‘This trip to New York will be just what we need,’ I said. ‘Time away from the day-to-day boredom, a chance to really have some fun.’
That was why, when Olivia suddenly announced that she might not be coming after all and had even gone so far as to find out about getting a refund on her ticket, Rachel and I were so disappointed. We knew it probably had something to do with Lewis, but we simply refused to take no for an answer. We practically frogmarched her to the departure gate, sure in the hope that, if we could just get her to New York, away from him, everything would be better. And for the first few days of the trip it was. We visited the sights, laughed and reminisced about our times together at college; but all that changed the night she disappeared. By the time we reached the bar that night, it had become obvious that Olivia couldn’t pretend any more. Whilst Rachel and I took full advantage of happy hour, downing two drinks in a row before despatching our sexy waiter off to the bar for another round, she sipped her one cocktail painfully slowly. We knew what was wrong with her: before we’d left the hotel, she’d had a row on the phone with Lewis. I never got the full story but from my end it had sounded as though he wasn’t happy about her getting glammed up for a night on the town with us. We were a bad influence, in Lewis’s opinion, that much I did hear. And sitting in that packed Manhattan bar that night, when we should have been getting drunk and having fun, I broke all my own rules about not getting involved in Olivia’s relationship; I couldn’t stand it any more and I was filled with a sudden urge to finally say something. I blame the Cosmopolitans.
‘Are you okay, honey? You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.’ I was probably slurring my words a bit by then.
‘I’m fine, just got a bit of a headache, that’s all,’ Olivia replied.
‘Were you and Lewis arguing before we came out? Sorry, I wasn’t earwigging but it was a bit obvious. You looked upset,’ I said, draining my glass as our waiter arrived at the table with another round. Rachel eyed his very pleasing bottom as he walked away from our table; obviously feeling brave after all the booze, she hopped down off her stool and followed him back to the bar.
‘Where’s she going?’ said Olivia.
I snorted into my drink. ‘She thinks he’s been giving her the eye, so she’s off to try her luck, I imagine.’
‘Oh, God, no. Really? Shouldn’t we go after her before she embarrasses herself?’
‘She’ll be fine, she’s a big girl,’ I said, raising my glass in a silent toast. ‘And don’t change the subject. We were talking about you and Lewis.’ I gestured towards her. Olivia just looked down at the table. With hindsight, I wish I hadn’t pushed her, I wish I’d just left it, but I didn’t. In truth I think I was angry with her for letting him ruin what should have been our dream trip.
‘Liv, I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,’ I said. I had to lean right into her ear – someone behind the bar had turned up the music and I could barely hear myself.
Olivia put down her drink and started gathering her things.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘It’s too loud for me in here. I think I’m going to go back to the hotel.’
I couldn’t help it – I was so mad. I was mad that Lewis’s phone call had made her so sad, but I was even angrier at Olivia for letting him do this to her again. Even though we were on the other side of an ocean, he still had control.
‘I can’t believe you’re letting him spoil this for you, Liv. It’s bad enough you let him run your life when we’re back home, but this was supposed to be a trip for all of us to enjoy together and he’s managed to fuck that up too!’ I yelled. Olivia just looked sad and shook her head.
‘You don’t understand, you couldn’t. Lewis is all I’ve got, and he takes care of me. None of you would understand – you all have everything figured out.’
Rachel was still MIA with the waiter and his good teeth, getting up to God knew what, and I was feeling decidedly wobbly after too much alcohol. What on earth made Olivia think that we had our shit together any more than she did?
‘How can you say that? We’re your family. You don’t need Lewis crapping all over your life. You could have so much more, Olivia, you deserve so much more.’
Olivia just nodded and then came and hugged me so tight. It’s one of my clearest memories of that night. She squeezed me so hard, and when she pulled away she had tears in her eyes.
‘Thanks, Evie. I love you – I love you both. And you don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.’
