So Talk to Me

by Marina Johnson

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ says Auntie Bridget. ‘You weren’t to know and nor were we. You’re okay and that’s the main thing isn’t it, Ralph?’

  Uncle Ralph doesn’t say anything and changes gear brutally as we turn into our street.

  ‘Ralph?’ Dad puts his hand on Uncle Ralph’s shoulder.

  We pull up in front of our house and come to an abrupt halt as Uncle Ralph slams on the brakes while simultaneously yanking the handbrake on.

  ‘No, it’s not your fault, mate, course it ain’t.’ Uncle Ralph turns the engine off and rubs his eyes. ‘But I thought you were going to fucking die. Next time you have a hot curry, mate, take some Rennies, have a shit and save us all the worry.’

  ✽✽✽

  ‘Toast?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Please.’ I sit down wearily at the table and watch as Dad fills the kettle and drops bread into the toaster. Skipper appears from the lounge and stands blinking at us from the kitchen doorway. When he’s satisfied it’s us, he makes a bee line for the back door and Dad opens it and lets him out.

  ‘He must be bursting,’ I say.

  ‘Poor little sod. Bet he wondered what the hell was going on.’

  ‘He probably slept most of the time.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Dad shakes his head in disbelief. ‘God knows what that doctor at the hospital thinks of me. There’s me thinking I was having a heart attack and it’s indigestion, talk about embarrassing.’

  ‘He did say it was an easy mistake, Dad, and that you weren’t the first one to make that mistake and you won’t be the last.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He digs his knife into the butter dish, loads it up and slaps a knife full onto the hot toast. ‘But it doesn’t stop me feeling like a complete idiot.’

  He brings my toast over to the table and I tuck in; OMG a slice of toast never tasted so good.

  ‘Well,’ I say between mouthfuls, ‘At least you know your heart’s okay after all of the tests.’

  ‘Yeah, there is that,’ he says ruefully. ‘Although I’ll never hear the end of it from Ralph.’

  No, he won’t, not for years. ‘He was so worried Dad, and so was I. We were frightened we were going to lose you.’ I was so frightened, although I tried to hide it but there’s no fooling Dad. He comes over and puts his arm around me.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, don’t you worry. If anything, this has been a wakeup call for me.’ He straightens up and pats his stomach. ‘Time to start taking care of myself and stop being such a pig; get a bit of weight off.’

  ‘You’re not fat, Dad.’

  ‘No, but I’ve got a bit of a pot belly coming, too much comfort eating.’ He opens the door and lets Skipper back in. ‘Cut the portion sizes down, that’s what I need to do.’

  I smile. It won’t last; he says this at least once a week.

  ‘More toast?’

  ‘No, I’m good. I’ll pour the tea out.’

  ‘I might have a couple more slices, because I’ll probably sleep through lunch.’

  See? Said it wouldn’t last.

  I pour the tea out and carry our mugs over to the table and sit down opposite him.

  My eyes are heavy and I’m looking forward to crawling into bed for a few hours. But I won’t be able to sleep until I know.

  ‘So. About last night?’

  Dad looks at me, eyebrows raised, cheeks bulging with hot buttered toast.

  ‘Was Mum having an affair?’

  Dad shakes his head. ‘No! Of course not.’

  ‘There’s no point in lying Dad, I heard you talking, you might as well tell me.’ Besides, I already know and the sad thing is that I thought I was protecting you.

  I wait while he swallows his toast and washes it down with a mouthful of tea.

  ‘I’m not lying.’ He puts the cup down. ‘Of course she wasn’t having an affair, whatever gives you that idea?’

  Do I tell him about the card and phone calls? What if he doesn’t know? I decide to wait and see what he says.

  ‘It sounded like she was from what I overheard, you said he nearly destroyed us.’

  Dad looks at me thoughtfully.

  ‘You might as well tell me because I’m not going to be fobbed off and despite what you think, I’m not a child.’

