"Yes. And?"
"It's serious then?"
"What is?"
"You and Tom."
"Jesus, Mel - do any of my clothes not tell you something about how I'm feeling?" She came over and sat on the settee next to me. When she came into the light I could see she'd been crying. "Mel - what's wrong?" I said and shuffled closer to her.
"It's nothing," she said, looking away. I placed my hand on her arm and I heard her sob.
"Please tell me," I said.
"Jake rang me today."
The weight of that name dropped on me like a pallet of steel. Jake. It was synonymous with misery and pain and months in hospital care.
"How did he find your number?" I asked. Mel shrugged.
"I don't know. I was just about to get in my car when I got a call off an unknown number. I didn't think about it, I just answered and the minute I heard his voice I just froze. Oh Soph - it was terrifying. It was like he was there in the car with me."
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He just said 'hello' and I couldn’t reply. It was like I was a statue, like I was stuck in time. Jesus Soph - I can't go back there, I can't do it all again..."
The tears and the racking sobs came and I wrapped my arms around her as it all poured out. Just one word. Just one 'hello' and we were back where we'd started years ago. It was like he'd never left. That big, dark shadow that chased us down the ages. Would it ever end? I wasn't so sure. Every time I thought we were getting somewhere a setback would come. A card at Christmas. A text. A note through the door. Little indicators that he was still there, still thinking of us. Still breathing.
"What am I going to do, Soph?" she sobbed.
"Nothing," I said. "We'll be fine. He can't come near us - you know that. If he does then he's back inside."
"I don't want him to find us. I don't want to see his face again. I don't think I'll survive it. I'll crack."
"It's okay. We've got each other - we'll be safe."
"Will we though? Who'll stop him if he comes after us?"
"We will. The Police will. They know who he is, what he's capable of."
"I can't go through it all again. I can't!"
"I know, Mel. I know."
4.
In the morning she was gone. That was Mel - once the tears had passed it was business as usual. I wish I could say the same though. I woke up before the alarm and I realised it was because I was afraid. I spent the night tossing and turning, thinking about the next knock on the door that could be his. Would I freeze too? Would I just let him come in and do what he wanted to Mel? Would I just let it happen?
I went through the routine. Bathroom. Kitchen. Door. Car. I was on my way to work but I didn't know how I'd got that far. My mind was running on automatic and the decisions were being made behind the scenes, without my consent. I just kept thinking about the last time I'd seen him. Jake. Mel's house. He'd been standing over her when I walked in. The text had been a simple one. HELP. I'd driven over there as fast as I could but I'd had the good sense to call the Police first. If I hadn't I don't think I'd be alive today. I'd pulled up outside her house, that quaint little cottage, the dream home filled with nightmares.
Even before I went through the door I felt his presence, his evil, his horror. I knew there was something wrong but I still went in. It was Mel. She needed me. It overrode my own sense of self preservation.
"Sophie," he'd said like it was a filthy word, like I was a whore. Something to be despised. "What are you doing here?"
I'd frozen then too. He'd been standing over her crushed body, blood on his knuckles, a wild grin on his face. I was next. I knew it. The blue lights cast a long shadow in front of me. Flashing. Flickering. A siren far off.
"Did you call them?" he asked. I could only nod. I wanted to say more but I had no tongue, no vocal cords. They were in those bloody fists, bound tight. "Silly girl."
I remember the officer pushing past me, the smell of his cologne, the look he gave Mel on the floor, then looking at Jake, then going for his cuffs that dangled off his broad black belt. Someone else came in and put their arms around my shoulders. She was tall and kind and she led me out into the street again just as the ambulance pulled up. More sirens. Voices.
Then the hospital.
The long wait.
The trial.
"You okay?" asked Tom.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."
"Is something bothering you?"
"No, just a little bit tired. It must be these early mornings."
"You're telling me," he said, laughing. The van was loaded but I didn't remember doing it. "Let's get going."
"Yeah."
We drove on in silence but I saw Tom looking sideways at me. We were on the motorway and the traffic was light so he didn't need to be concentrating. It gave him more time to assess my mental state.
"What?" I snapped when it got too much.
"I'm just waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to tell me what's bothering you."
The turn off for the services was coming up - those three signs with the lines on them. I liked to wait until the last one before indicating. I realised Tom was pulling in.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"For a coffee and a bun. Or maybe a millionaire shortbread. Or a flapjack."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay."
He found a parking bay near the door and we got out. There was a family gathered near the door, no doubt on their way to a last minute winter break, and they were arguing about where to eat their breakfast. Seeing as though only the McDonald’s was open I thought their options were pretty limited.
"What are you having?" he asked as we walked into the quiet food court.
"More company perks?"
"No. They're on me."
"Feeling generous?"
"I think you need a pick-me-up."
"You seem to know a lot about me."
"That's the thing," he said. "I know almost nothing about you. I'd like to change that."
"Why?"
"Why not? We work together. This job is the first time I've had a chance to do more than just give you something to weld and ask you how long it will take. Now I can see there's something wrong and I think it's my duty, as your foreman, to find out what it is."
"Really? Your duty?"
