The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  At 4:30 there was an exodus to the ladies’ bathroom, and at 4:50 they all emerged with fresh makeup and straightened hair. The smell of hair spray and entitlement lay heavily in the air. They headed straight for the door without saying good-bye.

  * * *

  • • •

  Just as I got into the car a message came through from Fiona.

  They arrived safely. Do you know when they’re going back? They are refusing to answer the question and Mum is talking about being here for Christmas. Pray for me.

  I laughed. There was no way she’d put up with them for that long. As I drove out of the office car park I decided to stop at the supermarket on my way home for alcoholic reinforcements. I’d changed my mind about staying off the drink; if I was going to work there, I’d need something to help me, at least on weekends. Next to the supermarket was a pizza takeaway and I couldn’t resist paying them a visit.

  I drove back to my flat, my car smelling of pepperoni and cheese, and couldn’t wait until I got inside and could relax. I was facing two days away from those women and I planned to enjoy every moment.

  As I scrambled out of the car I struggled to keep my leather shoulder bag away from the greasy box and the bottle of chilled white wine away from the pizza, too. I really wasn’t looking where I was going and as I put my key in the front-door lock, I froze.

  Someone was behind me.

  And then I heard, “Hello, Ruby,” and I turned quickly.

  It was Tom’s son, Josh.

  CHAPTER 42

  Ruby

  Josh?” I wanted to kiss him. I always kissed him when I saw him, but my hands were full and he didn’t look as though he wanted me near him. “Hi! It’s lovely to see you.”

  “I got your message,” he said. “So this is where you live?”

  I could see from his face as he looked at the bare dangling lightbulb in the entrance that he wasn’t impressed. “Take these, will you?” I handed him the pizza and wine and pushed the front door wide open. “Coming in?”

  He grunted and followed me upstairs. “Just dump them in the kitchen,” I said. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “A large Scotch.” He’d been saying that same old joke since I first met him.

  I winked at him. “You’re not eighteen yet. Fancy a Coke?”

  “Yeah, great, thanks. I couldn’t have a drink anyway,” he added casually. “I’m driving now.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Driving? When did you take your test?”

  “Just last week. Tuesday. There was a cancellation.” He looked at me then and grinned. “Someone had crashed their car so they couldn’t take their test.”

  I laughed.

  “Dad bought me a car to celebrate.”

  “Oh, I wish I’d been there.” I was upset at the thought of missing this stage in his life. He’d been working toward his driving test for months; I used to test him on road signs and the rules of the road when he came to our house. “What kind of car have you got?”

  “A silver one.” He grinned again. He knew I knew nothing about cars.

  “Nice,” I said, as though he’d told me the make, model, and year. “How was the test?”

  “Three minor errors.” I could see pride and relief on his face. “And I managed to reverse around the corner without killing someone.”

  “That’s great. I knew you’d crack it.”

  I passed him a Coke and lit the candles I’d arranged in little colored-glass holders on top of the mantelpiece.

  “What are these?” He picked up one of the photos of him that I’d had printed and put into frames. “Did you bring them from home?”

  “No, I took a photo of them and had them printed.”

  He flushed and rearranged them on the mantelpiece.

  “And I light candles and put them next to your photos every night,” I said. “It’s my shrine.”

  He turned to look at me and saw I was laughing. “Just as it should be,” he said.

  I opened the pizza box and offered it to him. “Help yourself, honey.” It was so good to have him there. “I’ve really missed you.”

  He mumbled something or other and took a slice of pizza.

  I went to the kitchen to pour some wine, then realized I didn’t want it while Josh was here. I put the bottle into the fridge.

  “Josh,” I said, coming back into the living room with a glass of water. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you I was going. Your dad told me not to say anything to you until he’d spoken to you. He insisted on that and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

  He helped himself to another slice and took a huge bite. I knew he was buying time. “It’s okay.” He shrugged as though it was nothing, but we both knew it wasn’t. “No big deal.”

  “Of course it is. It’s a massive deal.”

  He shook his head and carried on eating. “So,” he said in the end, when he’d finished. “You’re living here?” He flushed. “Stupid question.”

  “For a few months,” I said. “Not long. When the house has sold I’ll get something else.”

  He looked away. “Around here?”

  “I don’t know. I think I might go traveling.”

  He laughed. “What, like a gap year?”

  I bristled. “There’s no reason why only young people should go traveling.” At the same time, I was thinking, This is what it would be like on the beach in Thailand. Full of young people eating my food and laughing at me.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t have you down as someone who’d go roughing it.”

  I started to say that I didn’t mind where I lived but realized that just wasn’t true. I laughed. “You’re right. I’d hate it. This is bad enough. A backpackers’ hostel would be a nightmare.”

