When lunchtime finally came around, I found a corner of the break room to myself and hoped no one tried to rope me in to their conversation. Usually, I’d be in the middle of things, but today, I just couldn’t face it.
After a few minutes, Janet came in. She switched on the kettle and stood with her arms crossed as she waited for the water to boil. I noticed everyone else leave shortly after, and I wondered if they didn’t like Janet or just preferred not to take their breaks with their boss.
When it was just me and her, Janet pulled up a seat opposite me. ‘I don’t want to interrupt your lunch, Polly,’ she said. ‘But we need to have a chat.’
I looked up from my magazine and found Janet giving me her half-smile that she used when she was in boss mode. I’d always thought Janet was an odd boss. She never really asked people to do things, just sort of suggested them, as if the work was optional.
For a moment, I wondered if she was there to discuss my absences, if there was to be some kind of official warning, but as Janet had practically told me to stay off, I couldn’t see how that could be possible. The only other reason for the meeting was to discuss the promotion, and I wasn’t really in the mood. I couldn’t face telling her I was looking for something else, not now at least.
‘Can we do this later?’ I asked and stood up, gathering my things. Janet looked confused and shuffled some papers she’d brought with her. ‘I just can’t do this now,’ I said and burst into tears, the weight of everything suddenly too much.
I ran out and into the toilets and sat down and cried, thinking about the house. I didn’t want to leave. It was my house. I’d worked hard to get it. It was all I’d ever wanted. And now people were driving me out. How was that fair?
‘Are you all right?’ I could see Janet’s feet outside the cubicle.
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
‘Are you sure?’
I wiped my nose and opened the door. Janet looked at me with sympathy and led me to the sink. My face was blotchy from crying, my nose running. I looked at myself and saw what a mess I was. I washed my face in the sink and pressed a couple of scratchy, blue paper towels Janet handed to me to my skin. When I looked up I was still a mess.
‘Polly?’
I didn’t turn to her, just looked at her through the mirror.
‘Is it your mum?’
I started to cry again, and she came over and turned me around, hugging me tightly. ‘You shouldn’t have come in,’ Janet said, pulling back and wiping my face. I missed my mum then, missed who she used to be. How we used to be.
‘I’m all right,’ I said, and pulled another wad of rough paper towels from the dispenser, wiping my face.
‘You don’t look all right.’
‘I’d rather be here,’ I said.
Janet sighed. ‘I need some things typing up. If you’d prefer, you could do that, in my office.’ I looked up at her. ‘I hate talking to people when I’m upset. Especially people I don’t know. I always start bubbling again at inopportune moments.’ I let out a little laugh-sob, and she put her arm around my shoulder. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you a cup of tea, and then, you can start typing.’
The rest of the day was almost meditative. Typing but not reading the words, just hitting the keys over and over. Janet would probably find a million mistakes when she looked them over, if she looked them over, but I didn’t care. They probably weren’t important, anyway. It was busywork. She was just being kind.
I left the office a few minutes early as I’d typed everything up and only said goodbye to Janet. The bus arrived just as I got to the stop, and I was grateful for small mercies. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. It was cold and windy, the sky threatening rain. I sat at the back of the bus and closed my eyes, trying to work out where we were from the turns and stops. The journey seemed to be much shorter than usual, and as we turned onto my street, I felt anxious, as if I didn’t want to get off. I thought about staying where I was, just riding around and around until the driver was done for the day. Then, I could just get off wherever the bus terminated and go from there. See where my legs took me.
But I got off and stood still for a while. I could see my house. I could see the curtains were still closed. I could see there were no broken windows, at least not at the front. I could see there was no one waiting for me outside; no Jacob, no Cathy.
Another bus turned up, and an old man asked me if I wanted that one. ‘No, thanks,’ I said, and he walked around me. The driver looked at me for a brief moment and then closed the doors, and the bus disappeared.
I should go home.
