by Nikki Smith
By Wednesday afternoon I’m growing steadily impatient to leave work. I’ve got visions of the piece of sticky tape hanging from the door frame as Jack wanders around my flat, opening cupboards and drawers to glean information about who I am now. Without him. I’m so busy watching the clock, I don’t see Sarah walk up to the counter. I’ve been going down to the canteen as late as possible to avoid her. Her make-up is flawless, but I’m wary of what she’s hiding underneath. Her impeccable appearance makes me even more embarrassed to remember that the last time we’d met I’d been a sweaty mess.
‘You look like you’re miles away!’ She waves the book she borrowed in my face. ‘I just finished this one, so I thought I’d return it whilst I’m here. And I wanted to see how you were after the other day as I haven’t seen you in the canteen this week.’
She waits for an explanation. I don’t offer one. I was certain I could remember her hurting me before, but now I’m not so sure. I avoid looking at her by pretending to stare at my computer screen, wondering if it’s me that can’t be trusted. Perhaps I’m just imagining what she did, confusing her with Jack, and it’s his hand on my arm that I can actually remember. I click my mouse a few times as I swallow and try to work out what to say to her as she’s still waiting for me to reply.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I say. ‘It was just a misunderstanding.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m good. Shall I take that for you?’ I hold out my hand for the book and she passes it to me.
‘Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch?’
‘Sure.’ I smile but am already thinking of ways to avoid her as she walks out of the door.
I glance at the clock. It’s almost four and I want to get home. Picking up my bag, I shout goodbye in the direction of the shelves where Mrs Painter is sticking up cards on which customers have hand-written reviews of their favourite books. She pulls off strings of Blu-Tack and presses a ball on the back of each card.
‘You off then, Alison? I’ll see you tomorrow. Can you make sure you log off from the computer?’ She marches back up the aisle towards me and glances at the blank screen as she fiddles with the mouse. I know she isn’t going to be able to resist ensuring I’ve done it properly. Ever since the incident in the photocopier room she’s been more vigilant in checking up on me. I want to tell her that I know what I’m doing but don’t get a chance before she says, ‘As long as you’ve checked it, you’re free to go,’ and walks back down the aisle. Even though I’m sure I’ve already done it, I check she’s not watching and push a button on the keyboard. I’m reassured when the screen stays blank; I hadn’t forgotten.
The sticky tape is still attached to my front door and the frame when I get home. My heart sinks. I’m desperate to prove Jack’s been here. There isn’t any other logical explanation for the letters. Everything inside is as I left it this morning. My pens are in the same order on the kitchen table. I open my bedroom drawer very slowly. All the balls of socks are stacked up neatly. Nothing has been disturbed.
I take out all the letters from inside my notebook and read them again slowly. I wish things could have been different. Me too. Why didn’t you talk to me? I did talk to you. At one point, I couldn’t stop talking. You never listened. Please write. There’s no way I’m going to contact you. Not after what you did. I need you to remember how we used to be. I don’t want to remember.
What do you want with me Jack? You ruined me and now I have nothing left to give. We’d been happy once. Or that’s what I’d thought. I know I hadn’t just imagined the way you used to look at me. The things you used to whisper in the dark. The way your breathing slowed when my hand reached for yours and held it tightly, reassuring you I was still there. I wish I could forget what you did afterwards. I shudder. I won’t let myself think about that.
I stare at the pages in my lap. I’ve been picking at one
of the letters without even realising it, tearing bits off the edges, and now there’s only a small piece of paper left with most of the words missing and my trousers are covered in pieces of white confetti. I brush them onto the floor in horror, then gather them up in my hand, trying to work out if I can fix what I’ve done, but the pieces are too small and it’s an impossible task. I can’t work out which bit goes where. For a moment I think I’m going to cry, but I realise it’s futile. I can’t undo something I’ve ruined beyond the possibility of repair.
