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SEVENTEEN

FRAN

‘This place smells like the inside of Florence Nightingale’s vagina,’ said Angus, pushing himself back on the chair, placing himself in the corner, where he’d feel the safest.

‘How do you even know what Florence Nightingale’s vagina smells like?’ I asked. ‘And also, that is deeply offensive.’

‘I can just imagine it smells like this whole aura. Death, decay, dysentery.’

‘Oh, piss off, and don’t speak ill of Florence Nightingale.

Just keep looking out, all right?’ I quipped to him playfully.

‘You’re just moaning and groaning, and it’s giving me a bit of a headache if I’m being honest with you.

’ I inhaled to raise my voice to the highest pitch I could.

‘Oh, I’m Angus, and the outside scares me, ooh no. It’s so scary.’

‘Hah hah, you’re hilarious. When’s your stand-up special coming out? Never!’ Angus snapped back.

Once again, the longer we spent together, the more we had regressed into children.

Even back at St Nicholas’s, we had never really bonded like Angus had with Edith.

The inseparable little boy and girl who’d spend their days laughing and leaping around the house.

Edith was the soft, kind-hearted one; I was the one that would force them to watch zombie B-movies when everyone else had gone to bed.

‘When was the last time you were even outside? Like, you know London has had an Olympics now?’ I said, eyeing a silver-haired man across the street. I scowled when he turned around and I saw he was very clearly not our man.

Angus, still infuriated with me, pushed his hand across the beer-drenched table, so his middle finger was only an inch away from my face. I slapped it away, then saw him jolt his other hand towards me to do the gesture again.

‘Piss off, seriously,’ I shrieked as Angus’s amused glance snapped to the door. A man in his mid-fifties deftly dipped his head beneath the low-hanging beam as he stepped into the pub. I saw Angus’s hands clench into fists as he watched the presumed regular go to the bar and order his usual.

‘You okay?’ I asked, trying to mask my concern. He had got worse since I had last dragged him out of the house.

‘Yeah. You going to text your husband back yet or not?’ Angus asked, swiftly changing the subject. ‘Going to let the poor guy just think that you’ve upped and vanished and run off to Argentinia or something?’

‘Argentina,’ I corrected.

‘No, Argentinia. You can say it two different ways; it’s the emphasis of the vowel – it’s like scone and scone.’

‘No, you’re adding an extra syllable, Angus. It’s Argentina, not Argentinia. Look it up.’

Angus whipped his crappy phone out of his pocket and began to tap furiously on the keys.

‘You’re going to be so upset with me when you find out I’m right,’ he murmured.

While I waited for the penny to drop on Angus’s clueless face, I tentatively picked up my phone and stared again at the response I had drafted, ready to send, the cursor blinking like a countdown to some kind of time bomb.

I’m fine. Just think we need some time apart right now.

‘Is this too, you know, divorce-y?’ I asked, holding the text up to Angus for him to inspect. He didn’t look up, and I saw a look of disappointment and regret flash across his eyes as the search results on his phone slowly began to load.

‘No Wi-Fi,’ he murmured to me as he slammed his phone, almost definitely connected to the Wi-Fi, against the table, face down. He glanced at my text, holding my hand to steady the screen.

‘It’s divorce adjacent, I won’t lie to you. It’s a few messages away from, “check your post – the papers are on their way”. Like Mep is going to have two Christmases this year, you know?’

I didn’t really know why I was asking Angus for his opinion.

The boy didn’t speak to anyone, so had no idea how to have a meaningful human interaction, especially within the nuances of being a couple.

But it was still good to use him as a sounding board, I supposed, even if I was going to completely ignore all of his advice.

Maybe that was how I knew I was on the right track.

‘So, like, what do you think you and him will do? You nearly choked out the poor guy,’ Angus said. ‘Do you think he’ll even want to get back with you? How do we know he’s not divorcing you?’

I ignored the last bit of his sentence.

‘I’m going to get some therapy. I think that would be the best thing to do, going forward.’

I didn’t even remember what had happened.

One minute, we’d been arguing. The next second, this burning white-hot rage had washed over me, so intense it was almost like a physical heat consuming my body.

