Dear Anybody

by Rosa Temple

  ‘Why did you ring the doorbell?’ Rob asks when he opens the door for me. He is breathless from running down the stairs. ‘Did you forget your key?’

  ‘I’ve got my key,’ I say crossing the threshold as Rob stands back to let me in. ‘I just didn’t want to use it.’

  ‘Sydney.’ His voice rises in tone on the last syllable of my name and I use the same tone as I respond.

  ‘Rob.’

  ‘Look it doesn’t have to be like this. We can be civil, can’t we?’

  Just then, the woman from the ground floor flat comes out.

  ‘Hello, stranger.’ She is wrapped in one of her hand knitted scarves and matching hat. ‘Haven’t seen you in ages. Been away?’ She is at the front door now, securing the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I took a job outside London. Just stopping by to sort a few things before I go back.’

  ‘Oh , well then. Maybe this one will stop walking around like a wet weekend now you’re here.’

  She closes the door and I turn to see Rob waiting, noticing for the first time that he does look like a wet weekend. His eye sockets are deep with fatigue and he looks thin, almost sickly. I wait for him to go up the stairs first and follow him noticing his bare feet and his jeans sagging round his backside. His hair is matted. Clearly he hasn’t showered this morning and I don’t recognise the shirt he has on.

  The door to the flat is open and I’m hit by the smell of unchanged bedclothes coupled with festering, Domino pizza boxes in the living room. They are the first thing I notice as we walk in and Rob immediately starts gathering up the debris. He can’t, however, hide the greasy stains the pizza has left on the coffee table. The second-hand coffee table I swore blind was an antique and that we should cherish it until Antiques Roadshow came to Kilburn so we could see how much it was worth. Of course, I would never sell it. I loved that table. It fit perfectly in the space and the wood matched the legs of our DFS sofa perfectly.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ Rob says trying to wipe away the grease onto the sleeve of his shirt. He must have seen the disappointment in my eyes. He hasn’t looked after our antique table. He had laughed at the idea of the table being a valuable antique. ‘It can’t be more than thirty years old, Syd,’ he’d said at the time. I’d ignored him, knowing he was right but loving the idea that we’d found the perfect coffee table.

  ‘You’ll ruin your shirt. That’s pizza grease. It might not wash off,’ I tell him as he puts a dried-up piece of garlic bread on top of the empty boxes he’s holding.

  ‘It’s not my shirt. It’s old anyway.’

  ‘Whose shirt are you wearing?’ I’m keeping my voice as level as possible. I don’t want him to think I care that the shirt isn’t his.

  ‘Oh, some old thing of Mike’s. Or his flat mate. I’d been there since Friday night and I couldn’t for the life me find the shirt I turned up in.’

  ‘That sort of weekend, huh?’

  ‘Yes. Listen. Let me just get rid of this and we’ll talk.’

  He leaves for the kitchen with a slight bow of his head as if I’m a visiting dignitary. In the middle of our filthy living room I’m wondering how long it would take to restore it to its former glory.

  ‘Tea?’ Rob calls from the hallway. The way he used to when things were normal between us.

  ‘Not staying,’ I shout back which doesn’t answer his question. I don’t know if I should take tea with Rob. It’s hardly a social visit.

  Rob comes back, ruffling his hair, which he has left to grow longer than usual, and he has on a fresh t-shirt of his own.

  ‘I won’t have one either. Syd, aren’t you even going to sit down?’

  He hurries to the sofa and moves cushions and clothes aside for me. I balance my bottom on the edge of the corner seat of the sofa. My corner. The one I used to snuggle into when I was on my own watching television. The corner I sat in with Rob in the middle seat, my legs draped over Rob’s thighs. It was my corner if we sat listening to music with a glass of wine, talking about our respective days. I have no idea how Rob is spending his days. Apart from knowing he has been on a weekend bender, our lives couldn’t be more disparate. In a few hours I’ll be back in Bridley, the magazine about to go to print and sharing quality time with my new friend. Carey was all for this closure idea and I re-focus on what I’ve set out to do here. It isn’t to worry about how Rob’s life is going.

