Page 41 of Love Beyond Repair
I know it hasn’t been doing as well lately. Ben has helped them out a couple of times financially. But Mr. and Mrs. Jones are proud people, business owners who don’t take handouts easily.
We walk up the front path. There are two small steps at the front door, the tiles broken and falling off. Ben places his hand on the base of my back. He’s nervous, his breathing quickening as he rings the bell. The trilling sound echoes through the house, followed by the yapping of a small dog. Caroline opens the door, holding the offending animal, which continues to growl and bark like it’s a security dog.
“Come on, Larry,” Ben laughs and removes the canine, a rat masquerading as a dog, from his mother’s arms. I follow them into the house, his mother’s eyes sizing me up. She gives no indication that she’s met me before.
She’s a stout woman with dyed black hair styled into a tight perm. Her features are sharp with eyes the same piercing blue as her son’s. With a bright smile, I express my thanks for the invitation to visit. She grunts, non-committal.
The procession continues into the front room. Larry has now calmed down in Ben’s arms, and he places him back on the floor. The little rat runs up to me, and I stiffen. I’m not keen on dogs of any size. They smell fear, though I force myself to be brave.
“Dogs are a good judge of character,” Caroline mutters under her breath.
“Mother,” Ben semi-growls, but she ignores him. Keeping her eyes on the little dog now sniffing around my feet.
“Yes, a very good judge of character.” The little rat yaps as if on cue, and Ben scoops him back up, then offloads him to his mother.
Mr. Jones is sitting in a single armchair in the corner, one leg crossed over the other, a newspaper draped over his lap, puffing away on a pipe.
The wallpaper is yellowed with age and nicotine. It hasn’t been updated in twenty years since we were kids. The walls are covered with a mishmash of photos and memorabilia: family wedding photos, holiday snaps, and newspaper cut-outs about the restaurant. They seem to run in a timeline around the room, showing the key historical events of the Jones family in order.
Then I see them, the more recent photos, dozens of them, of Ben and Kelsey at family days out and special occasions, displayed proudly. My heart constricts, and it dawns on me that they really do want them to get back together.
The display is a shrine to their lost daughter-in-law-to-be. As far as Ben’s parents are concerned, I am the interloper.
“Sit down, the two of you,” his mother orders. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
I accept a plain tea gracefully, glad I have something to hold to steady my shaking hands.
Gregor Jones continues to puff on his pipe, watching us. Ben sits beside me on the sofa, not quite touching me. I will him to put his arm around me. He doesn’t. I’ve never seen him so nervous. It’s like he’s reverted back to a boy and is awaiting a scolding.
The evening is slow and painful. There’s an overwhelming sense of sadness, like someone has died. We’ve danced around the topics of my job, my hobbies, and my general outlook on life. Anything but what really matters. But overall, nothing untoward happens until we’re preparing to leave. Caroline puffs out her chest and fixes her son with a look.
“Ben, have you told Kelsey about this?”
His hands clench into fists. His nervousness disappearing with the direct confrontation.
“This,” he gestures to me, “is my girlfriend, and her name is Bex.”
His mother eyes him thoughtfully, knowing she’s hit a nerve. Her lips twist in a satisfied smile.
“Yes, but Kelsey was your partner for years. I think she deserves to know you are fooling around with one of her so-called friends.”
The comment hits me square in the stomach.Fooling around? So-called friend?That’s what they think of me. I’m just someone Ben is passing time with until he goes back to her. I try to keep the pain off my face so Ben doesn’t see it. But he can. Ben composes himself before he speaks.
“Mother, not that it is any concern of yours, but I will tell Kelsey. However, we separated more than a year ago. My relationship with Bex had no part in it.”
“And you think anyone will believe that?” she hisses, her perfectly curated control slipping. We don’t respond. We just stand, nod polite goodbyes, and walk out. There’s nothing more to say; it’s clear we, as a couple, are not accepted by them.
The car journey back to the city is quiet. Neither of us says a word. I knew his parents wouldn’t throw a party, but open hostility? The veiled insults? The cruelty? That blindsided me.
The city whisks by the window as I replay every second of the visit. The way his mother looked at me like I was something needing to be scraped off her shoe. How she pretended to barely know me, referring to me asthe teacherwhen we arrived. The wall of Kelsey’s photos. And the words,fooling around, echoing over and over in my head.
My hands sit on my knees, fingers twisted together. I want to reach over and touch him, share my warmth with him, but Ben is miles away in a world of his own. Locked behind the cold, quiet mask he wears when it hurts, when he’s not a hundred percent sure what to do next.
His phone buzzes in the holder. Loud. Demanding. The name Kelsey flashes up on the screen. Rejecting the call, he says nothing. Then it rings again.
When he doesn’t answer a second time, a voice message pops onto the screen. He pulls over and places the phone at his ear to listen.
“Fucking bitch!” he yells, slamming his hands into steering wheel.
