by C. L. Taylor
But then he did.
It was half past eight. The intermission had ended fifteen minutes earlier, and I was clearing glasses and ashtrays from the tables. He didn’t notice me at first, he was so deep in conversation with Maggie, the Abberley Players director, her arm looped through his, but then, as they approached the bar, he glanced up and our eyes met. The color drained from his face, and Maggie, who was in full flow, stopped talking and looked to see what had startled him. Her face fell when she saw me, and she pulled on James’s arm, stood on tiptoes, and hissed into his ear. Her voice was low, but I caught the words “go somewhere else.” James put a hand on her shoulder, and for a second, I thought he was going to angle her out of the bar, but then he glanced at me, patted Maggie on the shoulder, and headed toward a table at the far end of the room.
I ducked down and clanked a few glasses around in the dishwasher.
“Hello, Susan.”
I looked up, smiled. “Maggie.”
“We haven’t seen you for a while.”
“No.” I had to fight the urge to glance over at James. “I haven’t been well.”
“Oh dear.” It was a good thing she was a director and not an actor, because her attempt at sincerity was as real as the silk fern in the corner of the room. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I was about to ask how she was, whether they’d decided on the next play yet, and when she’d want me in to measure up when she said, “Did you get my answering machine message?”
I shook my head. She hadn’t rung me once since James and I had split up.
“Really?” She faked surprise. “That is strange. I could have sworn I had the right number. Anyway, sorry again that we won’t be using you for the costumes anymore, but a friend of mine recommended this wonderful warehouse near Croydon where they stock a lot of ex-BBC wardrobe. Renting them works out a hell of a lot cheaper than making them from scratch.” Her eyes flicked from mine to the fridge behind me. “Anyway, cheers for all your help. You were fabulous. A bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses, please.”
The sound of Maggie’s tinkling giggle and James’s low rumbling laughter filled the room, and I fled to the ladies’ loo in the foyer. I bowled into a cubicle, certain I was about to be sick, and bent over the toilet. Other than a few dry retches, nothing came out. I stayed there for a couple more minutes, then, terrified that Jess would return to the bar and find me missing, I checked my reflection in the mirror, patted my cheeks with toilet paper, and opened the door to the foyer. Maggie might have taken my unpaid job away from me, but I was buggered if I was going to let her take away the one that paid my rent and—
“Ooph.” I smacked straight into something tall and solid.
“I’m sorr—” The words dried in my mouth as James gazed down at me. His hands were on my shoulders from where he’d caught me.
“Are you okay?” His brow was knitted with worry, his voice soft with concern. “I saw you run out and I…” He put a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking coming after you. I’m not your boyfriend anymore. I shouldn’t care.” He turned to go.
He made it as far as the bar door then turned back.
“No, fuck it.” He put his hands on my shoulders again and craned his neck to look down at me. “I’ve missed you, Suzy. I’ve missed you like I’ve missed a part of me. Like my shadow had disappeared, or my arm or my heart. I tried everything to stop myself from missing you. I tried raging against you, blaming you, cursing you, and hating you, but none of those things worked.” He thumped at his chest with his closed fist. “Not a day has gone by where I haven’t regretted what happened. I hate myself. Actually hate myself for hurting you like that, but I had to do it, Suzy. When you looked at me in the doorway of your flat, I knew it was time to leave. There was no light in your eyes anymore, no love. You looked miserable, and I knew it was because of me. That’s why I left you, so you could be happy again.”
I said nothing because I was certain that, if I opened my mouth to speak, I’d choke on my own tears.
“But when I saw you today, when I saw you standing behind the bar, that image popped and I realized I’d been deceiving myself. I’d been making up fantasies to avoid finding out for myself how you were.” He cupped a hand to the side of my face, and I nearly gasped as the warmth of his fingers flowed into my skin. “So I’ll ask you now. I’ll ask you once and then I’ll never ask you again. And if you tell me yes, I’ll walk away and never come back.” He paused and ran his thumb over my lips, and I tensed, waiting for him to kiss me. Instead, he let go of my face as though burnt. “Are you happy, Suzy? Are you happy, my darling?”
New, hot, desperate tears spilled onto my cheeks as I shook my head. “No.”
James leaned nearer. “Say that again.”
I shook my head again. “No. No, I’m not happy. I’ve never been more miserable. I’ve missed you. I still miss you. I miss you every night when I go to bed and every morning when I wake up.”
“Oh, Suzy.” James gathered me into his arms and pressed my head against my chest. “Oh, Suzy, my Suzy, my one true love. I’ll never let you go again. Never, never, never. I’ll never let you go.”
I kept my cheek pressed into his sweater and my arms around his waist for the longest possible time, only opening my eyes briefly as the sound of high heels clack-clacking across the foyer floor filled the air and Maggie strode through the open double doors and disappeared onto the street. Then I closed my eyes again.
Chapter
Twenty
“Okay, Charlotte, I’m just going to lift your nightdress to clean your legs.”
Two of the nurses, Kimberley and Chris, are giving Charlotte a wash when I arrive at the hospital. I offer to leave but they shake their heads and tell me they’re nearly done.
