Never Coming Back: a tale of loss and new beginnings

by Deirdre Palmer

  A stiff breeze arose out of nowhere, dousing his face with cold air and breaking his mood. He peeled himself away from the wall and stood, hands in pockets, on the scrappy bit of grass in front of it. As usual, he was getting this all wrong, misreading the signals. She was worried about something to do with work, that was all. Kate loved him and he loved her. They were fine. And this thing with Layla? It meant nothing. He wasn’t in love with her. How could he be? It was his stupid imagination playing tricks and he’d gone and muddied the waters by spending an afternoon with her. A mistake, not to be repeated. He must make sure of that. There would be no opportunity, anyway; he was totally convinced now that she hadn’t given him another moment’s thought.

  He had a sudden impulse to find a bit of chalk and scrawl Morgan loves Kate in schoolboyish letters, with a heart and arrow, on the wall of the kiosk. The idea made him laugh out loud. He must remember to tell Kate. She’d find it funny, too; she’d always maintained he was regressing.

  Connor was loping along the riverbank towards him, his hand already raised in greeting. Morgan raised an answering hand and, as he watched his friend’s approach, he let go of the image of the smart, funny, beautiful girl with the big brown eyes and the fishtail plait.

  And this time it was for good.

  On the way home, the traffic heading south was frustratingly slow-moving. Morgan spent a good ten minutes stuck behind a swaying horse box, the bulging grey backside of its occupant seeming to mock all his attempts at passing. Eventually, he reached the exit and joined the Haverstone road, only to find himself in another queue five minutes later. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he cursed out loud the cars in front of him. His shoulders were locked in a furious mass of muscle as he tightened his grip on the wheel. It seemed imperative that he get home as quickly as possible. He needed to be with Kate.

  By the time he had parked and was standing in the lift on the way up to the flat, he had the mother and father of all headaches. The first thing he noticed on entering the flat was the homely aroma of roast chicken. The second was the silence. No comforting kitchen noises, no light footsteps on the wooden floor, no radio – she liked it to be on while she cooked – and no voice calling out to him in greeting. She must have nipped out to the shops to pick up some forgotten ingredient for dinner, or a bottle of wine, perhaps. But there was wine in the fridge.

  In a fit of almost-pique, Morgan hauled his sweatshirt over his head and flung it over one of the hooks in the hall. Kate wouldn’t approve; if it wasn’t a coat, it belonged in the bedroom. His face mapped a scowl as he hitched his rucksack untidily onto another empty hook, the one where her jacket usually lived. His laptop he left on the hall floor instead of taking it through and putting it on the desk.

  ‘Kate? His voice came huskily from his too dry mouth.

  No reply.

  He glanced towards the bedroom as he passed. One of the wardrobe doors hung open. He continued to the kitchen. No food on the worktop, no plates warming in the oven, only the roasting tin and a handful of cutlery drying off in the rack on the draining board. Opening the fridge, he traced the source of the smell. A roasted chicken sat on a plate, covered loosely in tinfoil. The foil was slightly warm when he touched it. On the shelf below was a salad, bright with tomato and peppers among the greenery, in the blue pottery bowl they’d bought last year on a weekend break in Lisbon, a skin of cling film stretched across the top. Foil and cling film were invented for Kate.

  Morgan let the fridge door swing shut. Its motor started up again, loud in the silent kitchen. He stood still for a moment, steepling his hands to his mouth. He went through to the living room. It seemed eerily quiet. Even the blokes upstairs weren’t clodhopping around. For once he wished they were.

  In the bedroom, Morgan stood in front of the open door of the wardrobe. He could see through to the wood at the back. A sweat broke out on his forehead as he surveyed the empty hangers. Some of her clothes had gone. No, not some. Most of them. He closed the door and opened her underwear drawer in the chest. Everything had gone, apart from a few bits and pieces. He took out a blue silky vest and held it to his face, catching the faint scent of the body lotion she wore.

