Envy

by Amanda Robson

  ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I was engrossed. Didn’t notice you. Can I help?’

  ‘I’m from the local florist. I’ve got a free bunch of flowers to give to someone who would appreciate them. Is there anyone on this ward who’s a bit lonely?’

  ‘How thoughtful. How kind,’ the nurse says. ‘Mrs Kennedy is nearly always alone. First on the right.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I turn around. I enter the ward and move towards a lady with soft white hair, framing an oval face. She is sitting up in bed, wearing a pink cardigan over her hospital gown. Her eyes light up as I approach.

  ‘What beautiful flowers,’ she says.

  ‘I’ve brought them for you.’

  She frowns. ‘But I don’t know you, do I?’

  ‘No. I just had some flowers to give away, and wondered whether you’d like them?’

  ‘We’re not allowed to keep them on the ward. The nurses let us keep them in the TV lounge, but I go in there a lot.’ She sits looking at them, as I stand in front of the bed holding them. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Would you like to touch them? To smell them?’

  ‘Yes please, dear.’

  I move to the side of her bed and place them on the bed tray in front of her. She buries her face in them, inhales their scent.

  A random old lady. A new connection. My surrogate grandmother. I will visit her again.

  197

  Faye

  Phillip is standing in the middle of our sitting room opening a bottle of wine. In the past we would have had champagne. But I will never drink champagne again. Not even at a wedding. He pours us a glass each. We clink glasses, and kiss.

  ‘So good to have you home,’ he whispers.

  ‘Good to be here.’

  He steps back from me a little, smiles and raises his glass again. ‘To a new start. No looking back.’

  I smile weakly without raising my glass. ‘I can’t manage that. I need to look back first.’

  He frowns. ‘How come?’ he asks.

  ‘I need to face what happened. To deal with my demons.’

  ‘Your demons? Jonah and Erica. Which one of them haunts you more?’

  ‘They both haunt me in different ways.’ The wine glass trembles in my unsteady hand. I begin to cry. Tears stream down my face. I feel empty; panicked inside.

  ‘At least Jonah is gone now. But Erica, she is coming back,’ I continue. ‘I even thought I saw her as we left the hospital. But it wasn’t her. It was someone far slimmer, just with similar eyes.’

  ‘She won’t come back because of the restraining order.’

  ‘She will. We need to warn the police. Tell them about her. The woman I saw is an omen.’

  ‘No. No. Faye. You need to stop catastrophising right now.’

  He pulls me towards him and holds me against his chest. So tight I can hardly breathe.

  198

  Phillip

  ‘You need to stop catastrophising, right now.’

  I take you in my arms and hold you against my chest. I kiss the top of your head. I hold your body more tightly against mine. I feel the warmth of your breath. Inhale your scent. Camomile and gardenia today.

  ‘Please, Faye,’ I beg. ‘Try not to worry. Erica and Jonah will never affect you again.’

  ‘They will always affect me,’ you reply.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you into bed and then I’ll clear up and take the recycling.’

  You laugh a little. A dry contained laugh. ‘Are you trying to drown me in domestic bliss?’

  I coax you upstairs, into our bedroom, leaving you sitting at your dressing table in your powder pink negligee, removing your make-up. As promised I return downstairs to do my chores.

  I flick the controller for the Sonos. The boisterous tones of Robbie Williams begin to bounce around our living room. ‘I Love My Life’ follows me as I clear the table and begin to stack the dishwasher. When the dining area is clear and the kitchen is tidy, I fill two carrier bags with bottles and paper, grab my coat, and set off to the recycling bins at the end of our road.

  Full moon. Light so bright, like an old black and white film in daylight. The world I am walking through is surreal; hard-edged and sharp. It’s 11 p.m. No one about. I clatter the bottles through the porthole in the recycle bin. They smash as they fall. Breaking glass explodes into the silence of late evening. Then I slip the old newspapers and magazines into the paper bank. Finally I take the bottle of trimipramine from my pocket, and throw the last few remaining tablets down the drain at the side of the road. The empty bottle goes into the recycle bin, straight into the right category: plastics.

