The Waiting List (Strong Women Book 5)

by Sarah Till

  Was that the reason I could never get close to anyone? Both Johnny and Jenni had told me beyond any doubt that I was shallow. I hadn’t even known that Johnny lived just down the road from me; in all the years I'd worked with him I'd never asked. And Jenni’s children? How could I never have asked her if she had children? Or if she had been married? Of course she could have told me, but why would she? After all, I'd practically criminalised children and marriage to her; why would she tell me? I tried to think back to before all this, when Jenni had just been my Friday night friend and Johnny had been just a guy in the office across from me. Before Johnny gave me the penny and before the homeless man had picked it up. Could it have been that I really did have only two things on my mind: avoiding dealing with the Charlotte situation and finding Mr Right? Was I really, really that neurotic? It was difficult for me to comprehend that I’d been so shallow, as I sat here now with my bruised heart and my newly found sister .

  I supposed the way I was with Liam had given me a clue. He seemed to be a person I could open up to, someone friendly, yet all I managed to download on him was the list, Tim and Charlotte. I'd hardly asked him anything about himself before I burdened him with the complete contents of my selfish little world. No wonder he walked away. He probably couldn’t believe he had asked someone so self-centred out on a date.

  Yet he still seemed interested. Despite my obsession with Tim, he still wanted to speak to me, still wanted to take me out. And, to my surprise, I fancied him. Slowly, it sank in, my lesson learned. The cogs ground slowly to a halt and there I was, relocated in another universe, one where I'd found my sister. One where I had a chance with a potential Mr Right, a different person to the list-driven criteria I'd based the previous Mr Rights on. Someone unknown to me, not the same-old-same-old routine of dating, declaring, sex, engagement and marriage. Someone who wasn’t presenting me with a ready wrapped box of expectation all tied up with a big pink bow. Liam was an unknown entity. One thing I did know was that I'd learned from my mistakes with Tim. Whereas he had used me as a replacement Caroline, and balanced his love life carefully between both of us, I needed to separate Liam from Tim. Now. There must be no cross-over, no comparisons.

  The thought scared me slightly. Letting go of Tim would not be easy, even though it was clear that his relationship with Charlotte would continue. I'd practically designated him my ideal man and that image wouldn’t be so easy to shift. Even now, I still had the grazes from his stubble on my chin to remind me of him. The image of his face, close to mine, hot and smiling, was fresh in my mind and it was somewhere I wanted to keep secret, somewhere to sneak off to in quiet moments. Somewhere soothing. But it wasn’t real. He wasn’t mine. He belonged to my sister. I’d be alone. Who would I have then?

  Jenni’s words to me rang in my head. She’d practically shouted at me to look around me. Admittedly, looking around me at other people was something I hadn’t really been accustomed to. I’d been too busy scanning for Mr Right or obsessing over avoiding Charlotte. I knew what she meant – I did have people around me – but with Tim gone and Charlotte with him, they were the same people as before. I picked up my mobile and rang her. The tone rang twice and she answered.

  “Clem. Yeah? What is it?”

  “What did you mean, look around you? What did you mean?”

  There was a short silence and I heard a door shut.

  “OK, Clem. Your fucking list. Now you’ve whittled it down, what have you got left?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Yeah, but now you’ve got rid of the looks-based stuff, what are you left with?”

  I grabbed a copy and studied it.

  Clementine Clooney – The man I would like to meet

  The man I would like to meet is called _________________ He will have:

  A sense of humour Must be faithful

  Reliable Loving

  Precise

  Generous

  A little bit dangerous

  Loves me

  “I’VE GOT IT HERE IN front of me. I’ve got humour, faithful, reliable, loving, precise, generous, a little bit dangerous, and loves me.”

  I waited, clinging onto the phone and waiting for Jenni to give me what I thought would be the answer to my question. Did she know that there was a man who liked me with these qualities? Had she known about someone? Maybe she had someone in mind, a friend. Now I’d got rid of the baggage clause, maybe she was thinking of her brother. I tapped on the table and waited. Eventually she spoke.

