Dating Down Page 10

  Gary

  You have no idea how hard it was to walk away when the only thing I need to put me right again is her. But if she fucks me up like this after a few hours, what would I be like after a couple of days? a week? a month?

  Thing is, telling myself I’m doing the right thing doesn’t stop me feeling like crap, so I go and buy myself a bottle of vodka. I can’t face being sober, and hoping this is the stuff that will stop me thinking about her, I take a swig and nearly vomit it straight back up.

  Why did I let her get to me? She’s pretty, yes, but so what? I’m not some sad act who has trouble getting girls, and what’s more, I usually get a shag at the end of the night. With Tammy there was no shag, no nothing, just grief from the moment I met her. I take another swig and shudder, retching as I struggle to neck the rest of the vodka down.

  She used me. She paraded me around like a fool, and when I needed her, she chose to save her own sorry arse. God, I’m a fucking idiot.

  I drink some more and shudder as the vodka travels down to my convulsing stomach. It tastes like acid, and so does my throat as I swallow regurgitated alcohol. I hate her. I hate the way she makes me feel, and I hate myself for being so weak. I opened up to her, and now everything is coming back to haunt me. My gran, Grace, my father, even my mum, and I haven’t thought about that bitch in years, but she left scars. And the ones left by Tammy are so deep the bloody vodka isn’t numbing them.

  “What are you looking at?” I snarl as some old cow with a dog tucked under her arm glares at me, heaving over the bin.

  Of course she doesn’t say anything, just goes scurrying off, probably to go and moan at her husband about all the scum like me taking over the world.

  My mobile rings, and I flip it open. It’s Tammy. I don’t even think about answering it, but I want to hurt her, so I yell “PISS OFF!” into the speaker, even though she can’t hear it.

  It rings again. This time I answer it. “FUCK OFF!”

  Why won’t she leave me alone? Hasn’t she done enough to me already? And why did I have to be such a prick and tell her all that stuff about Grace? I’ve never told anyone that stuff before. I can just see it now, Tammy and her snobby friends sipping champers and having a good laugh about how I cried my eyes out because Grace told me to get lost on her deathbed. I’m pathetic.

  I drain the bottle and wait for the convulsions to pass and the alcohol to kick in, but even though my body is drenched in sweat and I feel lightheaded, inside where I need it, I’m stone cold sober.

  It isn’t fair. I’m not a bad bloke. Okay, I’ve got into a few more fights of late, but I never went out of my way to make someone’s life hell. I’ve always looked after my own, even my dad. Every time that bastard knocked me about, I’d lie to Social Services to save his bacon because he was my dad, and because I believed the drunken bastard when he told me he was sorry and it wouldn’t happen again.

  My mobile rings. “TAMMY, JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

  “Gary?”

  It isn’t Tammy. “Bill?”

  “Who’s Tammy?” he asks, sounding really pissed off.

  “None of your fucking business!” I’m in no mood for a lecture from Bill. I’m still mad as hell at him for saying I’m like my dad.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No!” I say, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand. “What do you want?”

  “Can you also bring down my coaching principles book – it should be on my desk.”

  “What?”

  “Bring the BIG ORANGE BOOK WITH A FOOTBALL ON THE COVER with the rest of the stuff,” he says speaking in block capitals. “You hadn’t forgotten, had you?”

  I look down at my watch, squint to bring the numbers into focus, and groan. I completely forgot I had to be down the hospital.

  “Gary?”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll be there.” Shit. I can’t take much more.

  * * *

  I get to the hospital with ten minutes to spare, with a clean (well, cleanish) t-shirt for Bill, his razor, Jack’s Star Wars pyjamas, Jack’s slippers, his red or was it his green spaceship (I take both just in case), Bill’s sports book (which is red and wasn’t on his desk), and everything else on Bill’s texts and voice mails.