  No one will find it now.

  199

  Erica

  It’s raining in wire mesh sheets. The world is grey upon grey, low clouds like pan scrubs, almost touching the ground. But today Mouse isn’t pacing. He is sitting at his dining table playing chess with me. Grey-brown hair falls across his eyes as he leans forwards in concentration.

  I pretend to study the board too, but the movement of my pieces is a lottery. I look across at his wide frowning forehead, at his thick wavy hair, to contemplate what he might be thinking. I imagine a resonant, educated voice in his head advising him of his next move. Doesn’t he know there is no need to concentrate to flummox me?

  Slowly he leans forwards, and moves a knight. He leans back, looks up and pushes his eyes triumphantly into mine. My turn to concentrate now. But that is where I go wrong. I need to concentrate all the time. I begin to move my queen.

  ‘No. No. Erica.’

  I push the upturned palm of my hand towards him. ‘Don’t help me. Don’t tell me.’

  His shining face crumples. ‘But … but … I don’t want the game to be over too quickly. If you move the queen right now it’s over.’

  ‘How can that be?’ I ask.

  He sighs, a long low sigh. ‘I’ll explain.’ There is a pause. ‘Again.’

  ‘Well thanks. But then it isn’t a game now – it’s a training session. So I’ll go and put the kettle on to keep us going.’

  He raises his hands in the air and smiles that smile. The one that makes him seem so handsome. ‘Good. Good. I fancy a cuppa,’ he says.

  I stand up and move into his kitchen area. Shiny. Polished. IKEA trendy. As I fill the kettle I catch my reflection in it. I think Mouse is a bit OCD the way he keeps his flat so clean. He winces when I spill crumbs onto the counter as I slice bread. Or if I splash a little oil as I fry something.

  Thankfully today he isn’t watching as I rummage through the cupboard to find the teabags. As I throw them into two mugs and slop hot water on top of them, quickly pummelling them to release the flavour and then topping them with milk, spilling some on the counter. Usually he stands behind me with a cloth wiping my inevitable slops. Today he is concentrating on the chessboard.

  I move back towards my lesson and hand him his tea.

  ‘Thank you, Erica.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure, Mouse.’

  He takes a sip and puts his mug down on his special mat on the dining table. Mouse never puts glasses or mugs down without a mat.

  ‘If you have a few training sessions you’ll soon get back into the game again properly.’ There is a pause. ‘You need to save the queen. To keep her best movements for the appropriate moment. You must never leave her vulnerable. She is the most important piece on the board. Lose her and you’ve lost the game. Watch this.’ He picks my queen up with his thumb and forefinger, and moves her as I was intending. ‘See. She would have only got two pieces, before being taken. She can move in any direction. She can do much better than that.’

  I shrug my shoulders. ‘I thought two was good.’

  Mouse’s eyes harden. ‘Not good enough for a queen.’ He pauses. ‘Are you still worrying about Faye?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her doing the school run yet.’

  ‘You’ve got to let her go. It’s becoming a competition between us. A competition that Faye always wins.’ He pauses ag
ain. ‘I only win at chess.’

  ‘No you don’t, Mouse. You win on so many counts.’

  200

  Phillip

  I worry about you, Faye, so vulnerable after what has happened. I watch you all the time. Dressing in the morning, pulling on your exercise Lycra, brushing your hair until it shines, tying it back to expose razorblade cheekbones and doe-like eyes.

  I work from home, and watch your every movement. As you relax around the house; as you get back to normal doing household tasks. The way you hold your shoulders. The way you twist your neck. Every movement of your eyes, your face.

  I have been looking after the children. You haven’t left the house much yet. You haven’t been to do the school run. You haven’t been to the gym – you are working out to a video in our bedroom. You haven’t visited Mimi. When you do I will follow.

  What has happened has changed us both. I still love you. One day I may be able to forgive you. But I will never, ever trust you again, my darling Faye.

