Sophie's Throughway Page 7

  COLIN FRAY: Monday, Soph, Monday would be good. :D

  Before I put down my phone I remembered ‘The Voice.’ I clicked on my game. I tried to play a remarkable word but couldn’t seem to find one. I settled with AE on the side of something else. It was lame but it rid me of the irritable vowel syndrome.

  SOPHISTICATION: So why are you called The Voice? What are you, a singer or something? A singing monkey perhaps?

  I looked over at Karl who seemed to be in a world of his own, watching TV in a spaced out kind of way. I felt suddenly weary.

  “Are you tired?” I asked.

  “Very,” he replied, laughing a little after he said it.

  “What’s so funny now?!” God, I’d never seen him laugh so much.

  “We’ve been drugged by our son, and whilst I want to go crazy at him, I’ve actually been the most happy and relaxed than I have in a long time.” He locked his eyes with mine and kept my gaze. I didn’t like it and broke away. Way too uncomfortable. “It reminds me of the days when we used to have fun, when life was easy. Remember those days Soph?”

  “Not nearly enough,” I sighed. “They’ve been sullied by hardship and sadness.”

  “Look, let’s go to bed,” he suggested.

  I looked at him blankly. Did he mean he was going to my bed? Wasn’t he going to stay here on the sofa?

  “Let me just sleep next to you. I want nothing else.” He looked sincere and honest. “I just miss lying next to you and sleeping. Having someone warm nearby. Having you nearby.” His eyes looked remarkably glossy but maybe I just wanted to see that. Besides, his face had been leaking all night long.

  I sat in bed cloaked in my fluffy white dressing gown and propped up with pillows. I was scrolling through the e mails on my phone and though I was tired my mind was on fire. I also felt wildly uncomfortable about Karl sleeping in my bed. Our bed. Weird.

  He came out of the en -suite dressed only in his Calvin Klein boxer shorts. I burst out laughing and looked away.

  “What?” he smirked. “Have you forgotten what a fine looking specimen I am?”

  “You’re an arrogant wanker.” I smiled. “This whole situation is insane. This whole night is insane.” I mulled it over in my busy head.

  He pulled back the sheets and got into the side of the bed where he once used to sleep like it was the most normal thing in the world. I moved my legs further to my side as he got in and felt myself stiffen.

  “Ah, I love this bed.”

  I looked down at him as he grabbed his pillow and snuggled into it like a child. He glanced up at me, with a soft, dreamy expression. “Come and give me a cuddle, Soph.”

  I felt the familiar lurch in my stomach. A mixture of pain, longing and fear. It would be easy to fall into his arms and yield to the warmth and protection but it would be a short lived joy that would only serve to open up old wounds when the morning light fell on my face.

  “In a bit..” I stalled. “I still have to change the world.” I smiled and rubbed his hand under the sheets.

  “You change everybody’s world Sophie.” He held onto my hand under the covers as he shut his eyes. “Don’t be long,” he whispered.

  Please just go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep. I said the mantra over in my mind so I wouldn’t succumb to him or to my own needs that were beginning to break through my protective wall. I sat very still, holding onto his hand and watched him for several minutes as he drifted into dreamland.

  I looked around the room and at the pretty Cath Kidston wallpaper that adorned the walls. It looked particularly shabby-chic in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Faded flowers in pale, washed out blue. Shabby chic could pretty much sum me up of late, I thought wryly. I slipped my hand slowly out of Karl’s. He was oblivious to the change and remained deeply unconscious. I still felt peculiar and wasn’t sure if that was still the effect of the brownie or the surreal situation I was currently experiencing. I took my attention back to my phone and clicked on my word game. The Voice had played and my mood lifted a little.

  THE VOICE: No I’m not a singing monkey. Sorry to disappoint.

  I played my turn as I wondered why he had called himself ‘The Voice.’ User names tended to have some sort of relevance or aspiration attached to them.

  SOPHISTICATION: OK. So are you a narrator? A politician? A pundit? A voice over person? Or maybe you just like the sound of your own voice…is that it?

