What She Did Read online

‘Does he always speak to you that way?’

  I am so taken back by her question that I don’t know what to say.

  ‘Sorry, that was rude of me to ask,’ she says.

  Have I missed something?

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  She hesitates for a moment and then shakes her head. ‘Never mind. Misread the situation, that’s all.’

  The girl walks away quickly and I am left feeling a little dumbfounded. Misread the situation? What the hell was she talking about? I take off after her and call out to her to stop.

  ‘Excuse me?’ She turns around. ‘What did you mean back there?’

  Her feet shuffle awkwardly and then she settles. ‘Look, I know the signs. I was in a toxic relationship once too. He used to say stuff, do stuff, to make himself sound like he was being sweet, helpful. But really he was just trying to control me.’

  I feel my mouth drop open with the shock of what this stranger is saying to me. ‘Toxic? I’m sorry, love, but I’ve never met you before in my life.’

  She sighs and straightens her back so she seems taller. ‘I’m not trying to be nasty. Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Aye, so you should be. Since when was it ever okay to—’ I start, but the girl stops me by putting her hand up.

  ‘Like I said, misread situation.’ She takes a step forward. ‘Just… be wary. Now that I’ve said this, planted the seed, you might start to notice things are not as they seem. Even to you.’

  ‘Listen, I suggest you shut your mouth before we end up having a problem. You can’t just go around listening to other people’s conversations and drawing your own conclusions. Whatever you think you heard, you’re wrong. He’s not controlling.’ My heart is pounding in my chest and I feel like I am going to cry. I want to punch this girl. How dare she?

  ‘Fair enough. Sorry I said anything,’ she says. ‘I was just trying to help.’

  I watch her pull her phone from her pocket as she is walking away and I shake my head at her suggestion.

  Toxic? What the hell did she think she’d witnessed?

  I take a deep breath, steady myself and go to find Lawrence.

  We head for lunch at an Italian restaurant and he treats me to wine and dessert.

  ‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you,’ he says.

  ‘Awe, you’re a sweetie.’ I drain my glass, still unnerved by the confrontation. I haven’t told Lawrence about it, it would only upset him. ‘I just need to go to the bathroom before we leave. I’ll meet you outside?’

  I stand in front of the mirror, running my wrists under the cold water. Why has that woman unnerved me so much? What she suggested was ridiculous. Ridiculous. I have to pull myself together, get her words out of my head. But I can’t. They are planted there, stuck fast in the depths of my mind. Toxic, controlling. Those were the words she’d used. How could she have seen that from one little conversation about a dress?

  I dry my hands and my wrists, reapply my lip gloss and adjust my smile. Things are fine. I have no idea what that strange woman was on about. And I won’t let her words affect me.

  FOUR

  VICTORIA (THEN)

  I look down at the place where Gill’s ashes are scattered… were scattered. With all the recent wind and rain, I’m certain they’ve been washed away now. I stare across the River Clyde, and as I stand on the bank overlooking the golf course on the Erskine village side of Glasgow, I shiver against the cold. The greying Scottish sky matches my mood and I kneel down, feeling the dampness soak through my trousers and on to my skin. The dewy grass brushes against my ankles and I am filled with that odd sensation which I have heard people describe as the feeling you get when someone walks over you grave.

  There is nowhere to go to think about her, nowhere I can sit and remember how, at one time, things were good.

  Scattering Gill’s ashes was the second hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I can’t let myself think about the first; I’ll go insane otherwise. Sometimes I wonder if I already have, if I’ve already been committed to some kind of secure unit and what I see before me is just my mind protecting me from the reality of being locked up because I have gone mad.

  If only things were that easy.

  I stare out at the surprisingly still water in front of me and savour the scene which I am surrounded by. The dull heaviness above me matches the weight I feel when I think of everything, like it’s all crushing down and forcing a sharp intake of breath.

  I should make another appointment with my therapist. But I know what he will say. I’ve heard it all before. Accepting what happened isn’t going to change how lost I have become. There have been days, even weeks, where there has been nothing but a black hole in my mind. My therapist said it’s my brain’s way of coping with my trauma, to blot everything out to protect myself.

