Jo watches, waits as Simon tries to re-establish what he thinks is a lost connection. ‘Typical,’ he mutters, moving about the room.
‘No, no, I’m… I’m here,’ Suzanne says, touching her head, causing Simon to put the phone in front of them again.
Jo flicks her eyes towards the sink. Will is still standing there, his arms folded, watching as Simon pulls her in close, his arm around her waist so they can both fit in the screen. She notices a twitch under Will’s eye, like the tic he’d get on his jaw if he’d had a bad day at work or something had upset him. Or that time after the party, when he’d virtually dragged her out, his hand clamped around her arm.
‘We came third in the pub quiz last night,’ Simon tells Suzanne. ‘Jo kept the team on the leader board with her stellar knowledge of crows.’ He laughs then, the phone shaking in his hand.
But Suzanne just stares at her, saying nothing. Fixated. After a moment, she looks away then looks back again, blinking. Her hair falls across one eye but she makes no move to sweep it out of the way.
‘Hello?’ Simon says, giving his phone a little shake as though that will help. He looks at Jo and rolls his eyes. ‘Joys of living in the country,’ he says. ‘Terrible Wi-Fi speeds here.’
‘That’s… that’s really great,’ Suzanne says, finally moving again. ‘Well done.’ She stares straight out of the screen – her symmetrical face mesmerising Jo. ‘I… I hope the kids are behaving.’ She pushes her blonde hair back, no signs of a bad connection now as she slowly moves – deliberate, purposeful gestures while her eyes stay fixed on Jo.
Jo glances at Simon for clarification before realising what she means – the animals. Will is in her peripheral vision, shifting his balance from one foot to the other, arms folded.
Please don’t hate me, Will… I have to find out. I have to understand. You’d have done the same…
‘Sorry?’ Simon says. ‘Who’d have done the same?’
‘Oh,’ Jo says. ‘I meant, you’d have done the same… in the quiz, I’m sure,’ she says, forcing a smile at Suzanne, trying to appear normal and calm even though inside she’s in turmoil. She glances over at Will.
What is it you see in her that you don’t see in me?
Then she looks back at the phone, studying Suzanne – as much as she can see of her, anyway. She keeps moving away, as if in two minds about whether she wants to be on the screen or not – flashes of the ceiling, the floor. Jo braces herself in case Will appears in the room with Suzanne. He could be right next to her, listening to everything.
‘We… we have this battle with other local teams,’ Suzanne finally manages to say. She clears her throat as if she’s struggling with the conversation as much as Jo. ‘Pub quiz wars, eh, Simon?’
Simon is about to speak but Spangle suddenly yaps, jumping up and down at his feet, as if he wants to get to the phone. ‘He can hear you, Suze,’ Simon says, ruffling the dog’s back.
‘Hello, darling boy,’ Suzanne sings out as Simon swivels the camera to show Spangle bouncing around, spinning in circles, his tail wagging furiously. ‘Are you being a good boy for Jo-jo?’
Jo freezes, steadying herself with one hand on the back of a kitchen chair. Jo-jo… Will was the only person to ever call her that and subsequently – and annoyingly – Louise, as if she was filling the gap left by him, as though it was her duty, as best friend, to call her by her pet name.
But a complete stranger saying it? It’s not right, Jo thinks. It’s too familiar. Her heart thumps or slows, she’s not sure which. Either way, it’s not beating in its usual rhythm.
‘By the way, there was a delivery for you,’ Jo says, catching sight of the package on the side table. ‘I’ll keep it safe unless you need it forwarding on?’
Spangle yaps as Simon turns the camera towards them again.
‘Oh…’ Suzanne says, a frown forming. ‘No, just keep it there. Thank you.’ She pauses, thinking, the frown getting deeper, a strange look brewing in her eyes. ‘Si, I’d… I’d better go. I’ve another call coming in.’ She hesitates, looking at Jo – though it’s hard to see exactly where her eyes are fixed now as they’re glassy and staring. She turns away again, her hair falling over her face as though she wants to hide behind it.
And then the screen goes blank.
‘Well,’ Jo says, her mouth so dry she can hardly form words. ‘Suzanne seems… lovely.’ It’s true. You can’t deny that. Would you expect Will to run off with someone who wasn’t nice?
