The Waiting List (Strong Women Book 5)

by Sarah Till

  Once past my teens, I realised that sex was useful as a tool to secure a relationship but could also work to do the opposite. Like Clare had pointed out, sleeping with someone on a first date left no mystery, but it did fit in somewhere in the rules of dating – somewhere around the third date if girly talk was to be believed. Yet I could never wait! A previous prospective husband had called me the Martini Girl; anytime, anyplace, anywhere. While I had been privately hurt, I'd thrown my head back and laughed loudly.

  Yes, sex to me was a kind of signal that he wanted me in 'that way' and that the relationship was going in the right direction. Still, I had a vague idea that some of the men I'd slept with had bored very easily. According to Clare's theory, the mystery had gone and they were on to the next one. So, my final decision was that I may as well sleep with them – not on the first night, obviously – because if they were commitment phobic, they would be off anyway, and I would at least have had some fun! The kind of anonymous fun that usually involved a pre-med of alcohol to boost confidence and a mixture of previously practised techniques melded together into a clumsy act of lust. I knew it wasn't the kind of 'love' I was pursuing. In fact, I knew that I didn't know exactly what it was, this love-making. The girls who had experienced it and spoke about it only rarely and in hushed tones. Something that couldn't really be described, partly because of the trust factor involved in a real relationship and partly because it wasn't about the sex.

  I'd frowned and snorted my derision at this, but secretly made a mental note. It wasn't about the sex? What the hell was it about then? Sex was sex wasn't it? Instead of putting me off and encouraging me to wait for this 'love' to happen, it just made me want to find it more. N time when I wouldn't want to discuss every intimate detail – not that I would because I didn't really know anyone well enough to compare with. Each time I climbed beneath the duvet with someone I barely knew, I hoped it would produce some mystical experience that would somehow weave a spell on the unsuspecting victim. So that I could devour his heart in an act of mutual lovemaking. That was my daylight theory, but here in the darkness of a strange bedroom it wasn't so straightforward. I'd tried many ways to rationalise it – if it's OK for boys it's OK for girls, no one will know, I thought he loved me – all the usual soothers for a bad conscience. And within hours I would rationalise and forget and resume normal, non-promiscuous service, telling myself that it was the last time I would do it. Yet here I was again, marvelling that no matter how many times I said I wouldn't do it, I usually did. The fact was that I liked sex and I liked pleasing people. A lethal combination.

  I wondered about Tim and the bedroom next door. All the strangeness in the club and his clear obsession didn't really bode well for our future. The possibility that the girl in the pictures was my sister was fading now and I was very close to putting it down to alcohol and my overactive imagination. Perhaps I'd just imagined it because Dad had been round talking about it. But she seemed so like Charlotte. If it was her and I found her, then Mum and Dad would be happy again. Tim stirred again and I wondered if last night would have elicited the love-making I was desperate for. I seriously doubted it but smiled at the notion that it would have been worth it anyway. I may have dozed for a minute, but for the rest of the night I lay awake. Until the light began to break through a small gap in the curtain and illuminate a huge poster of Caroline sitting beside a cherry tree, smiling down from the opposite wall.

  Tim awoke with a start almost as soon as it was light. Until then, I'd felt large and obtrusive in his oversized bed, but now I felt small and scared. He ruffled his fingers through his hair and, despite myself and everything that had happened, I felt a spark of desire for him. He was still good looking no matter how disturbed he was about his ex-girlfriend. Of course, I realised that he knew nothing of my late-night excursion into his world of obsession. He looked around the room in a hung-over daze and his eyes rested on me.

  “Oh shit.” We both stared at the picture of Caroline and, in time, he looked at me and touched my shoulder. “We didn't, did we...?”

  “No. No we didn't. You erm, tried but unfortunately it ended with a case of mistaken identity.”

  I saw his expression fill with dread.

