The Accident

by Dawn Goodwin

  Zara recoiled. ‘No! I… er… it just might … give you some headspace….’ Her voice trailed off and she looked away.

  I had to get out of there. The air was stifling. The noise of children started to hammer at my eardrums. The anger had dissipated as quickly as it had come, replaced by panic inching up my throat, tenuously attached to a scream by an invisible thread of anxiety. I looked towards the door, my mind trying to find a plausible excuse for my retreat. Outside the windows, people hastened about their business, striding with purpose, places to go and people to see. My eyes fell on one person in particular, who moved slower than the others at more of a saunter than a stride. Auburn hair, loud coat – it was Scarlet again. Or was I just hoping I had seen her? Either way, there was my excuse, not that I owed anyone an explanation. I had earned the right to just get up and leave.

  I stood up abruptly, almost toppling my chair.

  ‘Ladies, this has been great,’ I said, my voice brittle. ‘But I must be off – I promised a friend I would go shopping with her this afternoon.’ I couldn’t help myself, still offering explanations and platitudes. ‘You all look great, haven’t changed a bit.’ I surprised myself at how much sarcasm I managed to inject into that last comment. ‘Let’s not leave it so long next time.’ I ducked down to grab my handbag, then paused, looked directly at each of them in turn and said, ‘Have fun in Cornwall.’

  Felicity’s eyes narrowed. Zara got to her feet and started to say something, but I didn’t hang around to hear any more.

  It took every ounce of strength I had to stop my legs from collapsing under me as I reached the door, pushed it open and took in some deep gulps of fresh air.

  *

  The house was quiet. I closed the door on the world and leant against it, letting my cocoon of safety fold around me. Eyes closed, I ran through my encounter with Zara, Virginia, Penny and Felicity, and wanted to feel tears prick my eyes, but there was nothing. Life goes on around you with its villains and superheroes.

  I heard a muffled tinkling sound. My mobile was ringing from the depths of my Tardis of a handbag. I dug in and began to rummage, but my hand fell on the dummy again. I pulled it out and threw it across the hallway as hard as I could, as though it had stung me. My eyes followed it as it landed, spinning on the beige carpet and coming to rest under the table, the yellowing teat eyeing me from the shadows. I gulped air, could feel the panic rising again, once more surprising myself at the sudden surge of emotion. Through it all, the phone kept ringing. I slumped to the floor, my bag falling open as it dropped to my feet. My mobile fell out and landed screen up.

  One missed call from Tom. Who else would it be?

  *

  The cold air on my face felt good. My lungs ached as my feet pounded the trail, my ears full of a loud bass beat, a song I didn’t recognise but needed to keep me focused. I had set off for a run as soon as I heard Tom leave for work. He had mentioned before heading out that he was meeting with the legal team later in the day and had wanted to discuss technicalities with me, but I shut him down, told him to take care of it. Then a tide of rebellion swept over me and I suddenly had the urge to run, no destination in mind, the idea planted by Zara a few days earlier. I wouldn’t make good company though, so had headed out alone, my running cap pulled low over my eyes.

  An hour later and I was still in my stride, oblivious to everything except the burning in my chest as I ran at too fast a pace, waves of heat suffocating my head inside my cap, the exertion keeping all other thoughts at bay. Zara was right, I’d missed this.

  The park was full of sturdy women in boots walking muddy, overexcited dogs and men on bicycles, ties and trousers tucked in as they weaved their way through the pedestrian traffic on their way to work.

  I could feel my energy ebbing as I approached the ten-kilometre mark, so headed back to the park gate and the route through the streets that would take me home. As soon as I left the park, I realised that I had inadvertently timed my return home to coincide with the Monday morning school run and now found myself dodging pushchairs, young children on scooters and ranting mothers. I kept my head ducked, pulled my cap lower over my eyes and concentrated on the music in my ears as I accelerated.

  Rounding a corner a few streets from home, I collided with a young girl who tore into me on a scooter. I looked down into an angelic but startled face as she fell and felt my heart contract.

