“When? Four years ago? I thought you dumped Simon…?”
“It seemed easier if I told people that. The truth is that he had started seeing some another woman who was working at the new company he joined. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that when you are going through this, life is hell, and I don’t think that there is any other way to get over the pain, but just to go through it. There isn’t a shortcut. You have to face it, understand it’s over, and try to move on in your own time.”
“I know. It just hurts so much…”
“Love wouldn’t be worth having if it wasn’t worth something. And like anything you lose that’s valuable…you miss it when it’s gone…”
“Since when did you get so wise?” I ask, trying to force a smile.
“I’m two years older than you. That’s practically enough time to get a whole new degree from the University of Life.”
We walk a bit further back towards Waterloo, stopping for a while under one of the bridges to browse through the stalls of books for sale outside the National Film Theatre, but then carrying on and sitting down on one of the benches outside the Royal Festival Hall.
“What do you think I should do?” I ask her. “Do you think there is any hope whatsoever, or is it just completely over?”
“Since she told you never to contact her again, I know that you must stop trying to contact her in any way whatsoever for the next few days. You have to give her some time and space to think.”
“And after that? Do you think I should go and see her? Or send her flowers or something? If you were her, would you ever talk to me again?”
“You mustn’t send anything or do anything for a while…Honestly. Leave her alone,” she says, looking at me very seriously. “…I didn’t want to say this before, but since you are asking, if it was me, and not her, then maybe I wouldn’t be so harsh on you…All woman are different, but I can’t help thinking that maybe she is overreacting a little…”
“What do you mean?” I immediately demand, interrupting her in mid-flow.
“I mean,…you slept with someone else, which is really, really bad, but after she sits down and thinks about it, maybe she will see it in perspective and understand the how and when of how it happened. To be fair, you did only sleep with Gail after you thought it was finished with Slávka, and when you did it, it was only because you were so upset and desperate for some company …”
“Exactly!” I say, sitting bolt upright, and turning to her. “Exactly. That’s exactly what happened…so you think that she might calm down and forgive me? That maybe…”
“Don’t get excited. I might. But she might not. I have no way of knowing. It depends on her own morals and experiences in life so far. Me?...I’ve had so many crap experiences that this would seem minor in comparison…Alright, so I’m exaggerating, but I might forgive you, whereas Slávka might not. She might come from a background where trust is the most important thing in the world, and that the moment you break that trust, you’re history. Forever. No forgiveness, no going back!”
I sit back in my seat, the flame of hope almost entirely extinguished. “She’s the latter. I know she is. She won’t talk to me again…”
“Maybe. You might be right. But what I would say, is that you should give it a while, say three or four days, with absolutely no contact, then go around and knock on her door with some flowers and a wee note. If she’s not there, leave the note and the flowers and see if she gets back to you. You never know…”
“Absolutely! Definitely. Wednesday or Thursday? When should I do it?”
“Leave it till Thursday. Then go around in the evening when you know she will be there, before she would have time to go out to visit a friend or something.”
And so, my plan is born. And for the first time that day I notice just how green the leaves are on the trees and that the sun is shining.
.
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The next few days are amongst the slowest days I have lived on this planet. Each second ticks by at a fraction of the normal speed and seems to last an age. I spend the moments planning just what I am going to say to Slávka when I see her, and fighting the urge to send her more text messages or pick up the phone to call her.
I miss her.
More than I would ever have believed it was possible to miss another human being. I spend my lunch breaks looking in card-shops and florists, trying to find the perfect “I’m sorry” card to convey my message and I choose exactly which bouquet of flowers I am going to buy on Thursday lunchtime, planning to pick it up straight after work before the florist closes. £120’s worth. The most expensive and impressive and beautiful arrangement they have.
“Say it with flowers”, the sign inside the shop says. Well, for £120 worth, I can’t shout it any louder than this.
.
By the time Thursday evening rolls around, I am a complete bag of nerves. Everyone stares at me on the tube as I head off towards her flat carrying potentially the biggest bouquet of flowers that has ever ridden on a train: I’m surprised that they didn’t charge me the price of another ticket just to carry it. I can hear people whispering all around me, guessing where I’m going and why.
I ignore them all.
My mind is focussed on one thing only: what to say the moment Slávka answers the door and how to stop her from closing it in my face before I get a chance to say what I need to.
“Hi…” I say to myself, silently rehearsing the words in my head,…”These are for you…..I’ve missed you….” Then starting again and again, playing with the words, trying to find that magic combination…
I am still practising and unsure of exactly what to say, as I walk up the stairs to her flat and knock on the big green door.
I hear footsteps.
The door opens.
The woman in the doorway stares at me, and then at the flowers, and then still staring at the flowers and without looking at me in the eye, she says, “I’m sorry. Andrew. You’ve missed her. Slávka left yesterday. She’s gone back to Slovakia…For good.”