  “Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I was so drunk last night. I don't even remember getting back here. Or bringing you. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't bring anyone back.” He glanced at the poster of Caroline and we nodded a shared understanding. He continued. “It's just that lately I've been losing the plot a bit and somehow I thought, don't ask me how, that somehow you were Caroline coming back to me. Sort of. Hard to explain.”

  I wanted to jump out of the bed, grab my things and run as fast as I could, but I stayed and nodded.

  “Well, Tim, you certainly seem to have had a hard time. How long have you two been split up?”

  He paused and flexed his tense shoulders. I looked at his rippling muscles longingly and tried to concentrate on my purpose.

  “About three weeks.”

  Somehow I'd been expecting him to say that it had been about six months. Or more. But suddenly I felt the ignition of a glimmer of hope in my soul. If this was my sister, and she certainly looked like her, then she must still be around.

  “So, why did you split? Is it permanent?”

  “She met someone. They were just friends at first, but now they want to make it more serious. Of course, she never admitted it. She said there was no one else, like she would. I mean, she's not going to admit it, is she? I was in the way. I'd been seeing her for eight years. But it was difficult. She wanted us to move in together, but she had Amy and I had Mum so somehow it just didn't happen. There were lots of times when we could have made it happen but we didn't. So, we went on holiday a lot. Amy stayed at her dad's. We spent lots of time together on holiday.”

  I could hardly breath.

  “Who's Amy?”

  “Oh, Amy. Yes. Caroline's fifteen-year-old daughter. Lovely girl, but a bit of a handful. I didn't really see much of her because she stays at her dad's all weekend. They split when Amy was three. Don't speak now. I've never met him. Anyway, I'm sure you don't want to know all that. Sorry.”

  I reeled. So, I could be an aunt. And Mum and Dad could be grandparents. And this would be the perfect rationale for Charlotte's disappearance. She was pregnant. She ran away to be with the father. It all began to make sense now, as much sense as it could to my sleep-deprived, hungover mind. I gathered myself a little. I needed much more information from Tim.

  “You must be devastated. You poor thing.”

  Tim was near to tears and his bottom lip wobbled. I touched his arm and he placed his hand over mine.

  “Sorry.” He sobbed, tears rolling down his face. I rose and began to pull on my dress. I couldn't tell if he was staring at me or if he was looking past me at Caroline. My phone rang and as I pulled it from my bag, I saw it was only six o'clock. Who the bloody hell was ringing me at this time? The screen screamed 'Johnny work' and I clicked the call on.

  “What the hell do you want, Johnny? I'm having a bad day as it is.”

  Tim sobbed louder beside me as I stepped into my shoes.

  “Are you at home, Clem? Cos I saw you go home with that bloke last night and well, I was driving past your house and it looks like someone is in.”

  “You were driving past my house?”

  “Yes. So, I had a look through your curtains and I could see a couple of shadows, no TV, just shadows. Looked like someone was in your lounge and your bedroom light was on. I didn't want to call the police until I found out if you were in.”

  My shoulders dropped. I seemed to be reeling from one catastrophic event to another.

  “So, let me get this right. You were looking through my curtains to see if I was there? You're a bloody stalker, Johnny. What were you doing driving past my house? Anyway, I'll be home in about half an hour. Just wait there and if anyone comes out, phone the police.”

  “OK, Clem. I was just trying to be helpful. I don't know
what's wrong with you.”

  The call ended and I dialled a taxi number.

  “Where am I, Tim? What's the address?”

  “27 Cherry Tree Close. Look, I'm sorry, Clem. Can I call you tomorrow?”

  I shook my head and ordered a taxi. After stomping down the stairs, I waited in the hallway. The TV was still on and his mum still sat motionless in the chair. I waited for the taxi driver to beep his horn, then opened the door. Running down the drive, I didn't look back.

  Chapter Nine

  The taxi ride was completely uneventful and I found myself dozing in and out of sleep. The radio played some unidentifiable mood music with a hypnotic beat which somehow soothed me. Turning the corner onto my road, I saw Johnny standing dutifully outside my gate, arms folded. I stepped out onto the pavement and he gasped.