  I pulled my earphones out and crouched down to help her up off the pavement. She wasn’t hurt or crying and, after looking at me for a few seconds, burst into a wide smile, just as her mother rushed up to us.

  ‘You’re Grace’s mum!’

  I froze. The girl was still grinning at me. Her mum looked at me and paled as recognition dawned on her too.

  ‘Tilly, are you okay? I’m so sorry,’ the woman babbled without looking at me again. ‘She was going far too fast. I do hope you’re not hurt. These scooters are treacherous things. Come along, Tilly, or you’ll be late.’ She shuffled the girl along just as the tiny voice began to say to me, ‘How is Grace? When will she…?’

  ‘Come, come, let the nice lady finish her run!’

  As she was shepherded away, I heard Tilly say, ‘But that’s Grace’s mum! I wanted to ask her…’

  I didn’t wait to hear any more. I stuck my earphones back in, turned the volume up as loud as it would go and headed back down the road, desperate to get home and close the door on everyone again.

  Just as I pushed on around the next corner, I collided again, this time with an adult. I almost shouted out in frustration but raised my eyes to find Scarlet in front of me, rubbing her arm where I had elbowed her.

  I removed my earphones again, this time saying in mortification, ‘I am so sorry. Are you okay?’ I didn’t expect her to recognise me in return, but she did.

  ‘Veronica, right?’ She smiled.

  ‘Yes, hi.’

  ‘Well, this looks very energetic and exhausting,’ she said, indicating my running gear. ‘Better than me anyway.’ She held up a bag from the bakery up the road and I caught a whiff of freshly baked croissants.

  ‘Your idea smells better than mine,’ I replied. I was surprised at how pleased I was to see her again.

  ‘Do you live near here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, just two streets over on Hawthorne Road. You?’

  ‘Yes, a little up this way.’

  I felt very aware of my sweaty face and red cheeks. ‘Well, it was great to bump into you. Enjoy your breakfast.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied and turned to walk past me, then paused. ‘You know, I’ve just moved into the area and don’t know many people around here just yet. Perhaps we could meet for a coffee or something one day?’

  ‘Um,’ I was momentarily stunned and slightly panicked. ‘I, er…’

  ‘Besides, we keep bumping into each other – literally as the case may be!’ She chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see you again.’ She began to walk away.

  ‘I, er… Coffee would be great,’ I heard myself say, much to my surprise, especially after the other day.

  She stopped and turned back. ‘Great, are you free tomorrow?’

  I had countless empty days ahead of me. ‘Tomorrow would work.’

  ‘How about that coffee shop we were both in the other day? That was you, wasn’t it? Say 10 a.m.? The perfect time for tea and cake in my opinion.’ Her smile was so natural that I felt some of my anxiety subside.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Tell you what, what’s your mobile number? I could call you quickly so that you have my number in case something comes up?’

  ‘Um, okay.’ Part of me wondered at the ease at which I was prepared to hand over my number to a stranger, but I did it anyway. The phone attached to the running holder on my arm vibrated as her call connected.

  ‘Great, done! Hope to see you tomorrow then.’ With a small wave, she wandered off, trailing the aroma of croissants.

  I stood watching her for a moment, then smiled to myself and ran at
a less frenetic pace back home.

  *

  For the second time in a week, I found myself walking up to the door of the coffee shop, but this time I was looking forward to it. It was as busy as it had been the week before and the women inside looked as if they’d never left. Doubtless, the conversations would be the same too.

  I scanned the room, part of me not expecting Scarlet to be there, but she was sitting in the far corner, facing the room and waving at me. I waved back, then went to place my order with no hesitation this time: a cup of tea and a slice of red velvet cake that I fully intended to eat myself.

  When my order was paid for, I grabbed my tray and weaved through the chatter. As I approached her table, Scarlet beamed up at me.

  ‘I felt sure you wouldn’t come in case I’d scared you off the other day! I can be a bit full on sometimes. So pleased you did though,’ she said, spraying crumbs across the table as she waved a chunk of muffin at me. ‘Sit, sit!’

