Page 62 of The Night Shift
‘Oh, yes. Grotty Lanzarote.’ They both smiled weakly at the shared memory.
‘And do you remember that time I made the picnic when you were on nights during the summer, and we went to the balloon festival? It was so hot, wasn’t it? And I wore that dress you liked and we?—’
‘Yes,’ he said, stopping her before she could get any further. He’d replayed that memory a few times since she’d left him. ‘Of course, I remember.’ His throat felt tight with the sudden pain of it all, like a fresh bereavement.
‘I missed you,’ she said sadly. ‘The past few months– I’ve– I’ve missed you so much.’
He nodded. ‘I missed you too,’ he said honestly. ‘But things have changed, Amelia.I’vechanged. Look, we’ll talk about it later. I’ve got to get some sleep.’
She pulled herself upright, looked him straight in the eye. He could see the teardrops clinging to her lashes, she was so close he could smell her skin.
‘Of course,’ she said, her voice wobbly but determined. ‘In the back room. As per usual?’ And she smiled, her expression of relief contrasting sharply with the nauseous anxiety curdling in Gus’s stomach as he made his way down the corridor to bed.
* * *
He awoke with a start. The room was dark and he was briefly disorientated. He looked at his watch. Five o’clock. Violet would be here soon. He smiled to himself and then the memories of the previous few hours came flooding back and he leaned against the pillows and groaned. Amelia. Violet. Shit.
After a few moments he composed himself, he’d only had four hours’ sleep but it would have to do. He knew that he and Amelia had to have a proper discussion, and that Violet couldn’t be here when that was taking place. But he wouldn’t tell Violet via text that Amelia had come back– it was too complicated, too tricky to explain the circumstances in a couple of lines on a screen. He’d have to just cancel dinner and speak to her at work. It wasn’t ideal but the thought of him, Amelia and Violet sat around, awkwardly looking at each other in the flat made his skin prickle with sweat. He tapped out a quick message and sent a quick prayer for forgiveness to the god of doing-the-right-thing because he wasn’t really sure what the right thing was anymore. Was letting Violet down a bigger or a smaller crime than throwing an inconsolable Amelia out of the flat? Was jeopardising a burgeoning relationship with a little white lie worse than allowing himself to be drawn into negotiations around repairing an established, albeit severely damaged one? Was hurting the feelings of a woman he’d known for less than a week more callous than ignoring the unbridled outpouring of regret and remorse expressed by a woman he had lived with for two years? Amelia deserved a fair hearing. He owed her that based on their shared history alone. But Violet deserved better than having to wait in the wings while he made a decision that would affect them both. One thing he did know for certain was which character would cope better with an ultimate rejection. Violet was strong. She was resilient. She didn’t need anyone, not really. Whereas Amelia needed him.
What he wanted, needed or deserved appeared to be neither here nor there.
* * *
As he emerged from the back bedroom he threw a glance over his shoulder at the unmade bed, the crumpled duvet and squashed pillows. This was going to be his last night shift for a while and in the usual run of events he would have planned to sleep in the master bedroom as of tomorrow, to celebrate the end of his week of nights and witness the dawn of a New Year through the large front windows of the bright and airy space, luxuriating in the freedom of the big bed. A day to himself. A flat to himself. A new beginning. He considered how only a few weeks ago the idea of being alone on New Year’s Day would have made him unbearably sad. The thought of Amelia returning and asking for a reconciliation had sustained him through the early months of their separation.
But now the reality of those dreams coming true had thrown him into turmoil, causing him to question his grounds for even wanting it in the first place. Even without Violet to consider it wasn’t straightforward. He’d got used to life without Amelia, and her sudden reappearance, along with all the emotional baggage that entailed, was going to make things very complicated. He was suddenly reminded of the girl with the heroin overdose on ITU. She’d been in recovery until the ex-boyfriend had showed up. And no doubt she’d thought to herself, one more time won’t hurt. But one more timecouldhurt. One more time could cause a lot of damage.
At least there was no rush. He and Amelia could have a sensible adult conversation when he got back from this final shift. He’d have time to assemble his thoughts. Decide what was best and do the right thing for all concerned. And then she could maybe move back in with her parents or one of her friends while they worked out whether there was anything worth salvaging from the wreck of their relationship. They’d both have their own space and he could get his head straight.
However, crossing the corridor to the bathroom he was immediately struck by the altered atmosphere in the flat. The smell for a start, heavy florals of rose and honeysuckle were wafting down the hall from the multiple scented candles flickering in the shared living space. He grimaced. He wasn’t really a fan of their heady scent and, much as he bored himself with the thought, they were a fire risk, particularly in that quantity. Where had they all come from for a start? Surely Amelia hadn’t lugged seven kilos of candle wax across town? Then he spotted a bag, tucked under the console table. Heavily reinforced cardboard sides and a mink-coloured ribbon with a logo from one of the boutiques along the high street. Of course, she’d been out shopping. He was surprised shops were open on a Sunday but perhaps there was no telling when you might have a customer come in who was prepared to spend vast quantities of money on achieving the perfect interior, particularly if that someone needed to hit the right note halfway between contrition and confidence in order to demonstrate to her ex-partner that her presence back in their shared home was welcome, necessary even.
