Читать книгу When I Met You - Jemma Forte - Страница 15

Hayley and Gary live at the end of a cul-de-sac, a few miles from us in Chingford. The entire house is decorated in various shades of white and when we were all invited round after it was finished Hayley got really cross with us for not being able to tell the difference between the apple white she’d painted the hall and the hessian white she’d painted the lounge. It just all looks white but, according to her, the difference should be as obvious as if she’d painted one room blue and one orange. Her carpet is also an off-white and her curtains are a pale shade of something anaemic too. As a result it’s one of the least comfortable houses to be in because you’re terrified to touch anything in case you sully it somehow. Even her sofa, a new purchase as of the Boxing Day sales, is white. Martin’s terribly jealous of her white leather suite because he hadn’t spotted it for himself. His obsession with boring shops is seasonal, you see. During the summer months it’s all about Homebase, but come winter and the Boxing Day sales, the second DFS and Land of Leather have flung open their doors, he’s there. In fact, this moment is probably the most meaningful and spiritual part of Christmas for Martin. Consequently, as a family, we’re always first in the queue at one or other of these places, no matter what the weather. No one except me ever questioning the fact we’re standing there shivering, when we could be at home eating leftovers and watching telly. Is it any wonder I like travelling so much?

Partially due to the lightness of their carpets, Hayley and Gary are obsessed with people taking their shoes off when they enter their domain too, which is fair enough. Like most people I appreciate that the thought of dirt from the street being trampled into your carpet isn’t that nice, but they are ridiculously anal about it. To the point where I honestly think if there was a fire in the house and Hayley was stuck inside, she’d insist on the firemen taking their boots off before coming in to save her.

Gary’s just as OCD as she is though. His clothes are always immaculately ironed and their bed never looks as though anyone’s slept in it. I love the thought of a child coming along to shake things up in Evans Towers, though I’ll have to take it on special outings to dirty places in order to build up its immune system. I’ll scout out really grubby church halls and play areas, then set the child free to eat stuff off the floor and chew on grimy toys, like babies are supposed to.

I ring the bell, my mind back on the task in hand. When the door opens Gary’s standing there looking as Neanderthal as ever.

‘All right sexy, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ he says, eyeing me up and down. His voice too high pitched for one so muscular.

‘Is Hayley in?’

‘No, she’s getting her nails done. You’re lucky you caught me. I just came home to pick up some paperwork to take back to the garage. Come in and wait if you like.’

I hesitate. Did I really want to sit and make small talk with Gary? Then again, what I had to tell Hayley couldn’t exactly wait.

I shrug and my foot’s only halfway over the threshold when Gary says ‘Your …’

‘Shoes, I know, don’t worry,’ I finish for him.

My heart sinks. Damn, I’m wearing my knee-length black boots, which don’t have a zip. Getting them on is relatively easy, you just sort of pull them on and heave them into position, like adjusting a pair of support tights. Getting them off is another matter though. In the end I have no choice but to sit spread-eagled on the floor and prise them off with the other foot, going red-faced from exertion. This isn’t an approach I feel particularly comfortable taking while Gary’s standing over me, but finally they’re off. As I pull myself back to standing, I feel like I’ve had a workout.

I notice that Gary’s own feet are bare, tanned and pedicured. He obviously has regular sun beds. He pads back towards the front room. ‘Can I get you a drink while you wait. Squash, Coke Zero, Fanta?’

‘No thanks,’ I say, settling myself down on the couch, picking a copy of Grazia off the coffee table. ‘So, congratulations on the baby.’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ says Gary, looking genuinely chuffed. ‘Better be a boy though,’ he adds, which ruins any vague sense of warmth I’d just been momentarily feeling towards him.

‘Er, why? Have you suddenly turned into a nineteenth-century estate owner who needs a son and heir?’

Gary doesn’t answer. He probably doesn’t understand what I’ve said.

‘Be nice to have a chip off the old block,’ he says ‘Though I don’t care really.’

‘That’s good of you.’

‘Tell you what I will be pleased about, is getting some action again. Hayley won’t let me go near her at the moment. Says she’s worried about “hurting the baby”.’

‘Right,’ I mutter, not convinced this is any of my business.

‘Still, when you’re as well equipped in that department as I am I suppose it could be a problem.’

Stunned, I look up from the fashion pages and stare at him aghast. Did he just say what I think he did? To my horror I realise he probably did because he’s staring in the general direction of his horrid crotch, which he’s kind of thrusting. Disgusting.

‘Gary, please don’t be gross. I’ll be sick.’

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it babes,’ he says, at which point I decide it’s time to go. Hayley will just have to wait a bit longer to find out about our dad having returned. I simply cannot cope with Gary and his revolting ways while I’ve got so much on my mind.

‘I’m off,’ I say, making a swift exit, which is hindered by the laborious process of getting my stupid boots back on, while Gary stands and watches again, smirking at my obvious discomfort. I’m totally against adult Crocs, unless you’re a nurse or medic of any kind, but find myself considering investing in a pair I could use when coming round here, to facilitate swift exits.

‘Tell Hayley I called round,’ I instruct Gary, who has seriously crossed the line today as far as I’m concerned. Honestly, just because he’s gone without for a few weeks. I shudder with revulsion.

‘I’ll tell her babe,’ he says, cretinous face leering at me.

Back in the car I wonder what to do. I feel anchorless. I can’t think of anything but what’s happened and the thought of going into work tomorrow and acting like everything’s normal – which I’m going to have to do – fills me with dread.

Right, there’s probably only one thing to do and there’s no point delaying it further, given that I’ve been waiting my whole life for it. I scrabble around in the pocket of my skirt and produce from it the, by now, very crumpled receipt.

After a few more moments of agonising, I take a deep breath and force Gary and his inappropriate comments out of my head, knowing that what I’m about to do will alter the course of my life for ever. It’s time. Time to take control of things, time to make my own decisions. I dial the number.