by Lisa Jewell
‘Yes, a little girl, Scarlett. She’s at nursery.’
‘Wow – two kids! That’s brilliant. And is this … with …?’
‘Ralph?’ Jem nodded. ‘Yes. I made these children with Ralph.’ She smiled wryly, preparing herself for the next question.
‘And how is he? How is Ralph?’
‘Oh, he’s fine. He’s good. We’re, er … well, we’re having a trial separation.’
Cheri’s face fell. ‘Oh, no!’ she cried. ‘No. That’s terrible.’
Jem threw her a look of surprise. She seemed genuinely distressed by this revelation.
‘God, it’s just, I know this sounds so silly, but that night, remember, that night at the gallery, when Ralph asked me to help get you two together, that was the most formative night of my life. I’d never really understood what love was before that night. I was lost, you know, going from one unsuitable man to the next, looking for some crap or other, I don’t know, money, security, status, whatever. But after that night, seeing you two together, two people who were so obviously destined to be together. It changed me. It made me want what you had. Something real and meaningful and beautiful and …’
Jem was alarmed to see that a small tear was leaking from the side of Cheri’s perfectly made-up eye.
‘… well, I found someone. I did. Someone I’d known for years, but I’d discounted him for being too poor and too nice. And we made it work, we had a beautiful thing together. He was the love of my life. Really. My everything. And then, shit, sorry …’ She wiped more tears from beneath her eyes. ‘It’s been five years and I still can’t talk about it, but he died. My David. He died in front of my very eyes. Some heart condition, undiagnosed, eating a tuna steak at the kitchen table one minute, dead the next.’
‘Oh my God, Cheri, I’m so sorry.’ Jem put her hand against the soft wool of her expensive sweater, ‘I am so, so sorry. That’s just awful.’
‘Yeah, I know. And we never even got to have any babies. We were talking about it. I often think, if only we hadn’t talked about it, if only we’d just done it, then at least I’d have something of him, you know, instead of nothing. So look, you and Ralph – why did you split up?’
Jem looked at her blankly, for a moment. Then she sighed. ‘A lot of different reasons,’ she said, ‘nothing specific. Just the general stress of life, just growing apart, changing, I suppose.’
Cheri shook her head vehemently from side to side. ‘Don’t get divorced,’ she said. ‘Please don’t. You two are so lucky to have found each other. Two lovely children. The rest of your lives together. Don’t throw it away. Imagine,’ she said, gripping Jem’s hand with hers, ‘imagine if Ralph died. Imagine if there was no second chance. How would you feel?’ she asked. ‘How would you feel?’
Jem closed her eyes for a moment. She let the question sink in. And then she felt her answer begin to form. She smiled tightly at Cheri. She had no idea what to say.
PART FIVE
Two Weeks Later
Chapter 1
It is the morning after her visit to Ralph’s flat, after Jem found the screwed-up love letter in the bin. Jem drops Scarlett at nursery and then comes straight back to Maygrove Road, walks past her sister’s house, past the Maygrove Centre and on to the estate itself. She has left Blake with Lulu, who is going to take him to the skateboarding park, his new favourite place. Not that he is able to use a skateboard yet – he is only sixteen months – but he loves to sit in his buggy and watch the big boys swish and ricochet around the concrete. Ooh, he says, aaah, oh no!
Jem follows the signage until it takes her to a corner of the estate called Sunbury Terrace. Here there are ten or so houses on a crescent-shaped terrace. They are small and slightly unprepossessing, but less foreboding than the towers and blocks that surround them. She finds number fifteen and, unable to find a working doorbell, she clatters the letterbox. The door is opened by a giant of a man in a rust-coloured hooded sweatshirt and combat trousers. He is handsome and tanned and has a paintbrush in his hand.
‘Yes?’ he says. He has a bristly Scots accent.
‘Hello,’ Jem smiles. ‘Are you Gil?’
‘Yes, I cannot deny it.’
‘Oh. Good. I’m Jem. I’m –’
‘Ralph’s sweetheart.’
