass. Why are they visiting so long with the doctor? Actually, why are they here at all? I thought Mark was waiting in the car, and where did Nicole come from?
I feel betrayed, by both Mark and my doctor. I console myself that they can’t have been discussing me. Patient confidentiality protected me, didn’t it? At least that was one relief.
‘Come sit with us, Laura,’ Doctor Hammond says.
I don’t move or speak.
‘Laura. It’s okay,’ Mark finally says after a long drawn-out silence. There’s gentle reassurance in his eyes, but I’m not convinced.
Nicole remains with her back to me.
I wheel forward slowly and tuck my chair beside my husband.
‘Do you know why Mark and Nicole are here?’ Doctor Hammond asks as soon as I come to a stop.
I shake my head.
‘Are you sure?’ he questions, in a tone similar to a strict schoolteacher.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Do I look like I have a clue what’s going on?’ I bark.
Nicole suddenly turns to glare at me. Her body language is screaming hatred towards me.
The feeling is mutual, bitch.
‘Mark, why are you here?’ I ask.
Mark drops his head and stares at the ground. His knee is twitching and causing a scratching sound as his jeans grate against the fabric of the armrest.
‘Laura, do you remember making a phone call to Nicole last night?’ Doctor Hammond asks.
‘No. If I wanted to check on the kids, I’d phone Patricia.’
‘You weren’t checking on the kids,’ Nicole snaps.
I glared at her. ‘I don’t even have your number.’
Mark rummages in his pocket and pulls out my mobile phone.
‘Where did you find that,’ I snap. ‘I’ve been looking for that all morning.’
Mark ignores me. He’s scrolling through the call log on my phone.
I try to snap my phone out of his hand, but I can’t reach.
‘Two twenty- seven a.m.,’ he says.
Nicole nods.
‘You made a call from your mobile to Nicole’s mobile this morning at two twenty-seven for a duration of a little over four minutes,’ Mark says, turning the phone screen towards me so I can see the evidence for myself.
‘But I didn’t call anyone at that time. I was asleep. I didn’t even know Nicole’s number was in my phone.’
‘You did call me,’ Nicole insists.
‘Why the fuck would I call you?’
‘To scare the living daylights out of her by all accounts,’ Mark says.
‘You made a lot of threats and accusations, Laura,’ Doctor Hammond says.
‘Oh, really? And how would you know that?’ I bark.
Doctor Hammond writes something on the paper in front of him. His making notes of my reply.
Asshole.
‘You were parked across the road from the house watching Nicole,’ he continues, putting down his pen.
I laugh. There’s certainly nothing funny about the situation, but this is so messed up that my nervous laughter is involuntary.
Are Mark and I really paying this quack good money?
‘In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t walk. How the hell would I have managed to drive the car in the middle of the night and park it anywhere?’
‘Laura, I don’t think you realise the seriousness of this matter. Thank God Nicole spoke to Mark and not the police. What were you thinking?’ Doctor Hammond’s voice is grittier than I’m used to.
Mark can’t possibly believe this nonsense. He can’t really be this easily manipulated by Nicole. I’m shaking my head so hard I’m making myself dizzy.
‘I don’t have to listen to this bullshit,’ I growl. ‘Mark, I want to go home.’
‘You do have to listen, actually,’ Doctor Hammond says. ‘I can keep you here as long as necessary.’
Mark tilts his head. I can’t tell if his frustration is directed towards me or the doctor.
‘I said I want to go home,’ I repeat.
‘We heard you, Laura. But you need to listen to Doctor Hammond. What do you remember from last night?’ Mark’s voice crackles when he speaks.
‘Nothing,’ I reply honestly. ‘We went to bed shortly before eleven, and I woke this morning when your alarm went off.’
Mark’s face falls into his hands. Clearly, that isn’t the answer he is looking for, but I’m certain it’s the truth.
‘You are telling me that you didn’t make a very nasty and suggestive phone call to Nicole?’ Doctor Hammond interrupts.
He had a strange persistence in his voice. He was supposed to be helping me cope with the stress of losing the use of my legs, but at that moment, he could easily have been mistaken for a lead detective probing a suspect for information.
‘I’m not telling you anything. I’m speaking to my husband. Mark, baby, you know me. I didn’t make any call.’
I look deep into Mark’s grey-blue eyes. ‘I didn’t call her.’
