Not that it was easy. It felt as if he lived in quicksand, a large pit of which he had tumbled into a couple of decades ago and into which he had been slowly, slowly sinking ever since. At first just a little, so he had made no effort to try to escape, figuring he could shake it off his feet and run anytime he felt like it. Right now, it was up to his chin, which he jutted out and held high, but only to avoid slipping under altogether and disappearing for good. The truth was, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. If the estate agent bloke didn’t come good, if the super-rich contacts weren’t made, if Micky called in his loans, if he ran out of time ... He felt his heart race again and tried to think more mundane thoughts.
He was hungry, despite having been out for dinner where, he now realised, he should have eaten more and drunk less. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that, on some days, the prospect of letting the quicksand wash over him entirely, pulling him down and sucking the air from his lungs until he was no more, well, let’s just say it sounded almost like a solution. The big sleep. That’s what they called it, wasn’t it? And boy was he tired.
He ambled slowly along the streets, mostly quiet at this late hour. Looking up at bedroom windows where curtains were pulled shut, the occupants of these average properties no doubt sleeping soundly in their Ikea beds, thinking small thoughts about their small lives. Their biggest worry what to have for breakfast and whether they’d let the cat in. Average houses where crappy saloons were parked on angled driveways. It wasn’t for him, never had been. He had always dreamed big.
‘One of the best we’ve seen...He could go all the way...’That’s what they’d said.
He took his time walking down Newman Road. Sober now, he took in the lilac bruise of night as darkness pulled rank on thewarm day past, liking the halo of light around the top of the ornate lampposts lining his route. Looking to his left and right, he admired the neat, wide lawns, the pristine paintwork in a variety of Farrow and Ball shades, the clean windows, sports cars with personalised number plates, the electric-doored double garages, the expensive orangeries, the brass-plate house names, the winking burglar alarms that told anyone looking that these residents had something worth stealing. It made him happy, all of it, just walking down the road made him happy! He liked having keys in his pocket for a house just like the ones he admired.
This was the street that everyone in the area wanted to live in. The one with the biggest houses, the widest plots and the most swimming pools. A street the mention of which invoked a wide-eyed nod of acknowledgement and a shiver of envy. He liked to give the address loudly when asked, just to gauge the reaction of the person doing the asking. It made him feel important, like he had arrived. And since that day when his ankle snapped and he knew that the number ten shirt of a Premier League team was never going to be his, he had been waiting to arrive. Yes, he walked slowly, living the life.MrMoneybags... He smiled at the irony.
He planned to hit the kitchen when he got home, to sit on a leather barstool at the counter and eat whatever leftovers his wife had put in the fridge. It was an indulgence, but one he could work off at the gym tomorrow. It was always a lottery, what he might find, and his mouth watered at the prospect. Cauliflower cheese, a single slice of pie – savoury or sweet, he didn’t care. A nub of Brie, cold roasties, coleslaw, a well-cooked chop ... He was suddenly ravenous, and his gut rolled with hunger. The walk home had only fired his appetite and he wished he’d eaten all that Daisy had served them.
Daisy,a good kid. Quite unlike her mum. She was without that fire in her eyes, that spark of joy that Lisa carried, which made you believe anything was possible. Correction, a spark of joy she usedto carry. It was shocking to him how in three years she had unravelled. And yes, he had heard that she was low, the word ‘depressed’ might have been mentioned, but he had never thought it would be down to anything he had done. Why would he? When he had left her, just before going to Melbourne, she had been laughing hard, head thrown back, naked, happy, reaching for his hand, their legs entwined as if anything other than skin-to-skin contact was unacceptable. At memories such as this, he would ordinarily feel the flare of desire, but not tonight, and this was a new low for him. Again, her words came to him, clear and sharp, enough to make his throat dry.
‘This is what you do. It’s what you’ve always done. You pull people in with your tractor beam and then mess them up too, as if you need the company.’
‘Maybe she’s right,’ he whispered into the dark. ‘But, my God, I hate being so lonely ...’
It was a little before one a.m. when he put his key in the front door. He’d expected to find the place quiet, with muted lamplight guiding him through the house. Peace, a seat at the kitchen counter and refrigerated leftovers was not, however, what lurked behind the front door.
It was a surprise to see activity in the house at this time of night, a surprise to see this level of activity at any time. His wife in her dressing gown – her face devoid of makeup, her hair mussed as if she’d been disturbed from her sleep – stood in the hallway outside the downstairs cloakroom, banging loudly, flat-palmed on the wooden door.
‘There you are!’ She cast the words in his direction, they were both accusatory and yet dripped with irritation – quite a skill.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ He wanted to know who was in the bathroom and why his wife was angrily trying to rouse them. ‘What have I missed?’
‘What have you missed?’ Julie shook her head, ignoring his question.
He watched her hammer on the door again, her tone now urgent.
‘Are you okay, Dom?’ She placed her ear to the wood, as if hoping for a clue. ‘Dom? Talk to me!’
‘Domino? What’s going on? What’s happened?’ He felt his pulse increase at the mere mention of her name. The prospect of his little girl being hurt, sick or upset in any way was more than he could stand. It was the curse of having a daughter. He found it hard not to think of her as a toddler, a little girl who needed his guidance, protection and to take his hand when crossing a road, meeting a stranger, or trying something new. Why was she home? He thought she was staying the night at her friend’s.
The door opened a crack and Ruby, his daughter’s study buddy, poked her head out. How had they ended up here? Had something happened at Ruby’s house?
‘She’s okay, MrsKelleway, she’s ...’
He listened to the pause and waited, wondering at what point to intervene, hesitating in case it was an issue of a personal nature. He had never been very good with periods. His daughter’s periods even less so. As hard as it was to admit, he would rather not be reminded of her maturity, her journey towards womanhood. It was enough to make him shudder, the prospect of his sweet Domino having to deal with the details of adult life. He knew more than most how being a grown-up could take a scythe to all that was good and fun and cut right through it. Plus, she might be sixteen, but was only a baby really, naïve at best, and all the sweeter for it.
‘She wanted to come home, insisted we come here, but ... she’s ... she’s got a bug.’ Ruby bit her lip as her cheeks flamed.
Well-versed in lying, it didn’t sound or feel to him like the truth. ‘What’s going on, Ruby?’ he asked again with a little moreforce, taking a step closer until he stood by his wife’s side. He saw Julie’s nose wrinkle, as if his very presence was unwelcome. Well, that was just too bad. This washishouse,hisfamily. Again, he pictured Lisa’s face, turning from him, dismissing him and now the same from Julie. It felt like shit.
‘A bug?’ There was no mistaking his wife’s tone – sarcastic, disbelieving – and he was glad they were on the same page, not that this realisation did anything to untie the knot of concern in his gut.
‘Yep – she wanted to come home. Our friend dropped us off because Dom had some bad, erm, some bad fish.’
There was a kerfuffle from inside the room and he and Julie exchanged a look. The tale was growing more preposterous. He knew from experience that was the trouble with lying – the devil was in the detail.
‘I see. Well, thank you for explaining that, Ruby. I guess as long as you are with her, I shan’t worry.’
‘Okay, thank you, MrsKelleway.’ The girl’s words dripped with relief; she looked behind the door, clearly communicating with Domino who appeared to be hiding.
‘Can I just ask you a question, darling?’
Ruby’s reply was sincere and instant. ‘Yes, of course!’
