What She Did Read online

  What the hell happened tonight? I struggle to remember anything before heading to the nightclub.

  Lawrence and I have only been seeing each other for a year, and inside that year, I have only been drunk a handful of times. But nothing like this. I’ve embarrassed myself, I must’ve drank a lot tonight. That’ll be why he’s annoyed at me. I’ll have embarrassed him. I can’t blame him for being annoyed at me; I would be too if things were the other way round.

  I leave the house and begin walking along his street. I don’t even know what time it is. I’m sore, really sore. My ribs, my head, my face all hurt.

  ‘Beth, wait up!’ I hear Lawrence call. I turn around and see him walking towards me. ‘I’m sorry, I was out of order back there. Please, let me come back with you. You’re too drunk to be on your own.’

  Upon hearing his words, my head begins to spin and I suddenly feel sick. He’s right, I can’t be on my own and he’s always looked after me when I’m drunk. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me, Beth. I’m your partner. I’ll always look after you.’

  ‘I thought you were annoyed at me for getting so drunk,’ I say, trying not to sound so desperate.

  ‘Hey, it’s your birthday. You’re allowed to get drunk. I’m not annoyed, just worried. I want to make sure you get home, all right?’ he says.

  I smile but I think about the way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me. I think about the way he grabbed me when I banged my head. Even though he says he’s not annoyed, I know he is.

  I see a taxi with its light on heading towards me and I stick my hand out. Lawrence opens the door and I climb in first. Lawrence gives my address to the driver.

  I sit back and Lawrence takes me hand.

  I hear the driver’s voice through the little speaker. ‘You all right, hen?’

  ‘Rough night,’ I reply and smile meekly at Lawrence, who gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. I think about the woman in the shop and, inside, I feel certain that she was crazy.

  ‘Aye, looks like it. Did you fall?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  The driver goes silent and something in my stomach shifts.

  My phone is dead, so I can’t turn the camera on to look. What the hell is happening? ‘Lawrence, did I fall?’

  ‘Let’s just get you home,’ Lawrence says.

  We pull up to my house and I take some money out of my bag, but before I can pay the driver, Lawrence has already done so and is opening the door, holding out a hand to help me out. But as I do, the driver rolls down his window and starts to speak.

  ‘Mate, keep an eye on her, eh? She’s in a bad way.’

  I stare at them both, terrified of what the driver is seeing.

  ‘Aye, will do, mate. Cheers,’ Lawrence says as he closes the taxi door.

  As the taxi pulls away, Lawrence and I go inside and I head straight for the bathroom, turning on the light switch outside the door.

  I look at my reflection, shocked at what is staring back at me. For a moment, I don’t believe I am looking at myself.

  ‘What the fuck did I do?’ I say aloud, expecting Lawrence to answer. But he doesn’t.

  The left side of my face is badly bruised to the point where I almost start to cry. The same side of my face is covered in dirt and, upon seeing the state I’m in, my face starts to throb.

  I lift my shirt to remove it, only to reveal bruising to my ribcage. I wince as I run my fingers over them.

  ‘I told you I was worried,’ Lawrence says.

  ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘You fell, outside the nightclub. You hit your head on the kerb of the pavement, but not before you hit your ribs on the wall on the way down.’

  ‘I’m an actual mess.’ Then I do start to cry.

  ‘Hey, come here,’ Lawrence pulls me to him and holds me tight. ‘We’ve all done it. You need some rest. Let’s go to bed. Come on,’ he says, turning off the bathroom light.

  As I lay in bed, listening to Lawrence snoring, I can’t stop the words of the woman in the shop today as they swirl around in my head. It’s like she is here in the room, standing over me as I think over and over the meaning behind what she said.