THEN
Jack
I leave work early to get something to eat and tidy the flat before Em and Harry come over. All the lights are turned off in Harry’s office as I walk past. He didn’t tell me he was going home, but I don’t blame him, I haven’t been particularly helpful this week. The pile of paperwork on his desk is almost as high as the one I’ve left on mine.
I pick up some prawn crackers and a Thai green curry that looks large enough to feed us all from Marks and Spencer on the way home. They are easy guests; we’ve been friends for so long, I know they’ll eat pretty much anything. I hope Em won’t bring up whatever she came round to talk about on Monday as my recollection of the evening I spent at their house is still hazy. I have a vague memory of her putting me in a taxi and shutting the front door before the cab drove off, but I still don’t remember our conversation. Harry hasn’t replied to my text, so I’m convinced I must have said something to upset her. I’ll apologise when I see her later. I hesitate in the last aisle before the checkout, and stick a couple of bottles of Valpolicella in my basket. Ali’s favourite.
She’d always had a bottle open on the table when I’d met her after work in the small Italian restaurant that was halfway between our two offices. The first time we’d been there I’d baulked at the red and white gingham tablecloths, paper napkins and fake plants, but the food had won me over. The owner had got so used to seeing us that he’d stopped giving us menus. Ali had laughed when the waiter handed her a rose alongside her dish of capesante alla veneziana, and when we’d walked back to the bus stop, the couple of hours together had replenished the tenderness between us that was too often eroded by everyday life. I’d relied on those evenings during that last round of IVF. They were one of the things that had held us together, even though by then the flavour of the food had been tainted by my guilt.
When I arrive, the bus stop in the centre of town is crammed with commuters, all impatient to get home. I’ve just missed one and there’s a ten-minute wait for the next. I hate travelling at this time in the evening. The smell of offices, of stressful work meetings, lingers unpleasantly on everyone’s clothes.
The handle of my cheap plastic carrier bag starts to cut into my palm. When the bus finally pulls up, I stand in the aisle, the bottles bumping against my legs every time we stop, a constant reminder I shouldn’t have bought them in the first place. I jump off a couple of stops early and walk the rest of the way back, the indent in my hand growing deeper with each step.
Em and Harry said they’d be here at seven; I have an hour. I hold up my key fob to let myself in through the main entrance and almost reach my flat at the end of the corridor when a man emerges, a couple of doors away. I keep walking and put the key in the lock quietly, hoping he won’t notice me.
‘Jack?’
I shut my eyes briefly and then look round, a polite smile fixed on my face. I can’t remember his name, I think it might be Tom.
‘Hi,’ I reply, not moving. His keys jangle as he puts them in his pocket.
‘Haven’t seen you for a while?’ he says.
I shake my head, looking back at my front door. ‘No, I’ve been busy.’
‘How are you?’
‘Yes. Not too bad.’ I force myself to keep smiling as I adjust my grip on my shopping. The bottles clink together and he stares at me.
‘I saw your father-in-law the other week,’ he continues. He hesitates, debating whether to say anything else.
I remain silent, hoping now we’ve exchanged pleasantries he’ll leave. I hardly know him a
nd we’ve only spoken on the odd occasion when we pass in the corridor. He’s got a baby. Gracie, I think he said her name was. I hear her crying sometimes and have to turn up the radio in my kitchen to block out the sound. He’s probably heard the rumours and is digging to see what information he can find out to pass onto the local grapevine.
My grin fades as he walks towards me. He’s not going anywhere.
He lowers his voice. ‘He didn’t look well. Poor guy. I guess it’s not surprising. Edward, isn’t it?’
I fight to turn my key in the lock. ‘Yes, it is. But he’s fine.’ I’m determined not to lose my temper. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a few things to do, so better get on. Good to see you.’
I finally manage to get the key to turn and almost fall into my hallway in my urgency to get away from him. I sense he’s still standing behind me, but I slam the door shut before he has a chance to ask anything else. Taking a deep breath, I dump the food on the counter and put the bottles of wine away in the bottom cupboard. Out of sight, out of mind, I tell myself. And not to be opened tonight. I have too much to do this weekend.
