Payback

by Gemma Rogers

  ‘James Miller?’ I guessed and was rewarded with an unexpected hug.

  James clutched my shoulders and held me at arm’s-length, looking at me from head to toe. I shrank back, self-conscious at being examined.

  ‘You look great, Sophie. I’m so pleased to see you.’ He grasped my hand.

  ‘You too, James, you look well,’ I replied, my voice hushed.

  ‘I’m going to sneak around the back for cigarette, want to join me?’

  A minute later, we stood at the rear of the crematorium, looking out over the graveyard puffing on a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked in years, and only ever socially, but if any time was forgivable, it was at a funeral.

  James’s hair was still light brown with a slight curl but now speckled with grey at the sides. His blue eyes were as intense as ever, framed by long lashes any woman would be envious of.

  ‘I can’t believe it about Gareth,’ James said. I saw the faintest wobble of his chin, but he bit his lip, looking at me unabashed with watery eyes.

  ‘I know, it’s so awful. Were you still friends?’

  ‘Yeah, saw each other every couple of months or so. We’d always make a date to have a boys’ night out. Too much beer and a kebab, you know how it is. Not something I do often now,’ he admitted.

  ‘Me neither,’ I grimaced. I would have liked the chance to get to know Gareth as an adult.

  ‘What about the others? Mark? Elliot?’

  ‘Not seen them really – we met up a few times when we finished school but not since. I bumped into Mark a couple of years back when I was out in Brighton. Him and Becca are still together. He’s in the police now.’

  ‘Oh really?’ I replied, glad I wasn’t the only one who had drifted apart from my friends after school was over.

  Stubbing out our cigarettes we headed to the pub across the way to join the other mourners. I bought James, Sue and Jim a drink and was introduced to Gareth’s fiancé Lisa and son Ben. She was very petite and pretty, with small elfin features. Her blonde hair was almost white, in sharp contrast to her blotchy pink skin. I tried to picture her with Gareth but I couldn’t; I could only see him as a boy and not as a man. Lisa’s eyes were bloodshot from crying, but I could see she was trying to hold it together. I bit my lip, eyes straying to Ben, who looked to be around eight, clutching his mother’s hand, overwhelmed by all the people surrounding him. Mum never said Gareth had a son.

  I passed on my condolences and James found a quiet corner for us.

  ‘Lisa arranged this quickly,’ I said, filling the silence that was growing between us.

  ‘Yeah, the crematorium had a window free and I think she wanted it done, not hanging over them.’

  ‘I completely get that. She must have been in limbo since the accident.’

  ‘I think she has been. I can’t believe he’s gone and Ben’s now without a daddy.’

  ‘It’s awful,’ I agreed, wondering if I’d ever be fortunate enough to be a parent.

  I turned the conversation around to happier times and we spent the next couple of hours drinking bourbon straight and reminiscing about our schooldays.

  ‘Do you remember Mark’s hair, when it was all spiked like that boy group, I can’t remember which one?’ James recalled.

  ‘Five!’ I blurted out, spluttering with laughter. ‘Wait, wait, look at this,’ I said, remembering the photo and pulling it from my handbag.

  James squashed close to me in a tiny booth, our thighs pressed together.

  ‘Wow. Look at us,’ he said wistfully.

  James’s proximity made my pulse quicken. I could smell his woody aftershave as we leant over the photo. Alcohol had switched on desire that had been dormant for a while. That, coupled with the warmth of James by my side, made me awkward and unsure. Like I was fifteen again.

  Looking around the pub, we were the last left that had attended the wake. Lisa and Ben had slipped out earlier and Sue popped over an hour ago to say goodbye and thank us for coming. Businessmen now propped up the bar and there were a gaggle of twenty-somethings in their sequins and heels warming up for a Friday night out. I looked at my watch, my focus blurring. It was almost nine. James and I had chatted away almost five hours. Was it any wonder my legs were like jelly?

  ‘Where are you staying?’ James asked, his tone had a serious edge to it. His eyes surveyed me so intently that for a second, I was lost in them.

  ‘Travel inn.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’ll call a cab,’ I said, grabbing my phone and calling the same firm that had delivered me earlier.

