Equal Frights

BECKY MOVED ONE hand from the steering wheel and turned off the car engine. Bryan unclipped his passenger seatbelt and turned to check on Tara in the back. The hard plastic baby carrier was facing backwards—as per safety instructions—but he could see Tara's nine-month-old foot stretching up in its little pink sock. So cute.

'I'll get the pushchair out,' he said.

Becky was looking at her phone, so Bryan got out of the car without waiting for a response. He closed the door and stretched his back, taking a long breath in through his nostrils as he looked around. They were on the fifth floor of a multi-storey car park built in the seventies, all dirty white concrete and the distant echo of screeching tyres. As he went to the back of the car to open the boot, he noticed that there was a gap between the concrete barrier and the tarmac floor. He had a mental image of a shopping bag bursting and oranges rolling though that gap and splatting on the basement level five floors below.

Shaking his head, he took out the folded pushchair and snapped it open. It was basically a frame with wheels into which Tara's baby seat could be secured. Brilliant design concept, he thought as he clicked on the pushchair brake with his foot and closed the boot with a thump. He went around to the car's rear door, opened it and leaned in. There was the baby seat ... but no baby.

'Where's Tara?' he said.

'In the baby seat,' said Becky, still staring at her phone.

'No, she's not,' said Bryan.

He straightened up and looked around. There she was on the tarmac, rolling herself towards the very gap he had imagined seeing the oranges roll. He thought, 'This is not possible' and then Tara disappeared over the edge. Bryan stared, transfixed, appalled, his ears straining to hear a scream, the impact of a body. There was nothing. He went to the edge and looked down. On the dark grey tarmac five floors down was a white and pink shape. 'But no red,' thought Bryan. Maybe she survived.

Bryan ran down the concrete spiral, his boots echoing like gunshots, his breath heaving in his chest. 'Please, please, please...' he murmured as he ran. He reached the bottom, saw the small shape on the ground and, for a second, he thought his prayers had been answered. Then he saw how fixed Tara's smile was, how glassy her frozen eyes. There was no blood to be seen, but that didn't matter. Her bones were pulverised and Bryan knew if he touched her, she would collapse inwards like a rotten pink melon.

His chest heaved, his throat tightened. He kicked and thrashed and everything was dark. He was kicking off duvet and he recognised the ceiling, the wardrobe, the bedroom curtains at night. He sat up in bed and looked down at Becky, fast asleep next to him. And he remembered that Tara was in her own room, asleep in her bed—a little girl of five, not a baby.

It was a dream.

Bryan collapsed back onto the bed, his head hitting the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling in the dark, tears running down the sides of his face.

'Thank god,' he said. 'Thank god, thank god, thank god...'

***

Becky was pissed off.

Today was a Sunday and they were supposed to be having a nice family day: breakfast together, then a drive to her parents, tea and crumpets perhaps, and then there was some sort of funfair in their village. To cap it off, she and Bryan had promised Tara that they would stop off for dinner at McDonald's on the way home. All in all, the perfect recipe for the perfect family day.

But they had been out of bed for less than an hour and Bryan was already spoiling things. He was in one of his 'moods'—quiet, withdrawn, barely uttering three sentences. And the hug he had given Tara that morning had been weird, as though he hadn't seen her for a month. Luckily, Tara was too excited to notice, but it was taking all of Becky's willpower to stop herself saying something. The last straw was when Bryan finished eating and announced that he was going out for a ten-minute walk around the block.

'Why, Daddy?' asked Tara.

'Just to clear my head.'

'Are you worried about something?'

'Yes, darling, I am,' he said. 'But when I go for a walk and think about

why

I'm worried, I feel much better.'

'Okay.'

Tara went back to eating her toast and marmalade as though nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Becky wanted to scream. How

dare

he burden a child with his grown-up worries! She knew her husband was having difficulties at work, but that didn't give him the right to screw up their family weekend! Bryan had already left the room, avoiding eye contact with Becky, so she said, 'Back in a minute' to her daughter and followed him out. He was standing in the hallway near the front door in the process of putting on a coat and scarf.

'Bryan!' hissed Becky as she marched up to him. 'What the

hell?!'

'I'm sorry, Becky, I really am,' he said, putting his hands on her arms. 'I just ... I'm struggling with something.'

