by K. L. Slater
11 missed calls
Eleven! Anyone calling the number after the phone turned itself off would have gone straight to voicemail.
I’m relieved to see that there is no password lock. This phone has the facility to do that, but obviously James didn’t bother. Maybe it’s his work phone and there’s nothing personal on it.
I press a couple of buttons to take me into the call menu. I select the option to view the missed calls log and stare at the list for a moment.
My heart jumps into my mouth when my doorbell rings.
My first thought is that it must be James. He obviously knows where I live, it’s not that difficult to get into the building if you’re prepared to wait and it’s easy to narrow down my flat number based on where my window is.
I stuff the phone into a drawer. The last thing I want is for him to see I’ve been snooping. I run my fingers frantically through my now tousled hair in an attempt to improve it and rush to the door just as the bell sounds again.
I open it, a forced smile on my face.
‘Hi, Alice, hope you don’t mind me just calling by like this but I wondered if you fancied a coffee? I could do with a chat.’
It’s Jenny. The girl from upstairs.
With great effort, I keep the plastic smile in place.
‘Oh! How nice. I…’
‘I thought you might come upstairs to mine. I’ve got a new coffee machine and I need a guinea pig to try it out on.’
I laugh with her. I need to get my hair done, eat better and find some new friends. Coffee with Jenny ticks one of those boxes.
‘Sounds great, give me a second.’
I grab my handbag and keys and follow her out into the corridor. We don’t bother with the lift as it’s only one floor up. As she puts her key in the door, I wonder whether to mention the buzzing phone on her floor that keeps me awake.
I decide to say nothing for now.
I follow her inside and close the door quietly behind me. One of the annoying things about living below Jenny is that she seems to bang doors for no apparent reason.
‘Come into the kitchen and you can help me fathom this machine. It’s a bit technical, to say the least.’
Her kitchen is identical to mine but she has a red and black colour scheme with the white units, whereas I’ve got duck-egg-blue tea towels and canisters.
A state-of-the-art stainless-steel coffee machine sits in the middle of the longest stretch of worktop.
‘I was going to put it in the cupboard, but my boyfriend said it’s a piece of kitchen furniture and should be on display.’ She rolls her eyes.
‘It’s very… impressive,’ I say. ‘I’m sure it makes a fab cup of coffee, but I think I might stick with my kettle.’
We both laugh. I read out the instructions and she follows them, and a few minutes later we have two rather professional-looking cappuccinos.
‘Qualified baristas, eat your hearts out,’ Jenny declares as she does a little victory dance right there in front of the machine.
I really like her. Her energy seems to be rubbing off on me a bit. She asks me to take the coffees through while she puts a few biscuits on a plate.
While she’s still pottering around in the kitchen, I get a few seconds to look around. It’s so weird being in a carbon copy of my own lounge, which is right beneath my feet.
This room definitely looks more modern than mine. It’s mainly beige and neutral colours, with a chocolate-brown rug and a glass coffee table in the middle, and dark brown faux-fur blankets scattered on the biscuit-coloured suite.
She’s also got one of those electric fires that look like real flames, which adds a nice focal point to the room. It looks cosy and I feel a twinge of inadequacy that I couldn’t have done something similar with my own space.
One thing that’s not so good is that this room seems quite dark. Then I realise she has a cream Roman blind that has been pulled two thirds down, cutting out a lot of daylight.
‘Here we go.’ Jenny walks in holding a plate loaded with chocolate biscuits and cookies.
‘I’ve just started a healthy eating drive.’ I reach for a cookie. ‘Looks like I might be delaying it until tomorrow now.’
I bite into the biscuit, savouring its crumbly sweetness.
‘Life’s too short,’ Jenny agrees, reaching for a chocolate one. ‘And biscuits are one of life’s pleasures.’
‘Easy for you to say.’ I smile. ‘Being so nice and slim.’
‘That’s because I haven’t got much of an appetite most of the time.’ A shadow passes over her face, but she doesn’t elaborate and I certainly don’t know her well enough to ask about anything personal.
‘You’ve got your room looking lovely,’ I say, looking around as I munch on another biscuit. ‘It’s much nicer than mine. After seeing your flat, I think my own is definitely overdue for a bit of an update.’
‘I wouldn’t be able to afford to do all this on my own,’ she says honestly. ‘My boyfriend buys me a lot of stuff for the flat.’
There doesn’t seem to be any evidence around that a man lives here. Everything is very feminine, and I notice for the first time that there are no photographs in the room.
‘We don’t live together,’ she says, as if she knows what I’m thinking. ‘He lives… on the other side of the city.’ For some reason, I sense that although she gives the impression of being quite a light-hearted and laid-back person, she’s carrying a bit of a burden on her shoulders.
‘Is it complicated?’ I ask diplomatically.
‘You could say that,’ she mutters. ‘And on top of everything, now my ex won’t leave us alone.’
‘Oh dear.’ I’m beginning to wish I’d never got into this conversation.
‘Yeah. I left him six months ago, we were engaged and everything. He took it really bad… still is.’
‘Sounds difficult.’
