They say every marriage has its secrets.

They say in sickness and in health …

But no one sees what happens behind closed doors.

And sometimes those doors should never be opened …

Sal and Charlie are married. They love each other. But they aren’t happy. Sal cannot leave, no matter what Charlie does – no matter how much it hurts.

A psychological thriller with a shocking twist you’ll never see coming.

Between You and Me
Lisa Hall

LISA HALL

loves words, reading and everything there is to love about books. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl – either that or a librarian - and after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.

Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Extract of The Perfect Couple

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Firstly, a huge thank you must go to my fantastic editor, Victoria Oundjian, whose creative brilliance helped pull this manuscript into shape, all whilst simultaneously holding my hand every step of the way.

More enormous thanks to my early readers – your input was invaluable and you have no idea how grateful I am.

Special thanks must go to Amy and Dave Jacobs, Victoria Goldman, Rebecca Raisin and Sarah Cole – without you guys it’s highly unlikely that this novel would ever have landed on the desk at Carina - your encouragement and support kept me going when it seemed like the writing would beat me.

And finally, thank you to my crazy, amazing family – Nick, George, Isabel and Oscar – thank you for supporting me, thank you for the wine and the bacon sandwiches, and thank you for putting up with my needy writer ways – I love you all more than you’ll ever know.

To Team Hall – for making me who I am.

Prologue

It happened so quickly, and now there is so much blood. More than I ever thought possible. One minute, he was shoving me backwards, into the kitchen counter, the air thick with anger and words spoken in temper that could never be taken back. The next, he was on the floor, the handle of the knife protruding from his ribs. I don’t even remember picking it up, only that I had to stop him. I back away, pushing myself up against the cold, granite surface, across the room from where he lies. I feel light-headed and sick, sweat prickling along my spine. He reaches up to me with a shaky hand, slick with his own blood, and I draw back even further. He is slumped on the floor, back resting against the kitchen counter, a lock of hair falling over his brow. He is pale, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead. A coppery, iron tang fills the air and I want to retch. Turning, I lean over the kitchen sink, where I heave and heave but nothing comes up. I wipe my mouth on a tea towel and push my shaking hands through my hair. I need to try and think calmly, rationally. I need to phone for an ambulance, and I need to get my story straight. I’ll tell them that he slipped and fell on the knife, a brutal, heavy knife usually used for carving the Christmas turkey, not carving into other people. That we weren’t arguing, just talking. It was an accident; one minute he was fine, the next he was on the floor. I’ll tell them that I didn’t see what happened – I have to protect myself. I can’t tell them that I snapped. That a red mist descended and for just a few seconds I felt like I couldn’t take it any more, the shouting, the aggression and the lies. That in just a split second all rationality left me and I grabbed the knife and thrust it firmly into my husband’s stomach.

Chapter One

SAL

The first time you hit me it was a shock, but not a surprise. Surely this is the natural progression of things? Starting with the little things, like wanting to know where I’ve been, who I’ve spoken to, escalating to a little push here and a shove there, until now, when a slap almost feels like a reward – and I’m thankful that it wasn’t something worse, that there are no bones broken this time.

I remember the first time I saw you. Nothing on earth had prepared me for it and the sight of you hit me like a punch in the guts. Is that ironic? You stood there, in the Student Union bar, talking to a guy on your course I had seen around campus previously, a pint of Fosters in one hand. The sun was streaming in through a window behind you and you looked majestic, standing tall in a faded pair of Levi’s and battered Converse, your fair hair standing out around you like an aura. I was with a group of people from my own course, planning on spending the evening with them hashing over that day’s lectures over a few drinks and then maybe heading out for a bite to eat. Once I saw you, I knew my plans had changed and that I had to pluck up the courage to approach you. How would things have turned out if I hadn’t asked you if you wanted another pint? If you hadn’t accepted, and we hadn’t spent the entire evening holed up in one corner of the SU bar? If I hadn’t answered your call the next day and accepted your invitation to lunch? If we hadn’t spent the whole of that following weekend together, in your flat, ignoring your roommate, the phone, the world outside?

Maybe I would be married to someone who doesn’t think it’s OK to hit me. To throw things at me if I have a different opinion to the one I ‘should’ have. Someone who doesn’t think that being happily married means the other half of the partnership towing the line at all times, no questions asked. Maybe you would be settled with someone else, someone who knows the right thing to say and the best way to handle you. Maybe you would be with someone you don’t think defies you at every opportunity, although I don’t, I really don’t. You just think I do, regardless of what I do or what I say. Maybe both of us would be happier.

Chapter Two

CHARLIE

A file the size of a house brick lands on my desk and Geoff appears, throwing himself down in the chair opposite mine.

‘Another bunch of stuff for you to work through – looks like you’re not going home early tonight!’ he wheezes, his face bright red as he struggles to catch his breath. Geoff is the size of a house himself, his enormous belly straining at the buttons of his grubby white shirt. Geoff is a colleague, my equal, but as he’s fifteen years older than me he treats me like a five-year-old. The man has a serious lack of ambition, and a serious case of body odour.

‘Honestly, Geoff? It’s 8pm – surely you don’t think I’m even considering going home yet?’ I give a little laugh as I pull the file towards me and start leafing through it; despite the fact I still have a ton of paperwork next to me that needs going through before I can even consider leaving the office. I feel the beginnings of a migraine tapping at my temples, no doubt brought on by tiredness from a 5am start and the stress of the never-ending paperwork that comes with the case I’m working on. The pressures of being a corporate lawyer are well known, the long hours, the stressful cases that take over our lives and eat into our personal time with our families, but it is all worth it in the end. The salary and benefits make sure of that.

‘Well, don’t stay up too late. You don’t want to leave that pretty little family of yours too much; someone else might snap them up!’ Geoff heaves his massive bulk from the leather chair across the desk from me, leaning over to ruffle my hair as he leaves.

‘No chance of that, Geoff.’ I grin at him through gritted teeth, the thud of my headache growing louder and making me wish I could slap his meaty fingers from the top of my head. He breezes out of the room, as much as a twenty-stone, fifty-year-old corporate lawyer can, and I reach for the phone. I dial our home number, leafing through the new documents while I wait for Sal to pick up. Engaged. I hang up and redial, using the mobile number. It rings and rings, and I picture it sitting on the kitchen side where Sal always leaves it, the hideous Johnny Cash ringtone that Sal insists on blaring out. It rings out and goes to voicemail.

‘Sal, it’s me. Who the fuck are you talking to? Call me back.’ I slam the receiver down, and lean back in my chair, grinding the heels of my hands into my eyes to relieve the pressure that beats away there. I don’t need this shit – I have enough on my plate to deal with in the office, without wondering who the hell Sal is talking to at eight o’clock at night.

An hour later, when my call still hasn’t been returned, and I’ve tried the house phone numerous times, but to no avail, I bundle up the files and stuff them into my briefcase. I can’t concentrate on work all the time I am wondering why Sal isn’t answering the telephone. All sorts of scenarios cross my mind, ranging from Sal knocking the phone off the hook so as not to be disturbed with some illicit lover, through to Sal on the phone to some other person (Sal’s sister? Sal’s mum? Someone I don’t even know?), planning to leave me. I don’t know what the hell Sal is playing at, but I’m not happy. I thought I had made the rules perfectly clear – if I call, Sal should answer. I spend every waking hour working my butt off to make sure I can provide for my family – I think the least Sal can do is answer the phone when I call. I smooth down my fair hair, sticking up at all angles where I’ve been pushing my hands through it in an attempt to calm myself while I concentrate on those bloody files Geoff dumped on me, grab my black jacket and head out the door. When I get home, Sal had better be there – and if Sal is there, I’ll want to know why the bloody hell my calls this evening have gone unanswered. I’m not being ignored by anyone, least of all the person I chose to spend the rest of my life with.

Chapter Three

SAL

I hang up the phone and breathe a sigh of relief. My sister can talk the hind legs off a donkey, and although I love to speak to her I dread her calls, knowing as I do how you don’t really like for me to speak to my family. You think that we don’t need anyone else, in particular anyone else from my family. The difficulty with that is that I come from a large, chaotic, noisy family, who have a lot to say and only seem to want to say it to each other. I try my hardest to put them off when I can, just so I can avoid the inevitable row that follows when we do see them, but it’s difficult, and I’m not always sure that I want to put them off. My parents came to England from Italy in the 1980s, but haven’t lost any of their Italian ways – they love to have the whole family together in one room as often as possible, and the highlight of their day is if I take Maggie over to visit. As their only grandchild so far she is doted on, but you disapprove, saying that they interfere in our lives and that they shouldn’t have a say in how we bring Maggie up. I don’t always agree, but you have made it abundantly clear in various ways that in our house we do things your way, and, to be honest, the repercussions just aren’t worth it. So I don’t see as much of them as I would like any more, but my sister, Julia, has relocated back to Italy to be with her husband’s family, and she doesn’t see how it is here now. I don’t want to tell her how things are either, that the long, rambling phone calls put me on edge every time, with me completely unable to tell her that I need to get off the phone.

I run lightly up the stairs to check on our daughter. She’s curled up tight into a ball, only the top of her head visible above the duvet, the nightlight casting a warm glow across the bedroom. Nearly five, she has the most beautiful glossy, dark curls, a legacy from the Italian side of the family. She gives a little snore, and rolls over onto her other side and my heart squeezes as I gaze at her sleeping form. No matter what happens between us, no matter how difficult things get, I will always put her first. I will stay and tolerate your demands and rules, if only it means she has a stable family life, with two parents who love her.

Checking the Frozen clock that hangs on Maggie’s wall, I realise that it won’t be long before you are home, so I head downstairs to check on the lasagne that has been keeping warm in the oven, and to open the bottle of Malbec I bought earlier. Creeping down the stairs, avoiding the telltale creaky floorboard in order not to disturb Maggie, I hear the key in the door before I’m even halfway down and it’s obvious by the way the front door slams shut that tonight is not going to be a peaceful night.

‘What the fuck, Sal?’ you hiss into my face as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I wince, worried that the slamming of the front door will wake our sleeping daughter. Holding up one finger, I listen, but no sound comes from the bedroom above.

