Close to You (ARC)

by Kerry Wilkinson

As my first personal training client, I’m slightly protective over continuing to work with Nick, even though I’m not convinced his heart’s in it. He says he wants to train for a marathon, but I don’t believe he’s sticking to the plan I’ve drawn up for him. His garage is a makeshift, converted gym – but he’s the type with all the gear and little idea. He’s packed a weights bench and an exercise bike into the space; plus there’s a top-of-the-range road bike hanging from a hook off to the side. It looks like it’s never been ridden.

  I take him through a short series of warm-ups and then we head off along the pavement for a run. He’s out of breath by the time we hit the corner, like a lifelong smoker doing CrossFit. I ease off, slowing until I am, essentially, doing a fast walk. Nick stays at my shoulder as we continue along the pavement. I check the heartbeat on my sports watch and it’s steady.

  ‘How are your kids?’ I ask.

  He gasps slightly for breath, but we’re going slowly enough that we should be able to have a conversation.

  ‘Alexa’s enjoying school,’ he replies. ‘She must get it from her mother because I was never a fan.’

  ‘It’s basically just painting at her age, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘True.’

  We take the corner and I tell him that we’re going to sprint to the next turn. It is with obvious reluctance that he agrees – and then we bolt to the corner. I have to jog on the spot for a few seconds, waiting for Nick to catch me and, when he does, we drop our pace once more.

  In all, we do a little over two miles in a lap until we arrive back at his house. I jog on the spot again, but the lack of breath and stooped stance makes it clear he doesn’t have another lap in him.

  It’s only as I’m watching him that I spot a flicker of movement from across the road. I figure it’s the wind at first – but then I see the shape of a person ducking out from behind a bush and then quickly slipping backwards again. I continue to watch as Nick hunches onto his knees.

  ‘Do you want to go inside for some water?’ I say. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  ‘Right.’

  He disappears through the back door of the garage into the house – and I dread to think of telling him that he’s going to have to do this plus another twenty-four miles if he wants to run a marathon. We’ve been training for five weeks and there’s no improvement.

  There’s another flicker from over the road – but, this time, I dash across to the hedge. I round the corner just as David pokes his head around to check on me. I wish it was a surprise, though I’m not convinced this is the first time he’s followed me to Nick’s house. He’s wearing a green top I’ve not seen before, as if he planned this all along and is deliberately trying to blend in with the foliage.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask harshly.

  David backs away until he’s deeper into the bush.

  ‘Did you follow me?’ I add.

  He stumbles over a reply, though there’s not really a satisfactory one he can offer. If he didn’t follow me, then he went through my diary and used Nick’s address to get here.

  ‘Go home,’ I say.

  David finally pushes himself out of the bush and straightens his clothes. ‘I, um…’

  ‘Go home,’ I repeat. ‘We’ll talk then. I’m working.’

  ‘It’s just, um—’

  I turn back to the garage, where Nick is re-emerging from the house with a water bottle. He looks both ways along the pavement, unsure where I’ve gone.

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ I hiss, before turning and hurrying back across the road.

  The rest of my session with Nick is spent with half an eye on the corner, wondering if David will either return or didn’t leave in the first place. Nick doesn’t seem to notice, although I realise I’m probably harder on him that I might normally be.

  We take breaks in between the exercises, talking about what he’s been eating and drinking since I last saw him. Wine definitely seems to be the bigger of the problems, seeing as he puts away ‘four or five’ bottles a week, which probably means six or seven. It’s not like I can stop him, so I simply explain how many calories are in a glass and then leave it up to him.

  He’s aching by the end, so I tell him about ice baths, which is something he doesn’t like the sound of. He pays in cash and then I say that I’ll see him next week.

  It’s only as I’m driving home that the anger starts to build. The sky is darkening, which matches my mood. Leaves drift across the road as a slow drizzle starts and I have to turn on the windscreen wipers. I’m driving too quickly and taking the corners recklessly as I boil.

  When I pull onto the patch of land at the side of the building, I spot David sitting on the doorstep to my flat. To our flat, I suppose. He’s still in the green top, although it makes him stand out against the cream door.

  I cross the tarmac and stand in front of him, towering tall.

  ‘I’ll leave if you want,’ he says, unprompted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll move out and find somewhere else.’

  ‘Why would you jump to that conclusion?’

  David shrugs and scuffs one of his boots against the ground. He is refusing to look anywhere other than the ground. It’s still raining, although it’s more of a mist. The air is damp and clings to my skin as if I’ve just got out of the shower.

  ‘Did you follow me?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you look in my diary?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  David sniffs and, as his shoulders start to rock, I realise that he’s crying. I have half an urge to sit on the step next to him for consolation, although the anger is still bubbling away. I’m caught between the two moods, unsure how I feel about it all. Unsure how I feel about him. The argument from earlier about his lack of contribution has been coming. Every time we get close, he does something like give me money, or cook me food. It always placates me – but not today.

  ‘I had a panic attack,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t breathe. I thought you were going to kick me out.’

  ‘It was only an argument. Couples fall out all the time.’

