Never Leaves Me

by C J Morrow

  Stephen jumps out of the car and moves towards her. Courtesy propels me from my seat too, though it takes rather longer for me to struggle out and by the time I do she is standing on the pavement waiting for me.

  I shuffle forward awkwardly and offer my hand, she glances at it before extending hers.

  ‘I’m Juliette,’ I say. ‘I’m pleased to me you, despite the circumstances.’

  ‘Caroline. Likewise.’ She glances up and down the street. ‘Shall we get on?’ At first, I think she is asking me if we’ll get on, as in be friends, then I realise she means that we should get going.

  I offer her the front seat in the car. She glances at the back doors, then looks me up and down, her eyes resting on my cast, and refuses.

  ‘It’s very nice round here.’ I don’t know what else to say as we drive down the street.

  ‘Yes. It’s pleasant enough. Lot of old people though.’

  ‘You don’t seem…’ I’m about to say old, then realise how rude that sounds.

  ‘I’m the warden. It’s sheltered housing and, among other duties, it’s my job to see that no one dies on their own in the night.’ She gives a stiff little laugh; she’s as uncomfortable as I am.

  I turn around as best I can and give her a smile which I try to endow with empathy.

  ‘I’m so sorry we’re having to meet in these circumstances. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t let you know sooner about Robin…’ My voice trails away, I feel a catch in my throat.

  ‘Yes. Well.’ She grips the handbag on her lap and turns to look out of the window. The atmosphere inside the car is fraught; we all wish we were somewhere else. The silence seems to go on forever. I’m grateful when Stephen finally breaks it.

  ‘How long have you been back from Brazil?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Caroline leans forward to hear Stephen better as he raises his voice.

  ‘I said, how long have you been back from Brazil?’

  ‘I haven’t been to Brazil.’

  Stephen and I exchange confused glances before Stephen turns his attention back to the road.

  ‘Oh. There’s obviously a misunderstanding. Robin said you were in Brazil; that’s why you couldn’t come to our wedding.’

  ‘I’ve never been to Brazil, it’s not somewhere I would holiday.’ I can feel her annoyance.

  ‘No,’ Stephen counters. ‘We thought you lived there.’

  ‘No. Never.’

  We’re getting off to a good start.

  None of us speaks anymore during the twenty-minute drive to the chapel of rest until we pull up in the car park.

  ‘Do you want us to come in with you?’ Stephen waits for Caroline to answer. Her response is to look us up and down several times before nodding.

  Stephen leads the way, he rings the bell and we wait. When it’s answered it’s by someone we haven’t met before, but they wear the same uniform, the same expression on their face as the undertakers we met yesterday. I can hardly tell them apart.

  We’re ushered into the same green waiting room, then told to visit the deceased for as long as we like. Then, we’re left on our own; the door to the room where Robin lies is ajar. Robin’s mother stares as if expecting him to walk through it. I know how she feels.

  ‘Do you want some privacy?’ Stephen keeps his voice low as he speaks to Caroline.

  She shakes her head several times but says nothing.

  ‘Would you like me to come in with you?’ Stephen offers.

  Caroline shakes her head again, then points at me. I feel my heart sink then thud against my ribcage.

  ‘You want me to come with you?’ My voice is a squeak. I’m horrified. I’ve seen Robin, I thought I would not have to see him again.

  Caroline nods, then links her arm through mine. I hope she does not falter because my balance is not good enough to hold us both up even with my three-pronged walking stick. Stephen steps aside to let us pass; to see my husband’s corpse.

  She gasps when she sees him. I do not look at his face, just fix my gaze on the skirting board behind the coffin. I breathe slowly and deeply and tell myself this will soon be over.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Caroline run a finger along his nose, then rest it on his lips. I hear her take a deep breath.

  ‘Car accident, did you say?’

  ‘Yes.’ I glance into her eyes; they are dead, as I suspect mine look too.

  ‘Not a mark on him. He looks beautiful. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes. I do.’ I’m still not looking at him.

  ‘What killed him?’