“Now we’ll do your teeth.”
I watch as Kimberley gently parts Charlotte’s lips and inserts a white stick with a small, square pink sponge on the end into her mouth. It reminds me of one of the penny sweets I’d buy as a child, a square, chewy lolly on a stick.
“Just wiping it around your mouth,” Kimberley says as she leans over my daughter and gently maneuvers the “toothbrush” around the contours of Charlotte’s mouth. “And over your teeth and tongue.”
Oli was surprised when I told him that the nurses clean Charlotte’s teeth. “But she doesn’t eat anything,” he said. “She’s drip fed, isn’t she?” I told him it was for hygiene reasons. I didn’t mention the scent of death and decay and gingivitis that hits me sometimes if I kiss her on the lips. It’s a smell so rotten you have to hold your breath not to gag. Charlotte, who’s always been so fastidious about hygiene, would be devastated if she knew. Not that I’ll ever tell her. There are some things she never needs to know when she wakes up.
“We’re just going to change your catheters and then you’re done,” they tell Charlotte as they raise her blanket and reach beneath the bed. I instinctively avert my eyes, not because I’m squeamish but because I know how mortified she would be if she knew I’d watched the waste being removed from her body. Before her accident, she wouldn’t even let me mention the word “diaper” without throwing a cushion at me and forbidding me from talking about “gross stuff” to do with her babyhood.
“Okay, Sue?” Kimberley nods at me as she pushes the gurney toward the door. “I’ll be back later. We can catch up.”
“Hi, Sue.” Chris touches me softly on the forearm as he follows her. There’s compassion in his eyes, even though his tone can be brusque. I see it in the eyes of all the nurses, particularly the mothers. There but for the grace of God go I, and all that.
“Thank you,” I say as they leave the room, pulling the door closed behind them. “Thank you so much.”
“Hello, darling.” I pull up a chair so I’m sitting as close to Charlotte as I can. “Mummy’s here. How are you feeling today?”
I
reach for her hand, press it to my lips, and close my eyes. In a few minutes, I’ll ask her about Grey’s nightclub and the footballer, but I need to spend some quiet time with my child first. I need to know how she is.
***
“Hello?” I press the buzzer and peer up at the CCTV camera half a meter above my head. “I’m here to see Danny Argent.”
The door entry system crackles then falls silent again. I step back from the door and crane my neck upward. The neon sign spelling out Breeze over the door is gray and ugly without the fizz of electricity sparking it to neon life. I’ve never set foot in this nightclub. I haven’t set foot in any nightclub for over twenty years. James forbade me from going to bars or discos when we were together. They were meat markets where sluts went for sex, he said, not where monogamous people in relationships hung out. I tried telling him that my single friends weren’t sluts and that I wasn’t going clubbing to cheat on him but to have fun and dance to the music. That’s when he reminded me about the conversation we had on our second date when I’d admitted to having five one-night stands. “You told me you met two of them in a nightclub, Sue,” he’d said. There was nothing I could say to that.
A minute passes, then another, and I buzz again. I’m starting to think that this was a stupid idea. It’s 5:00 p.m.; of course there isn’t going to be anyone in a nightclub at this time of day, but I had to come. I need to know more about the footballer Charlotte met in London. I need to know what he did to her.
I press the buzzer again. “Danny. It’s Sue Jackson. Could you let me in, please. It’s really very important that we speak.”
I press it again thirty seconds later and repeat my request, then bang on the door with my fist and listen.
Nothing.
There are no windows to peer through and no letter box to rattle. I was resting everything on the hope that Danny might be in his office doing paperwork, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is in, not even the cleaner. I reach into my handbag and pull out my mobile. I’m just about to call Oli when—“Sue? What are you doing here?” The speaker above the buzzer crackles to life. “I’ll buzz you in.”
***
“So, Sue.” Danny places two steaming cups of coffee, complete with saucers and tiny Italian biscotti, on the white resin table and pats the velveteen seat beside him. There are half a dozen booths exactly like this one running across two walls of the club. There are three small poofs, decorated in an identical deep red velveteen material, around the resin tables, making enough space to seat six. I can almost imagine how this booth will look in three or four hours’ time—rammed with friends, clinking glasses, downing shots, shouting, laughing, and scanning the dance floor for talent. It’s been years since the smoking ban was introduced, but the air still smells musty, the unique nightclub blend of cigarettes, spilt drinks, and sweat.
I perch beside Danny. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”
“No problem at all. Any mum of Oliver’s is a mum of mine.” He laughs and places his hands on the back of his head, pushing out his elbows in an exaggerated stretch which makes his broad chest appear even broader. An effect, I’m sure, that’s not entirely unintended.
“So.” He lowers his arms and twists to face me, giving me his full attention. “This is all very mysterious. Tell all!”
With his bright blue eyes, wide generous smile, and strong jaw, I can see why Keisha—why most young women—would find him irresistible. There’s no doubt that he’s an attractive young man, but his gaze is that little bit too piercing and his smile a little too arched to be genuine. I’ve never been alone with Danny before, and now I’m starting to understand why Brian doesn’t trust him.
“The thing is,” I say, “I recently found out that Charlotte and Ella skipped a school trip.”