  I waited for a reply. It was clearly wakey, wakey time in his part of the world. I must find out where that is, I thought. The little green bubble appeared along with his played word. It wasn’t a great play and our scores were only a few points apart.

  THE VOICE: No. I’m none of those things. Though I’m marveling at your sudden interest in me and the fact you are partaking in the art of conversation.

  SOPHISTICATION: Don’t marvel too much. I’m just interested in people on the whole.

  But ‘The Voice’ was piquing my interest. I didn’t know why and tried to analyse it. He was quite rude, well, maybe short and quippy rather than really rude. Besides, that didn’t bother me. I lived in England where sarcasm and smart arses were usually the order of the day. He had certainly got under my skin in the first place which was always a sure fire way to get a reaction from me but it wasn’t just that. Competitive, yes, he played the game well; intelligent and droll from what I could surmise at this early stage from his text and delivery. Challenging: almost certainly. These were attributes that I tended to like in a person.

  THE VOICE: Oh and I thought it was just me. I’m almost hurt.

  Hmm. I thought as I read his text. You are very droll indeed.

  SOPHISTICATION: Almost? I must try a little harder in future.

  The game was getting near to ending and I wondered if he’d just disappear back into the ether or we’d move on to round two.

  THE VOICE: I work in the entertainment sector but I am nothing as glamorous as you imagine. What do you do? Something sophisticated?

  I hated it when conversations took an about turn to focus on me. I didn’t like talking about myself and my life. It seemed like an invasion of my privacy yet I was more than happy to do that to others. I always felt like I was expected to live up to something fabulous as my true reality would spark very little interest. I played my word and took the lead.

  SOPHISTICATION: I write banal slot fillers for magazines.

  That’ll do, I thought.

  THE VOICE: WOW. You sound like you really love your job.

  SOPHISTICATION: I do like it, but on the whole that’s what I do. Where do you come from Mr. Voice, another planet?

  Maybe he’ll leave ‘the all about me’ part alone now and I could direct the conversation back to him.

  THE VOICE: I’d like to see some of your writing, if I may

  Oh for the love of God. Really? Why? I wondered.

  SOPHISTICATION: I really don’t think you’d be interested it.

  There. That should end that.

  THE VOICE: How do you know whether I’d be interested in it or not? If I wasn’t interested I wouldn’t have asked.

  SOPHISTICATION: Well, you really don’t strike me as the sort of guy who’d rush home, kick off his shoes, lay on the sofa with a nice cappuccino as you hasten to read an article about the upcoming interior trends.

  Only seven letters were left on my tile rack.

  THE VOICE: I want to see your writing ‘style’.

  Style. Hmmm. Usually oppressed and lacking any spice or eloquence when you had to cram as much info about furniture and trend into a 300 word article. Still, he wasn’t letting up so I sent a couple of links to the online magazines.

  THE VOICE: Thank you. And I live in another planet called California.

  Oh, it was like that was it? A quid pro quo.

  So the voice was in Californ-I-A. That would explain the time difference. I tried to remember from my previous trips to San Fran and L.A – about 8 hours behind. Gorgeous, sunny days, palm trees and wide boulevards. He lived
in the land of the beautiful where ‘teeth, tits and toes’ took priority. Well, not all of California, but that had been my initial reaction to LA LA land. I often wondered if one day ALL the women over there would carve, starve and Botox themselves into Stepford perfection; becoming similarly beautiful and yet so vacuous. And when that day came, the everyday, flawed and natural women from the other lands would dominate as the new beauties of the world as they stood uniquely next to the moulded.

  SOPHISTICATION: Very nice. I’m jealous. Mostly of your sunshine and American bacon.

  I finished my play and won by 11 points. I couldn’t be certain but I was almost sure he’d allowed that to happen. The chat line remained open.

  THE VOICE: Rematch, or does amusing and rare = one game stand?

  I couldn’t help but smile at his banter.

