When I Find You

by Emma Curtis

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  The lie slips out automatically but already feels futile. We’ve both known this conversation was coming.

  He laughs. ‘I don’t sleep well these days. I saw you. Don’t piss me around, Laura. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’

  ‘That’s the whole point, isn’t it? I do know. I’m dealing with a creep and a monster and a coward.’ Just saying those words makes me braver. ‘You’ve done a bad thing, but you’re not man enough to admit it, so I’m going to do it for you. I’m going to say something tomorrow, David, and I don’t care who believes me. People need to know what you’re capable of.’

  ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’

  The door swings open and Bettina comes out carrying a box of empties. She stops in her tracks.

  David stares at me and whispers, ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’ Then he walks straight past her.

  She shifts her gaze to me. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. We had a difference of opinion.’

  She is unsure whether to leave me or not. I force a smile and go back inside, tripping on an uneven step and crying out when I wrench my ankle. My elbow hurts like crazy and when I cup it with my hand, my fingers probing gingerly, I feel a tear and the wet stickiness of blood. My dress. Somehow this hits me harder than David’s words. The perfect end to a shitty night.

  Upstairs, I’m so shaky that I have to sit down on one of the leather sofas. There’s a half-full glass on the floor – there have been several of those, discreetly left behind chairs and other objects. I knock back the dregs, not enjoying the tepid stickiness of it, my eyes watering. GZ is never going to take off here, however much they spend on it. It’s disgusting. It was a mistake trying to make it cool. Shame Paige said no to making the ad funny. I can’t help feeling pleased about that.

  There aren’t many people left. Eddie and Jamie are helping the chippie load the dismantled stage set, Bettina is holding a ladder while someone else unties the banners. The band have packed up with practised efficiency and are about to go. I slip my shoes off and get up to thank them, limping over to the stage, the soles of my tights snagging on the floorboards. Someone else is already talking to the lead singer.

  ‘Fun evening,’ he says, turning to me. ‘Phoebe’s gutted that she’s missed out.’

  Elliot.

  I speak to the band members, complimenting them and promising to bear them in mind for other promotional events, not mentioning that anything else is now beyond my power. I feel desperately sad. This is it. I am no longer an employee of Gunner Munro.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Bettina asks.

  I surprise myself by replying honestly. ‘No.’

  ‘What was David having a go at you about?’

  ‘Nothing important.’

  I walk away, not wanting anyone to witness my reddening eyes, and hobble towards the door.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ she calls after me.

  I hear footsteps and spin round, expecting Bettina hot on my heels, curious and persistent, but it’s a man.

  ‘Laura, what’s the matter? What’s happened?’

  I glance at the hand he’s holding out, with its platinum wedding ring. Elliot again. The relief is so huge that I struggle to hold back the tears.

  ‘Talk to me,’ he says, drawing me into a shadowed corner.

  ‘I’ve got blood on your shirt.’

  ‘It’ll come out in the wash.’

  I sniff and wipe my eyes. ‘It’s been a tough week, but I’m fine. Really. How’re you getting home?’

  ‘I’ll get the tube. Are you ready to go?’

  ‘I will be in ten minutes. Let me say goodbye to everyone.’

  Either no one notices, or they’re too polite to mention my smudged make-up and tear-stained face. David has gone already, and I’m so thankful I don’t have to speak to him again. Tomorrow I’m just going to whizz in and out, collect my belongings and say my goodbyes. I feel a sense of failure; an anti-climax. I’ve been playing a silly, dangerous game, in which the only person to be made a fool of is me. For all my brave words this evening, David must know my threats are worthless, that I can do nothing, prove nothing, accomplish nothing. He’s itching for me to be gone so that he can move on and put his nasty, grubby little secret behind him. And what can I do? I can’t go to the police, because I won’t be taken seriously, and I don’t want to be made to feel any smaller. His wife knows about his affair, so that bubble has been popped. He’ll just deal with it. I could ask everyone to gather round, then tell them what happened. A couple of people might believe I didn’t know who I slept with; others will suspect I had an inkling; some will think it’s sour grapes. Someone will mutter, ‘She’s finally lost it.’