‘Yes. Well, no, not –’
‘Come in.’ He holds the door ajar for her and ushers her into a small living room filled with interesting (though not entirely beautiful) antiques and pieces of slightly rough-and-ready art. ‘I was just washing my brushes, but now you’re here I can take a break instead. Cup of tea?’ He claps his large hands together and then cups them.
He is a very appealing person, physically. Everything about him looks clean and strong and healthy. All his proportions are right and in the places that he has aged he has done so very elegantly. Jem feels immediately comfortable in his company and says: ‘Yes, a cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.’
‘So,’ he calls from the tiny kitchen, ‘what brings you to my door?’
Jem gets to her feet and replies closer to the door, so that she doesn’t have to shout. ‘Well,’ she says, watching him pour a little too much full-fat milk into her tea, ‘it’s Ralph. He was supposed to collect the children last Wednesday and he didn’t. I spoke to him and he said he had to do something, but that he would be back the next Wednesday, i.e., yesterday to collect them. But he didn’t come again and I found a number for a woman called Sarah at his flat, and I spoke to her yesterday and she has no idea where he’s gone, but she said that she’d spoken to you, that you’d been with him, that you might know where he is. I’m so, so worried about him. I’m so …’ she stops, remembering Cheri’s words in the street in Battersea. ‘I just really hoped you might have some idea where he might be.’
‘Right, well, I can see why she’d have thought I’d have an idea about his whereabouts because actually I did spend most of last week with the boy.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. Me and the boy went up to the Moors. In Yorkshire. We went to paint.’
Jem nods and takes the steaming mug of too-milky tea from Gil’s outstretched hands.
‘Yes. The boy was in something of a bother. He came to me on that Wednesday night. I hadn’t been expecting him. It was about six o’clock, I suppose … and he said – now let me think because I can see that this is important; that’s right, he said it was your anniversary. He said that this day a number of years ago you and he shared your first kiss. And then he said that he couldn’t face you, not today, not now. He asked me to come away with him, there and then. He waited a moment for me to pack some things in a bag and then he drove me, fast as you like, up to the Moors. I heard him talking to you on the phone. I was concerned then. I could see that this was something out of the ordinary, that it’d have had you worried. But he calmed down once we were there. We found a B&B, we sat and prayed, and the next morning we got up early to paint. But we didn’t do much in the way of talking. I could tell he didn’t want to say anything so I just let him be. And then the boy said he needed to be home again, home to see his children. So we came back down that motorway, a little slower this time, and he dropped me off at home.’
‘When was this?’
‘Well, this would’ve been Saturday. This Saturday, just passed.’
‘And he said he was going to see his children?’
‘Yes, he seemed quite frantic to see them. I would have vouched that he’d have been straight back around the corner to your place. That’s the way it seemed.’
Jem shakes her head.
‘Well, then,’ the man called Gil licks his dry lips, ‘we’ve gone as far as we can down this road. Although …’ he pauses.
‘Yes?’ she almost pleads. She is aching for Gil to tell her something that will quell this sick dread in her belly, to tell her that Ralph is not dead, that she has not left it too late.
‘There was one thing. A phonecall on the way back from Yorkshire. I thought it might be you at first, but
from what little I could hear the accent sounded different. Australian. Or maybe even a true London cockney accent. But certainly, now I give it some thought, not your voice. And she was saying I can be there in ten minutes, and he was saying, no, not yet, I won’t be home for at least an hour and he sounded a little surprised to hear from this woman. That’s all I’ll say.’
‘Did he mention a name?’
Gil licks his lips again and squints. ‘Well, now, I … yes!’ He slaps his palms against his combat trousers. ‘Rosey!’
And at the mention of the name Jem remembers vividly a moment in her fateful conversation with Ralph all those months ago, just before their ill-fated wedding. The beautiful blonde in the photo in his studio. Smith’s ex. The Christian with the church that had turned her boyfriend into a man of faith. The woman he’d painted that beautiful portrait of. Rosey.
‘Yes,’ continues Gil, ‘that’s what it was. Rosey. And all the while I just thought he was talking to you, I wasn’t paying much attention. But he was talking to this Rosey woman. Yes. He was.’ He pauses and looks at Jem with almond-shaped eyes of swimming-pool blue. ‘Does that help?’ he says.