‘But you did call me, Laura. How can you sit there and deny it?’ Nicole whispers, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.
Mark leans forward in his chair and places his arm around her heaving shoulders. Damn, she’s good. It’s a bloody Oscar-worthy performance. The lying bitch has my husband eating out of the palm of her hand.
‘Why can’t you see she is making this up?’ I plead. ‘Mark, why do you believe her and not me?’
‘Because the proof is on this,’ he says, slamming my phone so hard onto the desk the back cover falls off.
Fat, salty tears trickle down my face, but Nicole offers some stiff competition. She wails like a little-lost orphan. Doctor Hammond pulls some tissue from the dispenser on the windowsill and offers it to us both.
I try tirelessly to profess my innocence, but I’m fighting a losing battle. They had their minds made up before I even came into the room, and no one is on my side.
Finally, completely exhausted and the ability to argue any further lost, I fling a snotty apology at Nicole. I snatch the prescription for sleeping pills that I have no intention of filling from Doctor Hammond’s hand and stuff it angrily into my handbag. Completely humiliated, I beg Mark to take me home.
Nicole beams brightly; she doesn’t even try to hide her satisfaction. My husband and my doctor now suspect I’m less than sane and Nicole is gaining an even greater hold over Mark and
my
children. The woman is dangerous, and I’m the only one who can see it.
It’s almost a week before I leave the house again, and when I do, I’m hyper aware of my body twitching as we drive slowly through the heavy, evening traffic on our way to Knightsbridge hotel.
I stare out the window and ignore my phone vibrating in my lap.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Mark asks, taking his eyes off the road to watch me.
‘No.’
‘It could be important.’
I ignore both Mark and my ringing phone and continue to look out the window.
I recognise the number. It’s the chairperson of the Gala Ball Committee. The same person who contacted me three days ago to advise me that the ball’s chosen charity this year is the Irish Wheelchair Association. She politely asked me to be the guest speaker for the evening. I suppose she figured it would be politically correct to have the token cripple on stage. I declined, of course, certain I would be admired less as a speaker and more as an exhibit.
Mark was livid. He begged me to get involved, but I point-blank refused. He said he needed the publicity because it would be very good for his business. If people knew how hard things were for us at home, then they would buy their DIY stuff from Mark’s hardware shop instead of the chain store down the street.
I spent almost three hours getting ready for the ball, but as I scrutinise every inch of my face in the badly lit mirror of the sun visor, I feel as unconfident as I would if I left the house in my pyjamas. I’m more critical of my appearance than usual, and I know it’s a reflection of how much I’m dreading this evening. I stare at the lines and folds that time has patiently embroidered in my skin. Each subtle wrinkle is a reminder of the years of happiness that have led me to this strange point in my life. No amount of concealer can hide the bags under my eyes caused by restless nights filled with too many dreams. I concentrated as I layered on heavy, black mascara to lashes already laden thick with the stuff, in the hopes that the smoky look would distract from the deep, dark circles under my eyes.
I know my over analysing is grating on Mark’s nerves. I can hear him clench his jaw. It’s killing him not to nag me for poking at myself, but we’re not on speaking terms. We haven’t spoken all week. I’m still furious with him for his interrogation in Doctor Hammond’s office, and he refuses to apologise. He remains a firm believer in Nicole’s story. I’m betrayed and hurting and he doesn’t seem to care.
I’ve shown the ultimate restraint and not even asked him how Patricia is coping with the kids. I’ve phoned the house a few times to ask Patricia myself, but Nicole always answers the damn phone, so I just hang up.
The disabled parking spots nearest the hotel entrance are full, so we drive around the carpark for at least ten minutes before finally finding space at the furthest point from the main doors.
‘Just what we need,’ Mark says staring out the windscreen at the torrential rain.
I almost reply but catch myself just in time. I absolutely refuse to be the first to back down. Mark will have to come crawling for forgiveness, and even then, I will be hard pressed to offer it.
We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few moments but deciding the rain has no intention of stopping, Mark swiftly hops out of the car. I watch in the rearview mirror as he curses his way around to the boot where he rummages about trying to find the golf umbrella. He struggles to balance the open umbrella while also trying to lift my heavy wheelchair out. Trying to unfold the chair is proving to be a disaster and a sting of guilt pinches in my chest.