'Look, I know you're getting shit at work—'

'It's not that.'

'Well, what is it then?'

'I, um...'

Bryan looked weird. He removed his hands from Becky's arms.

'I don't think I should tell you,' he said.

'Why not?'

'You'd find it too upsetting.'

'What, because I'm a woman?'

'Well ... yes, frankly.'

Becky glared, the skin around her nostrils turning white.

'Well, fuck you very much,' she said coldly. 'Go take your walk then, you sexist bastard!'

She turned on her heel and walked back to the kitchen-dining room, slamming the door behind her.

***

When Bryan got back from his walk, he was markedly better. He joked with Tara and asked Becky how she wanted things to be organised. When they drove to her parents—Bryan in the driving seat—he was pretty much back to his usual easy-going self. They had a very nice tea at her parents and then all five of them wrapped up warm and walked to the area of heathland where a travelling funfair had been set up.

But Becky had been married to Bryan for too long not to know the difference between Bryan enjoying himself and Bryan making an effort for her sake. Yes, it was her idea to spend Sunday with her parents, but she wanted Bryan's response to be genuine enthusiasm, not this stoic 'making-the-best-of-it' attitude. As they walked around the garish fairground attractions, Becky could see Bryan talking to her father with the same professional friendliness he showed to his clients. It was fifty percent fake interest and Becky hated it.

One of the main attractions was a giant wheel. As each seat could only fit a maximum of three, it was agreed that Tara would go up with her grandparents. As the three of them joined the queue, Becky looked over at her husband. He was clearly content to just stand there and watch, which frustrated the hell out of Becky. Surely a red-blooded man would want to try out the shooting range or have a go on the test-your-strength punching machine? She sidled up to Bryan, pretending to watch her father buy tickets for the giant wheel.

'You don't really want to be here, do you?' she said.

Bryan let out a deep sigh, which further infuriated her.

'Don't sigh at me like that!'

'Becky...'

'I've known you long enough to—'

'Would you

shut up

for two seconds?!'

Becky was taken aback. Bryan rarely spoke to her like that, but when he did it was always for good reason. She began to feel uncomfortable. Bryan gestured towards the giant wheel which had stopped. Tara and her grandparents were now at the front of the queue and the attendant was lifting the safety bar of a seat so they could climb in.

'Look at our little girl,' he said. 'How excited she is. And look at your parents. They're absolutely

glowing

to be taking her on a ride. This is what family is about! Do you seriously think I'm standing here thinking, "I wish I was somewhere else"?'

Becky felt her throat tighten and she looked down at the thick floor mats laid down to stop the grass being turned into mud. She felt stupid and ashamed. When Bryan offered his hand, she took it and leaned against his arm. Suddenly, he felt like her Big Strong Man again.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm being stupid again, aren't I?'

'I don't like the word "stupid",' said Bryan. 'But you do tend to make assumptions about me.'

'Well, can you blame me? You never talk to me!'

'We talk all the time.'

'Yes, but you hold things back! Like this morning. There was clearly something bothering you, but instead of telling me what it was, you say, "Oh, you can't handle it because you're a woman"!'

'I didn't say that. What I said was—'

'Oh, Bryan! You know what I mean!'

Bryan detached himself from Becky and turned to look at her.

'Becky, why do you keep doing that?'

'Doing what?'

'Misrepresenting what I say.'

'Bryan, just because I can't remember your exact words doesn't mean I'm misrepresenting them.'

'Well ... it kind of does.'

'Oh, really?'

Becky put her hands on her hips and glared at her husband.

'All right, smart guy!' she said. 'Are you going to tell me what was bothering you this morning?'

Bryan looked uncertain. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Becky waved a hand in the air and let it fall against her leg with a slap.

'

There!'

she said. 'Your actions speak louder than your words! Or am I misrepresenting them?'

Bryan smiled.

'Okay, well played,' he said. 'Two points to you.'

'Bryan, don't do that...'

'But that was a great comeback.'

'You're trying to get out of trouble by flattering me.'

'No, I'm giving credit where credit is due. Your point was sharp and well-made. I respect that.'