  We were collected within fifteen minutes and James walked me to my room. I was drunk and maybe he was too, but he seemed more sober than me.

  The corridor surprisingly deserted for how early in the evening it was.

  ‘Nightcap?’ I asked, knowing full well my room didn’t contain a mini-bar.

  ‘Sure.’ James’s eyes twinkled and I was sure he knew it too.

  10

  September 2018

  Before I even opened my eyes, a groan escaped my lips. My head throbbed as though someone was playing the bongos inside my skull. I pulled the duvet over me to drown out the banging. My stomach screamed for food and I remembered James and I had barely touched the buffet. We were so deep in conversation in our little corner, by the time we reached the table, there was hardly anything left.

  James. Where was James?

  I opened my eyes and rolled over, the speed making me wince. Everything hurt. My bed was empty. The room was empty. Memories of drunken sex flashed before me, like a trailer for a particularly rubbish porn film. Why was I wearing James’s shirt? If I had his shirt, had he gone back to his room bare-chested? Creeping along the corridor, hoping he wouldn’t be seen? I cringed inwardly; was it that bad he had to leave before I woke? I’d have to return his shirt at some point, perhaps apologise, although I wasn’t sure for what?

  I resumed my position under the duvet, enveloped in the warmth. I didn’t have to check out until midday, and I was intending to stay in bed as long as I could get away with. Suddenly, the door clicked and swung open, the room steadily filling with the aroma of meat and grease. A smell like no other and easily recognisable.

  James appeared, carrying a brown paper bag.

  ‘Morning,’ he said with a smirk, looking annoyingly fresh-faced and unabashed.

  I salivated at the smell of bacon and pulled myself to a sitting position. Flattening down my hair and resting my head against the cushioned board.

  James unpacked the bags and handed me a bacon sandwich and a steaming-hot coffee. ‘I hope you’re not a vegetarian. Sometimes only a bacon sarnie will do,’ he said with a grin, taking a large bite, ketchup dripping out of the edge. The awkwardness I’d felt dissipated.

  I couldn’t believe he didn’t look as annihilated as I felt. I took a bite, chewing slowly, not sure how my stomach would react, but it gurgled gratefully at the incoming solids.

  ‘I feel awful,’ I admitted, rubbing my head and smoothing my hair. Clinging on to my dignity. I wished I’d had a chance to look in the mirror before he’d arrived. For all I knew, my face was streaked with mascara.

  James wore a white T-shirt – maybe he’d had it on under his shirt last night? I couldn’t remember. I wanted to broach the subject of how we’d ended up here, to dispel any awkwardness. But it seemed I was the only one in the room who was self-conscious. James leant on the sideboard tearing through his sandwich without a hint of discomfort.

  I pulled the covers to my chest and concentrated on finishing my mouthful. Washed down with the coffee, I began to feel a bit more human, although ready to go back to sleep for a few hours.

  ‘Thank you for breakfast,’ I said, dabbing at my mouth with a serviette.

  James looked at his watch and I saw his eyebrows lift. ‘You’re welcome. I’ve got to head back, there’s a deadline on Monday I’ve got to meet. I’m behind and it’s not looking good.’ He rubbed the back of his neck.

  ‘Sure, no
problem,’ I said, a niggle of guilt surfacing as relief flooded in. I wanted to be on my own to process what had happened last night and I couldn’t do that with him around.

  James stared at me, his lips pressed together. Then it dawned on me.

  ‘Oh, the shirt,’ I said quickly. My cheeks flared and I began unbuttoning, my fingers getting muddled.

  ‘No, no, don’t worry about that,’ he replied, turning away. His ears pink, not wanting to watch me trying to undress myself.

  I cleared my throat. Why was I struggling to act normally? It had to be the hangover from hell. ‘I’ll wash it, or dry clean it?’ I offered and he turned back, a smile growing.

  ‘Next time dinner?’ he asked, and I agreed. He gave me a kind of half wave, half salute as he left.

  I waited until the door closed before allowing a giggle to escape. That was awkward. If I needed a reminder as to why I didn’t do one-night stands, that was it. I slumped back on the bed, cringing, not from the alcohol consumption exiting via my pores but from my clumsy interaction.