Jem shrugs. One door opens. Another slams in her face. ‘A little bit,’ she says. ‘I’m not sure how much though, because this Rosey girl lives in America.’
‘Ah, well, yes. That might well be a problem. Unless of course she is still here.’
Of course, thinks Jem, of course. The bracelet, the cheap pretty bracelet. It belongs to Rosey. Rosey has been in Ralph’s bedroom. Rosey has been in Ralph’s bed. She is a Christian. She sings in a band. She is beautiful. And it is clear now to Jem that wherever Ralph is, this girl is with him.
Something red and hot and painful floods through her at this thought. It is as bitter as bile. It is deep, raging jealousy.
Who is this irresistible woman who has lured Ralph away from her children? And away from her? Until yesterday Jem had thought that Ralph had a girlfriend called Sarah. From what little she’d heard about Sarah it didn’t seem that she was a threat. She sounded dull and pious and unlikely to bring Ralph into a state of paroxysmal love. But Sarah was not his girlfriend. Rosey was. And now this Rosey had appeared from nowhere and air-lifted Ralph right out of his life.
Jem remembers that Sarah mentioned having an e-mail relationship with this Rosey person. ‘Excuse me,’ she says to Gil, ‘I just have to make a quick call.’
She brings up Sarah’s number and calls it with shaking hands.
‘Sarah,’ she says, ‘it’s Jem. I’m at Gil’s. It sounds like Ralph is with this Rosey girl. I don’t know where. No idea, no. I just wondered if you could give me her e-mail address. I mean, she might have a BlackBerry with her or something, she might be able to pick it up.’
‘I can do better than that,’ says Sarah, the tap-tapping of her computer keyboard audible in the background. ‘I have her cell. Here. Take it down.’
Jem taps it in, thanks Sarah and then presses Call. Under other circumstances she would feel nervous calling this steely blonde who has possibly taken away her last chance to get back together with Ralph, but she does not feel nervous, she just wants to hear that Ralph is OK and she wants to hear it now.
A female voice answers almost immediately. ‘Yes.’
‘Hello – is this Rosey?’ she begins impatiently.
‘Yes, who’s this?’
Jem can hear that Rosey is at an airport, or a train station. She can hear the Tannoy, the echo of a high-ceilinged building. ‘This is Jem,’ she says. ‘Ralph’s ex-partner, Jem.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. He’s gone missing and I’m trying to track him down. I’m with Ralph’s friend, Gil, and he seems to think that there’s a chance he might be with you?’ Please God, she thinks, please, let him be with you.
There is silence on the line, then the ding-dong of another Tannoy announcement in the background. Until, finally: ‘What?’
‘Ralph,’ says Jem, with a hint of impatience, ‘is he with you?’
‘No,’ says the Australian woman, bluntly. ‘No. He isn’t. I thought …’ she pauses for a moment. ‘I thought he was with you.’
Eight days earlier
Ralph pulled up on Maygrove Road and switched off the engine. It was just after six fifteen and he was running a bit late. The sun had just set and the early evening sky was streaked violet and navy and full of fat, charcoal clouds. As Ralph got out of the car he heard footsteps approaching. He tensed himself as he always did on this street after dark. It was a different place at night, the kind of place where people got mugged.
The footsteps got closer and he turned to face the road. He was about to cross over when a voice, very close to his ear, said, ‘Hello, Ralph.’
It was him.
That man.
Joel.
‘Oh,’ said Ralph, ‘hi.’
‘On your way to a meeting?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Ralph, ‘no. I’m collecting my kids. And I’m running a bit late.’
‘Yes, I heard what happened. I heard that you and Jem had split up,’
‘You did?’ Ralph replied with raised eyebrows.
‘Yes. Seems like I was right.’
Ralph stopped and threw Joel a quizzical look. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Last time we met, I told you, she was looking for something, she was scenting the air. Well, she found it.’
Ralph closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Joel, his voice rich with gratification.
‘I mean,’ said Ralph, ‘what exactly are you talking about?’