  ‘Okay. The reason we didn’t tell you was because we didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Your mother was being stalked.’

  ‘Stalked?’ I’m stunned.

  ‘Yes. Stalked. She’d been getting some weird phone calls. Some weirdo would ring her and say he’d been watching her, had some fantasy that they were having a relationship, that they were going to be together. He said she was sending him messages.’

  ‘Messages?’

  ‘Yeah. Things like when she drew the curtains that meant she loved him, said it was their secret code. If she wore a certain colour to work that meant something else, weird shit like that.’

  ‘He was clever though; if I picked the phone up, he’d put it straight down. I tried answering it and not speaking but somehow he guessed and I never managed to catch him out.’

  The silent phone calls; he would only speak to her.

  ‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’

  ‘We did. They said Mum had to keep a diary of everything that happened; suggested we change our phone number to stop the phone calls. We didn’t want to do that, he would have won then, wouldn’t he? But we were considering it. He was clever though; always withheld his number.’

  ‘Didn’t you have any idea who it was, at all?’

  ‘No. And we tried, went through every person we knew, I knew, your mum knew. Friends, work colleagues, postman, you name it, we suspected them.’

  ‘Surely the police could do something ?’

  Dad shakes his head. ‘Told Mum to keep a diary, record the phone calls, be more self-aware, look at the people around her, you know, notice if she kept seeing the same person, that sort of thing. If we’d known who it was, they could have done something but apart from catching him red handed there wasn’t a thing they could do.’

  I was so convinced that Mum was having an affair. Poor Mum. I feel so bad for doubting her, for being so quick to think badly of her. I think back to her birthday; how I pretended to be ill when we came home from Rojanos because I thought she was cheating on Dad. I avoided her the next day. I feel sick. I could cry.

  ‘Josie?’ Dad is looking at me, concern etched onto his face. ‘Are you okay sweetheart?’

  I pull myself together. ‘Yes, I’m just shocked.’ A horrible thought strikes me. ‘Did he threaten her?’

  ‘No.’ Dad shakes his head emphatically. ‘Not at all. Just seemed to have this idea that they were having a relationship, that she was in love with him and they were going to be together. It spooked us a bit, about the secret code, because that meant that he was watching her sometimes and he obviously knew her because he knew where she lived and worked, so it could have someone she knew, or had met. Stupid really.’ He laughs bitterly. ‘But I started drawing the curtains after he said that, used to drop Mum at work when I could. Thing is, when I think back over those three months before she died, they’re spoiled by him , by someone who had nothing to do with our lives but had an effect on it. Blighted it.’

  He picks his cup up and drains the remaining tea.

  ‘The only consolation I have is that Mum’s last weekend with us was lovely, do you remember? We went to Rojano’s, it was always Mum’s favourite. It least he didn’t spoil that .’

  But he did, at least for Mum. I remember her face when she opened that card; what I took for guilt was fear. I know Mum and I know why she ripped it up and hid it in the bin; she didn’t want it to spoil her birthday, spoil our day. So she hid it and pretended everything was fine so that we could enjoy it.

  ‘I was surprised though, I was sure he would send flowers or something because he seemed to know a lot about Mum and I didn’t think he’d let her birthday just go by. I felt better in a way be
cause he couldn’t have known everything about her. And typically, the postman decided to come early that day. I remember I came downstairs after I got dressed and the post had already come. I went flying back upstairs and burst into our bedroom and Mum took one look at my face and laughed and said stop worrying nothing’s going to spoil today. I was so relieved. Especially when it turned out to be the last birthday she had with us. At least he didn’t spoil that.’

  I reach my hand across the table and hold Dad’s hand and he gives me a sad smile.

  I not going to tell him about the card now; there’s absolutely no point and it’ll ruin his memories of Mum’s last day. I think that’s a secret that I should keep.

  ‘Come on.’ He gets up and pushes his chair back. ‘We need to get some sleep.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘But I’m setting the alarm so we don’t sleep all day, otherwise we’ll be awake tonight.’