He risked a look through the doorway of the master bedroom and saw Amelia emerging from the en suite wrapped in a towel, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. He knew her well enough to realise that she was more than capable of staging this effect– it was part of her job– but effective it was nonetheless. Her hair wasn’t really wet enough for her to have just finished washing it and it looked as though it might have been styled to appear pleasantly tousled. And she already had a full face of make-up on, he could tell from a few metres away. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, illuminated by the soft light of the bedside table, shook out her hair and went to release the thick towel from under her arms but he coughed and she startled, looking towards him.
‘Hi,’ she said shyly. She wound a strand of her hair around her finger. ‘Did you sleep well?’
He inclined his head as if to say, not really, but she wasn’t looking at him any longer and had leaned over to pick up a patterned kimono from the side of the bed. He could see that she had changed the bedding. His navy sheets and tartan duvet replaced with crisp linen in neutral shades of taupe, cream and grey, doubtless from the same boutique as the numerous candles that were now throwing so much fragrant illumination around the living room that they could probably be seen and smelt from space. A suitcase was lying open on the bed, almost empty, its remaining innards scattered to reveal a few key items; the cashmere jumper he’d brought her last Christmas, the chunky scarf his sister Dot had knitted her as a gesture of friendship (or as a bribe for an invitation to the hen party as he’d suspected at the time), and perched on top, just a little too casually to be plausible, was a large framed photo of the two of them, the one that had taken ages to pose in order to get it just right, Amelia captured at a flattering side-on angle, the curve of her tummy hidden completely from view, the light reflecting off her face at just the right level of luminosity to make her skin glow.
She followed his gaze to the photo. ‘I kept it with me always,’ she said. And he believed her, after all, she looked amazing in it.
‘You’ll want a shower,’ she said, stating it as fact. ‘I’ve put the immersion heater on so you don’t run out of hot water.’ He imagined that she had probably drained the tank dry with one of her epic baths, soaking in expensive bubbles and applying all manner of lotions and potions to her face and hair. As if reading his mind she looked sheepish. ‘I’ve already washed,’ she said. ‘You know me. Never happier than when I’m in the bath.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It was one the reasons we rented this place, wasn’t it? That big Victorian-style bathtub.’ She tilted her head down and looked up at him through thick lashes, sultry, seductive. ‘You remember what we used to get up to in there?’
He banished the image. She knew what she was doing and in a way he admired her for it; this was her modus operandi, she was an experienced seductress, used to getting her own way. But she’d forgotten that he was wise to these tricks– or at least, a little wiser than he used to be. And besides, other things had happened in this room since she’d left it, since she’d left him. He had new memories, ones that didn’t involve her. With a squeeze of regret the image that now popped into his head was that of Violet, caught red-handed after searching the chest of drawers, the look on her face when she’d asked him to kiss her. Open, vulnerable. The expression of fragility belied by the steel in those swim-strengthened arms as she’d clung to him. He sighed, this was no good. He needed to clear his head.
‘I’ll– uhm…’ He nodded in the direction of the main bathroom.
‘Why don’t you shower in here,’ she said inclining her head towards the en suite. ‘I won’t interrupt you.’ A smile played upon her lips. ‘I’ll be good, I promise.’ Her voice dropped a notch, huskier. ‘Unless’—that coy look again, beneath the lashes—'youwantme to be bad?’
‘Amelia…’
His warning tone had not been the reaction she was after and her face fell. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice laden with disappointment. ‘I thought–I hoped– you might still want me.’ She gave a little shrug, laughed. ‘Stupid, I guess. I mean, why would you?’ She gestured to herself, her flawless face and perfect figure, as if acknowledging the fact of her own repulsiveness. Her self-loathing had never been far from the surface– it was another dangerous element to their relationship and he had learned to tiptoe around it. Sometimes in the past when they’d been in bed together she had wanted him to be unkind, say mean things, tell her she was ugly, that she was worthless. He had never felt comfortable doing it, always felt like something out of a bad porn film, stagey and ridiculous. Most of the time he had refused, despite knowing that she’d be offended and that his refusal to participate in her debasement would lead to guilty recriminations, often ending with Amelia hating herself more than she had to begin with.
‘You can’t do this,’ he said now. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that sometimes I feel so– soworthless. Like, what’s the point in even being here anymore? Who would even miss me if?—’
‘Amelia.Please.’ Gus hated it when she spoke like this. She had a way of making him feel responsible for her happiness and self-worth, or lack of it. And sheknewabout his dad. Knew all about the guilt he already harboured and the fear that chewed away at his insides. The overwhelming dread that someone who needed and relied on him might find themselves pushed to the edge– it was the kind of thing that kept him awake at night. Amelia knew how helpless he was in the face of emotional blackmail and was deploying every weapon she had. But– the little voice of doubt niggled at him– what if it wasn’t some cold, calculated scheme? Maybe shedidfeel worthless and desperately lonely. What kind of man would he be if he turned her away and she spiralled into a deep depression, or worse? This whole situation had to be handled carefully.
He took a deep breath. ‘Please don’t say things like that. You’re not worthless. We’ll talk when I get back from work.’
