Just another tool in your box, wasn’t I? You are perfect, resonates through my mind. You forgot to add, ‘for my purpose’. A befitting piece of equipment for senior partnership conditions. Eventually, I would learn your intentions more often than not became your reality. But you had so many other admirable traits. Sucker. I always saw more good than bad. On reflection, the signs were unmistakable, except if you’re not looking, you don’t see. Once you look, it’s obvious. What comes next is judgment. An arrogant human response – we think we know what we would do in the circumstance. But we truly never do.
The first flick of the switch. A deliberate shift in the relationship.
You glared at me across the opulent Georgian hotel room. The word exasperation penned across your face. A new word I hadn’t seen before, or had I simply not noticed? With folded arms, you tipped back against the door. What was your problem? A thick vapour of glacial air filled the room. You observed me awkwardly applying antiseptic spray-on plaster to my heel.
‘Not sure why I’m bothering with this. Talk about inadequate. Still, hopefully it will suffice,’ I attempted to engage you. ‘You wouldn’t think something so silly could be so painful. So much yucky fluid. Eew. Did you see the state of my sock yesterday? Had to throw it. Rank.’ All falling on deaf ears.
You sighed. ‘I did say to wear your boots in. But you don’t ever listen, can’t be told,’ you snapped. ‘It’s your own fault. What did you expect, for Christ’s sake, with new boots? Sometimes, Eve, your lack of thought is flabbergasting. There’s not a chance we’re backing out of today. You do realise the importance of this weekend? Talk about picking your times. Our first corporate weekend. Christ!’ You flicked your mobile to check the time. ‘We need to leave. Now. You’re making us late.’
You did advise me to wear my boots in; I should have. Best intentions and all that. The shadow of a ten-year-old crawled over me. I shifted my seat on the bed in a befitting manner. Why did my intentions not come to fruition? Badly organised, you advised me often. I preferred too carefree; it’s less harsh.
‘You did, but I forgot. No, actually, I ran out of time. Taking on the extra work case didn’t help, probably. Do you have any proper plasters?’ I smiled, despite not feeling very happy with your ‘I told you so’ comments.
You sniggered. ‘A new case. If that’s what you call it. You shouldn’t have bothered; it’s not as if it offers you any gains. Waste of your and now our time.’ Ouch, how could you? You knew how sad this particular case was.
‘It’s not such a big deal, you know. It’s just a blister. A blinking, big fat one, yes, but that’s all it is.’ Talk about blowing things out of proportion. ‘And I do appreciate how important this weekend is for you. I won’t let you down. I just need to sort this, then I’ll be with you.’
‘Do you, though? Do you appreciate how influential some of these guys are?’ You gestured at the door. ‘Not sure you do. I’m not sure you even care, considering your behaviour.’ You strode towards your side of the wardrobe. Everything perfectly hung, unlike my jumbled side.
‘Yes, I do, that’s not fair,’ I say. ‘But it’s supposed to be fun too. Isn’t it? I didn’t realise it was a resilience test. It’s not like I’ve broken my leg. I’ll be good to go once I’ve expertly patched this up.’
You snatched at the pristine chocolate leather washbag. Of course, you’d have plasters. Always prepared. Strange place to keep a washbag. Then, I remembered how cross you were as someone had soaked the bottom of the bag. ‘Probably the cleaner’, you’d said. Brain-dead, apparently. You launched the unopened packet of plasters. To me or at me? I didn’t look up.
‘Thank you,’ I offered.
As I fumbled to open the new box, your eyes burned through me. A child watched to ensure they appreciate their wrong. A rush of emotion sidled over me. Tired from the all-embracing previous day’s walking. Forced conversation. Washed down by an exceptionally drunken night. With a few hours of tossing and turning and too many spectre-like visits to the bathroom. God, I wished you’d just leave.
How would Sam respond? She’d probably hurl her boot at you, tell you to go on your sodding walk, without her. I daren’t tell her; this would go with the other new filed-away confidential experiences. Their dislike for each other was exasperating. Fed up of being the arbitrator, I increasingly neglected to tell her things. She was incapable of seeing your good points; you refused to see hers. It was easier to keep you apart. My teachers used to inform me I’d make an excellent political negotiator. I hadn’t realised it would end up being between my husband and best friend.
Propping up the door frame, fully attired for the hike, itching to leave the room, you blatantly snorted at your watch at least twice. ‘I hate being late. I’ve fired people for less.’
‘Gregg, for goodness’ sake, go down without me, please. Mr Punctuality.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Your eyebrows rose.
‘I’ll see you all in Reception, okay. I won’t be too long.’ Anything to stop the breathing down my neck. ‘Carry on ahead. Please.’
‘If you’re not down in ten, I’ll leave without you!’ You shut the door firmly behind you. If it hadn’t been a fire door, it would have slammed. Thank God. Why so intolerant today?
The day dragged on from bad to worse, the inadequate plaster overwhelmed by a raw, weeping heel. I couldn’t continue. My stomach knotted; how would I tell you? As I hobbled along, I rehearsed chosen words to soften the blow. Jesus, Eve, get on with it. Eventually, I told you. You uttered the words of a compassionate partner, but your eyes conveyed something else. I would have retreated alone but the kindness of your group forced you to join me. The air throbbed with resentment.
‘No, Gregg, you go back with poor Eve, of course you should. We’ll catch you later for pre-dinner drinks in the bar. No problem at all.’ Why did they have to be so damn considerate?
You walked and I limped back in silence. The pain was excruciating. Silent tears popped. You were aware of my tears; we both pretended otherwise. Back in the centre of Keswick, I asked to rest, grab a coffee.
‘Are you for real? You’ve completely wrecked my day. My chances. Embarrassed me. How the hell’s a coffee going to help? I’m going back to the hotel. Try and work out how to limit the damage. If at all possible. You do whatever you bloody like, sure you will anyway. Just give me some space.’
You paced ahead without looking back. Had I missed something? A shadow of gloom hung, yet I still tried to make excuses. Searched for reasons. I didn’t want to see what my heart was aching to show me. Your puffed-up figure strode into the distance. My hobble interspersed with anger. Humiliation. Then sadness. The rise of my secrecy. The lies, the covering, the deceit. Why? Because I was ashamed. By the time I reached the hotel you were nowhere to be seen. I assumed you were back in our room. I loitered; did I go up to find you, or not, maybe down to a medicinal drink in the bar instead? The latter would have won, if the need to remove my tacky boot wasn’t so overbearing.
After several minutes of vigorous door-knocking, nothing. No response. I limped back down to Reception, thankful for the authentic albeit slightly rickety lift. Charming, if not in pain.
I checked the bar area.
The thought of a subterranean, warm soapy bath hailed me. Locked out of the room like a naughty teenager, I requested a spare key from Reception. I was duly informed you had made a further reservation for me in a separate room, in the newer part of the hotel. My belongings were in the process of being relocated. A self-conscious blush tiptoed up my neck. I swiftly tried to recover my pride, which was running for the door. The haughty, smug receptionist eyed me.