by Shari Low
‘I’m really sorry, I… I need to go.’
Callie’s brow shuddered again. I think it was trying to shape into something that would indicate confusion.
‘Sorry, Callie,’ I apologised again. ‘I’m just…’ I didn’t even finish the sentence. I just turned and marched to the door, pulled it open and staggered out. I leant back against the wall, hands on knees, trying to breath, hoping to shift whatever it was that was stuck in my throat and making my heart beat like a drum.
‘You OK, pal?’ one of the door stewards in a thick black padded jacket asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I just don’t know’.
I stood up, took the deepest breath my lungs could grab. And then I started to run.
Chapter 12
Jen
‘Hang on Val, I’ll ask him.’ I pulled the phone away from my ear. ‘Mark, your mum is asking if you’re coming home for your dinner or going to the gym?’
I chose not to relay to Val that he was now rolling his eyes, laughing.
‘Going to the gym. And can you tell her that I’ll be home later, I’ve got a key, and I’m thirty-eight?’ he asked.
I didn’t need to pass that on. Val heard every word and retorted with some well-observed insults before ringing off.
‘What did she say?’ he asked.
‘That you’re a fabulous son and she cherishes ever bit of you,’ I lied breezily. I wasn’t getting in the middle of this one. ‘Any chance of getting a mobile phone so I’m not the go-between for you two?’
Mark stopped counting the day’s takings. ‘And have a direct number that my mother can get me on? No way. She’d be on the phone every two minutes. I’ll stick to my Australian mobile, thanks.’
‘But that doesn’t work over here!’ I protested.
‘Exactly,’ he replied, triumph written all over his best innocent face.
‘Don’t you have anyone at home that would want to call you?’ That seemed odd to me. Surely there must be someone?
‘Nah, my mates know they see me when they see me. Occupational hazard.’
‘And no girlfriend?’
He shook his head. ‘There was for a while. Tara. But she had to head back to New Zealand last month when her mum got sick. We had a pretty good thing going for a while but I’m not great at commitment or long-term plans. I’m a live for the day kind of guy,’ he said with a playful smile that reminded me so much of Dee. That was exactly what she’d been like. I’d been so shocked when she married Luke, not because he wasn’t perfect for her, because he was – but because she’d always said she never wanted the whole death do us part thing.
I felt a sudden kick in the solar plexus. Who knew that ‘death do us part’ would come so soon?
If Mark noticed me wobble slightly, he didn’t say anything. Having him working here every day hadn’t been as uncomfortable as I’d feared. After a bumpy start, when he’d got me on one of the days when it even hurt to breathe, we’d settled into a rhythm and seemed to roll along, keeping everything friendly and polite. He’d arrived in the UK on a cold January night and now it was almost Easter, and it felt like he was part of the furniture. He was great with the customers and he had picked up our systems and services really well and he did the coffee run twice a day. What wasn’t to like? It helped that we kept things surface. On a few occasions, he’d suggested hanging out after hours, but I’d resisted. Much easier to come to work, do what had to be done, go home. But even though we didn’t scratch the superficial veneer, it was obvious that under the jokes and banter, Mark was struggling to adapt to living at home with his parents again. It couldn’t be easy, especially when we were all functioning under a crushing blanket of grief. I was worried about Val. On the outside she was still being strong and keeping it together, but I could see she’d lost weight and there were dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer and blue eyeliner could hide.
The hand-carved clock on the wall, a souvenir from Dee’s trip to Bali, chimed to mark the hour. Five o’clock.
‘Why don’t you knock off? I don’t think crowds are going to storm in between now and closing.’
‘You sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Only I’m starting to get a complex. In the last couple of weeks I’ve asked you if you wanted to go out for dinner, down to the pub, and I even suggested a museum, in case you’re one of those cultured types. My mum told me to keep you busy and I’m failing miserably.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell Val that you’re doing a sterling job,’ I promised. ‘And thanks Mark, one of these days I’ll take you up on the offers.’ I didn’t know that I would. I couldn’t face the thought of sitting there, drinking, laughing, talking with her brother without Dee by my side. It wouldn’t be right.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, smiling, and I could see why many of our regulars had become even more regular than usual. He was surfer-dude perfect, with a whole dark-haired, David Gandy jaw, piercing blue eyes thing going on, the kind of guy that belonged on a billboard advertising Australian hair products for butch guys.
He popped into the office and reappeared with his kit bag. He headed to the gym most nights after work, and was constantly trying to cajole me to go with him. Right on cue… ‘I’m happy to wait if you’d like to come with me?’ he asked, but I wasn’t swayed by his cheeky grin.
‘No, I’m good thanks. I’ve got to finish packing tonight anyway.’ In truth I hadn’t even started packing, although my flight was first thing tomorrow. I’d been putting off even thinking about the New York trip ever since I’d agreed to go. I had a loose plan, and that was to feign illness and cancel at the last minute. I was thinking flu. Or an ear infection. Maybe a nasty bout of gastroenteritis.
