by Eleanor Ray
“It must have been hard,” said Amy. She thought of Tim and his father, Alan, lost to each other in their separate griefs. “To be there for the kids when you were trying to deal with your own pain.”
“They were what got me through it,” said Richard. He looked at Amy. “I’m not sure I’d have made it, without them.” For a moment Amy thought he was going to cry. Instead he smiled. “I stopped working, I had to. I needed to be there for Daniel. He was so little. And for Charles too. Best thing I ever did.”
“How did you manage?” asked Amy.
“I had my own architecture firm, and I sold it. Now I freelance there part-time. I spent as much time with the kids as I could, never went out of an evening.” He took another sip of wine. “Then I met Nina, and she seemed lovely at first. I wasn’t sure, you know, that I’d be able to be with anyone else. But you move on. Sounds like we both have. You can’t live in the past.”
Amy nodded, although she wasn’t sure that was true.
“You’ve been through a lot,” she said.
“We all have,” said Richard. “But we’ve plenty to be grateful for too. Join me for another glass?” He rose and went to the kitchen. “I’ll open a new bottle.”
“Thank you,” said Amy. She rested her fingers lightly on the empty bottle in front of her.
“Things with Nina had been bad for a while,” confided Richard, returning. “I could tell she wasn’t great with the kids, but I thought I was being too hard on her. I was comparing her to their mother and that wasn’t fair. But our relationship wasn’t how it should have been either. I can see that now.”
Charles bounded back in, holding a book. Amy glanced at the title: The Encyclopedia of Diggers and Big Machines. “I’ve found something!” he said.
“I think that’s enough detective work for tonight,” said Richard. “Why don’t you keep your brother company watching cartoons?”
“No,” declared Charles. “Amy, look.” He waved the open book in her face. “The 5CX model has wheels, not tracks,” he said. “But in this picture, it’s got tracks. Look.”
Amy looked. “Okay,” she said, not understanding.
“It’s been modified,” said Charles.
“Let me see that,” said Richard. “You’re right.” He grinned at his son. “Nice work.”
“What does it mean?” asked Amy.
“Sometimes the builders request that machines be modified for specialist tasks.”
“So?”
“A modified machine is possible to trace,” said Richard. “We’ll need to call the JCB head office and hope they cooperate. But they might be able to tell us where it was, even eleven years ago.” He smiled at her. “It’s not definite,” he said. “But thanks to Charles, there’s a chance we can find out where this photograph was taken.”
October 2006
“It was a lovely service,” said Tim, holding a small plate of sandwiches for Amy that they both knew she wouldn’t eat. “She would have liked it.”
“I keep thinking she’ll walk through the door,” said Amy. They both looked at the door to the church hall. Suddenly it opened. Amy watched it, filled with a pointless hope.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Chantel, walking straight over to Amy and hugging her. “The train in front broke down.”
“You’re here now,” said Amy.
Chantel took a sandwich and wolfed it down. “Jack thinks carbs are the enemy of fitness,” she explained, “so we don’t keep them in the house. I bloody miss bread.” She looked at Amy. “I’m sorry, Amy,” she said. “But your grandma was always feeding me egg salad sandwiches.”
“She’d want you to have them,” said Amy, attempting a smile.
Chantel took another one. “In her memory,” she said, taking a bite.
Amy’s parents came over and Chantel gave them each an awkward hug. With Amy’s grandmother gone, they were finally going to make the move to El Salvador that they’d been talking about for years. Her mother told them all about the community they’d be helping, but Amy found she couldn’t focus. Tim wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, letting his body carry both their weights.
* * *
A WEEK LATER, and Amy still found herself close to tears whenever she thought about her grandmother. Everything seemed to remind Amy of her, from an egg sandwich to a framed photo to a child clutching a teddy bear. She still couldn’t bring herself to sort through her grandmother’s things, though her parents were keen to get the house on the market before they left. Amy just wasn’t ready.
