Page 57 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Two minutes of Genevieve yelling at me and Quinn decides to flee. ‘Best I’m not here for this, I think. Call you tomorrow, Charlie,’ she says, slipping out the door.

Her exit does not deter Genevieve. ‘Look at you,’ she says, which is meant to show sympathy but makes it sound like I’m dirty. ‘I cannot believe this.’

She’s in absolute disarray, from the top of her head right down to her toes. Her hair, now much longer, is yanked up into a bun – messy, big and a wee bit greasy. She’s wearing an oversized, buttoned-up shirt, flared leggings, and sandals on her feet. Her ankles are swollen.

‘Christ,’ I say, because I’m afraid of her in this moment. Might be the most alarmed I’ve ever seen her. And even though I’m still so mad at her, my body is completely overtaken by guilt.

Bruce went to the bathroom almost as soon as they arrived and hasn’t been seen since; I suspect he’d like to flee too.

‘I knew something was wrong,’ Genevieve says, folding her arms. ‘I knew it. I cannot believe you didn’t tell me about this.’ Then she exhales, as if she’s finally got it out of her system. She can relax, now she’s reprimanded me for long enough. ‘I need to sit.’

She searches the room. Up until now, she was just so furious with me, I think she forgot about her surroundings. ‘Oh my god. What is that ?’

She’s seen Dave’s purple couch. ‘I know.’

‘It’s hideous.’

‘I know.’

‘What was he thinking?’

Then she looks at me, smiles, and we both say, ‘He wasn’t.’

Oh god, I’ve missed you. ‘You want something to eat?’ I ask. ‘There’s leftover mushroom ravioli in the fridge.’

She gags a little, hand to her mouth. ‘I should, but I actually can’t.’ And then she plops down on Dave’s couch. Exhausted, her head tips back and she closes her eyes for a moment. Removes the hair tie from around her red hair and lets it fan out over the purple material.

‘How are you feeling?’ I ask, wheeling myself towards her.

‘Rough. I give pregnancy zero stars.’ She then waves a hand in front of her face. ‘You should hear me at night when I’m trying to sleep. I sound like a pug.’

‘You look great.’

She opens one eye. ‘Liar.’ Then, both eyes open, she straightens. Sympathy crosses her face. ‘I’m still angry with you.’

‘I know.’

‘How are you? Dave was vague on the details.’

‘He called you? What a snake.’

She shrugs. ‘I think he figured, well, you can’t leave him twice .’ Then she calls out to her husband. ‘Bruce, stop hiding.’

Bruce walks out of the bathroom, hair at odd angles and bags under his eyes. Looking like he hasn’t slept in days. ‘Hey, Charlie.’

‘You look terrible.’

He doesn’t rebut me.

‘How did you guys get here?’ I ask, then nod towards Genevieve. Because we both know her doctor advised her not to fly after thirty weeks, and I know Bruce wouldn’t let her defy that.

Genevieve and Bruce catch eyes, then he squirms and I put two and two together.

‘Oh my god, did you drive ?’

Silence.

‘ Genevieve! ’ I exclaim. ‘That’s like, sixteen hours.’

Bruce holds up a finger, smug. ‘Did it in fifteen.’

‘Speeding is not a flex,’ Genevieve says. ‘Go have a sleep. You look like shit.’

Bruce does not need to be told twice. He yawns, then disappears into the second bedroom.

I turn back towards Genevieve. ‘You drove here? In one day?’ I’m aghast, frozen in my chair.

‘Not in one day.’ Then holds up two fingers.

‘You drove here, though.’

She is instantly defensive. ‘You weren’t answering my calls, or my text messages. I got worried. You’re not supposed to stress out pregnant women, Charlie.’

And for the first time, I realise how that silence would’ve made her feel. Would’ve affected her. How selfish I was being. ‘God, you’re right. I’m sorry.’

She appears satisfied, running a hand over her belly. ‘Look at you,’ she says, running an eye over my body. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I fell down an escalator.’

She winces.