  “Sorry, Clem, I was just writing them down. You know, girl, that’s not a bad list now.” She laughed loudly and I felt relieved that she wasn’t still annoyed with me. “A fine set of qualities for a person to have, isn’t it?”

  “But you said to look around? Do you know someone who would like to meet me? I have a date with Liam but if there’s someone else?”

  Jenni sighed.

  “You just don’t get it, do you, girl? Just don’t get it. Look. Around. Who, in the people you know is precise?”

  “Well, like I said, my dad, but I don’t want someone like him.”

  “Bear with me, Clem. Who is reliable? And a little dangerous?”

  “My Mum. Like we said before. But again...”

  “OK, what about faithful? Think, Clem, who will be faithful?”

  “Johnny. He seems the faithful kind.”

  “And funny. Can you think of anyone who’s funny?”

  She spoke in a high-pitched puppet voice and I laughed.

  “Well, you, I suppose. Sometimes.”

  “Good. And you know what, Clem? Every one of those people love you. In their own way. Even your Mum. Especially your Mum. You have your differences, but she’s still around. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you’re not alone at all, are you?”

  Suddenly, the search for Mr Right didn’t seem so urgent and for a split second I felt loved.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sunday morning, I drove over to see my parents. I toyed with the idea of telling them that Charlotte had been round to my house. I couldn't really believe it myself; in fact, the past two weeks seemed surreal. I put my foot down and tried to imagine I was back in a time when I hadn't met Charlotte, Tim or Liam and that Jenni and Johnny were both still single. Life had been so simple then.

  I reached the house and felt the temperature drop a couple of centigrade as I made my way up the path. On cue, Mum appeared at the door and ushered me in. There was no sign of the tyre and the suitcase, but the large gin and tonic and the multipack of cigarettes were back. She sank into the sofa and the familiar click of her lighter echoed around the room. Her eyes were cold as she looked me up and down.

  “What do you want?”

  I gulped and decided to push her a little.

  “I came to see if you are OK. Both of you. Where's Dad?”

  She nodded towards the shed and rolled her eyes heavenwards.

  “As if you have to bloody ask. Playing with his matches.”

  “Samantha and Jacob have been asking after you. Jenni wondered if she could bring them round to see you?”

  I saw a flicker of emotion cross her face.

  “Nah. Too busy.”

  “What with?”

  “You know. You were here when the news came on. They've found a body and I have to wait and see if it’s her.”

  My blood boiled and I saw red.

  “Mum, you know it isn’t her. You know she's alive. You saw her. Why are you doing this?”

  She looked at me and a scornful expression set in.

  “Because it wasn't her. She didn't know us. You heard her.”

  Her gaze rested on the sofa next to her.

  “Mum, it was her. You know it was. And she doesn't want to know, for whatever reason she has. You have to accept it and get on now. You have to.”

  She laughed a little manically.

  “So, you're telling me that she's left us, lived round the corner with our grandchild, never bothered to g
et in touch then when we find her, she denies knowing us? Is that what you are saying, Clementine?”

  “Yes. That's exactly it.”

  “But why would she do that? She always had the best of everything, went to a good school, had nice clothes, good food to eat, nice friends. And me and your dad. We never did anything.”

  I stared at her. She was right. Until we were teenagers, they had been the perfect hands-on parents, holidays at Butlins, camping, picnics, barbecues. Yet, as soon as we had our own voices, as soon as we could answer back, we were left with each other for company. While Mum and Dad did nothing. Dad slept after work and Mum gossiped with neighbours. We only had each other.

  “Maybe that was the problem, Mum. Or maybe she just didn't want to be here for some reason.”

  “Oh, so you're blaming me and your dad, are you? She pisses off and you blame us? What did we do? We gave her everything.”