  ‘Trauma to the chest.’ I’m repeating what I’ve been told, it’s sounds so impersonal. ‘The steering wheel…’

  ‘Was he driving?’ she cuts in.

  I nod.

  ‘Silly boy,’ she says, lifting her finger from his lips. ‘Inevitable.’ I want to ask why, but dare not. She turns to leave, and, still linked to her, so do I.

  In the waiting room Stephen mouths ‘okay?’ at me behind Caroline’s back. I widen my eyes in response. Now is not the time for conversation. Caroline lets go of me and slumps into a chair.

  ‘I could murder a cup of tea,’ she says.

  ‘Me too.’ I agree too hastily.

  ‘There’s a pub across the road; I’m sure they do tea and coffee,’ Stephen offers.

  ‘Is there anything I need to sign before we go?’ Caroline looks to Stephen for an answer.

  ‘No. Everything’s taken care of.’ He’s using a soft, reassuring voice on her.

  Stephen shuffles us out and towards the pub.

  We’re soon seated. Stephen has a cappuccino and Caroline and I have individual pots of tea; two cups each. I’m pleased about that but my bladder won’t be; I seem to be going a lot lately. Mum has told me it’s often the case in early pregnancy, even though most people think it only happens later.

  ‘Did you say you’ve never been to Brazil?’ Stephen asks Caroline. He’s picking a scab and, while I want to know what’s going on, a part of me wishes he would just let it be.

  ‘No. No. What is this with Brazil?’

  ‘You’ve never lived there?’

  ‘No. Why do you keep asking?’ Caroline sounds tired, irritable.

  Stephen flicks his eyes in my direction; having started this, he now expects me to carry on. Caroline stares at me and waits.

  ‘Robin told me you lived in Brazil, that’s why you couldn’t come to our wedding.’

  I hear her sigh.

  ‘Maybe he was confusing the places. Or you misheard. My sister lives in Basildon, I often visit her. When was this?’

  I definitely did not mishear. Robin had told me several times, over the years, that his mother lived in Brazil.

  ‘Ten years ago. Christmas time.’ As I say the words I watch her face.

  Her mouth doesn’t exactly drop open, her eyes don’t widen, but I watch the shock register on her face. She starts to speak twice but the words don’t come out. She swallows.

  ‘You’ve been married ten years?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I look down at my hands, twiddle my wedding ring. I feel so embarrassed. I think she had no idea I even existed until yesterday.

  ‘Ten years, ten years,’ her voice echoes as she shakes her head. She turns to Stephen. ‘Who did you say you were again?’

  ‘Stephen. I’m Etty’s, err, Juliette’s friend. We grew up together.’

  ‘R-i-g-h-t. Good of you to help with my son’s funeral.’

  ‘Err, yes.’ I can tell from the look on his face that he wants to say there’s no one else to do it, but he manages to restrain himself.

  ‘Would you like to do anything, say anything? Have you any preferences for the service?’ I’m offering an olive branch that I hope she’ll take.

  ‘No. No. You go ahead. It’s all a bit…odd. Many coming?’ She looks at me expectantly as she takes a sip of tea.

  ‘I don’t know. We only arranged it yesterday. There’s a notice going into the paper, probably today, and we’ll ring his
school with the details. I’m sure some of his colleagues will want to come.’

  ‘You didn’t know Robin was married, did you?’ Stephen can’t resist stabbing.

  ‘No.’ She half smiles at Stephen. ‘But nothing my son does surprises me.’ She turns to me. ‘Any children.’

  ‘No.’ I feel my face flush.

  ‘Just as well, he’s not too good with children.’ She stares into the distance.

  ‘But he’s a teacher.’ Stephen can’t resist another stab.

  ‘Yes. Well. Yes.’ She pours her second cup of tea. ‘Where’s the wake, afterwards?’

  ‘Umm, err…’ We haven’t arranged a wake because we assumed there would be just us and Mum and Dad and Sally.

  ‘Not arranged yet?’

  ‘No. Not yet,’ Stephen answers, smooth and calm.

