The Waiting List (Strong Women Book 5)

by Sarah Till

  I’d swallowed hard as I drove, trying to rid my mind of Charlotte and her continuing effect on Mum and Dad. I rarely thought about her these days, which it was for the best. I had to concentrate on my own life, and right now, that meant Tim. I parked up and opened my front door, relieved to be inside my own safe haven. Thinking about Charlotte made me feel a little uneasy, lacking in confidence, as if she had somehow stolen my life. I reached into my handbag and Rosklyde on the list in my rounded hand.

  So far, thirteen out of twenty, and we hadn't even been on a first date! It looked very promising and I smiled to myself. I tried Jenni's number again without success. I didn't even know where she lived, or I would have gone round to see her. It did seem slightly strange that we were such good friends yet I didn't even know her address. I knew her last name was Jones, but guessed there would be many, many Jennifer Joneses in the phone book, too many to try in one evening. In any case, I didn't know if she had a landline. She always called me from a mobile phone, which was now switched off. Resigned to the idea that Jenni would just turn up as usual tomorrow, I gave up. After all, she never missed a Friday.

  I daydreamed the rest of the evening away, deciding what to wear. Conjuring up mental images of me in my red dress, my black skirt and strappy top, my velvet trousers and white camisole, I resisted going upstairs and laying out my clothes. I desperately wanted to savour the deliciousness of the whole evening tomorrow, even down to showering and getting dressed. I settled in the lounge with a coffee just as Dad's face appeared at the window. He gave a sad wave and I motioned for him to go round the back and let himself in. Soon, he appeared and stood in front of the mantelpiece, hands in pockets.

  “Nice to see you, Dad. To what do I owe this great honour? Has her highness released you from duties tonight?”

  He looked even more morose and his head dipped.

  “Just back from the hospital. She's in again.”

  Now, to most families, this would be the verbal alarm bell signalling illness of a loved one. In our family it elicited knowing nods and eye contact.

  “What is it this time?”

  “She's getting glutaeal implants. Apparently, it's...”

  “Yes, yes, I know, Dad. How long will she be in?”

  “A couple of days. She's having some other bits done as well.” I nodded solemnly. Butt implants. “She's been looking at some photographs of my side of the family and now she's convinced that Charlotte would be curvy, like you.”

  I could see his eyes mist over and I felt desperately sorry for him. Neither of us moved, aware that any hugging at this point would be too upsetting. I looked at my feet.

  “Oh. Right.”

  He swallowed hard and coughed. Surely there were no more revelations about Mum's search for Charlotte?

  “You do know she's been going to a spiritualist church? She's seen a professional clairvoyant to try to find out what happened to Charlotte. About a week ago, she went out to B and Q, and came back with a shovel. I asked her what it was for and she told me that the clairvoyant had told her to dig in a certain place. She asked me if I would go with her.”

  It was almost unbearable, but I felt obliged to ask the next question.

  “Did you go, Dad? Did you go?”

  “No, love. I managed to put her off until she'd come out of the hospital. I phoned the bloke in charge of the case but he's retired now. The police can't do anything. They were very vague. It's closed as far as they're concerned. So, Charlotte's either dead, or she's gone and isn’t coming back. But try telling your mother that.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Never rains but it pours, Clementine, never rains but it pours.”

  I only just managed to contain my tears for him and Mum over her actually contemplating digging for my missing, presumed dead sister.

  “Will you be OK, Dad? I can come and cook for you if you like.”

  “No, no, love, I'll be fine. I've got my commission. I'll get on with that. And the shed needs redoing. She can't stand the smell of paint, something to do with the rhinoplasty, so I'll get that done while she's away.” He wiped away a stray tear. “Do you think she's dead, Clem? Charlotte, I mean?”

  I was completely unprepared for such upfront honesty, such an outburst of feeling from a direct member of my family. My head spun and I felt a little hurt that, on today of all days, Dad had come round and upset me. With Charlotte. Again.