‘Suzanne’s a brick. I’ve known her forever. We grew up together, and when her mum died, she decided to come back and live here in East Wincombe. It’s funny how you eventually gravitate home. I was in London for many years but had to get out. I came back home for a week to think about my life and never left.’ Simon says all that with a laugh in his voice, but Jo is pondering what he’s said.
Her own childhood village is the last place she wants to gravitate back to. Venturing to London aged eighteen, applying for courses, for any kind of job going – from bar work to babysitting, waitressing and cleaning, scraping by with the rent each month for a tiny room in Camden – was the get-out she needed. And she never went back. Never would go back.
In her final year at college, she’d ended up sharing a bedsit with Margot, the seed of an idea forming as their degree came to an end, and Sew Perfect was born. The memory of her mother’s crumpled face when she told her of her life plans was enough to keep her going, to know she was doing the right thing, following her dreams – however far removed they were from her mother’s vision for her. And then she’d met Will. The last straw as far as Elizabeth was concerned, confirming that her only daughter had failed them.
And it turns out they were right, she thinks, fetching a couple of plates from the cupboard. ‘Time for chocolate, I reckon,’ she says, not caring if she’s inadvertently voiced her inner thoughts to Simon.
‘I’m with you on that one,’ he says, gently touching her on the back. And, when she turns, seeing Will looming close by, it’s as if he knocks the plates clean from her hands.
Twenty-Five
‘What you need to know about Suzanne,’ Simon says after he’s swept up the broken china, insisting that he do it, believing he’d startled her. ‘What you need to know is that she’s… well, she’s been through a tough time.’
Jo freezes – a brownie half in her mouth. The dense chocolate suddenly tastes like gritty mud. She removes it, taking a sip of coffee instead and clearing her throat. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Don’t say anything, Jo. He’ll open up more if you just let him speak…
‘Which is why she’s gone away for a bit. This time, anyway.’ Simon nods, as though he’s done his duty, got it out.
‘I see,’ Jo says, a concerned frown forming. She forces the brownie in again, to prevent her from saying something she regrets. ‘Mmm, you can certainly bake,’ she says through a mouthful. ‘This is delicious. Do I have chocolate everywhere?’ She wipes her lips with her forefinger. Spangle hangs about under the table, waiting for crumbs.
‘Not at all,’ Simon says, that kind look in his eyes again, making Jo wonder how someone can actually seem kind without something sinister lurking beneath. Since Will disappeared, her calibration of people has changed. Been turned on its head. She doesn’t trust her judgement any more.
‘I just thought I ought to explain why she may have seemed a bit… well, a bit nervous or cautious on the call just now. That’s not really Suzanne. I mean, she’s an actress, for heaven’s sake. She doesn’t do nervous. Actually, that’s not true. She does do nervous. Just not in the way you or I would. She does it with style. Purposeful nervous, shall we say. And she’s usually much more… flamboyant.’
Jo watches as Simon stares out of the window, perhaps wondering how much he should reveal. ‘I understand that sometimes… sometimes people need space to think if they’ve had a tough time. Or to heal. Or to take stock of life.’
Simon nods. ‘Exactly,’ he says, turning b
ack again. ‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’
Don’t blurt again, Jo. Eat the brownie. Now!
‘Oh, no… no, not really. I just wondered if…’ Jo cups her hand under her mouth, looking at Simon with wide eyes, catching the falling crumbs as she stuffs the brownie in. ‘So good…’ she says.
‘Probably needed more butter. Or milk. I kind of make it up each time, to be honest.’
Jo says nothing. She can’t. Will is suddenly standing right behind Simon, his arms folded across his chest, taking a step closer.
‘So where’s she gone, then, Suzanne?’ she finally forces herself to say when she’s finished her mouthful, trying to ignore Will.
Simon thinks for a moment. ‘I suppose you could call it a place to heal. To get better.’
Rehab? Jo wants to say. An institution of some kind? A clinic? Maybe she has mental health issues… perhaps because of Will?
‘Fancy a beach walk?’ Simon suddenly says. Jo senses it’s a diversion.
