Page 68 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
I have my back to them all, dispensing shots of vodka into two glasses for me and Dee, but I am listening.
‘Sort of. Well, yes. But only recently. I’m from around here, and then I moved away for ten years or so, and now I’m back. My sister – she’s the one I was here with tonight – she’s taken meunder her wing and is trying to make sure I have a social life of some sort.’
I am surprised by how relieved I am to learn that the woman was his sister.
‘Well,’ I say, turning and passing Dee her drink. ‘I’m Shelley and this is Dee, and Liam.’
The man holds out his hand for me to shake. ‘Matt,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
35
NOW
I remember being in Paris, climbing the dimly lit, narrow steps of the Eiffel Tower, my sandals rubbing at my heel. I remember painting a kitchen in a minty shade of green, splotches of paint on my clothes and in my hair. I remember stepping off a plane in Greece. The air, hairdryer warm, and the sky, the kind of blue that looks fake in photos. I remember walking around a supermarket, choosing between types of melon and trying to decide how many eggs I – we – needed. I remember saying ‘I do’ on a beach, the sand warm under my bare feet. I remember.
Matt. In all of those memories, Matt is beside me. There’s a feeling of panic as they wash over me, because my brain has insisted this man is a stranger. A kind, attentive stranger, when this man is my husband. I get out of bed, because I can’t stay still with this new knowledge. I go to the restaurant. I need to tell him that I know. And I’m scared to, as well. But the decision is taken out of my hands because he isn’t there. A cheerful woman tells me he’s at the refuge and I know, the second she says the word, that she is talking about my refuge. I am not a pub landlady. Not any more. I run a women’s refuge. How could I have forgotten that?
I’ve brought some money so I order a pot of tea and a slice of Victoria sponge. I sit at a table right in the middle of the buzzy restaurant, and I think. Before, I was trying to do a jigsaw when I only had half of the pieces. Now, I have most or perhaps all of the pieces, but they still need to be slotted into place.
When I get back to my bed, there’s someone sitting in the chair next to it waiting for me. My heart jumps. Could it be Matt? But no, he’s already been in once today, and anyway, the hair’s too short. Too neat. As I approach the bed, he turns and smiles, and it’s Liam.
‘Shelley,’ he says, his voice thick. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in before now. It’s hard, you know, with Callum and work and everything. I hope Dee’s been sending my love.’
I have to do some mental adjustments, because seven years ago Liam was a regular at the pub and sort of a friend. But now he’s Dee’s husband, of course, and I know we’ve spent a fair bit of time together over the years. I want to tell him that I know about Matt, about all of it. But I feel like I have to tell Matt first.
‘Hi,’ I say, getting back into bed and pulling the stiff sheets over my legs.
‘You’re looking great,’ he says.
I laugh because it’s so far from the truth, but it’s kind of him to say it, so when he looks hurt, I cover my mouth and tell him I know what he means.
‘I’m not the best company,’ I say. ‘I get so tired and I’m still pretty confused. You know I thought it was 2017? That I thought David had just attacked me?’
‘Yes, Dee said. But you don’t have to be good company for me, Shelley. I’m just here to try to pass a bit of the time with you, maybe cheer you up. Dee’s working but my mum came over and offered to have Callum, so I thought I’d come and find you, see how you’re doing with my own eyes.’
There’s a brief silence and I can’t think of a way to fill it. It’s ridiculous, because I’ve always been a master at small talk. It’s part of the job description when you work behind a bar. You’re constantly feigning interest in something boring a customer’s telling you or filling silences like this one to keep things smooth with a customer who has nothing to say. But here, now, it’s different. I can’t talk about the weather, or where I’m going on holiday, or what I’ve been up to lately. And what else is there?
‘Shall I do the talking?’ Liam asks.
And I’m so grateful I could kiss him. I nod. ‘Please. Tell me stories. Tell me anything. I feel like my brain is deteriorating. I’ve forgotten how to have a conversation.’
So I lay back and he tells me things. About his work as an IT consultant, and a day out he went on with Callum at the weekend, and a story about his friend Pete having a run-in with Tesco over some defective pyjamas and ending up with practically a whole new wardrobe out of it. I know he’s exaggerating and I don’t care. He’s right, it passes the time.
‘Do I know this Pete?’ I ask, because I don’t know whether there are still gaps, so I’m trying to identify and fill them.
‘You might have met at the wedding. And I tried to set you up with him once.’
I fish around for a memory. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, you went and met someone else before I could organise something,’ he says, his voice soft.
Ah, yes. The night I met Matt. Liam was talking about setting me up with a friend earlier in the evening.
Jamie comes over to do my obs and he has something to say. ‘Good news, Shelley. The doctor says you can go home tomorrow.’
I’ve been waiting for this, of course, but I’m a bit stunned. I expected it all to be very gradual, but this feels like a leap.
Jamie must see the confusion on my face. ‘They need the bed,’ he says. ‘Don’t they always? The doctors will fill you in when they do their rounds in the morning.’