  Rebecca comes over to thank me for all my hard work, her coat already on. Her manner is odd. Maybe the message got through and she knows that her love affair isn’t a secret any more.

  ‘We’ll see you in the morning, won’t we?’ she says.

  I nod, and she wanders off. I look after her, bothered. My actions have hurt her.

  ‘I am going to miss you so much,’ Eddie says, hugging me. ‘And listen, if someone wants to employ you with a partner, then give me a call. I’ll jump ship.’

  I try to laugh.

  ‘You look depressed.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Laura.’ He touches my cheek. ‘Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean we aren’t friends any more. We can meet up, have lunch, bitch about our bosses. Esther said to ask you to come and visit us as soon as you like.’

  ‘I will,’ I say.

  Jamie and Bettina join us, and they’re so kind and thoughtful, but I can’t help wishing that they would go away. Bettina is leaning against him, almost as though she’s telling me: Look, this is what you turned down.

  ‘We’re going on to Culebras,’ she says. ‘Loads of people have gone already. Are you coming with us?’

  Eddie shakes his head mock-dolefully. ‘Sorry, my nightclub days are over.’

  ‘Ah, Dad,’ she coos. ‘What about you, Laura?’

  ‘Oh, no. I’m completely done in.’

  Neither Bettina nor Jamie try to persuade me.

  ‘You will be in tomorrow morning, won’t you?’ she says.

  I reassure her and see a look pass between her and Eddie. God knows what they’re planning. But it pleases me, and I smile. Security is waiting to lock up. I slip my feet into my flats, wincing at my ankle, put on my coat, and by the time I’m ready to hobble to the station, Elliot has summoned an Uber.

  ‘There’s no way you’re going on public transport in that state,’ he says, opening the door for me.

  ‘I’m not that bad, am I?’ I look into the dark maw of the cab and falter, remembering the last time I did this. Then I get in and move right up into the corner. Elliot follows suit, leaving a decent, unthreatening space between us. If he hadn’t done that, if he had sat right up next to me, I would have got out and run. As we pull away from the kerb we pass Bettina and Jamie, her arm through his.

  Elliot doesn’t say much, and I suppose it does feel odd, being thrown together like this, but when we reach Kentish Town, he suggests we have a quick drink in the pub and as I’m so tightly wound that the thought of closing the door to my flat makes me feel like a jack-in-the-box, I agree.

  39

  Laura

  UNFORTUNATELY, ELLIOT PICKS the same pub I went to with Jamie, and the memory of that night troubles me.

  ‘That looks sore,’ he says, indicating my reddened fingers.

  I quickly move my hands to my lap.

  ‘It’s stress,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘It’ll clear up now that’s all over.’ I change the subject. ‘Did you enjoy yourself? I’m sorry I ignored you for most of the evening.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I could see you were rushed off your feet. Red Wing were excellent. And there was free booze and food. What’s not to like?’

  It’s
easy to misread people, particularly in my peculiar situation, and I want to tell him that he’s grown on me, but I hold back because I sense it might overstep the mark.

  ‘GZ?’ I suggest.

  ‘Yeah, it wasn’t great. But, honestly, I’m not complaining. I had a good time and it was interesting to watch you in action. You were a ball of energy, bouncing around the room.’

  Only so that I didn’t have to stop and talk to people.

  ‘I appreciated you taking care of yourself,’ I say, after a pause. ‘And thanks for bringing me back. I didn’t realize how knackered I was until I got in the cab.’

  I don’t think he’s had as much to drink as I have, either that or he can hold it better. I check my elbow. There’s a tear in the sleeve, not a huge one, but the dress is ruined. I carefully pick strands of chiffon out of the wound and pat it dry with a tissue.

  ‘Phoebe could do something about that. She’s amazing with a needle and thread. You’ve had quite a night, by the looks of it.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Why were you so upset? I got the feeling it was more than just because you were leaving.’