  ‘Okay. Well, I’ll organise that. We can use the community room we have in the sheltered housing. You’ll have to pay for the catering, but I’ll get them to bill you direct. Message me your address?’ She knocks back her second cup of tea, puts the cup down and looks around for her handbag. ‘That was a bit cold, that one.’ She stands up. It’s time to go.

  The atmosphere in the car on the journey back is not as tense as before, but there’s no small talk, no pleasantries.

  We pull up outside her bungalow, Caroline gets out and stands on the pavement. I wind down the window and Stephen leans over me to speak to her.

  ‘Do you need a lift to the crem?’ he asks.

  ‘No. No. I’ll see you there.’ She walks down the path and puts the key in the door, as she opens it she turns. ‘I’ll tell the others.’ Then she’s gone, the door closing behind her.

  ‘The others?’

  ‘There must be more relatives.’

  ‘Robin never mentioned anyone.’

  ‘He said she lived in Brazil.’

  ‘Yeah.’ And he never told her about me.

  We go straight through to Mum’s kitchen when we get back. She’s sitting drinking tea at the table.

  ‘Just made a pot. Want one?’

  We decline in unison. I tell Mum about Robin’s mother. I tell her about Brazil, or rather, not Brazil, and about Robin’s mother not knowing about me.

  Mum doesn’t say anything, just gives me the look and offers a weak smile. And her words from years ago echo in my mind: he’s such a liar.

  Later, when Stephen and I are alone in Sally’s lounge, I remember Mads phone.

  ‘You left it in here. It’s fully charged now.’

  ‘Have you looked through it?’

  ‘No,’ Stephen says and he sounds indignant.

  ‘Shall we look through it now?’ I’ve been through Robin’s phone again and again. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find, I don’t know what I want to find, but so far, I’ve found nothing of interest, except, of course, his mother. Now I face the same quest with Mads’s phone.

  Mads’s phone doesn’t have a password, she’s chosen a pattern instead.

  ‘Any idea what it might be?’ Stephen asks, looking over my shoulder.

  ‘M, I suspect.’ I give a small laugh. ‘I’ll try that first.’ It works.

  I scroll through Mads’s messages and contacts; there’s nothing that jumps out at me. When I find Chloe’s number I drop her a message. Stephen watches me intently, then frowns.

  ‘Chloe. She was Mads’s best friend, but Robin said she had bullied Mads.’ Was that true? Did Robin really say that, or was it me putting words into imaginary Robin’s mouth?

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing really, just asked how she was, wondered if she wanted to meet up?’

  ‘And if she doesn’t reply?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just clutching at straws really. I cannot believe that Mads would kill herself. And, if she did, I need to know why.’

  ‘Of course.’ Stephen looks solemn.

  ‘Oh, do you know what we did with Robin’s wallet? We brought it back with us, didn’t we?’ I remember it being in the plastic bag with his phone.

  Stephen gets up and opens the sideboard drawer; he pulls the plastic bag out and brings it over to me.

  Robin’s wallet has fifteen pounds and some change in it, as well as his credit and debit cards.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to cancel these.’ I sigh.

  ‘We could go to yours and go through stuff tomorrow if you like, there may be bills and things that need paying.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll have to catch up with our bank accounts. Robin handled all that.’ I stop myself from sighing again.

  ‘I can help you.’ He pauses. ‘If you want me to, I mean.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I start to stuff the cards back into Robin’s wallet, jamming them in, but they don’t all fit. I groan my irritation.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘They won’t go back in.’ I pull them out. ‘Something’s in the way.’

  ‘Your winning lottery ticket,’ Stephen laughs as I pull out the offending jammer.

  It’s a photograph, printed on paper. Of me. I smile. I never knew he carried a photo of me in his wallet. I remember that photo, remember when it was taken; we were at the zoo, Robin, me and Mads. We’re all in it but it’s been folded so that only I show. Mads used to have a copy stuck to her bedroom mirror. It was taken on her phone; Robin must have asked for a copy too.