  SOPHISTICATION: Of course. You may start one but I will resume ‘rare and amusing’ play tomorrow as I’m going to sleep, if that suits you?

  THE VOICE: Tomorrow is fine. Going to bed means you live in Europe? England? France? Poland? Some island somewhere?

  SOPHISTICATION: A remote island full of amusing monkeys. England.

  THE VOICE: You have an isle of dogs, why not isle of monkeys. Sleep well English person.

  Well he’s either visited the East end of London or he’s well read, I thought to myself. I scrolled back through our chat looking for meanings, and subtle shades; trying to build the character from across the pond in my mind and understand why I felt a connection with him.

  I turned off my phone and let out a deep sigh. What a crazy world I lived in. I looked down at Karl who hadn’t even moved and was sleeping soundly in another place. Just where I longed to be. I turned off the light and snuggled down into the bed so I too, could appreciate the nuance of an alternate reality like the deep sleeper beside me.

  Chapter 12

  I opened my eyes as the morning light flitted across my face from a gap in between the curtains. I felt Karl’s arm draped heavy and warm across my waist. For a second my life felt safe and normal until the sudden wave of reality hit me like a sharp slap and caused me to physically gasp. I moved Karl’s arm and jumped out of bed. I felt weak and uneasy and still in need of another eight hours.

  “Jesus,” I said out loud to myself. This is one screwed up family, I thought. Karl murmured and raised himself up on his elbow rubbing his forehead. He looked over at me and shook his head. Seemingly, the new dawn was hitting him in the same way.

  “Oh fuck!” he suddenly exclaimed, sitting up with speed and looking for his phone at the side of the bed, “What time is it?”

  I glanced down at my watch, “Eleven minutes past eight.”

  “Shit! I’m supposed to be in Brighton before 11.” He started scrambling on the floor looking for last night’s discarded clothes.

  “Brighton? What for?” That was a good hour away from Karl’s work and where he had a flat but he was at least two hours away from Brighton here. And that was even if he drove at his speed.

  “I’ve promised to help Sarah with her house hunting. She wants a place down there,” he continued, bending over and pulling on his socks.

  Sarah. Well what a surprise. Not.

  Sarah was one of Karl’s reps and though only twenty five years old and fourteen years his junior, she fawned over him like he was a potential sugar Daddy. On the few occasions I’d met her at Karl’s Christmas work do’s she had been barely able to even acknowledge me, which I found somewhat amusing. Everyone else at his company was a great crack and I’d usually end up in drunken debates with the European director and Jose, Karl’s Spanish boss, until the early hours of the morning. The only time Sarah had paid me any attention was when she sat in the background intensely staring at me. Whilst she wasn’t the prettiest of girls she had good body and made everyone fully aware of her passionate hobby of pole dancing and that her Facebook pictures were publicly available to anyone interested. That alone set her apart from her peers. Let’s be honest, what red blooded male wouldn’t while his days away wondering on the advantages of a girl who could remain upside down whilst doing the splits.

  “Oh, the pole dancer. Why are you helping her?” I asked sarcastically, knowing this was a road I didn’t really want to go down but being unable to help it anyway.

  “She asked. I’m just being nice. And she’s one of my reps, not just a pole dancer.” He looked up at me as if to make that point clearer somehow.

  Of course he was being nice. That’s what he did. What he’d always done. Mr. Saviour of all young and impressionable damsels. Nice and accommodating to everyone else.

  “Is she sliding down the pole of your depravity?” I asked. I knew I was being a bitch but I couldn’t help it. The near intimacy he’d dared to show me last night and now he was off on a junket with some exotic dancer. It pissed me off and made me feel stupid for even letting him sleep next to me.

  “Really? Come on Soph, grow up.”

  I felt a sudden urge to smack him round the head. Lying sack of shit. It really wasn’t any of my business but I resented the fact that he could go out and play whilst I was expected to deal with all the family stress every day. And I almost believed he missed me last night. I’m such an idiot.