  The muscles in the back of his neck ached. His temples throbbed as the headache tightened its grip. He couldn’t breathe. He dropped the vest onto the floor and rushed from the bedroom into the living room, drew back the bolt on the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony, forcing down great lungfuls of air with a rasping sound that didn’t seem to be coming from him at all.

  And then he knew what he had known from the moment he’d come through the front door.

  Kate had gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Kate sat forward in the driving seat and blinked hard to bring the road ahead into focus through her tears. That was close, really close. She had meant to be away much sooner but it had been almost five by the time she’d left. Morgan was a creature of habit. Half-five, quarter to six – six o’clock at the latest, if the traffic was bad – and he’d be home.

  The chicken had been the problem. The nearest shop had run out of breast fillets but for some reason her mind kept saying chicken so she’d bought a whole one without stopping to think how long it would take to cook. She’d had to turn the oven up really high and then when it was done, she’d put it away before it was properly cold. At least she’d had the sense not to get vegetables which would have had to be cut up and cooked as well. The salad was a good choice. He liked salad. And there was half a crusty loaf in the breadbin…

  Oh, for fuck’s sake! Why was she thinking about chicken and vegetables and salad and bread at a time like this? Shut up!

  The sign for Haverstone General came into view up ahead. The sight of it stalled her breathing and brought a fresh bout of silent tears. She thought of Xavier, waiting for her to come to him, as they’d planned. She couldn’t do it – she hadn’t known she wasn’t going to until now. Changing lanes, averting her eyes from the hospital sign, she set out on another route.

  It was a while later before she realised where she was heading. She was going home, to Milton Keynes. The decision didn’t seem to have been made by her, yet made it was. And she was glad, because it seemed the obvious thing to do. Pushing aside an image of Morgan entering the empty flat, realising she’d gone, looking round for the note she had started to write before deciding against it, Kate put her foot down.

  It wasn’t until she was nearly home that her mobile rang. She’d kept it on the seat beside her, knowing it would ring at some point, surprised it had taken this long for one of them to get in touch. Taking a convenient side turning, she drove on a little way and came to stop on a grass verge beside a fenced-off field. The phone had gone to voicemail. She switched off the engine and listened to the message.

  ‘Where are you?’ Xavi said. ‘You’re supposed to be here. Call me back, please?’

  With the phone in her lap, Kate snapped down the mirror and glanced at her reflection. Her cheeks were wet. She thought she’d stopped crying ages ago. Pulling a tissue from the pack in the glove compartment, she dabbed ineffectually at her red eyes while the tears continued to stream. There seemed no way to stop them. She took in a long, faltering breath and sat, eyes closed, leaning back against the headrest for a minute, before she took up the phone and scrolled to Xavier’s name.

  He answered in a heartbeat. ‘Thank heavens. What’s happened? Where are you? I’ve been waiting ages. I’ve been so worried.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  Silence – she could hear him breathing – then, ‘You’re on the way now, though?’

  ‘No, Xavi, I’m not, and I’m really sorry. I’m going home, to Milton Keynes.’

  Another silence, brimful with confusion, disappointment, all the things she would never, ever have wished upon him.

  ‘Wait a minute. Did you say “Milton Keynes”? Your parents’ place?’

  ‘I did, yes.’ Kate felt small, almost infinitesimal.

  ‘So, may I ask w
hy?’

  Kate could imagine his eyes, prominent and glassy, the way they went when he was upset about something.

  ‘Because it’s the best thing, for me, for both of us. I can’t do it now, not right away. I thought I could, but I can’t. There has to be a gap.’

  ‘You were doing the night shift. It’s all arranged. They’ll have to call someone in,’ he said, resorting to practicalities. ‘We were both on duty, and you were coming back with me in the morning. We were going to be together.’

  As if she needed reminding.

  ‘Tell them I’ve called in sick, will you? Please, Xavi?’

  She heard his sigh. ‘Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about the shift. They’ll get someone.’

  ‘I’m not, but I am worrying about you. I’ll see you after the weekend and we’ll talk then. Will you be all right?’

  ‘S’pose I’ll have to be.’

  ‘Don’t be like that…’

  ‘Well, how would you like me to be?’