  I sit up and try not to wince as pain shoots through my ribs. My eye is throbbing and I ache all over. Something happened to me this evening. Something more than is clear to me. I glance down at my jeans which are lying in a crumpled heap on the carpet. Swinging my legs around, I place my feet on the floor and stand slowly. I check Lawrence is still sleeping and creep over, pick up my jeans and head out of the room with them. I turn on the light in the hallway and hold them out in front of me. They are filthy, covered in dirt. I’d ended up not wearing the dress Lawrence had bought for me and, thank goodness for that, otherwise it would have been ruined.

  I tiptoe downstairs and into the kitchen. I open the door of the washing machine. Sighing, I shove the jeans in the machine, close the door and tell myself I’ll put them on to wash tomorrow.

  Climbing the stairs, I think of the events of the evening. I can’t believe I have behaved this way. I’ll be lucky if Lawrence sticks around after this. Why would he want to have a girlfriend who can’t handle a few drinks? Such an embarrassment. Reaching the top, I stop outside my bedroom door and again the woman’s words are in my head.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ I say under my breath, swallowing back the lump in my throat before going back to bed.

  Even though I believe the woman read too much into what she thought she saw today, I don’t sleep at all.

  SIX

  LYDIA (THEN)

  Poor girl, I think to myself when I cast my mind back just an hour or so ago when I found Victoria on that bridge. Little did she know, but I had been watching her, when she was down at the riverside, and I’d followed her with my eyes as she’d walked along the path. When I realised what she was doing, where she was going, I knew I had to do something to stop her. Even though she was calm and maybe to anyone else didn’t seem like she was about to take her own life, I somehow knew before she climbed onto that barrier. Her whole aura appeared sad, desperate. Some people say everyone has an aura which appears as a colour, depending on what they’re like as a person. I couldn’t see the colours around her, but I knew she’d be surrounded by black if I could. It’s not every day you stumble across someone who is about to jump off one of the busiest bridges in Glasgow, I could hardly stand by and let it happen.

  Now, as I sit across from her in this little side pub with soaked beer mats in front of us, I watch Victoria from the other side of the table. She runs a hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair and I notice that it doesn’t shine against the light above us. Come to think of it, there is little light in this woman’s eyes at all.

  What on earth has happened to make her so miserable that she would want to kill herself? I didn’t have to wait too long to find out. The horrific chain of events which eventually led to Victoria’s decision to end her life were just that; horrific. No one should have to go through what she did.

  I don’t think she realises that I knew she was staring at me on and off as we walked along the bridge. I felt her eyes on me and, I’m not going to lie, I kind of enjoyed it. I knew that was a selfish way to feel, given the circumstances, but I liked how her curiosity for me got the better of her, even in her darkest hour. It was a good thing, it meant her mind was moving further from death, which was most definitely my goal.

  Something about Victoria makes me want to protect her, even though I’ve only known her a few hours. Somehow, I feel her pain, although I have never gone through it myself.

  ‘Thank you. For stopping me… you know,’ she falters as she lifts the glass of whisky to her lips. ‘It must be bad if I’m willing to drink this.’ She laughs, but the sound is empty. ‘Suppose we fit in with the clientele.’

  I follow her gaze and note the old men sitting in the corner, also sipping whisky. The pub is dark and dingy and I kick myself for choosing this one. It’s not ex
actly a mood lifter.

  I smile at her and reach across to touch her hand. ‘You chose not to jump, Victoria.’

  ‘Call me Vic, my sister does. Did,’ she says and swallows a mouthful of whisky. Her eyes fall from my gaze and I allow her a moment of composure. ‘Sorry, I’m still getting used to not having her around. Referring to her in the past tense is still alien to me.’

  ‘That’s normal I suppose, with any death,’ I reply.

  Victoria pulls her lips into a tight smile and places the glass down on the table. Her dark blue eyes glisten as tears start to fill them and she pulls a tissue from her pocket before letting them fall.

  ‘I feel so broken,’ she says before straightening in her seat. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just said that to you. This is weird, we’ve only just met.’

  I shake my head in protest. It doesn’t feel weird to me at all. I keep my expression as soft as possible. ‘No its not, Vic. What would be weird would’ve been me walking past you on that bridge and not noticing your cry for help. I’m not the sort of person who sees someone in need of support and ignores them.’