‘Why not?’ she replies, standing up with almost military precision, knocking her coffee mug but catching it just in time. ‘Spangle, come!’ she calls, even though the dog is right by her feet. ‘Where’s your lead, boy?’ she says, heading towards the back door but stopping suddenly because Will is in her way. ‘Oh…’ she says, going around him, realising Simon is watching, seeing her sidestep nothing. He must already wonder what’s wrong with her, but how can she explain? Whenever Will appears to her, she’s mostly alone or at home. Making excuses for his presence in front of others is quite foreign to her.
‘Steady, there,’ Simon says, appearing behind her just as quickly as Will has materialised in front. She feels hemmed in, sandwiched between the two men. Simon gently puts his hand on her back.
‘It’s fine, I’m fine,’ she says, head down, sliding out from between the two of them.
‘Wow,’ Jo says, staring down the long stretch of sandy beach. The tide is right out – all the space Spangle needs to run and splash around in until he’s worn out. The wind whips around Jo’s face as they head across the small sandbanks dotted with marram grass clumps, making their way down onto the beach.
‘Worth the half-hour drive, eh?’ Simon says, raising his voice over the sound of the wind and waves.
‘Totally,’ Jo replies, stumbling a little down the uneven sandy track. She wants to throw her arms wide, run fast down to the shore… keep on running until she’s swallowed up by the waves. ‘It’s incredible. Beautiful. I’d never have discovered it myself if you hadn’t shown me.’
As they reach the firmer, wet sand – Jo thankfully having had the foresight to throw sensible boots in the car – they head west, the sea to their left. Jo unclicks Spangle from his lead – he’s been straining on it since they left the car – and he immediately bounds down towards the shore, his long ears flapping behind him.
‘So much energy,’ Jo says, laughing.
‘A bit pent-up,’ Simon adds. ‘Suzanne’s not been able to walk him as often as she liked lately. He got frustrated. I helped when I could, but that wasn’t often.’
‘I see,’ Jo says, seeing another opportunity without sounding as though she’s prying. ‘You say she’s had a tough time. Was that physical… emotional?’ She trails off, hoping Simon will fill in the blanks.
‘Problems with her leg. She had to have an operation. But she’s getting there.’
‘Sounds rough,’ Jo says, looking out to sea, shielding her eyes with her hand as the sun pierces through the clouds. Spangle is jumping about in the breakers, going into the water up to his belly then charging out again when a wave splashes down on him. They both laugh.
‘Yeah, she’s been through the mill a bit the last year or so. Her work has really been affected, though thankfully she still has a financial buffer. She’s been doing a fair bit of voice-over stuff instead of her usual stage or screen roles. But even that’s got a bit much for her lately. You know, emotionally.’
‘Emotionally?’ Jo says. ‘As in…?’ She’s pushing it, she knows.
‘The aftermath,’ he says, turning to look at Jo, holding her eye longer than necessary.
Jo stumbles, lurching forward. Simon reaches out to grab her, catching hold of her coat as she regains her balance. ‘Driftwood,’ she says, looking back at what caught her foot. ‘And me not being used to wearing these clumpy boots very often.’ She tries to laugh it off but her face burns from embarrassment – and frustration for breaking the moment. Simon grabs the bent piece of wood, whistling for Spangle.
‘Bit clumsy, aren’t you?’ he says with a wink before lobbing the wood as hard as he can down the beach.
‘Yes,’ Jo responds almost immediately, laughing. Spangle bounds across the sand in the direction of the stick and, as he runs back with it, she sees that his long fur is sticky with seawater and sand. And he has a piece of seaweed stuck on his tail. ‘Oh no, look at the state of him. Your car’s going to get filthy.’
‘Not a problem.’ Simon takes the driftwood from Spangle’s slobbery mouth as he returns it, throwing it as close as he can to the shoreline. The pair keep on walking at a steady pace, the dog occasionally looking up to check where they are as he runs along carrying the stick. It’s the perfect size for him.
‘Tell me to butt out if I’m stepping over a line,’ Jo begins.
‘And likely tripping over said line,’ Simon adds, gently nudging her with his shoulder as they walk along, the strips of seawater in the ridged sand splashing underfoot.
‘But were, or are, you and Suzanne ever a… thing?’ She hopes the information will help narrow down the men in Suzanne’s life, work out if one of them is Will.
‘As in the “R” word?’ Simon looks sideways at her.
‘“R” word?’
