I’m typing this on my phone right now, so forgive me if it’s rushed. He’s asleep and I’m sat in the ensuite, in the bathtub with the door locked. Even though his house is gigantic – honestly, I feel like I would have to work for fifteen lifetimes to afford half this place – this is the only place I feel safe enough to do this without him seeing.
Sorry. That sounds mean. But it’s been so fucking weird since I’ve been here.
Let me backtrack a bit.
I met Tom five years ago. We were both seventeen and didn’t really know better – I know it sounds like I’m undermining everything we’ve gone through together, from me losing my job and the issues he had with his mental health last year, but it’s the truth. He was my first boyfriend and the only boyfriend I’ve had to date. I was honestly amazed that a man wanted me at all, and a man like Tom too. Even though he’s put on weight and a considerable amount of stress I still get nervous around him. It’s embarrassing, really.
He was handsome and experienced, a long line of girlfriends before me and expecting to do the same after me – but I caught him, hook line and sinker. It’s an incredibly cheesy story and I don’t really want to go into it right now, especially after what’s just transpired. I don’t really know what to feel anymore.
I’ve only just met his parents. All I have is my mum, and every interaction with her feels like drawn out torture since I grew up past eleven. She’s possibly the most obsessive-compulsive person I’ve met, cloying and overwhelming – so I virtually nixed the idea of Tom ever meeting her. I was embarrassed, plain and simple. Instead, Tom asked if I wanted to meet his parents, and spend the weekend at his beautiful manor in the countryside.
I couldn’t turn him down – five years together and I hadn’t even met them in person! It was starting to get annoying; Tom would always talk to them on the phone and would let me have all but thirty seconds on the line, and you could forget about FaceTime. This meant that I had no idea what my potential in-laws even looked like, apart from a grainy polaroid in his wallet. It’s clear enough to make out brown hair and the colour of their sweaters – probably some imported material – but that’s about it. I jumped at the opportunity when he asked.
The day we left I called my mum to let her know. I left it that late because I knew it would undermine her plans to baby me – questions probably ranging from What are you going to wear? to Are you going to bring a gift? and God forbid Do you want me to come too? I can give you some support.
She picked up on the third ring. ‘Hi sweetheart!’
I smiled despite myself. She could be so much more tolerable from a distance. ‘Hi Mum. Just calling to let you know that I’m going to Tom’s house for the weekend and the reception there won’t be great. He grew up in the country.’
I could practically hear her frown. ‘Oh. That’s quite short notice dear. Are you going to be alright? This is the first time you’re meeting them, right? First impressions count!’
At this point, we were loading the luggage into the car and locking up the apartment, and I really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture at the big age of twenty-two. ‘Yes Mum, don’t worry about me. I need to go now; we’re trying to beat the rush hour traffic. Bye now!’
And with that, I cut her off. How I wish she was here with me now.
Tom drove the way there, the full three hours, and I was dead asleep. I woke up to the sound of tire on gravel as we pulled into his beautiful driveway, which was framed with flowers.
His parents were stood on the doorstep, waiting for us. I remember that my first impression was that they looked like the twins from The Shining, due to their identical stance and similarities in sweaters. I brushed this off as a sweet old person thing as we got out of the car, trying not to show my nerves too much. To my immense relief, they smiled at me warmly. ‘You must be Emma! It’s so nice to finally meet you, darling.’ Tom’s mother, Beryl, enveloped me in a hug whilst his father looked on. ‘Come inside! You must be freezing!’
She ushered me into a majestic front room, already laid with tea and other refreshments. Tom’s father, George, whilst not having spoken to me yet, kept his relaxed smile on his face as he sat down next to his wife, across from Tom and me. I took in this opportunity to really look at them for the first time - it was clear that Tom had Beryl’s nose and George’s eyes, a piercing green. Both had greying hair with tinges of brown still clinging on, and minimal wrinkles. They had aged fantastically, in the way I had always thought Tom would.
I sipped my tea and we got on with the pleasantries, and I got to know them for the first time. Both were wealthy retirees and this manor and the acres of woodland around them set the scenes for Tom’s idyllic childhood -despite being the only child he amused himself by exploring, whether indoors or outdoors. ‘I still haven’t been everywhere in this house, I think!’ Tom laughed, and I did too, but more in disbelief at how different we were in terms of being brought up.
After around twenty minutes Beryl got to her feet, suddenly. ‘Tom, why don’t you show Emma around and unpack in your room? Your father and I need to make some finishing touches to dinner.’ Tom nodded, taking my hand and leading me up a spiral staircase, ignoring my silent protest that I was very content just sat there.
He smiled, looking at my expression. ‘Come on, this’ll be much more fun than lying around downstairs. I’ll show you where I grew up.’ I couldn’t resist. Really, I need to be stronger sometimes.
He led me to what looked like his childhood bedroom - a blue door with his name etched with what looked like pencil in the corner. ‘I wanted to do it with a knife but was too scared.’ I snickered, pushing the door open to a normal, queen-sized bed and nondescript furniture. I would never say this out loud, of course, but it was extremely basic - the furniture was all that made up the room and there was nothing hanging on the walls. Minimal colour and no decoration.
The only thing worth mentioning was a beautifully ornate writing-desk in the corner. He saw me looking and cleared his throat. ‘Family heirloom. Barely used it. I preferred studying downstairs ‘cause it got so lonely up here sometimes.’
I noticed a lock on it that prevented anyone from just opening it up and seeing what was inside.
‘Why are you looking at it so much?’
I turned and faced him. His face was uncomfortable but he hid it well - I only knew this because I know him. ‘No reason. Just has a lot of character.’ I changed the subject, feeling like we were in sensitive waters. ‘Where next?’