The doorbell rang, and Amy dragged herself up to answer it. A motley assortment of children stood on her doorstep with smudged face paint and witches’ hats. “Trick or treat!” they declared in unison, thrusting a bucket towards her. An apologetic-looking adult stood behind them.
“Oh,” said Amy. She’d forgotten all about Halloween. “I might have some oranges.” The children looked disgusted. Fortunately Tim chose that moment to return home, clutching a large object covered in wrapping paper and a giant bag of lollipops. He put the package down and grabbed a generous handful of lollipops and dropped them into the bucket.
“Oranges!” he exclaimed as they left. “The kids would be within their rights to cover our house in toilet paper!”
“What’s that?” said Amy, looking at the package.
Tim grinned at her. “It’s Halloween. Do you know what that means?”
“You’re not dressing up, are you?”
“Get inside the house,” he said, picking up the package. “I’ll reveal all.”
Amy sat on the sofa and Tim put his package down with a clink. “Well, open it,” he said.
Amy obeyed. Inside was a small palm tree in a pretty lilac pot. “What’s this for?”
“Our anniversary,” said Tim. “You forgot, didn’t you? It’s okay. I know you’ve got other things on your mind.”
“It’s lovely,” said Amy, admiring the plant.
“Houseplants in terra-cotta pots always get me in the mood,” said Tim, leaning in to nuzzle Amy’s neck.
“Weirdo,” she teased.
“You don’t remember,” said Tim, sitting back. “Do you?”
“Remember what?” asked Amy.
“The first night we were together. Properly together.”
“Of course I remember,” said Amy. “You cooked me dinner. Spaghetti Bolognese.”
“And you bought me a potted fern,” replied Tim, “in an effort to seduce me.”
Amy remembered. Then she laughed, the first time she’d been able to since her grandmother died. “It worked,” she said.
“It did,” replied Tim. He took her hand. “I couldn’t keep the fern alive,” he said. “Back then. I was young and irresponsible.” He looked at Amy. “But I’m not anymore. I’m going to make you my new vegetarian Spaghetti Bolognese recipe and get some water for our new green friend here. After dinner I want to talk.”
* * *
“I’VE BEEN THINKING,” said Tim. They were sitting on the sofa together with a glass of wine each. Plates smeared with the remains of the pasta sauce sat on the coffee table next to their new houseplant. Amy caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror she’d hung on the wall, and she realized how comfortable they looked together. Like an old married couple. Except they weren’t married, she reminded herself.
“Always dangerous,” she joked.
“Money is tight,” he said, “without Chantel’s rent.”
“Do you want to get a new flatmate?” asked Amy, her heart sinking. She shifted away from him a little, almost involuntarily. The image in the mirror changed. If she couldn’t have Chantel in that room, she didn’t want anyone.
“No,” replied Tim. “But I want you to be able to spend some time on your art. It’s your dream.”
“I can’t afford a dream,” said Amy. “I have to work full-time to pay the rent.”
“It’s time for me to pull my weight,” Tim said. “Actually, it’s well past time. Th
e supermarket pay is shit. The band is going nowhere. I should give up on the music. Get a proper job.”
“Music is your dream,” said Amy, sitting back. She looked at the Tim in the mirror, and he looked back at her the same way, talking to each other’s images as though they were at the hairdresser.
“You’re my dream, Amy Ashton,” said Tim. “And you’ve indulged me for years. If I was going to make it, I would have by now.”
“You still could.…” Amy stopped. She realized she didn’t really believe it.
“I have good A levels,” continued Tim, “but no degree and no experience. I’m not going to make loads of money anytime soon, but I’m going to start trying. Media sales, I was thinking. Simon’s brother does it, and he’s going to get me an interview. What do you think?”
Amy didn’t really know what media sales involved, but it didn’t sound like stacking shelves at the supermarket. She turned away from mirror Tim to look at the real thing. He looked back at her, his face earnest. “It sounds great,” she said. “You know I’d love you whatever you did?”