  “Bloody hell! You look a bit rough!”

  I caught his eye.

  “I had a rough night. Now. What's this all about?”

  I started to walk up the path but he grabbed my arm.

  “No, Clem. They might still be in there. The bedroom light went off about ten minutes ago. I suppose they could have gone out the back way and jumped over your wall.”

  I turned and stared at him.

  “You know a lot about the layout of my house. And I still don't know what you're doing here.”

  “I was just passing. Do you know where I live, Clem? Do you know anything about me? I live about two streets away. Those two guys you saw me with at the club live over there.” His voice was a stage whisper as he pointed up the road. “I gave them a lift home. That's why I was around your house. And I'm not stalking you. You're jumping to conclusions. Seems to be a habit of yours.”

  “Well, what was I supposed to think? You looking all dejected the other day when I was talking about Lenny, then at the drinks party, all that about being attracted to me. What was I supposed to think?”

  Johnny gasped.

  “What?”

  “Look. Never mind. I'm going inside. It's bloody freezing out here.”

  We crept slowly up the path, me clinging to Johnny's coat sleeve as we listened at the front door. All was silent. Johnny turned and looked at the opposite side of the road.

  “I still think we should wait over there and call the police. They might still be in there.”

  I grabbed my key out of my bag and pushed it silently into the lock. Pushing the door, I saw that the burglar alarm had been switched off. A queasy feeling filled me as I padded gently into the lounge. Three large bin liners huddled together in the middle of the room and nothing seemed to be disturbed. I opened the nearest bag and pulled out an item of clothing.

  “Postman Pat pyjamas?”

  Johnny rubbed his forehead.

  “Looks like the so-called burglars actually left you something. First time I’ve heard of that.”

  A faint coughing noise came from upstairs and we both froze. I located the sound at the back of the house.

  “Someone's in the back bedroom. I'm going up.”

  Again, I grabbed Johnny's sleeve and we manoeuvred our way silently up the stairs. All the bedroom doors were shut and, for a moment, I thought about Tim's house and what lay behind the doors. I placed my hand on the back-bedroom door handle and looked at Johnny. We silently mouthed 'one, two, three' and pushed the door open wide. The room was dark but I could hear movement, a rustling and then a tiny cough. I switched the light on and two heads popped up from a makeshift bed down the side of the single guest bed. Another shape moved in the bed. I recognised one of the heads immediately.

  “Jenni! What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Jenni sat up. “Sush. Don't swear. I'll get up.” She jumped out of the bed and lifted a small figure onto the single bed and tucked in beside the other shape. “Look, let’s go downstairs and I'll explain everything.”

  We all trooped down to the kitchen and Johnny put the kettle on. Jenni, wearing a very short nightshirt and a pair of bright orange knickers, rubbed her eyes.

  “Look, I'm sorry about this. It's only 'til I get sorted out. I got evicted.”

  Severely sleep-deprived and overwhelmed by my discovery at Tim's, this was almost too much for me.

  “What do you mean, evicted? And who are the kids? Whose are the kids? How come you've got lumbered with them? What about their parents? Where are they? Can't they look after them? Who are they?”

  Jenni straightened, her eyes bright with anger.

  “They're my baggage, girl. Two of them. A little girl, five and a half. Samantha. And Jacob. He's nearly seven.”

  I stared hard at her. I'd known Jenni for five years and she'd never once mentioned her children. I began to wonder if I knew her at all.

  “I had no idea, Jenni. I mean, you're out every week, aren't you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Out every week instead of looking after my kids. Right? Well, they go to their father's for the weekend. Or did. Now he's got some woman there who doesn't want them around. Doesn't want his baggage. So, it's every month now. And that means I can't work in the bar. So, I got behind with the rent and here I am. But don't worry, I won't lumber you for long, Clem. I'll find somewhere to go tomorrow.”

  I remembered all my outbursts to her about people with children and failed relationships. All the times I'd scornfully laughed at the 'no-hopers', as I called them, who dragged around a brood of kids and tried to snare a replacement parent for them. All the times Jenni had the chance of any man she wanted, yet had baulked at each of them, obviously caring more about her children.

