by Jill Childs
I gripped the sticky railing as I descended the steep steps into the station. Everyone around me seemed brash, shoving and barging as they pushed past. I felt a fragile figure in a world bursting with colour and noise.
The platform was almost empty. An echo faded down the tunnel and a rush of musty, stale air settled again into silence. A train had just left. I walked down the platform, aware of the filth and wetness underfoot, of the crowd already starting to thicken around me, people pouring in from the tunnels, filling the vacant spaces along the edge of the track.
My heart started to pound. I felt suddenly trapped, without knowing why, gripped by an intense feeling that the long, curved walls were pulsating like the membrane of a vast creature’s intestine, the cool tiles crushing us all to death. I stopped in the flow, trying to steady myself. A middle-aged man in a baggy coat, pushing past, glared at me and tutted. I couldn’t breathe.
A voice in my head cried: Help me, someone. For pity’s sake, please, save me.
My head throbbed with such a sudden surge of pain that I put my fingers to my skull.
A rumble sounded, distant at first but fast-growing. Air stirred from the tunnel, a stale breeze heavy with spores of mould. The next train was arriving. The crowd pressed round me, propelling me forward towards the edge of the track.
The announcement screens flashed orange warnings. A young woman with a buggy pushed me more tightly to the front of the scrum as she squeezed herself into place. My body felt limp, held in place by the squeezing bodies. I closed my eyes, blinded by the pain in my head. A young man’s rucksack hit me in the shoulder, pushed me to one side. I was trapped, squeezed between the rucksack and a burly middle-aged man in a heavy coat, right on the brink on the platform.
The roar echoed down the tunnel. The train was almost upon us. I was close enough to the edge to see sparks flash along the rails, the grey streak of a fleeing mouse, to hear the wheels shriek on the track.
As the train burst into the station, my body fell forward. A crack of air as the front of the train careered past, inches from my face. The man beside me had shifted his weight at the last minute and knocked me back from the edge with his shoulder. He glared. He hadn’t planned to save me. His jaw was set. He was just protecting his space.
Already, the moment had passed. The train slowed to a halt, the doors opened, descending passengers fought their way through the press of bodies toward the exits even as the incoming passengers battled their way inside. The burly man climbed in and the young woman, cross, struggled to lift her buggy over the gap and into the carriage as the rest of the waiting crowd poured round me.
I couldn’t move. I stood there, shaking, as the platform cleared and the doors clanked shut and the train prepared to leave.
I stayed upright until the train had pulled out, then found the strength to creep back along the empty platform to the metal seats and let my legs buckle. I closed my eyes and listened to my ragged breathing, the bang of blood in my ears. How did that happen? I thought of Lucy. How could I have come so close to leaving her?
I wiped off my cheeks and blew my nose. My head throbbed. I needed to rest. I needed to recover and take back control. I stumbled through to the opposite platform and took the train in the opposite direction to Notting Hill Gate, then navigated the short walk to the flat, the property my father had quietly put in my name when I was a teenager and which Dominic now used during the week.
* * *
It was on the second floor of a smart Victorian mansion block on a broad, leafy street, not far from Portobello Road. I hadn’t visited for some time, not since we’d first come back and I’d supervised the re-decoration and new furnishings, reclaiming the rooms as our own after all those years of tenants. Most of the local residents were professionals and, now, early in the afternoon, the street was deserted. I fit my key into the lock of the communal front door and went inside. The hallway was carpeted and hushed and smelled of air freshener.
The first-floor landing was silent. As I entered the flat, an odour of stale food hit me. Something fatty, and of course, the lingering scent of cigar smoke.
I sat down heavily on the leather sofa in the sitting room and felt my body relax. I was safe. I could rest. I could even stay the night here if I needed to. I lifted my fingertips to my temples and massaged them gently.
After a while, as I became calmer, the headache started to ease. I pulled myself to my feet and went through to the kitchen for a glass of water. A dinner plate lay on the counter, unwashed, smeared with a crusty tomato-coloured sauce. Two wine glasses, stained red, stood together by the sink. My stomach heaved. I tried to tell myself: it could be anything. A colleague stopped by. A client, even.
I made it to the toilet before I vomited. I kneeled there on the black and white tiles, my face close to the bowl. When my stomach was empty, I washed my mouth. The face in the mirror was white and sweating.
I didn’t want to stay here. I wanted to get home. I wanted to get back to Lucy.
I sent a text to the driver with the address to pick me up, then closed the lid of the toilet and sat there for a while, trying to steady myself, wondering if I could make it home. The pain in my head surged. I needed painkillers.
I opened the bathroom cupboards, one by one, and looked through the packets and tubs, the spare toilet rolls and bars of soap. Nothing that was any use. I was just closing the last door when something caught my eye. Brightly coloured fabric, just poking out from behind some bottles of shampoo. I pulled it out. A small, embroidered jewellery pouch.
It was lined with red silk, marked with a printed label. I lifted it closer to read the writing. I didn’t know the shop, but I knew the address: The Landmark, Hong Kong. One of Central’s most exclusive shopping centres.