I stick the curry in the oven and attempt to tidy the flat whilst setting the table in the lounge. I rarely make the effort to eat in there now. I gather my unopened letters together into one pile and put them on the kitchen counter. I’ll sort through them properly later. I change out of my work clothes, have a quick shower and put on some decent aftershave before I check my email. There’s one from the DVLA. I scan through it and see it has all the information I asked for. Good. Everything’s ready. There’s still nothing from Sarah. I’ll give her until tomorrow morning.
At six fifty-five, my phone buzzes. A message from Em.
Slight disaster, Jessica’s not well. Harry’s going to stay with her as he’s not feeling too good either. He thinks he might have the same thing, but I’m still coming if that’s OK with you?
I hesitate before texting back.
Great, but only if you’re sure.
I sound more enthusiastic than I feel. It would have been easier with Harry here tonight, but Em’s been so good to me over the last year, I don’t feel I can refuse. The anxiety I felt when she was here on Monday swills around in the bottom of my stomach like the fourth glass I shouldn’t have had last night. Em and I had promised not to keep secrets from each other and I’ve always kept to what we agreed, with just one exception.
I open the door to let in some fresh air as the smell of Thai curry wafts through the flat. It reminds me of the Khao San Road. The first time I’d been abroad further than Spain. The place had been heaving with other students on their gap year, all high on adrenaline and the excitement of being far away from home with no responsibilities. Ali and I had flirted in one of the clubs, pressing up against each other in the dark heat of the dance floor. I had wanted to feel every inch of her skin against my own and hadn’t been able to get close enough before the energetic beat forced us apart as the strobe lights flashed faster, leaving my fingers empty, wet with tiny beads of sweat from her neck.
The doorbell chimes and I peer at the video entry screen. It’s Em. Unlike other visitors, she stands back calmly from the camera, her image clear on the screen, confident she’ll be let in. Most people put their face too close to the panel, desperate to show who they are, which actually makes them more difficult to see.
I squint at myself in the hall mirror, one last check on my appearance before pressing the button on the intercom.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she says, sounding out of breath when I open the door moments later. ‘What a bloody disaster. Jessica puked everywhere. I’m just glad to get out and leave Harry to deal with it.’ She hands me a bottle of Merlot and glances at her phone. ‘He hasn’t texted yet, so I presume he’s coping.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply as she steps inside. ‘We’ve got Thai.’
She smiles. ‘That sounds great.’
‘It’s bought, I’m afraid. Not home-made. But at least there’s less chance of me poisoning you to make your situation at home any worse.’
She laughs. ‘I hadn’t considered that possibility. Can I stick my jacket somewhere?’
I nod. She opens the door of the small cupboard in the hall. The light comes on automatically and she hangs it on a hook next to one of Ali’s old coats. I keep meaning to give it to Edward. There’s no point in me keeping it here.
‘D’you need a hand with anything?’ she asks.
‘I think it’s pretty much all done.’
She follows me into the sitting room and pours us both a glass of wine. I fill up my tumbler of water and raise it towards her, swallowing a couple of mouthfuls whilst leaving the dark red liquid in my glass untouched. I glance at the clock. Two minutes to eight. I’ll allow myself a mouthful at eight fifteen. I’m determined to make this one last the whole evening.
She looks at me. ‘Harry said you were off work yesterday afternoon.’
I blow on a forkful of curry. ‘Yes. I felt lousy in a client meeting and had to come home.’
Em hesitates. ‘Were you hungover?’ she asks.
‘No!’ My denial is too quick.
She stares at her plate, pushing her rice around with her fork. ‘Harry said you looked like you were.’ She waits for me to speak.
I give into temptation, reach for my glass and take a large gulp of wine, drowning the words I want to say before they leave my mouth. I still have thirteen minutes to go until
eight fifteen, but I can’t talk about this without alcohol. I need to tell her. My throat burns as the liquid slides down. ‘I wrote to Ali,’ I say.