  She eyes me warily and I squeeze her hand a little tighter.

  ‘Some best friends rarely see each other from one month to the next, never truly knowing the full extent to what the other person is going through. Some are so intensely close that it’s like a relationship all on its own. Then there are people like us, those who walk around in life, not really knowing where we’ll be from one day to the next. Never really having that one person we can go to when things get rough.’ I stop, allowing Vic to process what I have just said. I take a breath and begin again. ‘I saw a person in need today. A person who needs help and support. You need a friend, Vic. I do too. We can help each other out, can’t we?’

  She nods and smiles at me. ‘Yes, I suppose we can.’

  I pull my hand away and sit back on my seat.

  Vic finishes her whisky and I go to the bar to order her another. I like her. I do. We could be friends. Best friends. I can help guide her to a better life, one without pain. With Vic around, I can have the life I have always wanted. My days filled with purpose, my needs fulfilled by having that companion I’ve always craved. I know how it feels to be lonely.

  I look up when the barman places two whiskies in front of me. I frown at his expression and wonder why he is looking at me strangely. He’s older than I am, in his sixties. The skin around his eyes folds around them and his eyes themselves are greying with age.

  ‘Fiver,’ he says, his voice low and gruff, matching his appearance. I hand him the note and he hovers for a moment.

  ‘Can I help you with something?’ I ask.

  ‘Nah, just don’t see women your age in here much. Come to think of it, we don’t see women in here at all.’

  ‘Is it any wonder when you look at us like that?’ I reply. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.’

  I lift the glasses from the bar, smile sarcastically at him and walk back to the table where I’ve left Vic sitting. I place her glass in front of her and sit down.

  ‘Thanks. So, you’ve heard enough about my sad little life. Why don’t you tell me about you?’ Vic says.

  I glance over at the barman, who is still staring at us, his expression perplexed. Never mind him being surprised to see women in his pub, he seems annoyed by the idea of women at all.

  I open my mouth to speak, but I’m not quite ready to tell her about myself. Not yet. A bit like this pub, my past is too dark.

  SEVEN

  BETH (THEN)

  I sit at the kitchen counter and massage my temples between sips of water.

  Too much alcohol, far too much alcohol.

  I swallow down the sudden need to empty my stomach as I remember the scent of the pink liquid swishing around in my glass last night.

  How had I got so drunk that I couldn’t remember how I’d come to have cuts and bruises all over me?

  I think about Lawrence, how he’d brought me home last night. The taxi driver’s expression when he looked at me. My own expression when I saw the state I was in.

  I can hear Lawrence moving around upstairs as I stand up and move towards the sink. I need more water to flush out the fear and disgust I have for myself. I refill the glass which I have been nursing and I lift it to my mouth, feeling the cold fluid against my drying lips.

  I jump as I feel Lawrence’s arms slide around me. My mind flashes an image in front of my eyes. Lawrence grabbing hold of me, falling back and banging my head on the door frame.

  ‘Hey,’ he says into my ear, forcing the image away.

  I turn around and his nose almost touches mine. His aftershave lingers from the night before, mixed with the scent of alcohol, and I instinctively begin to breathe through my mouth.

  ‘Hi,’ I say as I go to lift the glass again. But before it reaches my lips, Lawrence kisses me. I return his affections, but all I can think about is how my mouth feels like it is filling up with sand.

  ‘You were pretty hammered last night,’ he laughs. His voice vibrates inside my ears, causing my head to throb a little. ‘You sore this morning?’

  I detect a hint of annoyance from him and it makes my stomach roll. I remember feeling the same way last night when leaving his house.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, trying not to cry. ‘Far too much wine, never again.’ My body trembles. The fear well and truly has a grip on me and I feel the paranoia kicking in.

  I lift the glass and this time I swallow back the cold water. I feel it rush down my throat and hit my stomach. I breathe deeply so as not to vomit.

