The Better Woman

by Ber Carroll

  ‘You should go home earlier,’ he chided. ‘You shouldn’t wait for me.’

  ‘I hate going home without you.’ She snuggled up against him on the grimy plastic seat. ‘Anyway, I have lots of work to do on my project so I don’t mind staying back.’

  The carriage had only a few people at this time of night: a man in a dark overcoat reading a paper, a woman – maybe a nurse – who was wearing a blue uniform under her jacket, and a lanky teenager with a vicious stare. Jodi was careful not to look his way.

  Once they got off the train, they had a ten-minute walk. Too often it was raining and cold, spring bringing little improvement to London’s weather. Whatever the conditions outside, the maisonette was warm and welcoming. The living room was starting to take shape with a round mahogany dining table and chairs, an antique coffee table and beige lounge. They had found a large patterned rug to brighten up the carpet. Various artefacts, picked up on weekends of meandering around bric-a-brac shops, created the room’s character: a blend of Jodi’s and Andrew’s personalities: a home.

  Too late and too tired for dinner, Andrew made toasted cheese and ham bagels and they ate them on the sofa, plates on their knees, while they watched TV.

  ‘Must try to get to see Mum at the weekend,’ he said, putting his plate down with a yawn.

  Jodi didn’t enjoy the visits to Andrew’s family and her lack of enthusiasm must have showed on her face.

  ‘Look, I know it’s painful,’ Andrew squeezed her shoulders, ‘but I owe it to Mum. I’m afraid that she’ll totally lose her sense of humour if I leave her alone with Simon and Tracey for too long.’

  ‘You left her alone for a full year when you went to Australia,’ Jodi pointed out.

  ‘I know. And I see a huge change in her. Simon’s miserableness is dragging her down. She used to be quite fun.’

  ‘Do you think that will ever happen to us?’ Jodi turned to face him. ‘Do you think that one day we’ll be miserable and get on each other’s nerves?’

  ‘No.’ He caressed her cheek with his hand. ‘Never.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because I am.’

  He kissed her. Jodi felt her tiredness fall away. A familiar heat rose in her body as her mouth opened under his. The phone rang. They pulled away with resigned grins.

  ‘Your grandma,’ he said, ‘with impeccable timing, as usual.’

  Grandma phoned regularly, always late at night, and it wasn’t the first time she’d interrupted their love-making.

  ‘I could ignore it,’ Jodi suggested feebly.

  ‘It’s okay.’ He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. ‘I’m tired anyway.’

  Jodi picked up the phone.

  ‘Hi, Grandma . . . Yes, Andrew’s fine . . . We were just watching TV.’

  The next day began unremarkably. Jodi and Andrew left the apartment at 6.30 am, both carrying umbrellas to shield the heavy rain. Due to the bad weather, the tube was even more packed than usual. They squeezed into a carriage and wrinkled their noses at the damp smell inside.

  Jodi kissed Andrew goodbye when they reached Liverpool Street Station and hurried to work. She was preoccupied with an important project meeting that was scheduled for tomorrow. She had a lot of preparation to do for the meeting; the entire management team would be present.

  The day flew by. She had lunch at her desk whilst trying to finalise her presentation. In the afternoon she ran the content by Gretel, who seemed pleased enough with it.

  ‘Just make the introduction more succinct,’ she advised. ‘And do try to speak slowly tomorrow – some of the older members of the management team find it hard to keep up.’

  Jodi took her advice on board and, when Gretel had gone home, she practised the presentation out loud.

  At five minutes to nine, knowing the presentation off by heart, she slipped on her jacket and picked up her umbrella. Outside the footpath was waterlogged after a day of steady rain. She angled her umbrella against the wind and walked quickly, thinking that soon she’d be curled up on the cosy sofa in the maisonette.

  Andrew wasn’t waiting at their usual spot. It was sheltered and Jodi was able to put down her umbrella. Twenty minutes passed.

  Where are you, Andrew?

  The only phone box in sight was out of order.

  A man and woman started arguing nearby. They looked rough.

