The Fat And The Thin Of It Page 12

beige dress. But that didn’t matter at that moment: I wanted to see Bob walk in the door and tell me everything had been a terrible attack of nerves or something, and that now he was alright and felt ashamed and sorry.

  Bob did walk through the door, but he looked far from ashamed and sorry. He looked as if he’d come out the rough end of an exorcism. He had deep, purple circles under his eyes, and they were watery with the whites all bloodshot and sore-looking. His face, usually so pleasant and bright, was pinched around the eyebrows and his mouth was twisted into a painful grimace. Richard followed a few paces behind, and he didn’t look much better.

  I ran to my husband, relieved to see him alive regardless of his appearance, but when I tried to put my arm around his neck, be backed away with a fearful grunt as if I was a rabies-infested dog. I looked at Richard, who was hovering at Bob’s shoulder, with an inquisitive look: I didn’t understand what was going on any more than I’d understood his outburst against Mark God knows how many hours before.

  The three of us drifted into the living room in silence, and I looked at the clock; it was a quarter past four in the morning. What on earth had been going on for the past ten hours?

  I asked them that very question, and Richard said gravely, “Sit down, Jackie. We have to talk.” At which Bob let loose another fearful groan.

  I wanted to hold back the moment of having this talk, as I sensed something terrible was about to be revealed. All kinds of awful things rushed through my head; Bob had an illness, like cancer of the brain, hence the angry outburst. Something about work; a bad deal that had left us bankrupt, hence the agitated phone conversations on the drive back home. I had to stop my brain from creating doom and gloom, so before I sat down I asked, “Anybody want tea or coffee? Something stronger, perhaps?”

  Bob didn’t react and Richard simply shook his head, so I reluctantly sat down and braced myself.

  “Jackie, we have a problem.” Richard said quietly.

  Oh, crikey; this felt like an Apollo Thirteen moment, and my stomach tensed with an uncomfortable spasm.

  Richard continued in an even but grave tone. “Bob’s got himself in a mess in Spain. It’s complicated to explain, but we’ve spent the best part of the night trying to sort things out.”

  I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t even move. All I could do was look at Bob, who was hunched over, inert and staring at the carpet.

  Richard continued to talk. “Look, sweetheart,” he sighed heavily. “Bob’s going to have to go away for a while….” I must have looked horrified as Richard got up and came over to where I was sitting. “Jackie, listen to me before you start to panic. We’ve sorted some finances out for you so you’re taken care of for the time he has to disappear…”

  “Disappear?” I spoke with a high-pitched, frightened whisper. “Oh, my God! Where to? Why? What’s happened, Richard? Tell me…”

  “We can’t tell you anything, love, because the less you know the better, alright? Please, just trust me on this.”

  He then went over to Bob and prodded him, a little too roughly for my liking. “Get some things; we have to leave as soon as possible.”

  That made me scuttle to my feet. I needed some answers, some information about why my husband had to run off and ‘disappear’. He couldn’t just leave without saying something to me!

  “Bob, talk to me, please! What’s happened?” he was dragging himself up the stairs and I was hot on his heels. “Bob… Bob! Answer me!” no reaction, and he walked into our bedroom and moved about, opening drawers and the wardrobe, pulling clothes out while Richard dragged a suitcase out of the hallway closet and began packing what Bob piled on the bed.

  I pulled on his arm. “Bob, look at me, will you?” he wriggled free and continued to search for things. I grabbed him again and held on for dear life. “What is going on? What have you done? I’m your wife, for Christ’s sake! Can’t you tell me? Confide in me? Bob!” I was shrieking by then and gripped by panic. I was about to watch my husband walk out and Lord knows when I’d see him again, I didn’t know why, and neither of those two men looked as if they were going to tell me. I felt like I was aimlessly whacking at a piñata wearing two blindfolds in a dark room and balanced on a slim beam of wood stretched over a bottomless abyss.

  I yanked harder, trying to get him to look at me, but he carried on to the bathroom in search of some toiletries. I tried to dig my heels into the carpet down the hall to break his progress, but he pulled me along like a Husky pulling a sled over thick, deep snow.

  I was shrieking his name, but eventually simply ended up shrieking like a banshee, and the ruckus woke Mark up. He poked his dishevelled head round his door. “Wassup?” he asked grumpily.