  “Jesus, Gary.” Not looking a whole lot better than I do, Bill drags himself out of the armchair by Jack’s bed. “Couldn’t you have kept out of trouble for one night?”

  “Don’t you start!” I dump the bags at his feet and go and see Jack, who still looks pretty crappy but a million times better than he did when I rushed him into casualty unconscious. “Sorry,” I apologise, trying not to look at the drip. “You and I friends again?”

  Jack nods. The nurse told me he wouldn’t be up to talking much, but not to worry because he’s making really good progress. That’s easy for her to say. She isn’t the one who put him in here.

  “Who punched you?” he asks.

  I touch my eye and wince. “Some blokes were giving this girl some grief.”

  “And you beat them up?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, not wanting to talk about it in case I lose it again. “Want to do some drawing?”

  Jack shakes his head.

  “Sorry, mate. I’ll make it up to you when you get out.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I say.

  “Can I have your Star Wars poster?”

  It’s an original from the seventies. My gran pinched it from the cinema where she worked, and it’s probably the only thing I’ve got worth anything, but I’m happy to give it to Jack just so we can be mates again. “Yeah. I promised you, didn’t I?”

  “Thanks, Gary,” he says, grinning up at me.

  Remembering he’s in this mess because of me makes me want to puke, even with half a bottle of vodka in me. “Want me to draw something for you?”

  He nods.

  I get out the pad and four felt-tip pens I got him in the corner shop. “What do you want?”

  “Dog that smiles.”

  I start to draw a cartoon dog with a big tongue and dopey-looking eyes. “Like this?”

  Jack nods. “Can you teach me to draw like you?”

  “I’ll teach you to draw better than me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “I hate to break things up,” Bill interrupts, still scraping blond stubble from his chin with his razor. “But you do know Social Services will be here any minute. What the bloody hell are they going to say when they see you?”

  “It’s none of their business.”

  “Yes it is,” Bill snarls. “Jack’s here ’cos of you!”

  His words punch through me, and I mess up Jack’s dog. I try to draw another dog, but my fingers won’t stop shaking from the rage burning through me.

  “You could have stayed in and tidied the place,” Bill tells me. “You know the Social will be sniffing around. But oh no – you have to go out on the piss and throw your weight around to impress some slag!”

  “Tammy isn’t a slag!” He’s my best mate, but I’d smack him in the mouth for calling her that.

  Bill stops shaving and just stares at me like I’m an alien. “What’s got into you?”

  “She isn’t a slag,” I tell him, hurting everywhere ’cos I can’t punch the anger away.

  “How much have you had?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  He powers off his razor and steps forward. “Were you pissed when you were supposed to be looking after Jack?”

  “No!”

  “You bloody were, weren’t you?”

  And that’s when Maureen, our social worker, walks in, with me and Bill squaring up for a fight.

  Bill, he’s trembling as he approaches Maureen. Don’t know why. She’s harmless enough, clueless like the rest of them down at Social Services, but she’s no battle-axe, more of a sparrow with her brown hair, brown suit, and brown handbag, and always in some flap about one thing or another. Only to look at Bill, you’d think she was goi
ng to cut his nuts off.

  “What are you two arguing about this time?” she demands, switching her gaze between us.

  Bill does what he always does when he doesn’t know what to say to Maureen: puts his hands in his pockets, looks at his feet, and shrugs. Me, I just stand there and wait for the lecture.

  “Been fighting again, I see, Gary,” she says, turning to me. “What was it this time? Didn’t like the way someone was looking at you?”

  I don’t answer her. Even if I told her the truth, she’d manage to twist things around so I’d be the bad guy – just like that bloody lawyer of Tammy’s.

  “And what about you, Bill? Have you been going to those parenting classes?”

  Bill nods and shuffles his feet some more. The parenting classes are crap. Bill only goes to them for the freebies.

  “Bill doesn’t need lessons.” If Bill isn’t going to do anything, then I guess it’s up to me. “Now why don’t you get off our backs and go and help someone who actually needs it?”

