He Will Find You

by Diane Jeffrey

  ‘I have a break for lunch in half an hour if you’d like to join me,’ she says, studying the floor as if it needs attention. I almost follow her gaze, but then I understand her body language. She expects me to refuse.

  ‘Actually, I was hoping you’d cut my hair,’ I say.

  She smiles. ‘OK.’

  Thirty minutes later, the back of my neck aching from the sink and my scalp smarting from Hannah’s massage, I’m sitting in front of the mirror.

  ‘So, shall I just take off a couple of inches, get rid of these split ends?’ Hannah asks, inspecting the strand of long ginger hair she’s holding between two of her fingers.

  ‘No, cut it short,’ I instruct her.

  I catch Hannah’s surprised face in the mirror. I’m as taken aback as she is; I was only going to ask her for a trim and a blow-dry, just as an excuse to see her, really.

  Hannah gets to work. I study her in the mirror as she cuts my hair. Every now and then, she glances at Chloe, next to us in the pram, and each time she does, I’m struck by the strange expression on her face. At one point, the hand holding the scissors shakes. Whatever is going through her mind, I can’t ask her. We’re nowhere near that place now.

  By unspoken agreement, we don’t talk about Kevin. I know from Julie and Daniel that the company he works for has been contracted to build the new sports centre in Minehead, but I don’t ask after him, and Hannah doesn’t mention his name. He’s the elephant in the hair salon.

  When it’s over, I admire my reflection and then turn and beam at Hannah. She has transformed me. Having my red hair around my face, instead of tied back in a ponytail, brings out the emerald colour of my eyes. The same eyes as my mother and Louisa. It also suits the shape of my face, which is a bit long for my liking.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Hannah says, ‘though I say it myself.’

  As I dig into my handbag for my purse, insisting on paying Hannah even though she protests, Chloe makes herself heard. She’s awake, but she’s not screaming. She’s not even crying. Dad says the sea air suits her.

  ‘Can I hold her?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ I’m delighted Hannah has asked. Red hair falls to the floor all around me as I get up to lift Chloe out of the pram, but Hannah is already walking around the room with Chloe in her arms, supporting her head and talking to her gently. After stripping off the protective cape, I carry on hunting in my handbag.

  Suddenly, Chloe screeches, sharply, and then starts crying, as she does sometimes when she has been frightened or hurt.

  I look up. Hannah walks towards me and gives Chloe to me.

  ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. She cries a lot,’ I say. But she hasn’t cried much for the last couple of days.

  In the end, Hannah won’t let me pay and I leave. We promise to keep in touch.

  When I get home, Daniel is deadheading Dad’s petunias in the hanging baskets. Seeing the scissors in Daniel’s hand, I think of Hannah snipping away at my locks just a few hours ago. But at the smell and the sight of the decaying blooms, another memory soon superimposes itself. The box left on the doorstep of the Old Vicarage with the handwritten message, Wake up and smell the dead flowers. I shudder.

  ‘Wow! You look stunning,’ Daniel says as I push Chloe in her pram up Dad’s drive. He looks a little embarrassed and turns back to the petunias. I notice a small balding patch on the back of his head as he tips it back to look up at the flowers. I’ve never noticed it before. His dark hair is greying, pepper and salt. And his kind face has quite a few wrinkles that weren’t there when he first started going out with Julie.

  ‘Just trying to sort out your dad’s plants,’ he says unnecessarily. ‘He seems a lot better, by the way. Julie’s very relieved. I expect you’re keen to get back to that man of yours, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no hurry. I’ll stay another week, I expect.’

  Daniel turns round again to face me. ‘You know, Kaitlyn,’ he begins, ‘if it doesn’t work out and you want to come home, no one here would think any less of you.’

  Like Julie, my brother-in-law is straightforward. He tends to speak his mind, no matter what’s on it. Pretending not to understand, I pull a puzzled face.

  ‘I mean, you were very brave and made a go of it. But if it goes tits up …’ He breaks off, sighs and waves the scissors around.

