Читать книгу Between You and Me: The bestselling psychological thriller with a twist you won’t see coming - Lisa Hall - Страница 11

Chapter Three

SAL

I hang up the phone and breathe a sigh of relief. My sister can talk the hind legs off a donkey, and although I love to speak to her I dread her calls, knowing as I do how you don’t really like for me to speak to my family. You think that we don’t need anyone else, in particular anyone else from my family. The difficulty with that is that I come from a large, chaotic, noisy family, who have a lot to say and only seem to want to say it to each other. I try my hardest to put them off when I can, just so I can avoid the inevitable row that follows when we do see them, but it’s difficult, and I’m not always sure that I want to put them off. My parents came to England from Italy in the 1980s, but haven’t lost any of their Italian ways – they love to have the whole family together in one room as often as possible, and the highlight of their day is if I take Maggie over to visit. As their only grandchild so far she is doted on, but you disapprove, saying that they interfere in our lives and that they shouldn’t have a say in how we bring Maggie up. I don’t always agree, but you have made it abundantly clear in various ways that in our house we do things your way, and, to be honest, the repercussions just aren’t worth it. So I don’t see as much of them as I would like any more, but my sister, Julia, has relocated back to Italy to be with her husband’s family, and she doesn’t see how it is here now. I don’t want to tell her how things are either, that the long, rambling phone calls put me on edge every time, with me completely unable to tell her that I need to get off the phone.

I run lightly up the stairs to check on our daughter. She’s curled up tight into a ball, only the top of her head visible above the duvet, the nightlight casting a warm glow across the bedroom. Nearly five, she has the most beautiful glossy, dark curls, a legacy from the Italian side of the family. She gives a little snore, and rolls over onto her other side and my heart squeezes as I gaze at her sleeping form. No matter what happens between us, no matter how difficult things get, I will always put her first. I will stay and tolerate your demands and rules, if only it means she has a stable family life, with two parents who love her.

Checking the Frozen clock that hangs on Maggie’s wall, I realise that it won’t be long before you are home, so I head downstairs to check on the lasagne that has been keeping warm in the oven, and to open the bottle of Malbec I bought earlier. Creeping down the stairs, avoiding the telltale creaky floorboard in order not to disturb Maggie, I hear the key in the door before I’m even halfway down and it’s obvious by the way the front door slams shut that tonight is not going to be a peaceful night.

‘What the fuck, Sal?’ you hiss into my face as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I wince, worried that the slamming of the front door will wake our sleeping daughter. Holding up one finger, I listen, but no sound comes from the bedroom above.

‘Charlie, please – Maggie’s asleep. What do you mean, what the fuck?’ Whispering, I skirt round you into the hallway so I can get you into the kitchen and away from the staircase before you start to shout and risk waking Maggie up. You throw your briefcase down and are following me into the kitchen when I see it. My mobile, sitting on the side where I left it, turned to silent after Maggie insisted on playing some ridiculous game on it and I had to turn the volume off to stop it from driving me insane. My mobile, sitting on the side, showing several missed calls from Charlie, alongside a text announcing that CHARLIE had left a voicemail. Oh, shit.

‘Charlie, I’m sorry. The volume was switched to silent. I didn’t realise, I promise. Maggie was playing a game; it was driving me bonkers. I had to turn it to silent before I went mad. I’m sorry, Charlie, really sorry. It was a mistake, that’s all.’ I know I am babbling, but your silence is making me nervous, even though I know it is ridiculous to feel this way over a missed call. I look over to where you’re standing in the doorway and, seeing you take off your black jacket, use the opportunity to open the oven door and pull out the steaming hot tray of lasagne.

‘Look, I’ve made your favourite: lasagne. Come and sit down. I’ve bought some wine; we can eat together.’

‘Who were you talking to, Sal? Huh? Who were you on the phone to that was SO FUCKING IMPORTANT that you couldn’t answer my call?’ Throwing your jacket onto the dining chair, you’re across the room before I even realise, standing so close to me that I can feel your hot breath in my face. Carefully, I lower the hot tray of food to the counter and turn towards you. I think about lying, but past experience has taught me that you always find out, which just makes things worse in the end. I decide to brave it out.