  ‘Don’t you walk away from me,’ the woman screamed and tugged on the man’s hood.

  ‘Let go, you bitch,’ he shouted and tried to shake her off.

  ‘Fuck you,’ she spat at him.

  He continued to try to shake her off but she had hold of him at an awkward angle and he was flailing at thin air. She was making him look like a fool. Frustration glinted in his eyes. Then he had a knife. He swiped at her. Missed.

  ‘Let go, you stupid cow.’

  Jodi got out of there. She ran towards the escalator and it carried her down into the earth, away from the frightening scene above. A train was waiting and, her heart beating hard, she jumped on.

  At home she tried Andrew’s work number but it rang out. She got out of her wet clothes and put on her pyjamas. She tried Andrew’s number again: no answer. She ate some tinned soup in front of the TV. Then tried him again.

  The doorbell rang at half-past ten. She skipped down the stairs, thinking it was him, that he’d forgotten his keys.

  It wasn’t him. As soon as she set eyes on the police officers with their black raincoats and grave expressions, she knew that Andrew would never be coming home again.

  Chapter 25

  Of course, Jodi missed the all-important project meeting the next morning. She phoned Gretel to let her know she wouldn’t be there, a faraway part of her brain recalling that her boss didn’t like to be let down. Jodi couldn’t remember the conversation she’d had with Gretel, or with Andrew’s boss, or Shirley. Shock, hers and theirs, was all she could remember.

  The phone call to Janice was the only one she could recall, maybe because it was the first. The kindly sister at the hospital had offered the use of the phone in her office.

  ‘Andrew’s been hit by a car.’ Jodi’s hand trembled as she held the receiver to her ear.

  ‘Is he okay?’ The dread in Janice’s voice was palpable.

  ‘No.’

  Jodi’s body heaved with pain and the receiver fell hopelessly from her hand. The sister picked it up and spoke consoling words to Janice before putting the phone back in its place. Then she held Jodi in her strong ample arms for a long, long time.

  Andrew was buried after four blurry days. The pastor peppered the service with his name. Jodi’s stomach clenched with each mention, unable to digest that it was her Andrew lying in the varnished casket in front of the altar. Yet the people gathered to mourn his passing were evidence that he was indeed gone: men with slick hair and dark suits from his work; Simon and Tracey, looking more dour and miserable than ever; Gretel, meek and nothing like the dynamo she was in the office; members of the extended Ferguson family, cousins, aunts and uncles whom she hadn’t met until today.

  Sitting next to Jodi, holding her hand, was Janice, her face ghostly, her eyes red-rimmed. The magnitude of their grief drew them together and they held hands for much of the service.

  The day after the funeral was the worst. Andrew was not only dead, he was buried. Deep beneath the earth. Gone. Yet shadows followed Jodi around the maisonette, tricking her into believing he was just a few steps away. She’d jerk her head around each time it happened. ‘Andrew . . .’ she’d begin out loud, genuinely forgetting. Silence would answer. Then she would remember.

  She wandered aimlessly around the apartment, touching this and that, but doing nothing. Seconds ticked by at a snail’s pace, five minutes an infinity. How could she get through the day? All those seconds, minutes and hours to be filled. With what? After her eyes glanced dangerously off the container of sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed, she knew she had to get out. There was only one place she could
go to escape the nothingness: work.

  She went upstairs and changed into the pinstriped suit that Andrew had thought so sexy. She wavered at the memory and felt a fresh wave of grief.

  Keep busy. Keep busy. Keep busy.

  She blanked her mind and continued to ready herself to face the world.

  If people thought it strange that she returned to work so soon, they didn’t say so. They showed their concern in other ways, mainly sustenance. Gretel would buy her lunch, knowing that she didn’t have the interest or appetite to do so herself. And Joanna, one of the team leaders, brought in a plated dinner a few times a week. Jodi thanked them for their kindness, reassured them she was coping, and got back to work.

  Keep busy. Keep busy. Keep busy.

  With her undivided attention, the project steamed ahead and soon they were implementing phase two. The surplus processes were made redundant and Jodi personally trained each staff member on the new procedures. As the evenings stretched with the onset of summer, she stayed back in the office to type up the training manuals.

