Swimming Upstream

18

Martin moved closer and put his arm round my waist. I froze, involuntarily then shifted slightly and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“Oh, come on,” he said, half laughing, half annoyed. He held out his arm. “Come here.”

“Don’t.” I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”

I wanted to get up and get dressed but I didn’t want him to see me naked. Although I was guessing that that part had already happened.

Martin sighed. “Oh come on,” he said again. “Don’t play the innocent.”

“What do you mean?” I pulled the covers up to my chin and tried to sit up. My head swam, and I immediately lay back down again.

“You know you wanted it,” he added. “You were up for it.”

“Up for what?” I cast my mind back to the previous evening but I couldn’t remember anything at all after around midnight apart from laying in a beanbag with Giles. “What exactly happened last night? And how did I… did we get in here?”

Martin snorted and sat up. “Right. We’re going down that road, are we?”

Fear began to prickle inside me. Martin was staring down at me, looking directly into my eyes, in a searching but menacing manner, and I knew with a jolt to the stomach this was not going to end up well.

“I need you to go,” I said, quietly. My mouth was so dry, I could barely speak. My stomach was in knots. “I need to get dressed.”

“Right!” Martin threw back the bedclothes and stood up. I caught a glimpse of his broad, lean back as he rose, and hastily shut my eyes. I slunk down further under the bedclothes and waited. I could hear him silently moving around, picking up his clothes and zipping up his jeans.

Suddenly, I heard my chair screech across the parquet floor. There was an audible thump against the wall, followed a split second later by a thud landing heavily on the pillow next to my head. My head bounced slightly and I opened my eyes, startled. Martin thumped the pillow again and I jumped.

“You bitch,” he snarled. “You led me on.”

I shrunk back under the bedclothes. I noticed fleetingly that my doll was no longer on the chair where Zara had put her the previous day. I glanced down and saw her face down on the floor near Martin’s feet, her raggedy checked skirt tipped up over her head. Martin followed my gaze and with one swift kick sent the doll flying across the room.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t. My dad gave me that.”

Martin turned and kicked the bed, and I jumped again.

“Zara’s in Catherine’s room, you know,” I added, hastily. I hoped desperately that that was still true.

Martin stopped moving around and glared at me. “What are you on about?” he said, nastily, but more quietly.

“She stayed the night,” I muttered.

Martin looked uncomprehendingly at the adjoining wall to Catherine’s room, looked back at me again and then sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. He clearly hadn’t planned on there being a witness. He leaned forward slightly and didn’t move. I could see he was plotting his next move. Finally, he picked up his shoes and put them on.

He turned and looked at me.

“You say anything to Catherine, about this,” he said. “And I’ll tell her you seduced me. I’ll tell her it was all you. And you won’t see her for dust.”

“Martin, I was legless!” I objected. “How could I lead you on?”

“How? For months. From the start. You were at it the day I met you.”

I started to laugh, then stopped myself.

“Just try it,” he hissed, leaning over the bed. He grabbed my jaw with his thumb and forefinger and pushed my head sharply back, so that my mouth was all squashed up and my lips pursed stupidly. “You just try it. Say a word to her - and see what happens next.”

It felt as if I had frozen into a block of ice, except that my face was burning and my heart was pounding heavily against my ribcage. Martin’s face was right up close to mine. Then he let me go, suddenly, and pushed me sharply at the same time, so that I fell back and hit my head hard against the wall. I closed my eyes again and waited for the ringing in my ears to stop.

I heard the front door slam and realised he was gone.

I opened my eyes and let the room come back into focus. I lay where I was for several minutes. My head felt sore, but the coolness of the wall felt good against my cheek.

“Lizzie? Who was that?” said Zara, poking her head sleepily round the bedroom door. “I thought everyone had gone?” I sensed her stop in her tracks when she saw me lying at a funny angle on the bed, my cheek still pressed up against the wall.

“Do me a favour Zara,” I asked, shakily. “Get me a drink?”

Zara nodded. “Sure.” She disappeared, unquestioningly, and came back a moment later with a glass of water, which she placed carefully on my bedside table.

“Are you all right, Lizzie?” she said, softly, and knelt down beside me. I shook my head, bit my lip, and tried very hard not to cry.

“I’ll be okay, sweetie,” I said. “Just give me a minute, would you?”

“Okay.” Zara bent down, picked up the doll, and put her on the bed next to me. Then she left the room. I could hear her moving around. Eventually I got up, picked up my clothes from the floor, showered and dressed shakily and wandered into the lounge.

