by Shari Low
The young girl serving an elderly gent at the till looked at me with interest as I dashed past them and through the checkout without stopping. There was every chance she was about to signal the security guards that I was a possible shoplifter, so I got in first.
‘Your toilets over there, love?’ I asked her.
She nodded and gave me a faint smile. Hopefully she now just thought I was a woman in a hurry as opposed to a woman with three tins of corn, a packet of salami and a pair of American tan tights under my coat.
In the toilets, my eyes struggled to adjust to the blue tinged light. I’d read somewhere that the reason for the blue bulbs was that it stopped junkies being able to see their veins well enough to inject. I’d no idea if that was true but it was a pretty depressing thought that someone could be so desperate they’d mutilate themselves in a supermarket toilet.
The doors on all three cubicles were closed, but I could see that only one of them had the engaged sign showing. I pushed open the first two just to be sure and they both swung open. Must be the third, but surely that would be Josie, unless I’d missed her and she was currently scouring the milk and bread aisles for me.
I squatted down, and craned my neck towards the floor to see if I recognised the shoes under the gap at the bottom of the door, and of course she picked that moment to swing it open.
‘I swear to God, you’re going to get us arrested,’ Josie announced.
‘Oh, shut up and help me up. My knees have seized.’
‘Lacey never said that to Cagney,’ she retorted, scooping one arm under mine and hoisting me up.
‘Thanks.’
‘Did you find her?’ she asked.
‘Nope. That’s why I was looking under the door. I wondered if she’d come in here.’
Josie was washing her hands in front of the mirror. ‘I haven’t heard anyone else in here so I don’t think so. Hey, I look ten years younger in these blue lights. Think I might invest in them for my whole house.’
I waited until the hand dryer had switched off before pulling open the door, defeated, depressed, crushed that I hadn’t found her.
‘Home?’ she asked.
‘Home,’ I agreed. What else could I say? Tonight had been a horrendous explosion of emotions, of grief, of desperation, but I’d achieved nothing except torturing myself even more. And Josie was right. What was the point? There was nothing to be gained. Dee was still dead. That wee prick was still not. And I was just going to have to accept it. What did it matter where he lived, or what his mother thought, or what I wanted to say to them – I wasn’t going to do it and even if I did, I’d be the one to come off the worst. They’d probably end up getting me done for harassment and where would I be then? No, behaving like this was letting them win, letting them take even more from us, from me, and I’d be damned if I’d let that happen. I needed to go home. Home. To my Don. To my son. To the rest of my life. Yes, it would be without Dee, but I’d just have to find a way to live with that.
We walked towards the exit, tills to our right, concession stores to our left, all of them closed up now. A pharmacy. I remember the days when they were called a ‘chemist’. An optician. A travel agent. That immediately made me think of Dee.
Josie slipped her arm through mine. ‘Oooh, look at that. A week in Tenerife, all inclusive.’ A pause. ‘Why don’t we do that, Val? You could do with a break and I never say no to a week of factor fifty.’
She was still at it, trying to persuade me to take a break, but I couldn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I could see the sense in it and Don wasn’t due any time off until summer, so he wouldn’t mind me going away for a few days with Josie. In fact, I think he’d be relieved. That didn’t mean I could do it though. I tried to steer the subject away from me.
‘It’s Jen that needs the break. Poor lass. Her world’s imploded,’ I sighed. ‘I’m glad she’s going away for a few days. It can only do her good.’
I could see the worry in Josie’s eyes as she replied. ‘Aye, she was looking awful when I left her tonight. She’s lost without your Dee.’
I didn’t doubt it. Those girls had spent almost every waking hour together since they were kids and now that had been snatched away.
Josie continued, ‘I was going to call her later and see how she was doing.’
I stopped abruptly. We’d reached the front doors of the shop to our left, but what had stopped me in my tracks was what was straight ahead, in the coffee shop area. There were about twenty tables, but only two of them were taken. At one sat the elderly man who’d been at the checkout when I passed on the way to the loos. At the other, a couple of teenagers, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. Neither interested me. What had caught my attention was the woman who was clearing debris off the other tables, loading up her tray, wiping down the Formica. It was her. I was sure of it.
‘What’s up?’ Josie asked, unaware as to why we’d stopped.
There was no way I was telling her. I didn’t want her worrying about me and checking up on me every two minutes to see where I was and whether I’d ventured back over this way.
‘Nothing. Just realised I forgot to get that loaf for Don’s packed lunch tomorrow.’
‘Want to go get it?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I assured her, as convincingly as I could. ‘Let’s just head back to your house. I can always pop back here and get one later.’
Chapter 16
Jen
Most of the seven hours over the Atlantic had been spent staring at the same page of my book, replaying every detail of the conversation with Pete. Then I’d tried Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, but he’d never been in the least bit interested in social networking and as far as I could see that hadn’t changed. Nothing. Verging into stalking territory, I’d eventually found Arya’s Facebook page but it was private and there was nothing to see.
How could I not have known any of this was coming? I’d heard of things like this before, where one half of a couple thought they were happily married until their partner went off with his secretary, or announced she was living a secret life as an escort, or they discovered their other half had another family, a wife and six kids, in a different town. I always thought it was down to careless naivety, that there must have been signs, clues along the way.
I guess there had been with Pete. He’d been a bit withdrawn. A little detached. More low-key than usual. But not for long, maybe a few months or so, and not to the extent that it was overly worrying. I hadn’t taken it seriously, and Dee and Luke, who spent almost as much time with him as I did, hadn’t thought it was cause for concern either. I so wished now that I’d taken Dee up on her offer to interrogate him and get to the bottom of it.