‘What,’ said Joel, ‘you don’t know?’
‘Don’t know what?’
‘About Jem and Lucas?’
‘Who the hell is Lucas?’
‘Lucas is my son.’
‘Yes. And?’
‘And, well, Jem and Lucas, they had a thing.’
Ralph shook his head from side to side, trying to dislodge the wrongness of what Joel had just said. ‘A thing?’
‘Yes, Jem had an affair with my son. That is correct.’
‘But your son is a … child?’
‘Well,’ Joel laughed infuriatingly. ‘He was a child, yes, a long time ago, but he is now a grown man of twenty-five. Who has been sleeping with your ex.’
Ralph almost stumbled as the words hit his consciousness. ‘But, I …’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘Well, no, it’s bloody obvious I didn’t know, isn’t it?’ Ralph gazed at Joel for a moment. Joel’s face was flat and unsmiling, but Ralph could see something gleeful behind his eyes. He had for some reason decided that he hated Ralph and he was now taking pleasure in imparting this development to Ralph, in being the person from whom he heard it first. ‘How long did they …?’ he whispered.
Joel shrugged. ‘No idea,’ he said.
Ralph forced a smile. He was not going to give this strange man the reward of seeing him gutted. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘she’s a free agent. She can do what she likes.’ He dragged the words from between his lips. The thought of Jem ‘doing what she liked’ with another man made him want to be violently sick.
‘Anyway just thought you’d like to know,’ said Joel. ‘I’ll see you around no doubt.’
‘Yes,’ said Ralph, keeping his tone light and unfazed. ‘No doubt.’
He crossed the street towards Lulu’s house and he heard Joel’s footsteps retreating towards the Maygrove Centre. Ralph let his breath come now as he approached the front door. It came quick and fast and heavy. It came so heavy that he felt his head begin to lose oxygen, his vision begin to blur. He sat down heavily upon the front step and he tried to control his breathing and as his heart rate came down he felt tears coming and he buried his eyes into the heels of his hands to stop them.
Jem had slept with another man.
A twenty-five-year-old man.
His Jem. His little Jem. The sweet, funny, ballsy wisp of a girl
he’d fallen in love with in a flat in Battersea. Little Jem, whom he’d eaten curry with and made babies with and thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He’d let her go. And instead of bouncing back to him, she’d bounced into the arms of a man of twenty-five. Christ, hardly a man at all. Just a kid. A boy.
The thought of it was appalling to Ralph, in every way.
He appraised Lulu’s house behind him. He thought of his children behind those doors. And he knew then that he couldn’t face them. He was too crazy to see his children. If he saw them now he would scare them.
He got into his car and he drove. He drove past the Maygrove Centre and he drove through the Maygrove Estate until he reached Sunbury Terrace. He banged on Gil’s door with his fist until Gil’s face appeared in the crack left by his security chain.
‘Come for a drive with me,’ he said, ‘I need to get away.’
He took Gil to his car and they drove, in silence. He needed to think and Gil let him do just that. Half an hour out of London the phone rang. It was Lulu. He told her that he was going away for the weekend. He was very apologetic.
‘What shall I tell Jem?’ she asked.
‘Tell her I’ll be back for the children next week. Tell her I’m sorry.’
Half an hour later the phone rang again. This time it was Jem. He almost didn’t answer it. He didn’t know what to say to her. What do you say to the love of your life when you’ve just found out that she’d had an affair with a man who’s almost half your age? What do you say when your head is spinning and all the words you’ve ever spoken to each other have been pulverised into a grey goo somewhere between your ears? He told her he was sorry. He told her he’d be back for the children next week. And then he hung up before he said something he’d regret.
He took Gil to a bed and breakfast in Yorkshire. He’d been there before, brought the children up for the occasional weekend (if there was something he felt he could give the children out of the mess of his broken relationship with their mother, it was happy weekends in the countryside, some wholesome fodder for their childhood memories), and the owners were happy to see him midweek. For three days he and Gil walked and prayed and talked and contemplated the landscape. They drank cloudy beer in warm pubs and then, on Saturday night, Ralph received an e-mail from Rosey.