  I turn it over. The rest of the photo: Mads and Robin – he has his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘At least he didn’t cut you off,’ Stephen says to reassure me.

  ‘He’s just folded it to fit in his wallet.’ It hadn’t occurred to me until Stephen cast doubt. I stuff it all back into the wallet, then the wallet, still bulging, into the plastic bag. I pop Robin’s and Mads’s phones in too. I can’t face going through Mads’s phone anymore tonight.

  ‘I think I’ll get off to bed now. Good night.’ I take the bag with me.

  ‘Etty,’ Stephen calls after me. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, just tired.’ Which is true, but I also feel irritated by Stephen, by Robin and, even by Mads.

  The second visit to my house isn’t any easier than the first. I have a go at Robin’s computer, but, inevitably it’s password protected. We go through the same rigmarole trying to guess the password but with no luck this time; thankfully, it isn’t MADS.

  ‘It’ll be something more complicated.’ Stephen states the obvious. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘No. Never touched it.’ I regard the computer with disdain; this whole room is alien to me. I’m beginning to think I never knew Robin at all. ‘We might as well go.’

  ‘I don’t mind having a few random goes.’ Stephen offers me a smile.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It worked last time. Failing that, I have a friend who could probably crack it. I could ring him.’

  ‘Okay.’ I drift back into the lounge and flop down on the sofa. I stare out of the window and watch the road; it’s a cul-de-sac, there’s not much traffic. It’s strangely soothing though, just staring and not thinking. Just sitting.

  I’ve no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, I’m vaguely aware of the sound of Stephen clicking the keyboard in the study across the hall. Then he speaks on the phone; the doors are open but his voice is soft so I don’t hear exactly what he says.

  Suddenly he’s in the lounge, brandishing a small notebook and smiling. ‘Cracked it, with a bit of help from my friend.’

  ‘What was it?’ I ask this but I’m not sure I want to know.

  ‘I don’t know, we bypassed it and now I’ve removed it. There was no other way. I hope that’s okay.’

  ‘We didn’t have much choice really, did we?’ I stand up. ‘Thank you,’ I add.

  He offers me the notebook, I flick through it. It’s a list of user names and passwords.

  ‘Where was it?’ I’ve never seen it before, though it is logical that such a book exists, I have one at work for the few systems and websites I use.

  ‘It was clipped under the desk, quite clever
really.’

  ‘But you found it.’

  ‘Almost by accident, I knocked against it when I was on the phone.’

  ‘Well, that’s lucky.’ I sit down and start working my way through the book. There are the inevitable shopping sites, eBay and Amazon included, then I find what I really want, our bank accounts.

  ‘Shall I make us a coffee while you’re doing that?’

  ‘There’s no milk,’ I say, half surprised he hasn’t realised that; there’s been no one here for weeks.

  Stephen pats my shoulder and smiles. ‘There is. I brought some with us. It’s in your fridge.’

  While Stephen’s in the kitchen I go through our accounts, they’re as I expected. We have several savings accounts, and a joint account which both our salaries are paid into and all our direct debits are paid from. The amounts in them are as I expect also, because, although I never took an active role in their maintenance, Robin always kept me informed of our current financial status. He was very proud of his ability to make the most of our money.

  As I flick through the direct debits, I’m grateful that they all seem to be ticking along and I don’t need to worry about the gas or electric being cut off. I’ve just moved off the list of direct debits when I notice it; a standing order, a regular monthly sum of over a thousand pounds. I can’t imagine what utility that must be paying for – half the street? Perhaps it’s to a savings account. But, when I investigate further I find the recipient is referenced as Carly.

  ‘You okay?’ Stephen asks as he brings our coffees in from the kitchen. ‘Only you look very pale. You feeling all right? Do you need something to eat? I brought biscuits too.’

  I shake my head and stare at the online-banking screen. Stephen follows my gaze and leans over my shoulder.

  ‘Wow. That’s a lot. Who the hell is Carly?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Nineteen

  ‘Did he ever mention a Carly?’