The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  My phone started to ring then, deep in my bag. I flushed, knowing I should have turned it off before I spoke to Lesley. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just ignore that.”

  “Don’t worry, I was just going to make some more coffee,” she said. “Take it if you want.”

  I took my phone out of my bag and saw that it was from a withheld number. I thought it must be a company, calling about a job application, so I answered the call.

  “Hello? Ruby Dean speaking.” At first I couldn’t hear what he said. “Sorry? Can you say that again?”

  “I’m going to do whatever I like to you,” a man’s voice said. “And you’re going to beg me for more.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Ruby

  I pressed the End Call button quickly and switched my phone off, shoving it into my bag. My cheeks were burning and Lesley commented when she came back over, carrying two mugs of coffee.

  “Everything all right?”

  I laughed, flustered. “You’re not going to believe this,” I said. “I’ve just had my first dirty phone call.”

  “What? Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. The number was withheld. I thought it might be someone calling about a job.”

  “What did he say?”

  I told her, imitating his deep, rough voice, and she grimaced. “You poor thing. I haven’t had one of those calls for years. They seemed to disappear once we had mobiles, didn’t they? And if he withheld his number, you can’t block him. What a pathetic man he must be, pestering women like that.” She settled back at her desk. “I’m afraid there’s not much work in at the moment and I have to give priority to my regulars. I’m sure you understand. The longer you work for us the more choice you’ll get.” My heart sank. This didn’t sound good. “The only thing I have available now is to start on Thursday. It’s a receptionist job in a small company on the Wirral. Someone’s getting married and they’re taking three weeks off, so they’re looking for a stand-in.” She told me the hourly rate and I winced. I’d always earned much more than that.

  “I’ll do it.” I needed something—anything—to get me out of my flat and to help bring some money in.

  She typed the details onto an e-mail and sent it to me. “I’ll look out for something more suitable for when that job finishes. It’s pretty slow this year because of the economy. A lot of companies are making do rather than employing temps. You’ll have a lot more luck when you’re ready to take on a permanent position.”

  When I left the agency I walked through the city center and into a café that I used to go to years ago. I ordered coffee and sat at a table at the back, watching groups of people chatting. Everyone seemed so carefree. I knew that they’d have their own problems, but right at that moment I couldn’t see what they were. I straightened my shoulders. I had to stop myself from getting depressed. I’d got myself into this mess and I had to get myself out of it. I sent Tom a text:

  What shall we do about putting the house up for sale? Do you think we should do any work on it first?

  He replied straightaway. It should be OK as it is. I’ve painted the hallway and some of the woodwork outside. The rest is fine. I’ll get the Molly Maid team to give it a good clean, then get the agents round to value it. Do you want to be there to talk to them? x

  While we were together, Tom had often ended his messages with a kiss. I always did, but sometimes he wouldn’t, depending on how he felt. I scrolled up and realized that he’d ended every message since I left with a kiss. Was that automatic? Would he realize one day what he’d done and regret it? Or did he mean it: Was he being affectionate?

  My stomach clenched at the thought of talking to the estate agents. I knew they’d find out that we were splitting up, because they’d want to know if they could find us something new. And I didn’t want to see Tom’s face tighten as he’d have to admit we were divorcing. I knew he’d find it hard, especially as it was his second divorce. I didn’t want him involved in my life now, to know where I was living or what I was doing. As far as he knew, I was still working for Sheridan’s; I certainly hadn’t told him I’d been fired. I wondered then where he thought I was living, but shrugged it off. It didn’t matter what he thought. I cared for him, but my life was my own now. I think that was the first time that I felt hopeful, as though I had a future that I could control.

  And so I replied:

  I’d rather not be there if that’s OK. Let me know how much the cleaners charge and I’ll transfer half to you.

  His reply was swift:

  Don’t be silly, Ruby. I’ll sort that out. But how are you? I’ve been worried about you. Are you OK? x

  I almost laughed. I was as far from okay as I’d ever been. I couldn’t bear to look round my new home, at its stained carpet, its sofa that made my back ache.

  I’m OK. Thanks for dealing with the agents.

  I hesitated, but didn’t put a kiss at the end. Those days were gone.

  He replied instantly. I didn’t remember him replying so quickly when we were together.

  Fancy coming round for a drink sometime? It would be good to see you again x

  I didn’t know what to say. I was frightened of saying no outright and I was terrified that if I did accept, I’d find myself moving back in there. I had to force myself to remember what it was like at home and sometimes that was hard to do. I didn’t reply. I didn’t let myself think about the fact he’d see his message had been read. Quickly I turned off Read Receipts on my phone, though I knew he’d probably already seen that I’d read his message.

  I left my phone at the flat so that I wouldn’t be tempted to reply. I went out for a walk along the river to the park and took my Kindle with me so that I could read in the sunshine. When I opened it, I saw a new book had been added. It was The Goldfinch.