  I get to my feet and stare up at the bridge. The familiar thoughts of climbing on to those railings and letting go of everything floods my mind for what seems like the hundredth time. I am moving towards the path which leads to the place where I imagine I will take my last breaths. I am okay with the idea. I have nothing left to live for. Not now. Not after Gill.

  I shove my hands into my coat pocket and stare straight ahead, emptying my head of everything as I focus on breathing, in and out, in and out. If therapy has taught me anything, it has taught me how to breathe through the darkness of my memories.

  I keep my eyes on the path towards the bridge and try not to think too much about what I want to do.

  I reach the beginning of the pedestrian walkway and stare up at the towering lights, but I keep my feet moving. The wind picks up and whips through my hair. I pull my coat tighter around me as the cold air chills my skin. My legs feel heavy with each step I take. I glance to my left and see the city emerging from below as the gradient increases as I walk. I feel numb as a little voice at the back of my mind tells me I am walking to my death. I don’t see it that way, I see it as if I am moving towards my freedom.

  I reach the middle of the bridge and feel the concrete under my feet shudder as trucks and cars speed past me. I stare out at the river as it leads towards the city of Glasgow, the lights glowing under the dusky sky. For a moment, I wonder that if in this huge city, on this same river, there will be someone standing on one of the other bridges, contemplating the same thing? Surely I can’t be the only person in this city in this much pain?

  I place my hands on the barrier which separates me from life and death and I climb up, resting my hips against the cold metal. I think about letting go, about what would happen mid-fall. Would I regret my decision once it was too late? Would anyone stop their car and try to talk me down? Who is there left to stop me? Everyone I cared about is gone, has screwed me over and left me on my own, so the likelihood of anyone even noticing I’m gone, let alone trying to stop me, is very low.

  I stare down at the murky waters below and imagine what it would feel like to hit it at high speed. Like hitting concrete, I imagine. I wouldn’t feel physical pain, it would happen too quickly for that.

  ‘You don’t have to do it, you know.’ I’m startled by the voice behind me. I turn and am faced with a woman around my age. She is smiling softly at me and I realise it is the first time anyone has smiled around me in a long time.

  ‘Do what?’ I ask, sure that she thinks I am someone else.

  ‘Jump.’ The word is blunt as it leaves her lips and it catches in my throat.

  I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find the words to reply.

  ‘I know that’s what you were thinking of.’ She moves closer to me and holds out her hand. I look down at her beautifully manicured fingers and when I raise my eyes to meet hers again, her smile remains. ‘I’m Lydia.’

  I exhale, realising that I was holding my breath. But I don’t take her hand. Instead, I just nod and relax my shoulders and step down to safety.

  Lydia lowers her hand and slides it into the pocket of her black leather jacket.

 
‘I’m Victoria,’ I manage. ‘And I wasn’t going to jump.’

  ‘No, you were just thinking about it.’

  I nod and feel my chest loosen a little. ‘Yes, just thinking about it. All of the time.’

  ‘It’s not the only way out, you know,’ Lydia says as she turns to face the water, her long auburn curls swirling around in the wind. I look at her and there is something in her which reminds me of myself, but I don’t know what. ‘Talking is always the way to deal with things. I’m sure there are people who would miss you.’

  Her words are like a punch to the stomach and I swallow hard. For the first time, I allow my tears to fall.

  I feel Lydia’s hand slip into mine and I allow myself to be held by this sudden stranger, who seems to know a little more about me than I know about myself.

  ‘I have no one,’ I whisper and I feel her grip tighten.

  ‘Me either,’ she replies. ‘It’s shit, isn’t it. When you’re at the lowest you’ve ever been and you literally have nobody to turn to.’

  I feel something catch in my throat and I swallow it back, worried that I will break down in front of this kind stranger. ‘Yes, shit.’ As we stand on the bridge, I feel like we are the only two people alive in the world.