  ‘I know, it’s just… I’m not very good at this.’

  ‘At what?’

  ‘Relationships. You and me. I’m not used to living with someone.’

  I can feel myself starting to soften. I want to be hard and uncaring, but the betrayal is passing and I’m going to let him off again. It’s like all the other times where he takes, takes, takes and never gives. Every time I’m close to ending it, I can hear Mum telling me that men like David don’t come along very often. He’s so good at making first impressions, which is all she’s ever really had of him.

  ‘I’ve never felt like this before,’ he says. ‘I’m not used to being… in love.’

  He looks up and shows me his big, brown eyes. There are spots of rain running around his nose, reflecting the street lights and making it look like he’s glowing. He’s not said that to me before and I’m unsure how to react. Do I love him back? Is he saying it to stop being angry?

  David stands abruptly and is suddenly directly in front of me. We’re almost nose to nose and I know it’ll be me who blinks first, metaphorically, if not literally.

  ‘You can’t follow me around,’ I say. ‘I’m working. It doesn’t matter if I’m at someone else’s house.’

  ‘I know…’

  ‘An argument doesn’t mean it’s all over. It just means there are issues we need to work on.’

  ‘I know that, too.’

  He squeezes my hand and pulls me closer until we’re pressed into one another, the rain washing over both our heads.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispers.

  I gulp as I feel the water running across my eyelids and seeping into my mouth.

  ‘I love you, too,’ I reply.

  Twenty-One

  THE NOW

  Veronica is putting a box of documents into the back of her Mini as I hurry along the path away from Mum’s bungalow. The li
ght is starting to go, but she peers through the gloom and offers a weak, tired-looking smile.

  ‘Was everything all right?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  That gets a frown as Veronica closes her boot and comes across to stand at my side.

  ‘Do the CCTV cameras above the gates actually work?’ I ask.

  She turns and looks towards the front of the complex. ‘I assume so.’

  ‘Do you know where the footage is kept?’

  ‘It’s an off-site security firm. I’ve got the details somewhere.’

  ‘Do you think I can get hold of the footage for anyone who came and went yesterday?’

  Veronica takes a moment and a plume of breath spirals from her mouth up into the air. It’s going to be another cold one tonight.

  ‘Is there something I should be worried about?’ she asks.

  It’s probably the fact that I can’t come up with a good enough lie, but, for whatever reason, I decide to tell the truth. Or my version of it.

  ‘That photo on my phone was of my ex-husband,’ I say. ‘He disappeared two years ago. I think he might have visited Mum yesterday, but I’m not sure.’

  Veronica reels her head back in surprise: ‘Oh…’

  ‘You know what she’s like,’ I say. ‘She confuses what happened yesterday with what happened years ago. It’s probably nothing, but I figure it’s worth looking. Do you think you’ll be able to get me the footage?’

  ‘I can definitely ask. Do I have your details?’

  I’m certain she does, but I give her my phone number and email address anyway – and then she turns to go.

  ‘There was one other thing,’ I say before she can get too far. ‘There was a framed ticket next to the TV. I’ve not seen it around. Do you know where it came from?’

  Veronica shakes her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. I was dusting around there the other week and don’t remember anything.’

  I thank Veronica for her help and then watch as she reverses out of her spot and heads towards the gate. She eases through and then they close slowly behind her, leaving only the faint whiff of petrol.

  I lean on the hood of Andy’s car, peering up towards the CCTV cameras. There are two: one pointing at the pedestrian gate; the other at the road. It would be easy enough to sneak around if someone could be bothered – although it would involve a hike along the cliffs, which isn’t as easy as it sounds on the type of icy days we’ve had recently.

  I am torn between the car and the bungalow, not sure what to do. It doesn’t feel as if Mum is in danger and yet I don’t know if I want to leave her alone. That should make the option obvious, except that I know for certain there’s no way we can tolerate one another for an entire night. I ration my time with her because I’d rather have quality over quantity. The more months pass, the more that seems an impossibility.

  I wanted to tell her to hit the panic button if anyone other than myself or Veronica turns up – but there’s a chance she’d get confused and have a full-on meltdown at the postman.

  It felt as if the autographed ticket had been left almost like a calling card. An act that was simultaneously thoughtfully kind and overwhelmingly chilling. Mum did tell David – and more or less anyone she’s met in the past fifty years – about her regret at not talking to John Lennon on the occasion she saw him. I’ve never been certain that it was actually Lennon she saw – although I’ve never voiced that. She probably wouldn’t talk to me for a month.

  I make up my mind to leave – and it’s a chilly, solitary drive back to the studio to take my evening classes. I half expect Yasmine to walk in, although there’s no sign of her tonight. Regardless of that, my head is still not in it. I make even more mistakes and it feels as if my world is crumbling.

  I say my goodbyes after the class and then lock up the studio before the drive home. I’m nervous to let myself into the flat, even though the locks have changed. Once inside, I turn on every light and poke my head into all the rooms, wardrobes and cupboards before feeling reassured that I’m alone.

  It’s only when Andy’s text arrives that I remember I’m supposed to be meeting him.