  Years ago, before Tom and I got together, we’d both read The Secret History by Donna Tartt. On the night we met he walked me miles through the streets of Liverpool, back to my home. One of the many, many things we talked about was that book. We loved it, more so because of that night. I’d been meaning to read The Goldfinch for years and just hadn’t got round to it. Now it was on my Kindle and the only person who could have sent it was Tom.

  CHAPTER 37

  Ruby

  That evening, when I was cooking dinner, my phone beeped in the living room. The message was from Josh, my stepson.

  Dad’s told me you left him. Didn’t you even think of saying goodbye to me?

  Instantly I felt guilty. Josh had been a constant in my life since I’d met him when he was five. I’d wanted to talk to him, to tell him I was leaving, but Tom had forbidden it. I’d had to give in on that; Josh was his son and it was obvious that Tom would want to tell him first.

  Hi Josh, I wrote, my fingers nervous and suddenly slick with sweat. Your dad told me not to contact you until he’d spoken to you. But why would I say goodbye? I assumed we’d still see each other. x

  Josh and I had spent a lot of time together, more time than he’d spent with his dad. At times Tom would have to work away when it was his visiting time, so Josh would come over to our house and we’d hang out together. I liked him; even when he was a horrible teen he was still funny and he saved his anger for his dad, not me.

  Why would we see each other? he replied. What’s the point?

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I knew he was hurt and I wanted so badly to reassure him.

  I love you, Josh. That’s the point. Just because I won’t be married to your dad doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you again. x

  There was no reply. He’d be mortified, I knew, at my saying I loved him, but it had to be said. His relationship with me was separate from the one I had with his dad. I picked up my phone again and sent him my address.

  Come and see me whenever you can. I miss you x

  No reply again, of course, which left me plenty of time to worry that he
wouldn’t want to see me. I was suddenly desperate to talk to Harry, to ask for his advice. We’d spent so much time talking and he’d always been able to calm my nerves.

  Sarah would leave the office to pick up her kids from school at three o’clock each day and at five past, Harry would usually appear in the doorway.

  “Fancy a coffee?” he’d say.

  His smile . . . there was something about him that drew me to him and when he smiled, it was as though everything lit up in me. I couldn’t stop myself. I knew it was wrong but honestly, from the moment I met Harry I felt warm. Loved. I thought we’d known everything about each other and yet I hadn’t known that his wife, Emma, was pregnant.

  “I don’t have any children,” I told him, the first time we spoke about our families. “But Tom has a child. He was married before, to Belinda, and they had Josh. He’s seventeen now.”

  “A stepson, eh? What’s that like?”

  “He’s great. We had some difficult times when he was a bit younger.” I laughed. “Just the usual teenage angst. But then Tom started to work away some weekends, so Josh would come and stay with me.”

  Harry had frowned. “Couldn’t he stay at home with his mum those weekends and come another time?”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t worth the argument. Tom said Belinda wanted time with her new husband, Martin. He said she was struggling to cope with work and taking care of Josh. And Tom and Belinda weren’t talking for a long time, so it was easier if Josh just came along at the same time each week. They were both pretty rigid with their arrangements. Well, it’s hard to be flexible when you’re not talking.”

  “And didn’t you mind?”

  “I thought I would,” I said, “but I grew to love him. And we got on well, too—better than he did with Tom, really.”

  I could see Harry hesitate and I knew what he was going to ask me. It’s what everyone feels free to ask a woman of my age: Do you wish you had children of your own?

  I preempted him. “I wanted children, but it didn’t work out that way. I would have loved to have had them, though.”

  “There’s plenty of time. You’re still young.”

  “I hope I do,” I said. “It’s just never happened for us.” I hesitated, then decided to tell him; there was something about Harry that made me want to tell him everything. “I have been pregnant, though. I had a miscarriage before I met him. When I was eighteen.”

  He winced. “You poor thing.”

  I couldn’t talk about that. I never had. I think if I’d had a baby since, I would have been okay, but that memory of losing my only child was like having a painful tooth; I couldn’t help probing it but each time the pain overcame me.

  Harry was quiet then and I wondered about him and his wife, Emma. They had no children but I didn’t want to ask him whether that was what they wanted. It seemed intrusive. It was nothing to do with me. I knew how much I would hate it if someone were to ask Tom whether I could have children. I cringed at the thought of that: the way people asked questions as though they deserved an answer, never thinking that their idle curiosity might mean pain for someone else.

  My phone rang and I jumped, thinking it was Josh calling for a chat; then when I saw an unfamiliar number, I thought it might be someone responding to my job applications. I put on my best possible telephone voice. “Hello, this is Ruby Dean.” There was a muffled noise on the line and I wondered for a moment if someone had misdialed. I said again, “Hello, this is Ruby Dean.”

  A man spoke. His voice was low and he sounded unsure of himself. “Are you free tonight?”

