Climbing Up The Walls

The bedroom door creaks rather loudly as I open it; louder than I remembered it to have done while I was living here. It’s all that sex they’re having. The joints are being fucked off their hinges.

I poke my head through the gap and let my eyes drift across the room. They watch the two bodies curled up next to one another under the covers. The ears hear the gentle, peaceful snores of two people so in love. And they fucking hate it. It makes them sick. If ears could be sick, these ears would be sick right now. All across the new crème carpet that she always wanted but he would never allow her.

Is that why this has happened? Because of a fucking carpet?
Or is it those curtains? Those uselessly over priced mauve curtains. Is that why?

I disgust you. I loath you. Yes, I loath you. You’ve got what’s coming to you, darling. Sleep well, Dennis and Claire. Sleep well.

I close the door ever so carefully on the way out. Wouldn’t want to disturb. Sleep well.

The drinks cabinet in the kitchen is emptier now. Dutch courage? I’m gulping down that expensive bottle of Johnny W. your parents gave us on our wedding day. Remember that, Claire? It’s really very good. Whisky is one of those rare treats that get better with age. Not like you, Claire. Not like you.

I take a seat. It’s early and I’m tired. That letter really took it out of me, Claire. I’ve been awake ever since I received it. Too many thoughts. Too many decisions. Deciding what to do. Deciding when to do it. How to do it.

But what if you get caught? What if you get caught? I don’t care, Claire. It’ll be worth it. Whatever happens to me after this, it’ll be worth it. Just the thought of a world without you and Dennis brings a smile to my red, chapped lips. It’s such a cliché, I know, but if I can’t have you, nobody else will. It’s like that. As bitter and as twisted and as mournful as that.

Instructions on how to operate the heating are stuck to the fridge. What for? Is this for Dennis? So he knows how to work his new house? You’re ridiculous, Claire. Always so prepared. Always too prepared. I always hated that about you. Are you prepared now?

When I open the boot of my car, the smell is so strong that my eyes fill with tears. Maybe I brought too much. Rather too much than too little. I want to do this right. I’m prepared.

I can’t believe you haven’t changed the locks. You’re making this too easy. I move through the hall and enter the living room. Your dress is splayed across one of the three matching patterned chairs. The whole room smells of you. I notice Dennis’ garments lying next to the television. You make me sick.

I throw this black liquid everywhere. On the walls, the carpet, the ceiling, on the photographs in their frames- there’s still one of you and me hidden behind the CD player. Is this hidden from Dennis? To remember me by? I’m touched. I didn’t realise you were so sentimental. You always said that I wasn’t sentimental enough. It gets a long, thick coating from the bottle in my hand.

Moving up the stairs now, pouring all the way; the liquid gently dropping, sloping down the walls. I cover our door and enter our room, spreading this antidote quietly around our bed. You’re still snoring. Sleep well.

I still love you.

Downstairs again. My work is almost done. This can end now. Stay asleep forever, Claire. Never wake.

The lighter I have, it’s the one I bought in Marbella on our Honeymoon. That was when you got me to give up smoking. I still have it. Perhaps I am sentimental after all. It has a picture of the beach on it. Scratched and faded.

I take the papers from my pocket. Sign here.

The lighter sparks. This is the end. I light the paper and throw it inside. Ignition.

I run.

II

When I awake it’s still dark outside, just as it was when I hit the bed. But I know this is a different kind. A new day. Everything’s different now. I sit at the side of the bed, fully clothed, filthy. A sigh of relief leaves my lips and the edges of my mouth are uncontrollably turning upwards. It feels strange. It’s been such a long time.

I move downstairs, avoiding the television, the letterbox, the radio. Coffee. There’s no sugar in it but it tastes so sweet.

I sit down. My mobile is ringing upstairs. Ignore it.

It stops.

The house phone starts.

Ignore it.

Pick it up. Pick it up. Nothing matters anymore.

“Hullo?”

“Richard. Thank God, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours. There’s been an accident. At Claire’s house. There’s been a fire. An explosion.”

Uncontrollably turning upwards.

“Richard? Are you there? Richard?”

“I’m still here, Mary.”

“It’s awful. Just awful. The house is in pieces. The whole street is covered in debris. The police have been questioning everyone. It really is…..such a tragedy. A horrible mess.”

“Yes.”

“Claire is going to be awfully upset.”

“Claire?”

“Yes. Nobody has been able to get in touch with her since it happened. She didn’t take her mobile with her, you see and….”

“She….I….what mobile? What do you mean?”

“She didn’t take it to Marbella with her. She didn’t want to be disturbed while she and Dennis were out there and now nobody knows how to get in contact.”

“…..Marbella.”

“Yes. We thought you knew. She…..she didn’t tell you?”

“No……..I…….”

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry, Richard. We just assumed she would have told you, what with the divorce proceedings coming up so soon and all.”

“She…..Marbella?............She can’t be.”

“We must find some way of contacting her and letting her know. Harry has already been on the phone to half of Europe trying to find them.”

“But who…..who was in the house?”

“Oh….Oh….of course, you don’t know…..Jack and Sarah were house-sitting for them while they were away. I’m afraid they were in there when it happened…..I’m ever so sorry. I know how fond you were of young Jack….Such a tragedy.”

Slipping, climbing up the walls.

“Such a tragedy.”