  A shade of snappiness now, but the hurt was there, plainest of all.

  Kate swallowed, gathering up all her strength, before she spoke again.

  ‘I know. Please try and understand. This is how it has to be, for now.’

  ‘Okay. Drive safely.’ Then, ‘I love you, Kate. I love you so much.’

  ‘Love you, too.’

  Kate threw the phone onto the seat, started up the engine and manoeuvred the car back onto the road. So now she’d hurt both of them, Morgan and Xavi. What kind of a person did that make her? She fought back the tears. Enough of the crying. It was helping no-one, least of all her.

  A little further down the road, she stopped for petrol then pulled over to the side of the station forecourt and sent a text to Morgan:

  I’m so sorry but I had to do this. Hope you’re OK. Will be for the best. Talk soon. x.

  So many sorries, so many okays. As if those two little words could make everything come right again.

  She made another call. ‘Suzanne, it’s me. I’ve left Haverstone and…I’ve left Morgan. I’m on my way home.’

  ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘I can’t go into it now. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.’

  ‘Here? You’re coming home?’ Her sister sounded quite put out.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s only for the weekend. Look, do me a favour, would you? Tell Mum. Tell her I’m on my way and give her an advance warning.’

  ‘Yes, if you want. You sound all funny. Are you all right?’

  Kate raised her eyes. Like she’d be all right. She bit back a barbed response. ‘I’ll be around half an hour, and have the kettle on.’

  She managed a smile down the phone as she clicked it off.

  Mum would be fine, Dad, too, although Kate wished she didn’t have to worry them with this.

  They stood in a huddle, heads touching, arms around each other, in the middle of the kitchen – Mum, Suzanne and Kate. Mum and her girls in a group hug that was supposed to make everything better: dead hamsters; failed exams; boys who didn’t phone. And it did work, usually. Dad hovered unhappily in the periphery and put sugar in Kate’s tea. She didn’t take sugar. Mum was a bit teary-eyed, which made Kate feel even sadder, and guilty for bringing her troubles home.

  Someone put the telly on and they sat around, pretending to watch it. Mum remembered she’d been going to make Kate something to eat and sprung up out of her chair. Kate stopped her; she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry, even though she hadn’t eaten since her lunchtime sandwich.

  It was a strange evening. Subdued, quiet, everyone busy with their own thoughts, even Suzanne, who clearly had a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue and was having some difficulty holding them back. Kate would talk to her tomorrow; they’d have a good old sisterly chinwag.

  It seemed something of a relief all round when Kate said goodnight and went upstairs to her old bedroom with the white painted kidney-shaped dressing table and the signed photo of some bloke from Neighbours pinned to the wall behind the door. Her old brown teddy was propped up against the headboard of the single divan. She picked him up and sobbed quietly into his matted fur. Through the torrent of tears – would they ever stop? – she remembered something Mum had said earlier. ‘You can’t help who you fall in love with.’

  It was to be Kate’s mantra now, and in the months to come.

  Chapter Ten

  Reece led the way along the rutted lane, Melody and Layla following. The moon was hidden by cloud and it was almost pitch dark. The farm was only nine minutes’ walk from the Drover’s Arms, but with nobody speaking it felt like a route march across three counties.

  What in God’s name had possessed Layla to start talking about Danni, right in the middle of the meal? She’d seemed a bit preoccupied all evening, and he had felt heavy with the sense of something coming towards them, as unstoppable as a ten-ton truck. His guess was that Layla was about to tell them this was her last visit, and he’d watched Melody cocooned in unawareness and felt sick.

  It wasn’t that at all. Instead, the girl had looked Melody right in the eye and asked her to tell the story about Danni’s first riding lesson, how the horse had thrown her before they were even out of the yard and catapulted her face-first into a pile of horse muck. Apparently, they’d had a giggle about it, the two girls.

  Melody had almost choked on her lamb cutlet, but she’d covered it up quickly and made a valiant attempt to relay the tale, while Reece had put down his knife and fork and sat back in his seat, feeling as if he’d been spit-roasted. If that wasn’t enough, as Melody puttered to a halt, Layla had turned to him and asked if he remembered moving Danni into halls the weekend before their first term started, and having to lug half the stuff out again and back into the car because her room was too small to fit it all in.