  “You could have told me. You could have told me more. I would have helped you.”

  Johnny had been facing us, listening to the hushed conversation, but now, as if he anticipated what was to come, he busied himself with the tea-making.

  “Tell you, Clem? It's impossible. The only thing you're interested in talking about is your love life. That and your fucking list. Ticking all the boxes. Not that there's anything wrong with that. You're a single woman with no real responsibilities. I listened to you talk about children as if they were a hindrance in life and never once reacted because you've yet to experience the joy. I never told you about my ex-husband because you never really asked. You expected me to have a series of silly little flings that I could forget about in weeks and move on to the next person. But I loved James and he left me. He saw the children religiously every week, came to every hospital appointment with Jacob, until he met Deanne. Then it trailed off and soon the arrangement was monthly instead of weekly. So, I can't work. Except in school hours, and then not in the holidays.”

  I swallowed my tears hard.

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are, Clem, that's why I'm here, asking you for help. I love you, girl, but you're so transparent. Moaning about your middle-class parents and your mum's plastic surgery, about your list and your latest fling. Your life is so fucking simple, and mine is a bombsite. You don't have any real problems, Clem. Like you always say, no baggage.”

  Johnny placed the tea on the table and sat down with us. He avoided looking at Jenni as she crossed her legs on the dining chair, her smooth thighs opening up. I wanted to tell her to get dressed, to tidy up the bin bags, to have a shower, anything to avoid this horrible situation, but I didn't have the heart. In any case, she was wrong. If I hadn't known Jenni, then she had equally not known me.

  “You know, Jenn, there are some things you don't know about me.”

  She laughed loudly and it seemed out of place in the relative tranquillity of the early morning.

  “Oh yeah. Like what? Added another item to your man-list, have you? Broken a fingernail? Planted a new flower in your back garden? What is there to know, Clem?”

  Johnny and Jenni stared at me, making me feel under pressure.

  “I suppose you think you've got the monopoly on secrets, don’t you? Well, there's something I haven't told you, too. Something big about my life that affects me every day and, for your information, may have just change
d.”

  Jenni licked her lips.

  “Well, seeing as it's testimony time, let's hear it, girl.”

  I suddenly felt panicky, as if I was betraying a great secret, cheating on a lover, being unfaithful to a buried memory.

  “I had a sister.”

  “Me too, Clem. Mine's back in Jamaica, living with a windsurfer.”

  “I don't know where my sister is.” All of a sudden, I realised what it must feel like to be at Alcoholics Anonymous. Bringing a voice to something that has been festering inside you for so long, a guilty tirade of snaggled feelings liberated. The words bounced off the walls and back to me. I don't know where my sister is.

  “What do you mean, you don't know where she is? Did she leave home or something?”

  Jenni was rolling a cigarette and I wanted to tell her this was a no-smoking house, but I needed to say other things more urgently. The words were free-falling from my lips now like a landslide.

  “She disappeared when she was sixteen. More than sixteen years ago. My mother and father nearly lost their minds and now I think I've found her.”

  There was silence for a while then Johnny spoke.

  “Bloody hell, Clem, you kept that quiet. How do you mean, disappeared? Was she abducted or something?”

  “No, she just went out and never came back. Savings never touched, never applied for a passport.” A niggle of doubt ran through my mind as I remembered Caroline on a camel. She would have needed a passport for that. “Can people get passports in another name?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “Yep. It's possible. I think you can if you have the right ID. Someone else's. Why?”

  “Well, I was at Tim's last night, and to cut a long story short, he's been dating someone who looks very much like my sister. Turns out he's a bit of a weirdo and thought I was her, because I look so much like his ex, who might be Charlotte. Except she's called Caroline.” Jenni's hand slid over mine and she smiled slightly. “She's got a child. Amy. Whose fifteen. It all fits. She ran away to have a baby.”