  “I don't know, Dad. No one does. She may be out there somewhere getting on with her life.” But stopping me getting on with mine. Like my graduation, where Mum and Dad had sat in the hall, but almost missed my presentation, each scanning the hundreds of faces for my sister. I knew it was selfish, but I couldn't help feeling that Charlotte was there again, running and skipping between me and my life, the prettier, older sister who Dad had loved so much. “Why don't you have a word with Mum's counsellor. It might help.”

  “No, no. I just want things back to return to normal. Your mother. I don't know where it will end. Or where the money is coming from. I paid for the first couple of ops, but now she never asks me for a penny. It must be coming out of her private pension or superannuation payment.”

  I quickly tried to do the sums, but it didn't compute in my over-excited mind. I stood up and moved towards Dad. He moved back a little, unaccustomed to any kind of human contact for years from Mum but managed to place his arms on my shoulders as I grabbed him. I looked up at him, tall and proud.

  “You've still got me, Dad.”

  His eyes flickered a little as if he was staring at an old movie on a distant screen. He released my grip with a small push.

  “Well, better be going, Clem. She'll be ringing soon and if I'm not there and she guesses I am here, well I don't want her thinking that I'm favouring you over Charlotte.”

  He strode out of the lounge and I heard the back door slam.

  “Charlotte's gone, Dad.”

  But no one heard me. As usual.

  Chapter Six

  Despite, or maybe in spite of, the news of my mother's new adventure into plastic surgery, I was determined to remain excited about my date with Tim tonight. After Dad’s departure the previous night, the guilt set in and I berated myself for being so selfish. What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I so upset about Charlotte? It was true that there had been some rivalry between us but we sometimes got along. Sometimes.

  The night before Charlotte left, or 'went out' as Mum insisted on calling the event, we sat together comparing notes on makeup. She had let me have some of her old mascara and powder. I kept it to this day, a memento of the sister I never saw again. Surely now, all these years later, I was entitled to a life. Mum shut me out, encouraging Dad to do the same. Her warped rationale about treating Clementine and Charlotte the same endured despite continuous visits to a therapist. I slowly realised during my late teens that things would never be the same again. No matter how many times Dad repeated his mantra of sameness, our lives would be Charlotteless until some clue turned up to conclude the matter.

  I went to bed to a dreamless sleep and was woken up to my phone ringing. Hoping it was Jenni, I grabbed it and patted down my hair, even though the caller couldn't see me. It turned out to be someone asking if I wanted to change my gas supplier, and I silently cursed them as I ended the call. I went downstairs and ate my breakfast in silence. My anticipation was so great that I couldn't wait to get to work, complete the day and rush home to get ready.

  As it happened, the day passed uneventfully. Johnny was out on a client call and my boredom bade me to leave at four o'clock. I'd been hoping for a chance to talk to him about our conversation the previous day, to gently let him know that I wasn't interested in him, that he didn't tick my boxes. Actually, on reflection he did tick some of the boxes but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was a little creepy, watching me from his office, and in the club without me knowing he was watching.

  I grabbed my lucky penny, hauled on my jacket and dropped into the beauty salon. I had my nails done, where not even the formal
silence of the manicurist punctured my growing bubble of happiness. I finally arrived home at five and ate a sandwich before showering. I tried on seven different outfits and applied my makeup five times before I felt complete. I looked myself up and down and was pleased with the finished glossy illusion. I smiled as I imagined Tinker Bell's wand waving magic dust all over me.

  By seven o'clock, Jenni had still not arrived. I sat completely still in the lounge trying to will her footsteps to crunch on the drive and her hand to knock her special knock. Or even for the phone to ring. But nothing happened. By seven thirty, I was late and annoyed. I tried her number one more time then set off on my journey. Maybe she would meet me at the club. I knew that if she did, she would be angry that I'd set her up with Arthur Becks, but I settled on the notion that I had no way of letting her know. I glanced back at my house as I walked towards the taxi I'd booked earlier and felt a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of excitement and anxiety mixed together and I wondered if I should have embarked on this man mission so soon. My hand automatically went to my bag and I touched the list. Partially filled in, I knew that this was a chance for me to find out if Tim truly ticked all the boxes. I licked my lips and applied a little more lip-gloss. In fifteen minutes, I arrived at the club.