  ‘I want us to sell the flat,’ I simply say.

  Rob lands on the sofa with a thud in the middle seat.

  ‘No. Seriously?’ He is looking at the coffee table. ‘But if we do that, then that means …’

  ‘I’ll tell you what it means, Rob. We have to finish this. Put an end to our relationship once and for all. When I come back to London I’ll need money so I can start again.’

  ‘You realise that neither of us will be able to buy a place on our own. Separately. Not in London. I mean have you thought about this?’

  ‘All I know is we’re over and I want my things and I want you out of my life.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get out of your life if that’s what you want, but to sell this place.’

  ‘I can’t see any other way. Besides, my parents will help me get a deposit for somewhere else.’

  ‘Well, you’ll be all right then. You have the bank of mum and dad to help you. I don’t. I’ll be lucky to get a studio flat with prices the way they are.’

  ‘It’s not really my problem, Rob. I mean you could always move in with someone.’

  ‘Right. Like who? There isn’t anyone I want to be living with other than you, Syd.’ He pauses, waiting for me to say something to this but I don’t react. ‘You can’t deny we had a moment, you know, when I drove down to Bridley?’

  ‘A moment? All I had was a moment of weakness. Of bad judgement and an hour or two of break up sex.’

  ‘Break up sex?’

  ‘Whatever you want to call it, Rob, it shouldn’t have happened. I said so at the time.’

  ‘I know what you said then, but I thought you were still angry with me. I was giving you time. I was hoping you’d have time to think. Think about us. About everything we have. About everything we stand to lose.’

  ‘A one bedroomed flat in Kilburn?’

  ‘I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about what we are to each other. Our love for each other. Syd, you are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. To marry. To have children with. It’s all I wanted. And yes, I know what I did. I made a mistake. A giant fuck up beyond any comprehension and I know I hurt you. But Syd, I’m hurt too. I miss you so much you have no idea. I didn’t say anything before, but everything is falling apart without you here. I never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.’

  ‘Rob, this is the most open you’ve been about your feelings. Do you know that? “Love ya back,” and “Your boobs look great in that top,” aren’t enough for me. It never was. I should have said it before all this happened. I needed more from you, Rob. At times, our love, if that’s what you want to call it, seemed to be all one sided.’

  ‘How can you say that? I took you to some great places, bought you expensive presents.’

  ‘But you earn a lot of money, Rob. If you didn’t do those things you’d only come across as tight. Money has nothing to do with love. You don’t show someone how much you love them by buying them things. You’re a grown-up, you know that. The truth is, you took me for granted. Maybe, as you say, sleeping with Helena was a mistake, but I bet in your heart of hearts you thought you would get away with it even if I found out. I bet you thought, poor old Syd, she loves me so much, all I have to do is bring on the tears and she’ll forgive me. I know, I won’t eat, I won’t get groomed and when she sees me, she’ll break.’

  He shakes his head from side to side.

  ‘No, Rob. It’s true. You won’t admit it now because as it is, you have everything to lose. A woman who doted on you, a nice flat in London … but it’s time to wake up. We both needed
to wake up to the truth. People in love, people who get married and live happily ever after don’t commit adultery with a close friend. It’s sick and it’s wrong and I will never forgive you.’

  I get up from my corner on the sofa.

  ‘I won’t forgive either of you,’ I say. ‘Now do you want to start the proceedings for the sale of the flat or should I?’

  Rob shakes his head before rising to his feet and stands in front of me.

  ‘I refuse to believe it’s over.’

  ‘It was over a long time ago.’ I back away. ‘I tell you what, I’ll call the estate agents in the morning and I’ll drop you a text to let you know when they can come and do a valuation.’

  ‘No,’ he says advancing on me. ‘This was my mess and I’m the one living here so I’ll do it. I’ll keep you up to date. Let you know how it’s going.’