Then, in what felt like a blink of an eye, I’d found my arm pressed against Gareth’s throat.

I wouldn’t actually have hurt him, though.

I swear I wouldn’t. As soon as I’d realised what I was doing, I had got out of there as quickly as I could.

‘That’s if he doesn’t leave you first,’ Angus remarked.

‘Again, very helpful, Angus. Thank you.’

‘And you going to therapy? That’s like Genghis Khan going to anger management classes. Like, good intentions, but is it going to work? Probably not. You’re more messed up than me.’

Had Angus become more sarcastic recently?

‘At least I can pretend to be somewhat normal. Which, let’s be honest, is not really your forte.’ I groaned. ‘How are you helping me right now, Angus?’

Angus shrugged his shoulders, somewhat agreeing with my point while appearing to care very little.

He then took another glance around him as a pair of men entered the pub.

I watched his eyeline as he once again scanned and surveyed all the possible entrances and exits.

I was surprised that he had said yes to coming with me to this village in the middle of nowhere.

Although I imagined he didn’t love the idea of me being in his apartment either.

He must have realised this was the path of least resistance.

‘So, are you actually going to tell me why you were at O’Neill’s?’ I asked, reminded that this wasn’t the first time Angus had left the house in the past few months.

‘What? I’ve told you already.’

‘I don’t think “I got the wrong house” is really the most truthful of answers, Angus. You’ve never visited us.’

Angus groaned melodramatically and rolled his eyes.

‘After you told me when you first moved in that O’Neill was next door to you, I got angry, I guess.

I just remembered everything: the mould, the broken radiators, the taps that didn’t work – obviously, the fire.

’ I could see him relive the experience briefly, a small film of pain glazed over his eyes as he said that.

‘I just thought that if he remembered you, he might try something stupid, so I wanted to scare him.’

Angus must have seen my surprise at the idea of him being able to physically intimidate anyone, as his face instantly twisted into a scowl, ready for a retort.

But suddenly, something made his eyes bulge.

He smacked my hand and gestured for me to look.

I had to be casual about this. Slowly and calmly, I rotated my head to see, through the pub window, a man begin to leave the church opposite, carefully waiting for cars to pass, before crossing the road and heading towards our pub. That was our guy.

Angus looked at me and then at him, and then at me again and then back at him. I took another swig of my beer, which mingled nicely with the four Lorazepam already in my system. My life may be crumbling apart, but at least I couldn’t feel it much.

‘You’ll pay for these, right?’ I said, my eyes still fixed on the old man plodding in our direction.

‘Don’t do it now. Please don’t do it now,’ Angus said, his voice almost whimpering. I noticed his hands under the table, clenching and unclenching.

I threw my debit card onto the table and darted out of the pub.

I thought I heard Angus call after me, but knew he wouldn’t chase.

I followed the pensioner as he strolled down the street, beaming hello to at least three people like the has-been celebrity I knew he was.

Clark had got much fatter since I had last seen him some twenty-odd years ago, a huge pot belly protruding beneath the shaky hands with which he unwound the awning from his shop.

I had only seen him in the flesh a handful of times – once was when he’d come to the home with a few others and one of those stupidly big cheques.

That was the day that Clive had gone up to speak to him after they had had their sickening photo opportunity in front of the home, telling him that the faulty, outdated wiring in the home was a literal time bomb and needed to be fixed yesterday.

Clark had simply placed a hand on Clive’s shoulder and promised he would fix it as soon as possible; he would make sure of it.

But I remember the wiring never got fixed that week, or the week after that, and all it had taken was Edith and Angus playing with the half-broken heater for the fire to start.

It was hilarious, really. The notoriously feisty Leader of the Opposition now ran a DIY shop – how quaint.

I kept my distance, looking uncaringly across a few windows and pretending to check my phone as I slowly sauntered towards him.

I saw his hands shake as he jammed the keys into the door and pushed it open using his excess weight.

Clearly, he didn’t have much strength left.

I waited for a moment, taking extra care to ensure there were no CCTV cameras or video doorbells nearby before following him in.

‘Oh, I’m just opening up,’ Clark said to me. God, I had forgotten how awfully shrill his voice was.