  He talked for a while then about school and football and his friends. For the first time in ages he didn’t mention his ex-girlfriend and I guessed he’d moved on from her now. In September he’d start his last year of high school and would be going off to university a year later.

  “Still thinking of applying to London?” I asked. He’d talked about nothing else for months.

  He nodded. “Though I keep thinking about what you said, about it being a great place to live when you’re on a good salary, but not so good if you’re broke.”

  “That’s true, but if you really want to go, then you should apply. And you won’t be broke,” I said. “Your mum and dad will help you. I will, too.”

  His head swung around. “You?”

  “Why not? You’re my stepson.”

  “But you’ve split up with my dad.”

  “So? Doesn’t take away what we have, does it?”

  He coughed with embarrassment then and I took the chance to go into the kitchen to fetch some Ben & Jerry’s.

  “I thought you’d be living with someone,” he said when I passed him a carton. “A guy.”

  So did I, I wanted to say. “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, you know. It’s what always happens. But then Mum talked to me. Said that she hadn’t left for anyone. There was no reason why you should have.”

  “I thought . . .” I stopped myself.

  “You thought she’d left my dad to be with Martin?”

  I nodded. “I assumed that’s what had happened.” In fact I assumed that because Tom had told me that. Several times. He’d told me he’d discovered her having an affair and had ended the marriage immediately.

  “No. She didn’t meet him until a few months later. My mum and dad separated after Christmas and Martin started teaching at my school the following September. Mum met him at parents’ evening and I could tell she really liked him. She couldn’t stop smiling. But she didn’t date him until I’d gone up a year, into another class.”

  My head spun. Tom had described it so differently. I’d really felt for him, that he’d
found out she was unfaithful. He’d told me about the terrible time he’d had. Now I didn’t know whom to believe.

  “Did he treat you badly?” Josh asked. “Dad, I mean.” He looked away. “Did he hurt you?”

  I winced. No child should have to ask that question about their parent.

  “No, of course he didn’t. We grew apart,” I said, trying to be tactful. “I felt as though your dad wanted me to do what he wanted all the time. I couldn’t be myself with him.”

  He nodded. “I’d noticed that. You were always different when he wasn’t there. Mum told me he wasn’t nice to her at all. She had to get Granny and Granddad to move in before he’d leave.” He laughed. “You know what they’re like. She said he left straightaway after that.”

  I remembered Belinda’s parents from one of Josh’s birthday parties. They had a brisk, no-nonsense air about them and I could see why Tom would want to avoid them. “Can you remember that, sweetheart?”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t remember him living with us. Not really.”

  I hated to see him look so down, so I changed the subject and asked what he’d been up to lately. He brightened up and told me about a girl he liked now; a group of his friends were talking about flying to Budapest for a music festival in August and he wanted to ask her if she’d like to come along. Sitting there in my living room talking to Josh as darkness fell, I was the happiest I’d been since I left home. The best times in my marriage were spent with him, when he and I were alone together and we’d talk about books and movies and the girls that he fancied. And then Tom would come in and I’d pretend I was reading and Josh would grunt and we both knew Tom was happier thinking we didn’t have much of a relationship without him there.

  “You’re not wearing your Fitbit,” he said.

  “No.” I rubbed my wrist at the memory of it. “I don’t wear it now. It was driving me crazy.”

  “I’m glad,” he said. “I don’t know how you stood it, having him check up on you like that.”

  “He wanted me to be fit and healthy.” I spoke automatically and caught myself. Why was I justifying what he’d done? “Anyway, I’m going running now and I’m not drinking. I’m fine.”

  “Not drinking? You had a bottle of wine in your hand when I got here!”

  I laughed. “Work was tough today.” I wanted to tell him about the women I was working with, but didn’t want to tell him I was fired from Sheridan’s. “I broke my own rule.”

  “Do you have Find My Friends on your phone?” he asked suddenly.

  “I’ve no idea.” I swear I never feel as old as I do when I’m talking to Josh. “What is it?”

  “It’s an app that allows someone to check where you are. Or where your phone is. Same thing, really. It’s in case your phone goes missing.”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t put it on.”

  “Can I check?”

  I stared at him. “What for? What makes you think I have it?”

  “It was just something Dad said. He knew where you were one day and I couldn’t figure out how he knew.”

  My stomach dropped and I passed over my phone without another word. While he examined it, I took the pizza box and glasses into the kitchen. I stood for a moment with my head bent over the sink. Had Tom known all along where I was? Had he been tracking me? I thought of the photo that had been put through the door, now in pieces in my bin.

  When I returned to the living room, I asked casually, “Did you tell your dad where I’m living now?”

