A Life Without You

by Shari Low

  When would this get better? Would it ever? If this was it, then I’d be better giving up now thanks very much, because it wasn’t a life.

  My mobile phone rang. Damn thing. The ringtone played ‘Stand By Me’. Dee had set it and every time it rang I thought of her.

  Josie’s name flashed up on the screen. There was no point ignoring her, as she’d just keep calling back. We’d met when the girls opened the shop ten years ago and she’d fast become a brilliant friend. Although, right now she was with the rest of the world on the list of people I was trying to avoid.

  ‘Hello love!’ I said. False cheeriness. It had become my specialty.

  ‘It’s me, pet. I’m just on my way home from the shop and just checking you’re still on for Book Club tonight.’

  I had to laugh. Book Club. A group of eight of us, all in our fifties and sixties, had been meeting every second Wednesday for years, and we’d yet to crack open anything resembling a romping good read. It had been Josie’s idea to give it a name that sounded like we had a highbrow purpose.

  ‘Beats the “Let’s drink gin on a week night and gossip about everyone we know” club,’ she’d said at our first gathering. It was a fair point.

  ‘Don’t want you bailing out at the last minute again,’ she said, a pause in the middle of the sentence telling me she was having a puff of her ciggie while she spoke.

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ I answered, trying to sound like I meant it.

  My words were met with something between a snort and a cackle.

  ‘I think you said that last week. And the week before. And for the umpteen weeks before that. Right before you didn’t show up.’

  The words sounded harsh, but they were softened by years of trust. I knew she was just trying to help. Didn’t mean I had to like it.

  ‘Aye, all right Josie. I’ll be there, OK? I need to go, Mark has just walked in the door and I need to make his dinner. Cheeribye.’

  All lies. You wouldn’t believe how easy they came these days. Every time I wanted to ignore something or someone. Every time anyone asked me how I was. ‘Fine,’ I’d say chirpily. They chose to believe me.

  If for no other reason than it would get Josie off my case, I decided I’d definitely go tonight. I’d known the rest of the girls for the best part of ten years too and we’d been through everything from divorce, to affairs, to illness and, yes, death, so I was pretty sure I could hold it together for a few hours.

  I gave up on the Sudoku and flicked over the page. I didn’t actually read any of the paper anymore. Couldn’t stand the sheer misery. Murder. Destruction. War. Pain. I was living permanently on the edge of crumbling into a mess and the slightest thing could tip me over, so I avoided other folks’ tragedies. I had enough of my own.

  I was just about to give up and go get ready, when I zeroed in on a small headline halfway down a page.

  COURT DATE SET FOR WEIRBANK KILLER DRIVER.

  The air went right out of my lungs and suddenly my spine couldn’t support me. I buckled forward, grabbed on to the table.

  It couldn’t be, could it? Surely if something had been arranged then the police liaison officer, that nice woman who’d visited after… well, anyway, she’d have let us know.

  I scanned the page and then saw the name. Darren Wilkie. It was like someone had poured ice through my veins and I felt the bile rising. Darren Wilkie. That was him. He killed my Dee.

  Trial set for June 30th. Three months away. Darren Wilkie. 59 Ranes Drive. Glasgow. Death by dangerous driving. The charge had been dropped from murder, because it had, they said, been an accident. The fact that he was off his head on some kind of drugs didn’t even come into it. What were they called? Legal highs. Why the hell were they legal when this was what they caused? Not that they absolved Darren Wilkie from the blame. Bad wee bastard.

  It took me a minute before I could concentrate over the sound of my heart beating out of my chest. I scanned the report, wondering again why I was finding out about this by reading it in a newspaper. So much for the justice system looking after the families of the victims.

  Victims. We were the bloody victims and I couldn’t tell you how much I hated that we’d been forced into having that label by some snivelling, little bastard.

  I knew I should phone Don, but what good would that do? It would just get him all wound up at work and that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, I grabbed the car keys, and headed outside, forgetting to even grab my bag.

