by Karen Osman
Sorry, running 30 minutes late. I left key under the mat at the back x
It took Alison some time to work out how to get to the back of the house. Frustrated, she found it eventually by going through a series of alleyways, a characteristic of the city she normally loved. Letting herself in and slipping the key into her jeans pocket, she gratefully dropped her bag and collapsed on the couch. Closing her eyes, she mustered up enough energy to get back up to make herself a cup of tea. She resisted helping herself to a biscuit although she was starving. He had promised to cook for her tonight and she was looking forward to it. Her drink in her hand, Alison flipped on the TV and curled her legs up under her on the couch. Thirty minutes later there was still no sign of him. She decided to give it another ten minutes before sending him a text to check. As she was taking her cup back to the kitchen, she remembered the key. She dug in her pocket but she couldn’t find it. It must have fallen out somewhere, she thought. Checking the couch, she pulled the cushions off and found that the key had slipped between them. She was just about to put the cushions back when she saw a few coins. Gathering them up, her eye also caught a piece of paper. No bigger than a Post-it note, a telephone number was written on it. Alison felt a strange feeling come across her as she put it with the coins on the table.
*
It was another hour before The Professor came home. As he let himself in the front door, Alison went to meet him in the hallway.
‘Hey, I was worried about you. You didn’t respond to my text. All OK?’
‘Yes, sorry about that, got caught up in the office.’ Taking off his coat and hanging up his bag, he began to remove his shoes.
‘With one of the faculty?’
‘What?’ he asked distractedly.
‘You mentioned you got caught up – was it with one of the faculty?’
‘Yes, something about new coursework requirements. Boring stuff, really. Anyway,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘how are you?’ As he leant in to kiss her on the cheek, Alison could smell the rain on him. The rain, and was that something else? Perfume? She was imagining it. Finding that telephone number had made her paranoid. And it couldn’t be that important if it was down the back of the sofa, could it?
‘I hope you don’t mind, I made myself a cup of tea. I didn’t make a start on dinner as I wasn’t sure what you had in mind?’
‘That’s OK, I grabbed something earlier.’
‘Oh, what time?’
‘I can’t remember now,’ he said vaguely. ‘It was a busy day. How about you?’
‘Yes, busy as well.’
Alison thought it was strange that he would eat something when he had invited her to dinner.
‘Then do you mind if I get myself a slice of toast?’
‘Not at all, help yourself. You find the key all right?’
‘Yes, I did. I somehow managed to drop it down the sofa though so I’ve left it on the table.’
Alison watched him carefully as he went to pick up the key and the coins and then looked at the paper with the number. Reading it, his face betrayed no emotion. Looking at him questioningly, she said, ‘I also found that – I wasn’t sure if it was important or not, so I didn’t throw it away.’
‘Thanks. It’s the number of a research institute I’m planning to approach with my work.’
He scooped the coins into his pocket along with the key and the paper. Alison went to make her toast, thinking how odd he was being this evening.
‘It’s late and I have an early start tomorrow. I’m going to take a shower. Join me upstairs when you’ve finished?’
‘Yes, I won’t be long.’
There had been a reasonable explanation after all. Still, doubt niggled at her. He had said the number was for a research institute so why then was it a mobile number and not that of a landline?
Alison washed her cup and her plate and placed them in the drainer before heading upstairs. She could hear the hum of the shower as she walked along the landing to the bedroom. Did he usually take a shower when he got home? She couldn’t remember him doing so before. Questions began to pile up in her brain. She rubbed her neck, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Had he really got caught up in the office? Was the number she found the number of a research institute? She shook her head as if to physically clear the suspicion clouding her mind. She was too tired, that was the problem. Entering the bedroom, the shower still running, Alison saw his phone on the bedside table. For the first time in her life, she was tempted to snoop. It was an uncomfortable thought. When they were growing up, her sister had once read her diary. Full of teenage angst, Alison could laugh about it now but she never forgot that feeling of invasion. She remembered that she had gone to Woolworth’s and bought a new diary with a lock, and even to this day she still kept her diary carefully hidden.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a text coming through on The Professor’s phone. Illuminated by a green light, a message from an unnamed contact flashed before her. Sitting on the bed, the phone in front of her, Alison felt her hand reach out towards it. Just then the bathroom door swung open, and The Professor stepped out in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his waist. Pulling her hand back guiltily, Alison was aware of being caught red-handed.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ she stammered, ‘I was just checking the—’
‘My messages?’
She had been about to say the time, but it sounded false even to her own ears.
Snatching the phone up, The Professor marched back into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. Alison felt like crying. She had been waiting for over an hour for him, she was hungry, he had smelled of perfume when he came in, and he was collecting mobile phone numbers. All of sudden she was no longer so sure about anything.
‘What’s the problem, Alison?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
Startled, she hadn’t heard the bathroom door open.
‘I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You were late, and then I found that piece of paper with the number on it, and my mind got ahead of me.’
The Professor didn’t respond.