‘Charlie, please – Maggie’s asleep. What do you mean, what the fuck?’ Whispering, I skirt round you into the hallway so I can get you into the kitchen and away from the staircase before you start to shout and risk waking Maggie up. You throw your briefcase down and are following me into the kitchen when I see it. My mobile, sitting on the side where I left it, turned to silent after Maggie insisted on playing some ridiculous game on it and I had to turn the volume off to stop it from driving me insane. My mobile, sitting on the side, showing several missed calls from Charlie, alongside a text announcing that CHARLIE had left a voicemail. Oh, shit.

‘Charlie, I’m sorry. The volume was switched to silent. I didn’t realise, I promise. Maggie was playing a game; it was driving me bonkers. I had to turn it to silent before I went mad. I’m sorry, Charlie, really sorry. It was a mistake, that’s all.’ I know I am babbling, but your silence is making me nervous, even though I know it is ridiculous to feel this way over a missed call. I look over to where you’re standing in the doorway and, seeing you take off your black jacket, use the opportunity to open the oven door and pull out the steaming hot tray of lasagne.

‘Look, I’ve made your favourite: lasagne. Come and sit down. I’ve bought some wine; we can eat together.’

‘Who were you talking to, Sal? Huh? Who were you on the phone to that was SO FUCKING IMPORTANT that you couldn’t answer my call?’ Throwing your jacket onto the dining chair, you’re across the room before I even realise, standing so close to me that I can feel your hot breath in my face. Carefully, I lower the hot tray of food to the counter and turn towards you. I think about lying, but past experience has taught me that you always find out, which just makes things worse in the end. I decide to brave it out.

‘It was Julia. She was calling from Rome. She and Luca are staying at a hotel for a few days while Luca has business with a guy there. She was just calling to catch up, that’s all.’ I grab a dishcloth and wave it half-heartedly across the draining board in an attempt to avoid eye contact. To avoid the way you’ll be looking at me like I’m a bit of shit, anger and disgust crossing your perfectly aligned features, something that happens only too frequently these days.

‘To catch up, and to slag me off, no doubt. Jesus, Sal, do you think I’m some sort of idiot? I know what your family think of me, I know what you say about me behind my back!’

‘God, Charlie, NO. We didn’t speak about you – Julia asked how you were, that’s all. I told her you were fine, busy at work, you know. Nothing else, I swear to you, please. Please, Charlie.’ I try to take your hand, to reassure you that what I’m saying to you is true, that I’m not lying to you. Your icy blue eyes bore into mine, as you try to decide whether to believe me or not.

‘My phone was on silent, Charlie. Maggie was playing a game on it and it drove me crazy so I turned the ringer off. That’s all, I promise. I wasn’t ignoring you.’ Decision made, you turn on me, slapping my hands away from yours.

‘You’re a fucking liar, Sal. You always have been. You’ve lied to me from the word go and to be honest I don’t think you know how to tell the truth. I know what you and your family think about me; I’m not an idiot. I know you all think that poor old Sal could have done so much better. So what were you and Julia plotting? How to get rid of me? How you’ll leave and build a new life in the sun with your fucking sister? Is that it?’

You’re screaming into my face now, spittle landing on my cheek as I turn my face away from you. Raising my hands to ward you off, unsure as to whether a blow will be forthcoming or not, I shake my head, trying to get the words out before you hit me, trying to tell you, No. None of those things. Just talking. I don’t get the chance before you start yelling into my face again.

‘What, you think you’re going to raise your hands to me? I don’t think so, Sal. You need to remember who’s the boss here – who’s the one that goes out to work all hours so that you can live the life of fucking Riley? ME, that’s who. I have to deal with all the stress and demands, getting up at the crack of dawn every single day so you can live the life you want to lead. So you can sit on your arse at home, playing games with Maggie and slagging me off to your sister, you fucking ungrateful shit.’

You turn and, twisting your sleeve down over your hand so you don’t get burnt, grab the hot tray of lasagne, hurling it to the ground, smashing the porcelain dish into millions of pieces before stalking out of the kitchen. You don’t notice the shards of china cutting into the tops of my bare feet, and the steaming hot mince making burning arced splashes up my legs.

It takes me the best part of two hours to clean up, after I sit with a cold wet cloth pressed against my legs where the hot meat splashed up and scalded me. Tiny blisters have risen on my shins and calves and I know that tomorrow, despite the warm weather forecast, I will have to cover them up. Fighting the beginnings of a headache brought on by fear and exhaustion, I wipe up tomato sauce that has splattered all up the kitchen cupboards and sweep up the shards of porcelain. I mop the entire floor with bleach to get rid of the garlicky smell and make sure that not a single piece of china is left on the floor to pierce Maggie’s bare feet in the morning. I put antiseptic cream on the scalds on my legs, and wearily climb the stairs, praying that, as it’s after midnight, you’ll be asleep.

As I slide into bed, the sheets feeling blissfully cool on my hot, sore legs, you roll over towards me and I hold my breath, not sure if this is the start of another onslaught. I stiffen, waiting for you to speak.

‘I’m warning you, Sal.’ Your breath is hot and sour in my face, as I lie dead still. ‘I’m not having it. It’s your fault the dinner was ruined – if you hadn’t slagged me off to your sister, and then lied to me about it, it wouldn’t have happened. You bring all this on yourself.’

You roll away from me and assume the position you always do when you’re ready for sleep. I lay still; head pounding and blink back hot tears until sleep takes over.

Chapter Four

CHARLIE

Sal and Maggie are already in the kitchen when I come downstairs at 6am the next morning. Despite the row last night, I slept well and I’m feeling good, ready to face another day dealing with Geoff and his brick-sized files at the office. It looks as though Sal, on the other hand, didn’t get a wink of sleep with dark eyes bloodshot and surrounded by deep, purple circles. I don’t feel any sympathy; if rules were followed there wouldn’t be any arguments. Sal doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t do things to be horrible, or to make life difficult for anybody – I just want a bit of respect. After all, that’s what marriage is about, isn’t it? If there are rules, then order naturally follows, and that makes life easier for everybody. If only Sal would respect me, respect my idea that rules are there to be followed, there would never be any rows.

Sunlight streams in through the kitchen window and I grab a cup of coffee from the pot that’s brewing, pull on my trusty black work jacket and lean over for my briefcase. Drinking deeply from my coffee cup, I feel a pang of guilt on noticing that, despite the heatwave that’s been forecast for this week, Sal is wearing jeans. I’m guessing that means not all the piping-hot lasagne hit the floor last night. Still, that’s not my fault and I reiterate in my mind my mantra that rules are made for following. You’d think Sal would have learnt by now. I kiss Maggie on top of her head, where she sits at the breakfast table drawing something that looks like it should be in a sci-fi movie.

‘See you later, munchkin.’

I tip the rest of my coffee into the sink and head to the front door, noticing as I do that the sunlight pouring in through the window only serves to highlight the cobwebs hanging in one corner of the kitchen ceiling. I hear Sal murmuring something to Maggie before following me out.

‘See you later.’ Sal offers up a watery smile, eyes surrounded by dark circles showing the lack of sleep following last night’s argument. I don’t feel guilty. The phone call shouldn’t have happened. If Sal hadn’t taken the phone call, there wouldn’t have been a row; it’s as simple as that. I take Sal’s face in both my hands and kiss both cheeks.

‘I’ll see you tonight. And remember, Sal, I meant what I said. I don’t want you speaking to Julia – not about me, not about us, not about anything to do with our family. Do you hear me? If you had just done that in the first place last night wouldn’t have happened. You need to respect me, and our marriage, OK? I love you, and I’m the only one you need. Remember that. Oh, and Sal?’ I turn back to where Sal stands on the front doorstep. ‘Sort that kitchen out; there are cobwebs everywhere. It’s fucking disgusting.’

Sal nods, and I turn and stride off towards the train station, a spring in my step now I know Sal is back under control. I don’t watch to see the front door close.

When I reach the office, Geoff is already lurking outside my office door waiting for me to arrive. Giving off an air of desperation and the usual fug of body odour he bounces around in the doorway as I try to get settled at my desk.

‘So, Charlie, get a chance to look at that info I gave you last night? Otex are keen to seal the deal with this little communications outfit and Vygen are sniffing round. I’ve had Vygen’s lawyer on the phone – Alex Hoskins? I heard you knew Alex from uni or somewhere?’ I frown and pull my laptop out of its case. Geoff is clearly excited about this deal, bouncing around like a little kid. If it all goes smoothly he will look good, seeing as he is head of our department.

‘Um, no, Geoff. Not yet. Last night was a bit hectic, you know? I’ll make it my priority this morning. I want to get the deal sealed before Vygen get any more of an idea about it; we could stand to make a ton of money from this deal. And yes, I do know Alex from uni. Let me deal with it next time Vygen call.’

I switch on my laptop and pull the files from my briefcase, hoping Geoff will get the hint and leave me in peace. Instead, he perches his huge arse on the edge of my desk and peers at me knowingly.

‘Oh, yeah? Heavy night last night? Stop off in the pub on the way home, did you? Ahh, your secret’s safe with me, don’t you worry!’

He pats my hand with his grubby little paw and hefts his bulk off my desk and lurches out of the room. Ugh. Reaching into my bag I pull out a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitiser and disinfect my hands before sitting back in my chair and pushing my hands through my hair. Alex Hoskins. What a blast from the past. Tall, fair, with amazing legs and a ferocious attitude to go with it. Alex had been at uni with Sal and I, back in the late ‘90s, and while we had occasionally clashed, there had been an underlying spark of attraction. We had had a bit of a thing going on, nothing serious, but then I met Sal in the Student Union bar and that was it for me. I never looked at anyone else again, and I’ve made damn sure since then that Sal has only had eyes for me. If Alex Hoskins is working for the rival company that wants to buy the communications company that my client is after, though, things could get interesting. I decide that I will wait for Alex to call me – I don’t want to look like I’m chasing. I open the files and make a start on reading them through, highlighting parts of interest and making notes on my computer. It’s vital for me that this deal goes through smoothly – its success means a promotion for me, more money, which means the financial burden that I shoulder for our entire family should ease a little. It’s not easy being the solo breadwinner, but if it means Sal stays at home, where I can keep an eye on what goes on, then so be it. I call through to Anita, my secretary, and tell her to hold all my calls, unless I get a call from the Vygen lawyer, Alex Hoskins. That call I will take.

