When I Find You

by R. A. Casey

  There was no room for mistakes. And this couldn’t be a coincidence. It just couldn’t.

  I can’t shake the feeling that the woman from the cottage is involved with all the weird shit that has undeniably been happening to me lately.

  Especially with what she knows.

  And that makes my stomach turn even more.

  Because if the woman is involved… does that mean Gregg is somehow involved, too?

  I think of my ex-husband, and I shake my head. Gregg was sweet. Loyal. Reserved. He was as straight as they get. I was the villain in that relationship. I was the enemy. I was the one who slept with Glynn. Who got pregnant. And I was the one he blamed for losing our son.

  But I think of the look in the woman’s eyes as I stood at her door.

  I think of the fact that Gregg gave me that address.

  It can be no coincidence.

  Preston isn’t a massive place, sure. But it’s not that small. Surely not that small.

  There’s only one thing for it, I realise, as I sit here now.

  I need to find Gregg.

  I open up my phone. Search 123People for a trace of him. Nothing. Fuck.

  Then I try Facebook. But again, no sign of him. Which I find hard to believe because he was always a bit of a nerd.

  I hover over his number. Think about just ringing him. Just getting it done with. Telling him I have to speak to him about something; something serious. Something concerning Charlie.

  But then if he is involved somehow in all of this… then he isn’t exactly going to take nicely to me calling, is he?

  I wonder what he knows.

  I wonder if there is more to this. To all of it.

  I tap on his number and throw caution to the wind.

  The line dies in an instant.

  Shit. So either he’s blocked me, or this number doesn’t exist anymore.

  I go into WhatsApp. If someone else has his number, I’ll be able to see their new photo next to his name. A sure giveaway that someone else has his phone.

  But then the line died. It didn’t even ring. So where’s that going to get me?

  I put the phone down. Close my eyes. Take a few deep breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth. And I think about the ramifications of Gregg knowing the woman from the cottage. Of what that would mean.

  But then… Gregg already knew, didn’t he?

  That’s the real thing that came between us.

  The truth about my past.

  The truth about everything.

  I am trying to disappear into the darkness when an idea springs to mind.

  The offices down by the docks.

  Gregg moved there years ago. He was really proud. Said they were really modern offices, really flash.

  I know it’s a bit stalkerish. A bit crazy.

  But I know how serious this is. How important this is.

  For some reason, Gregg gave me the address of that woman from my past.

  And I need answers on that front.

  I sit in my car. Eyes open. Phone on my lap.

  I know where I need to go.

  And I know who I need to look for.

  I start up the engine.

  That’s when my phone buzzes.

  I jump. Half expect it to be Gregg calling me back, which fills me with fear, just for a moment.

  I see it’s a Snapchat notification.

  I dismiss it. I don’t even use bloody Snapchat. And the account looks like a spam one, anyway.

  I’ll check it later. Forgot I even had the bloody app installed, in all honesty.

  I shove my phone in my pocket.

  And I start up the car, and I drive towards the docks.

  It’s time to track down my ex-husband.

  And it’s time to get some fucking answers.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I sit in the car park of the Preston Docks Business Park and wait for Gregg to emerge.

  It’s 5 o’clock. He always used to finish bang on five. He’d rush out of the building, call me right away, tell me what he was going to pick up for dinner on the way back. Or if I were making dinner, he’d always nip out and grab a treat for the pair of us anyway. A bottle of red. A couple of big bars of chocolate. He was always so nice. Always so caring. Always so… grown up.

  I have my regrets about how I treated Gregg. Really, as horrible as it is to admit it, he’s the man I should’ve settled down with. Freddie is amazing—truly amazing—but I sense he doesn’t truly get me. Truly understand me. Especially now the cracks are showing.

  I’m sitting in my car. I stare up at the building where he works. TruCorps Technology. I hope he’s still here. If he isn’t, I’m on a wild goose chase. I know how happy he was to get this promotion. How content he seemed. How he said he was set for life here.

  But then, I know how much life can change, too.

  I wonder if he’s even still around here. Still around Preston.

  It’s just over two years since I last saw him. A lot can change in two years.

  And I’m beginning to wonder just how much I really knew about Gregg, especially after the whole woman at the cottage thing.

  My stomach turns when I think of it.

  The maize fields.

  The warm weather.

  And…

  No.

  I don’t want to think about her now.

  I don’t want to think about anything to do with that day when I was sixteen now.

  Or what it might mean.

  What it might have to do with Charlie.

  If it has anything at all to do with Charlie.

  I just don’t know.

  I look around the car park. Stretch my legs. Try to find his car. He drove a black Audi Q8 when I last saw him. Loved his cars, though, so wouldn’t surprise me if he’s upgraded already.

  I see the doors to the offices open. See people step out. In the distance, I see seagulls swooping overhead, over by the length of the docks. Quite a nice spot, the docks. Gorgeous on a sunny evening. Used to come for walks here when Charlie was little. One hand in mine, one in Gregg’s. Walk him along the side of the docks and smile and laugh together. Those days were so good. They were so perfect.

  But then I see the cracks. I see Charlie slipping out of my hand. Cutting his knee and crying.