Adam coincidentally pulls into a space not far from us, and noticing Mark’s struggle, he rushes to help. Mortified, I quickly reach for my mobile. I desperately want to distract myself from the drama at the back of the car. I look at the screen and notice five missed calls from Ava – four text messages and a voicemail.
All the messages are the same ‘call me as soon as you can.’ I’m just about to press dial when Mark opens the car door.
‘Come on,’ he orders.
I automatically reach my arms around his neck and wait for him to scoop me out of the car. I’ve learned how to manipulate my body into a form that makes me easier to carry. Mark is growing very used to lifting me, and I can see the start of some firm biceps developing.
Adam appears in my view from the back of the car and waves. I wave back. However, he isn’t walking beside us for long when the atmosphere becomes too uncomfortable for him.
‘Oh, I left my ticket in the car. I better pop back for it,’ he says. ‘You both go on ahead. I’ll see you inside.’
‘He’s lying,’ I say.
‘Why would he lie about something like that?’ Mark snaps.
‘Because he’s not thick; it’s obvious you’re fighting with me.’
‘I’m not fighting with you, Laura. I just don’t understand you, and it’s easier to be quiet than risk you exploding at me if you don’t like something I say.’
‘Is this about the Nicole thing again? I told you I was pissed off about that because you took her side. How do you think that made me feel?’
‘Will you please lower your voice? The whole neighbourhood doesn’t need to know.’
‘No, I won’t,’ I challenge. ‘You lower yours!’ I quickly realise how stupid that statement is. Mark is whispering, but I’m so far beyond caring. I’m prepared to air out our dirty laundry in public.
I continue to rant and rave in the hopes of getting a rise from Mark, but I fail miserably. In fact, I manage to push him back into complete silence. His muted stance is almost as infuriating as his taking Nicole’s word over mine.
Thankfully, the hotel is very accessible. A long ramp at the front door winds around the main granite steps. However, once inside, I know the rest of the evening will be an embarrassing struggle. The toilets are hidden at the end of a long, very narrow corridor and the main reception area is on a platform with several small, carpeted steps leading towards it. Mark can sense my discomfort and helplessness, and I’m relieved to see the compassion in his eyes.
‘I’ll check us in,’ he suggests casually. ‘Why don’t you have a look around?’
It’s a good idea, and normally, I would be delighted that he took on the hassle of sorting the accommodation, but the fact that I can’t approach the reception desk even if I wanted to compounds my distress. I am not angry or upset with the hotel. That’s a pointless waste of energy. I’m angry with myself. How could my stupid brain not remember how to work my legs?
Ava appears out of nowhere and wraps her arms around me in a massive bear hug. ‘Laura, I’m so glad I found you. Did you get my messages?’
‘Yes - all three hundred of them,’ I joke. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, not wrong, but…er…I have a feeling you’re not going to be too happy when…’ Ava stops speaking abruptly when she notices Mark approach behind me.
‘Did you get a room sorted?’ I ask, completely forgetting I’m not speaking to him.
‘I got the last one,’ he says with a smile.
There’s excitement in his voice, and I’m genuinely delighted that spending a night in the hotel, just the two of us, can spark that reaction. Maybe it’s time I called a truce.
I smile in return and Mark leans down and kisses my forehead softly. I sigh deeply, so relieved our feud was over. Fighting with Mark is so alien to me; I had no idea it would be so exhausting.
‘Sorry, Ava, you were saying…?’ I finally ask.
Ava brushes her hand across her forehead as though she’s a secret spy who narrowly escaped being kidnapped and tortured to hand over the information. ‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
The ringing of a tiny, antique dinner bell summons our attention towards the function room. I cringe as we approach the narrow doorway. Mark navigates the way, and I bow my head in anticipation of the embarrassment that will follow. Ava will have to run off to find some unwilling member of the staff to help manipulate my cyborg ass through the doorway. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand as I brace myself.
Mark gently shoves open the other half of the double doors and pushes me inside effortlessly. He even whistles a little tune for optimal dramatic effect.
Inside, I sit as straight as I can and glance around. I’ve made it to the function room with minimal drama. I’m actually out in public with other people and no one has stared or passed remarks. I’m just another person among the crowd preparing to savour an evening of good food and good company.
I laugh my way through the meal, and in spite of all my doubts, I find myself thoroughly enjoying the evening. I wilt a little from time to time, but I fight the fatigue well even though Mark notices. He’s offered to take me upstairs so many times that I’ve lost count.
