The Wrong Move

by Jennifer Savin

  That thought had never occurred to her before. An apology didn’t seem Matthew’s style. She couldn’t remember him ever having apologised for leaving her wrists red raw or for forcing her arm up against the bedroom radiator until it sprang weepy blisters. She had to be paranoid, to remain vigilant, fearing if she dropped her guard for one second that’s when he’d appear. Thinking this way helped her to feel safe. If she was suffering already, even by her own doing, then maybe the universe would deem that enough and keep him far away. Or maybe she needed to have more therapy.

  ‘Is the deleted message from him still in your trash folder? Shall I read it for you? It’s better to know what you’re up against. If you’re up against anything.’

  ‘I’ll message you my login details.’

  Jessie fired off her password then waited, typing a quick reply to the group chat as a distraction.

  Sorry, just me being silly – thought something had moved in my room then remembered I’d done it. LOL!

  She answered on the first ring when Priya called her back, to say that Matthew’s message contained just four words.

  ‘Jess, it says “We need to talk”.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  As soon as Priya told her what Matthew’s email said, Jessie went into panic mode. That well-known sensation of her chest tightening crept in, as the tops of her arms and legs turned numb. Her tongue welded itself to the roof of her mouth.

  ‘There’s no point in working yourself up over what may or may not happen in the future,’ Priya said softly over the phone, attempting to placate her. ‘I think it’s best you keep yourself busy for the rest of the night.’

  Jessie promised to try, but knew it wouldn’t be easy. She stared at her palms until they stopped vibrating, then decided to search once more for her missing bracelet – anything to stop her worrying about the message.

  She rifled through the carrier bag she was using as a makeshift bin, finding nothing, then wondered if it could have fallen down and become trapped behind her dressing-table drawers. Upon pulling the bottom one out as far as it could go, a glint of gold, pushed into the furthest right-hand corner, caught her eye. This must be it, she thought triumphantly, reaching her hand into the dark space to retrieve the bracelet she’d lost. As soon as her fingertips met the cold metal, her certainty wavered. It felt unfamiliar. The chain was too thin and there was something attached to it. She uncurled her hand to discover not a bracelet, but an oval-shaped locket with an ornate floral design on it. Turning the jewellery over, she found a large looped letter ‘M’ engraved on the smooth back. The piece was heavy and probably quite old.

  It took Jessie a few seconds to flick the clasp open with her fingernail. Inside was a curl of dark hair tied with thread, preserved behind a sheet of glass. On the opposite window was photograph of a stern-looking woman in a high-necked dress whose gaze was focused somewhere beyond the camera. A sepia image. She looked closer, trying to deduce from her clothing whether or not she’d been wealthy, wondering if the person had lived a happy life. She realised quickly it must belong to Magda, the former tenant, who’d been in this room before her. Maybe Ian would have her details buried within a stack of paperwork somewhere from when she first signed on to live at Maver Place.

  Jessie remembered the letting agent’s weird comment about Magda having moved out in the middle of the night. A small sense of unease about the flat, that she’d tried to ignore, felt a little more palpable. People didn’t run away from a place unless something was seriously wrong – Jessie, more than most, could vouch for that first-hand. She had been so terrified of leaving Matthew that she’d waited until he was on a job out of town before hurriedly packing her suitcase and peering anxiously through the letter box, waiting for a taxi to ferry her to safety at her parents’ house. Had Magda felt like that too? Desperate and fearful because of … Marcus, maybe? But his loud music couldn’t be the only reason. He must have done something more than that. But what? If he had been the one to drive Magda away, then maybe he did move the MacBook after all. She hated the idea of him being in her room while she was out, running his bony fingers all over her things. Perhaps Ian was only joking, she eventually reasoned. Her mind was just in overdrive after Matthew’s email. Not everybody was a threat. She looked at the locket she was now gripping. It still needed to be returned to its rightful owner. She put the drawers back into their correct slots and placed the necklace safely in the top one, next to her collection of near identical dusky pink lipsticks.