‘That’s why I keep the blinds down. It gives me the creeps knowing he could be out there watching.’
‘Your ex isn’t a window-cleaner, is he?’ I quip. After all, she lives on the fourth floor; he can hardly walk by and peek in.
‘Ha! No, I’d have been better off with a down-to-earth window cleaner, though,’ she says wryly. ‘But he passes on the tram every morning, sends me a text to say he’s out there. The last few times he’s taken it a step further, staring up and waving at my window. I haven’t a clue how he found out where I was living, but I feel really vulnerable now he knows which flat I’m in and everything.’
She’s fading away from me. Her face, her voice… everything seems far away.
‘My boyfriend reckons he’s “sorted” it. I’m not sure what that means… I don’t really want to know, to be honest. If you knew him, you’d understand why I’m worried, but… Alice, are you OK?’
I hear Jenny saying my name again and again, but I can’t respond. Thoughts drift freely in my head, moving towards each other like they’re trying to somehow fit together. But none of them are making any sense, no matter how hard I try to link them. I feel like I’m in the middle of a game where the rules have all changed.
James.
The strange unfocused look in his eyes on the tram, the non-reaction when he walked past me, the way he didn’t recognise me in the coffee shop…
It was never my window he was staring at, but the one directly above. All this time, it’s Jenny’s flat he’s been watching.
I begin to shake, and coffee spills into the saucer. My hands seem to belong to someone else as they place it on the coffee table in front of me.
I stand up quickly and catch the edge of the plate. It upends and the biscuits scatter all over the carpet.
‘Alice, whatever’s wrong?’ I hear Jenny cry out.
But of course, I can’t possibly tell her.
Instead, I pick up my bag and keys and dash from her apartment.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Back in my own flat, I lock and bolt the door behind me. Then I rush to the bathroom and vomit
my guts up.
When there’s nothing left to come up, I slump back against the cool tiled wall and consider how I could have been such an utter idiot, an embarrassment to myself.
Within minutes, there’s a frantic banging at the front door. Jenny’s muffled voice calls out my name again and again. I ignore her.
I kick the bathroom door shut with my foot to further screen off the noise. My head is banging; my spine feels as though it’s crumbling. The tiled floor is too hard and cold for my hips, but I don’t move. I sit there for another twenty minutes. By then, Jenny is long gone.
Inch by inch, I slide my knees up to find my joints have completely seized up. Slowly, slowly, I turn to one side and, using the side of the bath as a support, ease myself up onto all fours.
Tears roll from my eyes with the pain. I need my tablets, I need a drink to ease my dry, scorched throat. I have to do this. Three times I try and get to my feet, but I can’t manage that final push.
So I crawl. I crawl from the bathroom, down the short hallway to the kitchen. After a few minutes’ rest and tentative leg stretches, I finally manage to stand up.
I drink a glass of tap water at the sink and then take another one to the counter. I perch on a tall stool and reach for my tablet container.
I know it’s completely inadvisable, but I take tonight’s painkiller and sedative too. I need as much help as I can get right now.
The hairdressing appointment I made flits into my consciousness and back out again.
I make it to my bedroom and flop down on the bed fully clothed, waiting for merciful sleep to come. Except when it does, it brings with it the beginning of the worst period of my life.
The day that really changed the path of where I thought I was headed.
The day that was supposed to be one of the most exciting in my life so far.
Three years earlier
I checked my appearance in the mirror.
Neatly pinned-up hair. Check.
Natural make-up. Check.
No bits stuck in my teeth. Check.
I felt ready as I’d ever be.
I ran the cold tap and allowed the water to trickle deliciously through my hot, sticky fingers. I wished I could have eaten my sandwich at lunchtime, but my appetite felt like it had disappeared, never to return.
Could I really do this job? Jim had worked hard at convincing me that I was a natural assistant manager for The Art Box… but did I really believe it?
Yes, this promotion would bring a significant hike in status and responsibility, but it meant so much more than that. My salary would rise by around twenty per cent, and it would mean that Jack could finally ditch his evening job as a waiter and we could think about getting a small place together.
It had been a quick process, but the two of us were so close. We were in love, and we both wanted to take our relationship to the next level, but we just hadn’t got the funds.
Now, though, I was nearly there. Just one last hurdle to get over, and by the weekend, Jack and I could be celebrating with the bottle of Prosecco I had waiting on the top shelf of the fridge at home. Mum loved Jack, so I know she’d be supportive.
I turned off the tap and stuck my hands under the dryer, wincing at the harsh drone that only served to exacerbate my nervous headache.
For what felt like the hundredth time, I brushed non-existent flecks from my navy gabardine suit and picked up my handbag. It was time.
As I emerged from the bathroom, I glanced at my phone and smiled at the text notification from Jack. I clicked on it.
You’ll slay them, my clever girl. Love you lots xxx
That was what he called me, his clever girl. I’d roll my eyes when he said it, but really I loved it. It felt wonderful that we supported each other in whatever it was we wanted to do. I was going for this promotion for both of us.
