haunts me back [kate]

wednesday 24th september, 2003

Charlie had ingested so much beer in the last week that he was looking forward to pissing clear again. He had been to Oktoberfest -- the real one, in Munich -- once before, but he had been younger then, and— well, just as foolish, drank just as much, but being older now (not really by that much, but obviously enough) he still hadn’t quite shifted his hangover -- if that’s what this was. When he’d been offered a drink earlier in the week he’d still said yes, obviously, but had stuck to gin (Christ, what was happening to him?).

He picked up an orange and surveyed it before putting it back in the very fancy looking crate that took the place of a regular shelf. He moved along a bit and committed to putting a bunch of fair trade bananas in his basket instead -- to join the artisan chocolate, organic blueberries, higher welfare steaks, an overpriced loaf of bread… and so on. He could have gone to Waitrose and paid less (which was saying something) but he wasn’t sure his head could handle the incessant beeping of the checkouts.

Charlie rounded the corner in search of the milk and eggs, and came face-to-face with—

“Kate—” His eyes grew wide and he took half a step back in surprise. Fuck. Was this what happened when he left the house before lunch? Well, he left the house before lunch other times but, not to go grocery shopping. What sort of poetic justice was this supposed to be? Her nagging at him for however many months that he needed to eat better than ready meals and takeaways, and the first fucking time he made the effort to do so he bumped into her.

Charlie hadn’t seen Kate since before the tour, which was probably the longest he hadn’t seen her since their initial separation. This was also the first time he’d seen her sober since they’d devolved to arguing in New York. He wet his lips and swapped his basket to the other hand, half-attempting to hide the contents lest she judge his selection. “Hi.”


@Kate Baker

There were markets closer to her new home in Chelsea, but Kate found it difficult to sever her connection with this one, situated very, very close to her old home in Maida Vale. She excused it by assuring herself it was because she was familiar with the aisles, the products, when they got their products in, and all of that--if she peeled a few layers back, though, she knew it was for a separate reason. Familiarity could still be an honest part of it, but not with the market.

Kate liked grocery shopping most of the time, but today she found herself aimlessly lobbing things into her basket and wishing she had someone else to cook for besides herself. She could invite Noah over, and she knew he would come, almost always, if he didn’t have to work--but there was something attractive and moderately self-indulgent about isolating oneself in longing.

All that faraway thinking was met with a huge brick wall when a body rounded the corner and materialized into so much more than a body. Her eyes focused and Kate’s pupils dilated immediately as she realized who it was. He was never out this time of day, and she was surprised (pleasantly, though she had to tamp that feeling right down) to see he was shopping here instead of at a processed food garbage dump.

Her brain lagged behind her facial expression a few seconds, and she picked her jaw up from the floor, wondering how exactly to respond to his presence in a decidedly not-drunk state. This was new territory for them--since they’d been married, really. Or since he’d come to drop some of her things off in New York, and that had been an utterly sour experience, indeed.

“Hey.” Kate managed after a few long seconds, and cleared her throat, anything but delicately. “Sorry, I… just. Know my way around this market pretty well.” She smiled sheepishly, and then instantaneously felt strange for apologizing for her presence in an establishment she regularly patronized. Why should she have to feel sorry for that?

“Glad to see you grocery shopping,” She commented good-naturedly, and peered over his arm to try and sneak a peek at the things in his basket.

Kate was looking at Charlie in much the same way he imagined he was looking at her. She’d told him she was going to stay in London, and he’d assumed (hoped) she was calling his bluff, just winding him up -- until she’d not-so-subtly invited him over to her new place, but that was in Chelsea, a borough over—

She apologised for -- well, he wasn’t entirely sure but he got the gist. “I— No, it’s—” He shrugged and looked away, not sure what it was.

Charlie glanced back at Kate and was tempted to scowl -- somehow he managed to limit the expression to a soft furrow of his brow. He opened his mouth to tell her he’d managed this long without starving -- he was hungover and tired and snappy as a result— Why was he even up this early? That’s right, because he’d spent the night at Honey’s, and she’d had to start working. Charlie wet his lips nervously, as though Kate might be able to read his mind. He wasn’t about to reveal his sleeping arrangements to her willingly (even if he was within his rights to do whatever he wanted now that he was single) -- if she commented on his exhausted appearance he’d blame it on jet lag, or whatever the magical version was. He supposed he could feasibly still be running on German time (perhaps he was).

“I’ve never been in here before,” he admitted, attempting to be a little more civil, looking around the shop before back to Kate, adjusting his hold on his basket and trying to keep it from view, as though there were something salacious in there. He wet his lips again -- dry from dehydration. “Erm, how’ve you been?” He mentally winced at his attempt at small talk -- when was the last time he’d properly talked to her? -- and tried to distract himself by looking at her; she looked well -- better than the last time he’d seen her, and much better than he presently felt. “You working again yet?”

Kate wasn’t sure why his admission to never having been in this market before triggered suspicion. After all, she’d been the one to go out and do the shopping almost every time while they’d been together, unless she’d been ill enough to call herself bedridden or if he’d just gone down to the closest store (open later than this one, which closed at a reasonable rich people hour) to grab something she needed last minute. And, too, it wasn’t like she felt like he couldn’t take care of himself, but it was true that she did suspect, just maybe, she’d taken care of him a little better.