I turned the pouch upside down on the bathroom counter and poked through the contents. A pair of jade earrings. A slim gold chain. I went back to the pouch. It was still heavy. Something else was in there, something heavy and solid trapped inside the lining. I turned it inside out and traced the lumps of thick metal.
I scrutinised the lining until I found a small tear in the corner, then worked the metal through the folds of cloth to the gap. Finally, a gold link emerged and I seized it, drew it out and stared at it, lying there across my fingers.
It was a distinctive gold bracelet I knew very well indeed. A chunky Edwardian piece with thick links, set with three sapphires and two pearls. The antique bracelet whose loss had so infuriated Dominic back in Hong Kong.
My fingers, close to my face as I examined the bracelet, picked up something else from the pouch too. A smell. I knew it at once. A spicy cinnamon scent. That distinctive, cloying fragrance that had clung to Dominic’s jacket after Fi’s party.
* * *
When the driver came, I told him to head straight to the City to the bank’s London headquarters.
I ordered him to wait, then strode through the broad revolving doors into the central atrium, the bracelet dangling from my hand. My heels clacked across the floor of the lobby to the reception desk. It was a bright, modern building, a stack of layered floors. Each level was wall to wall glass, build round a central, square core. A series of balconies, steadily rising one above the other, looked down on the lobby below.
The receptionist was fiddling with a screen. She spoke like a machine, without looking up.
‘Good afternoon. Welcome to Hong Kong Pacific Bank. How can I help you today?’
‘I want to see Fi Hawker. Now.’
She glanced up, wary. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘I don’t need a bloody appointment. Tell her it’s Caroline. Dominic’s wife.’
She glanced round as if she might need back-up.
‘How are we spelling that name, please?’
‘Just the way it sounds. Hawker.’
She bent over her keyboard and tapped for a moment, then frowned. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have anyone here with that name.’
My voice rose to a screech. ‘H-A-W-
K-E-R.’
A tense pause. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have—'
I opened my mouth to shout, then made a supreme effort and breathed as deeply as I could. I leaned forward, my hands, still clutching the bracelet, resting on the shiny top of the desk.
‘Could you please put me through to her department? Global markets.’
She hesitated, then dialled a number and covered her mouth with her hand as she whispered.
A moment later, a thick-set security man stepped forward from nowhere. He looked as if he were wearing body armour, a walkie-talkie squawking close to his ear.
He stared me down as he spoke sideways to the young woman. ‘Is there a problem?’
She nodded meaningfully at me.
He squared up. His voice was deep. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I need to see Fi Hawker. I know she’s here. This woman’s covering for her.’
He glanced at the receptionist and she spread her hands in a gesture which clearly said, See?
He took a step forward. ‘Please calm down, madam. There’s no need—'
‘She followed him here, didn’t she? To London. Why won’t she leave us alone?.’ I brandished the bracelet. ‘I can prove it. Did she tell you to say she wasn’t here?’
My voice sounded louder than I’d intended, echoing in the cavernous space.
‘Please, Madam. I must warn you that unless you calm down—’
‘Then what?’ I glared back at him, aware of the receptionist watching us both with growing interest. ‘What are you going to do?’
He kept his eyes on mine but lifted one shoulder, raising his radio, and brought his hand to it too. He whispered something into it, some code. A moment later, he reached for me, seizing the top of my arm, trying to turn me and propel me back towards the entrance doors.
‘Stop it!’ I tried to twist away but his grip was too firm. ‘Why are you doing this? She’s here. She must be.’
Two other men, thickened by the same uniforms, emerged from the shadows and headed towards us.
‘He’s my husband. Don’t you understand? She’s trying to steal him.’
His fingers dug into my flesh as he manhandled me across the atrium. I fought back instinctively, ducked my head and bit the back of his hand. He yelled and cursed but didn’t let go. The other guards broke into a run, hurrying to help.
‘Let me go!’
I was crying, furious and helpless and wretched. Around us, people stopped in the lobby to stare. Dark figures, silenced by the glass between us, appeared on the balconies above, staring down at the commotion.
‘There!’ I screeched. The guards had pinned my arms behind me and I struggled to free one, to point. ‘Look!’
That flash of blonde hair in the crowd, that silhouette, it was her, Fi, there in the group on the third floor, quietly looking down on us.
I screamed harder, even as they carried me out. ‘It’s her! There! Can’t you see?’
The guards dumped me at the bottom of the steps and stood over me, daring me to get up again.
‘You’re lucky. I’m feeling generous.’ The first guard rubbed the back of his hand. A ragged circle of teeth still showed on the skin.
Another bent low and jabbed a finger in my face. ‘Come back here again and it’s the police. Get it?’
Somehow, I made it to the car. The driver’s face was without expression as he handed me into the back seat. He sat with his spine straight as he drove me through London and out into the countryside, as if he were oblivious to the sobbing in the back.
* * *
‘You found it!’
I didn’t know what I’d expected him to say. Dominic had only been in the house for five minutes, but I couldn’t wait. The bracelet had lain like an unexploded grenade in my bag since I’d come back from London until now, late on Friday night.