  ‘Very perceptive. Someone … actually, do you mind? I’d rather not talk about it. It’s over now and after tomorrow I need never see them again. I’m so glad I’ve made friends with you and Phoebe.’ My words slide on my tongue; come out soft at the edges. The GZ effect. ‘She’s such a lovely person.’

  ‘She is,’ Elliot agrees.

  ‘Where did you two meet?’

  ‘In Covent Garden.’

  He tells me the story and then he asks me where I met my boyfriend, and I frown. What boyfriend? Is he fishing?

  ‘I’m currently single,’ I say, jokingly.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘I thought … Well, I must be mistaken.’

  ‘Not that it’s beyond the bounds of possibility, of course.’

  He smiles. ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘So, Elliot,’ I say, moving on swiftly. ‘Tell me about your brothers and sisters.’

  ‘I’m the youngest of three; all brothers. They’re cool. We get on all right these days, but we took the piss a lot when we were kids. At least my brothers took the piss out of me. I followed them around like a puppy.’ He looks sad, then he smiles and takes another swig of beer. ‘But I was an annoying little tyke, constantly playing practical jokes, so I can’t blame them.’ He raises his glass. ‘Here’s to our siblings, may they never have the satisfaction of knowing how much they screw with our heads.’

  ‘I’m the youngest of three too. We’ve got something in common.’

  ‘So we do.’

  In the pause that follows, I wonder whether Jamie and Bettina have slept together yet. And if I am flirting with Elliot. If so, I admonish myself, I should stop right now. Punters are beginning to leave and every time the door opens I get a blast of cold air. I know that it’s time to go, but I’m reluctant. My flat is waiting for me, but after that, what? Once the official goodbyes are over tomorrow morning, the future looms, daunting in its emptiness. My instinct is to go to Mum’s and hunker down for a few days, but I’m getting too old for that now; I have to make my life work for me.

  ‘Penny for them?’ Elliot says.

  I smile. ‘Just thinking. It’s going to be strange not having a job to go to.’

  ‘Make a plan. That’s the best cure for staring into the abyss.’

  I look at him, wondering how he knows that’s how I’m feeling. Has he been there? Or does he just understand? It’s nice that someone does.

  ‘I think I might go and visit Mum. Or maybe my sister in Paris.’

  ‘Paris sounds more fun,’ he says.

  ‘Mais oui. Paris est très amusant.’

  ‘Don’t you go all cultured on me now. Just as I was beginning to think you were normal.’

  When we’ve finished our drinks, I insist on buying a round. I don’t want to go home because I have a feeling that once I’ve closed my door, I won’t come out again; I’ll retreat from life, from friends. Having Elliot here, joking with me and telling me about his life and his job, gives me hope. We talk until last orders are called, and then we roll out into the night, Elliot supporting me.

  ‘Look at the moon,’ I say, stopping and leaning my head back, swaying slightly, one hand on his arm.

  Elliot looks up. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. Do you know which stars are which?’

  ‘I know Orion’s Belt and the Great Bear. Apart from that …’

  ‘Ursa Minor looks more like a mouse, if you ask me.’ I trip, and he puts his arm around my waist.

  ‘How’s that ankle?’

  ‘Painful,’ I whimper.

  I like the strength in his arm and the smell of his aftershave. I like his shiny suit because it’s true to who he is. I like his voice with its hint of Estuary. He’s a bit flash, is Elliot Hill, but there’s nothing wrong with that. God, I’m pissed.

  We arrive outside the house all too soon and the dread starts to crawl back under my skin. While he pats his pockets, searching for his keys, I lean against his car. He finds them, but they slip through his fingers, falling with a clatter between the kerb and the back wheel.

  ‘Shit.’

  Trying to be helpful, I get down on my hands and knees and scrabble in the dirt to find them. I press the button and the locks click as I heave myself back up with the help of the door handle. The interior looks so inviting, and my head feels woozy. I crawl into the back, chucking a couple of brightly coloured plastic toys, along with a digger truck and a fire-engine, into the baby seat.

  I curl up and push myself into the corner. It’s chilly, the frost already creeping over the windscreen, the moon casting a white glow across it. My head spins slowly. What am I doing?