Chapter Five

SAL

‘God, Sal, you look like shit.’ Laura pops her head round the back door, the sun glinting off her red hair as she pushes the door open with one hand and shoves her sunglasses onto the top of her head with the other.

‘Thanks, Laura, you really know how to make someone feel special.’ I don’t mean to snap but I’m tired and ninety-nine per cent certain I do actually look like shit. I feel like it, that’s for sure.

‘Oh, touchy. Rough night last night? Did Charlie get in late?’ Laura pushes her way in and slings her bag onto the kitchen table.

‘You know how it is when Charlie’s got a big case on. And apparently this is a huge one – the firm stands to make a bajillion quid or something, if Charlie can pull it off. It means major pressure, even a possibility to make partner if it all goes to plan. And you know how badly Charlie wants to make partner before the big 4-0. So yeah, Charlie did get in late, and it was a bit of a rough night. I just need some sleep, that’s all.’

‘Ha. I know that feeling, Fred had me up four times in the night, didn’t you, dude?’ Laura smiles down at the chubby little boy who toddles into the kitchen behind her. Looking me over, she frowns. ‘Jesus, Sal, aren’t you hot in that outfit? It must be nearly thirty degrees outside; speaking of which, has Maggie got sun cream on? She’s outside playing dolls under the apple tree, I’ve left Lucy out there with her.’

‘What? Yeah, she’s got sun cream on; they’ll be fine out there, and it’s shady under the tree. And no, I’m not hot, I’m fine.’ I turn to the sink and start to fill the kettle, feeling the weight of Laura’s gaze on me. I am too hot in my jeans. It’s June and the heatwave that was forecast last week is in full force today, but the only other option is shorts, and that would mean revealing the red, angry scald marks left by the splashes of food from last night, and that would mean questions. Questions that I really, really don’t want to have to answer. Questions that I’m not even sure I have the answers to – I have no idea how events like last night’s ended up being almost the norm in our relationship.

Laura settles herself at the kitchen table, spreading out across it with Fred’s juice bottle, a pot of grapes, Fred’s dummy and Lucy’s security blanket. She brings over a hell of a lot of stuff for someone who only lives next door.

‘Are you sure you’re OK, Sal? I thought I heard shouting last night, that’s all. You know how thin these walls are; I just … well, I just wanted to check that’s all.’ She doesn’t look at me, pretending she is busy with Fred’s juice bottle.

‘Laura, I’m fine, I promise. Charlie must have just had the telly up too loud; you’ve just said these walls are hideously thin! Nothing to worry about, honestly. And I appreciate your concern, but believe me, I’m big enough and ugly enough to look after myself.’ I squeeze her shoulder as I lean over and place a cup of tea on the table in front of her and swing Fred up for a cuddle. Nearly two, Fred still has that chubby baby feel about him that I miss so much in Maggie now she’s four and almost ready for ‘Big School’. I would have loved another baby, a boy, to balance out our family and keep Maggie company. I would have loved lots more, coming from a big family, but you weren’t keen on even having one more, let alone three or four, saying, ‘We can provide a better lifestyle if we only have one child, Sal. Don’t be an idiot.’ I can’t help feeling that Maggie is missing out somehow. I give Fred a big nuzzle and blow raspberries on his neck until he shrieks with laughter and squirms to be put down. Lowering him gently to the floor, Fred runs over to the toy box in the corner of the living room, ready to search out toy cars and bits of Lego that I’ll be scooping out from under the sofa later on.

Laura sips at her tea and eyes me closely. ‘So, if you’re not too tired, or too hot …’ – she winks at me – ‘what do you want to do today? Shall we take the kids to the park? Get an ice cream and slag off all the yummy mummies with their bugaboo pushchairs and glamorous white-jeans-and-heels summer park outfits? It’s roasting out there, and before you know it it’ll be September, Lucy and Maggie will be starting school and you’ll spend all your days cleaning and tidying like a proper housewife.’

‘Fuck off.’ Smiling, I throw a tea towel at her and she bursts into laughter, her mouth open so wide I can see her back teeth, filling-free thanks to a dad who practises as a dentist.

‘To be honest, I think I’m going to give it a miss today, Laur. I am really shattered from last night, and I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today. I might just fill the paddling pool and let Mags go crazy in there this afternoon.’ I look at her apologetically, not sure of her reaction, but I really can’t risk going out today, not after last night.

‘Loads to do? Like what? What could be more fun than spending the afternoon in the park with your fantastically gorgeous, pale-skinned, red-headed mate, in a thirty-degree heatwave, while she bitches and moans about the perils of being so fair-skinned in said bloody heatwave?!’ Laura laughs again, and I am relieved. I need to learn that not everyone reacts in the same manner you do to things. I remember why she is one of the best people in my life, despite what you say about her behind her back. I laugh, too, and then decide to tell her my plans.

‘I’m going to look for a job. I’ve decided that once Maggie starts school I want to go back to work. I only stopped working for Maggie. Charlie could earn twice what I earned, and we agreed that I would stay home and look after the baby, but I think it’s time. Charlie doesn’t want another baby and I don’t want to sit around here, twiddling my thumbs all day while Maggie is at school. And I want Maggie to know that it’s OK for both parents to go to work, that it’s not a case of one parent going to work while the other stays home.’ I look down at my feet, suddenly feeling a bit shy that I’ve actually told someone.

‘Shit, Sal, that’s brilliant.’ Laura stands, and comes over to give me a hug. ‘But what is Charlie going to think? I mean, I thought the whole “stay home and bring up baby” thing was most important? God, I envy you, Sal. Since Jed left me bringing up these two on my own I can’t see myself ever getting back out there in the real world.’

‘I think Charlie is probably going to go mad in all honesty,’ I say. I am not looking forward to talking to you about it, which is the reason why I think, if I look for a job now, and tell you when, if, I land one, hopefully the fallout will be less. Don’t get me wrong; I know there’ll be fallout – it’s almost something to be expected now any time I do something that you don’t approve of – but I’ll be able to use the salary and the fact that I’ll be around in the school holidays as a bargaining chip. ‘But I can’t sit around all day here, Laura, not without Mags to take care of. I’ll go mad.’

‘I know, Sal. You still need to be your own person.’ Laura kisses my cheek, and scoops all her debris from the kitchen table into her bag. ‘Listen, good luck. I’m going to take Fred and Lucy to the park, sneer at some yummy mummies and bitch to myself about lobster skin and red hair. You let me know if you need anything, OK? And Sal? You can do it. I know you can.’ She squeezes my hand and scoops Fred up from the Lego that’s exploded all over the living room carpet.

Once I’ve waved Laura and her brood off, I fill the paddling pool and clear up all the Lego, including the rogues that have hidden under the sofa, just waiting until someone sneaks down for a midnight glass of water before they pop out to savage bare feet. I am going to look for a job, starting today, but I didn’t want to tell Laura the real reason I didn’t want to take a trip to the park. I didn’t want to tell her that I need to be at home, just in case. Just in case Charlie rings and I’m not here. I need to be home in case the house phone rings, and if I’m at the park and Charlie calls my mobile I might not hear it. I just want one peaceful night tonight, and if it means staying indoors and waiting for the phone to ring, then that’s what I’ll do. I check the ringer on my mobile for the hundredth time, making sure the ringer is turned up to full volume and not on silent. Just in case.

Chapter Six

CHARLIE

I manage to get through a ton of paperwork in the office today and, with Anita’s help to keep any distracting calls at bay, feel like I’m actually getting somewhere with the Otex merger. The only slight dampener on my day is that I don’t hear from Alex Hoskins, but no big deal. It’s Friday and it can all wait until after the weekend. I make a note in my online diary to call Alex on Monday.

‘Charlie? Do you need anything else?’ Anita pops her head round the door of my office, her summer scarf already tied jauntily at an angle and her huge handbag on her shoulder. ‘Only, it’s just that it’s Friday … and my daughter is bringing the baby over tonight – we’re going to have dinner and then …’ She hesitates.

‘It’s fine Anita – go. Like you say, it’s Friday and family has to come first.’ I turn on my most prize-winning smile for her, all gleaming white teeth.

‘Thanks, Charlie – you are the best, and I mean best, boss. Have a brilliant weekend!’ With that, she flicks her scarf over her shoulder and heads off towards the lifts.

I stretch out, and peer through the blinds that separate my office from Geoff’s. His computer terminal is switched off, and his jacket and briefcase are gone. Taking this as a sign that he has also had a productive day on his side of the Otex merger, I decide to pack up early and head home to Sal and Maggie.

I’ve called Sal repeatedly today and the phone has been answered every time, each time within a few rings. Hopefully yesterday’s tiff has hammered home the idea that I really don’t see the need for Sal to have so much contact with that side of the family. We don’t have any contact with my family. I moved down to London from Lincolnshire to go to university and haven’t looked back since. My mother is still living in the house I grew up in, that shabby little terraced house with its worn-out carpets, stained kitchen lino and tiny rooms full of dusty, old-fashioned furniture. I couldn’t wait to escape from there and, after living under my drunken father’s violent regime for so many years, university felt like my life had begun again. There’s nothing for me there and I haven’t been back since, not even for my father’s funeral, when that last glass of whisky proved to be just a little too much for his poisonous old soul to take. I’m not the same person that walked out of there eighteen years ago. I won’t go back there again, ever.

‘Honey, I’m home!’ Sal comes out of the kitchen, smiling nervously as I shout my arrival through the front door, holding out my gift of Haribos. Sal is the only grown-up I know that actually likes Haribos, even after that awful Channel 4 programme showed the actual ingredients used.

‘Did you have a good day?’ Sal accepts my kiss on the cheek, and the bag of sweets, and leads me into the kitchen where I can smell something delicious simmering on the stove. I am glad to be home and the bitter taste of last night’s argument has dissolved, meaning I am feeling more affectionate towards Sal.