  ‘Night, Dad.’

  ‘Night, sweetheart.’

  I have my foot on the bottom step of the stairs when Dad grabs hold of me in a bear hug and holds me tight. We stand clinging onto each other for several minutes before he gently lets me go and I trudge up the stairs to bed.

  I’m so tired I don’t even bother to brush my teeth; I get undressed and put on my pyjamas and collapse into bed. I feel exhausted but will I be able to sleep? My mind is whirling around like a washing machine. I feel so happy that Mum wasn’t having an affair and I got it so totally wrong. But I’m also angry at myself that I even thought she was capable. I shouldn’t have been so disloyal; I should have known that Mum would never betray us. I offer up a silent prayer; if you can hear me Mum, please forgive me. I am so, so sorry.

  Chapter 20

  Robbie

  S o that’s it, it’s all out in the open now and Josie knows everything. Although I was against telling Josie about him, I had no choice when she caught me talking to Ralph. She’s not a kid anymore and really, she had a right to know; it wasn’t fair of me, Ralph and Bridget to keep it from her.

  I suppose, thinking about it, that it must have sounded like Nessa was having an affair from what Josie overheard. Although I was a bit shocked that she could even think that about her Mum because that’s something that Nessa would never, ever, do. She simply wasn’t capable of being that devious or dishonest.

  Nessa and I decided we wouldn’t tell Josie about it when it was all happening because we didn’t want to frighten and worry her. I know Josie would have been fretting every time Nessa left the house and we didn’t want to make her as paranoid as we were. And I think we were right to keep it from her then; it wouldn’t have done any good her knowing.

  I’m still so angry about him, though. I’d like to get my hands on him and make him pay for the worry and upset he caused. I’ve even fantasised about finding out who he is and what I’d do to him to make him suffer, but realistically, we’ll probably never find out who he is now. It’s hardly going to be a priority for the police now, is it?

  The good thing is that Josie seems so much better lately, more like her old self. It’s amazing how much the counselling has helped, I didn’t think after four weeks there’d be such a change. I encouraged her to go because I was desperate for some help for her but to be honest, I didn’t see how just talking could make much difference.

  Maybe I should have some counselling; talk to someone. I’m alright – and better than I was but it never goes away; the gut-wrenching loss. Time’s supposed to be a great healer, and it is, but I almost feel guilty for wanting to get over losing Nessa. When she first died it was horrific; it was as much as I could do to drag myself out of bed every day. Although, when I woke in the morning, for those first few moments, I’d forget that she was gone and life seemed normal for a few seconds before I remembered and then it was like losing her all over again.

  And the dreams; I used to dream about her every night, but I could never remember anything about them, only that she was in them. I used to think stupid things – like if I could time travel, I could go back and change things or travel to the future when it wouldn’t hurt so much. For a few days I was convinced it was all a tragic mistake and Nessa would turn up and tell me it was all a terrible mix up.

  Strange, the way your mind works.

  But the most important thing is that Josie’s getting back to the way she used to be before Nessa died. She’s getting her confidence back and is so much happier and I don’t want to spoil that.

  Which is the reason why I didn’t tell her about the other thing that’s bothering me; he must have known Nessa had died because he’s not rung the house since. No more silent phone calls. Was he watching her when she went to London that day? Has he been watching me and Josie? Were we being watched at the funeral? Was he there at the church? There were so many people at the funeral, work colleagues of Nessa’s, faces that I couldn’t remember. He could have been there. Now Nessa’s not here he’s got no reason to watch the house but I can’t stand not knowing who he is. Is it someone who knows us – is that how he knows Nessa’s dead? Is it one of our friends?

  I could drive myself mad with these thoughts and I have to make a conscious effort to stop myself, otherwise I’ll end up in the nuthouse.

  Look to the future, that’s what we have to do. The past is done.