  Rather than carry on what would evolve into a futile argument, I removed myself from the room and went downstairs to get breakfast. The remains of last night’s cake from hell lay over the kitchen counter which reminded me I’d got that to deal with too. I felt totally fed up and on the verge of becoming utterly atrocious. I knew I was going to have one of those days where I hated everything and everyone. The stall had been set and I could feel the vile darkness filling me up. Even if Santa Claus were to turn up in his red suit saying, “Hey, I’m for real!” I would probably tell him to fuck off.

  I made a drink of tea and one for Karl despite not wanting to. He’d only find another reason to find me churlish if I didn’t. I took mine into the living room and sat down. That’s when I saw my beautiful red note book used and abused by my stupid ideas. I picked it up and read my notes. Though it was kind of ridiculous it was a fun idea. Then I recalled texting Colin and Johnno. I remembered telling my boss that he could get a blow job for a fiver. I groaned and put my head in my tea free hand.

  Karl came into the room in his suit and looking so not Saturday morning. “Have you seen my car keys?”

  “No. I’ve made you a drink. It’s in the kitchen.”

  He went back through and I heard the jingle of his keys as he located them. He came back into the lounge. “Look, you need to have a serious word with Brendon about last night. I’m not going all out to support him at governors meetings if he’s going to become a pot head. He needs a major attitude change all round.”

  “You think?” I retorted. “How about YOU have a word with him for a change instead of giving me a hard time about it and expecting me to deal with every.single.thing.” I flicked my thumb through the corner pages of my newly abused notebook to try and distract myself from the rage building within.

  “I don’t have the time now, obviously. You do.” He pulled his overcoat up from the back of the sofa where he’d left it last night and shrugged it on.

  Yes Karl, I thought. I’ve got fuck all else to do. I hated him right now.

  “Well so long as you’ve got your priorities straight.” I gave my final dig.

  “I’ll talk to you another time,” he replied flatly and walked out the front door. I heard his car rev up and drive away and I felt sick.

  I sat with my tea and thought about my life: An ex husband who came and went as he pleased, solely fixed to his own agenda. A son I couldn’t control, whom I had to battle with continually; a daughter who I had to ensure got tons of attention so she didn’t feel left out. A job I was trying to hold down along with my ‘flexible’ hours so I could appease the school when Lord know-it-all, went off on one. A rambling house in need of constant upkeep; a garden full of ever growing plants; laundry, cleaning and cooking and not nearly
enough money. Where was all this mentioned in the fairytales? I reckon Grimm wasn’t even up to this nightmare. I was on stress out overload and I felt weak, lifeless and well ensconced on the wagon of self pity.

  I lifted myself from the settee and stretched my whole body as high as I could. I’d read somewhere that if you fully stretched yourself out in the morning you’d get fifteen percent more energy. I had to get up and get on with it and ‘carry-on-regardless’ in true British style. I went around the house collecting pots and plates since nobody else understood how to do this. I looked at the remaining hash brownies and was stuck with a dilemma: Should I eat another and go back to the music of my mind, wrap them up and save them or chuck them away? I covered them with tin foil and hid them until I could decide. I spent the next few hours, cleaning, washing and scrubbing the house which in turn had the same affect on my mind; like clutter clearing of the soul.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket.

  BRYONY: Can you fetch me from Beth’s in five minutes?

  Ah. The taxi call. Another job to add to my curriculum vitae.

  SOPHIE RHODES: Yes – be ready, I’m busy. X

  I got in my car and drove through the family estates to fetch Bryony. She got in with a cheery smile. We had a chat about her night and then I went straight in for the kill to catch her off guard.

  “How long have you known about Brendon doing weed?” I spotted her hesitation in a second.

  “What?” she stumbled. “Is he?”

  “Bryony. I know you know so let’s cut the crap and start talking.”

  “Promise you won’t tell him?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Well, he used to hate it and call everyone that did it wasters. But then when he went to that party at Joe’s house he tried some. He told me about it the next day and said it really made him feel good. I don’t think he has it very often, just now and then..” She looked at me with wide eyes.