  I see Gregg rolling his eyes. Telling me I’m so irresponsible with Charlie. That I’m haphazard.

  I see Charlie crying and—

  No.

  It’s better to think of the good times.

  It’s better to think of the times when things were nice.

  When things were perfect.

  I watch the men and women leave the office, and I am alarmed not to see any sign of Gregg. It makes me wonder whether he’s still here at all.

  But then there’s the other possibility, too. The chance he’s just on a day off.

  I lift my phone again. Hover over his name. Call him again.

  Line dies, right in an instant.

  I have an idea, then. TruCorps. It’s just shy of five, but they have people working around the clock. I don’t want to go storming inside, making a scene. But I can call them. I can get through to Gregg.

  I Google their number, back in my car now. Hover over it. Question whether I’m actually really doing this. Then realise it’s the right thing to do. Definitely, the right thing to do.

  I hit their number, and then I wait.

  The wait is torturous. Lasts forever. My heart beats faster, faster. I start to regret this. I’m in the wrong. I need to put the phone down and I need to get away from here and I need to—

  “Good evening, TruCorps Tech, how may I help?”

  I freeze. For a moment, I think it’s him. I am convinced.

  “Hello,” I say. Then I clear my throat. Realising I’m going to have to lie a little here. “Is Gregg in? It’s—it’s his Mrs. Can’t get hold of him on his mobile.”

  There’s a pause. Static at the other end. Rustling.

  “Hello?
” I say.

  “Gregg, you say?”

  “Yeah. Gregg—Gregg Evatt.”

  Another pause.

  “And it’s his Mrs?”

  I feel my stomach tightening. Something is wrong here. Something is wrong, and it’s going to bite me on the arse if I’m not careful.

  “It is, yeah,” I say, trying to come across more confident. “Is there a problem?”

  Another pause.

  Then: “A couple, yeah.”

  My stomach sinks.

  “First off, Gregg Evatt hasn’t worked here for six months.”

  A punch to my gut.

  Embarrassment. Crippling embarrassment. Like a kid caught in the sweet jar.

  “I—I’m sorry. I’ve—I’ve rung his old work by mistake.” It’s the best excuse I can think of.

  “That’d be a viable explanation,” he says. “Nice save. Only unless you’re a ghost or unless Gregg’s moved on superfast, that’s not possible.”

  I frown. “What?”

  “Gregg Evatt’s fiancee died. Six months ago. He’s been off work ever since. Whoever you are, lady, don’t call here again. And leave Gregg the fuck alone. He’s been through enough.”

  The line goes dead.

  I sit there. Heart pounding. Hand shaking.

  Gregg doesn’t work here anymore.

  His new fiancée is dead.

  And I’m back at square one.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It doesn’t take me long to find the details of Gregg’s fiancée’s death.

  I decided to go home last night after going to Gregg’s old workplace. I didn’t want Freddie getting suspicious. Today, I’m in a rough little estate just outside of town. I can hear dogs barking nearby. Graffiti covers the walls of the terraced houses. On the street corner, I see a couple of teenagers in black hoodies smoking something that smells a lot like weed.

  As I sit here in my car, I still wonder whether I’ve got this right. Because this can’t be right. Gregg was always a bit of a snob. No way he’d move to a place like this.

  But then I remember the details. I remember exactly what I saw.

  The obituary for his fiancée, Yara. Yara Nimikov. Easy to find. Obituary, Gregg and Preston, all in Google, all over the last few months.

  And there she was.

  Died of cancer just six months ago.

  Place of residence not too hard to find with a few Google searches.

  But as I sit here, pulled up to the pavement, I still can’t quite believe it. Why did Gregg lie to me about where he was moving to? I mean, I get it. Really, I do. It’s a shithole here. Nobody would exactly be proud living in a place like this. Especially moving from our little cottage in Broughton, which was so nice.

  But then there’s the other stuff, too. The woman at the cottage. The one I recognised. Why did Gregg give me her address? Her address, of all people?

  Sure, the cottage she lived in was nice. The kind of place the pair of us might’ve looked at moving into many years ago. One we’d actually driven past and spoken about.

  But the fact that the woman I recognised lived there made this more than just a coincidence.

  There had to be more to this than there seemed on the surface.

  I look at my phone. Hold it tight in my sweaty hand. I see a text from Freddie pop through.

  You okay, hun? Chinese tonight? Love you x

  And I feel so guilty. Because he’s so sweet. Sure, he’s been frustrated lately. He’s been mad lately. But he loves me. He cares. And really, he’s been far more patient than I’ve deserved.

  And I need to be really, really careful not to drive him away.

  I write him a quick text back before I do what I know will inevitably make me feel very fucking guilty.

  All good. Can’t wait. Love you too xx

  I send it, swallow a lump in my throat, and I get out of the car.

  I walk past a few of the terraced houses on this street. Honestly, being on the street makes me realise it’s even more of a shithole than I first thought. There are yards covered in cigarette stubs. Broken gnomes. That sort of thing. Most of the windows are dirty. And most of the houses reek of weed.

  And as I walk towards number 49, I can’t help wondering again just how Gregg ended up falling so far from grace in such a short space of time.