  Paying the taxi driver, I pressed my way through the bustling throng huddling inside the doorway. For a split second, I wondered if I should wait outside. What if he had gone in already? If he was with friends, he would have undoubtedly gone inside. After all, he wasn't expecting me alone, was he? My heart fell slightly as I remembered how he had specified that Jenni come with me and that I'd failed this mission. I rallied as I saw a group of girls I knew slightly and waved at them. At least it wouldn't look as if I was Billy No Mates if I went inside with them. I walked towards them and stood amongst them, smiling enigmatically as we all passed through the door staff. Once inside, I loitered beside the girls at the bar, trying to look involved with their crowd whilst scanning the club desperately for Tim.

  I bought a drink and listened to the girly chat. It was eight-fifteen and Jenni still wasn't here. Neither had Tim or Arthur Becks. My mind raced away on a fantasy of them all standing together in a bar on the other side of town, all wondering why I hadn't responded to a lost text or email telling me to meet them there. Or worse, that Tim had changed his mind after finding out from Jenni that she wouldn't be out tonight after all. My fears were quashed as I saw Tim walk through the door, followed by friends. I exhaled long and hard. He had brought a couple of friends; we wouldn't be expected to endure Arthur Becks all evening and we could spend some time alone. I laughed a little harder with the girls I hardly knew and eventually his eyes rested on me. He walked over immediately and I felt as if I would melt into the floor with pleasure.

  “Hi, Clem.”

  He leant forward and kissed me on the cheek. The girls all stopped talking and stared at him. Tim's eyes never left my face, scanning me with a quizzical look, half smiling. I remembered Jenni.

  “Hi, Tim. I don't know what's happened to Jenni. I arranged to meet her here.” Only a little lie, I told myself, to free me from the mire of unreliability and not being able to make arrangements. “I'm sure she'll be here soon.” He continued to look at my face and touched my hair, holding the bottom of the length between his fingers.

  “That's OK. I'm sure Arthur can entertain himself.” We both looked at Arthur who was busy talking to two scantily clad lovelies at the edge of the dance floor. When I turned back, Tim was looking into my eyes. “I didn't think your hair was so long. And so light. It must be the lighting in here changing it. From last week. Anyway, how's things?”

  I reeled a little from the comments about my hair, so personal and almost accusing, but launched into a description of the meeting and my input and the drinks afterwards. It took me a while but eventually I manoeuvred the conversation around to Clare and Terry.

  “So, you know Terry and Clare, do you?” I leaned forward to hear him now as the music became a little louder. He nodded enthusiastically.

  “Yes, yes, I know Terry. Heard a lot about Clare. Didn't think you knew them well enough to talk to.”

  I was a little confused. How could he know? We hadn't spoken about them before.

  “What do you mean? You couldn't know that, Tim.”

  His face froze for a moment and he looked a little confused. I leaned further towards him to hear any response and he lurched at me. His breath reeked of alcohol and he seemed quite unsteady. His lips pressed against mine hard and I managed to rescue the situation by steadying him and exiting the kiss after a second. He pulled away from me and looked horrified.

  “Oh, my god. I'm so sorry. I was in a world of my own for a minute then. It's just that you’re so... so... gorgeous.”

  I seethed.

  “Are you drunk, Tim?”

  “Well, I've had a couple and nothing to eat, so I guess I'm a bit tipsy. Shall we go and get something to eat?”

  I followed him to the café bar and we sat in a booth. He rested his chin on his hands and looked at me, the grin making a welcome return even though his eyes looked hazy. I stared at the menu, trying to lessen my anger. He'd turned up for a first date drunk. I raced through the possible scenarios in which he could arrive in this state. Had he been out for the afternoon with friends? Had he just drunk too quickly on an empty stomach? I snapped the menu shut.