‘We had a perfect day,’ Sal says. ‘We stayed home and played in the garden all day, the weather was so lovely. We had a picnic under the apple tree, and Mags ran through the sprinkler for about two hours. Oh, and look, we checked on the veg patch and picked our own little harvest!’ Sal opens the fridge to show me a large ceramic baking bowl filled to the brim with fresh strawberries, and another, smaller, bowl filled with tiny new potatoes. ‘Dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you run up and get changed and I’ll open the wine.’

I head upstairs to our bedroom to change into something cooler, the windows wide open in an attempt to get some air moving through the house. Even though it’s close to 7pm it’s still ridiculously hot and muggy. I lie on the bed in my underwear, hoping for a cool breeze to wash over me, but the air is thick and still. I hear Sal singing in the kitchen while preparing dinner, something low and sweet in Italian, and I smile to myself before pulling myself upright and grabbing a pair of shorts. Sal is obviously making an effort after ruining our evening yesterday. Maybe – just maybe – some lessons have actually been learnt and I feel optimistic that tonight will be a better night.

After a meal of poached salmon and new potatoes from Sal’s vegetable garden, Sal puts Maggie to bed and we settle down for a night in front of the television. Sal brings through another bottle of wine, and the bag of sweets, and I finally feel relaxed. My family are all under one roof, together, with nobody snooping around, poking their nose in, interfering in how we do things, and Sal seems to have realised that all we need is each other. Sal is showing me respect today, by doing what I asked, and the effect of that is that everyone is calm, relaxed and happy, which just goes to prove my point. Anyone looking in from the outside would see us for the perfect family. Which is, of course, what we are.

Chapter Seven

SAL

Our Friday evening is just about perfect, as far removed from Thursday evening as it possibly could be, and I can’t help wishing every evening could be like this. We almost seem like a normal family. My plan to keep Maggie at home all day so I could be near the phone seems to have worked, as I manage to answer every time you call (I think, at the last count, by 4pm, you had called me six times), and when you stride through the front door just before seven o’clock, waving a bag of sweets at me, your mood is buoyant. I heave a sigh of relief and come through from the kitchen to greet you. Your good mood is infectious and I find myself humming under my breath as I cook – an old Italian love song that my mum used to sing to me at night when I couldn’t sleep. It’s moments like these, little fragments of our lives together, when everything is peaceful and you’re happy … these moments are part of the reason I stay when things are bad. There is nothing that compares to an evening indoors with you and Maggie, a nice family meal eaten together, time spent as a family, with no arguments, recriminations or fear. These few and far between moments are what I wanted when I married you, when we had Maggie. These moments are what I hang in there for, when you’re screaming at me, or throwing something at me because I’ve let you down again.

After a meal complemented by vegetables that Maggie and I have grown in our vegetable patch, we settle in for the night. Maggie and I are very pleased with ourselves today, after plucking a bumper crop from our little mini allotment. We created our patch at the back of the garden last year, as soon as Maggie was old enough to start helping out. I dug the patch over myself, weeded it and set up a little fence to try and keep the rabbits out. We visited the local farmer and requested his help with fertiliser (it turns out that horse poo comes free of charge) and then, once it was all ready, Maggie helped to plant various fruits and vegetables. It’s become a little parcel of pride for me, down at the bottom of the garden, a small achievement that doesn’t mean a lot to anyone else, but when I stand back and look at it, I think, ‘I did that.’ You, on the other hand, don’t think it’s anything terribly special and can’t see the attraction in growing things from scratch, telling me that it probably works out cheaper just to buy the vegetables ourselves. You don’t understand that it’s the sense of pride that comes with it all that makes it all so worthwhile.

We finish the second bottle of wine, and before long you’re snoring softly on the couch. Every day is a long day for you, and by Friday the hours seem to catch up with you. I think back to our uni days, to when we first met, and we would stay up until all hours, just talking about nothing and enjoying being together.

After that first meeting in the Student Union bar, we are inseparable. You call me the next day, to see if I want to meet for lunch, and of course I say yes, despite feeling terribly nervous. I hadn’t had a lot of luck in relationships, and although I come from a large, vibrant family, it is easy to hide the fact that you are the shy one when everyone around you is so noisy. I can’t quite believe my luck that I have managed to pluck up the courage to speak to you in the first place, and that now, after spending an evening in my company, you want to see me again. We meet outside the local coffee shop, on a day not unlike today. It is hot, the air thick and muggy, making every action an effort, but it doesn’t stop me from looking forward to our date. There are butterflies in the pit of my stomach as I walk towards the coffee shop, worrying that you will have changed your mind, but as I round the corner you are already there, sunlight bouncing off your fair hair, a huge picnic basket slung over one arm.

‘It’s too hot for lunch inside.’ You greet me with a kiss, with no sign of the nerves that I am suffering. ‘I’ve brought us a picnic. We can go to the park, eat outside, get to know each other a bit better.’ You wink at me, and take my hand with your free one. As we walk towards the park, the butterflies in my stomach calm to a mere flutter and I know, just know, this is going to be the start of something big.

We spend an incredible, long, hot summer together and by the time September rolls around and it is time to head back to university life you have persuaded me it makes more sense for me to move in with you than to go back to my shared house with three other flatmates, despite us only knowing each other for a matter of months. You share a house with only two others; your room is a huge, light, airy double room as opposed to the tiny box room that I inhabit in our grungy student house, and your place is nearer to the university than mine. Your final convincing argument is the car. I have a car, and you don’t, although you have your licence. I am one of those lucky ones whose parents have splashed out on a car prior to my starting university in the hope that I will use it to come home every holiday. I say ‘splashed out’, but it is a 1988 Ford Escort, never one hundred per cent reliable, and the exhaust fell off within three weeks of them buying it.

‘Just think, Sal, if you live with me you won’t have to use the car half as much – we’ll be together in the evenings anyway, and you’ll be able to walk to lectures from here. You know it makes sense.’

You have it all planned out and, after a few weeks of you presenting your arguments like a typical lawyer, it just seems easier to go along with it. So I do just go along with it, despite the fact that I’m going to miss the friends I’ve house-shared with since my second year at uni. That summer I don’t get back to see my parents even once. I am flattered that I have become such an important part of your life so quickly. But nothing stays the same for ever; things change and, while I am pretty sure I am still the most important person in your life, I’m not sure how it went from being a good thing to being something that, to be honest, I sometimes find quite frightening.

Chapter Eight

CHARLIE

I wake up with a start on the couch, after snoozing for an hour. The wine we drank after our meal was enough, coupled with the early starts and late nights that go alongside working on a case as huge as the Otex acquisition, to send me over into oblivion for a little while. Sal is smiling down at me when I wake; dark curls falling over one eye.

‘God, sorry, Sal, did I snore? Jesus, I’m shattered.’ I yawn, a huge jaw-stretching yawn.

‘Ha, no. You’re OK. I know you’re tired – the case must be taking its toll on you. No, I was just thinking about when we met. Remember that summer?’

‘How could I forget?’ I pull Sal in for a hug and squeeze tight, last night’s row completely erased from my mind. ‘Picnics in the park, your crappy old car that could barely get us from A to B without something dropping off it, drinking cider in the sun – those were the days!’ I laugh. Those were the days, once I persuaded Sal that moving into my place was the right idea. Those flatmates Sal shared with were a nightmare – all they wanted to do was take Sal away from me, with their promises of gigs to see obscure bands that no one except them (and Sal) had ever heard of, and wild house parties, full of dodgy punch and people being sick on the stairs. An actual nightmare. One of them actually had the nerve to tell me that he thought I was ‘too controlling’ of Sal – he soon shut up once I told him I knew he had slept with his lecturer and did he want me to let the head of department at the uni know? It’s amazing what information you can pick up when everyone else around you has had too much to drink, while you stay sober – that and the fact that the lock on his bedroom door was incredibly easy to pick. Once I had Sal moved into my place, I could decide who Sal saw, where Sal went, everything. I could keep Sal with me, all night, every night. There’s nothing controlling about it – it’s just keeping an eye on your other half.

‘It seems like a long time ago now.’ I smile at Sal, ‘And here we are still, together, despite it all. Together through thick and thin, that’s us, Sal. We don’t need anyone else, you know that. I love you more than anyone. More than anyone ever has or ever will. Remember that, Sal. I’d die if you left me.’ A tiny frown drifts across Sal’s brow before Sal stands and, disentangling our arms and legs from each other, holds a hand out to me.

‘Enough of that. Come on, sleepy head. Let’s go up to bed.’

Chapter Nine

SAL

The weekend passes without any incidents, and the calm and tranquillity carry on into the following week. Things always seem to follow the same pattern – I do something you are not happy with, you go crazy, and punish me in various ways, depending on how you feel – sometimes you’ll get physical, other times I will just be cold-shouldered for days at a time – then, when you decide that I’ve been punished enough, that’s it. It’s over. You remind me of how I am nothing without you and how you will die without me – you love me that much; and then I am expected to behave as if nothing has happened. Sometimes I wish I were strong enough to stand up to you, to tell you that things aren’t over when you decide – that maybe I’m not ready to forgive you just yet. Maybe I want to cold-shoulder you and sulk until I feel I am ready to resolve things. The one time I did try to walk away, the one time I told you that enough was enough, you locked yourself away in the bathroom, hysterical and ranting, with a packet of razor blades and a bottle of whisky. Needless to say, after that I’ve never been brave enough to try again – I let you get away with it time and again, in the hope that this will be the last time. Hoping against all hope that the next part of the cycle, the perfect part where everything is OK and you’re happy and it really feels as though we’re a proper family, will continue and become normal for us, instead of this never-ending roller coaster.

This time, the exhausting cycle continues as it usually does; you go to work in a good mood every day, and come home in much the same vein. You spend time with Maggie in the evenings, and during the day Maggie and I work in our little vegetable garden, weeding and hoeing and picking treats to add to our dinner every night. I start to feel like I can breathe again, like I can relax and start to enjoy spending time with you, until the next time. Hoping with all my heart that there isn’t going to be a next time. On Friday evening you make an announcement.