  I did as I was told, my back to the room. As I poured my tea, I sneaked casual glances at my new acquaintance. She had a youthful liveliness to her face that was in stark contrast to my sallow, grey complexion. Although I guessed we were of a similar age, in our early forties, compared to me, her eyes sparkled under a subtle layer of expertly applied but girlish make-up, and there was not a grey hair in sight amongst her beautifully silky auburn hair. Her full lips seemed to be set in a permanent smile and her fingernails were manicured and impeccably painted. Unlike my friends the other day, she was colourful, from her vivid green dress that brought out her eyes to her sunshine yellow nails and candy pink lip-gloss. She was chattering away, but I had been so intent on studying her that I hadn’t heard a word.

  ‘I’m sorry, pardon?’ I replied.

  ‘I was just saying how much I love this area. So many lovely little treasure troves. Have you lived here long?’

  I thought back to Tom and I buying our house when Grace was a baby and how excited we were to move to the suburbs after years in a tiny London flat.

  ‘We’re nearing nine years now.’ I looked down into my cup, surprised at how much time had actually passed. So much can happen. The shadows can form and the dust can settle quickly in a decade.

  Scarlet reached over and put her hand on mine. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  I’ve never been a tactile person and normally such physical demonstrations would make me feel prickly, but this was strangely comforting, helped by the faint scent of her perfume, which was familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.

  ‘I’m fine – low blood sugar maybe. Some cake will help.’ I took hold of my fork, pierced a generous chunk and filled my mouth before she could comment further. The cake was soft, warm and utterly delicious. A second and third forkful followed very quickly after the first. It felt like ages since I had had anything close to an appetite for food.

  ‘Where did you say you live?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re on Hawthorne.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a lovely road. Some beautiful gardens,’ she replied. I pictured Felicity’s immaculate roses in her front garden next door and agreed with her. I used to have one of those beautiful gardens, but now it was unkempt, overgrown, with roses that needed dead-heading and bushes in need of a bit of TLC. While Felicity’s flowers bloomed and flourished, mine were patchy and diseased.

  ‘So, husband? Children? Job?’

  ‘One husband, one child – Grace, who’s nearly ten,’ I answered without hesitation. ‘No job right now.’

  ‘You mean you have the hardest job of all as a mother! I haven’t had the courage to follow that path myself.’

  ‘Do you work?’

  ‘I do whatever takes my fancy when I wake up. I’ve been known to write, paint, work in an art gallery, serve chips – you name it, I will likely have done it,’ she replied. ‘Of course, I’m lucky in that I don’t have to work – an inheritance…’ She left the sentence hanging, but I didn’t want to pry. ‘What about your other half? Tell me about him,’ she continued.

  I didn’t want to be the focus of the conversation, but found myself telling her all about Tom, with his handsome smile, neat suits and sensible hair. ‘Tom and I have been married almost thirteen years now. We met at university about twenty years ago. He came here from Australia to study and never went back. He’s a doctor.’

  ‘How romantic – the British girl who stole his heart!’

  I laughed a little bristly. ‘I don’t know about that. There’s definitely history, I guess. All of his family are still in Australia, which is hard for him sometimes, but we’ve never thought of living anywhere else.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure he’s perfectly lovely.’

  That was it in a nutshell: perfectly lovely, always polite, never saying what should be said, always doing what was best for everyone.

  Scarlet was now chattering away, trying to name Australian actors. I struggled to refocus.

  ‘Of course, there’s nothing too strange about a fascination with Russell Crowe, but everyone has a sneaky weird crush, don’t they? Mine’s particularly British – Tony Blair.’ I had no idea what she was on about, but she didn’t seem to have noticed that I wasn’t quite following her. She thundered on, going through a list of who I assumed were young male celebrities and whether they were worthy of her attention, as if it was quite feasible that one of them would knock on her door. I listened to her ramble, feeling myself relax as she steered the conversation, happy to nod and smile in the right places. Before I knew it, half an hour had passed over trivial chit-chat, a few laughs, a large chunk of cake and little else of consequence.

  There was a pause as Scarlet suggested another cup. Then, before I could agree, she changed tack altogether.