"Yes, now do you want a millionaire shortbread or a flapjack? They're all out of buns." We joined the queue of three at the Costa counter and I looked at the vast array of confectionery and began to drool. Maybe Tom was right. The diet could be put on hold for the morning.
"The shortbread please,” I said.
"And a white coffee without sugar?"
"Yes please."
In front of us there was a young business exec in an off the peg suit who ordered an espresso to go. After him there was an oldish couple but it didn't take long for our turn. Tom put the orders in and soon we were sat at a sticky table that the overworked Costa staff seemed too busy to clean.
"So go on. Start from the beginning." He took the top off his travel cup and blew gently across the surface of his coffee. There was such a delicate touch to a guy who looked ready to break some skulls if they pissed him off. I always judged a man by how he ate - it was one of the deciding factors I'd made up in high school and when he broke off a piece of the shortbread with his fingers I graded him an 'A'. I hated sloppy eaters. An A* was to use a fork.
"It's nothing - honestly," I said.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Is it okay to say I don't believe you?"
"No. It isn't. You're prying into my personal life and..." I stifled a sob. I didn't know where it came from and it took me by surprise. I tried to say more but it was too late. In comforting Mel during her tears I'd forgotten to shed a few myself. I tried to hide behind a Costa serviette but it was too late. Tom stayed where he was. No mock concern. No hugs. Just patient waiting until it was out of my s
ystem. It took a moment or two but I managed to pull myself together.
"I'm sorry," I said, wiping my eyes. "I don't know where that came from."
"I think you do."
"Yeah - I do."
"We've got half an hour before we need to get back on the road. Is that long enough?"
So I began to explain it to him. The whole story. I don't know why but for some reason I felt I could. Maybe it was the way he fixed his eyes on mine, how he looked like he was actually interested and not just looking for a quick way to my knickers. Maybe it was just the way he ate shortbread.
"It's my friend, Mel."
"The girl from your dinner break?"
"Yeah. The smiling, laughing, muffin-eating woman who is my best friend in the whole world. A long time ago she was married and expecting a baby. Everything was going really well for her. She had a nice house, a nice car, a nice husband. It couldn't get any better." I ate some shortbread. I picked it up and bit off a corner. Rebel. "Anyway, I've not seen her for ages when one day I get a call. She's frantic, mumbling, making no sense whatsoever. In the end I get the gist that she's in trouble and so I managed to get her address out of her and I drive over there. She won't open the door until she's sure it's me. When I get in there's blood all over this silly white dress she's wearing and I knew straight away that she'd miscarried. But it wasn't just that. She was terrified. I hadn't seen her for years but I knew it was fear that had made her ring me. I'd never really met Jake up until then..."
"Jake?" he asked. Jesus, I thought - I could love a man just for listening to me. I wasn't used to the attention and it was something amazing. It helped me to go on.
"That's her husband. Anyway, he came home a few minutes after I'd got there and he saw the blood and the dress and he figured it out before I could do anything. He had this look on his face, I can't... explain it somehow, it was just... cold... evil... like there was nothing behind his eyes but hatred. He asked me to leave. He told me that he'd handle it, that Mel needed the hospital and he'd take her there in his car. But that wasn't the thing that bothered me - it was Mel's face. She looked terrified. She was looking at me with this expression that said 'please don't leave me with him'. But what could I do? I had to go, he told me to go and so..."
"You did."
"Yeah. I did. I tried to ring her later that day but she wouldn't answer. It took a whole week before she answered. When she did she sounded... different..."
"How?"
"Well, she sounded like she was hiding something, trying to make things sound better than they were. When I asked her if she was okay it was fake and pretend and... I don't know, I just got the feeling that it was... wrong..."
"I think I know where you're going with this. He was abusing her," he said.
"Yeah. He was. Afterwards, when she'd left him, she told me that it began when she lost the baby. That means that when I left he beat her and..." I was out of Costa napkins but Tom passed me his. The shortbread was gone.
"What happened then?" he asked.
"I managed to get the truth out of her. She didn't know what to do and I kept telling her to get out and come and live with me. She was so scared. I didn't know what to do so I rang her parents and told them everything. At first she was so pissed off at me but her dad got involved. She was so stubborn. In the end she promised to get out of there if he touched her one more time."
"Okay. I suspect he did touch her."
"In a big way. The next time I went round it was because she text me a single word. HELP. He'd almost killed her. I'd rung the Police and they arrested him on the spot. At the trial he got sent down for 5 years but he was out in 4. He rang her last night."
"Oh."
"Yeah," I said, avoiding his gaze. "He's out and he got her number somehow."
"Do you think he'll try to find her?"
"If he does he'll be locked up faster than you can say Jack Sprat. But that's no comfort I suppose. Not to either of us."
Tom didn't say anything. He nodded but looked down at his coffee. At least he wasn't being the usual Mr. Fixit with a whole list of solutions and answers to problems he knew nothing about. It gave me a chance to return the favour and look him over. It was like I was seeing him for the first time. There were features that I hadn't seen before. The brow that looked as though he had the weight of the world on his back, the hands that had years of experience worn into the surface. Eyes filled with a strange mix of sorrow and joy. Was he more than just a brainless gym-junkie? It seemed possible now.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.