Zara was sitting on the sofa, looking at a magazine. She had emptied the ashtrays and cleaned and washed up all the dishes, and all traces of the party had been more or less wiped away. All that remained in the kitchen were a couple of French sticks, a pile of napkins, and most of the plastic glasses, still stacked upside down on top of the washing machine.

Zara followed me into the kitchen and paused in the doorway. “Whatever’s happened,” she said. “You can be upset. I’m okay.”

I turned and forced a smile. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be all right.”

“I’m not going to crack up,” she persisted.

“Ditto,” I smiled again. “I promised, right?”

“I know,” she said. “I know. And it’s okay to be upset.”

I put my hands palms down on the worktop and breathed steadily for a moment. Zara was still standing silently in the doorway. I walked over, picked up the napkins and opened a drawer, then paused, changed my mind and dropped them into the bin instead. Something strange was happening inside me; my legs felt weak and my skin was prickling, and I had butterflies in my chest. I opened the window to let in some air, and before I really knew what I'd done, I'd picked up the remaining two French sticks and hurled them out in the direction Martin had just gone. And then I stood in the middle of the kitchen and screamed.

It wasn't a high-pitched piercing frightened-type scream, but a deep angry, throaty roar. I picked up a stack of plastic glasses from the washing machine and hurled one across the kitchen at the window. The plastic glass shattered on impact and splinters flew off in all directions. I threw another, and it hit the wall and bounced off the cupboards and smashed against the floor. I threw another, and another. Something inside me took over and soon the whole pile had gone and there were splinters of plastic glass all over the worktops and the floor and in the sink. One by one, I worked my way through stack after stack of glasses until there were no more left. The kitchen was a sea of broken plastic. I sank to my knees on the floor in the midst of it all and put my head in my hands and cried.

Time seemed to stand still, then; I seemed to be locked on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor with a vague impression of Zara hovering uncertainly in the doorway. After a while, she took my arm and lifted me up out of the pile of broken plastic and took me into the lounge. I was still crying; I couldn't stop - I just went on and on, weeping gently one minute, and then sobbing violently the next. All the while, Zara sat next to me, holding my hand.

“It was Martin,” I said eventually, my voice hoarse. “I slept with him. Or so he says. I don’t remember a thing.”

“Martin? Catherine’s Martin? I didn’t even know he was here. Was that him who just left?”

I nodded.

Zara looked angry, and I was scared for a split second that her anger was directed at me. She put her hand on my arm and I breathed out. “Did he hurt you?”

“A bit,” I admitted. “Not much. He just frightened me mostly. He made me promise not to tell.”

“What?”

“He said I led him on. Maybe I did, somehow. I don’t know. But I let it happen. With him. What does that make me?”

“You didn’t,” said Zara.

“Didn’t what?”

“Lead him on. Let it happen.”

“That’s what he says. He says I’ve been coming on to him for months.”

“You haven’t! I’ve never seen you. He’s bound to say that. He’s just trying to justify what he’s done. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“How can I not blame myself? I’ve slept with my best friend’s boyfriend!”

“Oh Lizzie, I think it was the punch. Giles kept topping up your glass and giving it to you. I saw him do it. But I don’t think anyone realised it was that strong.”

“But I didn’t have to drink it. I didn’t have to let him near me.” My words began to tumble out so fast that I barely stopped for breath. “This has all happened because of me. Because I’m lonely. Because I’m empty. Because I miss Larsen so f*cking much that I sometimes can’t bear it, can’t bear to be alone for one more second. But no-one compares, Zara. No-one compares. And I’m terrified! I’m absolutely terrified. Because I don’t know if they ever will!”

Zara nodded and continued to hold my hand.

“I know,” she said. “I know. And I think you’re really brave.”

“Brave? Or stupid?”

“Brave. If it was me…well, I know I would have taken the easy option. I would never have let him go.”

I looked down at my knees and sighed. “Look where it’s got me.”

“It’s got you your independence. You’re your own person,” said Zara. “You’re so capable and strong. You don’t need a man to feel whole. Not like me. I really admire you for that.”

“I need love too,” I said. “That’s why this happened.”

“No it’s not. You were out of it and he took advantage of you. That’s what happened. I admire your self-honesty, Lizzie, I really do, but you take too much responsibility for things that are not your fault and people like him, they can see it. They know that’s your weakness, and they take advantage of that.”

“You think?”

“I know,” said Zara. “I know. And the reason I know is because I’m the same. When someone falls out with Shelley she turns round and she tells herself “What’s their f*cking problem?” But me, I always think it’s me.”