  The drive home, as always, was much quicker than the journey to St. Albans. I waited until midday, giving my mum a quick call and going back to sleep for a few hours. Waking up still as embarrassed as before but no longer intoxicated. I wasn’t sure I would see James again, he lived in the next village over and had done for years, but our paths had never crossed. James had not yet married or found the woman of his dreams, if such a thing existed. But his presence had turned an otherwise shitty day into something much more pleasant, if nothing more. I hadn’t failed to notice he didn’t ask for my number. It was nice to catch up anyway.

  He was a writer now, for the local newspaper, and had a column in one of the Sunday tabloids so was doing well for himself. I wished I’d followed in his footsteps, but the media course I looked at didn’t appeal to me. I’d opted for a Travel and Tourism GNVQ and spent two years learning about the leisure industry. Even before I gained my qualification, I knew it wasn’t for me, I felt at a loss and fell into working full-time for Dad. Moving up the ranks from the Saturday admin girl. While James had rushed home to meet a deadline, I had no plans for the day ahead other than to relax.

  Back home the office was closed, and the post picked up and left on my desk. There was nothing there of any immediate importance and Frank had left no messages, so I popped to the shops to get some food in and some hair of the dog for later. I was dreading going out. How stupid of me to arrange a night out the day after a funeral. I was way too old to be drinking two nights in a row. I easily had fifteen years on Lucy and Hope, and I could already see it was going to get messy with a ton of jäeger bombs.

  I checked my phone at six. There was a voicemail from Lucy, who sounded horrendous. She’d been sick all last night and most of the day, fearing it was something she’d eaten. There was no way she was going to make it out. I called Hope, intending to postpone, but she sounded so disappointed I relented. She suggested a takeaway and a bottle of wine instead of the pub, which did sound tempting but I told her we’d stick to the plan. The pub was neutral territory.

  I got dressed and tried to make myself as presentable as I could with the help of make-up and hair straighteners. We agreed to meet at the Boar at eight. When I arrived, she was waiting at a table, four drinks in front of her.

  ‘Happy hour – two for one, so I got a couple of Mojitos.’ She looked pleased with herself and I was glad she couldn’t hear my stomach squirming.

  ‘How’s your day been?’ I asked, and Hope filled me in. She’d been shopping with her Mum and tomorrow they would be visiting showrooms in the search for a new car.

  ‘Well, not new new, but you know, get a feel for what I’d like: Ford, VW, Skoda,’ she reeled off.

  ‘Do you live at home with your parents?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I moved out, but I’m at Mum’s all the time.’ She took a sip of her drink and looked at me. ‘You weren’t in yesterday? Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah fine. I was at a funeral.’

  Hope’s mouth dropped opened mid-slurp. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry. No one said anything.’ She looked mortified.

  ‘It’s fine, it was an old friend. I hadn’t seen him for years.’ That appeased her, and she went on to talk about what a dive her old job was and how her boss was a sanctimonious knob.

  The evening was fun, Hope talked a lot, getting consistently louder with each drink, but we did laugh. At times, I noticed the age gap between us. Some things she said went straight over my head and I was sorry Lucy wasn’t here to divert the attention. If James was intense, Hope, one-on-one, was sometimes disconcerting. I wished I’d had a slice of her confidence at the same age.

  We stayed in the Boar until chucking-out time and when Hope called the local taxi company, they had a delay of half an hour. I was five minutes down the road and told her to come to mine, so she booked the taxi to pick her up from there.

  There were two ways to get up to the flat, either through the agency, via the kitchenette, or through the front door. The front door was around the back of the building and I tried to avoid using that entrance when I could. It wasn’t well lit at the best of times and there was nothing but big industrial bins from the shops further down. I hardly ever saw anyone out there, and it had spooked me since I was a kid. Tonight, it was especially dark, and I had to use the torch on my phone to get the key in the door. I didn’t want to go through the office and have to tell Hope that the front creeped me out. She would think I was nuts.

  ‘Careful, some bastard has smashed your light,’ Hope slurred, crunching on glass underfoot.

  ‘Bloody hell, there’s always something,’ I moaned, looking around to see if anyone was waiting in the shadows. A feeling of disquiet settled upon my shoulders.