Becky gritted her teeth, trying not to smile. She really liked it when Bryan expressed genuine respect for something she said, but she didn't want to admit it. Bryan drew her into a hug and she felt her anger melting like a snowball brought into a warm kitchen.

'Don't!' she said. 'I'm

angry

with you!'

'I know, but you're also right. I

am

holding something back.'

Becky moved her head so she could look at him. Bryan was smiling sadly.

'The question you need to ask yourself,' he said, 'is whether I'm doing it because I'm a sexist pig with prehistoric ideas about women? Or whether I know what upsets you and I want to spare you that?'

'Bryan, I know you're not a pig,' she said. 'But why did you say it had to do with me being a woman?'

'Because I honestly believe the topic affects women more than it does men.'

'What topic?'

'Look, the moment I tell you, it's going to bother you.'

'Yes, but you not telling me is

already

bothering me!'

Bryan looked at her. Then he frowned and turned to look up at the giant wheel. Tara and her grandparents were sitting in their metal seat, swinging near the top of the wheel. Tara waved and Bryan lifted a hand to acknowledge the wave. Becky followed his gaze and waved too. Then she looked back at Bryan and raised an eyebrow. He pushed his tongue around his teeth as he considered.

'I have a suggestion,' he said.

'Okay,' said Becky.

'Let's enjoy the rest of the day for now. And when Tara is in bed tonight, if you still

really

want to know ... then I'll tell you. Deal?'

'Okay, deal.'

Becky stuck out her hand. Bryan sighed and shook it. He was now committed and they both knew it. Bryan turned to watch his little girl on the giant wheel and when he felt his wife's arm around his waist, he put his own arm around her shoulders.

***

Becky thoroughly enjoyed the rest of that day. Now that she and Bryan had cleared the air, she could relax and stop

trying

to enjoy it. She saw Bryan wear his 'professional' face once more as her father went on about the state of the country, but now she didn't mind. It didn't even bother her that the McDonald's they stopped off at on the way home was an almost hilariously bad experience. Tara didn't care and Bryan's sarcastic remarks had her in stitches, so Becky was in an extremely good mood as she drove the home stretch afterwards. As Bryan put Tara to bed, Becky pictured them having a cosy chat in which she would prove to her husband just how wrong he was about her. He would have to admit that a woman could handle anything a man could handle and then they would go to bed and make love and fall asleep in each other's arms. Becky was feeling warmer in her body just thinking about it.

The evening began well enough. When she and Bryan finally sat down together, his face was etched with concern and worry, and Becky gave him a little speech. She reminded him that when they got married, they had both promised to support each other no matter what and that his refusal to trust her was both patronising and hypocritical. She also reminded him that they had made a deal and shaken on it. Bryan nodded and sighed and Becky sat back on the couch as he began his story.

He didn't finish it.

Bryan got to the part where he was running down the concrete spiral, when Becky leapt from the couch shouting, 'Stop! Stop! Stop!' Her chest was heaving, her hands bunched into fists. As she hadn't heard the end of the story, her imagination filled in the blanks and she saw in her mind Tara's little body twisted and bloody, a scream of horror stamped on her little face. She recalled her little girl on the giant wheel—the seat swinging over empty space—and a chill shook her entire body. Becky gasped and staggered, sitting down on the couch's matching pouffe. Even in her current state, she knew she did not want to sit next to Bryan, did not want to see the smug look he no doubt had on his face. She put her feet flat on the floor, stared at the carpet, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse and cracked.

'Bryan, why the fuck would you tell me something like that?'

There was a sigh from the couch, identical to the one he'd made by the giant wheel. Becky's head snapped around, eyes blazing, and she glared at her husband.

'Don't

do

that!' she almost screamed. 'You knew

exactly

how I'd react!'

'No, I didn't. Not a hundred percent.'

'You put the image of my little girl dying into my head and you didn't expect me to be upset?!"

'Well, I did ... but then you said—'

'I know what I said!'

Becky was on her feet, tears streaming down, screaming her rage into his face.

'Fine, I was wrong!' she cried. 'Men are superior! You happy now? You got what you wanted?'

'Becky...'

'Fuck off, you bastard! Fuck off and leave me alone!'