  ‘Actually, no, that’s dull. Let’s go and do something. Maybe a bout of retail therapy…’ She trailed off as she took in my outfit of knee-length denim skirt, beige pullover and opaque tights.

  My lack of enthusiasm must’ve shown on my face.

  ‘Oh come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, do you have anything else you should be doing while Grace is at school?’

  I didn’t correct her, but thought back to my empty house, which I had half-heartedly cleaned from top to bottom yesterday to fill the day, but after a morning of listening to Scarlet’s chatter, I couldn’t face the silence at home. I thought about my dated wardrobe that hung on my thin frame now and how, for the first time in ages, I was enjoying someone else’s company without feeling anxious, ridden with remorse and on edge – or worse, numb. Today, she was keeping my demons at bay, her chattered words forming a shield against boredom and the dangerous thoughts that accompanied it.

  ‘Okay, why not?’ I heard myself say. ‘We could hop on the bus and head into Kingston for a bit.’

  ‘Yay!’ Scarlet clapped her hands in glee. ‘Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?’

  She drained her cup, then looked at me, her forehead creasing. ‘Veronica – it’s quite a formal name, isn’t it? I shall call you Ron,’ she declared.

  ‘My husband used to call me that. A long time ago.’

  *

  The mall was quiet, dotted with mothers pushing subdued toddlers in buggies. I remember the days, it felt like aeons ago, when I was one of them, squeezing an hour of shopping into the small window of time between naps. Everything was overlit and perfectly acclimatised, with neon signs and garish marketing assaulting my senses as we entered the massive space. A tinny acoustic soundtrack played through unseen speakers, the tune unrecognisable but inoffensive.

  Scarlet and I wandered aimlessly, her still chatting about this and that as I followed like a sheep in and out of shops. She would pause in front of a top or skirt, hold it up to me, make suggestions on what she thought would suit me. I would nod politely or comment without commitment. Everything she chose was brighter and more daring than anything I would’ve picked out, but I was happy to shadow her. She looked so completely at ease in an environment that had become alien to me that I was swept along.

>   I noticed some of the shop assistants watching us from time to time and wondered whether they were sizing Scarlet up or me. We looked an unlikely pair with my taupe tightness and her neon vivacity.

  As we passed a small, exclusive shoe boutique, a pair of expensive-looking, knee-high boots in the window caught my eye. I paused to consider them, then continued on, but I could almost hear them calling my name.

  Scarlet had stopped as well and was pointing straight at them. ‘Look at those stunning boots!’

  I loped back to the shop window. ‘Oh, they are lovely,’ I replied as nonchalantly as I could, but was relieved that she had endorsed my taste.

  I drew closer, taking stock of the soft, dark brown leather, high heel and pointed toe. They were unlike anything I already owned, but reminded me of a pair I used to wear in my uni days when shoes weren’t meant to be functional.

  ‘You have to try them on.’ She was looking at me with big eyes, like a pleading puppy.

  I looked back at the window, then shrugged. ‘Okay,’ I said and strode into the shop.

  The room was small and lined with precarious glass shelves displaying ridiculously impractical footwear. In the centre of the room was a circle of leather cubes, presumably for customers to perch on Cinderella-style.

  A young, painted assistant approached, subtly looking me up and down in judgement. ‘Good afternoon, can I help?’

  ‘Yes please, the brown boots in the window – can I try them in a size 4 please?’

  ‘Let me check if we have them in stock,’ she answered and teetered off, her own boots clicking against the shiny floor.

  I looked around at the display. Every imaginable colour and style was represented apart from flat shoes. Even the sports shoes on show had a wedge heel. I pointed this out to Scarlet under my breath. The look on her face showed that she was completely in her element and I could imagine her wardrobe piled high with shelves of inappropriate footwear in every conceivable hue.

  After five minutes, the assistant returned with a long box in her hands. I had caught some of Scarlet’s enthusiasm and was momentarily overjoyed until the assistant said, ‘We only have a size 3 or a 5. I’ve brought the 3s out for you to try though?’ Something about the way she looked me up and down made me think she thought it preposterous that I would wear such boots, so I flung her a haughty, ‘Fine.’