"I don't think so. Not at the moment," I said.
"Okay. Are you seeing Mel for dinner?" I nodded. "Good. Take an hour if you want - there's no pressure today seeing as though we kicked the jobs arse yesterday."
"Thanks."
"We'd better get going. Don't want Hammer Head on our case today, do we?"
I got up and gathered my things - I hated leaving it for the waitresses. "Thanks for listening," I said to him without looking up. He put his hand upon my shoulder. Nothing invasive, nothing deep, just a momentary step into my personal space to let me know it was okay to feel like this. The moment came and went and we walked back to the van in silence.
Assembling and welding the hand rail didn't take long and again I realised how grateful I was to the guys in the workshop for getting their bit absolutely bob-on. The fish-mouthed pipe ends fitted together beautifully and made my life of TIG welding them together a whole lot easier - especially as in some cases I was working upside-down. It was Tom's job to hold a lot of the parts in place whilst I got some tacks on them and it was comical to watch him turn his head round as far as he could to avoid the glare.
"It's a TIG welder," I said to him. "It won't burn your eye sockets out - just block the line-of-sight with the job!"
"I'm trying but I don't want to look down."
I'd forgotten about the heights until he mentioned it. We were overlooking one of the lower floors at that point and although he couldn't fall because of the safety rails the builders had put in place he was still gripping anything solid like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
"You're a wuss, you know that?" I said, laughing.
"Shut up. As your superior, I order you to shut up!"
"Superior? Not from where I'm sitting." He turned away when I flicked my mask down over my face and started the fillet weld.
"It's amazing how people are going to lean against this piping and trust it won't break and send them three floors down to their deaths," he continued. "If only they knew who was welding them..."
I hadn't perfected the art of talking whilst welding and so I had to remain silent. Every welder is quick to defend their own work, even if the attacker is only joking. It's just what we do.
I finished the run and pushed my mask up. "These welds will hold up the houses of parliament!"
"If you say so."
"What would you know anyway? What did you train as?" I asked.
"I started as an apprentice lathe operator," he said, sitting down on the red tarmac floor. "I did that for eight years, got my certificates and then got moved up to Supervisor. I did that for five years and then came to work here at Riley's."
"I didn't realise," I said. "I thought you were just a seat-polisher."
"I'm that too!" he laughed.
"But you still know nothing about welding."
"No, that's true. Only what I learn from you." I blushed but thankfully I played it down as the exertion of getting up off the floor. "Last one?"
"Yeah, last one."
"Let's do it so you can meet up with Mel for dinner."
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I'll get the job inspected and signed off so we can leave right after you're done."
"Do you want me to grab you something to eat? My shout." I said. Even this simple question provoked a bit of heat in my face.
"Yeah, please. I'd like that. I never thought you'd be buying me dinner," he said w
ith a grin. What was he trying to do, melt me? Cause heat stroke?
"I think I can stretch to a sandwich."
"Last of the big spenders. I feel so special."
I think I almost skipped to Costa once we'd rattled off the last railing and washed our hands. Tom had gone off in search of the Hammer Head and I'd dared to tie the arms of my overalls around my waist and head out into the city centre to meet up with Mel. It was warm for a winter's day and the sun was out but the real heat was inside me where it hadn't been for a long time. It made me wonder why happiness was so bloody fickle that it only stopped by for a cup of tea once in a blue moon before flitting off to some other lucky person. Why couldn't I feel like this all the time? Why, as I knew it would, did it decide to fly away just when it was needed the most?
There was a Waterstones bookshop near the Costa and I couldn't help but stare at the Christmas displays before carrying on. I had a strange obsession for books - the feel of the paper, the smell, the idea that you're basically sticking the author inside your head for a few hours. In those books the characters always seemed to get some of that rare 'happiness' stuff. It lasted too; it didn't fade into the grim front room where love goes to die - the realm of overweight lovers, glued to the tele and living as though the other half didn't even exist. To shopping trolleys pushed around busy shopping centres, to old age and name calling, to death and familiarity dressed up in the tattered rags of 'love' and paraded out at the funeral for all to see, one last attempt to gloss over the years of hatred and regret. 'Look how he loved her' and 'that's true love' when no one saw the anger, the disappointment, the bitter nights of wondering 'what if?'
I suddenly felt afraid. I was afraid to let him in. To have happiness come and settle into my heart, just to watch it leave again. To feel his hands on my skin, to breathe in his passion, only to have it replaced by cold nights in an empty bed a few months later. Or worse - to marry, to have children and begin the slow shuffle towards hating each other. The touch of a lover replaced by the slap of an angry husband. The hot, passionate kiss replaced by the heartless peck on the cheek. 'You look wonderful in that' decaying into 'you're looking fat now'.
As I stared through the glass I realised I'd kicked happiness out before it could sit down. It wasn't welcome inside me anymore and it'd gone. Blinked away outside Waterstones on a warm winter's day.
The Unfinished Tale Of Sophie Anderson Page 4