Somewhere deep inside me, a tiny voice asked if everything had happened too soon between Jack and me, but I squashed it flat before it could prosper. I knew who that critical voice belonged to and I’d heard enough of it over the years. Thoughts like that weren’t positive or helpful. Not today… or indeed any day.
As I neared the conference room, where I knew the panel were waiting, I switched the phone to silent mode, just as the screen lit up to announce an incoming call from my sister.
Her vicious words from this morning ricocheted around my head. You’re a selfish cow who cares about nobody but herself. Maybe she was calling because she’d thought of more insults to throw my way, but I had no wish to revisit our argument – about something minor as usual. Especially not right now.
My finger was hovering above the end call button when it occurred to me that Louise always preferred to text and hardly ever rang me during the day, unless she desperately needed something.
I glanced at the time at the top of the screen. I’d got four minutes before my interview officially started. I’d feel better explaining why I couldn’t speak rather than just cutting her off like an inconvenience.
My finger slid over the screen and I answered the call.
‘Alice?’ The word escaped her lips and broke an octave higher at the end, and I knew something bad had happened.
‘What is it?’ I whispered as two people passed me in the corridor. ‘What’s wrong?’
The door of the conference room opened and Jim appeared, frowning at the empty seating outside where he was obviously expecting to find me. He looked up and down the corridor, and his face relaxed when he spotted me.
He held his index finger up and nodded when he saw I was on the telephone, signalling that they’d want me in there in a minute’s time.
I swallowed hard as he disappeared back inside, my heartbeat picking up pace.
‘Alice?’
I brought my attention back to the call.
‘Sorry, Louise. Could I call you back in about an hour? It’s just that—’
‘It’s Mum, she’s in hospital.’
‘What? What happened?’ I leaned heavily against the wall, my chest pounding.
‘Darren called to take her shopping and found her on the kitchen floor. They think it’s a heart attack.’ She pulled in a breath. ‘They’ve taken her to the Trent Cardiology Centre at the City Hospital.’
‘Oh no! I’m in Sheffield, at Finn’s head office,’ I said faintly. ‘I’m just about to go into my interview, but I’ll leave as soon as I’m finished. I can probably be there in under three hours if you can cover.’
‘Are you joking?’ Her tone sharpened. ‘You need to come right now. Mum needs someone with her.’
‘What? Didn’t Darren go with her in the ambulance?’
‘He had Archie in the car and he didn’t think hospital was the right place for a six-year-old, and I totally agree.’
‘But… aren’t you there now?’
‘No. I’m just leaving for a major client meeting in Stoke. I can’t get out of it.’
‘Louise, I need you to hold the fort just a little while and then I’ll be there… You’re already in Nottingham and I’m at least forty-five miles away.’
‘You need to stop worrying about your promotion and think about your family for a change. A new job will wait for another day. Mum might not.’
‘That’s not fair! Mr Visser’s main investor has flown down from Scotland just to sit on the panel. And you’re already—’
‘Not my problem. Mum’s in a bad way. She was unconscious when they took her in, and she hit her head when she fell.’
‘Oh no.’ I pressed the palm of my hand to my forehead. Think.
‘Please just delay going to your meeting, Louise. Or couldn’t Darren—’
‘No. He couldn’t. Please yourself, but if something happens to Mum, on your head be it.’
A sharp click indicated that she had ended the call.
‘Alice?’
I looked up sharply, my eyes shining. It was Jim, looking slightly irked that I was still halfway down the corridor instead of waiting bright-eyed and bushy-tai
led outside the conference room.
He cleared his throat and opened the door wide behind him.
‘The panel is ready for you now.’
Present day
When I wake up, I know instinctively what it is I have to do.
I jump at the harsh buzz of the door entry system. Someone is outside, asking to come up to my apartment.
Thanks to the entrance canopy, no matter how close I press my face to the living room window, I can’t see who is standing outside the main building, buzzing to be let in.
So I have no choice but to ignore it.
I’m suspicious that it could be Jenny, trying another ruse to check on me. Even worse, it could be James, come to ask if I have his phone.
And I can’t face either of them at the moment.
My phone pings and I realise it’s still in my handbag by the door, so I ease myself off the stool and walk over there.
A folded piece of paper has been slid under the door. I’m guessing that when Jenny couldn’t get an answer earlier, she left me a note.
After checking all the bolts are in place, with difficulty I bend and pick up the paper and then my handbag, taking both back over to the worktop.
The buzzer sounds again; this time, whoever is out there leaves their finger on it for longer. I ignore it and unfold the paper, stare at the black handwriting.
Mind your own business, bitch, or you’ll be sorry.
I let out a small cry as the paper falls from my fingers.
That sounds far too similar to a voice from my past I’d rather forget.
Buzz… buzz… buzz… short, staccato interruptions driving me crazy now. But I’m resolved, especially after reading the note. I’m not letting anyone into the apartment.
I take my phone out of my handbag and see a text notification message from my sister. I open it up.
Where ARE you? I’m stuck outside buzzing to come in!! L
With perfect timing, the buzzer sounds again. Another long one.
I snatch up the handset and release the entrance door. A few minutes later, I open the apartment door to a panting Louise and an equally tired-looking Archie.