  Bill glares at me to keep my mouth shut, but I know far better than him how to deal with Maureen and her type.

  “Jack could have died,” she tells me. “So I think that qualifies me to ask a few questions.”

  “Jack’s fine!” I correct her. “I’m sure you’ve already had the bloody doctors check that we haven’t starved or knocked him about!”

  “Gary!” Bill looks even more panic-stricken.

  “Well, it makes me sick.” I say. “They stick their noses in where it’s not wanted and the real people who need them...” I have to stop there, stop before I let my past take control again.

  “Gary, I know the system let you down.” Taking a step towards me, she tries to make out like she’s my friend. “But I’m not the social worker who neglected you, and I’d be as negligent as she was if I didn’t do a thorough investigation.”

  “Bill’s a good parent!” What is it with these people trying to remind me how bloody awful my life is?

  “I’m not saying he isn’t, Gary, but the fact remains Jack almost died, and you and Bill can’t afford to screw up – not even once!”

  I risk a quick glance at Bill and know in an instant he isn’t going to be any help.

  “I went out on a limb so you two could keep Jack,” Maureen says, going into full lecture mode. “I really thought you could make a go of it after you did such a good job looking after Grace, but I think the time has come to consider your aunt’s offer.”

  “We’re not going to send Jack to live with Aunt Viv,” I say. “None of this is Bill’s fault. I wasn’t gone long –”

  “You left him?”

  Bill, he’s just holding his head and moaning. I’m not sure what we were supposed to say, but I guess it wasn’t that. “I had to go down the corner shop, all right?”

  “You’re very agitated,” she says. “Have you been drinking?”

  I open my mouth to tell her to stay out of it, but Bill’s suddenly found his spine.

  “Gary, shut up. You’re making things worse.”

  I don’t believe him. “How am I making things worse?”

  “Gary, not now!”

  “Yes now! I do bloody everything for you, and all you can do is have a go at me because I’ve had a couple of drinks!”

  He tries to grab hold of my arm, but I shake him off.

  “Gary, just go! You’ll hate yourself when you sober up.”

  “I ALREADY HATE MYSELF!”

  “Will you both go!” says Maureen, flapping between us. “Or have you both forgotten why I’m here?”

  We both turn towards the bed. Jack is in tears, hiding his face in the pillow. Bill goes to him while I take a step back both physically and mentally. I wasn’t much older than Jack when my dad put me in hospital the first time. He told the social worker I fell down the stairs. He left out the part that it was his punch that sent me flying. Now I’m the one doing the damage and making up stories to the Social. Bill’s right. I’m just like him.

  Monday

  Tammy

  I’m grounded, as if I care about going out when my heart is breaking. I try texting Gary again, but he doesn’t reply. I try to escape what I’ve done by going to bed, but Carrie and the others keep texting, trying to find out if I’m all right and what happened down the police station. Even if I wanted to talk to them, I can’t. The tears, the pain, are just too overwhelming.

  Tuesday

  Tammy

  Gary still hasn’t replied to any of my texts, and it’s just hit me that I’m never going to see him again, never hear him speak my name, feel his strong arms around me, the soft, gentle caress of his tender kisses, and never again see his chocolate-brown eyes that look at me like I’m the most beautiful girl in all the world.

  The pain inside my heart intensifies. Ignoring all the texts and messages from Carrie, Rachael, and the others, I roll over and cry an eternity of tears into my pillow.

  Wednesday

  Tammy

  Still no word from Gary, and I’m dying inside. I sleep hugging my phone just in case he’s forgiven me, but he never calls. He must hate me, hate me almost as much as I hate myself.

  Sometime that evening, Carrie calls for the hundredth time, and this time I speak to her, although I can’t remember what she says because my world is still crumbling around me and I want to die.