  Elliot pops his head in the door and peers at me, red-nosed, a scarf around his neck. ‘You can’t sleep in here.’

  ‘Don’t see why not.’

  ‘Because you’ll get hypothermia for a start.’

  I giggle, then stifle it. ‘True.’ I hold out my hand. ‘You get in too.’

  His face tenses and I know I’ve gone too far.

  ‘Laura. Come on.’

  He tries to pull me out, but I start crying. He sighs and gets in and pulls his coat around us both. I rest my head on his shoulder and we sit in silence for several minutes. The street is empty, the houses quiet.

  ‘I want to go home now,’ I say, as though I’m expecting him to put the key in the ignition and drive me somewhere.

  ‘OK. You’re the boss.’

  As I limp to the front door, I glance up at my darkened windows and tense every muscle. I’m not sure I want to go in, but Elliot manoeuvres me out of the way so that he can get his key in the lock, and it’s too late. At the bottom of the stairs, we pause, eyeing each other awkwardly. I want to laugh out of sheer nervousness. I debate asking him to come up and check the flat for monsters under the bed, but he might think I mean something else. I might mean something else. I remind myself that I do not make good choices when I am drunk.

  I reach to give him a goodnight kiss on the cheek, but he catches me round the waist and pulls me against him. He crushes his lips on to mine. I taste beer and a residual hint of GZ. I push him away, but not aggressively. Gently, like I regret it. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  ‘Better not.’

  ‘Why not?’ he says, reaching for me again.

  I avoid his hand. ‘Cos you’re married, and I live here.’

  ‘Phoebe won’t know.’

  ‘Not a good idea. Night night, Elliot.’

  It’s my turn to fumble for my keys and drop them. Elliot picks them up and hands them to me.

  ‘You should be careful what kind of signals you give out,’ he says. His face is like stone.

  ‘What?’ I’m already halfway up the stairs.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about. If you don’t mean anything by it, don’t give men the wrong idea. It makes you a tease.’

>   A tease? A memory hits me in the solar plexus. Someone accused me of that before. In a letter. No one likes a tease. I stare at Elliot and he glares back. I can hear the house, the water in the pipes, the tick of the electric meter, the spiders spinning their webs. I need to get away from him, and I need to do it fast. I’m trembling from my feet to my hair follicles, but the light is dim, and he doesn’t appear to notice. Have I made a mistake? After everything that’s happened, all that I’ve done, was I wrong about David Gunner? Has my attacker literally been under my nose all along?

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he answers sulkily. ‘Never mind. Actually, I think I’ll go to my sister-in-law’s. I don’t fancy being on my own tonight.’

  I nod and back away, suddenly sober. I mustn’t hurry. I don’t want him to know what I’m thinking and feeling, the shock and revulsion. At the top of the stairs, standing outside my door, I hear him go into his flat. My shoulders drop. I let myself in and stand with my back pressed against the door panels.

  I think back to every meeting I’ve had with my neighbour and reassess his behaviour. Sometimes he’s been kind, sometimes he’s behaved as though I’m an encroaching nuisance. There was that time I overheard him saying, ‘Thank God she’s gone.’ There was the day I met him on the tube. My stomach cramps. Maybe it wasn’t the first time. How often have we sat directly opposite each other on the way to and from work? Where was he on the night of the twenty-second of December? Where was Phoebe? Was she home, or had she, like Felicity Gunner, gone on ahead to family? No, it’s not possible. I can’t demolish my entire argument over one word. It was David. I have no doubt about that.

  I crave my bed so badly that I can barely keep my eyes open. Leaning against the wall with a deep sigh, I drop my bag at my feet and feel for the light switch, blinking in the sudden glare.

  Something feels strange; some kink in the atmosphere that makes my hair stand on end. I catch the faintest scent of cigarette and breathe deeper, flaring my nostrils. But it’s gone.

  ‘Hello?’ I reach down and set my shoes quietly against the skirting.

  There’s no response. My bedroom door is slightly ajar, and I can’t remember precisely, but I think I left it wide open. I usually do, otherwise it becomes stuffy while I’m out.