I waited until he was gone, then headed into the back office. Almost two months after she’d gone, Dee’s cardigan was still there, over the chair, waiting for her to come back for it. I sat in her seat and pulled it around me. I knew it was a figment of my imagination, but I still convinced myself that it carried her scent, that she was in the room. I put my feet up on her desk the way she did every night after work and wondered what she’d think of everything that had happened here? She would be proud of Mark for coming home and being with her parents. She’d be devastated to see Luke struggling without her. And I had absolutely no doubt that, right now, she’d be trying to come up with some ghostly way to acquire a baseball bat and go after Pete. The thought made me smile. ‘Go for it, Dee,’ I whispered.
I heard the front door open and was just about to go see if it was a customer when Josie swept in, a force of nature, armed with a Henry hoover. She was in her sixties, but it seemed no one had pointed that out to her because she still looked and acted like she was thirty-five. Over the decade she’d worked for us, we’d realised that if there was a song, she’d sing it. A dance, she’d join in. A party, she’d be there until the end. A problem, she’d solve it. She was of the ‘just get on with it’ generation, built from positivity and medicinal caramel wafers. No moping, no martyrdom and no playing the victim, just a core of steel that came with a cigarette dangling from her mouth and a raucous cackle punctuating her every move. Her son, Michael and his wife Mel now lived in Italy, to be close to his daughters by his first marriage. Her daughter, Avril, was a brilliant make-up artist, living in London and working for a West End show. But she still had us here, her surrogate family.
‘Jen, ma love, how’re you doing?’ she said, then quickly took in the fact that I was sitting at Dee’s desk with her cardigan wrapped around me. ‘One of those days, pet?’
‘Every day,’ I answered. I could be honest with Josie. No blocking things out because I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for Mark, or being calm for Luke or supportive for Val.
‘You’re dreading going to New York tomorrow?’
I nodded.
‘Contemplating throwing a sickie and bailing out?’
I nodded again. Her psychic superpowers were incredible.
‘I should have arranged to come with you. I can still try to get a flight…’
I blinked back the tears that had sprung up. Kindness was the killer. I could handle indifference and cold discussion, but the minute someone was kind and caring to me, I crumbled. ‘Thanks, Josie, but I need to do this myself. I really do.’
She sighed. ‘Probably just as well. I’m not sure if the arrest warrant is still out for me after that time I took out three tourists in Central Park with my Segway.’
My first genuine smile of the day. She was incorrigible.
‘Want me to put a cuppa on?’
I shook my head. ‘No thanks, Josie.’
She leaned down and hugged me. ‘Right then, I’ll get on and get out of your way. Shout me if you change your mind about the cuppa.’
Releasing me, she opened the cleaning cupboard and pulled out her tray of sprays, cloths, and the overall she wore over her smart black roll-neck and skinny jeans. If there was an award for stylish cleaners, it would be on her polished mantelpiece.
She only did an hour at the end of the night – and sometimes early morning before we opened – so when she was done she came back to the office and there I was, sitting in exactly the same position I’d been in when she started. She leaned on the edge of Dee’s desk, facing me. This time, she just waited until I spoke.
‘I don’t understand any of this, Josie. It’s like every day is just going by and I’m living someone else’s life, just passing time until I can go back to mine.’
‘I know how much you miss her, love. And what about him – have you heard from that spineless bastard?’ Did I mention she was direct and took no prisoners?
‘Nothing.’ It wasn’t for the lack of trying. I’d called his mobile. It went straight to voicemail. I’d emailed him. No reply. I’d even turned up on his sister’s doorstep, to be told that she hadn’t heard from him and, from her pitying expression and tone of voice, I believed her. They’d never been close, only seeing each other one or twice a year.
‘Jesus Christ. It’s like one of those true stories on the Crime Channel where someone disappears off the face of the earth and then you discover that they were a ruthless drug baron who’d been living in the witness protection program. Or a serial killer. Or dodging bailiffs that want to take his telly back to Argos.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Our telly was fully paid up, Josie.’
‘So not that one then. I’m going for serial killer.’ She pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it. ‘You know my offer still stands to pay him a visit.’ She sounded like a Mafia don. On forty cigs a day.
I smiled, gratefully. ‘Thanks, Josie, but I couldn’t afford the bail money.’
‘Well, if you change your mind… I’ve got Book Club tonight but I could wipe him out afterwards.’
‘Good to know. Thanks,’ I told her.
She picked up her stuff and with another hug she was off, leaving a whiff of Marlboro and Febreze.
It was time to go, but I was still struggling with the destination. For the last month there had only been two options. Number one – go home. Drink coffee. Maybe wine. Practice my ‘not feeling well, think I’m coming down with something’ face. And then watch trash TV until I slumped into sleep in the early hours of the morning. Tempting.
Number two – go to… Oh God, I couldn’t. Not again.
I rested my head against the back of the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
‘So what do you think then?’ I asked Dee, whispering. ‘It’s crazy, right? I’m not doing it anymore.’
Silence.
‘No, really. I’m not going. It has to stop.’
More silence. But this time, I took it as a lack of agreement.
‘Oh, bollocks.’ I got up, lifted my bag, set the alarm and dashed outside.
