I’m fine. Just think we need some time apart right now.
‘Is this too, you know, divorce-y?’ I asked, holding the text up to Angus for him to inspect. He didn’t look up, and I saw a look of disappointment and regret flash across his eyes as the search results on his phone slowly began to load.
‘No Wi-Fi,’ he murmured to me as he slammed his phone, almost definitely connected to the Wi-Fi, against the table, face down. He glanced at my text, holding my hand to steady the screen.
‘It’s divorce adjacent, I won’t lie to you. It’s a few messages away from, “check your post – the papers are on their way”. Like Mep is going to have two Christmases this year, you know?’
I didn’t really know why I was asking Angus for his opinion. The boy didn’t speak to anyone, so had no idea how to have a meaningful human interaction, especially within the nuances of being a couple. But it was still good to use him as a sounding board, I supposed, even if I was going to completely ignore all of his advice. Maybe that was how I knew I was on the right track.
‘So, like, what do you think you and him will do? You nearly choked out the poor guy,’ Angus said. ‘Do you think he’ll even want to get back with you? How do we knowhe’snot divorcing you?’
I ignored the last bit of his sentence.
‘I’m going to get some therapy. I think that would be the best thing to do, going forward.’
I didn’t even remember what had happened. One minute, we’d been arguing. The next second, this burning white-hot rage had washed over me, so intense it was almost like a physical heatconsuming my body. Then, in what felt like a blink of an eye, I’d found my arm pressed against Gareth’s throat. I wouldn’t actually have hurt him, though. I swear I wouldn’t. As soon as I’d realised what I was doing, I had got out of there as quickly as I could.
‘That’s if he doesn’t leave you first,’ Angus remarked.
‘Again, very helpful, Angus. Thank you.’
‘Andyougoing to therapy? That’s like Genghis Khan going to anger management classes. Like, good intentions, but is it going to work? Probably not. You’re more messed up than me.’
Had Angus become more sarcastic recently?
‘At least I can pretend to be somewhat normal. Which, let’s be honest, is not really your forte.’ I groaned. ‘How are you helping me right now, Angus?’
Angus shrugged his shoulders, somewhat agreeing with my point while appearing to care very little. He then took another glance around him as a pair of men entered the pub. I watched his eyeline as he once again scanned and surveyed all the possible entrances and exits. I was surprised that he had said yes to coming with me to this village in the middle of nowhere. Although I imagined he didn’t love the idea of me being in his apartment either. He must have realised this was the path of least resistance.
‘So, are you actually going to tell me why you were at O’Neill’s?’ I asked, reminded that this wasn’t the first time Angus had left the house in the past few months.
‘What? I’ve told you already.’
‘I don’t think “I got the wrong house” is really the most truthful of answers, Angus. You’ve never visited us.’
Angus groaned melodramatically and rolled his eyes.
‘After you told me when you first moved in that O’Neill was next door to you, I got angry, I guess. I just remembered everything: the mould, the broken radiators, the taps that didn’twork – obviously, the fire.’ I could see him relive the experience briefly, a small film of pain glazed over his eyes as he said that. ‘I just thought that if he remembered you, he might try something stupid, so I wanted to scare him.’
Angus must have seen my surprise at the idea of him being able to physically intimidate anyone, as his face instantly twisted into a scowl, ready for a retort. But suddenly, something made his eyes bulge. He smacked my hand and gestured for me to look. I had to be casual about this. Slowly and calmly, I rotated my head to see, through the pub window, a man begin to leave the church opposite, carefully waiting for cars to pass, before crossing the road and heading towards our pub. That was our guy.
Angus looked at me and then at him, and then at me again and then back at him. I took another swig of my beer, which mingled nicely with the four Lorazepam already in my system. My life may be crumbling apart, but at least I couldn’t feel it much.
‘You’ll pay for these, right?’ I said, my eyes still fixed on the old man plodding in our direction.
‘Don’t do it now. Please don’t do it now,’ Angus said, his voice almost whimpering. I noticed his hands under the table, clenching and unclenching.
I threw my debit card onto the table and darted out of the pub. I thought I heard Angus call after me, but knew he wouldn’t chase. I followed the pensioner as he strolled down the street, beaming hello to at least three people like the has-been celebrity I knew he was. Clark had got much fatter since I had last seen him some twenty-odd years ago, a huge pot belly protruding beneath the shaky hands with which he unwound the awning from his shop.
I had only seen him in the flesh a handful of times – once was when he’d come to the home with a few others and oneof those stupidly big cheques. That was the day that Clive had gone up to speak to him after they had had their sickening photo opportunity in front of the home, telling him that the faulty, outdated wiring in the home was a literal time bomb and needed to be fixed yesterday. Clark had simply placed a hand on Clive’s shoulder and promised he would fix it as soon as possible; he would make sure of it. But I remember the wiring never got fixed that week, or the week after that, and all it had taken was Edith and Angus playing with the half-broken heater for the fire to start.
It was hilarious, really. The notoriously feisty Leader of the Opposition now ran a DIY shop – how quaint. I kept my distance, looking uncaringly across a few windows and pretending to check my phone as I slowly sauntered towards him. I saw his hands shake as he jammed the keys into the door and pushed it open using his excess weight. Clearly, he didn’t have much strength left. I waited for a moment, taking extra care to ensure there were no CCTV cameras or video doorbells nearby before following him in.
‘Oh, I’m just opening up,’ Clark said to me. God, I had forgotten how awfully shrill his voice was.
‘Okay, no worries,’ I said, closing the door behind me and flipping hisClosedsign toOpenas I ambled in and looked at all the tat he had assembled. It had the familiar, very distinct smell ofold. I didn’t want to look at his face, but I was hoping that my coming in had frustrated him. I tried to put salt in the wound by touching and inspecting all of the crap he had in his shop, smoothing my hands over everything I could, praying that he was cursing me silently as he watched from the counter.
‘Anything you’re looking for, Miss?’ he said as I took a glance at the diaries still dated for this year. Somewhat ironic, given that it was October.