‘You did what?’ She stops eating.
‘Edward and I argued when he came over a couple of weeks ago. He told me Ali didn’t want to see me and I didn’t believe him, so I wrote to her.’
Em stares at me. ‘You’ve always said you didn’t want to see her. What did she say?’
‘Nothing. I got an official letter back advising me to stay away from her.’
‘Oh, Jack. I’m so sorry,’ Em says.
I take another mouthful. ‘I don’t understand why she won’t see me after all this time. I’m still her husband.’
Em fiddles with the stem of her glass as she speaks. ‘Edward told me a while ago she’d said she didn’t want any contact. But that was months ago and I just assumed … when she got … that she’d change her mind.’
‘Well she hasn’t.’ I down the dregs left in my glass. ‘And I know how long it’s been, but I’ve decided I really want to see her. Every time I close my eyes, I’m taken straight back to—’
Em interrupts me as I cover my face with my hands. ‘Don’t think about it. It wasn’t your fault.’ She repeats the same words she’s said so many times over the past year, but I look up as this time she says it with a little less conviction than usual.
‘It was,’ I murmur. ‘It hangs over me like some bloody great shadow. The whole time.’ I glance at her, searching for reassurance.
‘I’ve said this before, Jack. You can’t blame yourself.’ Her voice is flat.
‘I shouldn’t have …’ I stop myself mid-sentence.
‘You shouldn’t have what?’ Her eyes narrow.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I want to retract the words that slip out too easily.
‘I was Ali’s friend too, you know,’ she says quietly.
I don’t answer.
‘Are you sure you told me exactly what happened?’
‘Of course,’ I lie.
‘Because when you came over last week to ours, you talked about her.’ Em puts her fork down on her plate. She hasn’t eaten much. ‘An awful lot about her, actually. You were so drunk. So was Harry. He doesn’t remember what you said, but I do.’
The anxiety that’s been swilling around in my stomach all evening solidifies into a hard ball and rises up in my chest. I cough and take a sip of water.
Em fixes her eyes on mine as she sits back in her chair and looks at me from the other side of the table. ‘Don’t you reme
mber?’ she asks.
I shake my head, trying to think back through the blank fog. My heart races with a sudden burst of adrenaline and there’s a high-pitched whining in my head. Every instinct in my body tells me to leave the room. That I don’t want to hear what she’s about to say, but I can’t move. I have nowhere to go.
‘You should do,’ Em continues. ‘I assumed after I’d put you in a taxi and sent you home that what you’d said had just been the drink talking, but now I’m not so sure.’
I concentrate on keeping my face expressionless. My insides are heavy. I can’t believe she knows and I don’t even remember telling her.
‘You told me what you did to stop Ali leaving,’ Em says. ‘What happened in the car.’
She looks at me and I don’t deny it. The sound of brakes and a sickening thump fills my head, pushing any words out of reach. I blink, not wanting her to see the guilt in my eyes.
‘That’s why you’re drinking so much, Jack.’ She’s right. It helps to blot out those memories. It doesn’t work for others that are so much worse. ‘I think you’re going to have to admit what you did. This isn’t something you’re going to be able to keep a secret. It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds out.’
NOW
Alison
I can’t sleep. I flip my pillow over to try to find a cool spot, tensing my muscles, starting with my toes, until I can’t squeeze them any tighter, and then relax. I count slowly to five while I breathe in, and then out. It doesn’t work. I can still see his face.
When I’d had nightmares as a child, my dad had sat on the edge of my bed with a beaker of warm milk and stroked my hair until I’d fallen asleep again. I get up and pour myself some milk into a cup. The flat is silent apart from the low humming of the microwave as the mug circles on the turntable. I wrap my dressing gown tighter around me as I wait for the timer to count down to zero, then put the drink down carefully on a mat and pull out the letters from my notebook. Two. Where’s the third? I’d put them all away in the same place. I double-check my notebook, flicking through the pages and shaking it upside down to see if the piece of paper has got wedged inside by mistake. It’s not