‘Relationship. Romance…’ He pauses a second, thinking. ‘Rumpy-pumpy,’ he adds with a laugh.
‘Rumpy-pumpy?’ Jo replies, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she scuffs at the sand. ‘But yes, yes. That.’
‘Then no. No, we’ve never had a thing. Always just good mates, and that’s the way I like it.’ Simon calls out to Spangle, who’s chasing after another dog. ‘Come on, boy,’ he yells, followed by a shrill whistle. ‘You’re asking because of last night?’ Another nudge, gentler this time with a light touch on her back.
‘Oh, heavens,’ Jo says, staring out to sea briefly. ‘I mean, not “Oh heavens” in a bad way. It was nice. Obviously. I mean, I was just as responsible. And it was a lovely evening. Probably too much alcohol on my part, but hey… and that wasn’t what I meant, and yes, of course the kiss was nice, very nice, and—’
‘Jo?’
‘Yes?’
‘Shut up.’
And before she knows what’s happening, he’s halted her, drawing her towards him with his hands gently around her wrists. With the sound of the waves on the shoreline, the breeze whipping her hair around her face, he kisses her again. Warm and slow.
And for the first time in a long time, Jo feels a fraction more like herself. Something thawing inside.
Twenty-Six
Then
I couldn’t help wondering if Will had disappeared again. Not in the physical sense this time – he was sitting right opposite me at the dinner table, after all – but rather in the emotional sense.
‘You’ll never get a straight answer from him about it, and his mood will be all over the place. You know what these thespian, arty types are like,’ Mum had said earlier in the day when I’d called in to see her after leaving work early. Her face was pinched and taut, making it hard for her to sip her drink – her usual Friday afternoon gin and tonic – while I had a cup of tea. It was my weekly duty visit. Whenever I’d asked her to come to our place for a change, Mum always refused – or rather made up excuses. Since Will and I had been living together, she always had a reason why it was inconvenient to make the journey. She wasn’t feeling well (but she was fine when I went to the family home instead), or she felt a migraine coming
on (it never materialised), or she was expecting a delivery (which, of course, never arrived), or her most recent: ‘Your father doesn’t want to. He’s not good with travelling.’
‘But Mum, we’re forty-five minutes away. It’s not that far. And Dad might enjoy the change of scene. All he does these days is potter in the garden or read the paper.’
‘I am here, you know,’ Dad had said then, looking up from over the top of The Times. I made a sympathetic face at him – a face I knew he would recognise as Sorry, Dad.
‘Well, anyway,’ I continued. ‘You know you’re always welcome, both of you. Will and I would love to have you round for supper at ours, or for Sunday lunch. Show off our new place.’ Though it’s not so new any more, I’d thought.
‘But as I was saying,’ Mum went on. ‘Someone like William is never going to give you the input you need about those paint colours, darling. You’ll have to accept that.’
I almost saw my mother mouth the words, ‘You’ve made your bed…’
‘You always seem to think I’m complaining about him, Mum. Just because you want to add your tuppence worth. But you know what? There’s nothing to complain about.’ I’d resigned myself to my mother never understanding.
‘How much does he earn now?’
‘Mum!’ I gave a furtive glance at my watch. I’d only been there forty minutes. Less than an hour and my mother would get difficult about my curtailed visit if I left early. More difficult. And I’d barely spoken to Dad yet.
‘A simple enough question, if the answer was enough, I suspect.’
I shook my head. ‘He’s a teacher and an actor. He’s never going to live up to your expectations in that department. I know he’s not the hedge fund manager or the surgeon you envisaged me marrying, but I love him. And he loves me. What he earns or what I earn… that doesn’t mean much to us. Of course, we want a roof over our heads – and we have one, albeit a two-up, two-down, but it’s home. And I’d love you to come and see it. We pay our bills and eat good food. We have friends and hobbies and adore each other. Why do you always have to criticise and pick my life apart? Just because it’s not the same as yours. I’m not you, Mum.’ I nodded a breathless full stop when I’d finally exhausted what I felt I had to say. There was so much more, but I knew I was pushing my mother close to her limits as it was. Mum had sat there, sipping tensely on her huge bowl glass of gin and tonic, trying to look as elegant as she could in her tweed skirt and high-necked blouse. But I saw her simmering inside; knew the signs well from when I was a child.
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 14
