Bite the bullet

Because the rain was drumming so hard on the roof of our car when we passed under a bridge the second of silence gave me a jolt, waking me up.

“If you’re not size 8 or under they don’t have it. Who do they think I am Kate Moss?” She says.
“Don’t be silly you’re nowhere near a thin as Kate Moss.” I say.
“Thanks Paul!” She says using lazy sarcasm. Her parents laughed. ‘Great’, I think to myself, not only am I the golden boy of the weekend now I’m funny too. I wonder what I have to do to be disliked by this family.

Sweet, that’s what I am, fucking sweet. It’s a curse. It’s like a straight jacket, I’m stuck, like a lapdog doing tricks for biscuits, for a round of applause, to see the delight on their faces.

I don’t know why I’m so polite, I’m like a jelly.

‘I’ll do the washing up, it’s only fair after you cooked such a delicious meal - I’ve had such a nice weekend – it’s so beautiful around here - I don’t want to go back home – a-ha-ha-ha.’

We’ll probably turn out just like them, sat around chatting nicely, cup of tea, afternoon nap. I think I’m going to be sick right here in my lap. At least it’ll cover the stench of new car in their mid-range Tory wagon. It’s giving me a headache.

We had open road ahead of us and she was flirting with 50 in the slow lane. At this rate we won’t be back until 3 in the morning. This weekend has been awful. Courteous, soul obliterating walks in the country and time stopping games of scrabble. Its not even half-done, we’ve still got the away leg to go. I don’t know what their going to do for the next couple of days stuck in our shitty little flat. For once I’m glad I’ll be at work.

“I hate driving in conditions like this, I can’t see anything, Is alright if I take it slow?” She says not really asking for permission. She was hunched forward over the wheel squinting at the road ahead.

“It’s the spray,” Her mother added helpfully from the back seat.

“Yeah.” She agreed.

Here’s my chance, let’s get out of some good books. This doesn’t come easy to me, I not a mean person. I’m not nasty but I have to do it, there is no other way.

“Remember I’ve got work tomorrow, it wouldn’t hurt to put your foot down.” That was rubbish as antagonising goes, but it was a start.

“Oh.” She said. There was an awkward silence. Yes that must’ve done some damage. Look, I’m a wanker, did you see me shouting at your daughter?

I didn’t enjoy that, I could feel her mum and dad staring at the back of my head, but I’m going to have to keep pushing. Score some serious points.

I pull at my seat belt, which is strangling me. “I’m sorry but...” (don’t say you’re sorry again if you can help it.) ”I’m sorry but I’m going to be knackered. It’s alright for you, you don’t have to get up in the morning.” She keeps her hands on the wheel and eyes on the road. It’s probably better for me if she stays that way.

Earlier she said: ‘It’s my head on the line.’ It drives me mad, it’s either head on the chopping block or neck on the line. That was quickly followed by: ‘I slog my heart out’. You can slog your guts out, you can put your heart into something but you can NEVER slog your heart out. I don’t understand why her parents didn’t correct her, do they want an imbecile for a daughter?

It’s all communication at the end of the day, I understood what she meant, well done, it done the job, but I hate it so bloody much. It’s me I know it’s me, I have a problem.

“You know how busy I’ve been and how much effort it was to take the time off. I’ve had to juggle things around. Is it too much to ask to get home at a reasonable hour so I don’t have to walk around like a zombie at work tomorrow?”

Stick the knife in and twist. I should said ‘fucking zombie’ that would’ve made her mum have a stroke. Who knows, I might actually be good at being a bastard.

She hasn’t done anything wrong, I would just like to make that clear. Which I suppose is the annoying thing. She’s so nice I have no excuse for binning her. Yet somehow we’re taking weekend breaks with her parents and renting together.

Bite down hard, it might be a dud. It might explode in my mouth, sending metal shards slashing through my gums up into my skull, ripping my cheeks out, fire scorching the skin on my face.

“Can I be grumpy? Is that alright with you? Sometimes I’m in a bad mood, it’s not your fault, it’s not mine. I just need to be left alone but no, you insist on plugging away with your little questions, like your testing me, wanting me to bite, to snap at you, then you've got the high ground and I'm the bad guy. I just want to sit here and say nothing, is that ok?'

In the silence I changed the radio station to something more modern, something without a fucking cello.

Wow, I’m better at being angry when I’m not actually angry. Usually I get all flustered and mix my words up. But that was precise almost surgical.

I survey the debris. Mum looks more pissed off than dad, who has a strange smile playing on the corner of his mouth. Maybe I’ve gone up in his estimation, maybe after years of being hen-pecked to pieces by thrifty living he’s found a hero. I’ve finally stood up to them.

‘I should’ve done that 30 years ago, told the old bitch to poke it up her arse’.

Maybe I should tip him a little wink. Just to show that I know that he knows, that we are in the same boat here. I decide against it.

An hour and a half later we get out of the car. I open the boot and take their stuff through. When we pass in the hallway and she mouths ‘I’m sorry’. I smile at her.

In join the three of them in our kitchen. I felt unsure, I panicked a bit I wished I could take it back what I’ve done. I thought this was the only way forward. But for the time being I’m fine, things could be worse. Do I really want to sabotage a half-decent thing?

“Look, I’m sorry about before.” If I make this quick then I can get to bed. “I didn’t mean it, I’m really tired, It’s so unlike us to argue, isn’t it babe? I hope we can enjoy the rest of the week, cos so far it’s been really great.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen from time to time, It’s a sign of a healthy relationship.” Mum said

“Heh-heh it does good to cut off a little steam now and again.” Dad said slapping me on the arm. He laughs, we all laugh.

“Right then…” I said stretching.

“Could you help me set up the camp bed, babe?” She asks.

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Let’s be quick thought, yeah?” I say looking at the clock.

“You can take our bed tonight, the pull out beds aren’t very comfy.” She says. “I’ll just pop the kettle on, do you want anything to eat dad? You must be starving, I could rustle a little something together.”

I look up.

“Oh no, I sandwich will be fine.” Dad says mildly.

“Are sure you don’t want something more substantial. Something hot?”