‘I’ve got a big client day tomorrow. I have to take the Otex guys on a corporate golf day; things are not moving along on that case as quickly as they would like and Pavlenco isn’t happy. I need to keep them sweet, so I’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning.’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Maggie and I will miss you. Do you know what time you’ll be back? Maybe if you’re back early enough we could all do something together?’ I am secretly a little bit relieved that you won’t be around – things are so much easier when I don’t have to worry about tiptoeing around you, although Maggie will be upset that you’re not there. With a bit of luck you’ll have a good day and this relaxed, contented part of the cycle can continue unbroken.

‘Late. It’s breakfast, eighteen holes and drinks afterwards. I’m not sure what time we’ll finish, but I’ll call you when I’m leaving. You’ll be home all day anyway, won’t you? You don’t have anything planned.’ It’s a statement, not a question, and I don’t want to risk riling you, so I agree.

‘No. No, nothing planned. I’ll just do some tidying up, potter round after Maggie. The vegetable patch will need weeding so we can sort that out. Hopefully this weather will keep up and Mags can play out in the paddling pool.’ The heatwave still hasn’t broken and, although I am happy to wear shorts around the house, my legs still haven’t quite healed enough for me to brave wearing shorts outside yet.

‘Well, good. You two can have a lovely day in the garden again, can’t you? And I’ll need my work shirts ironing before Monday.’

‘Of course, don’t worry, it’ll all be done. You go and have a good time.’

‘It’s not about a good time, Sal. It’s work. You’d understand that if you actually still went to work. It’s about keeping the client sweet, making sure this merger goes through, so that I still have a job and can keep supporting you. I don’t think you quite understand the pressure I’m actually under, trying to make sure this deal goes through smoothly.’

I swallow and nod, your prickly mood meaning I am on edge again. I should have known it wouldn’t last, that the cycle would continue.

‘I do, Charlie, I do understand. And we really appreciate everything you do, Maggie and I; we do appreciate it, I promise, all the long hours and hard work, and we love you for it.’ Placated, you nod and I breathe a sigh of relief. For a moment there I wasn’t too sure which way things would go, and I realise that I am constantly living on a knife-edge, where even one sentence taken in slightly the wrong manner can mean the difference between war and peace.

Saturday morning dawns bright and sunny, the heatwave persisting for another day, it seems. You are back to being in a good mood, thankfully, after last night’s tense exchange between us, and when the Otex guys turn up to pick you up in a huge black car with tinted windows, I help you out with your golf clubs. Before you get in the car you turn to me, a frown wrinkling your brow as you clasp my forearm.

‘See you later. Don’t call because I’ll be on the golf course most of the day, I’ll call you when I’m done. And don’t worry about dinner. I’m taking these guys to Gaucho for a meal after.’

‘OK.’ I kiss your cheek and smile into the car. ‘Have a good time. I’ll see you later.’

As I wave you off, Laura appears in her front garden. ‘Morning,’ she calls, waving me over despite obviously having only just woken up. She’s standing in her pyjamas with flip-flops on her feet, red hair tangled around her shoulders.

‘Where’s Charlie off to today? ‘

‘Golf. Some corporate thing with the Otex lot – you know, the big merger case? They’re playing all day, and Charlie said not to do dinner, so I’m alone all day.’

‘Free all day, you mean.’ Laura gives me a wicked smile. She doesn’t particularly like you, saying that you are too controlling and need to learn to lighten up a little. You, on the other hand, think Laura is ‘rough’, and don’t particularly like her either. The thing with you, though, is that it’s never made obvious if you don’t like somebody – you are charm personified to his or her face. Your ability to put on a completely different persona for other people is quite unsettling at times; it’s like you’re completely changed, not at all the Charlie I know. You can easily hide the fact that we’ve just had a row if someone turns up unexpectedly, while I have every emotion written all over my face. While I do agree with Laura’s opinion to a certain extent, as the other half in our relationship I have to defend you when Laura starts picking at things. Another reason, among others, why I can never tell Laura quite how bad things can get between us.

‘So? You’re not just going to stay in, are you? It’s another beautiful day and I’ve hardly seen you all week! You can’t just hide away in doors waiting for big, bad Charlie to get home. Let’s go to the beach – the kids can play and have a splash, we can get some chips, ice cream, maybe take them for a walk along the pier? What do you say?’ Laura looks at me expectantly, her hands tying her pyjama cord into knots. I pause and think for a moment. You said not to call, because you would be on the golf course all day, so surely that means you won’t be able to call me until after you’ve all finished? If I take my mobile with me, I can always say I’ve taken Maggie to the park for a play on the swings, but chances are, if you’re going for dinner with the Otex guys, I’ll have until at least early evening before I hear from you at all. The sun is beating down on me already, despite the early hour, and I realise I just can’t face the thought of another day at home, trying to keep Maggie occupied. At the thought of Maggie, stuck indoors for yet another day because you don’t trust me when we go out, my decision is made.

‘OK, sod it. Let’s do it. Beach, here we come!’ I grin as Laura squeals and bursts out laughing, making me laugh in the process.

‘Excellent! Give me an hour. I have to go and shower and make myself beautiful. I’ll knock when I’m ready.’

Sure enough, an hour later Laura is tapping at the front door, a huge bag slung over her shoulder, Fred crooked in one arm and Lucy bouncing around by her feet. Maggie runs out the front door and squeezes Lucy in a bear hug.

‘We’re going to the beach, Lucy! And there’s going to be chips and ice cream and we can make a sandcastle and go paddling and …’ Fizzing with excitement, Maggie pauses to take a breath to carry on her epic speech.

‘OK, Mags, we get it. Let’s go. The sooner we leave, the sooner we arrive!’ I scoop her up and carry her to the car, where I buckle her in before helping Laura pack her huge bag into the boot. Seeing Maggie this excited about a trip to the beach makes me feel hideously guilty for keeping her at home all week, even though I don’t feel as though I had any other option. I am angry with myself for being so weak and pliable when it comes to you and your demands, ashamed of myself for bending to your will in exchange for a quiet life. A sweep of anger washes over me towards you, for making me feel I can’t do things like this with Maggie all the time, for making me fear the outcome of a trip somewhere nice, all because of your uncontrollable jealousy and fear that I will leave given half the chance.

The day passes in a heat-filled haze, the children spending the morning splashing through the waves and building elaborate sandcastles, only to knock them flat two minutes later. Laura and I take it in turns to keep an eye on them, especially near the water, and when it’s my turn to watch them, Laura drags her Kindle out of her bag and turns onto her stomach to tan her back. I walk down to the water’s edge where the kids are overturning stones to see if they can find any life underneath.

‘Kids, if you want to find living things I’ll take you over to the rock pools. Come on. Grab your buckets and spades and we’ll go exploring.’ Maggie and Lucy clap their hands and make a grab for their buckets, while poor old Fred just looks bemused.

‘Come on, Freddie.’ I take Fred by the hand and follow the girls, who are racing ahead to the rock pools. We find a good-sized pool, water slightly warmed by the heat of the day, and start flipping over slimy, seaweed-covered rocks in search of any form of sea creature we can find – the girls shrieking in delight at a tiny jellyfish, while Fred finds a dead crab fascinating. We fill plastic buckets with seawater and the girls add their treasures to them, pieces of coral, shells and crab legs all making their way into our haul. An hour later, we return to where Laura has obviously given up on her book and fallen asleep. I ever so gently tip one of the buckets over her back, splashing her with cold sea water, and she jumps up shrieking.

‘Bloody hell, Sal, you git! I’m soaked! And I was having a very enjoyable dream in which Johnny Depp was telling me how much he loves a red-head.’ She shakes herself off and sits back down on the beach towel next to Lucy and Maggie. ‘What have you got there?’

Maggie grins up at her. ‘We’ve got a hermit crab, and a little tiny fish, see?’

‘Sal helped us find them,’ Lucy pipes up, sloshing seawater from the bucket in her haste to show her mother.

‘Well, aren’t you lucky?’ Laura smiles down at them both. ‘You’re both incredibly lucky to have Sal.’ Her eyes flick to my bare legs, exposed to the sun after even I couldn’t justify wearing jeans to the beach, to the marks that are still visible from the hot lasagne a week ago and, grateful that she doesn’t question me, I say nothing.

We spend the afternoon at the pier, watching the fishermen casting their lines, and when Fred is so exhausted he can’t walk any more but refuses to be pushed in the buggy we head back to the car. By the time we pull up on our driveway all three children are fast asleep in the back. I turn to Laura, who has been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive home.

‘Thanks for today, Laur. I didn’t realise quite how badly I needed it.’ I turn the car off and unclip my seatbelt.

‘Sal? Is there anything you want to talk to me about?’ Laura gazes at me steadily, forcing me to look away and fiddle with my shirt buttons.

‘What? No. Of course not. What do you mean?’ I swallow nervously. There really is nothing at this moment in time that I want to talk to Laura, or anyone, about. I’ve tried that before and it’s safe to say that it wasn’t a success.

‘Your legs, Sal. What happened to your legs? It looks like they’re burnt. And you were wearing jeans last week, even though it was really hot, like you wanted to cover them up, or something. Then you just stayed home all week. Like you weren’t allowed to leave the house. Please, Sal; if there’s something wrong, please tell me. I’m your friend; I want to help you.’ She reaches out a hand towards me, but seems to change her mind at the last minute, dropping it back into her lap.

‘My legs are fine, Laura. Fine. I dropped a hot dish, that’s all, and it splashed up. I wore jeans because that’s what I wanted to wear and I stayed home because I didn’t want to go out. There’s nothing sinister going on, and I don’t need you making out like there is, OK? I went out with you today, didn’t I?’ I feel myself getting angry and defensive, even though I know Laura is only trying to help, but I can’t, I can’t, talk to her about it. It would only make things worse.

‘OK.’ Laura opens the car door and swings her legs out, before turning back to me, her gaze unwavering. ‘But remember, Sal, I’m only next door, I’m always only next door, whenever you need me.’ She pulls a sleeping Fred out from his car seat and I sit for a moment, unsure of what to say, before deciding to say nothing. Reaching in to unclip Lucy from her car seat, I breathe in the scent of Laura’s perfume, a stain on the air left by her presence in the car, and wish, beyond everything, that I could tell her.