I scrutinised him as he leaned forward and picked it up from the kitchen table, checked it over. He seemed genuinely pleased, his eyes wide as they lifted to mine for an explanation.
I glared. ‘Aren’t you going to ask where I found it?’
His expression faded as he saw my anger. ‘Well?’
‘In the bathroom. In the flat.’
He blinked. ‘The London flat?’
‘Of course.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘I called in. You were at work.’
A flash of annoyance crossed his face. ‘Well, it’s your flat. You’ve every right.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m delighted it’s turned up but, just out of interest, why were you going through the bathroom cupboards?’
I hesitated. ‘I needed aspirin.’
He turned away towards the kitchen door. ‘Sounds more as if you went there to search the place. I don’t know why.’
I ran after him and grabbed his arm.
‘I did find something, actually. Something of Fi’s.’
He pushed my hand off his sleeve and stared. ‘Not that again. Please.’
‘Come and see for yourself.’
I pulled him back to the kitchen and took the jewellery pouch out of my bag, scattered its contents across the table.
He leaned forward and peered at the jade earrings, the slender necklace. ‘What about them?’
‘They’re hers. You know they are.’ I seized the pouch and pushed it under his nose. ‘This even smells of her. See?’
He pulled away. ‘For heaven’s sake.’
For a moment, we stood there, glaring at each other, close enough to see a tiny version of myself reflected in his eyes.
I went on. ‘The bracelet was in the lining. I don’t know how, but she set me up! And now she’s followed us to London. Is that what took you time, when I said we had to leave? Working it all out between you?’
He shook his head and didn’t answer for a moment. He reached for a chair and sat down heavily.
‘I don’t know what to say. I really don’t.’
I’d braced myself for a fight, for angry denials or, perhaps even worse, a confession. The man in front of me looked simply exhausted.
‘Are you denying it?’
‘Is there any point?’ He sighed. ‘Yes, I’m denying it. I’m not having an affair with Fi from the bank. I never was. I upped and left everything behind in Hong Kong, work, friends, to follow you here and prove that to you. But it hasn’t worked, has it, Caroline? It just hasn’t worked.’
I dropped into a chair across from him. Tears pricked my eyes and I blinked them back. For a moment, all I wanted was to believe him, to throw my arms round him and say I was sorry, I was wrong. And yet.
‘What about that?’ I pointed to the jewellery scattered on the table.
A moment’s silence.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. Its gentleness alarmed me much more than anger might have done.
‘I know you have trouble remembering things,’ he said, picking his words with care. ‘I try to understand. I really do. But how can you not remember these?’
He reached forward and picked up the earrings. ‘I gave you these when Lucy was a baby, for Mother’s Day. Remember?’ He picked up the chain. It slid through his fingers, gleaming in the electric light. ‘This was a birthday present. You wanted a slim chain to hang a pendant on, you said. I can’t remember you ever wore it.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know about the silk thing. That’s not from me.’
I raked my fingers through my hair, trying to decide whether to believe him.
‘But what about this? The bracelet?’
‘I don’t know. You said it was in the lining? Maybe it’s been there all the time.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say?’
I gaped. It couldn’t be true. I’d have found it, surely. I had no memory of the other jewellery, none at all. But he sounded so convincing, so sure and I forgot so much. What if he were right? It was possible, after all.
I said, ‘Why were there two dirty wine glasses? Who was in the flat with you?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Two wine glasse
s. By the sink.’
‘Oh, Caroline. I don’t know. I probably just hadn’t washed up for a few days. I get home late, I like a glass of wine to unwind. Has it come to this?’
He put his hands on his thighs and heaved himself to his feet.
‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had a hard week. I’m going up to bed.’
I sat alone in the kitchen, listening to his feet on the stairs, the low creak of the landing as he went on to our bedroom. I was desolate. I thought about the bank and how utterly humiliated I’d felt as the security guards forced me out onto the pavement. Then my mind slid back further to the memory of the crowd which gathered to watch the drama from the balconies above and the slim woman with blonde hair who reminded me so much of Fi.
* * *
We managed to muddle through that weekend, keeping as separate from each other as we could in the house. Dominic spent Saturday morning with Lucy, climbing trees and making dens. In the afternoon, he treated her to the new Disney film at the cinema in town.
I slept as much as I could and tried to gather my strength for the week ahead. In the evenings, we ate quickly and in silence. Neither of us seemed to know what to say to each other. Neither of us seemed to know what came next.
When he set off for London late on Sunday, Dominic packed a larger bag than usual and looked evasive when I asked why.
‘I’m not sure what’s happening next weekend, that’s all. I might need to work.’
He drove off without saying goodbye.
* * *
For a couple of days after that, life seemed almost back to normal.
Lucy and I fell into our old routine of games and snacks, scrambles down to the rock-pools when the tide was out and wind-swept walks along the cliffs when it was in.
The new medication that Dr Braithwaite had prescribed seemed to ease the headaches with fewer side effects and I felt stronger again and almost optimistic.