  201

  Faye

  My first morning back to normal, taking both children to school, because Georgia has started there, part way through the summer term. A baking-hot day. Holding my daughters’ hands, one on either side of me; both too grown up for the buggy now.

  Sweat pools on my forehead and at the back of my neck. I shudder inside. The eyes that watch me all the time have turned into Erica’s eyes. She is watching me now. Sweat begins to pool between my thighs and between my breasts. I look across to where the police told me she used to live and a stab of panic presses into me. I breathe in deeply. Breathe, breathe. I look up at the window of her old flat. The curtains move a little.

  Slowly we walk. Past the space where Jonah used to wait for me in his Jaguar. Past the Lollipop lady. Past the yellow zigzags. Right into the school entrance. Across the school playground – past the School Gate Mafia. Eyes following me. Following me all the time.

  My daughters pull away from my hands, skipping off to join their friends. I watch them joining in a game, racing around at the other side of the play area. Tamsin running at the front of the pack, head back, wind streaming through her fine hair. Georgia’s little legs working overtime, so small, despite all her efforts she is coming last. But she doesn’t care. So excited to be running around with the older girls, giggling and smiling.

  I leave them and walk away, eyes burning into me and pressing against me as I walk across the playground. Eyes that will never go away.

  202

  Erica

  So thrilled to see you doing the school run this morning. I watch you from Mouse’s flat, scuttling past, moving your head from side to side, as if you are looking for someone. Not dressed in Lycra but with a backpack. Is your gym kit in there?

  As beautiful as ever, hair blow-dried and buoyant. Make-up perfect. Just the right amount of blusher emphasising your cheekbones. I like the outfit you are wearing today; very rock-chic. Grungy T-shirt, high-heeled sandals and denim skirt.

  At a guess I’d say you have changed your exercise regime a little and you’re off to see Mimi first. But you are still working out aren’t you? Look at that neat waist, and those colt-like legs.

  203

  Erica

  I am sitting by Mrs Kennedy’s (Rose’s) bed, in the West Mid hospital, feeling relieved that you are back to normal, Faye. The bouquet of lilies I have brought Rose are on her bedside table, waiting for the rather bossy nurse who is on duty today to whisk them away to the TV lounge. It seems hard to believe that something as beautiful as flowers causes respiratory problems in hospitals when they are such a natural occurrence in the wild. Life can be such a shit in so many ways.

  ‘It’s so lovely of you to come and see me again,’ Rose says as she attempts to push herself further up the bed. But her shoulders and arms are so frail and thin. They do not have enough power in them to allow her to move. So I stand up, hold her gently by the torso and help her.

  ‘Is that better?’ I ask, as I fluff the pillow.

  ‘Yes, thank you, dear.’

  ‘Why did you come back?’ she asks when she has settled herself.

  ‘I just thought you could use some company.’

  ‘That’s certainly true.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ I ask.

  ‘Since last December. About five months I think.’ She shakes her head. ‘I fell in my kitchen.’ Her voice falters. ‘It was two days before anyone found me, and I wasn’t very good.’

  ‘How much longer will you be here?’

  She shrugs her bird-like shoulders. ‘I don’t know. They’re looking for somewhere for me to go. I can’t look after myself. I’m not allowed back home.’

  ‘Why are you on your own?’ I ask.

  She irradiates me with her large round eyes of cornflower blue. For a second I see the pretty young woman she once was. She shrugs.

  ‘I was an only child. I never married. I’m ninety-one. My friends and family have all died.’ There is a pause. Silence solidifies in the air between us. After a while Rose’s voice pushes through it. ‘I never thought I’d end up like this. I was so independent. This is such a lonely time.’

  My heart rotates with pity. And suddenly as I look at her wafer-thin skin, riddled with age spots, I know what I want to do. Train to help old people. Get a job in a nursing home. I take a deep breath. But that would be a big, big step for a woman like me.

  ‘What’s your name, dear?’ Rose asks.

