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Six Years Before I Do
Once Benedict moved in, Audrey tried to get out of the house as much as possible, but there were only a certain number of hours she could spend in the library or in Clara’s dorm room.
‘No boyfriend on the scene, then?’ Benedict asked her one morning over breakfast.
Audrey pulled her arms up inside her T-shirt awkwardly. She’d taken to wearing baggy clothes around the house.
‘Audrey’s saving herself for Brad Pitt,’ Vivien said when it became clear Audrey didn’t intend to answer his question.
‘Eugh, Brad Pitt’s in his fifties,’ Audrey said, eyeing Benedict with loaded disapproval.
‘If I could only have my time again,’ Benedict sighed, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs out in front of him so they nudged Audrey’s. ‘Never was a truer adage uttered than that youth is wasted on the young.’
‘I agree,’ Vivien sighed. ‘Books can wait, darling, you should be out there enjoying yourself.’
Audrey bit back all the comments she wanted to make, about her mother having had enough fun for both of them. Instead, she hid behind her copy of New Scientist, missing Brian with a fierceness she found hard to control.
On the plus side, Vivien seemed happy again – she was back in rehearsals for a new play, not drinking so much in the evenings, going to Pilates and seeing her therapist. Plus, Audrey had to concede that Benedict genuinely appeared to care for her mother. He bought Vivien tickets to concerts he thought she would like, he read TheNew Yorker articles aloud to her in the evenings and she often heard them laughing together. He was gregarious in a way Brian had never been, and Vivien was clearly smitten. She walked with a new lightness about the house. Objectively, if Audrey took herself and Brian, and the desecration of a marriage, out of the equation, she could see they were a good match. So, she decided to endure his presence in their lives. She comforted herself with the knowledge that this couldn’t be a permanent arrangement. Benedict lived in New York – he had an apartment there, a teenage son, a life. This was a rebound arrangement. Surely, he would have to go home soon.
But not soon enough. One Sunday morning, Vivien was out having her hair done and Audrey was taking a shower in her en suite. When she stepped out to dry herself, she looked up to see Benedict standing in the open doorway of her bedroom, staring at her naked body.
‘Jesus!’ she screamed, kicking the door closed with a slam.
‘Sorry, I was just... I came to see if you needed any laundry done,’ he stammered, through the closed door. When had he ever done her laundry?
‘Don’t come into my room!’ she screamed, mortified. Had she left the door open like that? She hadn’t thought anyone was home, but still, she was sure she’d pulled it closed. How long had he been standing there, watching her shower? ‘Go away!’ she yelled.
Benedict apologised as soon as she came downstairs, blustering that he’d popped in to look for some whites to put in a wash with his shirts and found the door to her bathroom wide open. He did appear embarrassed, with his red cheeks and sweaty brow. Audrey decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, though her skin crawled when she pictured the look on his face as he stood there, staring at her. She didn’t mention the shower incident to Vivien. But she went to buy a lock for her bedroom door.
A week after ShowerGate, Vivien and Benedict came back from dinner at The Ivy. When she heard the key in the lock, Audrey tried to sneak upstairs so she wouldn’t have to endure a drunken conversation with them. She wasn’t quick enough though, and they were through the door when Audrey was still only halfway up the stairs.
‘Audrey,’ her mother cried in delight, thrusting her hand out to show off a huge sapphire ring, surrounded by a circle of diamonds. ‘You’ll never guess – we’re engaged!’
‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Benedict asked, standing behind her, leaning forward to kiss Vivien’s neck, and she laughed as they stumbled into the hallway.
‘You can’t be engaged. You’re not even divorced yet,’ Audrey said flatly, feeling her throat constrict as she watched her mother’s face fall.
‘I hoped you’d be happy for us,’ Vivien said, her voice breaking like a chastised child.
‘Well, it’s hard to keep the enthusiasm levels up when you getting engaged is such a common occurrence.’ Audrey turned to walk up the stairs. She knew she was being cruel, but she couldn’t help it – the fire of disappointment that this was to be their lives, that he was here to stay, was too much. Worse was the knowledge that she had done it, she had given Brian the phone. If only she’d hung up straight away.
She heard her mother’s drunken footsteps in the kitchen, the sniff of overdramatic tears. Vivien’s emotions were always precariously close to the surface when she was drunk. Audrey turned to go upstairs; she would apologise in the morning. But as she stepped onto the landing, she heard the stomp of heavy footsteps behind her and then felt a hand reach out and grab her wrist.
‘Don’t disrespect your mother like that,’ Benedict barked, pulling her back to face him.
‘Let go,’ Audrey spat, but her voice shook as she looked down at him on the stairs.
The index finger of his other hand pointed in her face as he growled. ‘You are the worst kind of entitled little brat, you know that? You’ve been allowed to do as you please, with no respect for anyone.’
He was so angry. She could feel the heat coming off him. Though he was standing a few steps below her, his bearlike build meant his eyes were at her level.
‘I love your mother and I will not have anyone upset her – do you hear?’
Audrey didn’t reply, her breath caught in her throat.
‘I said, “Do. You. Hear?”’ Benedict repeated sternly.
‘Yes,’ she nearly whimpered.