‘If you’re going to leave then we’re coming with you. Rach will be back in a minute. Just wait and then we can all go together,’ I said, reaching for my bag and jacket, but Olivia stopped me.
‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be fine. The hotel is literally two streets away. I’ll be all right on my own.’
‘No way, ‘I insisted. ‘I don’t care how far it is, you’re not—’
‘Oh, my God!’ Rachel’s voice cut through the crowd as she made her way back to our table. ‘Gimme a drink, I’m parched. You’re never going to believe what just happened!’ She grabbed her glass and downed the contents in one. She looked a bit dishevelled and I noticed her blouse was buttoned up wrong.
‘You didn’t?’ I shouted.
‘I bloody well did!’ she screeched. ‘He had me up against the wall out in the alley and it was so-o-o-o good! I couldn’t stop myself, he was just so fit!’
‘Bloody hell, Rachel, you’re crazy! Cheers to you though!’ I raised my glass and clinked it against hers. She proceeded to share her barman’s ‘sexpertise’ and when I turned around, Olivia had gone. I ran over to the door and out onto the street, but I couldn’t see her and, to my everlasting shame, I just went back into the bar. I should have gone after her; I should never have let her leave by herself.
It was midnight when we came back to the hotel, only an hour or so after Olivia had left us, to discover that she wasn’t there. We reported her missing immediately and when the police came and checked the hotel security footage, there was no sign of Olivia. She never made it back to the hotel and for the last twenty-two years I’ve lived with the fact that it was my fault. I drove her out of the bar that night, with my questions about Lewis and what she saw in him, and I was the one that let her leave on her own.
Two
London, December 2017
‘Do you really think it could be her? After all this time?’ Rachel’s voice sounded shaken. It mirrored my own.
‘I don’t know. I read the whole story but all it said was that eight bodies had been found in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t give any more information as to why they might think it’s her.’ I took a large mouthful of my wine and looked at the clock on the cooker – it was almost seven. I was expecting Grace and Sam home at any moment.
‘I can’t talk about this now – the kids are due back any minute.’
‘They’re back from uni already? It’s not Christmas holidays yet, is it?’
‘No, they’re only here for the weekend. Grace is catching up with some old school friends and Sam has tickets to see some band or other.’
‘So they’re just using you as a B & B, then?’ Rachel chuckled.
‘Yep, that’s about the size of it.’
In truth, I didn’t really mind; I was just happy to have them home, even if I’d probably only get to see them for a couple of hours. ‘They’ve promised to at least sit down for dinner with me tonight. That’ll be nice. All three of us together around the table again. I know Grace has been gone for a few months, but it still feels weird being here in the house on my own.’
‘Think yourself lucky. I don’t think Sean is ever going to leave home. The boy spends all day in his room with the curtains shut, playing games on his computer.’
‘I thought he went for a job interview the other day?’
Rachel snorted down the phone. ‘Ha! He did but he decided it wasn’t quite for him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Apparently he’s holding out for a management position,’ said Rachel, with more than a tiny note of sarcasm. I nearly spat out the mouthful of wine I’d just taken. ‘What?’
‘I know. He’s my son and I love him but he’s such a lazy little shit at times.’
‘Sounds sensible to me. Management is always going to be a better option, career wise,’ I replied, tongue firmly in my cheek. Thankfully Rachel and I had been friends long enough to be able to take the piss out of each other occasionally.
‘I’ll tell him you said that. Maybe you’d like him as a lodger for a bit, you know, to keep you company.’
‘Er, no, thanks. I’m fine just as I am.’ I heard the key in the front door followed by the sounds of my two children squabbling in the hallway. ‘Rach, I’ve got to go. Shall we meet up tomorrow for a coffee? We can talk about this properly.’
‘Yes, sounds good. Morgan’s, about one-ish?’
‘Great. See you then.’ I ended the call.
‘I don’t know why you couldn’t park on the road. You’ve blocked me in. Mum, tell her she’ll have to move her car, will you?’