Becky ran out of the room and up the stairs. Bryan heard the distant sound of their bedroom door slamming as he sat on the couch, hands clasped, staring into space. His first thought was to imagine saying, 'Becky, when you tell someone to fuck off, you're supposed to let

the other person

leave the room.' He pictured her reaction and smiled humourlessly at how spectacularly unhinged it would be. But underneath all these thoughts and emotions was sadness ... a deep, deep sadness.

Bryan realised he had been secretly hoping that Becky would be the kind of woman she kept saying she was. The dream had scared him and was still on his mind. Was it a warning of some kind? He didn't know and he would have loved nothing more than to be able to sit with the woman he loved and open his heart to her about his fears.

But that wasn't going to happen with Becky. She wanted what so many women wanted these days ... to feel safe. More than that, she wanted to take her safety for granted. She wanted to live in a world in which nothing bad happened, where her home was a safe haven and where she could walk through the streets at night without a care in the world. Whereas to Bryan, that was a denial of reality. To him, 'safety' was a temporary state of affairs, the end result of using one's intelligence, abilities and sheer hard work—and even then, there were no guarantees. Taking

anything

for granted was an act of foolishness.

Bryan realised that this was also true of Tara. He was taking it for granted that she would grow up into a young woman and live her own life, but there was no guarantee of that either. There were other possibilities, many of them unthinkable. But he was her father and fathers were supposed to protect their daughters, which meant it was his

job

to think the unthinkable and then come up with strategies to lower the risks without compromising the girl's development.

Bryan heard a movement on the stairs. Someone was coming down, quietly, hesitantly. He turned his head and saw the living room door open, followed by the sight of his bedraggled woman. Her eyes were puffy from crying, her shoulders were hunched and her hair hung in strands over her face. When she spoke, her voice was small and tentative.

'Can I come in?' she said.

'Of course you can, you silly moose.'

Becky came in, forgetting to close the door, and climbed onto the couch. She lay with her head in Bryan's lap, curled up like a great big child, her bare feet pressing against one another. Bryan rubbed her arm and shoulder with one hand and stroked her hair with the other. Neither of them spoke. Finally, after ten minutes of silence, Bryan said, 'Come on. Let's go to bed.'

***

Becky was the first to use the bathroom. Bryan had changed into the T-shirt and boxer shorts combo he wore in lieu of pyjamas and he came in as she left. Becky had a pair of ladies' pyjamas she was intending to wear, but as she stood in the bedroom listening to the faint sound of Bryan brushing his teeth, she changed her mind. Instead, she stripped off her clothes and climbed naked into bed, turning away and pulling the duvet down enough so that Bryan could see her bare back when he came in. She shivered and wiped away a stray tear, then reached down to between her legs. Her vagina was dry. She pushed in a finger to stimulate herself, then pulled her hand away when she heard the sound of the bathroom light being switched off.

Bryan entered the room. Becky heard his huffs and puffs, the sound of the door being closed, the movement in the room. It always amazed her how much noise a man made, even when he was supposedly being quiet. Finally, she felt the bed sink as he climbed in and the bedside light was turned off. Big hands grabbed her body, pulled her around and placed her head on the soft area where the man's arm met his chest muscle. She felt warm and safe against his body—still clothed in T-shirt and shorts—and she moved one of her legs onto him.

'Hello, naked lady,' he said.

'Hello, Bryan.'

'Oh, dear. Are you still mad at me?'

'I can't help it. Thanks to you, I'm terrified of going to sleep.'

Bryan sighed and drew his wife closer, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

'Becky, I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault. If you hadn't told me, I would have kept nagging you until you did.'

'Yes, but I could have made something up.'

'I don't want you to do that!'

Becky pushed herself up and twisted round to look him in the face.

'Bryan, do you think I'm a child?'

'No, not really.'

'What do you mean, "not really"?'

'Well ... there are times when you

act

like a child.'

'Like when?'

'Like earlier this evening, when you blew up and shouted at me. If I did that, it would be called toxic masculinity.'

'Bryan, you have ways of expressing your anger which are

just

as toxic as shouting. Just because you use different methods doesn't make you morally superior.'

Becky could see Bryan bite his lower lip in the near darkness. She felt his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back, warm and large.

'Okay,' he said. 'There's some truth to that. I don't know if I agree a hundred percent, but I will think about it.'

'Do I get two points?'

'I'll give you half a point.'