  It’s not so much what he says as what I can’t say. All the thoughts and feelings that I can’t put into words, and wouldn’t express even if I could, form a large lump in my throat, and in that moment I don’t know if I’m going to cry or suffocate.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound patronising,’ Daniel continues. ‘I just wanted to say, I know Julie thinks Alex can do no wrong, but if you need to talk about anything at any time, I’m here, too.’

  I can feel my cheeks burning, and I can see Daniel’s are as well. He overheard Alex’s demeaning remarks at our barbecue, I remember, first about my weight and then about my sister’s ‘generous’ backside. I wonder if that’s going through Daniel’s head, too.

  ‘Thanks, Daniel,’ I say, kissing him on the cheek. ‘I appreciate it.’ I mean it when I say it. After all, I walked out on Kevin, who is Daniel’s friend, and yet my brother-in-law has remained protective of me. But then something in me rises and makes me want to race to my husband’s defence. What does Daniel know? He isn’t aware that Alex was abused as a boy; he hasn’t allowed for Alex’s ex-wife taking away his children. ‘But everything is fine,’ I add, turning my back on Daniel to take Chloe inside.

  The rest of the evening goes by uneventfully. Oscar and Archie have made a lovely meal – gazpacho, followed by grilled pork and ratatouille, and to top it all off, a lemon meringue pie. Then Julie and I play the board game Rummikub with the boys. When I go to bed that evening, I’m still feeling full from the meal.

  At 3 a.m., I give up. I know I’m not going to get any more sleep tonight. I’ve been fretting about why Alex isn’t talking to me. I’m not just worried; I’m angry. I play over in my mind all the rows we’ve had and all the ups and downs, and deep down I know I’m putting up with more than I should. There will be a reason for his lack of communication. He has an excuse for everything. But does that mean I should excuse him?

  I want to be understanding – Alex is bound to be mentally scarred by his upbringing, but his moods are too much for me. I feel weaker each time I give in to him and allow him to get his way, like I’m becoming a fainter, sepia version of my former self. I often question my judgement. Perhaps that’s what you’re supposed to do in a marriage. But it seems to me that I do this, but Alex doesn’t.

  Sighing, I get up and go downstairs to make a cup of tea. Jet, curled up on his bed, opens his eyes as I pass him, but he doesn’t get up to follow me into the kitchen. I bend down to stroke him, but he’s not as responsive as usual.

  ‘I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing up at this hour, Jet, aren’t you?’ I whisper, caressing his ears. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you?’ I straighten up, adding, ‘You’re right, Jet. Absolutely right.’ I’m not going mad so much as hopping mad.

  I spend the rest of the night sitting on the sofa with Dad’s rug over my lap. I drink tea, flick through TV channels and read my novel without taking much of it in. There’s a confused jumble of thoughts piling up in my head, but I can’t sort them out just yet. I don’t know what to think about this. I don’t want to think about it at all. But the TV and my book don’t hold my attention for long and I’m desperate to find something to take my mind off this. I play Words With Friends in French on my mobile for a while, but after taking a few turns I have only consonants and no vowels, so I resign.

  I look forward to Chloe waking up for her feed, for her company and for something to do. And I want to be able to hold her. But for the first time ever, she sleeps all the way through the night. I creep upstairs and check on her several times, but she doesn’t wake up until nearly seven o’clock
.

  When my dad gets up, he fusses around me, asking me every five minutes if I’m all right. He seems to sense that something is wrong so I try my best to put on an act and sound carefree and happy. After all, I’m the one who is supposed to be looking after him.

  Over the next week, I do look after my dad, even though he’s a lot better and doesn’t really need me to stay on much longer. Alex has texted me a couple of times to ask after my dad’s health, more to find out when I intend to come home, I think, than out of genuine concern. I’ve been evasive in my replies. I haven’t made up my mind when I’m going back to the Old Vicarage.

  A part of me doesn’t want to go home at all, but it’s only a small part. I miss Alex; I love him. Most of me wants to run to him, but at night I lie awake, thinking I should be running from him.