  ‘Probably kids,’ I sighed, heaving the front door open and climbing the steps to the second door which led directly into my kitchen.

  ‘Fancy a brew?’ I asked, already craving hot buttered toast.

  ‘Nah,’ she said, slumping at the kitchen table, her hand propping her head up.

  I made a tea anyway, and some toast and we sat at the table to have a slice.

  ‘What’s that?’ Hope asked, pointing to the fridge.

  I saw the photo I’d stuck there when I got home earlier. It looked different, and then I realised someone had drawn on it in thick red pen. A large cross, straight through Gareth’s head.

  11

  August 1997

  I waited at the postbox, my sleeping bag slung over my shoulder and a bottle of Malibu borrowed from Mum’s cabinet in a Safeway carrier bag. I’d arrived early, a few minutes before seven. Worried no one would come, or even worse, only one person would, and we’d be expected to go and do it on our own. My stomach tossed like tombola that wouldn’t stop, and I needed to pee.

  A few cars passed, but no one gave me a second glance. I hoped I didn’t look like a runaway with all my worldly possessions in a sack. The sun was slowly sinking, bathing the houses in an orange glow and the smell of a distant barbecue hung in the air. My sweaty palm encased the key inside my jean pocket. I wanted to keep hold of it, terrified it would slip out. Dad would go crazy if he discovered I’d stolen it. Suddenly, this didn’t seem like such a good idea after all.

  ‘Hi,’ Gareth said behind me.

  I spun round, I’d been watching for the girls, who would be coming from the opposite direction.

  ‘Hi,’ I replied, smiling, glad to see a friendly face. Then I remembered my dream, Gareth naked in my bed and my face burned.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked, eyes searching my face, forcing my mask to crumble.

  ‘Terrified,’ I replied with a nervous giggle.

  Gareth’s jaw relaxed.

  ‘Me too,’ he admitted.

  I pointed down the road as five figures rounded the bend. Robyn, Hayley, Becca, Elliot and James shuffled their way along the pavement towards us. As they got closer, I could see them all laughing and Elliot gesturing, hands flailing.

  �
��Where’s Mark?’ Becca asked as soon as she reached us, her eyes wide with panic.

  ‘He’ll be here,’ Gareth said, checking his watch. It was five past seven. My pulse slowed to a normal rate now almost everyone was here, excitement replacing my nerves. Even Hayley appeared calm, her eyes locked on Gareth.

  ‘Did you hear about Diana?’ Hayley asked.

  ‘Yeah, it’s awful isn’t it, my mum was so upset this morning,’ I said.

  ‘Mine too,’ Elliot added, his eyes downcast. I waited for a punchline, but it never came. Perhaps there was more to Elliot than being the joker?

  ‘So where are we going?’ James asked, his brow furrowed. Changing the subject.

  ‘We’re going to go to the park first, to have a drink, then there’s an empty house that’s been refurbished on Park Lane. It’s for sale and I have the key.’ I watched as mouths dropped open and my chest swelled.

  ‘Oh my god, Sophie, that’s amazing!’ Robyn said, a wicked glint in her eye.

  ‘What did you all expect? A park bench each?’ I replied like it was no big deal.

  The boys shrugged, perhaps it was what they were expecting? I wasn’t going to lose my virginity out in the open, summer or not. The news of the location seemed to lift the group and we shuffled from foot to foot, making conversation until Mark arrived five minutes later.

  ‘You’re late,’ Gareth grumbled, shoving Mark’s shoulder when he finally arrived.

  ‘Sorry, got stuck washing-up. Do any of you have any idea how many bloody pots and pans there are when your mum cooks a roast. Anyway, it’s only ten past!’

  ‘At least your hands will be clean,’ Elliot laughed, pushing Mark into the road.

  ‘Ha fucking ha. And, of course, I had to get this.’ He pulled a bottle of Strawberry MD 20/20 out of his bag, winking at Becca who beamed as the rest of us whooped.

  ‘Nice one,’ I said and we began walking towards a small park on the edge of a housing estate. It was one that we barely used because it’s play equipment was too babyish, but at this time it was likely to be empty.