  ‘So, what happened last night?’ I ask.

  Lawrence shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the next. He looks at me and I feel ridiculous having to rely on him.

  ‘I told you last night. Don’t you remember?’ he asks, his brow furrowing.

  ‘I do,’ I say, even though I only remember in parts. ‘But tell me again.’

  ‘You ended up arguing with one of the bar staff for refusing to serve you.’

  And there it is, the fear bubbles to the surface and a part of me dies inside. How embarrassing, no wonder Lawrence is being off with me.

  ‘I did what?’ I think back, try to remember this event. I don’t. This isn’t me. I don’t argue, I’m not confrontational.

  Lawrence nods his head and his lips become tight. ‘Yeah, you were quite drunk, dancing and having a good time. But you kept bumping into people and spilling drinks. When we went to the bar, the guy told you you’d had enough and you just…’ he hesitates. ‘Kicked off.’

  I sit down at the table and sip my water again. How the hell had I let myself get into that much of a state?

  ‘What did I say to him?’ I ask.

  ‘Honestly, I can’t remember. All I recall is finally encouraging you to leave with me to get a taxi. If I’m honest, I didn’t give you much choice. The taxi queue was too long, so we started walking so we could flag one down and that’s when you fell.’ He reaches out and holds my hand as I attempt to lift it to take another sip of water. His hand stops me. ‘I’ve never seen that side to you before.’

  I try to conjure up an image of what he is telling me. It’s cloudy, but I vaguely remember falling, hitting my ribs on the way down. I wince at the thought.

  I sigh and shake my head. ‘I’m mortified. That isn’t me at all. I’m so sorry.’ I want to be sick. Not at what happened, but because I can’t remember a single part of it. I don’t want to imagine what Lawrence really thinks of me right now.

  ‘Don’t be silly, we’ve all acted in a way we later regret. You’re one of many.’ He laughs, getting up from the table. ‘I got you back to mine and you passed out on the sofa for a bit. I tried to wake you and you just wanted to go home. There was no stopping you. So I came with you. Breakfast?’

  At that, I feel my stomach finally give in to its contents and I stand up, knocking the chair back. I hear it crashing to the floor as I reach the bathroom just in time.

  I heave on
ly once and I feel better, physically at least. I rinse my mouth with water and wash my face. I stare at myself in the mirror and notice some bruising on my left upper arm. I touch it, running my fingers tentatively over the purplish marks. Were those there last night? They must have been.

  ‘Yeah, about that,’ Lawrence is behind me. ‘The bouncer was a little heavy-handed. I dealt with it.’

  I stare at his reflection in the mirror and smile.

  ‘I’ve burnt some toast for you. You can have it dry, it’ll stem the sickness,’ he says, before moving out of sight.

  I glance down at my arm again and then back at myself in the mirror.

  ‘I’m never drinking again.’ I say out loud.

  ‘Heard that one before too,’ Lawrence calls back from the kitchen. ‘It’ll pass.’

  I sigh and make my way into the kitchen and sit back down at the table.

  I’ve never experienced the fear before, but I have heard my friends talk about it on numerous occasions after they’ve had a heavy night of drinking and the odd line of coke (something I don’t do). They’ve said they wake up, wondering what the hell they’ve done or said to someone, whether it has been a text message, a phone call or just general bad behaviour due to intoxication. I never really understood what they were talking about.

  But I feel it now. An unsettling feeling in your gut that something isn’t right, something you can’t explain. Like I became someone else last night and my brain has blocked it out for my own good, to protect me from humiliation.

  I can only go on what Lawrence has said, that I made an idiot of myself and ended up being escorted out.

  ‘You said you encouraged me to leave,’ I say before I can stop myself.

  ‘Yes,’ he says through a mouthful of fried egg.

  ‘So, what happened between you doing that and the bouncer manhandling me?’ I’m beginning to feel angry. Why can’t I remember this?