  In doing so, a vision of the junk cupboard in the hallway downstairs came to mind. It housed the boiler, as well as bags filled with old Halloween decorations, an assortment of tools and various bits of paperwork that nobody wanted to throw away in case they were important, but which hadn’t belonged to anybody in a long time. Fragments of previously rented lives, all shoved together and forgotten, in one place.

  She headed downstairs, yanked the door open, and began looking for something – unsure as to exactly what. A clue. Another signifier of Magda’s existence which would tell her more about the woman who had once lived in her bedroom and perhaps help return the necklace to her. The handle was sticky. It annoyed Jessie that nobody had bothered to clear this cupboard out, instead choosing to just add to it by shoving in more junk mail. She grabbed a pile of envelopes and rifled through them, taking in the various names they were addressed to. One with a Specsavers logo for a Miss E. Holliday, several to the homeowner. A magazine about motorcycles, calling for the attention of a Mr Carlos Ramos. Then, finally, she struck gold with a plain white rectangle bearing the name Ms Magda Nowak. It was difficult for Jessie to pinpoint exactly why she felt so determined to go out of her way to return the jewellery to a woman she’d never met. Obviously it was the right thing to do, but it was more than that. Besides the fact it was clearly an heirloom she felt an affinity with Magda, not just from sharing a room but because maybe – if Ian hadn’t been joking – they’d been in similar situations. Jessie knew if she’d accidentally left anything behind when leaving in a hurry, she would have been so grateful for its safe return. She opened the letter. It was a reminder to make a dental appointment, dated October 2018, just a few weeks before Jessie had moved in. Slipping it in her pocket and walking back to the stairs, she hurried past Marcus’s bedroom door, fearful of bumping into him.

  Back upstairs, door locked, Jessie sat cross-legged on the bed and opened her laptop, resting it on a cushion. She logged into Facebook and slowly typed the words ‘Magda Nowak Brighton’ into the search bar. A profile came up as a match. Whoever it belonged to had tight security settings, with nothing on their account visible to anyone who hadn’t been accepted as a friend. Not even a profile photo on display. There was no option for Jessie to send a friend request, meaning the only chance she had of making contact was to message and hope Magda would still get a notification for it. She drafted a few short sentences introducing herself, explaining she’d not long moved into Maver Place and had just discovered a locket, along with a brief description of the item and her mobile number.

  The front door slammed shut and fast-paced footsteps approached her room. They stopped outside her door, then faded in the opposite direction. Somebody had just gone into Sofie’s bedroom. Maybe she could shine a bit of light on why Magda had left so suddenly and was now untraceable. Maybe Marcus was part of the reason Sofie herself stayed out of the flat so often? Jessie mustered up the courage to knock and ask.

  ‘Come in! Hey, Jessie, how’s it going? Oh wow, I love your hair. Have you done something different to it today?’

  Unsure as to where she ought to position herself, Jessie stayed hovering in the doorway, attempting to lean on it so as not to look too formal. Sofie, meanwhile, was still bent over her laundry basket.

  ‘Thank you, no, just the usual. How are you?’

  Once the pleasantries had been exchanged, Sofie looked at Jessie expectantly.

  ‘I just wanted to ask you something about Magda, the girl who had my room before me.�
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  That wasn’t what she’d been anticipating. Sofie’s arched eyebrows wiggled up her forehead slightly. She threw a T-shirt back into the hamper and shut the lid, all ears.

  ‘Go for it.’

  ‘Ian from Happy Homes made a weird joke about her fleeing in the dead of night,’ Jessie said, contemplating how best to word the question. ‘Is that really true?’

  She decided against asking about Marcus just yet, preferring to take it one step at a time. Sofie’s features smoothed back to normal, then her mouth spread into a tight smile.

  ‘It’s true, yeah. She did a moonlight flit to avoid paying the last load of rent and bills, which sucks as none of us are exactly made of money. I had to borrow a bit from Henry to cover my share.’