Half an hour later, after seeing the extensive first floor - Tom promising me to show me the next two, and extensive grounds, over the course of the weekend - we settled down for dinner. It was a normal roast but I could tell effort was put into it, and made sure to finish, complimenting both George and Beryl.
George was quick to brush me off, laughing slightly. ‘It was no matter. You’re the first girl he’s ever brought here, do you know that?’ I looked at Tom, who had gone red, and giggled. ‘I didn’t know that.’
For a second, and I don’t really know why, George and Beryl made fleeting eye contact after I said that. I blinked and it was gone. Beryl’s back straightened. ‘I’m so glad he’s found someone like you dear.’ She laughed airily, and Tom shot her a slight glare, which made her laugh harder. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, Tom!’
My boyfriend stood up, pushing his chair back. ‘I don’t feel that hungry anymore.’ He threw his napkin on his plate carelessly, and proceeded to exit the dining room in a matter of seconds, going up the spiral staircase like he was seven again, being sent to his room.
I looked back at his parents, stricken. ‘I-I’m so sorry. I think it’s his anxiety. I should have- I mean we should have told you-‘
George held up a hand, striking me dumb. For some reason, both of them looked completely unaffected and sustained their eye contact with me to the level that made me uncomfortable. ‘It’s alright. Not your fault.’ His tone was calm and restrained. ‘It’s good that it’s just the three of us. We wanted to speak with you alone, anyway.’
This gave me goosebumps. Was I about to get a talking-to? What had I done wrong? Beryl noticed my expression and grabbed my hand. ‘Darling, we are going to ask you some questions. I want you to respond as truthfully as possible.’ I nodded, completely bewildered.
George leant forward, looking solemn. The weight of the words he was about to say seemed to rest on his shoulders. ‘Do you feel safe when you’re alone with him?’
I stammered. ‘Y-yes, of course! We’ve been together for five years!’ I felt a sense of anger rise at the same time. ‘Why ask me this now? After I’ve been with him for so long, and will sleep in the same room with him tonight?’
Beryl held my hand tighter, and I fought the urge to rip mine away. ‘Tom can get very controlling sometimes. You’re the first constant girlfriend he’s ever had. We just wanted to check that everything was alright first.’ Bile rose in my throat but I forced it down.
‘Yes, I’m fine- we’re fine!’ I omitted the fact that this was our first meeting and I had never seen their faces beforehand, or the unease I had surrounding the writing-desk. I saw these as simple Tom-isms, just little things that he did that I shouldn’t think too much about. ‘Thank you for your concern but I don’t think that this is necessary. He’s gone through a rough patch and is just working through it, that’s all.’
They frowned, but still nodded - quite a considerate thing to do, I realised, as my mother would probably have just pushed further. Beryl gave a tight-lipped smile. ‘We trust you, darling. Just please, please be mindful. If something is off, if it seems as though he’s being very secretive, then you need to tell us.’
I buried my thoughts the best I could. ‘Sure. If you’ll excuse me I’ll check on how he’s doing.’ I got up and left the dining room, trying my best to block out the hushed tones behind me.
He was sat on the bed in his childhood room, facing the writing-desk. I stood, my back to it, and held him - a method of slowing his breathing that we had devised together. He mumbled something into my shirt. ‘What was that?’ I inquired, lowering my face slightly so I could hear him better.
Tom looked up, his piercing eyes meeting my dull ones. ‘Promise me something?’ I nodded.
‘Don’t do anything here when I’m not around. My parents can be weird to new people sometimes and I want you near me anyway.’ I frowned.
‘Weird how?’ I tactically didn’t mention the conversation we just had. He sighed. ‘They try and give disclaimers to everyone. I’ve only ever brought you here and a few friends. They cornered them and interrogated them about me.’
I tried to keep my expression neutral. He looked back down. ‘Just stay with me.’ I smiled and kissed him. But when I opened my eyes, for half a second, his were open too, staring at the writing-desk behind me.
I needed answers. A few hours ago he went to bed and Beryl and George wished us goodnight. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that fucking desk and its lock.
Why was it bothering me so much? Was it because of the effect it had on Tom? Or the separate conversations I had?
My parents can be weird to new people sometimes.
Please, please be mindful.
Tom’s words and those of his parents played an imaginary game of tennis in my head.
But I had been laid flat on this mattress for hours now with no sleep coming, with just Tom’s snores to listen to and that stupid desk looming across from me, taunting me to open it up.
I got up and softly padded across the room, knowing that Tom was fast asleep but susceptible to especially loud sounds, and lifted the lid of the desk. It didn’t budge.
Damn. I squinted in the dark, thinking about the next steps I could take, and remembered the hairpins I discarded on the bedside table. Thanking my own brilliance, I inserted them into the lock and proceeded to twist.
It gave way, and I eagerly lifted the lid. My stomach dropped.
Inside was a photo of me, aged five. My hair was curled, my smile wide. Next to it was a pink bow and small, blue dungarees. That was the only thing in the desk lid.
I’m sat in the bathtub. That was half an hour ago.
I’m trying to conceptualise this and need some help in doing so.
How could he have got these things? He’s never met my mother and I never told him much about my childhood. I don’t even remember those things going missing and I can’t even begin to think about how they ended up in my boyfriend’s childhood home, locked and stored for God knows what.
I’m trying not to freak out. This is Tom. I know him. I love him.
But how much does he know about me?
Oh God. I think he’s awake.
He’s knocking on the bathroom door.
Why do I feel so scared?
Part 2 : Why does my boyfriend have things from my childhood in his house? (2) : nosleep (reddit.com)