  I drove. I had no idea where I was going, so I just drove, trying to keep my mind so busy it wouldn’t explode. Indicate. Turn left. Speed up. Slow down. Indicate. Turn right. Speed up. Slow down. I’d been doing it for a while before I noticed the yellow light on the dashboard. Bugger, I was almost out of petrol. Looking around, I saw that I was in the South side of the city, and it was only then I realised that I didn’t have my purse or a credit card to refuel, or a phone to call anyone. God dammit. I pulled over. Stuck. Lost. And for the first time since the funeral I cried. Great big sobbing howls of pain that felt like they came from deep inside my body, making me tremble and…

  There was a tapping at the window and I looked up to see a policeman, eyeing me with curiosity. The sight of him made me shake even more as I wiped away the tears with the cuff of my cardigan and rolled the window down.

  ‘Are you all right there?’

  No, I clearly wasn’t all right. I was clearly all bloody wrong.

  ‘Yes, I’m… I’m… fine. Just realised I’ve almost run out of petrol and I’m away without my handbag.’

  ‘Ah. Can I call someone for you?’

  Dear God, no. That was the last thing anyone in my family needed. I racked my brain for a way out. Then I saw where I was. Josie. Her house was only a mile or so away.

  ‘No, it’s fine thanks. My pal lives not far from here and I’ve got enough to make it to her house.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. She’s just up in Ratho Drive.’

  ‘OK, well I tell you what – we’re heading that way anyway, so we’ll follow you in case you break down.’

  No, no, no, no. I didn’t actually want to go there. Look at the state of me – I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. But what else could I do?

  ‘Erm, right then. Thank you.’

  I waited until he climbed back into his car before I indicated and pulled back on to the road, and yep, sure enough he followed me. There was no choice but to do what I’d told him.

  I drove as slowly as possible, figuring he’d think I was conserving fuel, but actually hoping he’d get called away to some emergency and I could just pull over, ditch the car, and grab a taxi back to the house. I was sure the driver would wait until I’d run in for the money. Why hadn’t I had that idea when I was talking to the officer? Bugger.

  I turned into Josie’s street, pulled up outside her Victorian semi, and got out, giving the cop a thumbs up and a wave. Maybe he’d drive away and I could bid a hasty retreat before Josie saw me.

  ‘Well, you don’t see that every day. When did you start getting a police escort? Or is he just really bad at covert surveillance?’

  I turned to see Josie, standing in her doorway, arms folded, cheeky grin on her face, her grey hair a spiky, dramatic shock against her standard uniform of black polo neck (‘covers my droop’, she’d say) and black trousers (‘useful colour if I ever need to adopt a career in burglary’).

  ‘I… I…’ I tried to come back with a witty retort, to play along with the joke but it got stuck in my throat and – oh Lord, the embarrassment – I burst into floods of tears in the middle of her front path. ‘Oh Josie, I was driving and I realised that bloody heap of junk was running out of petrol and I didn’t have any money and the police stopped so I told them I was coming here and I’m… I don’t know what I’m doing, Josie. I just don’t know.’

  She was already out of the house, arms around me, trying to steer me inside but I resisted.

  ‘I can’t Josie. I’m going so
mewhere.’

  ‘Going where? We’re going to book club later, ma darling.’

  Suddenly the plan was kicked from my subconscious to the front of my mind and I realised where I’d been heading all along.

  I needed to go there. I needed to see.

  ‘I’m going to his house,’ I blurted.

  ‘Who’s house?’

  ‘Darren Wilkie.’

  That shocked her. ‘But, Val, isn’t he in jail?’

  I shook my head, spitting the words out between sobs. ‘Out on bail. Can you believe that? Out on bloody bail. He killed our Dee and he’s out and living his life and my Dee is in the ground. How is that fair?’

  A few feet away, the curtains on the window of the neighbour’s house were twitching, but I didn’t care. I wanted to tell the world anyway. Shout it from the rooftops. That evil bastard was walking the streets and my Dee was dead.