“You’ve proved that,” said Tim with a laugh. “No one can accuse you of being with me for the glamour.”
“You can still write songs?” suggested Amy.
“Of course,” said Tim. He smiled at her. “Songs about selling adverts in Batteries International.”
“Sounds like a hit,” said Amy. She leaned in and kissed Tim, glancing at the mirror again. This time she saw two people who would love each other forever.
Chapter Eleven
“I was starting to think you’d changed your mind.” Liam stood up as she entered the bar. Amy had very much changed her mind. But she’d already canceled once, and to do so again seemed too unkind.
He went to kiss her cheek, but Amy couldn’t face that so she held out her hand. He shook it, and Amy found his hands damp and clammy. She was surprised. He didn’t strike her as the type to get nervous. She found that endeared him to her a little bit more, and she smiled at him. “It was worth the wait,” he said, looking her up and down. She was wearing something she hadn’t worn in years: a silky red shirtdress the color of a cranberry. “Lady in red,” he said, with a little half wink. “This should be a fun evening.” The endearment fizzled away. “Take a seat,” he said awkwardly, as if he realized he was on the back foot again. He gestured to a smart velvet-covered sofa. “I thought you’d like it here. It’s classy. More romantic than a supermarket sandwich.”
“It’s a bit near the office,” ventured Amy, looking around.
“It’s fine,” replied Liam. “None of the others would come to a nice place like this.” He sat down next to Amy and rested his arm on the back of the sofa behind her in a studiously casual manner. Amy looked to the table. Two flute glasses sat beside an ice bucket, concealing most of what was probably a very beautiful bottle. Liam followed her gaze, then leaned forwards, removing his arm as he filled her glass and refilled his own. “I remember you drank Prosecco at drinks after work that time,” he told her, looking pleased with himself. Amy found the shape of the bottle less appealing than wine. Its curves felt exaggerated, like a wine bottle that had had too much plastic surgery. “I got started without you,” he added.
“Sorry I was late,” said Amy. “I had some paperwork to finish.”
“It’s fine,” replied Liam. “I hope you liked the flowers?”
“They were lovely,” said Amy, remembering the roses that had turned up at her house. “But how did you get my address?”
Liam tapped the side of his nose, and Amy realized he must have been through the personnel files. “Beautiful roses for a beautiful woman,” he said.
Amy took a deep swig from her glass. They sat in silence for a moment. Amy realized that although Liam might be nervous, she wasn’t at all. That couldn’t be right. She hadn’t been on a date in more than a decade. She must be feeling something. Amy searched through her mind, looking for emotions.
All that registered was sadness.
She sipped her drink. Although she had accepted a glass of Prosecco at the work drinks, she didn’t really like it. In fact, she didn’t like bubbly drinks at all. Fresh homemade lemonade, red wine, pineapple juice, they were her taste. Tim never used to order for her. Even when he knew her so well, he’d always let her make her own choice.
But Tim wasn’t here, she reminded herself. There were worse things a man could do to you than order you Prosecco when you’d prefer a glass of red wine.
Much worse.
She smiled at Liam, trying to behave like someone on a date might. “So you are new to the company?”
“I’ve been there three months now,” he replied. “And you?”
“Seventeen years,” she said. “Off and on.” He looked startled. “It was meant to be a summer job, while I was at university,” she explained. “Then things happened, and I kind of… got stuck.”
“Lucky for me,” he said with a wink.
Winking. Ordering for her. He wasn’t making it easy for her to like him. She looked at him, searching for something to find attractive. He wasn’t a bad-looking man; he had nice hair, had all his teeth, even if they were a shade too bright. It wasn’t as though she was much of a catch herself, she thought. Middle-aged, emotionally drained, house overflowing. The personals ad didn’t write itself.
Did people still have personal ads? She’d heard the girls in the office talk about online dating and apps. Swiping right. It sounded hellish.