  Thursday

  Tammy

  I’ve got nothing to remind me of him, nothing, not a voice message, not even a photo. Terrified I’m going to forget him, I try calling again. I would have given anything to hear his voice, even if he only yelled at me to piss off, but all I got was the automated voice saying, “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable right now. Press four to leave a message.” I left a message. Then I left another ten messages.

  Friday

  Tammy

  I get up and check my mobile. There are fifty-seven unread texts, all from Carrie and the others. Not a single one from Gary. Grabbing the box of chocolates I hid beneath my bed, I start to devour them while I wait for my laptop to boot up. Each one makes me feel sick, but I continue to gorge on them. I really don’t know why I keep doing this to myself, but it was all so much easier when I was fat.

  Saturday

  Tammy

  Crawling from my bed, I turn my iPad on and blink as the glare from the screen stings my bloodshot eyes. It is eleven thirty in the morning or eleven thirty at night. I can’t tell and I don’t care.

  Tossing the latest Trudy Kensington novel on the carpet, I check to see if Gary has texted me. He hasn’t, but I’ve got even more unread texts from Rachael, because after she invited me into her inner circle, I’m suddenly popular – popular and more miserable than I have ever been in my entire life. I accept invites from half of Westmore College who now want to be my friend on a dozen different sites, and then I return to my bed and my novel.

  In every story, Trudy makes a mistake, usually by going out with Lewis Redman, and Ralph always forgives her, and Lewis Redman ends up humiliated. But real life isn’t as simple. It’s a hundred times more complicated and crueller. Because Gary isn’t just going to forgive me.

  I’m not going to get him back by sitting around in my room and crying. I’ve got to fight for him. I’ve got to win him back.

  Later that night, I talk to Carrie. She’s at some party and wants me to come. I should be ecstatic. This was, after all, the only reason I wanted a stupid boyfriend: so they’d want to know me. I tell Carrie I’ll see her when I’m not grounded and go back to bed.

  Monday

  Tammy

  I’m devouring chocolate ice cream in my pyjamas when Carrie turns up after an afternoon shopping with Rachael. It’s been almost three years since we used to sit in my bedroom doing each other’s hair and experimenting with makeup whilst we watched some chick flick and drooled over which Hollywood actor we hoped to marry. Yet it seems like only yesterday as Carrie joins me on the sofa.

  “You should have come out shopping with us.�
�� Leaning over, she helps herself to a spoonful of chocolate-and-hazelnut swirl. “I got this really cute Chanel black cocktail dress. Want to take a look?”

  I try to smile, but I can’t. I just want to die.

  “So what happened?” she asks, taking the dress out of the box and holding it up against herself.

  “What do you think happened?” I sigh, forcing more ice cream down my throat. “He dumped me.”

  “Why?”

  I’ve already lost Gary. If I tell her the truth, the girls won’t want to know me again, and being popular is all I’ve got left. “He kind of blamed me for what happened.”

  “That’s stupid!” Carrie cries, tucking her blond hair behind her ear. “Why was any of it your fault?”

  I shrug and finish off the ice cream, squirming in the lies that have ruined my life. “I just want him back.”

  “I know.” She gives me a hug. “I really thought you two had something special going on.”

  “We did.” I wipe more tears from my eyes, which are permanently red, and hug the cushion to try and comfort my aching heart. “Now he just hates me.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t,” Carrie assures me. “He’s probably just embarrassed about getting arrested and doesn’t think you’ll want to see him anymore.”

  “You weren’t there,” I wail, wishing so much I could reverse time so I could go back and tell the police the truth. “He hates me!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Course I’m sure.” The tears won’t stop as I’m tortured again and again by the memories of how much I hurt him. “I just wish I knew if he was all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “He was really upset.” My body is shaking from the strain of all the crying.

  “About getting arrested?”

  “No.” And I don’t know why, but I end up telling her about Gary leaving his friend’s brother when he was sick and how some girl he loved was cheating on him with this best friend. I don’t know why I tell Carrie everything, but once I start talking, I can’t stop.