After a few more minutes, it started raining, and the bus stop filled up with people more concerned with keeping dry than catching a bus. I left them to their small talk about the weather and crossed the road. I could see Ethel peering out of her window. She stared, and I ducked my head, pretending not to see her. I wasn’t sure she’d come out, not in the rain, but I didn’t want to take the chance.
My bag clunked onto the floor as I closed the door. There was some post on the mat, all for the dead woman, and it all went in the bin. I turned on the lights and went through to the kitchen. As I waited for the kettle to boil, I couldn’t help but look. I opened the back door and checked the doorstep. I don’t know what I was expecting to find – another letter, a nasty gift, maybe Jacob himself. But there was nothing there. I closed the door and went back inside, taking my tea to the table.
How long had it been since I’d seen Jacob? If I didn’t count last night, because I couldn’t truly be sure it was him at the care home, how long had it been? I couldn’t remember. Everything was a blur. But it felt like a long time.
I supped the tea, thinking what if he had given up?
I grabbed my bag and found my phone at the bottom beneath the loose tampons and the half-eaten rolls of mints. It rang a few times before someone answered.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘This is Polly Cooke, I’m just ringing about my mum. Mrs Cooke,’ I said. They all called her Mrs Cooke, except for Cathy who used her first name.
‘Hang on,’ the man said.
There was some scuffling and after a few minutes someone else picked up the phone. ‘This is Cathy.’
I felt my stomach drop. I didn’t want to speak to Cathy. Of everyone in the world, Cathy was the one I least wanted to talk to at that moment.
‘Polly?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m here.’
‘There’s no change. The doctor’s been in this afternoon. There’s not much we can do. Just wait it out, I suppose.’ I heard crackling on the line as if she was moving around, and then, her voice went quieter, as if she didn’t want anyone listening in. ‘Listen, Polly. I think we need to have a chat. Maybe not here but–’
‘About what?’ I asked.
‘Your mum. It’s just… Me and Margaret have got quite close,’ she said, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. ‘I’ve been spending a lot of time with her, even outside work, and she’s–’
‘I need to go,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
I slammed down the phone as if it had scalded me and turned it off in case Cathy tried to call me back. And then, I worried that if I didn’t answer her calls, then she’d just turn up at my door again.
Thinking about the night before, about Cathy showing up here, about her intrusive questions, about her relationship with my mother, I felt an anger rise in me. I thought about calling back and asking to speak to the manager. I could put a complaint in about her. She had no right to do what she’d done.
And then, I had a thought. I looked at the time. If she was still at work now, she’d probably finish her shift in an hour or so. I grabbed my bag and headed out again.
It was cold hanging around outside the home, lurking in the bushes as if I was some mad stalker. A couple of people passed by and gave me funny looks, but I chose to ignore them and turned away, stamping my feet to keep warm. I could’ve gone and waited in the bus shelter or even the takeaway
just down the street, but I didn’t want to miss her, so I stayed put, praying it wouldn’t rain.
Thirty minutes later, I was soaking, and Cathy still hadn’t emerged. I started to think I’d been stupid coming out at all. And then, the doors opened, and someone came out. Dean. I shrunk back behind the branches and waited for him to disappear. He talked loudly on his phone, oblivious to me, oblivious to the fact I could’ve been an attacker lurking. I watched him walk up and down the same small patch of the main road, fag in one hand, phone in the other. And then, a car pulled up, and he tossed the cigarette before climbing in.
Alone again, I turned back to the door. Maybe Cathy wouldn’t be coming. Maybe she was doing a double shift, do-gooder that she was. Or maybe she was using her own time to sit with Mum.
My hands were almost numb, and I made a mental note to find some gloves when I got home. I was so focused on trying to work out where I’d have put things like gloves that I almost missed Cathy.
Unlike Dean, Cathy’s hands were free, and she seemed wary, aware of her surroundings. I ducked down as she passed the end of the shortcut, mud seeping into the back of my skirt, suddenly uncertain of what I was doing. When she’d got a hundred yards or so in front of me, I followed, still unsure exactly what I was going to do.