  “What?”

  “Tonight. Are you free? Around seven?”

  Stupidly, I said, “Free for what?”

  “To meet up,” he said.

  I frowned. That was a pretty odd way of going about an interview.

  “Who are you?” I asked, my mind whizzing through all the companies I’d written to. Even at that point in the call I was thinking, Why didn’t you just e-mail?

  He cleared his throat. “Doug,” he said, then he coughed. “How much do you charge?”

  “What?” Even now I still thought he was an employer; I’d sent my résumé out to a hundred companies over the last few days and thought that finally someone was calling about a job.

  He told me then what he wanted. He gave me a couple of options, even; he didn’t seem bothered either way.

  I stared at the phone in horror. “Go away!” I shrieked. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  He started to speak again, but I cut him off and blocked his number.

  I wished then I hadn’t made that promise to myself about alcohol in the flat. I would have killed for a strong drink. Instead I sent Sarah a message.

  Just had a dirty phone call.

  Her response wasn’t what I’d hoped for. Oooh what did he say?

  I sighed. Why did people always think calls like that were funny?

  The usual, I replied. I’ve blocked him now. Unless you’d like me to send him your number?

  She sent back a smiley face and I switched off my phone. I was troubled. I’d never had a call like that in my life; now I’d had two in one day. And the bogus interview with Alan Walker still played on my mind. Who had sent the e-mail, inviting me to go there? But the thing that bugged me the most was that memory of my dresses hanging in the closet. When I tried to remember putting them there I felt as though I was grasping at something out of reach. At a memory that wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER 38

  Ruby

  I woke early the next morning with a thumping headache to find forty-seven missed calls on my phone. Eleven of them had left messages on my voice mail. At first I felt a rush of excitement, thinking that I’d soon be offered a job and wouldn’t have to take that low-paid receptionist’s role. I started to listen to the first message, then hastily pressed the delete key as soon as I heard the guy breathing heavily. With growing trepidation I listened to the second, before cutting it dead as soon as he said what he wanted from me. Feeling sick, I blocked all of the callers without listening to what they had to say.

  I sent Sarah another message:

  I’ve had loads of dirty calls, Sarah. I’ve blocked them but I don’t know where they’re coming from.

  She replied: Sorry, in a rush with the kids. You need to change your number.

  But how can I? I said. I’ve just sent out over 100 resumes to employers and I’ve registered with all the agencies in the northwest. I could feel myself becoming increasingly upset. I can’t just change my number! It would take weeks to tell everyone. I need a job!

  My phone rang and I thought it was Sarah, grabbing a moment from work to reassure me. It really wasn’t. My hands were shaking when I ended that call and blocked the number.

  Google yourself, wrote Sarah. See if your number’s anywhere. And buy a whistle. At least nobody will call twice.

  There was a hardware shop on my street and I went there immediately. I tested a couple of whistles in the shop and bought the loudest one they had. Back home, I Googled myself, terrified of what I’d find, but nothing was there. I thought of entering the blocked numbers into Facebook, but couldn’t bear to put faces to the voices that had called me. I knew I’d never sleep at night if I could picture those men.

  All I wanted was to ask Harry what I should do. He was my only confidant over the last year and I missed talking to him so much. I looked up Sheridan’s on my phone. On their website were photos of all the people at the top of the company. There at the very top was a photo of Harry. If I half closed my eyes it looked as though he was smiling at me, just as he did day after day when he’d see me at the door to his office.

  “Ruby!” he’d say. “Come on in.”

  He’d stop whatever he was doing and give me all of his attention. Just one look from him and I felt as though I was wrapped in a warm blanket. As thou
gh I was home. In Paris he’d told me he loved me. Adored me. He wanted to live with me, to be together forever. And the way he’d looked at me, I’d believed him.

  I frowned. Had it just been a ploy to flatter me? Why would he need to do that?

  “It’s so easy with you,” he said. I’d laughed and he quickly apologized. “That came out wrong, didn’t it? It’s just that I can be myself with you. I don’t have to think about things or feel as though you’re second-guessing me. I can relax. I haven’t been able to do that for a long time.”

  I’d known exactly what he meant. There was a closeness between us by then that I’d never experienced before. There was a song I remembered from when I was young, and the lyrics were something like Everything’s better when you’re around. That’s exactly how I felt. It was as though the world had been sepia and it had suddenly burst into Technicolor and it was all because of him. And I trusted him, pure and simple. I’d known at the time that people would’ve said I was naive, given he was married and having an affair, but I felt as though I knew the real him. I’d truly believed him when he told me he loved me.

  I was so angry then, and I picked up my phone, ready to let him have it. I guessed he’d be at work now and I took the risk that I could call him on his mobile. I hesitated, then withheld my number, before dialing his.

  “Hello?” I said when the call went through.

  “Hello?” It wasn’t Harry; it was a woman. “Who’s calling?”