  It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. One that had never occurred to Jessie. It would also explain why Magda had changed her number and seemed to be flying under the radar on social media. Yet she still couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcus had played a part somehow, or that there was more to it. Why hadn’t Lauren just been honest and said it was money-related in the first place?

  ‘Why would she do that? Sorry, it’s just … weren’t you guys all friends? It seems weird she’d screw you over.’

  Sofie nodded, undoing her messy bun and letting her hair fall to her shoulders before immediately retying it in the same style. The army print crop top and chunky, vintage cable-knit cardigan she had on today were especially flattering. Jessie knew if she wore anything like that she’d feel self-conscious of her soft stomach the entire day, convinced that people were judging her.

  ‘We all got on well enough, sure. We sometimes went running together, actually, but it was Lauren she was closest too.’ Sofie looked thoughtful. ‘She was upset when Magda left, pretty angry too. Like, she’d just sort of shut you down if you tried to ask her about it, saying Magda was disgusting for taking off like that without telling anybody.’

  ‘And Marcus?’

  ‘Well, he kind of just does his own thing, doesn’t he? I barely see him. Though I know I’m hardly ever here.’

  Jessie hummed a sound of agreement; that much was true. Her digging hadn’t come up with any concrete answers, but at least it didn’t sound as though Marcus had done anything overtly terrible after all. Actually, it now seemed that maybe Magda wasn’t faultless. She could understand why Lauren would be incensed by her behaviour, particularly if she had thought she and Magda were good friends. But why would she lie about it, try to make it seem as if Marcus was to blame? Something didn’t add up. She stayed chatting about how her first day in the new office had gone, before letting Sofie get back to sorting her laundry. Following Priya’s advice, Jessie spent the rest of the evening watching a film in her room, attempting to distract herself from stressing about the bizarre phone call and email. The message she’d sent to Magda remained unread.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The temperature outside had dropped so low that Jessie could see her breath, as she shivered waiting for the bus to work. She’d lived at Maver Place for over two months now and the festive season had well and truly arrived. As she hung her coat up on a peg in the office, a Christmas song played merrily on the radio. A few weeks ago, on the first day of December, Juliette had insisted they tune in to a station dedicated entirely to festive songs and had started sporting naffer novelty jumpers than usual. Today’s number featured a gigantic snowman in a Santa hat on the front. But Jessie wasn’t feeling particularly festive this year – every time she thought about heading home to stay with her family and catch up with old friends, all she could picture was Matthew ringing the doorbell in the middle of the night again, or cornering her in the local pub. Just knowing they’d soon be in the same town was enough to make concentrating on work a struggle. Those feelings of paranoia, a sense that something terrible was edging closer towards her, were only increasing. Whenever she waited to cross the road, Jessie found herself flinching at passing cars. Upon Priya’s suggestion, she’d finally registered with a GP surgery in Brighton, but couldn’t get an appointment to discuss her medication until next year. There was still no response to her message to Magda, but even more worryingly, the withheld number had continued to call. It had become a daily occurrence. She had no way of blocking the calls so the best she could do was refuse to answer. He was goading her and it was working.

  She planned to swing by Churchill Square mall on her way home to look for a Secret Santa gift for Sofie and hoped that a spot of Christmas shopping might lift her spirits a little. The women of the flat, spearheaded by a message from Lauren, had decided to do a present exchange with the rule being nobody could spend more than £10. They’d gathered in the kitchen conspiratorially and picked a piece of folded paper from a saucepan, then stifled giggles when Marcus had walked in and stared at them despondently. Jessie had felt a pang of guilt about that, but stayed silent and turned her back on him, putting the saucepan back in the cupboard. It was reassuring that Sofie and Lauren seemed to find Marcus as odd as she did. It wasn’t ideal living with him, but it was tolerable, at least, especially now that both the girls felt like genuine friends to her.