Cathy kept on walking, glancing over her shoulder every now and then, but apparently not noticing me. I guessed she was looking for something more threatening. I thought about shouting her name, confronting her about what was going on, but I wasn’t sure what I’d achieve.
I slowed down, thinking of going back, going home, when something came over me. An urge to see where Cathy lived, to see her life outside of the home. I wondered if she was lonely, if that was why she was clinging on to Mum, getting involved in her life. Whatever it was, I needed to find out.
She walked quickly, so it was easy to stay behind her. I slipped my hands into my pockets and felt my keys, my fingers sliding around them. A couple of kids came out of the corner shop, shrieking and shouting abuse at someone inside, and Cathy picked up her pace. But the kids went the other way, and we were alone again, turning off the main road to a quiet side street, then turning again into a cul-de-sac.
I slowed down as a car pulled out of a drive, and Cathy waved at the woman driving it. I put my head down and pretended to be looking for something in my pockets, feeling conspicuous.
The headlights illuminated me, and I made a bet with myself that that would be the moment Cathy would turn and look. But she kept on walking, rummaging in her bag, only finding what she was looking for as she walked up a drive to a small semi that looked in need of work. I immediately imagined a trellis loaded with Virginia Creeper, perhaps decking over the small front garden. That’s what I would’ve done.
I stopped and watched, my fingers brushing my keys over and over as Cathy opened the front door, light from the hallway spilling out into the night. I saw a small brown dog jumping up and down, overexcited to see her. As the door closed, I thought I saw another figure moving.
Did Cathy have someone to come home to? I tried to imagine who that person could be. Who would fit with Cathy?
I thought about going and knocking, seeing how she liked a virtual stranger showing up at her door at night. How she’d feel if I started bothering her neighbours and interfering in her life.
Another light went on upstairs, a shadow moved behind a closed blind. I imagined Cathy getting changed out of her work clothes that stank of urine and fast-approaching death. She’d probably put on pyjamas and go downstairs to her husband, and over a home cooked meal, she’d tell him about her day.
The sadness hit me like a wave, and I had to sit down on somebody’s wall, the dampness from the rain seeping through to my thighs. Why did Cathy get this life? Who did I have to come home to? To talk about my day with?
I squeezed my hands into fists. I needed to go home. What was I even doing here? What did I think was going to happen? I turned and walked back to the main road and waited for a bus. I was waiting a long time, getting colder and more frustrated, and was about to get up and start walking when I saw a man and a woman strolling towards the bus stop. I was about to ask if they knew what time the bus was due when I realised who it was.
I ducked behind the shelter as Cathy and her husband approached. They sat down, a foot apart from each other, his hands deep in his pockets, hers clinging to her handbag. I wondered what she’d say if she saw me, if she’d wonder what I was doing there. But it was starting to rain, and Cathy had come to my home, and I had every reason to be there, anyway, so I moved into the shelter.
Cathy’s husband looked up first, giving me a friendly nod before looking back at his feet. Cathy looked up a second later, doing a double take. I wondered if I should say something first, some reason why I was at the bus stop close to her house. But Cathy just turned away as if she didn’t know me, as if I was as much of a stranger to her as I was to her husband.
‘Should we go to The Swan for one first?’ her husband asked, breaking the silence. I noticed Cathy glance at me quickly before answering.
‘Can do,’ she said, and that was it. No more conversation. I got the feeling that Cathy and her husband had been together a while. Were one of those couples with not much to say to each other. I wondered if she’d told him about me, about coming around to my house. If she’d told him about Mum.
The bus pulled in, and the husband motioned for me to go first. I took a seat in the middle, and when Cathy passed by, she didn’t look at me at all. The bus was quiet at that time of night, and though it was hard to tell over the rumble of the engine, it seemed like Cathy and her husband didn’t have anything to say to each other at all.