Chapter Fifty Three
.
.
The bouquet of flowers falls from my hand and lands on the floor, but I do not seem to notice it fall. I am standing staring at Slávka’s flatmate. I heard what she said, but I don’t understand.
I don’t understand any of this.
Slávka’s flatmate is looking at me, her brain working quickly behind her eyes, trying to figure out what she should do next.
“Perhaps you should come in for a moment,” she suggests. “You look terrible. I think maybe you should have a cup of tea…”
I watch as almost in slow motion I see her bend down in front of me and gather up the spilt bouquet of flowers.
She turns and walks back into the flat, holding open the green door in a silent invitation to follow her in.
“They’re beautiful,” she says, as I slowly walk past her into the hallway. “Why don’t you go into the lounge and sit down while I put the kettle on, and I’ll put these in the sink until you go.”
Dumb with shock I wander passively into the lounge and sit down on the sofa, the same sofa where Slávka and I had made passionate love several times before, when her flatmate was out. The same sofa where Slávka had lain in my arms as I stroked her hair while we watched television.
“You don’t take sugar, do you?” Slávka’s flatmate asks as she returns into the room and hands me a cup of tea.
I stare at the cup and then take a few sips, my senses slowly returning. Slávka’s flatmate curls her legs up on the sofa beside me and sits patiently waiting for me to speak, cupping her tea in both hands.
“Linda,” I eventually ask, “so…when did she leave?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why? Why did she go?” I ask, perhaps stupidly.
“You broke her heart Andrew, and she was in a terrible state. Did you know that she turned down a job in Slovakia to be with you,
…a brilliant job? Her job in the hospital here was finished and I suppose there was no reason for her to stay in England any more. But that’s not the reason. The truth is that she was heartbroken, and I think she’d just had enough. She just wanted to get as far away as possible.”
“She went home?”
“Yes.”
“Will you give me the address?”
“No, Andrew. I won’t,” she says gently, not sternly or with the intention of being unkind. “She told me not to, and she’s my friend.”
“What do I do now?” I ask her, turning to her for advice.
“I don’t know.”
“Did she tell you what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you that I slept with someone else?”
“Yes.”
“But did she tell you why I slept with someone else?”
“Yes, because you didn’t trust her, and you believed what someone else told you in preference to believing her.”
“It wasn’t like that…” I start to protest.
“It wasn’t?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “Listen Andrew, I like you. I always have. But it’s not my place to talk to you about this.”
“So why did you invite me in then? Why didn’t you just leave me outside and tell me to go away…?”
She looks at me silently, not replying immediately. “Perhaps, because I wanted to tell you something. Maybe something that I shouldn’t say, but maybe something that I should. I don’t know…”
“What?” I ask immediately, pressing for whatever it is, sensing that it could be important.
“I just wanted to say, that she really loved you Andrew. I’ve known Slávka for almost a year now, and I think she’s the one of the nicest people I have ever met. She’s special. And she loved you, very much.”
“I know, I know. So how does that help me now? It just makes it worse!” I reply a little too loudly out of frustration. Can you give me her telephone number?”
“Andrew, don’t push it, alright? You know I won’t.”
“You can’t blame me for asking.”
“Listen, you know that none of this would have happened, if you had just trusted her. I can’t believe you didn’t. Slávka is the most trustworthy and trusting person I have ever met in my life.”
“I know…” I start to admit.
“No, listen to me, I don’t think you do. You have some real issues that you have to address. I’m only telling you this because I’ve always liked you. Slávka told me that you had a problem with trust before, …I think she was trying to justify what you did to her, …but at the end of the day, in her mind she couldn’t. Whatever. The thing is, you need to deal with these issues Andrew. Slávka’s gone. She’s gone! And if I were you I’d go and talk to a counsellor or something. You have to learn to trust Andrew. You have to learn to trust…”
Chapter Fifty Four
.
.
My anger is focussed. Pointed. And justified. I know exactly who is to blame for what has come to pass. I know exactly whose fault it is that I could not trust like any normal person, why I let the woman of my dreams slip through my arms, and why Slávka has now left the country probably never to see me again.
I know exactly who it is that has ruined my life. Now, and every day for the past twenty-six years.
My mother.
The whole cycle of distrust that has derailed my life and my future happiness started the day that my mother took off her clothes and jumped into bed with some strange man, committing unforgivable adultery and ruining the lives of not only my father, but of Hannah and myself.
Her only legacy to her children. The one and only gift she freely gave to us all: the ability to never trust another human being. The ability to live isolated, lonely lives, where no lasting love is possible, and year and after year the misery she created in us self-propagates and spreads from one person to another, ruining one relationship after another, and one life after an another.
I know now what I must do.
I must find my mother, wherever she is. I must find her and make her understand just what she has done.
I must make her pay.
.