  ‘Fancy a coffee? Or something stronger, perhaps?’

  With nothing else to lose, I nod and accept her proposal.

  As we walk back along the bridge to safety, I can’t help but steal a few glances at her. Her complexion is like porcelain, perfection. Her eyes are crystal blue and her lips are painted bright red. She appears to me like some sort of rock groupie, but with class. In fact, I feel myself blush as I continue to stare at her, the definition of beauty.

  Later, we sit down together. I went for something stronger. And that’s when I tell her. I tell her everything. She listens to me, her eyes full of empathy and concern. I feel an instant connection to her which is so strong it scares me because we have only just met.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say as I sip on the glass of whisky.

  ‘Why are you thanking me?’ Lydia eyes me over her mug.

  ‘For stopping me from killing myself today.’

  Lydia shakes her head and smiles. ‘It wasn’t me who stopped you. You chose not to jump. If you really wanted to, you would have. Something inside told you that your time isn’t over yet and that is what made you step down from that barrier.’

  She reaches over and touches my hand, her fingers feel familiar on my skin – I am already so comfortable with her. I allow myself to trust her. Somehow, I know she will be there for me, wherever and whenever I need her. She tells me that herself, not with her words but with her soul.

  I can’t explain it properly, but meeting Lydia is like being reborn.

  FIVE

  BETH (THEN)

  We travel home by train and decide to head back to my house. When we arrive, I take the bags from Lawrence and head upstairs. I want to try my dress on with a pair of shoes I have.

  I dump the bags on my bed, but I can’t find the one I’m looking for.

  ‘Shit!’ I call out.

  ‘What’s up?’ Lawrence is at my bedroom door.

  ‘I must’ve left my bag on the train,’ I say. ‘I don’t have the dress you bought for me.’

  Lawrence pulls his face into an apologetic expression. ‘Ah, I think that may have been my fault.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I may have left it in the restaurant. I’m sorry. There were just so many bags, when you went to the bathroom, I must have forgotten to pick it up,’ he replies.

  I hesitate before speaking. The girl back in the shop comes into my mind. Did he leave the bag in the restaurant on purpose? Would he do something like that?

  ‘But… I do have something that might make you feel better.’ He smiles and disappears downstairs for a moment. When he returns, he is carrying another bag. ‘Here, happy birthday.’

  I take the bag from him and open it. The black dress he had suggested, just before my encounter with that woman. I stare down at it, my stomach beginning to flip as I hear her words – toxic relationship, controlling.

  ‘Let me help you try it on.’ Lawrence stands behind me and slips my shirt off. I step out of my jeans and put the dress on, trying to hide my reluctance, trying to hide what I’m thinking.

  I look in the mirror and can’t help but notice anything other than the fact that I am covered up: high neck, long sleeves and the hem reaches just below the knee. It does fit my figure quiet well and it’s not as if the dress is horrid. But it wasn’t what I wanted, what I had chosen. It had been Lawrence’s choice, even though I’d said I didn’t like it.

  ‘Stunning,’ he whispers into my ear. He kisses me and lays me on the bed. ‘Simply stunning.’

  I look up at Lawrence and feel torn. I want to like the dress. I want to be happy with him. But I don’t want to be that girl. I can’t be the type to have one of those relationships. Am I that kind of girl already, without even realising it?

  The conversation with that woman earlier is stuck in my head, like it’s playing on repeat through a speaker from inside my bedroom. What if she was right, what if this is a toxic relationship, and I have been so wrapped up in Lawrence that I haven’t even noticed? I mean, you hear about this kind of thing all the time, don’t you? Girls in relationships with men who have a compulsive need to control them.

  ‘You look amazing with it on,’ he says, kissing my neck. ‘But even more amazing with it off.’

  I smile and push aside those thoughts of him. I scold myself for even thinking it. Lawrence has never given me cause to think of him as anything other than kind and generous. And loving. He loves me and I love him.

  ‘Let’s go out tonight, for your birthday. Just the two of us? We could go back to the club where we first met?’ he says.