  Any idea what time you’ll be done? X

  I send him a quick reply to say I’ll be about forty-five minutes and then have a shower before changing into something more appropriate than gym gear.

  Before I leave the house, I’m careful to leave a succession of tells in case someone was to enter while I’m out. I set the oven door ajar by a few centimetres, leave open the door to the main bedroom and put the TV remote on the kitchen counter. All small, insignificant instances – but all things I wouldn’t normally do.

  The roads are already a mottled white as I drive along the country lanes that link Gradingham to Kingbridge. It won’t be long before the entire area is a glorified ice rink.

  The Kingfisher is a sprawling pub that is, essentially, in the middle of nowhere. It attracts people from both Gradingham and Kingbridge because of the quality of the food. In the summer, the beer garden stretches as far as people want to go. There are B&B rooms upstairs and, regardless of season, it always seems to be bustling.

  By the time I arrive, Andy’s van is already parked underneath the old stables at the front of the car park. I slot in next to him and then head inside, where I find him sitting in front of a fireplace in one of the side rooms towards the back. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and he’s scanning the menu with his glasses on. He removes them when he spots me and stands, before moving quickly. He scuffs my chair out from under the table and waits for me to sit.

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say, although I don’t actually mind. Sometimes, the gallantry is welcome… although David had similar moments, too.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  I allow him to shuffle me in and then he takes a seat opposite. The fire is crackling away, spitting sparks into the air as a steady glow warms my fingers.

  Andy asks how my day was, but I don’t particularly want to talk about it – and I’m only going to tie myself in knots if I go too deep anyway. Instead, I let him speak. He tells me how his youth football team has a big game on Sunday and it seems like he’s probably more excited than his players.

  Even though we’re moving in together, we’ve not had the full ‘children’ talk yet. I suspect Andy wants kids at some point and I can easily imagine him being a terrific father. He’d be the type who’d ferry them around to whatever they want, whenever they want. If it’s football they’re into, then great; if it’s music, then he’ll buy him or her a violin and drive them off for lessons with whoever’s supposed to be good for that sort of thing. After what happened with David, I’m not sure if children will ever be for me. It was kids that led to it all, not that I can tell Andy the truth about that.

  We eat and we chat. Time passes and, for a while, I almost forget about everything else. This is when we’re at our best. This is when I’m happiest. Ever since David, I’ve had to ask myself what I actually want from life and a relationship – and I figured it’s this. It’s companionship.

  When we’ve finished eating, we head through the pub towards the games room at the front. There are a pair of pool tables, a darts board, plus a rack of board games crammed into a shelf at the back. Andy and I have often played pool here and I’m never sure whether he sometimes lets me win, or if I actually win. He is exceptional on occasion, as if he spent his teenage years hustling old-timers in a grubby snooker club. Other times, it’s like he’s a left-hander trying to play with his right. I’m never sure which Andy is going to show up.

  I’m busy waiting for Andy to line up a striped ball when a man comes across to the second, unused, table and crosses his arms. At first, I think he’s eyeing the table, wondering when our pound coins are going to run out. It takes me a moment to realise he’s actually staring at me.

  He’s probably nineteen or twenty, wearing a tight olive jacket, with a baseball cap that sports a logo I don’t recognise. His hands are in his
pockets but his upper body is arched forward, as if he’s an overly aggressive strutting flamingo.

  I look back to him and then he turns and strides back towards the entrance. I figure that’s the end of it, but then, less than a minute later, he returns. This time, he doesn’t bother standing at the second table, he strides directly towards us. His hands are out of his pockets and he’s jabbing a finger towards me.

  ‘You’ve got some nerve,’ he says with a snarl.

  I stare at him, wondering if he’s someone I know, although my mind is blank. I have no idea who he is.

  ‘Sorry…?’ I reply.

  ‘My dad’s in hospital because of you. You should be in prison.’

  He spits the final word, with flecks of saliva spinning from his teeth and landing on his pockmarked acne-splashed chin. He wipes it away, before pointing his finger at me again.

  ‘Left him for dead.’

  It suddenly dawns on me that this must be the son of the person who was hit by my car. Trevor-someone. I have no idea how he knows who I am.

  ‘I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘Don’t give me that. You nearly murdered a bloke and now you’re here playing pool? Pah!’

  He turns to look around the room. There are only a dozen or so people in the games room, though everyone is now turning to watch.

  ‘Sorry?’ he continues. ‘You’re sorry? How about you go tell the police what you did?’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ I manage. ‘I didn’t—’ I’m stammering and spluttering but the words aren’t coming easily.

  Andy’s far from the combative type, but, before I know it, he has stepped between me and the man. His arms are wide and welcoming; his tone calming.

  ‘Her car was stolen,’ Andy says firmly.

  The man begins to fire back, though some of the confidence has left him: ‘Yeah, sure it was. How’d they get the keys?’

  I start to reply, but Andy speaks over me: ‘I think you should probably go, mate. This isn’t doing any good, is it? It’s not helping the police. Not helping your dad…?’

  ‘Don’t talk about him.’