  The following Saturday, Julie, Daniel and the boys come round again and I decide to get out and get some fresh air. I’m hoping I can go alone. Well, with Jet. It will help clear my head and wake me up a bit, and hopefully tire me out at the same time so that I sleep better tonight. I want to go for a long walk along the paths my twin sister’s feet took her.

  I can’t tell Dad where I’m going. He wouldn’t understand why I need to go there sometimes. He hasn’t been to Hurlstone Point since the day we lost Louisa. He certainly wouldn’t want me anywhere near those windswept clifftops.

  But just after Julie and her clan have arrived, the doorbell goes.

  ‘Kaitlyn!’ he exclaims when I open the door. ‘It’s so nice to see you after so long.’

  ‘Hi,’ I say, trying to remember his name. I haven’t seen him since he left school, a year before me. Then it comes to me. His name is Edward, but no one called him that. ‘Good to see you too, Teddy.’

  Although he was slightly tubby back then, he looks very lean and fit now. A bit pale. He’s not short, but he’s only an inch or so taller than me. Receding hairline, but what hair he does have is still dark brown; there’s not a hint of grey.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m your dad’s physiotherapist,’ he says.

  ‘But …’ My sleep-deprived brain tries to remember the name of the physio who has been coming to see Dad.

  ‘Joe’s away on holiday for two weeks. I think this is your dad’s last session. It’ll be with me today.’

  I step back to let Teddy into the house. We chat for ages, reminiscing about school and laughing about some of the teachers we both had. The school we went to, East Exmoor School, is in the middle of nowhere. It’s a private boarding school where Julie, Louisa and I were day pupils, like Teddy. Because Alex’s parents lived up north, he was a termly boarder. Alex has since told me he was there on a sports scholarship and he often spent the weekends at his aunt and uncle’s in the nearby town of Exford.

  In the end, instead of going out alone to Hurlstone Point, I wait until Teddy has finished with Dad’s physio and the two of us walk down the road to The Whortleberry Tearoom, where we sit outside and have a cream tea. I listen as he tells me about his work and about his ten-year-old daughter, Olivia. He giggles nervously sometimes in the middle of a sentence, which I find charming, and I notice that he twists his wedding band around his finger.

  I observe Teddy as he eats the last of his scone and wipes his mouth with a paper napkin. Then he takes an electronic cigarette out of his pocket.

  ‘I’ve given up smoking,’ he says, waving it at me. ‘I’ll need to give this up next.’

  As he draws on his e-cig and exhales the vapour, I get a very faint whiff of a pleasant lemony smell, a bit like air freshener, but when I try to breathe in the smell, it has already gone.

  ‘So, does Olivia go to our old school?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t afford it!’

  ‘What does your wife do?’ I ask, clamping my hand over my mouth just after the words escape from my mouth and I hear how they sound. ‘Forgive me. That was clumsy of me.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Teddy says. ‘Actually, she died three years ago.’

  Now I’m mortified. ‘I’m so sorry, Teddy.’

  ‘Brain aneurysm.’

  ‘Oh, how awful.’

  ‘Her parents help out a lot with Olivia, as do mine, and we get by, but she won’t be going to East Exmoor, that’s for sure!’

  He stops turning his ring and picks up his teacup. We both remain silent, sipping our teas for a while. I feel bad for causing the awkwardness when we were chatting effortlessly before.

  ‘I heard you married Alexander Riley,’ Teddy says after a while.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you both still live around here then?’

  ‘Oh, no. We live in the Lake District. In Grasmere.’

  I don’t know what else to say. I remember the rose-tinted version of our story that Alex told everyone at the barbecue, but I can’t tell it like that. And I don’t want to tell the true story, either.

  ‘I’ve never been further north than Birmingham.’ Teddy says.

  ‘No, I hadn’t either before I moved up there.’

  Teddy walks me back and we say goodbye at the front gate of my dad’s house. He says he’ll look me up on Facebook. He waves out of the window of his car as he drives away.

  ‘Who was that?’

  I whirl round. He’s sitting on the doorstep.

  ‘Alex! What a lovely surprise!’ Then I notice what he’s wearing. ‘Did you … you didn’t …? How did you get here?’