  I turn and head for the door. Rob is just inches behind me. I can hear his breath, it rattles in his throat as if he is about to cry out but he says nothing, just puts his hand on mine as I touch the latch.

  ‘Syd?’

  ‘What is it, Rob?’

  ‘Let me just hold you. Just one more time.’

  ‘Look, I don’t think –’

  He grabs me around my waist and buries his head in my neck. My hands are raised in alarm and I try to bend away from him. He fixes his body closer to mine and won’t let me go. He sighs heavily, saying my name over and over. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and the stifled sound of “Syd, my beautiful, Syd,” in my ear.

  I let him hold me. I soften my body into his and hug his shoulders. Rob looks into my eyes as his grip slowly loosens.

  ‘I will never love anyone the way I love you,’ he says. ‘And I’ll spend my life regretting what I did to you. You didn’t deserve that. Not a person like you. I hope you find someone worthy of you one day, Syd. I really do.’

  ‘Thank you, Rob.’ I step away from him. ‘Those are probably the best and only words you could have said.’

  I leave then, quietly padding down the stairs, knowing it will probably be the last time I’ll ever make this journey to Kilburn. I’ll have Rob pack my things when the time comes and have my dad go and fetch them so I won’t have to see him again. On the concrete stairs outside the house, I count them for the last time knowing I am finally rid of Rob and Helena.

  As I sit in the car, I think about how liberated I should be feeling. About how wonderful closure should feel. But all I feel is sick, weak and empty. I set Google Maps for Home and laugh silently about the fact that I am now calling Bridley home. I start the engine feeling homeless in London. It’s an unexpected feeling. Bridley was only ever going to be a stop gap. A launch pad. A place to refuel, get perspective and start again with a fresh approach on life and on my future.

  With each mile I get closer to Bridley I’m indulging in some serious soul searching and weighing up whether Bridley could become my permanent home. But I ask myself: Do I want to carry on working on a monthly magazine that is more commission than paid work? Do I want to become a permanent renter at Carey’s? Is there really any future with me and Damian?

  A few hours and one comfort break later I’m nearing Bridley. I feel more and more sure I’ve done everything right, cutting my ties to London. I just have to figure out how my future will pan out now that I don’t have any real plan. Whatever happens now is up to fate and I’m feeling very open to the possibilities ahead.

  Chapter 30

  Carey has already left by the time I get back to Bridley. I’d sent her a text to say I was halfway between London and Bridley when I’d stopped for a comfort break. In her text she’d asked if I was okay and was sorry she wouldn’t be home but we could talk on Monday evening when she comes back. I offer to pick her up at the station.

  The house is somehow bigger this evening. Maybe I just feel lonely without Carey around. I can still smell her incense sticks so she can’t have left that long ago. On the hall mirror is a sticky note from Carey saying well done and I did the right thing. She doesn’t even know how it all went in London, but she obviously has faith in me and my ability to find closure.

  I head straight for the kitchen to find food. Comfort food to keep me going until bedtime when I can bury myself under the duvet and block out images of Helena crying so dramatically about our breakup and Rob looking so pained at my decision to sell the flat and walk away. Slumping onto the sofa in the kitchen with a large bowl of unhealthy breakfast cereal, I re-run the whole London trip in my head. By the time I’ve gotten through the rest of the cereal packet the only food I can find is healthy stuff that Carey bought or that I bought because Carey eats so healthily.

  I decide a big bar of chocolate is in order and decide to head into the village centre before the shops close. It’s late Sunday afternoon so the supermarket is the only shop I’ll find open. I walk mindlessly up and down the fruit and veg aisles when I arrive. I know exactly where the confectionery is kept but I’m pretending to anyone who might be watching that I’m here for some red, rosy apples and if I do happen to pick up a family-sized Galaxy bar it’s because it’s an afterthought, a treat for someone who is normally a 5-a-day kind of girl.

  As I pick up random packets of apples and put them down again someone calls my name. I look around.