  “Like you're giving me now? All you're giving me at the moment, in fact for the past sixteen years, is a hard time. Charlotte this, Charlotte that. Then we find her and because you have to face up to the fact that something did happen, something you can't control, you won't look at it. She didn't turn into that digitised image, Mum, or into you. She turned into something you hadn't planned for. Now you can't face it.”

  She tapped her red talons on the coffee table beside her.

  “Let me tell you something, Clementine. The reason I know it wasn’t her was because my Charlotte would never had got pregnant at sixteen. No. You see, your father and I had discussed it. She would never have done that.”

  “But, Mum, you must have known she had plenty of boyfriends. She was out until all hours.”

  “I trusted her. Your Dad told me to put her on the pill. You as well. He told me to put the pill in your cornflakes. But I knew she wouldn’t do... that. And no one would have done it with you, so I had nothing to worry about.”

  “Mum. I know you’re upset, but please. She was pregnant. When she ran away. She was pregnant and had a baby daughter. You were wrong. Charlotte was having sex. She had more than one boyfriend.”

  “So, if you know all this, why didn’t you say something? Let’s say you knew about her having... having... sex. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Are you implying that it’s my fault, Mum? Who’s the parent here? It wasn’t my job to keep an eye on Charlotte. It was your job, and Dad’s. She was eight months pregnant and you never noticed. Neither did I, but I was fifteen and obsessed by Bros and horses. You were the parent. Are the parent.”

  She stared at me hard and the tapping stopped.

  “It wasn't her. I would know my own daughter. It definitely wasn't her. Now fuck off, Clementine and let me get on with this.”

  She took the huge pile of lists and started to tick the boxes. From where I was sitting, I could see that her tears were smearing the felt-tip pen she was ticking with. I stood up and went through to the kitchen. A set of spades, large, medium and small rested against the doorframe, new for now. She had fixed an ordnance survey map to the back of the kitchen door with several crosses on it. A pair of red patent Wellingtons stood beside the spades and her car keys were on the side ready for her departure.

  I crossed the back garden and stood outside Dad's shed. The noise of the traffic from the road was loud and I listened before I dared to knock on the door. The smell of glue was overpowering, even from where I was standing, and I could smell the sulphur from the matches. I pressed my ear against the door and listened to Dad sob through the tongue and groove.

  I drove home and put on a CD. It was Sunday lunchtime and I sat around in the kitchen for a while sipping tea and trying not to feel lonely even though I did feel upset. I called Jenni but she didn't answer. Obviously giving me a wide berth after the previous day’s events. I flicked through my address book and finally stopped on Liam. We had agreed to speak in the week but I had the sudden urge to call him now. Maybe he could cheer me up. I was definitely warming to the idea of going on a date with him. He was so unassuming, so humble; he didn't seem to have a bad motive about him. Not like Tim. I still hadn’t worked out who was telling the truth, him or Charlotte. Every time I thought about her, I got a funny feeling in my stomach. I realised I was scared of her. Or more like what she could do to me. She was more capable of hurting me than anyone else in the world. I'd become accustomed to Mum's snide comments now, and Dad's focus on Charlotte had become second nature. With her reappearance, she had the power to turn my life upside down.

  The only way to move on from this, and fast, was to go out with Liam. I checked the time - two-thirty - and pressed dial. He answered quickly.

  “Hi, Clem. Everything OK?”

  He sounded so casual, almost normal compared with all the other people in my life at the moment. Maybe he was just what I needed.

  “Hi, Liam. I was just phoning to see if you wanted to do anything this afternoon. I'm feeling a little bit clearer about things now. Maybe a coffee or something?”

  “That would be great! Look, I'm at work now, and I've got my kids until seven. But we could all have a coffee, couldn’t we? In the shop on the high street with the ice cream parlour. Is Around five, OK?”

  “But don't you think it’s a bit soon for that?”

  He laughed.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound, Clem. We can leave it two weeks if you like but they'll still be there then.”

  I quickly assessed how I felt about it. I knew about the rules of dating, the first date the 'seeing each other' period and the declaration that you were a couple. I felt a little uneasy but a change was as good as a rest, as Dad would say.