Chapter Ten

CHARLIE

The golf day goes well, and Mr Pavlenco and his team are happy when we all head back towards the clubhouse at the end of the day. I feel like the weight on my shoulders has lifted briefly, now that I know Pavlenco is happier. Mr Pavlenco and his team head through to the bar and I take the opportunity to call Sal. The phone is answered immediately, so I relax and find myself able to enjoy a meal and a few drinks with the Otex team before catching a cab home. The day has been a small respite in the relentless torrent of paperwork and phone calls this demanding case has generated, and although I am feeling a little better about the potential outcome of the deal, I am still aware that there is a lot of work ahead of me if I’m going to pull this off successfully.

As I walk in the door, I catch sight of Sal snoozing on the sofa – there is no sign of Maggie, and as it’s past 8pm I guess Sal has already put her to bed.

‘Sal, wake up.’ I lean over and hiss quietly, shaking Sal by the shoulder.

‘Huh? Oh, Charlie, you’re home.’ Sal smiles up at me groggily and struggles into a sitting position, dark curls skewed at crazy angles. ‘How did it go?’

‘Excellent. The team at Otex are happy that we’re doing what we can to make sure the merger goes ahead as smoothly as possible, so fingers crossed all good. What did you do today? You seem exhausted.’ A tiny niggle of irritation burrows away at me, at the idea of Sal snoozing away on the sofa while I’m out slogging my guts out, schmoozing clients and bowing to their every whim.

‘Oh, nothing much. It must be the heat, takes it out of me.’ Sal yawns, stretching long fingers out in an arch. It is still ridiculously hot and muggy outside. ‘We just stayed at home, had a spot of lunch, nothing exciting.’

‘Sounds like you had a good day. And Maggie? She’s in bed?’

‘Yep, she was exhausted. I think the heat is a little too much for her, too, poor thing. I just hope the weather breaks before she starts school. It’ll be awful for the little ones to have to go to school in this heat.’

‘I’m sure it will – this is England not Africa! We need to enjoy it while it lasts. Come on. Let’s sit out on the patio and open a cold bottle of wine, pretend we’re enjoying this heatwave.’ I pull Sal up from the couch and we go through to the kitchen to hunt out wine glasses. I grab the cold bottle of wine from the fridge and a tub of green olives and we head out onto the patio, the early evening air still warm and fragrant with the jasmine that curls upwards from the pots next to the back door.

Maggie’s toys still litter the garden, where she was obviously playing with them today. Dollies with all their clothes piled up in a heap next to them lie alongside a bucket and spade, a football and a skipping rope. A pair of Maggie’s pink sandals lie next to the sandpit, while a stuffed toy lies face down in the sand, and Maggie’s cardigan hangs over the swing frame. I feel what was left of my good mood start to slip – how difficult is it for Sal to make sure the garden is tidy at the end of the day? I’ve spent all week working my arse off at the office, early starts and working all the hours God sends, while Sal does, literally, nothing. It’s not like there’s a huge amount to do, just put the toys back in the toy box, and make sure that shoes and cardigans are put away. Sal catches sight of the look on my face and scurries over to the sandpit and starts to pick up the mess that lies scattered over the garden. This infuriates me even more – the scurrying about, like I’m some irrational clean freak who flips out over mess; like I’m someone to be feared. I just want a clean and tidy house – surely that’s not unreasonable?

Sal scrabbles to pick up the toys from the sandpit, watching me warily. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I meant to get this all sorted before you got home, but I was just so tired and I thought I’d sit down for just a few minutes and … well, I fell asleep.’

Anger explodes out of me before I can stop it, like a tornado ripping along, tearing trees up by their roots. ‘For God’s sake, Sal, it’s not like it’s a difficult job, is it? To keep the bloody garden tidy? Despite what you might think, I wasn’t just off having a lovely time today; it was work, and the last thing I want to come home to is a total shit-hole. Do you understand?’ I glare at Sal, my good mood evaporated completely by the crap I have come home to. When will Sal ever learn? Marriage is about equality – both sides taking equal amounts of responsibility – not about one person doing all the work and making all the effort while the other feeds off them.

‘Yes, Charlie, I understand.’

‘Good.’ I stride across the garden and grip Sal’s jaw in my hands. ‘I’m going to bed now. You can stay out here and tidy all this crap up. I want it sorted before you come up. I don’t work hard all day long, even on the bloody weekend, just so you can leave shit everywhere. Right?’ I release Sal, and as I sweep past the patio table on my way up to bed my hand knocks the wine bottle off-centre, causing it to crash onto the stones below, taking the wine glasses with it. I don’t glance back as I hear the glass shatter across the paving slabs. It serves Sal right for ruining yet another evening.

Chapter Eleven

SAL

So, your good mood didn’t last for very long. It’s terrifying to see the way you can switch from calm and loving to enraged and furious within a split second. I know as soon as I open my eyes to see you standing over me that I’m going to regret sitting down for five minutes’ peace, remembering that I haven’t tidied the garden before stopping for a moment. When we returned from the beach Maggie was lively after her nap in the car and headed straight outside to play while I prepared us some dinner. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden, sitting in the sandpit playing dolls. Exhaustion had kicked in again by the time we had eaten and I ended up putting her to bed early, thinking I still had a good while to tidy up before you returned home. The next thing I knew I was opening my eyes to you looming over me, and my first thoughts were not of the garden, but a fierce hope that you hadn’t realised Maggie and I had been to the beach with Laura for the day. Luckily, it seems the state of garden has pushed any further thoughts of what my day has entailed from your mind, and you shout and carry on at me, while I quietly start to tidy up. I know the best thing I can do when you’re in this kind of mood is to just keep quiet and let you get on with it – any form of argument or retaliation will just make things worse, and I really don’t want you to wake Maggie up. When you announce you’re going up to bed I feel relieved that I won’t have to risk a further inquisition. I glance towards Laura’s house, checking for any signs that she might have overheard something. With no sign of life from next door I carry on picking up the toys from where they lie, and watch nervously as you stalk past the patio table, your hand brushing across it, causing both glasses and wine bottle to cascade onto the patio. The shattering of the glass makes me jump but I carry on picking up toys, studiously avoiding your gaze. I breathe a sigh of relief when you head towards the house, without any further comment.

The next morning, there is a thick air of tension surrounding you and I make sure I keep out of your way as much as possible. The last thing I want is for Maggie to be around if you flip out – generally you are fairly good about making sure she doesn’t witness too much; however, after last night I am worried it won’t take a lot to push you over the edge.

‘I’ll take Mags up to the supermarket, shall I?’ I lean over your shoulder as you sit at the patio table. ‘I was going to get a roasted chicken for lunch to have with some salad. We can walk up there together and get out of your hair for a bit. I’ll stop off on the way and take her for a push on the swings; you can relax and read the papers.’ I’ve made sure the patio is swept clean and the garden is tidy, so it seems you’re happy to sit outside and read the Sunday papers this morning. You grunt in reply, and as you make no move to speak to me properly, or move from your chair, I assume you’re OK with it.

Shopping takes longer than expected, as Maggie and I bump into our neighbour who lives at the top of the street. Mrs Wilson is pleased to see us, as always. An elderly lady, she has lived alone since her husband died, her children all disbanding to various corners of the globe and not returning home to see her as often as she would like. As a result, she dotes on Maggie and always has a little something for her when she sees her. ‘Sal! And darling little Maggie. What are you up to?’ Mrs Wilson places her shopping bags on the ground and lets Maggie give her a huge squeeze.

‘Hi, Mrs Wilson – just a bit of shopping. Charlie’s at home so we’re cooking up a storm, aren’t we, Mags? Are you going our way?’ I glance towards our street and Mrs Wilson nods.

‘Here, let me take these.’ I rearrange my own shopping bags, enabling me to pick up Mrs Wilson’s shopping as well.

‘Thank you, Sal – you’re too kind. I’m not as strong as I used to be. And Charlie’s at home, you say? Well, that’s just lovely – that one works too hard for you all, you know. You’re lucky to have someone that looks out for you so well.’ Mrs Wilson gives a little laugh, and we start to head back towards home. We make small talk as we walk, Mrs Wilson telling me all about how her eldest son has relocated to Australia, taking the grandchildren with him. There is an air of sadness about her as she tells me about their farewell party, and I feel slightly sorry for her. You don’t have the time of day for her, but I worry that she gets lonely, sitting indoors by herself, waiting for the phone to ring. I try my hardest to pop in on her when I can, just to check she’s all right. Reaching her doorstep, I carry her shopping through for her and gratefully accept a quick cup of tea.

‘Thank you, Sal.’ Mrs Wilson hands me a steaming cup of strong, brown tea. ‘You’re a gem – and Maggie is a little dote. You’re lucky; you have the perfect family. Make the most of it – they grow up too quickly.’ I give her a small smile and look down at my cup. Perfect? I’m not too sure about that.

An hour later, as Maggie and I come strolling down our street, swinging our hands together and occasionally jumping over the cracks in the pavement, I realise you are outside in our front garden, talking to Laura. Usually I wouldn’t worry too much, but following on from yesterday’s illicit trip to the beach, which I was too ashamed to tell Laura should be kept secret, my heart starts to beat a little faster, and I feel hot and clammy.

‘Everything OK?’ I try a wobbly smile in your direction.

‘Of course, you silly thing, why wouldn’t it be?’ You squeeze my shoulder affectionately. ‘Laura was just telling me about your little trip yesterday. I’m not surprised you didn’t mention it, after being so tired yesterday evening.’

‘Oh, yes. We didn’t go out for too long, just to get the kids some fresh air, that’s all. I meant to tell you but … well, I was asleep when you came in.’

‘You’re lucky, Laura. Sal’s been extremely busy this week, haven’t you, Sal? Indoors all week, making the most of being home with Maggie, I should think, before school starts. I’m surprised Sal could find the time to spend a whole day out!’ You put your arm around me proprietarily, clutching me ever so slightly too tightly.