“I know. Me too. It’s shit,” I said.

“Shit,” repeated Zara.

We sat that way for a long time, me curled up in a corner of the sofa and Zara just holding my hand. Eventually, she stirred beside me.

“Don’t go!” I said.

“I won’t,” she said. “I promise. I’ll be back in a minute. Tea,” she added. “We need tea, at a time like this.”

I lay back on the sofa, exhausted. Behind the humming in my ears I could vaguely hear the sounds in the background of Zara filling the kettle and clearing up in the kitchen, sweeping up the broken plastic and dropping it into the bin. I was aware of her coming back in with my duvet and putting it over me. After that I must have fallen asleep.

When I woke it was late afternoon. Zara was sitting on the arm of the chair hugging her knees and staring out of the window. The weather had turned bad and streaks of rain were making runny broken lines down the window pane. Raindrops pattered gently against the sill.

“Hi. How're you feeling?” Zara said, seeing my eyes open. I thought about it for a moment.

“Better,” I said.

The phone started ringing.

“It’s okay,” said Zara. “I’ll get it.” And then, “It’s Catherine,” she said.

My heart stopped in my chest and a wave of guilt washed over me. Catherine. What on earth was I going to say to her?

Zara passed me the phone.

“Hi Catherine,” I said, as brightly as I could muster.

“Hi,” she said. “It’s all okay, everything is fine. Dad’s on the mend. He can talk, and move, and he’s already giving my mum a hard time.” She laughed. “I’m going to stay another day or two, though. It’s been quite nice spending time with my mum again.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m so glad, so pleased that everything’s all right.”

“You okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” I looked up at the ceiling and screwed my eyes up tight. All I wanted was to see her, to fling my arms around her and tell her that she meant the world to me and that I would never in a million years have deliberately done anything to hurt her. And yet, I knew that this would kill her. There would always be a wedge between us, whatever way you looked at it. Even if she understood. Even if I ignored Martin, and told her. She would be so hurt. And then it would always be there, simmering away between us.

“Come on Lizzie. It’s me you’re talking to. What’s wrong?”

I took another deep breath. “Oh, nothing. Just drank a bit too much of your punch last night.”

“You had the party!” Catherine sounded pleased.

“Sort of.”

“Did all the food get eaten? Did Martin come? I still haven’t been able to get hold of him.”

I paused. “No,” I said.

“Oh. Right. That’s strange.”

I tried to think of something to say, but was lost for words.

“Oh well, I’ll try him again later,” said Catherine. “I hope you feel better, honey. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

I put the receiver down and put my head in my hands.

“What sort of a friend am I?” I asked Zara, through my fingers. “I sleep with her boyfriend and lie to her.”

“I told you. It wasn’t your fault. Any of this.”

I looked at her and shook my head. “I doubt Catherine would see it that way.”

“She would if she was a real friend. Maybe you should just tell her.”

I shook my head again. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because he told me not to. And if I do, he’ll twist it so that it was my fault, and she’ll believe him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, I know that.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” I said. “She loves him.”

Zara shrugged. “The truth will out,” she said. “It always does.”

“Only in the movies,” I told her.

Zara was silent.

“Look,” she said, eventually. “I was thinking about going over to see Uncle Silbert.”

“When?”

“Now. Do you want to come?”

I realised that it was very much what I wanted. I nodded and got up off the sofa and went into the bedroom and sat down in front of the mirror. I stared at my reflection; my eyes were swollen and red. There was a slight lump at the back of my head where I had fallen against the wall. I ran my finger over it. It was tender to the touch and I bit my lip to stop myself from crying again.

Then I remembered Uncle Silbert’s words to me: know your own truths. And I realised with sudden clarity that what Zara had said was the truth, my truth. The way I was feeling right now, this was evidence that it did happen the way that Zara said. I hadn’t invited this. I hadn’t invited any of it. Any decent bloke, like Larsen, or Tim, would never have done what Martin had done and then tried to pass the blame onto me. I realised that the only way in which I had let myself down was by not trusting myself, by being so hard on myself.

Zara came into the bedroom behind me and sat down on the bed.

“You know,” I said, looking up at her. “It’s not just Larsen. I think I miss my dad.”

Zara nodded. She bent down and picked up my doll and placed it into my arms. I hugged the doll and smiled up at Zara’s reflection in the mirror.

“Don't worry,” said Zara from behind me. She put her arms around me. “You mustn’t worry. Everything's going to be all right.”