Page 33 of Love Unlocked

‘I wanted to talk to them about our options.’

He hears a key in the front door. He unlocks the back door and gently closes it behind him, ducking down low so that he’s hiding beneath the kitchen window that looks out to the tiny courtyard area. He hears her footsteps in the house. He quietly tries to lock the back door which has the same key as the front. He hears her footsteps through the phone and through the wall of the house, she’s making her way to the kitchen. She’s wearing boots, not trainers. She wasn’t at the gym. Boots for the meeting with the bank.

‘Al, are you there?’

‘Yes,’ he says quietly from the courtyard, hoping she won’t hear him.

‘I know this is hard,’ she says, gentle again. ‘This is not what either of us planned. I wanted to get married. I wanted a marriage that would last forever.’

Not a marriage with you, Al. A marriage. That’s what he wanted too, but he wanted it with her. He sits on the ground, slumped beneath the kitchen window, hoping she doesn’t decide to come outside, or put the bins out. Could be something she’d do while on the phone with him. Al and junk, they go hand in hand. He’s not secure in this position. He hears her steps on the stairs and knows it’s safe to move. He can’t go back through the house, so he ducks down through the courtyard, climbs on the outdoor couch that’s covered up for winter, and over the wall to Clink’s cat-piss-stinking courtyard. It’s more like a prison yard. As he lands gently and hides behind a coal bunker half the cats scatter, the other half look at him as if they want to start a gangland fight. He expects one of them to produce a blade, or a very sharp claw.

He’s out of view of their bedroom window which faces the front, Walter’s room faces the back, but he supposes that’s not Walter’s room anymore. Will they have children? Will they fill the spare room with their own child? A cot and soft toys, a rocking chair to sit in with the baby on their chests.

‘Al?’ she asks again.

‘Yeah. I’m here.’

‘What we can do is a “buy-out”. I can buy out your share in the house so that I become the sole owner.’

He doesn’t know how she can afford to do that. He doesn’t want to spend another few weeks wondering. He has her now. ‘How can you do that?’

She sighs. She wants to hold all the cards, do all the talking, the decision-making, but answer none of the questions that come with that. Maybe her parents will help. Her dad was going to contribute to the wedding, maybe he can put that towards her house instead. Then Walter can get a good old-fashioned dowry. Unless Walter is contributing towards it, which will make Al’s house Walter’s house, just as he has made Al’s locker his locker and Al’s fiancée his girlfriend. The rage, the pain, the ache.

‘We don’t need to involve solicitors, Al, neither of us want this to get nasty. I don’t want anything from you and I’m sure you don’t want anything from me. At least one good thing is that there are no kids involved.’

His eyes immediately fill with tears and he can’t speak. He blocks his mouth with his hand. He wants to trap the sob that threatens to come out. It’s an instant punch to his gut.

No kids? There were so many kids. So many imagined kids, who he’s had to say goodbye to, grieving them one by one as if they’ve all passed away. Little noses, and little toes, little fingers and warm-bodied hugs. Kids who look like her, babies who look like him.

‘We need approval from the bank. I have the paperwork. I can get Walter to give them to you at—’

‘Do not give him anything for me.’

‘Of course. No. But I don’t know where you live.’

‘Send them to my office.’ He doesn’t plan to be in the apartment for much longer. He can’t stand the place. It holds memories and the energy of absolute despair. It was a last-minute arrangement on Airbnb that was never intended to be his permanent home. He really thought he’d be coming back here. How has she moved on so fast? Why is he always behind?

‘I know you’re angry with him,’ she says.

‘Don’t, Tara,’ he warns. If she dares defend him.

‘I have to say it. He’s your best friend. He loves you. I know you love him. He was there before me. Be angry with me, I understand, but not with him. You’re his best friend and he needs you. Whatever you think about me, that’s okay. But don’t blame him.’

That’s okay? She doesn’t care what he thinks of her? He is so low in her estimation that she doesn’t care? You’re my fiancée, he wants to scream.

‘Don’t sever your relationship with him.’

He can’t help but laugh in surprise, at how earnest she is. How deeply serious she is. She believes this shit. She adores Walter so much she will stand in the line of fire to protect him. Don’t hate him, hate me. It doesn’t have to be one or the other for Al.

‘I’ll sign whatever paperwork you want, Tara,’ he says evenly, calmly, ‘but you two have a very fucked-up version of reality if you think I could ever forgive either of you for what you’ve done. You may think you’re living out a great dramatic love story right now, but good luck with the fallout. Good luck telling your parents, your sisters, your brother, all our friends in Moate. Good luck trying to sell them the same bullshit you’ve been trying to sell me. The two of you have made your beds now and I hope you two stew in the cesspool of shit you’ve crawled into because karma is a bitch.’

He ends the call and looks up at the house wondering if he has made any impact at all. She’s probably relieved to have reached the end of it. He has a little cry, then gathers himself. Then he wipes himself down of cobwebs and soot and knocks on Clink’s back window. Clink opens the back door, confused.

‘Sorry, do you mind if I leave through your front door?’

‘Okay.’

Clink doesn’t ask why, he doesn’t look one bit surprised. He’s the man who sits on the bench every day watching the world and seeing it better than anyone else. He lets Al in.