When I finally got home again, I went to bed, pictures of Cathy’s life running through my mind, and even though it seemed far from perfect, I wondered if I’d ever have that. And then, I repeated the mantra – I deserve it too – until I fell asleep.
24
The next day, I didn’t cry at work, just took dozens of phone calls and gave pat answers to their queries. I got the bus home, checked the street for Jacob before going inside.
I’d slept better the night before but was still tired, the kind of tired you feel in your bones. There was more mail, which went in the bin, but nothing on the back doorstep. I watched some mindless TV and checked the windows a few times but less than usual. The street was quiet, and no one was hassling me. As I stared into the TV screen, I felt calm, lulled by the flashing images.
I fell asleep on the settee and woke just before my alarm. I climbed the stairs, stiff from the stand-in bed, and went into the bathroom, going through my normal routine. In the bedroom, I opened the wardrobe and pulled out a ratty old dress but put it back and chose something nicer. I realised I didn’t feel as tired anymore, and the weight in my guts was missing. I dressed and brushed my hair. I put some make-up on, sure that I wouldn’t lose it all to blue paper towels after crying in the toilets.
When I got off the bus at work, I realised I was early, so went into the shop on the corner and bought myself something nice for lunch. I said hello to people as I walked to my desk and got a few smiles. I was pleasant to people on the phone and found myself laughing at one man’s joke, which wasn’t funny at all, but I knew how to make people feel good about themselves, and I knew I hadn’t been doing it enough lately.
At lunchtime I sat in the staff room and listened to my colleagues talking. I promised I’d try to get to Lesley’s engagement party, but she told me not to worry too much about it, what with Mum and everything.
‘I think I’m on track for employee of the week,’ Tom said to Lesley, and we all laughed. Tom won it ninety percent of the time because no one else cared.
‘I don’t know why you bother,’ Lesley said. ‘All that work for a crappy bottle of wine.’
‘It’s not about the wine. It’s about knowing I’m doing a good job.’
Lesley rolled her eyes. ‘We’re hardly doing important work here.’
‘I know. But if you’re going to do something…’ He let us finish his thought as he stuffed some crisps into his mouth.
‘Well, I wouldn’t work myself to the bone for a three-pound bottle of crap,’ Lesley said.
‘And neither do I,’ Tom said. ‘Which is a good job as the stingy bastards didn’t even leave one for me last week.’
I realised I’d forgotten to replace the wine, and I scanned all their faces, wondering if anyone knew it was me who’d taken it. But no one looked at me; they were all too busy agreeing how crap management was.
On the way home, I stopped at the care home to check on Mum. I didn’t see Cathy as I walked past the nurses’ station, and I went straight to Mum’s room without speaking to anyone, without looking into anyone else’s room.
As I got to the door, I could hear a voice. Someone was in there. I leaned in and listened.
‘…to the house … was she? …yes, she didn’t want me to go in though … spoke to the neighbour … that’s right … didn’t know much … Jacob … he’d been there…’
I listened to Cathy’s voice, snippets coming through the door, and then, Mum’s stilted words interrupting every now and then. I felt sick, wishing I’d confronted Cathy the night before. I pushed the door open, and Cathy jumped.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I said, and Cathy looked down at her, a question in her eyes. Mum nodded, her head moving laboriously, as if the simple act of saying yes was now too much.
Cathy patted Mum’s hand and came towards me. ‘I’ll be right outside, Margaret,’ she said to Mum and then gave me a look. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she said. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was being rude. It’s a confidentiality thing. If I’d introduced you to Steve, it’d mean telling him about your mum and everything so…’
I nodded my understanding. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said, and pushed the door closed when Cathy had gone. I left the TV playing and sat on the chair by the bed watching Mum for a while, but she didn’t look at me, just kept her eyes on the TV before closing them, blocking me out completely.
No Place Like Home_a gripping psychological thriller Page 9