  I could definitely have done without the humiliating trip to the hospital. Christ, I was mortified. I really thought I was having a heart attack and it was only indigestion! Unbelievable. I’m no wimp but there’s no way I’d have believed indigestion could hurt so much; heartburn is a good description. The thing that terrified me the most was what would happen to Josie if I died? I know that Ralph and Brenda would take her in, course they would, they love her to bits. But I don’t know if Josie could cope with losing me as well, not so soon after losing her mum.

  So of course it was a massive relief when the doc said it was indigestion – and he was very nice about it. Said it was quite a common mistake and not to feel bad about it, better to be safe than sorry and all that. But I did feel a right dick.

  If Nessa was here, she’d have laughed until she cried.

  Except of course it wouldn’t have happened if she was still here because she wouldn’t let me eat so much and make such a pig of myself. I need to make an effort as she was fond of saying so I’d better lay off the pies and start doing a bit of exercise. For Josie’s sake as much as mine.

  Ralph’s never going to let me hear the end of it either, he’ll be banging on about it for the next ten years. Although I caught the look on his face when he came and picked me and Josie up; I think he thought I was going to die.

  All in all, it’s been quite a day.

  Chapter 21

  Josie

  T hings are going right, so right. Amazingly I’m even enjoying going to college. Yes! Really, I feel like a new person or maybe the old version of me before Mum died.

  I still miss Mum dreadfully but I feel I can miss her now without that awful guilt hanging over me about keeping her secret which turns out not to be true at all.

  I’m my own worst enemy; I get on my own nerves. I should have done what most seventeen-year-olds would have done and told someone about it and then the last year of gradually feeling worse and worse could have been avoided. I’d have passed my exams and wouldn’t have hit rock bottom and it would have been easier for Dad too. No, I have to make a complete drama out of it and imagine myself as some noble daughter guarding her mother’s memory.

  See, I am weird, what other seventeen-year-old would do that?

  Although it if I hadn’t been a complete weirdo, I wouldn’t have met Adam.

  Which, I think, means that there’s a reason why everything happens the way it does. I feel so bad about thinking Mum was a cheat when she was being stalked and I have to forgive myself for that. Because I wasn’t in my right mind, I was grieving. Still am.

  I just wish that Mum and Dad didn’t have the stalking to spoil their last few months but I can’t do anything ab
out that so there’s no point in worrying about the things that can’t be changed, this is what Adam always tells me and he’s right.

  He’s late today, or maybe I’m early. I don’t know. I’m bursting to tell him about Mum and the stalking because I don’t like him thinking badly of her. He probably hasn’t given it a second thought, but I need to put the record straight.

  I keep looking at my watch and he is late; a good ten minutes. I feel a bit annoyed, that’s ten minutes of my time gone and I only get thirty minutes. We never run over the thirty minutes even if he’s late arriving, he says it just puts all the appointments back if we run over. I don’t think it’s fair that Adam has to go to lots of different rooms for different appointments. Why can’t he just see all of his clients in here? He says it’s a matter of client confidentiality, that by going to a different room for each client none of us being counselled ever see each other. We’re not all sitting in a waiting room looking at each other wondering what the others are here for, would be pretty awks if you think about it.

  I suppose it makes sense; I don’t care who knows I’m having counselling now but I did when I first started coming. I didn’t want people to know and the thought of sitting in a waiting room with other people would have been horrific. Urgh.

  He must have some really needy clients, although obviously he never tells me. Whenever he’s late it because someone else has overrun and I always feel a little bit jealous because our sessions always end on time.

  ‘Sorry!’

  Adam comes crashing through the doorway looking flustered and my annoyance disappears. I’m just so pleased to see him.

  He bangs the door shut and sits down opposite me, out of breath.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘Bit of a situation, nearly never got here at all.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘I’m really sorry.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Because it’s cut our time down quite a bit.’ He flips his note book open. ‘Or maybe the next client will have to wait.’ He gives me a lovely smile.

  I feel a fizz of happiness; he’s never said that before.