Page 84 of Loving Netta Wilde

He shook his head. ‘Too ashamed.’

Geraldine leaned forward and took his hand. ‘I know that feeling, Colin. But that particular shame isn’t yours to carry.’

‘Meaning there are other shames that are?’

‘You tell me.’

‘I…’ The words wouldn’t come out. He wanted to cry now, but he couldn’t do it in front of Geraldine.

‘Shall I get you some more soup, love?’

‘Please.’ His lips trembled and the tears had come before she’d closed the door behind her.

47

A ROBBERY OF SORTS

It was Sunday. Colin knew that because earlier, he’d heard the dogs going mad in the garden. That meant Netta’s family and friends had come for their Sunday morning dog walk. Geraldine had stayed behind for another of their talks after which she’d brought him a sausage sandwich and a pen and notepad.

He ate the last bit of crust from the sandwich and licked the plate, his tongue greedily lapping up the fat juices and brown sauce that had oozed out of the soft, fluffy bread. The little dog, Maud was on the bed next to him. She did not look impressed by his antics. Perhaps she’d been hoping to do the same herself.

Colin lay back and shut his eyes, savouring the taste and reliving the last few moments of porky goodness. It was like he’d been given the keys to a sumptuous banquet after being fed nothing but grit all his life. Every time he ate one of Geraldine’s offerings, it was as if he was tasting real food for the first time. Each meal was a voyage of delightful discovery.

Unfortunately, there was no such thing as a free lunch. Or breakfast, or dinner for that matter. The ex-mother-in-law demanded payment, and the payment required him to bare his soul. Not that she explicitly demanded the baring of souls, butit just seemed to happen. In another life, Geraldine would have been a therapist or one of those agony aunts. She was so damn good at getting you talking. She never used to be like that. The old Geraldine, the one before her breakdown, had been scared of her own shadow and would rather have sewn her mouth up than have a meaningful conversation. But she was a different woman now. No wonder Arthur was always so chirpy.

Yesterday afternoon, they’d talked again over a slice of delicious lemon drizzle cake. She’d told him why she’d gone to a therapist. Just came out with it with no trace of emotion. She’d even hugged him when his own emotions got the better of him again. He’d talked about Liza and Will and what he’d done to them. Geraldine told him how hard it had been for her and Arthur to stand by and watch him systematically destroy Netta. He’d cried again then but there was no hug to comfort him that time, which wasn’t exactly a surprise.

This morning, they’d talked some more about Arianne, and he’d told her about the night before she locked him out. It had been a relief to let it out but to his humiliation, he’d ended up tearful again.

The argument had started over dinner. If you could call that slop she insisted on serving up, dinner. It was more like regurgitated bird seed. They’d been having the same thing all week and frankly it had been making him sick. He literally couldn’t keep any of it down. Bizarrely, Arianne’s cooking didn’t have the same effect on her. If anything, she was getting fatter. When she’d demanded to know why he hadn’t touched it, he’d explained it didn’t agree with him. Her response had been to smash the lot, plate and all, over his head. He’d got up calmly, because it was important to stay calm when these things happened. Then he’d locked himself in the bathroom and taken a shower.

He’d been halfway across the landing, on his way to put on some fresh clothes when she came out of Liza’s room. She’d let the door swing open so that he could see she’d wrecked it. For the first time in a long time, Colin had seen red. He could take a lot, but to do something so spiteful to Liza, that had been his breaking point. Yes, he’d screamed obscenities at her, but who could blame him? He didn’t touch her though. Not one finger did he lay on her, even though he’d wanted to. But he told her to get out, and it was enough for her to lay hands on him. The shove had been so quick and unexpected, it had knocked him off his feet. He remembered tumbling down the stairs and that was it. He’d woken up later in the dark. She’d left him there and gone to bed. Colin had slept on the sofa that night. In the morning, still bruised and angry he’d gone to a café to eat some proper food and plot his escape or rather, Arianne’s eviction. Unfortunately, she’d already made her own plans.

His reward for this morning’s talk and yet more tears had been the sausage sandwich, with a promise of quiche for lunch, made by Netta’s friend, Neil. It was a speciality of his, apparently. Colin remembered Neil’s husband, Chris, being kind to him that first Sunday after he’d come to stay here. Netta had some nice friends. She’d come out of their marriage rather well in the end. But if anyone was going to survive living with a bastard it was going to be her. She had the kind of determined inner strength that you could never really break. He’d tried. He could admit that to himself properly now he’d seen the light that had been switched on for him. But seeing it was one thing. Dealing with the glare was quite different.

Colin picked up the pad. Geraldine had told him to use it if anything occurred to him, or even if he just felt like writing down his thoughts. He wondered what she’d think if he wrote down, I am a bastard. She’d probably agree.

Little Maud gave him an expectant look that reminded him of Geraldine. ‘Any suggestions?’ he said. The dog licked his hand. She could probably taste sausage. ‘I’m not sure that’s particularly helpful.’

Maud snuggled up closer to him and rested her head on his leg. Her action provided a flash of inspiration that was worth noting down:

Arianne – shoulder to cry on.

That’s what she’d been in the first place. He hadn’t been attracted to her. He just needed a friend. Someone to pour his heart out to while he healed. But she’d got under his skin and poisoned him against Netta. She fed his suspicions and fear. Not that he was blaming her. She’d been pushing against an open door. She might have encouraged the things he did but the responsibility was all his.

He wrote something else down:

Pay Netta back.

Then he realised that if someone read that they might think he was up to his old tricks again. He crossed it out and added new words in its place:

Make amends with Netta.

The voices downstairs signalled the return of the dog walkers. It must be nice to be in a little community like that. The kind where people care about you. No one cared about him like that, not even his parents. With them it was more a case of popping out a few sprogs to ensure the family name continued and then having as little to do with them as possible. If he hadn’t been tied to them by blood and an unrelenting sense of obligation, he’d have cut them out years ago.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Are you decent?’ It was Arthur. Chirpy chappie Arthur.

‘As decent as I’ll ever be, Arthur.’

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