‘I’m so embarrassed,’ I say.

‘Oh no, Charlie, don’t be embarrassed.’ She readjusts her position on the sofa. ‘Are you in pain?’

‘Sometimes,’ I say. ‘Mainly I’m just frustrated.’ I’m so reliant on others, and for the first time in perhaps my whole life, I’m starting to crave being alone.

‘Let me get you a glass of water,’ I say, as I make my way over to the kitchen. It’s a strain on my unplastered arm, and then one of the wheels gets stuck on the rug under the coffee table. It’s a moment or two before I’m clear.

Genevieve quickly stands. ‘Let me.’

‘No, let me try.’ After my accident, Dave moved an assortment of kitchenware – plates, mugs, cups, cutlery – and placed them all in the lower cupboard by the sink, so I could reach. I fish out a glass then stretch over to place it in the sink, turn on the tap and fill it.

Genevieve is beside me the entire time, as if waiting for me to make an error. ‘I told you,’ I say. ‘Let me try. Go sit down.’

But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans against the bench, looking down at me, arms folded across her chest. Glass of water forgotten.

‘Are you going to tell me why you were avoiding me?’

I run a hand through my hair. ‘Dave called to tell you about my fall but didn’t tell you why I was ignoring you?’

‘No.’

My hands turn into fists. ‘That is classic Dave.’

But Genevieve doesn’t care. There she is, looking at me expectantly.

‘You told him I was planning to leave him.’

Recognition dawns, and her mouth forms an O. Uncomfortable, she looks away. Reaches up and touches her unbound hair. Then, visibly frustrated, she says, ‘God, he is a snake, isn’t he?’ Sigh. ‘Charlie, I’m so sorry.’

‘When?’

She glances away, smacks her lips together. ‘It was a while after you told me. I wasn’t going to, of course. And I’m sorry I did. But that man was ruining a good thing.’ She reaches across to squeeze my hand. ‘I could see how much you were struggling and I thought it could be fixed.’

‘I wasn’t struggling.’

‘You were struggling,’ she reiterates. ‘Most of the time you pretended everything was fine. But you’d make these snide comments, and I knew you weren’t happy.’

I didn’t realise I was doing that. I think of Josie and how she speaks about Shaun. Maybe we weren’t so different after all, and that’s why we’re no longer able to be friends. We suited each other for a brief period in our lives, and now we’re just too different.

‘If it helps, he was distraught,’ Genevieve says. ‘Started crying. Didn’t want to lose you. Realised he was being unfair.’

Oh. That doesn’t make me feel better. Not at all.

‘And then he proposed,’ she says. ‘And things seemed better.’

‘For a while.’

‘You never should’ve married him. I’m sorry.’ She makes a strained face – chin tugged down, mouth wonky.

‘I never should’ve moved here with him.’

She’s alarmed, instantly. ‘No, that’s not it. Don’t regret moving here. Your dreams were too big. And Dave was good for you, for a time. Got you out of your hometown, helped you settle here. But then—’

‘We never should’ve got married.’

‘No.’ Guilt crosses her face. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I never should’ve told him. If I didn’t, he might not have proposed and maybe things would’ve been different.’

‘Nothing would’ve been different,’ I say. ‘If I could go back in time, I’d end it long before then, but I didn’t know, did I? Needed to live it, I think.’

We’re silent after that. Me, contemplating everything. Genevieve taking deep breaths and indeed sounding like a pug.

Our eyes meet. ‘I tried to replace you,’ I admit.

‘Oh.’

I grab at her hand. ‘It’s not the same.’

We say nothing further. Don’t need to. We just stay together in silence – me, injured, and Genevieve pregnant – and know that even with other people in our lives, we need to make sure we have each other. In whatever format we can.

My phone pings with a message from Naya. It’s the first time I’ve heard from her since my visit home. Since she told me I’m dead to her.

My first thought is Dave. Did that sneaky fucker call her too?

But no, that’s not it.

Charlie, I’m in town in a few weeks for a wedding.

Can I see you?