Feeling the need for reassurance, Alison tentatively asked, ‘You’re not seeing anyone else, are you?’
Still, The Professor didn’t speak. He just continued to get dressed. He looked angry but Alison would have preferred him to shout rather than this frustrating silence. Several minutes passed.
Coming up behind her, he took her harshly by the arm and pulled her to the mirror. Forcing her to look at herself in the reflection, he leant his mouth close to his ear, and simply said, ‘Next time you think about checking my phone, think again. And if you ever so much as doubt me one more time, there’ll be hell to pay.’ And with that, he stormed out of the room, jogged down the stairs and was out of the front door, leaving Alison shaking.
*
It was 4 a.m. before Alison heard the key in the front door. After The Professor had left, she had laid down on the bed, not bothering to take off her clothes and simply waited for him. She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t read, she couldn’t watch TV. Relief flooded her that he had finally come back. She started as she heard a crash as a pile of books fell from the hallway table and as his footsteps came up the stairs, his drunken gait gave him away. Turning on the light, Alison got out of bed.
‘Ah, there you are. Still here, are you?’
Alison looked at him, where he stood in the doorway, in dismay. He had clearly had more than a couple of pints – his local accent was getting stronger with every word he spoke.
‘Been checking any more phones? You still look gorgeous, though, pet, don’t you? C’mere and make it up to me.’
He made a grab for her and Alison nearly toppled over as she tried not to be overpowered by him.
‘Shall I tell you what I do to naughty girls like you?’ His hands were rough against her, impatiently pulling at her clothes to try to remove them.
Alison laughed ner
vously. ‘You’re drunk. You need to stop this.’ She tried to sound firm but the tremor in her voice gave her away.
‘Do I? Are you sure? You usually like it when I’m a bit rough.’
‘No, of course—’
Her words were interrupted as he crushed his mouth on hers, the sour reek of beer making her nauseous.
‘C’mon, Alison. Make it up to me,’ he coaxed. Alison tried to move her arms but the sheer weight of him crushed her, preventing her from moving.
‘I know this is what you want.’
Realising, he wasn’t going to let the matter go, Alison played along. ‘I do! But how about we go slowly—’
His hand over her mouth, he cut her off before undoing her jeans with his other hand. He was on her before she was ready, and tears collected in the corner of her eyes as she tried not to cry out. Gone was his gentleness, replaced with an animalistic, angry energy. He pushed himself into her and Alison tried to relax and enjoy it, but her body simply resisted. Eventually, he collapsed on top of her. As she rolled him to one side, she noticed he was already asleep. Picking up her clothes, Alison went to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind her. Looking in the mirror, the tops of arms showed fingermarks that were already turning into bruises. Leaning back against the coolness of the marble bathroom wall, Alison sank to her knees, tears rolling down her face, fear bubbling just below the surface.
Chapter 24
Kate
She should never have emptied her pockets. If her jeans had just gone in the wash without her being so diligent, his phone number would have been destroyed and she would never have called Mr Barnes. She had convinced herself that she was simply phoning him to confirm her attendance at the new term of writing classes. But slowly, as one call led to another, Kate realised she had become reliant on his encouragement and compliments. And who could blame her, she thought, as she tried to get the damp washing dry enough to wear. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she was enjoying the attention and if it came in the form of a handsome, intelligent man, then so be it, she justified herself. Her husband barely even acknowledged her these days. But still, she felt guilty, especially as she had never mentioned to him the calls to Mr Barnes, and while they had a pleasant family day at Christmas, as a couple Kate and her husband were still poles apart. She had tried her best to make it as fun as possible for the girls, and they seemed to enjoy it. She had saved all year from the housekeeping money to make sure her daughters got what they wanted from Santa. In general, though, it had been a lonely holiday season for her but as 1985 arrived and New Year came and went, she realised she was looking forward more than ever to seeing Mr Barnes again.
It had started a few days into the year when her husband had gone back to work and she had taken the girls on the train to her parents – a stressful journey in any case, but even more challenging over the holiday period with cancelled trains and delays. The girls loved their grandparents but their house was small and in the middle of nowhere. It was also old and the boiler was so temperamental that they had had to wear their coats and hats indoors.
‘Why don’t you let me call someone, Dad, to get it fixed for you once and for all?’ Kate had asked him when they sat shivering for the second day.
‘Robbie will come and have a look at it once he gets back, love,’ replied her father, referring to the local plumber. ‘He’s already had a bit of a tinkering with it. He says the whole lot needs replacing, but I think there’s still life in the old thing yet!’
‘How much does that cost?’ asked Kate, wondering if it was a money issue or if her father truly believed what he was saying.
‘I’m not sure, to be honest, but Robbie said he would bring a quote next week. I’ll go and give it another bang or two and see if that revives it,’ he said, getting up from his chair.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Kate called after him doubtfully. She would ring Robbie herself before she left to make sure he was on to it. She couldn’t bear to think of her parents sitting in the cold, especially if it was a case of not being able to afford a new boiler. She thought of the money they had given her without question, and remorse rose to the surface.