Laura flicks her eyes towards me, almost an apology, as she obviously didn’t realise I hadn’t told you we’d been out.

‘Well, Charlie, I realise that. I haven’t seen Sal or Maggie all week – unusual since you live next door, eh? I almost thought you guys were avoiding me!’ Laura gives a little laugh, and Charlie joins in. Despite the supposed hilarity, you could cut the air with a knife.

‘Of course not, Laura. You’re our neighbour, aren’t you? You must come over for dinner soon. I know this lovely chap at work – he’d be perfect for you.’

‘In all honesty, Charlie, I’m not really looking, but I appreciate the offer. Dinner would be nice. Sal, I’ll catch up with you in the week, OK? We can make an arrangement for dinner then.’ Laura turns to go back into the house and, feeling awkward, I face you, unsure of exactly what I’m going to find. Maggie runs into the house, intent on carrying out whatever game she’s cooked up on the way home. You stare at me, eyes cold like chips of blue ice.

‘Get indoors, Sal. That chicken will be getting cold.’

Chapter Twelve

CHARLIE

To say that I’m furious is an understatement. Sal’s deceitfulness and constant lies are ruining our relationship. I find myself feeling more and more wound up all the time and it’s all Sal’s fault. How difficult can it be to just be honest? I don’t feel like I can trust anything Sal says and it’s just adding to the pressure I’m already under at the office.

When Sal and Maggie leave to go to the park, I decide I’ve had enough of sitting around and head out to the driveway – my pride and joy sits on the drive, gleaming, looking more beautiful than anything else I’ve ever owned. A 2014 BMW X5, black and sleek. Practical in that it has five seats (to keep Sal happy, though God knows we are definitely not going to have any more children, no matter how much Sal bitches about it) and expensive enough to keep me happy.

Growing up we had very little in our family. My stepdad was a hard worker who kept my mum at home so she could look after me, but for all his hard work we still went without, as my dad thought nothing of spending all his wages in the pub on a Friday night, leaving us with nothing for the week ahead. He was partial to a whisky and woe betide anyone who tried to stop him. He was a hard bastard, who ruled our house with an iron fist. I swore blind from when I was a child that I would never go without, once I was an adult. This car is my testimony to that – Sal has to drive it through the week and I keep an eye on the mileage, but at weekends she is my baby, for me to enjoy.

I unlock the driver’s door and peer in to see if Sal is keeping it as tidy as I have requested. Sal grew up in a family that had whatever they wanted and doesn’t seem to understand that things demand respect. Sal never had to wear clothes from a car-boot sale, or watch as all the other kids got to go on school trips. As I peep through into the back seats, something catches my eye on the floor. A baby’s bottle has rolled under the passenger seat and lies there; the tiny amount of milk left in it already turned curdled and sour. In the footwell, in front of the bottle, lies a sprinkling of sand. I feel my pulse start to race and the first feelings of anger spread through my body, leaving my face red and my fists clenched. Sal lied to me AGAIN. This is the only explanation – after promising to stay at home with Maggie yesterday, after not mentioning a single word about the fact that they may or may not have gone on a trip to the beach yesterday, the proof is lying in the footwell of my pride and joy. To add insult to injury, the fact that Sal couldn’t even be bothered to keep the bloody car clean just hammers home exactly how much respect Sal has for my possessions and for me.

Shaking with fury I march back into the house, powerless to stop the anger that courses through my body. There’s only one way to teach Sal the meaning of respect. There’s only one way to show Sal exactly how it feels when someone disrespects you and disrespects your things, the things that you’ve worked hard for and that you hold dear. I’ll make sure that the lesson about respect doesn’t get forgotten again, that’s for sure.

Chapter Thirteen

SAL

You usher me back towards the house, a rigid smile on your face all the while. Feeling a little off balance, I pause for a moment before I open the front door and hold it open while trying to juggle the shopping bags. You sweep in ahead of me, leaving me to close the door one-handed. Following you through to the kitchen, I start to put the shopping away, all the time a sense of unease growing inside me.

‘You never mentioned that you and Maggie went to the beach yesterday.’ Your voice is like ice water dripping down my neck.

‘No, well, like I said outside, Charlie, I fell asleep before you even came home and then there wasn’t really a lot of time for talking before you went up to bed, was there?’ I feel my spine straighten, as I stand a little taller. Do I really have to explain myself? Do I really have to tell Charlie every time I leave the house? Surely this is not the norm for most other couples? I’m starting to feel as though I’m not sure how much more of this I can take – the constant accusations of lying, the permanent state of mistrust.

‘I just thought you might have mentioned it, that’s all. Seeing as you said you didn’t have any plans. You said you were going to stay home with Maggie all day, sorting the house and doing some gardening.’

‘Laura suggested it and I agreed; it would have been a waste of a day to stay indoors.’ I am determined not to back down on this one – I did nothing wrong, unless taking your daughter out to enjoy the sunshine is doing the wrong thing. ‘And Maggie enjoyed herself. She can’t stay home every day, just on the off-chance…’ I trail off. My little spark of courage has burnt out and I am worried about antagonising you further.

‘Just on the off-chance? Just on the off-chance of what exactly? That I might call and try to speak to my own child? That I might call to check and see if you’re OK? Going out with that tramp from next door is more important than building a home for your family, is it?’ Your eye twitches with that telltale tic, the one that prewarns me you’re about to lose your temper.

‘No, that’s not what I said! Charlie, you’re twisting my words, I never meant that; all I meant was that Maggie needs some stimulation – I can’t keep her home all the time; she’ll be going to school soon.’ I place the roasted chicken on a chopping board and turn to face you, desperate to calm the situation before things boil over.

‘Please, Charlie, let’s not make this into a big deal. I took Maggie to the beach with her friends, that’s all it was. It wasn’t an attempt to escape from here, not a chance to neglect my duties at home or to try and get away from you. You weren’t home and I wanted to do something nice for Maggie. Please don’t ruin what’s left of our weekend.’ I take your hands and kiss you gently. You take a deep breath and just as I brace myself for the start of another onslaught you smile.

‘OK. It’s not a problem.’

Confused by your quick change of mood, I give a small nod and drop your hands. I should have known that wouldn’t be end of it.

The afternoon passes in a pleasant haze of scorching hot sunshine and we agree to take Maggie up to the park for a picnic for lunch. We paddle in the stream that runs through the common, watching Maggie trying to catch the tiny sticklebacks that flit through the clear water. Holding hands, all three of us run through the fountains that spurt up from holes in the ground in random patterns, trying to make it through to the other side without getting soaked, before collapsing in a giggling heap on the grass. Lying on my back, with you laid next to me, I watch the clouds scudding past overhead, a gentle breeze lifting my curls and tickling my forehead. We used to do this all the time, before Maggie came along. Just wander down to the common, dragging a picnic basket between us, lying on the grass talking and swigging Prosecco that had gone warm in the sun because we always forgot to pack the ice blocks. We would spend hours planning our future and laughing at your hideous jokes – you have such a wicked sense of humour that you never fail to make me laugh; it’s just a shame we don’t see as much of it as we used to. This morning’s argument has faded into the distance, made almost a memory by the perfect events of this afternoon. I just wish that these moments, when we are relaxed and happy, with no tears or accusations of lies, were more frequent. When we are in these moments we are what we strive to be – the perfect family, a team with a bond that is unbreakable.

Zero stickleback, one ice cream and three hours later we head for home. Maggie, with the energy that only a four-year-old can have, runs ahead, while we stroll slowly along together, holding hands. Mrs Wilson spies us from her kitchen window and we both raise a hand to her. I feel content, and immensely relieved that this morning’s storm has passed. I managed to defuse the situation before you lost your temper – does this mean you’ll relax a bit more now? Maybe this means you’ll change and not get so angry so easily any more. I think how nice it would be if this afternoon were to mean a turning point in our relationship – maybe things will return to how they used to be between us, before we had Maggie and everything got a bit crazy. It would be worth hanging in there, through all the crazy stuff, if it just meant we could maybe get back to that.

‘Happy?’ you ask and I turn to you and smile. ‘You know what? I am. Today has been really, really lovely, hasn’t it? We should make an effort to do things like this more often.’ You smile and nod your agreement, and I am just so relieved that everything is OK.

‘Sal, I’m putting Maggie to bed – do you want to get us some dinner on?’ you shout down the stairs to me, a little while later. I smile and put the newspaper I’m reading to one side. You must really be making an effort to rein it all in, to make a change. Maybe this is the start of a new you, not just a new stage in the never-ending cycle that we usually live in. You very rarely put Maggie to bed, even on the evenings when you are home, preferring to let me deal with it all, saying you don’t have the patience for finding numerous stuffed toys, drinks of water, chapters of whatever book Maggie and I are reading together. I go into the kitchen and dig the chicken out from the fridge. Picking up the small wicker basket that we keep by the back door for collecting our spoils I head out the back door for the vegetable patch, ready to pick some salad to go alongside the chicken for our evening meal.

When I reach the vegetable patch I stop, my heart racing. My mouth hangs open in shock. What the hell happened? The gate that secures the patch is hanging off its hinges and the entire patch is destroyed. Every single thing I’ve grown from scratch with Maggie has been pulled from the earth and thrown into piles in every corner of the plot, so there is no chance of saving anything. This is not the work of rabbits, or of foxes; this can only have been done by a human being. And there is only one person who would know how badly something like this would hurt me. I should have known that an illicit day out at the beach wouldn’t go unpunished. I put the basket gently down and sink to my knees in the hard earth, stones and small rocks digging into my skin. Nothing has been spared, not a single tiny cherry tomato, all of which have been pulled from their plants and squashed underfoot. My heart breaks a little at the thought of all the hard work Maggie and I have put into our little patch. Maggie. She’s going to be devastated, especially as it’s now too late in the year for us to even try and fix things and grow something else.

A shadow falls in front of me and I look up to see you sneering down at me.

‘You didn’t actually think you could get away with it all, did you?’

‘What? Get away with what? Taking Maggie to the beach? Giving her a little bit of freedom from here? From you?’ I am so angry I am past caring about the consequences of losing my temper with you.