  Keep busy. Keep busy. Keep busy.

  But at home, alone in bed, it was much harder to hold it together. Andrew was dead. She’d never see his lopsided smile again. Or hold a gaze with his soft brown eyes. Or debate all the big issues of life with him. Yes, she realised that the memories weren’t all rosy. Yes, they’d had their petty arguments: sometimes he’d annoyed her when he’d left damp towels on the bathroom floor and teabags in the sink. But that was the extent of their disagreements. Everything else was perfect, had been perfect.

  Can you see me? she’d ask the dark, tears streaming down her face as she lay unsleeping. Can you see what a mess I am? I can’t hold it together without you. I need you to come back from wherever you are.

  At some point, when she’d accepted yet again that he wouldn’t be coming back, she’d lean across the bed and take two of the sleeping pills. She’d wait for the drugs to heavy her eyes and bring about a falsely deep sleep before starting another day.

  London embraced summer enthusiastically. Girls wore short skirts to work; builders bared their pale torsos to the sun, and the city moved to a whole new beat. Everybody, from the commuters to the shopkeepers, seemed to be more jovial. Jodi felt like an impostor in their midst.

  She trekked to and from work, Gretel’s chilly office preferable to the stinking hot maisonette where the stand-alone fan did nothing at all to relieve the humidity. As the temperatures soared, Jodi longed for the beach, for Sydney. But she was too afraid to leave London. If she didn’t come home to the maisonette every day, see the furniture they had bought together, and sleep in the bed in which they’d loved each other, then her memories would lose their edge and Andrew would surely fade away. She couldn’t bear to lose him completely so she kept everything as it was: the furniture, his clothes and their conversations.

  The doctor, whilst renewing her prescription for the sleeping pills, had encouraged her to talk to Andrew.

  ‘Better out than in,’ he advised. ‘It’s wonderful therapy – and who knows, he may be able to hear you.’

  Jodi tried it out. First, she’d just whisper as she told him about her day. Then, because it seemed so natural and right, her voice became louder, as if this were a normal conversation. She could even hear his response. They talked about everything, even the fact that part of her wanted to leave him and go back to Sydney.

  ‘You still don’t like it here, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not as much as you do,’ she replied softly.

  ‘I’ll go back to Sydney with you if you want.’

  ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  His smile was so real. But when she reached to touch it, her fingers brushed air.

  Suddenly angry, she swung to the other extreme, from denial to harsh acceptance.

  Stop talking to yourself. He’s dead.

  Anger felt good, much better than the dull ache of grief or the bitter-sweet conversations. But it never stayed around for more than a few minutes.

  If only I’d arranged to meet him earlier.

  If he’d been crossing the road a minute earlier, even five seconds earlier, he wouldn’t have been hit. It would have been someone else, one of the people at the side of the road, looking on at the accident and counting their blessings at their near miss.

  If only it hadn’t been raining so hard.

  The road wouldn’t have been so slippery. The tyres would have had some traction. The car wouldn’t have pirouetted out of control.

  If only the driver hadn’t been going so fast.

  The force of impact wouldn’t have thrown Andrew up into the air. His shoes wouldn’t have gone flying from his feet. He wouldn’t have crashed down, his beige trench coat blanketing his broken body.

  Grandma’s nocturnal phone calls ceased.

  ‘She’s devastated for you,’ Shirley explained. ‘She was so sure you were going to be happy with Andrew. This has floored her – aged her ten years.’

  ‘I think it’s obvious by now that my life plan doesn’t have happy-ever-afters in it,’ Jodi replied bitterly.

  ‘Will you come home?’ Shirley implored for the umpteenth time. ‘Let her see for herself that you’ll be okay. And let her, and me, help you through?’

  ‘I can’t . . .’ Jodi choked on a sob. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. You see, Andrew’s still here, around me. I can’t leave him.’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ Shirley urged with a catch in her own voice. ‘It’s okay. Stay there if that’s where you need to be. Grandma will be fine.’