‘Mum, do you need a hand? Anything I can do to help while I’m here?’
‘No, love, of course not. We manage well enough, your father and I. It’s enough to have you here with the girls. They have grown up so fast!’
‘They have,’ Kate agreed.
‘Right, girls, shall we go and do some baking? That will keep us warm, won’t it?’
‘Yay! Can we make fruit scones again?’ said Kate’s elder daughter.
‘We can indeed,’ replied her mother, ‘and I think we have some jam and clotted cream to go with them.’
Her mother and daughters trooped out, leaving Kate alone in the living room. She sneezed, feeling a cold coming on. Rifling in her jeans pocket for a tissue, she discovered the number Mr Barnes had given her. Her husband hadn’t called her once while she had been away. Feeling the need to talk to someone – anyone about anything other than boilers and the weather – Kate called out to her mother.
‘Mum, I’m just going for a breath of fresh air – will you be OK here?’
Popping her head round the kitchen door, her mother replied, ‘Of course – go and get a bit of a breather. Could you just do me a favour and pick up some milk from the shop on the way back? Thanks, love.’
Kate put on her boots and stepped outside. Luckily there was a phone box right next to the shop.
*
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Mr Barnes, this is Kate.’
‘Kate?’
‘From your writing class?’
Kate cringed at having to remind him. This has been a mistake – he didn’t even know who she was.
‘Ah, Kate! The famous author-to-be! How are you? I didn’t expect to receive your call. How was Christmas?’
‘It was good thank you – how about yours?’
‘Well, you know, quiet. Glad it’s over with, really.’
‘I just wanted to give you a quick ring to let you know that I will be attending the second term of the writing class.’
‘Well, that’s the best news I’ve had all day.’
Kate glowed at the compliment. ‘Thanks – I’m really looking for to it.’
‘Me, too – your writing has such promise. But it’s not just that – I’m really looking forward to seeing you again, as well.’
Kate didn’t know how to respond.
‘I’m sorry, perhaps I’m being inappropriate. I just felt there was something special about you and wanted to get to know you better, that’s all.’
‘Thank you, I think…’ Kate responded tentatively.
Mr Barnes laughed. ‘You sound so surprised, Kate! You shouldn’t be – surely you attract attention wherever you go?’
Was he flirting with her, Kate asked herself. It would seem that way.
‘You flatter me!’ responded Kate, laughing, relieved to resume a more jokey style of conversation. ‘Anyway, I’d better get back but I just wanted to let you know about the class.’
‘Get back? Where are you?’
Kate mentally kicked herself. ‘I’m at my parents’ house with the girls.’
‘Well, have a great time. Shall I give you a call when you’re home and you can let me know about the book club? I have your number from the class registration.’
‘Yes, of course, that sounds good. Bye!’
And just like that, Kate had another reason to speak to him.
*
‘So, you’re still coming to the book club with me?’ Mr Barnes had asked for at least the third time, on their last phone call the day before. Kate was now back at home and her elder daughter had returned to school for the new term.
‘Yes, I’m going to try. As long as the girls are in bed and fast asleep. It starts at eight o’clock, doesn’t it?’
‘Yep. What did you think of the book?’
She had read the book over Christmas, p
icking it up from her local library just before they closed for the holidays.
‘Incredible,’ Kate responded. ‘And frightening at the same time.’
She could feel his smile down the phone as he spoke. ‘It’s the second time I’ve read it and it still makes the same impression on me.’
Was it a mistake going to this book club with him? It sounded so innocent but she felt that certain something – what was it – anticipation? Possibility? Kate searched for the right word in her head as she recalled their conversation…
‘Mum!’
Kate snapped out her reverie at the sound of her younger daughter’s voice. ‘What are we going to do today? I’m bored.’
‘We can go to the park, if you like?’
‘We went to the park yesterday.’
‘I know but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it again today – it’s a fine day.’
Kate had recently noticed that she didn’t like leaving the house for too long in case she missed Mr Barnes’s call. The park was just a few minutes away, a quicker option than trekking all the way into town or getting the train to Newcastle. Such outings could take up to half a day or more. Kate wondered when she had started putting her own needs ahead of her daughter’s.
‘Let me just finish this washing, and then we’ll go, OK? We might just stop off at your favourite sweet shop if you’re lucky,’ placated Kate.
‘Promise? Last time you said we would go out but you were ages on the phone.’
‘I promise. Come on, go and get your shoes on and your big coat. Don’t forget your hat and scarf.’
As Kate loaded her younger daughter into the buggy and opened the front door, the phone rang. Both of them froze. Her daughter’s big eyes looked up at her mother, and in the moment Kate’s heart broke.
‘Come on, you, let’s go. The phone can wait.’
Relief crossed her little girl’s face, and Kate vowed to put an end to the calls. It could lead to nowhere good. She would attend the classes but she would cancel the book club, and she would ignore the phone when it rang. Satisfied with her resolution, she marched out with her daughter, determined to show her the best time ever.