Danny laughs, then catches himself. “Sorry. That was immature of me. You must have been furious, Sue.”
“Not really.” I reach for my coffee, bristling as I take a sip. “Although I might be with the person who encouraged them to skip.”
“Oh.” He looks intrigued, like I’m about to share some wonderful piece of gossip with him. “Who’s that then?”
I peer at him over the rim. “You.”
“Me?” His hand flies to his chest. “Me?” He tosses back his head and laughs, but when he checks my reaction, the smile has gone from his eyes. “That’s ridiculous, Sue. Whoever told you that obviously has a screw loose.”
“Or they were there too.”
“What?” Beads of sweat shine in his immaculate hairline, and he runs a hand over his forehead. “Who? This is ridiculous. I’m a nightclub promoter, not some kind of…some kind of weirdo encouraging schoolgirls to play hooky.”
I place my cup of coffee back on the table. It slips back into its saucer without rattling. “So you’ve never heard of Grey’s nightclub in London then?”
“Grey’s in Chelsea?” He sits up straighter. He’s on safer ground here. “Of course I have. It’s my job to know what’s hot and what’s not.”
“Is that why you encouraged Charlotte and Ella to skip their school trip and go there instead? Because it’s hot?”
“Of course not. I didn’t encourage anyone to go anywhere. Why would I? It’s not my club. And besides, I barely even know Charlotte. She’s Oli’s little sister.” He looks me straight in the eye. “I hope you’re not implying what I think you’re implying, Mrs. Jackson.”
“What’s that, Danny?”
“That I…that Charlotte and I were somehow involved.”
“Were you?”
“God no.” He clutches his chest again, but this time I’m tempted to believe him. “Never. Like I said, she’s Oli’s kid sister. I’d never look at her that way. Besides, I’m with Keisha.”
“I see.” I glance around the nightclub, taking in the empty DJ booth, the sprawling dance floor, and the sparkling bar. “But you still thought it would be fun to take the girls clubbing in London.”
“No! Why would I do that? What would I possibly gain out of taking two fifteen-year-olds clubbing?” He suddenly becomes very still, very collected. “Is that what you’re implying? That I’m some kind of kiddie pervert? Because if you are—”
“I’m not implying anything. I just want the truth. I’ve been told that you and Keisha were in Grey’s nightclub in Chelsea with Charlotte and Ella on Friday, March 9. Look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t.”
“I wasn’t.” His gaze doesn’t so much as flicker. “I wasn’t even in London that weekend. I took Keish on a romantic getaway to”—his eyes dart to the left—“Oxford.”
He’s lying through his teeth, but giving him the third degree isn’t going to achieve anything. He’ll just keep lying. James was the same.
I glance at my watch. I’ve got fifteen minutes to get home before Brian.
“Well…” I hold out my hand. “Thank you so much for the coffee and the chat.”
Danny frowns. “You’re off?”
“Yes.”
“So you…you’re okay?” He stands up. “You believe me when I say I didn’t go clubbing with Charlotte and Ella?” He bears his teeth in an exaggerated smile. “You’ve obviously got the wrong man.”
I smile. “See you again soon, Danny. I’ll see myself out.”
***
I hurry to the exit before he can follow me and twist the handle to open the side door. I’m just about to yank it open when—ooph!—it flies open, sending me reeling backward against the wall.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t see you there. I—oh!” A face appears around the door. “Mrs. Jackson. What are you doing here?”
“Keisha?”
“Here.” She steps around the door, closing it behind her so I’m no longer trapped between it and the wall. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”
I grasp my stomach. “Just a bit winded.
I’ll be okay in a bit.”
“Let’s get you outside. Some fresh air will soon see you right.”
We perch on the concrete step together, its narrowness forcing us to sit unnaturally close.
Keisha rummages in her handbag and pulls out a crumpled packet of Marlboro Lights and a lighter. She waves them at me. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Go ahead.”
I watch as she tweezers a cigarette out of the pack with her long nails. She lights it and inhales deeply. Twenty years since I last smoked and I can still remember what that first sweet hit of nicotine feels like when you’re desperate for a cig.
“Want one?” She catches me watching and holds out the pack.
“I don’t smoke.” I change my mind immediately. “Actually, I will. Thank you.”
I put the cigarette in my mouth, relishing the way it feels so foreign and so familiar at the same time. Keisha lights it for me and I inhale deeply. The smoke scratches the back of my throat. I take another drag. It tastes strong, chemicallike, and hot, and I’m reminded of the first cigarette I ever smoked, back in 1984, when I was fifteen. I lean back against the door and close my eyes as the nicotine fizzes through me. The cigarette tastes foul but the ritual—lift to mouth, inhale, hold, exhale, lower—and the buzz of nicotine is comforting.
Keisha says something I don’t catch and I open my eyes. “Sorry?”
She tips back her head and blows a perfect gray smoke ring into the air. “I said I didn’t expect to see you here.”
The smoke ring grows wider and thinner until it breaks up and disappears.
I say the first thing that comes into my head. “I came to see Danny about a surprise party. It’s Oli’s twentieth soon.”