The city centre was dark, cold and crowded, packed with office workers emptying out for the day. I jumped in a cab, gave them the address and fifteen minutes later I was sitting in a coffee shop across from Pete’s office. He worked in computer software. Highly ironic given that he could never fix my laptop when it was buggered. His company was one of those achingly trendy ones that allowed flexi-time and he preferred to go in late and stay late. I checked my watch. Seven p.m. He’d normally still be inside.
I sat. I watched. I’d counted up the windows to the eighth floor. The light was on, but at least a dozen people worked in his office, so it could be any of them.
The waitress, one of two or three that I’d seen here on previous visits, approached and smiled. ‘Black coffee, right?’
Damn. What kind of crap stalker was I that I not only became a familiar face in my stalking hangout, but they actually remembered what I drank. It would make great testimony for the prosecution.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said, making a mental note to leave a good tip, in the hope that she’d remember me for that reason, not the fact that I sat here every night staring at the building opposite. Two weeks now I’d been doing this and I didn’t know why. I’d called the office a couple of times, but the secretary in his department had said he was on holiday every time. I’d had to stop calling because after all these years, she recognised my voice and I couldn’t stand the awkward pity that laced her words.
What had he told them?
Oh Jen? Nah, didn’t work out so I cut her loose.
Mutual agreement. Just not right for each other.
Settled down too young. Time to spread my wings.
Or the truth. I just told her it was over on the day of our friend’s funeral and walked out. Haven’t seen her since. No explanation given.
No doubt they’d laugh, assuming he was joking, but no, it was true – no explanation had been given. Not to me, not to Luke, not to anyone else in the circle we’d lived in for fifteen years. Nothing.
The waitress put my coffee in front of me and retreated, off to serve the couple that were holding hands at a corner table. I felt an urge to blurt out some warning about how he’d dump her one day when she was least expecting it, but I managed to hold it in. It was bad enough being weird stalker lady without adding weird crazy lady to the description.
The coffee scalded my lips, and I was so distracted by the pain that I almost missed him. He came out of his building, and my heart cracked at the sight of him. He looked exactly the same as the man I’d slept next to every night of my adult life. Tall. His hair was back to his usual short style, cut every second week so that it was cropped around the sides and back, but longer, swept back, on the top. He hadn’t shaved but it only made him look better. He was wearing the coat he’d bought when he revamped his wardrobe just a few months ago. That shopping expedition had been a bit of a surprise, but at the time I’d thought it would cheer him up, knock him out of the weird mood he’d been in. I’d gone with him, picking out clothes, egging him on. In fact, I’d picked out the navy three-quarter length coat he was wearing, as he stood there… Laughing.
Yep, laughing. How fucking dare he? He’d shredded our relationship, walked out when I needed him most and disappeared off the face of the earth. It might look like Pete, but it couldn’t be. My Pete loved me. Made promises. Spent fifteen years with me. Who was this guy? He was like a stranger. Standing there, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Only then did my gaze move to the side and I saw he was walking with a woman I recognised as Arya, a Londoner who had transferred up to Glasgow the year before. We’d chatted at the Christmas party. Nice. Breezy. Tall, blonde highlights, a plummy accent, with that kind of natural confidence that came from growing up in a stable, affluent world. I’d liked her. I think I’d even mentioned to Pete that we should have her over for dinner since she was new to the city, but we’d never got around to it.
Only the cold blast of air told me that I was out of the coffee shop, the beeps of the car horns told me I was crossing the road, the surprised look on his perfect bloody face told me he’d seen me.
Arya melted away – I’ve no idea if she ev
en said goodbye, my eyes fixed only on Pete, my ears hearing only my voice.
‘I think we need to talk, don’t you?’
Chapter 13
Val
The smell of the lasagne I’d cooked for Mark’s dinner, on top of the stove, was beginning to turn my stomach. I covered it with cling film and put it in the fridge. He could heat it up when he got home. Don was working late again. He’d never worked so much overtime in his life as he did now. I didn’t ask. If work was going to keep him distracted, I wasn’t going to complain. He’d only get under my feet anyway.
I grabbed today’s paper and sat at the kitchen table to do the Sudoku. They used to be my relaxation, but now all they did was focus my brain on something other than the urge to scream. But not tonight. The walls were closing in on me and I knew I couldn’t sit here any longer. Not that there was anywhere I wanted to go. Josie had been trying to talk me into going away for a week or two. At first, she’d suggested going over to see her son and his family in Italy. I loved them all, but how could I watch another young couple, with their children, and know that I’d never see Dee with my grandchildren? I know it sounds selfish, but that was the truth. Josie had realised it straight away and suggested a dozen other places to go, but I’d refused. I wasn’t leaving Don and Mark, and I couldn’t face leaving Dee’s old room, her teenage stuff, the mug she used when she had a cuppa here, the photos of her on the wall. I needed every connection to her that I could find.
The blue light of the kettle flicked off to show that it had boiled but I couldn’t even remember switching it on. Lately, a lot of the stuff I did was just going through the motions. Put the kettle on, get the cup, add the tea bag, the milk, and only when I was stirring it did I realise I didn’t want the tea at all. Or I’d go through the process of making a slice of toast only to shove it in the bin because the first bite stuck in my throat.