  The sound of Mark’s voice stopped Bob in his tracks, and he turned to look at his son. He tried to smile, but instead his face twisted like a gargoyle’s. “Go back to bed, son.” He mumbled before continuing to drag me to the bathroom.

  I then started beating him around the shoulders with my fists. By then I was hysterical, I recognised that, and I thought I had every right to get hysterical, but Richard pulled me off Bob and grabbed my wrists.

  “Jackie! Jackie! Stop it!” I kept wriggling, trying to break free to continue my assault on a good-for-nothing, mute bloody husband. The whole scenario left me feeling indignant, not worth a decent explanation for why everything was falling apart, and I needed to beat an explanation out of Bob if pleading wasn’t going to do the trick. “Jackie, if you don’t calm down I’ll lock you in the fucking cupboard until you do!”

  “But I don’t understand anything, Richard! Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Why does he have to leave? Why, Richard? Why?” I tried to take a whack at him, but I’d worn myself out and he had a good firm grip on my wrists.

  I gave up the struggle and felt my legs giving way as the final drops of adrenaline filtered away. Richard lowered me as gently as he could to the floor and turned to Mark. “Mark, keep an eye on your Dad, will you? Make sure he gets his case done.” He crouched in front of me and turned my face to his so I had to look at him.

  “Jackie, this is very serious. If Bob doesn’t get out now he could find himself in a Spanish jail for a very long time, do you understand?”

  I didn’t as I was only half-hearing him. There was a high-pitched ring in my ears and I could feel my heart thumping in my neck and a tight vice gripped my head, making me feel heavy and giddy. I felt definitely faint and must have looked on the verge of fainting as Richard shook my shoulders and put his face closely up to mine.

  “He’s in deep shit, Jackie, and he has to go! Now, go downstairs and we’ll be there in a minute, alright? Just please, please, please let us get out of here!”

  I sat in a heap just outside the bathroom door, and watched as Bob shuffled like an old man towards the bedroom. He didn’t look at me, didn’t even acknowledge my existence. I felt an arm under my elbow and it gently tried to tug me to my feet. It wasn’t easy because of my weight, and my legs were not helping me much.

  “Mum, you can’t just like sort of sit there, Get up, come on.”

  My legs finally gave me some support and Mark got me up and walked me slowly down the stairs into the living room. We both dropped onto the sofa with a grunt, and he sat there with his arm about my shoulder. We didn’t speak; we just sat and listened to the muffled voice of Richard apparently giving Bob instructions and the dull thumps of drawers and doors being opened and closed. I was glad Mark wasn’t asking questions, because I had no answers. The thumping in my neck and the ringing in my ears finally subsided, and the vice gradually released my head and the giddiness disappeared. I leaned against Mark, feeling a little comfort from his gentle if awkward embrace, and we waited in silence until the two men came down the stairs and into the living room.

  Bob stood staring at Mark and me, bleary-eyed with his lips trembling in an effort to articulate a farewell or, I hoped, an explanation, I didn’t know which, but I was desperate to hear his voice before he left, desperat
e for him to acknowledge his wife before he walked out of our lives for goodness knows how long. My eyes stung with the effort not to blink and miss a nano-second of his image.

  Bob’s eyes watered, and finally he said, “I’m so sorry.” Before he choked on his words. Richard tucked a hand under his arm and pulled him towards the front door.

  Mark and I followed and stood in the doorway, gradually being turned into ice statues by the freezing night air, and we wrapped our arms around each other as Richard drove away a half of our lives. We stood shivering until the taillights had disappeared around the corner and the steam from the exhaust had dispersed, then we reluctantly closed the door. I think we were both waiting for them to drive back, jump out the car and shout ‘Fooled you!’, but it didn’t happen. They didn’t, and as I stood there freezing, my emotions froze along with my body. I felt drained and exhausted, both mentally and physically, and totally impotent. I didn’t know whether to feel confident in Bob’s decision and trust he knew what he was doing, or to hate his guts for deserting us, perhaps resignation or anger or desperate sorrow or murderous intentions towards him… I couldn’t decide right then.

  “Mum, do you like sort of know what’s going on?”

  I shuffled towards the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and see if there