Charm Defensive – Sandra 6

[For back story see lower numbers in archive]

The conversation across the net was tense and carefully spoken. Sandra trod cautiously, listened assiduously and tried not to put her foot in something. 

“You’ve put me in a very difficult position. I don’t really understand why you’d do something like this and I have to say I didn’t expect it. You’re a professional, for heavens sake, and from what I know it’s been years – years without anything like this. You have – what about your reputation, your work, your everything? So why – how – what am I meant to do? I can’t even explain it to myself, let alone…”

The man on the screen grimaced, his look part way through acceptance, interrupted by anxiety. Looking worried and as if someone might interrupt him at any moment, he leant toward the computer screen about to speak but then thought better of it. Then found a different thing to say.

“Look,” he said. “My life has been disrupted before. I’ve had times when I’ve had nothing and built everything back. There are people out there who will take me on, I know they will. I can leave everything, do you see? I can leave everything and start again.”

“You can,” said Sandra. “Yes, absolutely, you can. But I can’t. I’ve only got one sister and you’re married to her.”

“That can change!”

“I don’t want it to change!” Sandra said, her voice distorting over the small computer speakers. She recomposed herself. “I do not want it to change. I want to keep Frankie as my friend – my sister, her – your – children – my niece and nephew, I look I’m sorry but you can’t change anything. You mustn’t.”

“Have you ever looked death in the face?” asked Rob, staring straight down the camera.

Oh God, thought Sandra, here we go. She knew Rob – and indeed enough about the techniques of persuasion and let’s face it melodrama he used – to know when she was being played. Rob had a track record on this and there was definitely a time in the past when she would have fallen for it, or at least felt herself become engaged in whatever message he was trying to put out there. Time and being a father had done nothing to temper Rob’s approach to anyone or anything. But then nearly dying had given him loads more new material. She was amazed really, sometimes it was a sort of positive thing that he still seemed young and vibrant, but equally often, and especially now, he was just inappropriate and creepy. 

“Of course not, but –“

“It does things to you,” said Rob, with the air of a poet, although he lacked poetry. “You, you just can’t imagine anything, at all. The sky is, unimaginable, you lose yourself in, everything that’s complicated and heartbreakingly worth nothing.”

“…what?” asked Sandra.

Rob looked left and right. “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

Sandra was about to give her answer but was interrupted by the door behind Rob swinging open and the entrance of Frankie, carrying one child and shepherding in another. Sukie, jumping up and down uncontrollably and chanting Sandra’s name as she did so, Freddie in Frankie’s arms as they came in. All smiles, all of them.

“Hello!” called Frankie, “What are you two gassing about then eh? Rob said he wanted to call in on you. We’ve been nappy changing, haven’t we Freddie?”

Rob’s face changed and Sandra saw him instantly switch back to Rob the good husband. The family man and the bloke who was nothing more than her sister’s husband. The one Sandra let go of years ago.

“We were just talking about work and life and everything,” said Sandra, breezily. “Nothing much.”

“Oh you lucky thing,” said Frankie.”What with one thing and another everything he talks about has to have some huge significance now!”

She said it light-heartedly but the tone didn’t match the sentiment and in the uncertain atmosphere that resulted Rob got up, made his excuses and left the chat. He took Freddie with him and Frankie took his seat, letting Sukie type a junk-load of emojis in the chat box while they spoke.

“So,” Frankie started, dropping easily into one of their long standing riffs, resorted to whenever they needed a bit of levity, catch phrases and winding each other up, “Tell me about your new man…”

“No,” replied Sandra, overdramatic by rote, “Tell me about yours!”

“Is he dishy and dashing and what does he drrrrrive?”

The call ended with Sukie cackling and typing a load of smiley poos in the chat box (again).

Camera off, Sandra sighed and ate the final millionaire’s shortbread of the eleventh batch she’d cooked since lockdown. Her phone bleeped and vibrated as a text message came in.

THIS ISN’T OVER YET it said.