  But then I guess it made sense, didn’t it?

  Grief.

  Charlie.

  Me.

  And his fiancée, Yara.

  I reach number 49, and I stop right outside.

  Number 49 looks in better nick than the rest of the terraced houses, but not by much. The windows are clean, at least. There’s a few plants in the yard, something Gregg used to enjoy—and something that I teased him for. My very own Alan Titchmarsh.

  I tense my fists. Wonder whether I really want to do this. Because if Gregg wanted me to find him, he’d have got in touch. He’d have given me his real address.

  I know there are things he would rather not talk about.

  I know seeing him might awaken a lot of memories. A lot of dark memories suppressed from my past.

  But I know this is what I have to do. There are things I need to ask Gregg. Things I need to know. Things I am beginning to doubt about myself.

  Gregg will put me straight. He’ll put me back on track.

  I walk down the pathway towards the front door and knock three times on the window.

  It seems silent here. Silent, but for the dogs barking. The sound of bicycle chains whizzing by.

  But Gregg’s place. It’s silent.

  I squint through the window.

  Dark in there. Empty.

  I go to knock again. As much as I want any excuse to get off this street, I’m here now, so I might as well try. Can’t go giving up now.

  I knock again, a couple more times when I hear a door to my right open.

  I look around. See a man standing there. Bald bloke. Big belly. Wearing a sweaty vest, yellow at the pits. I can tell right away he’s a creep, the way he’s staring at my tits, practically drooling.

  “You alright, love?”

  I nod. “I’m just… Is Gregg about?”

  The man shrugs. I realise then he’s only in his boxer shorts, and he has a rapidly sprouting erection. “Don’t see Posh Man much. None of us do. Never up for our barbecues. Never even fancies a beer with us. Dunno what his problem is.”

  I want to tell this lowlife scrote that I know exactly what my ex-husband’s problem is. His problem is people like him. Losers. Creeps.

  And then I realise it’s strange how defensive I’m getting over Gregg, over my ex-husband.

  But then we go back a long way, don’t we?

  We have a lot of history.

  The man stays there. Stares quite openly at my breasts, now. “Y’sure you don’t fancy a brew with me? While we wait for him to get back or whatever?”

  I shake my head, feeling a little nauseous. “No. I’m fine. Thank you. I’ll just come back another time.”

  I look back at the glass window in the door, hoping I’ll see movement. Hoping I’ll see somebody.

  Nobody is there.

  I sigh. Lower my head and turn around. It was always a long shot coming here anyway. Even if Gregg was in, why the hell would he want to see me?

  Besides. Maybe Freddie is right. Things have been better recently. After the weirdness of a couple of weeks ago, things have settled since I’ve got back on my meds.

  Maybe I should seize this opportunity for peace with both hands.

  But then who knows how long it’ll be before something sparks my fears, all over again?

  I reach the end of the pathway when I hear a door creak open.

  “Shit,” the neighbour says. “Looks like you’re in luck, love.”

  I turn around.

  I see a man standing there.

  Chubbier than I remember. Paler than I remember. Greyer than I remember and with a bushy beard.

  But he looks at me, and I look
at him, and right away, I know.

  “Sarah?” he says.

  I swallow a lump in my throat as I stare into his wide blue eyes, and I force myself to smile. “Hello, Gregg.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I sit in Gregg’s living room with a brew in hand, and I can’t believe I am actually here.

  It’s not much nicer inside here than outside, which surprises me from a man as house proud as Gregg. The air is sickly sweet with air freshener, just about masking the strong hint of body odour coming off him. I can smell stale booze as well, spilled somewhere on the otherwise pristine brown carpet. There are plants all around the room, but they’ve gone brown and dehydrated. Dusty television in the corner.

  And photographs everywhere of Gregg and this gorgeous brunette who I can only assume to be Yara.

  I sip my brew. Glance up at Gregg, who stares at me. I still can’t get over how much he’s changed. He always used to be so well-trimmed. Took such pride in his appearance. But he’s lost it. Greying. Overweight. Slight hint of weed about him, too.

  “Always made a cracking brew,” I say, attempting to break the ice—and pay him a compliment as he can quite clearly see I’m staring.

  He hesitates a moment, then smiles. It’s like I’ve caught him off guard. And as I sit here, phone on silent, I wonder how insane I’m actually being. Because Gregg could be involved in the weird events that have been happening to me lately. I find it hard to believe, but I can’t discount it.

  But then, if he is, what’s he doing inviting me into his home?

  What’s he doing offering me a brew?

  What’s he doing being so… well, calm?

  “Nice place you’ve got,” I say, looking around at the room.

  “Don’t patronise me,” he says. “I was married to you for years. I know you think it’s a shithole.”

  “Well,” I say, lowering my brew, placing it on a mat on the wooden table before me. I see a cat underneath, hiding. Purring away. Staring up at me. “I didn’t think this part of Preston was your cup of tea. But I guess things change.”

  “This was just a stopgap,” Gregg says. “My ex. Who I’m assuming you know about. Especially since you’ve been ringing my old work asking about me. I’m guessing that was you, right?”