  I can’t concentrate on what he is saying as he runs his mouth over me. I just nod in agreement.

  ‘You could wear your new dress.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say and allow myself to be consumed by him.

  * * *

  The energy I have is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I am having such a good time with it being just the two of us, I feel more confident than I ever have. I’m dancing in the middle of the floor, the bass from the music banging in my chest. I feel like I could go all night.

  Lawrence is standing opposite me, watching me with those sexy eyes of his. His smile is wide. I feel a pang of excitement in my stomach at the way he looks at me.

  The nightclub we’re in is packed, the air around us stuffy, but I am too busy dancing to notice. I sip my drink and do a little dance towards Lawrence. I reach him, sliding my hands around his waist. I feel my eyes heavy in my head as I try to focus on his. I’m seeing two of him.

  Suddenly I feel sick, the sensation that it is coming now and there is nothing I can do about it. I want to sit down on the floor to steady myself. I feel Lawrence’s eyes on me.

  ‘I feel a bit sick,’ I say.

  ‘You’ve not had that much to drink, Beth.’ His tone is a little off, as if accusing me of lying. Or is it? Am I beginning to imagine things because of what that woman said to me?

  ‘I know. Check the lightweight.’ I laugh it off. But the humour doesn’t reach me.

  I look around the nightclub. The music thumps in my ears and my vision is blurry. Girls around me are dancing, drinking, laughing. I’m doing neither. I look at Lawrence again, his eyes full and alert. He isn’t smiling now.

  ‘You okay?’ he whispers into my ear.

  The nausea is increasing and my head is beginning to spin. ‘I don’t feel good, can you get me some water?’

  Lawrence moves towards the bar but keeps his eyes on me. I head for the toilets. The feeling in my stomach, that nauseating sense that something bad is going to happen, overwhelms me…

  I wake to a pain in my ribs, like someone is prodding me with their finger, pushing hard into the space between the bone and flesh. I wince at the feeling a
nd open my eyes. My head is fuzzy as my surroundings come into focus.

  ‘Wake up.’ A voice in my ear says. ‘Get up.’

  I turn to see Lawrence, his face so close it is a blur. I pull back, realising the pain in my ribs is coming from him.

  ‘That hurts,’ I say, glancing around me. I am in Lawrence’s house, in the lounge. I am on the couch, sprawled out. How long have I been out for? A few minutes? Hours?

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, running a hand through my hair. ‘You should go to bed, you’re hammered.’

  I try to gather my thoughts, but before I know it, Lawrence is pulling me to my feet. His grip is so firm that it hurts.

  ‘Let go,’ I cry out. I am still clothed as I look down, but I am covered in dirt. I must’ve fallen. But when? I don’t remember.

  ‘You should come to bed,’ Lawrence says again. ‘You’re so drunk.’

  I muster up as much strength as I can and pull myself from his grip. What is going on? Why does he seem so… angry? Did I do something to upset him?

  ‘No, I think I should go home. I’ve overdone it, I need to be at home.’

  I stand up and make for the lounge door. As I reach the handle, Lawrence grasps at my waist and pulls me back. I lose my footing and fall back, banging the back of my head on the frame of the door. I cry out in pain and Lawrence lifts me to my feet.

  ‘You’re in no fit state to go home. Just stay here, I can look after you.’ His tone is soft but hurried at the same time.

  My head swirls; I can’t think straight.

  I rub at my head where I hit it, thankful that I don’t feel any lesions.

  ‘No, I’m going home. I’m a mess, a disgrace.’

  He moves forward as I stand up, gripping my shoulders with unnecessary force. I push him away.

  He is silent for a moment before he begins climbing the stairs. ‘If you’re just going to push me away when I’m trying to help you, then just go, Beth.’

  I rush into the lounge to get my bag. I pull my phone out to find the battery is dead.

  ‘Fuck it, I’ll walk,’ I say out loud. My head is throbbing as I pull my bag over my shoulder and head for the door. Why is he so annoyed? Is it because I am so drunk? Or that I don’t want to stay with him?