Page 32 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
‘I’ve got a headache,’ I repeat.
We look at each other and neither of us moves. David nods, as if to show that he understands, and he walks out without kissing me goodbye or saying he hopes I feel better soon. And I scrape the uneaten food off the plates and into the bin, and eat both of the strawberry mousses with another glass of wine in front of a soap opera I’m not following.
When Dee comes back, just before midnight, I am still on the sofa, and Dee knows, like she always does.
‘Has something happened? Did David not come?’
I reach for the remote control and turn off the TV. Realise I don’t even know what I’ve been watching for the past hour or more.
‘He came, but everything went wrong, and then he left again.’
‘Break it down for me,’ Dee says, kicking off her shoes and sitting down at the other end of the sofa, stretching out her legs.
I take Dee’s feet in my hands and rub them. This is something we do for each other, after long shifts. Dee closes her eyes and waves her hands to invite me to speak. So I tell her, about the flowers, and the strange reaction to me initiating things in the kitchen, and the monitoring of my drinking. When I am done, I stop rubbing Dee’s feet and wait to hear her response. But I’m in a no-win situation, because I want Dee’s sympathy, for Dee to tell me that he was being an idiot, but I don’t want anyone picking holes in what I thought was a good relationship.
‘Men are such twats,’ Dee says.
And I find that I am laughing. Dee can always make me laugh.
‘It sounds to me like he was having an off day,’ Dee says. ‘It doesn’t sound like the David I know. But where a woman would probably own up to that and apologise, or even call off the dinner in advance if she knew she wasn’t in the right headspace, men just go about their business, making women miserable.’
I think this over. It’s been all hearts and flowers so far. We have watched each other’s favourite films and gone to each other’s favourite restaurants and there has been no conflict. And while that’s been lovely, I know it isn’t realistic to expect it to last forever. Perhaps how we react to this setback will determine the kind of couple we are, more than the gifts he brings me.
‘I hope that’s all it is,’ I say.
I don’t have to tell Dee that I really like him, that I think I’m falling.
‘Shall I make us hot chocolate?’ Dee asks.
She makes the best hot chocolate. Always keeps squirty cream in the fridge and mini marshmallows in the cupboard ready.
‘Yes, and tell me about work. What did I miss?’
Dee goes through to the kitchen but keeps talking, her voice raised.
‘This group of middle-aged women came in and sat on that massive table in the corner, near the toilets. There must have been about fifteen of them. They all pulled the same book out of their bag. I thought, huh, book club, okay. Expected them to be quite quiet and timid, but once the wine was flowing, they were savages.’
‘What was the book?’
‘No idea. Looked dull. But seriously, it was getting feisty.’
She comes back into the room, puts two mugs down on the table. She’s found a KitKat somewhere and she breaks it in half, gives two fingers of it to me.
‘God bless the inventor of KitKats,’ she says.
‘I want to hear more about these book clubbers,’ I prompt.
‘Oh yes. Well, there was this woman called Jane who was sort of in charge, and she thanked them all for coming and asked them to go around and say their names and a bit about what they thought of the book as there were a couple of new people, and it was all very civilised. But next thing I knew, one of them was standing up and waving her arms around. Saying, “I understand what you’re saying, Liz, but I don’t see how you can possibly conclude that from what the author’s written. I think you’re missing the whole point.”’
Dee is standing, fully taking the part.
‘And then Liz got up too and she had the book in her hands, like she was holding it up as proof, and she said, in this crisp voice, “Carol, you’re not the authority on this or any other book, you know. Just because you work at a library. We all bring our own experiences to the table and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s quite obvious that he’s in love with her from the outset.” Well, Carol was fuming. I thought she was going to throw a drink or something. Poor Jane was trying to calm things down, and it seemed like she’d managed it for a while but then Liz told Carol she clearly knew nothing about the industrial revolution and that was it. Carol stormed out, but not before making a speech about how she’d been coming to this book club for seven years and she’d never been so insulted. After she’d gone, they all put their books away and just carried on necking the wine. Ordered a shedload of crisps, too. We had to kick them out in the end.’
I laugh. ‘Whoever would have thought book club would get so heated?’
‘Not me! It’s making me question what my mum was getting up to all those evenings when I thought she was just sitting around having boring discussions about imaginary people. I hope they come back.’
By the time I go to bed, I am feeling much better. And then he messages me and I feel better still. He says he’s sorry, that he doesn’t know quite what happened, that he’s miserable. Can he see me tomorrow? Can we forget about it? I think about making him wait until the morning, but I can’t make myself do it. I say I am sorry too and we chat, back and forth, for about an hour. The last message I read before falling asleep reads:
