Stand By Me. S.D. Robertson

that maybe you’ve had enough?’

      ‘Oh, here we go. I was waiting for this.’

      ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I could tell you were pretty plastered when we arrived – and now you’re embarrassing me. How much did—’

      ‘I’m the embarrassing one?’ he replied. ‘That’s rich coming from you. I go to the effort of organising this, and how do you repay me? By making me look stupid in public. Thanks very much. You’ve ruined everything now. Bloody typical.’

      Lisa shook her head. ‘I think you’ll find—’

      She was interrupted by the return of the waiter, who avoided looking at her as he delivered Mike’s wine and unscrewed the cap. ‘Here you are, sir. Would you like to try it first?’

      Mike shook his head and gestured for him to fill his glass. After he’d done so, the waiter’s eyes fell on Lisa’s glass; he hesitated before looking in her direction. ‘Madam, would you, um, like me to—’

      ‘No, thank you. My husband will be drinking the bottle alone.’

      Lisa regretted saying this almost straight away – not because of how it made Mike look, but because it further embarrassed the waiter, who was just a young guy doing his job. He nodded awkwardly before leaving the bottle in the middle of the table, clearing away the unwanted remains of their main course, and scuttling off, leaving the pair of them scowling at each other.

      Mike was seething. That much was obvious. But so was Lisa – and she’d not been the one to start the row. Usually she did her utmost to avoid such confrontations, but buoyed by the alcohol and a sense of injustice, she had no intention of backing down on this occasion.

      ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad we came out to celebrate our anniversary like this. How lovely.’

      Her husband’s reply was to empty his glass in one go before pouring himself another. ‘Happy?’ he asked her.

      ‘Ecstatic,’ she replied, standing up and removing her handbag from the seatback.

      ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘Toilet. Is that okay with you?’ Then before Mike had a chance to react, Lisa grabbed his glass and threw the wine in his face. Leaving behind the sound of his spluttering and shouting, she sprinted for the exit, retrieving her jacket from the coat stand on the way and instructing the bemused receptionist that her husband would settle the bill.

      The first thing she did after hitting the pavement was laugh. She howled like a maniac as she made her way to the nearest taxi rank, no longer minding that people were staring. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, but she knew where it had come from. That was repressed frustration bursting out. Lisa knew the tiptoeing around her husband couldn’t last forever. She’d desperately tried to give him enough space to lick his wounds. But there was only so much time she could wait for him to pick himself back up. For too long there had been a tightness in her chest; a knot in her stomach. She’d squashed down her feelings, like a coiled spring; it felt great to release them at last.

      However, her elation began to fade in the taxi home to Aldham, giving way to the realisation that she and Mike had major issues to iron out. She didn’t exactly feel guilty about throwing the wine, still believing her husband had driven her to it. But she was ashamed at how they’d behaved in public. She imagined how mortifying it would be if someone they knew had witnessed it.

      ‘Late night at the office?’ the driver asked her as they sped through the city streets.

      Charming, she thought, wondering who would go to work in heels and a cocktail dress.

      ‘I’m a primary school teacher, so no,’ she snapped, pulling her mobile out of her bag to avoid further conversation. Luckily, he got the hint and turned on the radio.

      It was 8.42 p.m. and still broad daylight, emphasising how strange it felt to be heading home so soon. At least she knew she’d have the house to herself when she got back. Until Mike followed her, of course, although she hoped that wouldn’t be for some time.

      Lisa looked down again at her phone and noticed she was gripping it so tightly that her fingertips had gone white. Mike hadn’t contacted her so far. Her guess was that, despite the soaking she’d given him and the inevitable red wine stains on his clothes, he’d stay out drinking by himself, drowning his sorrows and telling his sob story to anyone who’d listen. She didn’t want to think about the row they’d eventually have; it was as well that the kids were out.

      At home she kicked off her heels, changed into her dressing gown and flopped on to the couch with a cup of tea. She had promised herself a large glass of white, but that was before the booze from earlier started to wear off, making her feel grotty. More alcohol was the last thing she wanted.

      She was flicking aimlessly through TV channels when her phone vibrated on the coffee table. Rather than Mike, it turned out to be Sandra, a fellow teacher and her closest friend at work. She’d sent her a text message from the taxi, hinting at what had happened and hoping for a girlie chat.

      ‘Hello?’

      ‘Lise, hi. Are you okay?’

      ‘Not really. Tonight’s romantic meal turned into a disaster.’

      ‘How come?’

      She recounted the story, veering from tears to laughter and then back again in the process.

      ‘Oh my God,’ Sandra said. ‘I can’t believe you did that. Was it a full glass of red?’

      ‘Yes. Was that terrible of me?’

      Sandra giggled. ‘Sounds like he had it coming. And he didn’t say anything afterwards?’

      ‘I didn’t wait around to find out. I jumped straight in a taxi and came home. I’m sure he’ll have something to say when he gets back.’

      ‘When are you expecting him?’

      ‘No idea. Do you think I should call his mobile or send him a message?’

      ‘Gosh, I really don’t know, Lise. Whatever you think is best. He’s had some time to cool down now, but it’s a tricky one.’

      ‘He’s probably getting plastered in a bar somewhere, moaning about his psycho wife.’

      Sandra, who had only met Mike a handful of times, asked: ‘Don’t be offended by this, but, um, he’s not likely to hurt you or anything, is he? You know, if he comes back in a state. Because if you need somewhere safe—’

      ‘Mike would never lay a finger on me,’ Lisa replied. ‘He has his faults, but he’s not that kind of man. Thanks for caring, though.’

      ‘Well, you’re always welcome here. You know that.’

      ‘You’re a good friend, Sandra, but I’ll be fine. There’ll be a big row at some point, I’m sure, but nothing I can’t handle.’

      Lisa felt better after ending the call. It was always good to chat to a friend for moral support at challenging times.

      She finished her cup of tea and picked up the remote control to unmute the television. A programme about border control at Australian airports was showing. She was about to flick over but got hooked by the tales of people trying to smuggle in contraband.

      Watching this made her think about her childhood friend Elliot, or El as she often called him. Although he’d lived down under for the past two decades, he still regularly popped into her thoughts. They’d been best friends throughout their years at secondary school, only for him to emigrate after their A-levels. They’d written regular letters to each other at the start, but eventually these had petered out as life got in the way.

      Since Lisa had never been one for technology or social media, her only recent contact with her old friend had been infrequent emails and Christmas cards. All the same, she’d always dreamed of going to visit him one day. They’d been so close as kids – gone