  “I know, love. It isn’t fair. It’s so wrong.” Josie was still trying to pull me towards her, but I wasn’t shifting. I stood absolutely still and my body went rigid. I knew if I went inside she’d try to talk me out of it and I wasn’t changing my mind.

  ‘Don’t, Josie. I have to go. But I just need to borrow a tenner for petrol. Just enough to get me there and home again.’

  Her arms slackened and she turned so her gaze met mine. ‘What are you going to do when you get there?’

  That stunned me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘I’ve no idea. Don’t worry, I’m not going to confront him or do anything daft. I just want to see where he lives. I don’t know why. I just need to go.’

  She pondered that for a moment. ‘OK, just wait right there.’

  She left me on the path and disappeared inside, returning only seconds later, jacket on, bag over her shoulder. The door banged behind her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked her.

  ‘If you’re going to do this, I’m coming with you,’ she said. ‘And don’t try to argue because we’ll be here all night.’

  I couldn’t help smile at the accuracy of that statement. The only person on the face of this earth who was more stubborn than me was the woman who looked like the long lost granny of Annie Lennox and Billy Idol.

  All the fight went out of me and I physically slumped. ‘Thanks Josie.’

  ‘No probs. But if there’s tyre slashing or bricks through windows, so help me God you’d better not take me down with you.’

  Right then I realised how glad I was that she was coming along. There was no situation that wasn’t made better by Josie’s company. Even this one.

  ‘Oh and Val…?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can we stop for chips on the way because I was just about to have my dinner when you and your police escort arrived?’

  With that she turned and gave her twitching neighbour a cheery wave, and jumped in the car, as if there was nothing at all odd about the scene that had just played out at her front door.

  We stopped at the petrol station, filled the tank, nipped into a chippy on the same street, then headed to the address that had been quoted in the paper: 59 Ranes Drive.

  It was a long row of sixties semis, most of them with neat gardens and painted gates. I don’t know what I expected but it was a nice enough street. Normal. Not in the areas that were notorious for crime, drugs and deprivation. In fact, it was disturbingly similar to our street. Counting ahead, I worked out which one was number 59. Red door.

  I pulled into a space on the opposite side of the road, about twenty yards before we reached it, between a Fiat Cinquecento and a Ford Mondeo, and pulled the handbrake on.

  ‘Now what?’ Josie asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘OK, well while you’re thinking about it, here’s your chips.’

  She plumped a brown paper parcel into my lap, but I didn’t open it. Nothing was getting past the huge lump that was back in my throat.

  ‘Bugger. I forgot to get vinegar,’ she said. I knew she was just trying to diffuse the situation, but it wasn’t working.

  God help me, I’d never struck another person in my life, but I wanted to storm across that road, batter the door until it was answered and then wring that little bastard’s neck. I wanted to squeeze every ounce of life out of him. I wanted someone else to feel the pain that I was feeling.

  I felt Josie’s hand gently rest on mine and give it the slightest of squeezes.

  ‘I’m here, love,’ she said gently.

  I nodded, tears threatening to spill again, heart beating out of my chest.

  ‘But you know going in there isn’t the answer. I’ll stay here with you as long as you want, but we can’t go in there. You getting arrested won’t do Don and Mark any good at all.’

  ‘I know,’ I whispered.

  ‘Besides, the lazy feckers can’t cook a thing for themselves so they’d starve in no time.’

  If it was meant to jolt me back to reality, it worked. Don would go crazy if he knew I was here. I’d never done anything like this in my life. Reliable Val. Mum. Wife. Liked the occasional night out and any excuse to meet up with my pals. At no point did ‘irrational stalker’ ever come into the equation.

  ‘I think I’m actually going mad, Josie.’

  She nodded, her gravitas only a little diluted by the rustling of her chip bag. When she spoke, it was quiet, uncharacteristically solemn.

  ‘Probably. But it’s only to be expected, love. It doesn’t get any worse than what happened to you. So you go right ahead and be as crazy as you like, for as long as you need to be, and I’ll stick right by you and make sure you don’t get injured or arrested.’

  There were no words to describe how much I loved her.