‘I’ll move it later. I had a lot of bags, you moron. Mum, where shall I put these?’ asked Grace.
As I came down the hallway to greet my darling children I saw the bags of what I assumed was my daughter’s laundry, piled at her feet. Three of them.
‘Grace, have you not done any washing since you left in September?’
Grace looked down at the bags. ‘Yeah, of course. I’ve only brought the big stuff. Bed linen, towels, that sort of thing. There’s only a few bits of clothing in there. I just figured if you had the washing machine going, I could chuck these bits in.’
I shook my head and then turned my attention to Sam. I had to look up though. Sam was six feet four and he towered over me. He got his height from his father. Tom had also been tall. That was what had caught my attention on the night we met. That, and he had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen; something else that my son inherited from his father’s gene pool. I didn’t give his dad all the credit though; from me he’d got his dark hair and dark eyes, in fact both of them had. I knew I was undoubtedly biased, but my children were gorgeous. I picked up the bags of dirty sheets and towels and God knew what else and walked back into the kitchen. Sam slammed the front door and then followed me with his younger sister trailing behind. I looked at them both, standing together in my kitchen, Grace scrolling through her Instabook or Facegram or whatever it was, and Sam texting his friends. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude to have them both here with me.
‘I’ve made arrabbiata sauce for dinner. Your favourite.’
‘No pasta for me. I think I have an intolerance,’ said Grace, without looking up from her phone. She wandered through into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa.
‘You mean you’re intolerable, Grace. Totally different thing,’ shouted Sam. His sister flicked him her middle finger by way of a reply.
‘I can make courgetti instead of pasta if you’d rather,’ I called to her. I’d bought a spiraliser thingy on a whim a few months back in an effort to eat healthy and get fit. It was still in the box.
‘Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever.’
‘You pander to her too much, Mum,’ said Sam, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. ‘I’m going to dump my stuff upstairs. I’ll be back in a minute and I’ll set the table.’
‘You’re such a good boy, Sam.’
‘I know. I’m your favourite. You can say it, Grace won’t mind.’
I laughed. I didn’t have favourites; the three of us were a team. Sam was only eleven when his father died, and Grace was just eight. Tom had been killed in a car accident on his way home from work, almost ten years before. Ten years – had it really been that long? To me it still felt like only yesterday; the late-night knock on the front door from the police, the drive to the hospital to see Tom’s body. Overnight we became the three Musketeers; one for all and all for one. Without them I would have fallen to pieces. In my darkest moments, when I couldn’t see a way forward through all the pain, the thought of them dragged me back from the edge and kept me going. I didn’t have a choice; losing one parent was more than enough for any child to deal with.
‘How long’s dinner going to be? I’m starving,’ shouted Grace, from her prone position on the sofa.
‘About twenty minutes. Do you want to take your bag upstairs?’
Grace huffed. She knew this was my code for, ‘Get your bag out of the hallway before I fling it on the compost heap at the end of the garden.’ I heard her huffing and stomping her way out of the living room and up the stairs.
*
‘I’m so stuffed,’ said Sam, pushing his plate away from him and leaning back in his chair. ‘That was awesome, Mum.’ He’d had two helpings of pasta and most of the garlic bread. He ate like a horse, not that you could tell. As well as being tall, he was also rail thin.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. Grace, have you finished too?’
I’d watched her push her ‘courgetti’ around the plate for about ten minutes before I’d offered her what was left of the real pasta in the pan on the stove. Gluten intolerance forgotten, she’d loaded it onto her plate and tucked in.
‘Thanks, Mum. You sit there, me and Sam will clear up.’ She stood and took my plate along with hers over to the sink. Turning on the taps, she said, ‘You should think about getting another dishwasher, y’know. Much easier to shove all this in there rather than standing at the sink washing up.’
‘When the old one died on me I realised that I didn’t use it that much. There’s no need for just me.’