  “Nachos for me.” Remembering the sandwich, I resolved to pick at my snack. He hesitated as the waitress arrived.

  “Burger and fries, please, and nachos for the lady. I'll have a coffee, too.” His eyes cleared a little and his expression mellowed. “Sorry. Unforgivable. Sorry.”

  He truly was gorgeous. I felt the scales swaying between being sensible and angry at his behaviour and being turned on purely by his puppy dog expression. I was already beating myself over the head with my own stupidity as the rollercoaster of risk and chance took over, rushing down the hill towards lust.

  Something inside me clicked into place and I knew that it didn't matter. We'd eat, drink coffee, dance, kiss and hopefully he'd come back to mine. I surprised myself because I hadn't really planned that far ahead. I mentally checked that the house was tidy as Tim continued to grin. He went into a long explanation about his afternoon off work on the town with Arthur Becks, drinking one too many and being really sorry now. He definitely was lovable, talking with a dip in his voice when he mentioned his mother and looked upwards regularly, while he waved his hands expressively. Quite endearing. It was almost a miracle that he was single, I told myself as I watched and listened, delighted by his laughter.

  The food arrived and I nibbled at my nachos as Tim devoured his burger. He even grinned at me between bites and joked about worst first dates. I opened my bag to get a tissue and my eye caught the list. I remembered that I'd wished for someone a little dangerous, so I couldn't really complain. Besides, it was fun. We were laughing more now and the conversation was easier. I came round to thinking that maybe he was just nervous and perhaps that was why he had drunk so much. We finished up the food and moved to the dance floor where Arthur was hanging around two more girls, obviously flirting.

  “Where's your friend then?”

  Arthur's question came before he had really greeted me properly.

  “Oh, she should be here soon. She never misses a Friday night.”

  He seemed content with this and Tim wound his arms around my waist from behind, kissing my neck. It felt great but very conspicuous. I drew away and he pulled me closer.

  “Come on, baby, you know you like it...”

  I seethed a little.

  “You don't know what I like, Tim. Not yet. Come on, take it easy.”

  Everything seemed different from the week before. He seemed almost aggressive in the way he groped my body at every opportunity. I wondered if I should leave, but after a while, we began to dance and he eased off a little. Even so, all the time we danced, his eyes never left my face. He grinned and g
estured in time with the music but it was as if his whole focus was on me. I felt like I should be flattered but admitted to myself that I was becoming a little bit uneasy. Arthur went to the bar and returned with cocktails. I took the one offered to me.

  “What is it?”

  Arthur laughed and passed two more glasses to the girls he had been flirting with.

  “Just Long Island Ice Tea. Nothing too exotic.”

  I looked at him. He certainly was good looking. Suddenly, I felt a gentle pull on my chin and Tim swivelled my gaze back to him. He was grinning at me still.

  “Don't do that, Tim.” His grin faded and he gulped at the beer Arthur had brought him. “Do you think you should be having that? I mean, you've already had a lot earlier.”

  His grin faded and he slammed down the glass.

  “Fine. Same old same old. Always telling me what to do.”

  I looked at Arthur for reassurance and he looked serious.

  “Tim, mate, c'mon. Clementine here is just trying to get to know you.”

  He emphasised the 'get to know you' and as I tried to tackle the alcohol fuzziness and work out exactly what was going on, Tim snapped out of it right before my eyes.

  “Yeah. Yeah. OK. Clem. Right. Let's dance.”

  He reeled me onto the dance floor and for the rest of the evening he was the perfect gentleman. I made a mental note to ask him what had been wrong, but as the cocktails kept appearing and disappearing, I forgot my reservations and threw myself into Tim's full attention. Before I knew it, we were outside the club and it was two o'clock. We stood in the coolness and watched as Arthur pleaded with a leather-clad beauty to go home with him.