He asked her if she was working again. Was he genuinely so interested in what she was doing for work? Probably not--it was more than likely the first thing that came out of his mouth while he was pondering what to say to her in this awkward situation, but if it was the first thing, she wondered if it were motivated by genuine curiosity or jealousy.

She didn’t have any reason to be thinking negatively of him or his intentions at this present moment, but it was true that made things easier. Made it harder to fall into step with him as it so naturally happened almost every time they saw one another. That was why it was better for them not to do just that, Kate reminded herself, rather weakly, but still somewhere in the back of her mind.

“I’ve been all right,” She told him quietly, just loud enough for him to hear. That wasn’t a lie. All right was a relatively accurate assessment. “And yeah, I’m working. Not managing, though. I’m doing other stuff, like… art, and. I’m looking into getting some things published. Not really sure what it is I… want to do with the rest of my life.” Kate smiled at him sheepishly.

After standing there for a moment in time, thinking about how weird things were and how they’d ended up here after each struggle they’d been through together, Kate opened her mouth and then shut it again, almost immediately. “Uh…” She began for the second try, “What about you? How was your…” tour.

Charlie nodded, lowering his gaze to her basket as a means of distracting himself; she wasn’t good, wasn’t great, just alright -- and he knew he probably had more than a little something to do with that. He flicked his attention back up when Kate told him she was working--not managing, though--and failed to keep his expression neutral when she mentioned getting some things published.

What could she possibly have to publish? She was twenty— almost twenty-one, he realised with a sudden leaden feeling in his gut. But the point remained -- other than what a piece of shit he was, what could she possibly have to write about at twenty? He failed to see the irony that he’d made his success before he’d even hit twenty.

But that wasn’t the smile of someone with animosity towards him -- was it? Kate had always been very good at putting other people’s feelings first, but terrible at lying about her own -- even when it was for someone else’s benefit. Charlie felt himself smiling back softly despite himself— realised what he was doing and stopped, frowned gently instead. He wasn’t trying to be a dick, but he sort of felt like he had to or they’d end up where they always did.

He saw Kate’s mouth open out of his peripheral vision, glanced up in time to see her close it again. Almost did the same thing back at her before she beat him to coming up with something to say. “Er, yeah, good.” He cleared his throat. “Pretty relaxed schedule, two shows a week.” He made sure not to make any assumption that she’d kept track, this time -- didn’t mention how many shows they’d sold out because that wasn’t what she cared about (not now, anyway). “Finished up in Germany, did Oktoberfest,” he offered a small, lopsided smirk -- as if it weren’t already obvious he was a little under the weather.

Someone came around the corner behind him and Charlie shifted closer to Kate to let them pass, hesitating a moment before stepping back again to reclaim their space. His eyes met hers. “I— If you’re busy…?”

Two shows a week was nothing compared to how many she had booked for Banshee on tours, and she was actually glad to hear it. Kate knew this was a smaller tour in comparison to those huge ones she’d planned, but she also didn’t think it was good for Charlie to go all-out and then come home to a giant crash. Perhaps a lifestyle with more stability and variety would suit him better. Not that it was any of her business, anyway, because it wasn’t her job to take care of him--as his manager or his wife--anymore.

When he smiled at her she had the sneaking urge to smile back again, bigger than the last time, but his expression changed like a light switch and Kate settled for pressing her lips together instead. When she couldn’t be honest, she could mask, right? Masking in front of Charlie felt unnatural, but if she consciously reminded herself that he didn’t really deserve to see deep inside, that took the edge off.

“Oh, Oktoberfest?” Kate raised her eyebrows and the tone of her voice sharpened. “Did you just now get back?” That would have made sense, after all. It was about the time-frame he’d given her for his return the last time she’d seen him. Her brown eyes slid curiously up and down him another time, and she bit the inside of her lip. He looked pretty tired, and if her suspicions were correct, all of this pointed pretty directly to being the reason he wasn’t glancing up at the lights above them much.

She wasn’t busy, but perhaps she should tell him she was. That would give them a reason to part ways amicably, but, “No, I’m not busy.” Kate knew herself. Should and would were fairly distinct, even dichotomous, in her life.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. Had he just got back? Not technically, but he didn’t want to have to explain what he’d been up to between then and now--a whole two days--so he just said “Yeah,” again. He couldn’t recall ever being grateful to still look like a bag of shit a few days after a big night (big couple of nights), but it suited him and his alibi just fine right now.

Charlie initially expected Kate to tell him that yes, she was busy -- but then he was equally anticipating her not being, or else being willing to put him first, as she had done time and time again. He wasn’t, therefore, that surprised when she said she wasn't. A smug satisfaction almost crept across his features before he remembered that this wasn't what he really wanted, this time. Or shouldn't be.

"Right." His tone and body language didn’t make it immediately clear if he was just accepting her lack of plans or if he was signalling his desire for this conversation to end. (right could mean a number of things, coming from Charlie). He glanced down at her basket, then at his, conscious of the meat and milk that he’d need to get home and put in the fridge sooner rather than later, but not wanting to invite her back to his because of what that could escalate to. Maybe it would be a good excuse, if—

“We could get a cuppa, if you want?” He wasn’t looking her in the eye, back to focusing on her shopping because it was easier to look at. “Down the road,” he added, just in case.