‘You won’t get rid of me that easily,’ I repeatedly joke.
He laughs, but I know that fifteen minutes from now, he will again suggest I go for a lie-down. I enjoy the familiarity of Mark’s consideration, and I remember what it’s like to be a couple in love. A couple without the weight of the world on our shoulders.
I’m relieved to see the waitress approach our table with coffee. The wine has definitely gone to my head. I can feel the room spin, and I’m pretty sure my speech is slurred. I’ve only had one glass and haven’t even touched the top up, but I’m certainly not able for anymore.
‘Jesus, Laura, what are you like. If a barman farted, you’d be pissed on the fumes,’ Ava teases.
‘I know, I know,’ I admit. ‘It’s so embarrassing. I’m usually much better able to hold my drink.’
‘You’re a cheap date,’ Adam jokes.
It’s the first time all evening he has spoken to me. It’s the first time he’s spoken to anyone all evening, actually. He’s spent most of the night leaning on the bar chatting to the pretty barmaid. He missed half the meal. Ava defends Adam’s behaviour instinctively.
‘He had a late lunch today,’ she whispers. ‘He’s just not hungry.’
‘Ah, okay,’ I say, trying to pretend I don’t notice how much his ignorant and rude behaviour is upsetting her.
The band sets up as everyone enjoys the last of the tea and coffee. I call Ava’s attention to the girl sitting with her back to us a few tables down from us. She’s wearing the same ridiculously expensive green dress Ava wore last year. I distinctly remember it because I talked about it for weeks after last year’s ball and made Mark promise if it ever went on sale, I could buy one for myself. Of course, it fell on deaf ears, and after a while, I completely forgot about it.
‘Laura,’ Ava says pulling me close towards her. ‘Okay. Don’t flip out, but do you recognise the girl in the green dress?
‘Not really, should I?’ I wondered if it’s someone we had gone to school with and Ava has some gossip about how her ex-boyfriend died from uncontrollable killer herpes, or some equally juicy story.
‘It’s Nicole!’ Ava states, very matter-of-factly.
‘What?’ I screech so shrilly I may have confused some poor whale’s sonar.
‘Well done with the not flipping out thing,’ Ava grumbles. ‘Damn, Laura.’
‘Sorry, you caught me by surprise. What the bloody hell is she doing here?’
‘Probably enjoying the evening. Just like we are.’
‘Just like we WERE,’ I moan.
‘Ah, come on, Laura. Don’t let it spoil our evening. Isn’t it bad enough we brought one child with us tonight?’ She points at Adam who is practically drooling over the bar. ‘Just ignore her. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ I agree.
Ava walks away, probably to try to find a lasso to drag Adam back to the table with.
Despite my promise to Ava, I’m stewing with anger and the more I fight to suppress it, the more agitated I become.
‘Mark,’ I say as I softly tap his shoulder.
He doesn’t reply. He’s talking to the couple sitting beside him and doesn’t hear me.
‘Mark,’ I repeat.
Again, I get no answer. Paranoid that he’s ignoring me, I finally shout his name angrily. Of course, the band would have to take a break at that exact moment so my words ring loudly in the air and the people at the tables beside us turn to stare.
‘Jesus, Laura,’ Mark says swinging around to face me. ‘What?’
‘Nicole is here,’ I stammer.
‘Okay,’ Mark replies unconcerned, before swinging back around to continue his previous conversation.
I tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Don’t try to pretend you didn’t know.’
‘I’m not pretending anything.’
‘So you knew?’
‘Yes. I knew.’
‘Why didn’t you tell her she couldn’t come? The ball is our thing. Me, you, Adam, and Ava,’ I stutter as uncontrollable anger pounds in my temples.
‘Not anymore, Laura.’
‘Well, that’s me told,’ I snort. ‘You’ve more concern for that bitch than you have for your own wife.’
‘My only concern is making sure Nicole has somewhere to stay tonight. I wouldn’t dare suggest to you that she could crash with us. We got the last room here, remember.’
‘So where is she staying, then?’
‘My mother offered to come pick her up, so she’s staying there. What could I say?’
‘Ever heard of the word…no?’ I snap.
‘Will you listen to yourself? I can’t tell Nicole where she can and can’t go.’ Mark is beginning to become quite angry. I can tell from the little vein in his neck that’s pulsating rapidly.