‘It was Julia. She was calling from Rome. She and Luca are staying at a hotel for a few days while Luca has business with a guy there. She was just calling to catch up, that’s all.’ I grab a dishcloth and wave it half-heartedly across the draining board in an attempt to avoid eye contact. To avoid the way you’ll be looking at me like I’m a bit of shit, anger and disgust crossing your perfectly aligned features, something that happens only too frequently these days.

‘To catch up, and to slag me off, no doubt. Jesus, Sal, do you think I’m some sort of idiot? I know what your family think of me, I know what you say about me behind my back!’

‘God, Charlie, NO. We didn’t speak about you – Julia asked how you were, that’s all. I told her you were fine, busy at work, you know. Nothing else, I swear to you, please. Please, Charlie.’ I try to take your hand, to reassure you that what I’m saying to you is true, that I’m not lying to you. Your icy blue eyes bore into mine, as you try to decide whether to believe me or not.

‘My phone was on silent, Charlie. Maggie was playing a game on it and it drove me crazy so I turned the ringer off. That’s all, I promise. I wasn’t ignoring you.’ Decision made, you turn on me, slapping my hands away from yours.

‘You’re a fucking liar, Sal. You always have been. You’ve lied to me from the word go and to be honest I don’t think you know how to tell the truth. I know what you and your family think about me; I’m not an idiot. I know you all think that poor old Sal could have done so much better. So what were you and Julia plotting? How to get rid of me? How you’ll leave and build a new life in the sun with your fucking sister? Is that it?’

You’re screaming into my face now, spittle landing on my cheek as I turn my face away from you. Raising my hands to ward you off, unsure as to whether a blow will be forthcoming or not, I shake my head, trying to get the words out before you hit me, trying to tell you, No. None of those things. Just talking. I don’t get the chance before you start yelling into my face again.

‘What, you think you’re going to raise your hands to me? I don’t think so, Sal. You need to remember who’s the boss here – who’s the one that goes out to work all hours so that you can live the life of fucking Riley? ME, that’s who. I have to deal with all the stress and demands, getting up at the crack of dawn every single day so you can live the life you want to lead. So you can sit on your arse at home, playing games with Maggie and slagging me off to your sister, you fucking ungrateful shit.’

You turn and, twisting your sleeve down over your hand so you don’t get burnt, grab the hot tray of lasagne, hurling it to the ground, smashing the porcelain dish into millions of pieces before stalking out of the kitchen. You don’t notice the shards of china cutting into the tops of my bare feet, and the steaming hot mince making burning arced splashes up my legs.

It takes me the best part of two hours to clean up, after I sit with a cold wet cloth pressed against my legs where the hot meat splashed up and scalded me. Tiny blisters have risen on my shins and calves and I know that tomorrow, despite the warm weather forecast, I will have to cover them up. Fighting the beginnings of a headache brought on by fear and exhaustion, I wipe up tomato sauce that has splattered all up the kitchen cupboards and sweep up the shards of porcelain. I mop the entire floor with bleach to get rid of the garlicky smell and make sure that not a single piece of china is left on the floor to pierce Maggie’s bare feet in the morning. I put antiseptic cream on the scalds on my legs, and wearily climb the stairs, praying that, as it’s after midnight, you’ll be asleep.

As I slide into bed, the sheets feeling blissfully cool on my hot, sore legs, you roll over towards me and I hold my breath, not sure if this is the start of another onslaught. I stiffen, waiting for you to speak.

‘I’m warning you, Sal.’ Your breath is hot and sour in my face, as I lie dead still. ‘I’m not having it. It’s your fault the dinner was ruined – if you hadn’t slagged me off to your sister, and then lied to me about it, it wouldn’t have happened. You bring all this on yourself.’

You roll away from me and assume the position you always do when you’re ready for sleep. I lay still; head pounding and blink back hot tears until sleep takes over.