‘That’s it, Sal. Lying, going behind my back, leaving my car in a fucking state. Leaving crap all over my car, which I pay for – not you. I pay for it, it’s mine and when I do let you use it you treat like it’s just another piece of shit that belongs to you.’

You loom over me as I look up in confusion. ‘Charlie, what are you talking about? There’s nothing in the car. I drove it to the beach and back. Nobody had anything to eat in it; it was clean. And nothing justifies what you’ve done here. This wasn’t just mine, it was Maggie’s.’ I thought this was about the beach, not the car.

‘Clean? If you call a stinking baby bottle full of curdled milk clean! And sand, fucking sand, everywhere. We haven’t even got a fucking baby, Sal, so why the hell is there a filthy, stinking, kid’s bottle rolling around in the back of my car?’ Shit. I realise that when Laura pulled Fred out of the car yesterday when we returned from the beach she must have left Fred’s bottle in there. I was so exhausted when we got back that I didn’t even think to check the car.

‘So what’s this then, Charlie? Revenge? I can’t believe you would do this to me. To us. This was just as much Maggie’s as it was mine. This will break Maggie’s heart.’ This time you have gone too far. Hurting me I can deal with for Maggie’s sake, but when you bring her into it? No, no way.

‘It’s about respect, Sal. It’s about thinking about other people, having respect for their things, respecting the stuff they care about. It’s about not lying to your partner, covering things up so you can sneak about with other people behind my back. That’s what it’s all about. It’s about supporting your other half in the relationship instead of just taking, taking, taking all the time, and putting me under so much pressure. Maybe if you actually gave a shit about our relationship you would understand.’

‘If I gave a shit about us?’ I feel my temper fraying, and although I know there will be consequences I can’t help myself. ‘Why do you think I put up with all of this, Charlie? Why do you think I let you treat me the way you do? Because I don’t care? I stay because, believe it or not, I do love you, and I love Maggie and I want us to be a family! I put up with everything you throw at me so we can be a happy family – so Maggie grows up with two parents!’ You look down at me, still sitting on my hands and knees in the dirt, your lip curling in disgust.

‘Really, Sal? I treat you so badly? Don’t you think that maybe you get treated the way you deserve to be treated?’ With that, you turn on your heel, the sole of your shoe landing on my fingers as you storm off. I feel the bones crunch under your heel and a shocking, sharp twist of pain makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Chapter Fourteen

CHARLIE

I turn on my heel, catching Sal’s fingers under my shoe as I storm out of the little vegetable patch and head back towards the house. I am still shaking with rage. Why doesn’t Sal understand that people get treated the way they deserve to be treated? Sal needs to realise that I don’t do the things I do out of hatred; I do them out of love. This is all Sal’s fault – you can’t lie to your partner and think you can get away with it.

I pour myself a whisky and sit at the kitchen table, waiting for Sal to come back in from the garden. Maybe I did go too far with the allotment; perhaps I did lose control a little bit. But the rage was all-consuming and I’m not too sure I could have stopped myself even if I had tried. Thinking back to that first summer we were together, I remember how once Sal had moved into the shared house with me and the two other housemates, our relationship began to feel more stable. I loved nothing more than coming home and knowing that Sal would be waiting for me. There was the odd hiccup, where I arrived home and no one was there, with no note or anything to say where Sal was, or who Sal was with, but once I got the message home that I needed to know if Sal wasn’t going to be there, and ideally that Sal would be home each evening when I got back from work, things were much better. It was one Sunday, a few weeks after Sal had moved in, that it was decided I must meet Sal’s family, so we travelled to Kent on a sunny but chilly October afternoon.

‘They’re going to love you – and you’re going to love them, I promise.’ Sal tucks cold fingers into the crook of my arm as we walk up the path to Sal’s childhood home.

‘Let’s hope so.’ Sal knocks and the door is flung wide open immediately. Sal’s mother appears, her wide frame filling the doorway, a shock of dark curls, so very similar to Sal’s, standing out around her head.

‘Sally! Oh, my baby, it’s so good to see you! And this must be Charlie!’ She squeezes Sal hard and makes a move towards me. I hold out my hand stiffly before she reaches me, and she pauses for a moment before shaking it, smiling at me all the while.

‘Nice to meet you.’

‘And you, Charlie. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to put a face to the name and see exactly who’s been keeping our Sal from us!’ She turns towards Sal. ‘And YOU! You look … well. It’s been so long. We didn’t see you all summer, so don’t be cross but your sisters are here, too. They’ve missed you!’ She ushers us into the house and through into a poorly lit living room, which is probably quite spacious but it’s hard to tell given the number of people that have been squeezed into it. Cries of ‘Sal! You’re home!’ and ‘It’s been so long!’ fill the air as Sal is immediately surrounded by tall, tanned girls, all with the same shock of crazy dark curls that Sal has. I stand to one side, watching as Sal greets each and every person in the room while I just stand and wait for someone to remember I’m still there.

‘And this is Charlie!’ Sal turns to me, arm outstretched to point at me in the corner. I muster up a smile, raising my eyebrows at Sal, who doesn’t seem to notice quite how uncomfortable I’m feeling. The sisters all turn towards me and I feel as if I’m something under a microscope.

‘Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Julia. I’m the oldest, believe it or not.’ Laughing a ridiculously tinkly laugh is the smallest of all the girls, a petite little thing with dark hair tumbling down her back. ‘And as I’m the oldest, I’m the one in charge, so watch it!’ She laughs again as Sal and the other girls join in. What’s that supposed to mean? I make a mental note to let Sal know when we get home that I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that by anyone, regardless of whether they are part of Sal’s family or not. Sal introduces me to the rest of the sisters, who are all as loud and boisterous as each other, and we all descend on the dining room for Sal’s mum’s amazing Italian feast. Maria passes me the huge tray of pasta and a serving spoon.

‘Charlie, is that all you’re having? You’ll waste away! Here, have some more.’ Sal’s mum heaps another two spoonfuls of creamy pasta onto my plate.

‘Thank you, Maria, but please. That’s enough.’ I hold my hand up to stop her from loading any more on to my already full to bursting plate.

‘Well. If you’re sure. There’s plenty more if you change your mind.’ She moves away from me and attacks some other poor soul with her serving spoon. Jesus, they like to eat. Every plate is piled high with pasta, homemade garlic bread, gnocchi and salad. Sal, having returned home like some sort of prodigal son, is seated at the other end of the table from me, next to the head of the family, Giovanni. He, like his wife, is large-framed, which comes as no surprise seeing how much the entire family like their food, but instead of the tumbling, glossy dark curls shared by the rest of his family he has only a smattering of grey hair around the sides of his head. He is considerably quieter than the rest of his family, seemingly more content to observe and chime in every now and again, his hand reaching for his wife to pat or squeeze each time she passes by him and I realise that Sal must take after him. Sitting where I am, between Maria and Paola, one of the middle sisters, a barrage of questions is hurled at me.

‘Charlie, what do you do for a living?’

‘Where are you from, Charlie? Do you come from round here?’

‘Where do your parents live? Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘Are you the oldest or are you the spoilt baby like Sal?’ This last question is greeted with howls of laughter, as if it’s the funniest thing ever. Sal pulls a face, making them all laugh even harder.

‘I’ll be a corporate lawyer eventually, I’m from Lincolnshire, and no I don’t have any brothers or sisters.’ I keep my answers short and sweet; the less said about my family the better. If I don’t give out any information, hopefully they’ll all get the message. Sure enough, the sisters soon lose interest in me once they realise they’re not going to get my entire life story in one meal, and go back to regaling me with tales of Sal’s childhood and reminiscing about how they had such fun doing this, and has Sal told me about when that happened, etcetera, etcetera … They all talk over each other and it’s difficult to get a word in edgeways. Sal sits there, next to Giovanni at the head of the table, grinning like an idiot, completely failing to realise that I am not enjoying myself.

‘Come on, Sal, you can help me do the dishes while the others finish quizzing Charlie. You’ve got out of it all summer so far.’ Julia jumps to her feet, and pulls Sal up by the hand. Sal grins at me and mouths, ‘OK?’ as Julia tugs Sal away into the kitchen, Maria trotting behind carrying an armful of dirty plates from the table. I shrug and turn my gaze coldly away from Sal. What else can I do?

Finally, after what might possibly be the longest evening of my life, in which I have had to suffer hours of inane jabbering from Sal’s entire family and have batted away countless attempts to discover all manner of details about my life, the meal is over and we are free to go. I endure kisses from Maria and all of the sisters, while Sal is hugged and squeezed to death and they all behave as if they aren’t going to see each other for years and years. This is all completely foreign to me, and I thank my lucky stars that Sal hasn’t asked to meet my mother yet.

‘Well? What did you think of them? Aren’t they amazing?’ Sal waves frantically at the gathering on the doorstep, before turning to me once we are safely seated in the car and heading back towards our house.

‘Honestly, Sal? It’s all a bit much, isn’t it? I mean, your mum treats you like you’re five years old. And you’re not a fucking god, you know, despite what your sisters might think.’ Sal reels back slightly and couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d delivered a slap across the face.

‘What? Nobody thinks that! We’re a close family; I didn’t see them all summer because I stayed in London with you! It’s not normally that intense, to be honest; it’s only that they were excited to meet you. And my mum is just … a normal mum. She likes it when I go home; she likes to cook a big meal and spoil us all. She’s excited that you’re going to be part of the family. They were just trying to make you feel welcome.’ Sal doesn’t look at me, choosing instead to concentrate hard on the road.

I stare out of the passenger window, biting my tongue hard in order not to give rise to the anger that is bubbling away deep inside my belly. I’m not going to be part of the family. I don’t want to be part of the family. Your mum didn’t even seat us together at the dinner table, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want Sal’s sisters and mum poking their noses into our business, knowing everything about us. I want it to just be Sal and me on our own, always. I don’t have anything to do with my family, and I’m OK. We don’t need Sal’s family in our lives, not to that extent. Signalling to take the turn leading to the motorway, I resolve that the less we see of Sal’s family, the better.

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