  I took her at her promise and we sat there as the night grew darker and colder. There was no sign of anyone entering or leaving the house, or movement inside. I put the engine back on. At some point Josie put the radio on low, to break up the silence. Smooth Radio. Hits of the sixties and seventies. There was a comfort in the familiar tunes, but not enough to unfurl the knot of rage that was twisting in my stomach.

  Josie rolled her window down, letting a cold blast of air into the car. ‘Sorry. Smell of chips was near killing me,’ she said, before fishing her phone out of her handbag and typing a message. ‘I’m texting the book group to say we won’t make it because we’re on a stakeout.’

  ‘Josie, don’t…’ I blurted, horrified that she’d share this. Too late I spotted the glint in her eye.

  ‘I’m joking! You know I’d never betray a confidence or embarrass you. I’ve told them we can’t make it because your piles are playing up.’

  Her cackle was infectious, but it stopped abruptly when, at exactly the same time, we both saw the light going off in the window of the house, then the red door opened.

  Chapter 14

  Jen

  Rabbit. Headlights. ‘Jen, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Seriously? You think you get the first question?’ I asked, full of attitude, not giving a damn that he must think I’d completely lost it. I was soaked, bedraggled, I’d just crossed the road like a stuntman in an action movie, and now I was treating him with full on, don’t dare bloody question me, fury.

  ‘No, but I…’

  ‘You move out, disappear for weeks, won’t take my calls and you think you get the first question?’ I demanded again, my voice dangerously approaching a tone that would be lethal to the eardrums of dogs.

  Oh bollocks, I was on a roll and I couldn’t seem to stop. This wasn’t the cool, calm way I’d imagined this conversation going the thousands of times I’d planned it in my head. In those scenarios I was firm, composed, as I got to the bottom of the problem, while displaying all the poise and confidence of a grown up. True, depending on my mood, those imaginary premonitions did end with him either begging my forgiveness and telling me he couldn’t live without me, or with me strangling him with a pair of his Lycra running shorts, but the important thing was they never started with me ambushing him in the middle of
the street and shrieking at him in front of passing commuters.

  I sagged a little. ‘Look can we go somewhere and talk?’ I asked him, aiming for conciliatory but probably just sounding a bit needy.

  ‘I can’t, I…’ he started to object.

  That was all I needed to step straight back over the ‘stroppy and confrontational’ line.

  ‘Look, Pete, we either do this now or I keep turning up here and you’ll live in fear of leaving your office for the rest of your life.’ It was meant to be said with a bit of humour, but if there was a jury present I could see that they’d have a fair case for a guilty verdict on threat and intimidation.

  He shrugged, seeing no way out.

  ‘We could go back to the house,’ I said. Bad move. His horrified expression told me that was the last thing he’d agree to. ‘Or there’s a coffee shop across the road…’

  As I gestured over to it, I saw three waitresses, including the one who’d served me, standing in the window watching us. I was mortified. Clearly we’d become entertainment to brighten up a boring day. They saw that I’d spotted them and scurried back out of sight.

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ he agreed. ‘Sure.’

  I stopped myself from blurting out some sarcastic comment, even though they were piling up like cannonballs in the forefront of my brain, just waiting to be fired. Oh, only if it’s not too much trouble. I do understand that after fifteen years together, it’s a bit much to expect an explanation when you dump me and disappear. No really, it’s fine if tonight doesn’t suit. Just let me know when you’d rather do this. When hell freezes over? OK, I’ll look out for sudden drops in temperature and cross my fingers.

  I hated him. And I loved him so much I just wanted to thread my arms inside that sodding three-quarter length navy coat and lose myself in his chest. But still I hated him.

  The bell dinged on the door of the café as we entered, and the waitresses tried to act nonchalant, as if we were just any other customers that had wandered in off the street. I sat back down at the table I’d been at a few moments earlier, gratified to see that my handbag was still hanging on the back of the chair. That would have been the icing on the crapola cake – tracking down my long-lost boyfriend, seeing his obvious aversion to my presence and losing my bag containing all my worldly goods.