‘Then maybe you should think about changing that. So that it’s not just you, I mean,’ said Grace.
Here we go, I thought, now comes the part of the evening where my children try to give me romantic advice. They’d been on at me for ages, trying to get me to sign up for Internet dating and meet someone. I suspected this was only so they didn’t have to feel guilty about leaving me alone in this house, rather than any desperate desire they had for me to find love again. It seemed that no matter how many times I told them that I had no interest in dating anyone, they refused to believe me.
‘You’re still young, Mum, you’re only forty-five. You could find someone else. There must be loads of blokes out there who would be perfect for you.’
‘I checked out some of those dating sites you told me about and I think I can say unequivocally that, no, there aren’t.’ I shuddered at the memory of some of the profiles Rachel and I had scrolled though one night after too much prosecco. They ranged from the just plain sad to the downright disturbing. Thanks, but no, thanks.
‘Leave Mum alone, Grace. If she says she’s all right, then she’s all right.’ Sam stood up, taking his plate over to the sink.
‘I just think it would be nice for her to have someone, that’s all. He’d never replace Dad but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t find someone just as nice.’
I shook my head. ‘Your dad was a one-off, Grace. He left some very big shoes to fill.’ I smiled at the memory of Tom. Everywhere I looked in this house, he was still here. I’d changed nothing after he died. I hadn’t redecorated or bought new furniture. Everything was still as it was, as if he could walk back in at any moment. I’m sure some people would find that weird, but I didn’t. It gave me some comfort when things got too shitty, to be able to picture him leaning up against the worktop in the kitchen or lying on the sofa.
‘I know that. But don’t you think it’s time you moved on?’
‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do, my darling, but I’m all right.’
Grace dried her hands on a tea towel and then came over and gave me a hug. ‘I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too. Now, who’s up for some dessert?’
*
After dinner, as we sat together in the living room, I watched Grace and Sam bicker over the remote control and who got to choose what we were going to watch.
‘I’m not watching bloody football highlights, Sam.’
‘And I’m not watching The Real Housewives of Silicon Valley.’
Grace had the remote, flicking through the channels so fast I’m sure there was no way she could even see what was on. They eventually settled on a rerun of Friends – always a classic – and we watched in comfortable silence as Rachel and Ross went through their whole ‘will they won’t they?’ thing. The exterior shots of their apartment building in New York City reminded me again of Olivia. We’d stumbled across the location when we were out walking in Greenwich Village on the second day of our trip. Olivia had been the one who spotted it.
‘Look, it’s the Friends apartment!’ she’d yelled, she’d been obsessed with the show since it started. ‘We have to get a picture!’ she’d shouted to all of us, before grabbing some poor unsuspecting bloke and thrusting my camera into his hands. We’d posed together under the metal fire escape and grinned like fools. I never saw that photo again. Of course, this was back in the day when photos still had to go to the chemist’s to be developed. You dropped your reel of film into the paper envelope at the counter and then went back a week later to collect your pictures. After everything that happened, I don’t even think I took the film out of my camera; I couldn’t bear the idea of looking at photos of us all together, smiling happily, completely oblivious as to what was about to happen to us.
The only photographs I had of that trip to New York were from a photo booth at Heathrow Airport that we’d had taken before we got on the plane; all three of us squeezed onto the stool and gurning at the lens. Who would I see if I looked at those pictures now? I wondered. I didn’t think I’d even recognise myself. I was young and single and full of excitement about my future. I’d met my future husband and the father of my children already – although I didn’t know that was who Tom would turn out to be at that moment. Back then he was just Tom, a publishing sales rep who kept trying to get me to order vast amounts of books from authors I’d never heard of. He was sweet and charming, and we’d been out for one drink, but I didn’t see him as potential husband material. To be fair, I didn’t see any man as husband material since I was convinced that marriage just wasn’t for me. It just goes to show that you never can tell what life is going to throw into your path that might veer you off course.
City of Second Chances Page 2