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I am sitting in my bedroom at my desk, a hot cup of tea and a fresh pad of paper on my right hand side with pen poised and ready to go, my PC booted up and connected to the internet, the Google bar at the ready.
I type in the words “Alice Jardine”, hit return and wait.
A moment later, Page 1 of the results appears on the screen, which according to the top right hand corner of the page gives me results ‘1-10’ of 323,000.
After looking quickly through the first ten results, noting that the first couple are referring to some character in the book “Saving Private Ryan” and then another character from one of Ian Rankin’s ‘Inspector Rebus’ novels, followed by a pile of irrelevant trivia, I swear impatiently under my breath. There has to be a better way than this.
Picking up my tea and sipping it I sit back in my seat and seek divine inspiration.
“There has to be a simple way…there has to be a simple way…” I say to myself, over and over again. “Come on Andrew Jardine…use your bloody brain…what do you do…?”
Sitting forward I empty the Google bar and type in ‘How to find people?’ and hit return.
A second later the screen fills again. The top right hand box shows me I now have 1-10 suggestion out of 836,000,000.
What?
836,000,000?
Gulp. So I am not the first person to do this then…
I take another sip from my tea and focus on the first couple of entries, the very first being
‘People Finder UK: 192.com. Locate anyone in the UK. Start your search now!’
I click on the link.
A white page appears, headed by a yellow banner with three black circles in a row containing the letters ‘1’, ‘9’, ’2’ followed by a text string ‘.com’.
Aha. 192.com. Yellow pages for people…
Underneath there are four boxes inviting me to fill in responses to the four questions:-
.
I am looking for:??????
Street:??????
Location: ??????
Electoral Roll2002: ? 2003: ? 2004: ? 2005:?
.
.
My fingers hurriedly type in the name ‘Alice Jardine’ in response to the first question. I hover over the boxes following the other questions, wondering if not knowing the answers will end my chances of success. I click on all the years which follow the request for which Electoral Roll to search, and then hit the button saying “Search Now”.
The screen goes blank.
I sip my tea.
My heart skips a beat.
Bang!
Suddenly the screen fills with yellow banners, followed by lines of blue text, each line giving the name of the person, followed by a greyed out line containing the partner's name:-
.
“Alice C JardineFull Details
Alice JardineFull Details
(other occupants Robert Jardine)
Alice M JardineFull Details
(other occupants Simon Jardine)
Alice S Jardine
Alice S Jardine
(other occupant Alexander Jardine)
Alice Y Jardine
.
See more results1-3 of 42 results.”
.
I stare at the screen for a second, trying to absorb the information that is being presented to me, then quickly click on one of the blue lines of text promising ‘Full Details’.
Surely it can’t be this simple…
A vivid and colourful screen now appears, requesting me to either ‘Login’ as an existing member, or sign-up by providing my name, and enter a password, retype the password to confirm it, and then hit a box agreeing to their terms and conditions.
For a second I conside
r reading all the terms and conditions, but then decide against it. I can’t be bothered.
Knowing that I might be signing away the rights to my first born, I nevertheless click on ‘I accept’ followed by ‘Continue’.
A new screen appears asking for money. According to this screen I now have to purchase credits in advance of being given any valuable information. The screen offers me a range of options ranging from five credits for £9.99 up to 600 credits for £149.95.
Hmmm….
I hit the back button, going back to the first screen, beginning to think, my heart beating faster. I feel excited. Alive. The thrill of the hunt beginning to grip me…
I hit the button offering me all forty-two search results.
Alice A Jardine, Alice B Jardine, Alice R Jardine, Alice D Jardine, Alice S Jardine. Alice F Jardine. Alice M Jardine. Alice Jardine. Alice Jardine. Alice N Jardine….” Seemingly not in any obvious alphabetical order.
My tea is going cold now as I take another sip and reach for my mobile phone. ‘Answer, come on…answer…” I mentally will Hannah to pick up at the other end.
“Hullo,” a voice replies, groggy and sleepy. “Andrew, are you okay? Do you know what time it is?”
“I’m fine. Sorry to wake you,…listen…did mum have a middle name? Do you know what her initials were?”
“Mum? Why? Why do you need to know…?” she asks, her head beginning to clear. I hear a man’s voice in the background, and Hannah muffles the phone and says something to him.
“I’ll tell you later. I was just wondering…”
“I think her middle name was Sandra. Why, what are you up to?”
“Sandra? Did she have any other names?”
“No. It was just Sandra. Alice Sandra Jardine. That’s right. I remember it now. It’s on my birth certificate…”
“Thanks. Got to go… I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Good night,” and I hang up before she says anything more.
My eyes are drawn to the fifth entry on the list. The only Alice S Jardine in the United Kingdom that appears to be a single woman. The other Alice S Jardine is living with a Mathew Jardine, presumably her husband.
The Sleeping Truth : A Romantic Thriller (Omnibus Edition containing both Book One and Book Two) Page 40