  Remember? It was branded on his brain with a red hot poker. What the hell was Layla playing at? Didn’t she know they didn’t do this because of what it would do to Mel?

  Layla must have seen the warning look he gave her, after the fearful one he gave Melody, but she wouldn’t let it drop.

  ‘When you’d gone, Danni realised you’d repacked all her washing stuff and she had to borrow some of mine so that she could have a shower,’ Layla had said.

  Then she’d laughed, like this was nothing out of the ordinary. The laughter had soon died away, though, when Melody threw down her fork, burst into tears, and rushed off to the ladies.

  ‘Reece, I’m so, so sorry.’ Layla had looked as if she, too, might burst into tears at any moment.

  Despite the anxiety swooping around in his stomach – anxiety that she had caused – he had felt a bit sorry for her. He’d tried to be kind, but he had to make things clear to her.

  ‘She can’t take it, Layla. You of all people should know that.’

  It was Layla’s turn to be upset.

  ‘No, I don’t! I don’t know any such thing! If I’m to keep on coming here then I need to talk about Danni, and you should too, both of you. It isn’t natural not to. You can’t sweep her under the carpet as if she never happened.’

  Seeing his face, realising what she’d done, she had apologised at once for saying such an idiotic thing – of course she knew they’d never do that, but he must know what she meant.

  ‘Yes, well,’ was all he’d managed to say.

  A troubled silence had fallen then, both of them glancing across the pub, until Layla said she’d go and see. Eventually, he’d looked up and seen them coming back. They walked singly because of the narrow space between the tables, although there seemed to be an air of reconciliation about them.

  It had been an unsettling sort of day altogether. Layla had arrived before lunch, with a box of ginger chocolates as a gift, and announced that she’d be taking them to the Drover’s Arms for dinner; her treat. It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, either, because apparently she’d booked a table earlier in the week.

  Lunch had been a rather stilted affair, and then nobody seemed
able to decide how to spend the afternoon. After much over-polite deferring to one another, they settled on a walk in the grounds of Foxleigh Court, then Melody and Layla would drive into Foxleigh to wander round the little shops which they both enjoyed, while he came home to do some work.

  As they’d flogged around the lake and across the deer park in a fake family threesome, an air of preoccupation had prevailed and Reece observed each of them, himself included, disappearing inside their own thoughts.

  Layla, he could understand, after the last time and the business with the cheque and everything; there was bound to be a touch of rancour there until things settled down again and it was all but forgotten. In fact, it was a wonder she hadn’t decided to stay away altogether.

  Melody worried him more. These days he could no more suss out what was going on in her mind than fly to the moon. He only hoped she wasn’t plotting something regarding Layla that could only lead to more heartache and disappointment for her.

  And then all this, tonight. What a disaster. What a bloody awful disaster. He wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the weekend one bit. Actually, he wasn’t looking forward to the rest of his life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sunday evening, and Layla was babysitting Finn, who, thankfully, was fast asleep. Layla couldn’t believe it when she’d come home from work two nights ago, after a long evening shift and a bit of a drinking session with Abe and some of the others – ‘unwinding’, Abe called it – to find Rowan asleep on the sofa and her bed occupied by her nephew.

  She’d had to go in with Mum, which was all very well if you didn’t mind the smell of the lavender water that Mum sprinkled on the pillows. But by that time, Layla was ready to drop and would have slept in the bath, if necessary.

  It wasn’t until the following morning that she’d discovered the reason for this sudden overcrowding. Rowan had left Jeff; at least, that was her immediate assumption. As it wasn’t the first time, it wasn’t exactly headline news, although on previous occasions, Rowan had taken Finn to stay with a friend of hers who had a large house and room to spare. Then Mum had closed the door of the kitchen, when it was just the two of them, and confessed with unnecessary shamefulness – as if it was her doing – that Rowan had been caught out having an affair, and Jeff had told her to go.