  ‘Andy, hi. A bit late for you to be shopping for the restaurant. And anyway, isn’t everything freshly sourced?’

  ‘Busted,’ he says, his chubby face warming up. ‘But don’t worry, I only came in for some sea salt and fresh thyme for tonight’s meal.’

  ‘What’s on the menu?’

  He reels off a mouth-watering selection. Even though it’s a limited menu on a Sunday, after listening to Andy I have half a mind to ditch the chocolate idea and eat out at Frankie’s instead.

  ‘Actually, I’m glad I’ve caught you on your own,’ Andy says looking furtive. ‘Do you have a second?’ I’m intrigued.

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Shall I meet you after we check-out or should we convene at the household goods, under cover of the jumbo sized bleach display?’ I laugh but Andy looks serious. I’m even more intrigued.

  ‘After we check-out,’ he says, before winking and taking his basket to the front of the store.

  A voice comes over the speakers to say that all customers wishing to make a purchase must make their way to the check-outs. I toss the bag of apples I’ve been holding, run up to the confectionery aisle, grab two family-sized Galaxy bars and some Tic Tacs and rush to pay. Outside, Andy beckons me over to a public notice board and walks to the other side of it. Anyone watching from the supermarket will only see our legs and feet and might wonder what all the secrecy is about. It’s not like Andy to be so cloak and dagger, it never usually takes much to get him talking which he does often and quite loudly at times.

  ‘I just wanted to thank you,’ Andy says, looking around the small cobbled road. It’s deserted now.

  ‘Thank me? What for?’

  ‘Well, you know Alexandra can be a bit of a talker, especially when she’s had a few.’

  ‘This I know. This I think everyone knows.’

  ‘I’m just surprised she’s been able to keep something like this under her hat for so long.’

  ‘Andy, I’m completely lost. What are you thanking me for and what on earth has Alexandra said?’

  ‘She spilled the beans about Dear Vicky. I mean, I was always convinced she was a specialist. She always gives good advice. Everyone says so. But Alexandra had me cornered between the hanging beef shanks in the cold room one evening after closing.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, I think she’s taken a bit of a shine to me, but I had to tell her I was spoken for or at least I had my eye on someone but didn’t know how to approach them.’

  ‘Ah, so she told you to write to Dear Vicky for help? And are you going to?’

  ‘Sydney! I already have. That’s why I wanted to thank you. Alexandra said the agony aunt is always the editor. The drink you see, she
spouted it out. The second she did she swore me to secrecy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul but your advice to me was spot on.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. But remember, not a soul.’ I smile and put a finger to my lips. ‘And what was the advice I gave you anyway?’

  ‘Well I was the feature problem letter. Anon. That was my alias. I wanted to know what I should do about a girl I’ve fancied since school but who left the village after Year 13 and married some fella from the city, broke up with him and came home again. I mean, I didn’t write all that in the letter. I’m just giving you some background.’

  I’m stunned into silence. Andy is Anon. The Anon I had convinced myself was Damian writing in to get help trying to ask me out. You have to be kidding me. Damn it. All the clues in the letter told me it was Damian and he was writing about me. Up early in the morning: Damian. She has a past: me. I fidget from foot to foot and rustle my carrier bag as I try to absorb this revelation.

  ‘Andy, if you don’t mind my asking, who exactly is it makes you feel like a schoolboy with a crush, who isn’t like anyone around here and who you think has a past that might be preventing her from letting her true feelings show?’ I brace myself.

  ‘Well, Ruthie of course. I’ve liked her since kindergarten if you can believe that. I told my mum I was going to marry her when I was ten years old. Always liked her. But Ruthie always treated me as a friend or a brother sometimes. Broke my heart when that bloke rolled into the village one summer and won her over. She took off with him in the blink of an eye. Didn’t once stop to question what sort of bloke he was.’ He looks around for anyone overhearing but the street is quiet and it’s growing dark already. ‘Knocked her about. Broke her spirit he did.’