Liam was right here, refilling her drink and saying something. He laughed at whatever joke he’d made, and Amy forced a polite little titter. His shirt buttons were pulling slightly around his stomach. He wasn’t fat, but he wasn’t in shape either. Good. Amy didn’t like muscle-bound men. Chantel had always gone crazy for muscles, but Amy preferred her men a little softer, a little more delicate. She’d always found Jack’s ostentatious strength unnerving—why would you want a partner who could so obviously overpower you with his bare hands? Tim had been perfect. Lean and slender, like a willow tree blowing in the breeze.
Tim isn’t here, she told herself again, taking a swig of her drink. She looked back to Liam. He had nice eyes, she supposed, though they were rather small and close-set. His face was pleasant enough, though his cheeks were on the flabby side. Porcine.
“What was that?” asked Liam, his voice surprisingly sharp.
Damn. She’d spoken out loud. “Pour time,” she said, her voice overly bright, like a highlighter over newsprint. She downed her drink and refilled Liam’s glass, then emptied the rest of the bottle into her own.
“I’ll get another,” said Liam, clicking his fingers at a waitress and pointing at the bottle. The waitress winced and went to fetch the drinks. “Two bottles,” said Liam, more to himself than to Amy. “It’s going well.”
Amy passed no comment. She sipped a fresh glass of Prosecco and discovered she was starting to enjoy the taste. Liam continued to talk, and she found her glass was almost empty, as if there were a leak somewhere. He refilled it for her.
“Have you ever been betrayed?” interrupted Amy, her glass suddenly almost empty again. She held it up and examined the bottom for the leak. The room was too bright, and she blinked hard to stop it spinning.
“What?” said Liam.
“Be-trayed,” repeated Amy, more slowly. “My best friend and my boyfriend ran away together,” she said, letting the words out without thinking.
“That’s awful,” said Liam.
“Bastards,” said Amy. She gestured with her glass, and Prosecco swilled out over her hand. Liam refilled her glass again.
“You know the best way to get over someone…” said Liam.
Amy leaned forwards. “What is it?” she asked.
“Well, you know…” Liam looked uncomfortable.
“No,” said Amy, “I most certainly do not know. It’s not by collecting mugs.” She laughed at herself, and Liam looked confused.
“Get under someone,” he said eventually. Amy looked
at him blankly. “It’s just an expression,” he said.
“Oh, I get it,” said Amy, finding it very funny. She stopped laughing and looked at him. “You mean sex.”
Liam coughed awkwardly, and a little Prosecco escaped his lips and flung itself at Amy.
“Let’s get another bottle,” said Amy.
“Do you want to have something to eat, maybe?” said Liam. “There’s a little place I know—”
“No,” said Amy. She waved at the waitress, who nodded an acknowledgment. “Just drink.” She looked at Liam. “I haven’t been this drunk for years,” she said. “It’s good.”
Something was on her leg. She looked down. It was Liam’s hand, his porky little fingers resting on her knee. She felt suddenly sick. “I need to go home,” she said, standing up. “Scarlett needs me.”
“But you’ve just ordered another bottle,” said Liam, sounding annoyed. “I’ll have to pay for that.”
“Good-bye,” said Amy. She grabbed her bag and hurried outside. What she needed was fresh air. She breathed in deeply outside the bar. It was dark already—perhaps this date had lasted longer than she thought. Amy decided to treat herself to a taxi; she didn’t fancy trying to get the train home in this state. She looked around, but couldn’t see one. She took a step forwards, but lost her balance.
“I’ve got you,” said Liam. She didn’t remember him coming out, but there he was, his arm around her waist.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, shying away at the contact.
“But I thought…”
A taxi drove past and Amy waved at it. It stopped for her and she climbed in.
“Great date, anyway,” said Liam, peering through the window. “Are you free Friday?”
Amy pressed the button and the window closed. The taxi took her away, into the night.
* * *
“EXPECTING A PHONE call, Amy?” Carthika was sitting across from her in the office the next day, grinning. “After your hot date?”