  “OK. That would be good. I’ll meet you there at five. Great.”

  “Bye then.”

  “Bye.”

  Was it a date or was it just a coffee? Not really a date with his family there. I wondered about him working on a Sunday. How would we go out on a Saturday night? What if he had his children every weekend? Although he was out last week, wasn't he? Maybe he got a babysitter.

  I was exhausting myself with the questioning. I showered again and tried on several outfits that were proper enough for a coffee shop. I settled for a t-shirt and jeans with low boots. I brushed out my hair and covered my dark circles with concealer. A little mascara and I was finished. It was still only three o'clock. With too much time on my hands, I began to think about Tim. His presence in my mind was like an oasis in the middle of the mire of my usual daily troubles. It was a place where I didn't have to resort to my constant questioning of everything. He was the light in my dark day. After all, I'd been imagining him since I was very young and now he had become a reality and I had a chance to love him, he would possibly be there forever. I felt like I was stuck to him in some way, or at least his memory. Yet he was gone. He belonged to someone else's obsessive relationship, where he and Charlotte played their dysfunctional games with each other. Just like my parents. I knew then, in that moment, that I'd found what I wanted, what I'd yearned for, dreamed my romantic girly dreams about, pined for and lusted after. He had been here and now he was gone. Yet the impression of him and how he looked remained inside my mind, completing the picture I'd drawn myself for years. What was left for me now?

  Although I didn't cry, my heart was broken. It was as if I would always have the ghost of Tim passing through me, moving and grinning in my soul, a memory that would never, ever leave me. I remembered the feel of his skin, how he moved, his perfect smile, and his eyes. Then there were his lies, his obsession with another woman, his unfaithfulness, his saying anything to get me into bed, and then telling his friends. He wasn't so perfect after all when it came to his character, but he sure looked pretty. That, I realised, was the crux of the matter. I'd only ever really imagined my dream man in terms of how he would look. I'd been picky and precise, and eventually I'd found him.

  I rushed to the freezer and pulled out the lists. I shoved them roughly into the microwave and selected thirty seconds. I'd done this so often that I kn
ew the precise time it took to defrost paper. The microwave pinged and I snatched them away and threw them on the table. The list at the top of the pile was the most recent one, the list that outlined all the criteria I wanted post-Tim.

  Clementine Clooney – The man I would like to meet

  The man I would like to meet is called _________________ He will have:

  A sense of humour Must be faithful

  Reliable Loving

  Precise Generous

  A little bit dangerous

  Loves me

  I KNEW I WASN'T READY to abandon the list completely, but one thing was clear: I had totally fulfilled the appearance part of it, that part I had removed. A tingle of celebration ran through my body and I felt free. My compulsive search for someone who looked just like Tim was over. I'd found him and, as it turned out, he wasn't all that, as Jenni would say. I already had him inside me. I laughed at the innuendo and flicked through the other lists. Lenny. Steve Travers. Mike Lynch. Carl Bowers. All part of the wait for Mr Perfect, all pieces in the puzzle to my happiness. I took all the waiting lists and threw them in the pedal bin in the kitchen. I stared at the bin for a while, wondering if I should keep them just in case. Next, I tied up all the pictures and lists I had made as a child with an elastic band and put them in the plastic folder. This time, they would go in the top of my wardrobe with Tommy Teddy and my doll, Linda, back to my childhood where they belonged. With my memories of Charlotte. They had no place in my life today. I took the new list and placed it in my bag. There would be no more hiding the list in the freezer or anywhere else. I had no need to be worried about people knowing what I wanted from a man. What I wanted was a normal, respectful relationship. Was that too much to ask? Tim's presence retreated now to a warm glow in my heart. I checked my appearance and wondered what I would do until five. My question was answered by my mobile ringing. It was Dad.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dad. You OK?”

  “Yes, never a dull moment, Clem, never a dull moment. Could you come over?”