  “No, of course not. He sent a message the other night, asking me if I knew, but Mum said not to tell him. I just said I had no idea.”

  “Thanks. Will you tell him you’ve seen me?”

  Slowly he shook his head. “No. Not unless you say it’s okay.” He handed back my phone. “I can’t see anything there. Everything seems fine. I must have been imagining things.”

  “Are you sure?” I don’t know why I didn’t feel more relieved. The idea was in my head now and I couldn’t shift it. “What about your own? Have you checked?”

  He gave me a wry grin. “Are you kidding? I’ve never let it out of my sight.”

  “Josh, do you remember your dad’s birthday party last year? You were there with Becky, remember?”

  “Yeah. I remember. What about it?”

  “Did you take any photos?”

  He stared at me. “What?”

  “Did you take any photos of the party?”

  He laughed. “I seriously doubt it. Why would I?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I was trying to remember who was there, that’s all.”

  “A bunch of old people.” He ducked as I reached out to grab him. “I’ll have a look if you like but I got rid of a lot of photos after Becky and I finished, and she’s the only one I would’ve taken a photo of that day.” He stood up and rubbed his eyes. I knew he still missed his ex-girlfriend. “I’d better go.” As he opened the front door he said, “Mind if I come round again sometime?”

  “I hope you will.” I hugged him. “You know I love you. I think you’re great. Getting to know you was the best part of my marriage to Tom.”

  “Same,” he said, then laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Ruby

  I awoke the next morning to a ping on my phone. Fiona had sent a message from Australia, simply saying:

  Please send help.

  My parents had been with her only a few days and planned to stay for months. It was winter over there so it wasn’t as though she could send them off to the beach all day. She worked from home so she’d struggle to get anything done while they were there. That was the problem with her living so far away; most of the time she was free of them, but every now and then they’d visit for weeks and came back only when she hit her breaking point.

  I was just about to reply when an e-mail popped up. It was from Tom, sending a link to the estate agent’s site:

  Good morning, Ruby. Hope you’re OK. Just to let you know that our house is officially on sale now x

  Bleary-eyed, I sat up in bed and pulled my laptop toward me so that I could see the photos of my house. I’d asked for them to be sent to me for approval, but obviously they’d taken no notice of me.

  My heart ached as I scrolled through the listing. I hadn’t been inside our house for weeks and I missed it so much. It was tidy and clean, though I’d put good money on the local Molly Maid being responsible for that. I stared at the picture of my living room. Tom had removed the photos from the mantelpiece and replaced them with a glass bowl from the hall. I zoomed out so that I could see the whole room. He’d moved the sofas, so that they were adjacent to each other instead of facing. I zoomed in on them. The sofas reminded me of the day we bought them. I’d thought I was pregnant that day and hadn’t wanted to tell Tom just yet. Every month at that point I’d get so excited and then I’d have that crushing sense of disappointment when my period arrived. At the time we’d bought the sofas, I was obsessed with becoming pregnant and would take test after test each month. It became a joke that really wasn’t funny, with Tom coming home saying, “On my way home from London I just happened to walk past a pharmacy and they had these tests you’ve never tried! I bought you some for good luck.”

  On that day we bought the sofas, I was two days late and a few tests had proven negative, but I was still sure that my next test would be positive. And while the salesman made his pitch, telling us about the fabric and the size and all the rest of it, all I could think was, I’ll be feeding my baby on this sofa. I’ll put my feet up on this footstool and I’ll rest my head against these cushions and there’ll be a baby lying there on my chest. A little girl, maybe. I’ll feel her soft breath against my neck, feel the weight of her sleepy body against mine. Her soft and downy hair will brush against my face as I kiss her gently, s
ecretly hoping she’ll waken. And I was so caught up in this story I was telling myself, that when I sat on the sofa to test it, I closed my eyes and I could almost feel the weight of the baby against me and smell the milkiness of her breath.

  “Ruby!” Tom had called. “Don’t go to sleep!” He and the salesman had laughed. “Shall we go for this one?”

  I’d laughed, too, but for the rest of the afternoon I could feel the sensation of the baby inside me, relaxing into me, and I’d known, I’d just known that I was pregnant. Until I got home and found that I wasn’t. Of course I wasn’t. I never was.

  And I looked down at the photos of the living room, with those reminders of my infertility looming so large, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to keep them or to never see them again.

  My phone beeped again. Tom.

  It looks good, doesn’t it? x

  I replied, Yes, it does. I hate to think of people viewing it though. As I pressed Send I winced. I didn’t want him to misinterpret that. All I’d meant was that I couldn’t stand to think of people walking around it and judging it, trying to knock the price down. Not that they’d get far with Tom, as far as that was concerned.