  ‘Train to Tiverton Parkway. The guy sitting next to me on the train gave me a lift as far as Dulverton. Ran the rest.’

  ‘But that’s miles! I would have picked you up from the station if you’d told me you were coming.’

  ‘Nah. I needed a longish run, and it’s only about fifteen miles. Thought we could drive back home together tomorrow in your car.’

  ‘Did you ring the doorbell?’

  ‘No, I’ve just got here. So, who was that?’

  ‘Teddy Edwards. Remember him? From school?’

  ‘How could I forget someone with a name like Edward Edwards? He’s lost a lot of weight since he was at East Exmoor, hasn’t he? Edward Edwards.’ He whistles through his teeth, although I’m not sure what he means by it.

  ‘Hmm. I suppose that’s why everyone called him Teddy,’ I say, choosing to ignore Alex’s last comment. I don’t tell Alex I used to think it was because he looked cuddly.

  Alex does his stretching exercises while I announce his arrival – and my departure for the following day. When Alex steps into the hall, dumping his rucksack on the ground and smiling at me, my heart thumps wildly. I’m pleased to see him, but I’m nervous now he’s here.

  ‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ Alex says, bending down to unzip a side pocket on his rucksack.

  I watch as he pulls out a white envelope and hands it to me. For a second, I look at it in horror, thinking Alex’s mother has given him the photo I found in the cellar. But then I realise this envelope is far smaller. I open it, my eyes on Alex. It’s my red heart crystal necklace. The one I was supposed to wear on my wedding day.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ I manage at last.

  ‘In the laundry basket,’ he says, without missing a beat. ‘It must have fallen out of one of your pockets.’

  I know he’s watching me, trying to gauge my reaction. I try to stretch my mouth into a smile, but the effect feels more like a rictus frozen across my lips.

  I lead Alex into the sitting room, where he greets my family. As Julie and Dad make everyone a cup of tea, Alex flops down next to me on the sofa. I catch him glancing sideways at me, as if studying my new look, but although he must have noticed, he doesn’t mention my haircut. First I think, better no comment than a disparaging one. Then I bristle inside, thinking that even if he didn’t like it, he could have said he did. What’s one little fib when he has fed me several huge ones, not to mention a few lies of omission? After all, he has just told a little white lie about the necklace.

  Then a thought worms its way int
o my head. What if that wasn’t a little white lie? What if it was a big black lie? What if he had the necklace all along? But why would he do that? It makes no sense. Unless he wants me to doubt myself. No. That can’t be it. That would be a very sick game to play.

  Alex manipulates the truth, like he manipulates me. He twists and bends it in any way that enables him to get his way. So, there’s no point in confronting him about the necklace. I’ll only become bogged down deeper in this morass of lies with no hope of untangling them.

  But I know he’s lying. At the time, Daniel looked in the laundry basket and Hannah went through all my pockets. And I’m absolutely certain that I put the necklace in my drawer. As soon as I get home, I’ll put it back in the drawer. I don’t want to wear it. I’m not superstitious, far from it, but it’s as if the red heart necklace is jinxed.

  Chapter 18

  ~

  I was sort of looking forward to going back to Grasmere; at least I was until Alex turned up in Porlock. But now I’m back here, a heaviness lines my stomach, a foreboding that trouble is just ahead and I can’t avoid it.

  On my second day back, I desperately want to get out of the house for a while, get some fresh air. So when Alex has left, I decide to ring Vicky and ask her if she’s free after work.

  ‘I need to pop home and get my sports kit, but I can do that during my lunch break,’ she says, assuming I want to go with her to the gym she mentioned in Cockermouth.

  ‘Actually, I was wondering … would you like to go out for a walk? We could take your dogs.’

  ‘OK. We could go up Wansfell Pike if you like. It’s quite steep, but it’s not a long walk.’

  ‘That sounds like a great plan.’ I inject as much enthusiasm as I can into my voice.

  I think about taking Chloe in the baby carrier, but in the end, I ring my mother-in-law and ask her to look after her granddaughter. Chloe has been so calm recently. I’m worried she’ll get irritable if she senses I’m a bit on edge. She’ll be much happier with Sandy.