  ‘Jennifer Bugle,’ I reply a little too quickly.

  ‘That’s an unusual name. Where are you from?’

  I hesitate. ‘I’ve lived all over.’

  ‘Don’t you have any roots?’

  ‘I have a friend called Mouse.’

  ‘Is Mouse a man or a woman?’

  ‘A man.’

  ‘Have you ever kissed him?’

  ‘No. Not properly.’

  ‘I think,’ she says, looking at me intently with her large round eyes, ‘you should go straight home and kiss Mouse properly.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘There’s nothing as simple as a kiss,’ she says.

  ‘Or nothing as complicated,’ I reply with a smile.

  Our eyes meet and we both laugh.

  204

  Faye

  As I walk through Twickenham I know I am being watched. As I walk into the centre, past M&S Simply Food, past the fishmonger’s. Past WHSmith and Poundland. Across at the traffic lights by Snappy Snaps. They recede as I step upstairs to Mimi’s office.

  Mimi’s face lights up when she sees me. ‘Thanks for coming in,’ she says.

  She is wearing pillar-box red. Her hair is pink. Pink and red clash don’t they? But today, on Mimi, it works.

  ‘How’s my star client?’ she asks as I settle in my usual position in the chair opposite her desk.

  Star client. If I am her star client her business must be even worse than I thought.

  ‘Good,’ I reply as enthusiastically as possible and give her what I hope is a wry smile. ‘How’s tricks?’ I ask.

  ‘Everything’s booming.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well it is for you. Absence makes the heart grow stronger and all that.’ She pauses. ‘Don’t look so surprised. Close your mouth. You look like a guppy. We are not modelling fish food, or at least not yet.’ I try and readjust my expression. ‘Yes, I’ve had so many enquiries about you while you’ve been in hospital. I told everyone you were away on a big modelling assignment.’

  I laugh. ‘Modelling hospital equipment?’

  ‘I didn’t specify.’ She runs her hand along the side of her Mohican. ‘Anyway they were all happy to wait and now you’ve got quite a programme for the next few months.’

  I sit leaning forwards, hands clenched to the edge of my seat, waiting for the negative. What has Mimi got in store for me? Tampon adverts? A toilet paper demonstration? Incontinence pads?

  ‘Super exciting,’ I exclaim. ‘What sort of things?’ I
ask, preparing myself for disappointment.

  ‘First. A wedding fayre.’

  Not too bad. Probably quite fun actually.

  ‘They wanted some older models.’

  Oh, Mimi.

  ‘A fashion show in Bristol. And …’ Mimi stands up and leans across her desk pushing her eyes into mine. ‘Accessorize want you again, for a full-page colour magazine advert. Full face – advertising earrings.’

  ‘That’s fantastic.’

  ‘Dead right it is. And Elizabeth Hurley Beach want you for swimming costumes. You’ll have to have a fake tan.’

  ‘That’s amazing, Mimi.’

  I stand up and hug her.

  205

  Phillip

  You went to see Mimi didn’t you, Faye? I saw you walking out of her office, smile playing across your lips. I know you have good news to tell me later when you come home after the school run. You are at the gym now. I followed you there, before I came back home to check the house again.

  Ground floor first. Where he tied you up and stuck the gun in your gullet. All windows closed and locked. It is such a hot day but we can’t take any risks. No one else will ever get in here again.

  I climb our narrow staircase into Tamsin’s room. I rattle the window locks. Fine. And all fine in Georgia’s bedroom too.

  Into our bedroom, where he lay next to you. Our bedroom, still full of the stench of his death. But I will not open the windows to release the smell. I use reed diffusers and scented candles. I check the windows, then pad upstairs, to the loft extension.

  The loft extension that will always remind me of him, of what happened. I should have listened to you, Faye. I open the door and step inside. Sterile. Antiseptic. Unused. Unnecessary.

  The doorbell rings. I look at my watch – 3:15. Too early for you. I pad downstairs expecting it is a door-to-door salesman to be shooed away. I open the door.