  Despite her mother’s assurances, Jodi was filled with terrible guilt. She’d caused her grandmother a lot of pain: Bob’s violent death, the murder trial, Andrew’s accident. Grandma was a victim too: robbed of her right to a peaceful old age.

  ‘Tell her I’ll come home for Christmas,’ she promised impulsively. ‘That should give her something to look forward to.’

  Jodi hung up and hugged her knees to her chest. She was convinced that Andrew’s death was linked to Bob’s. She had taken a life and, in return, Andrew had been taken from her. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Was God even with her now? Had justice been done? Would Grandma be able to live the rest of her days in peace, without further tragedy?

  Janice called around once a week, on Thursdays. Jodi would cook a meal, one of the few nights she bothered, and they would share a bottle of wine. Janice talked about Andrew, her memories flitting from when he was a baby to a teenager. Jodi loved to hear things she hadn’t previously known about him. She could almost fool herself into thinking he was still alive.

  Inevitably, though, the night would end in tears. The comfort that the memories brought reached a saturation point and hopelessness and loss took over. Sometimes Janice was too upset and too tipsy to begin the journey back to Harrow and she’d sleep on the sofa. Jodi didn’t mind. Janice had become a friend. Someone with whom she could share a meal and a glass of wine. Someone with whom she could cry.

  All too soon it was autumn and leaves fell inch-deep, cluttering the footpaths and gutters. They were brown and dry and would crunch underfoot, until heavy rain at the start of October turned them into soggy mulch. At first it had been seconds, hours and days that had passed by without Andrew. Now it was seasons.

  Janice turned up one night looking different. Her hair had been trimmed and coloured, and the boots she slipped off at the door were high-heeled and stylish.

  ‘I’ve left Simon,’ she announced as she set her contribution to dinner, a bottle of shiraz, down on the dining table.

  ‘Oh.’

  Jodi was taken aback at the news. Janice rarely spoke of Simon and had given no clue that she was about to take such a drastic step.

  ‘Should have done it years ago,’ Janice declared. ‘I knew early on that I’d made a mistake, but I thought I’d made my bed and had to lie on it. Life’s short, though, isn’t it? Too short to be unhappy. What’s for dinner?’

  ‘Beef curry,’ Jodi repl
ied woodenly.

  ‘Great. I’m famished.’

  Janice did most of the talking throughout the meal. She had the confident air of a woman who was getting her life back together.

  ‘What’s up with you tonight?’ she asked, looking closely at Jodi’s face.

  ‘You,’ Jodi answered honestly.

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘You’ve left Simon, got your hair done – which is lovely, by the way . . .’ Jodi trailed off, fearing she sounded churlish.

  Janice didn’t need to have it spelled out for her. ‘This hasn’t been easy,’ she confessed, her eyes glazing over, ‘but I’m trying really hard to pull myself together. That’s me, though, not you. Let your grief run its course, Jodi. I’m here for you regardless of how long it takes.’

  Suddenly they were both crying and it was just like every other Thursday night.

  Jodi dutifully went through the mechanics of fulfilling her promise to Grandma. She booked a flight to Sydney, organised leave from work, and tried to dismiss the panic she felt at the thought of leaving London, albeit only for two weeks.

  ‘I know you’re scared,’ Janice was understanding, ‘but this is the right thing to do. It’ll be hard at first, like opening a wound, but you have to do it to move on. Don’t worry about the apartment while you’re gone – I’ll keep an eye on it.’

  It seemed that Janice was now joining her mother and grandmother in the push to get her out of London. It felt unfair, especially when Janice had told her to ‘take her time’ with her grief.

  Jodi browsed through Harrods for gifts to take home. She chose an expensive silk scarf for Grandma and a leather purse for Shirley. She found herself smiling at the thought of being scolded by Grandma for her extravagance.

  The week before Christmas, just as Jodi was beginning to come to terms with the emotional consequences of the trip, Invesco provided her with a way of bowing out. The CEO announced a major strategic initiative: the expansion of the existing investment management business into the institutional pension-fund market.