  Jessie had settled on buying Sofie a nice candle from Urban Outfitters, a vegan one, of course. Something hard to get wrong and less of a cop-out than her original plan – the least pensioner-smelling bath and body set she could find within budget. Apart from a gift card, it really was the most dull of ideas. Besides, Sofie’s tray in the bathroom caddy they shared was already packed with Lush scrubs and home-made bottles of coconut conditioner. Marcus’s entire toiletries range consisted of a toothbrush, his own toothpaste which he kept separately from theirs and a plain bar of soap, no frills whatsoever, which was Jessie’s idea of a nightmare. She could happily spend hours trawling Superdrug or Boots, sniffing at all the products promising they’d transform her into someone happier and more beautiful.

  The working day passed at an average speed: Jessie spent most of it registering new patients onto the internal database and updating the list of missed and kept appointments, breaking to eat a jacket potato in the staffroom at lunch, checking again to see if there was a response from Magda. When home time rolled around, she was glad to be finished with staring at a screen for the day and gave her colleagues a cheery wave goodbye.

  Luckily, despite it being rush hour, the bus into town didn’t take too long and she used the journey as an opportunity to message Rob, who was heading up a building project out of town for a couple of weeks. He’d sent her a photo of himself wearing a hard hat and suit, which she’d appreciated. It proved he was still thinking about her, even when he was away working. Hopefully they’d be able to meet up again before she left Brighton for the holidays.

  Upon reaching the city centre, Jessie saw that the Clock Tower had its annual canopy of twinkling Christmas lights switched on. If you stood underneath them and looked up, it appeared as though the sky were packed with hundreds of silvery white stars, just a few metres above your head, almost within touching distance. It was one of her favourite things about the city at this time of year. She took a moment to appreciate it and remember how far she’d come since she’d first lived here. Although Matthew still lurked in the recesses of her mind, tiptoeing around her thoughts uninvited, she’d moved away and was making it work on her own. As strung out as she felt at the thought of potentially bumping into him over Christmas, she could at least be proud of that.

  Jessie got the sense that someone was watching her. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a young woman around her own age sitting on the steps of the Clock Tower with a group of other homeless people, staring unblinkingly in her direction. Her pale face sagged with exhaustion and was curtained by long dark hair upon which sat a black beanie. Jessie turned to look back and smile self-consciously. She never quite knew what to do when approached by homeless people – she rarely carried cash on her, which she felt made for an uncomfortable exchange. This woman, though, if she’d been in cleaner clothes and just walking down the
street, could easily have been a friend of hers. Her expression was so pained that maintaining eye contact felt like leaving your hand on an increasingly hot stove. She had an aura of complete and utter defeat, those eyes offering only a small glimpse into her world. Jessie’s heart went out to her. If she didn’t have the support of her family, who knows where she could’ve ended up after running away from Matthew? A few seconds later, the homeless woman broke her gaze and went back to forlornly lighting a half-smoked cigarette that she’d scavenged from the pavement.

  The traffic lights switched to red and Jessie made her way over to the shopping centre, telling herself she’d visit an ATM machine and offer a note to the woman if she was still there later on. She drifted into the familiar warmth of Topshop and flicked idly through the sale rail, not really looking for anything in particular. Lots of sequin dresses. Maybe she’d come back for that blue one if work announced there’d be a last-minute Christmas party. At the moment the plan was just to have a few drinks in the office, nothing exciting or worth buying a new outfit for. The centre was busy this evening – half of the city seemed to be out doing their shopping. She wandered around the homeware section of Urban Outfitters, aimlessly picking up scatter cushions, reading the price tags, then putting them back. Next to a shelf of photo frames was a tray of candles for just under a tenner each. Exactly what she’d been looking for. The label said they were all cruelty free and the smell coming from the sandalwood one was easily the nicest. She headed to the till, sure that Sofie would be appreciative, but it felt bittersweet tapping her card on the reader, still thinking about the homeless woman she’d seen earlier. By the time she headed back to the Clock Tower, the woman had gone.