Another lost wish. I wished she were here. I wished she hadn’t gone to the car that day. I wished we were all exactly the same as we were three months ago. Too many wishes, all of them meaningless now.
My stare had now moved from my book to the window, but I still wasn’t taking anything in. I liked New York, but I didn’t love it as much as Dee, who made it her mission to get here at least three times a year. For me, it was too busy, too chaotic, but I was going to have to suck it up and get on with it. It was time for me to step up. No more wimping out. We needed new stuff for the blog, new experiences and ideas. We’d lost a few subscribers lately and I knew it was because the content had dramatically dipped without Dee’s input. She’d worked hard to get every one of those followers and she’d be mad as hell if I let it slide. No choice then.
Traffic from Newark was as busy as ever, so what should, distance-wise, have been an hour’s journey, took almost two. The hotel, just off Times Square, was a favourite boutique one Dee had stayed in before, but it had been refurbished, so she had wanted to come back and cover the relaunch and renovation. Yet another thing she never got to do.
The receptionist was in her twenties, with flawless dark skin and cheekbones that looked like they’d been carved out of bronze.
‘I have a reservation �
�� it should be under Dee Harper from Sun, Sea, Ski.’
She checked the screen. I was just about to explain the change of name when she said, ‘Ah, yes, here it is. And I have a letter for you here also.’
She fished in a drawer and pulled out a white envelope with Dee’s name on the front. Probably tickets for one of the events that she’d booked.
‘Thank you,’ I said, shoving it into my bag.
‘I can see that our marketing department has discounted your room by eighty per cent, so all I need is your passport and your credit card for the incidental charges.’
I handed over my Sun, Sea, Ski business credit card, and waited until she ran it through the machine, before handing it back with a blinding white smile. I was just about to hand over my passport, when a group of Japanese tourists poured through the door, filling the whole hallway area with chatter. I saw the mild anxiety on the receptionist’s face as she stuck my passport in the photocopier, pressed a button, retrieved it and handed it back to me without glancing at it. Again, I was about to explain the name change on the room, when she signalled to the concierge and said, ‘Bill will take you to your room, and please don’t hesitate to let me know if we can do anything for you. Have a great stay.’
Bill stepped forward and took my case, just as the first of the tour group started to speak to the receptionist in halting English. This was no time for confusing the issue with name changes and explanations of Dee’s death, so instead I decided to come back down later.
The room on the third floor was obviously newly decorated, with a thick charcoal carpet, high-gloss cream furniture and crisp white bedding with a thick silver fur throw across the bottom third of it. It oozed simple class and luxury. Good choice, my friend. I like your style.
My mobile rang. Luke. ‘Hey how are you doing?’
‘I’m OK. Just got here and checked in. Dee arranged a doozy of a suite – it’s beautiful.’
‘She always did like a bit of class.’
‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ I told him, smiling, yet sad. ‘Feels weird though. Like I’m walking in her shoes. It should be Dee who’s here, Luke, not me.’
‘I know, Jen, but if there was anyone else she’d want to be checking into her five-star suite, it’s you. Thanks for doing it. I kind of feel like as long as the shop and the blog and some of the things that mattered to her are still around, then we’ve still got a bit of her here.’
‘You’re right. Are you OK? Having a quiet night in?’
‘Yeah, I’m bushed. Just going to head to bed shortly. I’m a pretty exciting guy these days.’
I laughed. ‘So I see. OK, I’ll drop you a text tomorrow. If I survive whatever it is Dee had in store. She just had places and times in her diary, so I’m not quite sure what I’m in for. I didn’t pack a bulletproof vest or a parachute. Do you think I’m doomed?’
‘Definitely.’ It was good to hear him laugh. He had always been the most live-for-the-moment, life’s a blast, kind of guy – I wondered if he’d ever feel like that again.
I wondered if I would either. ‘Right, I’ll report in tomorrow. If the line is bad it’s because I’m in the ER.’
He was still laughing when I hung up and it made me feel a bit better. I should have told him about meeting Pete last night but I was glad I hadn’t. He had enough on his plate. The last thing he needed was to listen to my woes too.
Right, enough feeling sorry for myself. I could almost hear Dee screaming at me to get a grip and get out there.
I decided to have a quick change and head straight out. I checked Dee’s Google calendar. I’d ported it over to my phone, to make sure I didn’t miss anything. ‘Westside Jazz Club, 8 p.m.,’ was the only entry for the rest of the day. I pressed on the link and it took me to the address. Ever efficient, our Dee.
I threw the phone on the bed and it was only then I noticed the beautiful bouquet in in the alcove at the window, a small white card popping out of the middle of the blooms.
The marketing department were definitely trying to woo her. It wasn’t a huge surprise. For the price of a well-picked bunch of flowers and a discount on a room that might be lying empty anyway, they could get a review that would reach thousands of potential travellers. I believe it was what Dee used to call a ‘win-win kerching moment’.
I missed her. Again.
I kicked off my boots and padded over to the window, my toes sinking into the plush pile of the carpet. I opened the card.
Welcome back. I missed you…x.
I read it again. I didn’t understand. I missed you? Missed who? This didn’t sound like something from the marketing department and it didn’t make any sense. As far as I knew Dee didn’t even know anyone in New York, let alone someone that would buy her flowers and ‘miss her’.
Logical explanations began to pop into my head. They must have been left for the person that was in the room before I checked in. Maybe that person hadn’t even noticed them and the cleaners hadn’t cleared them away, so they were still there. Or perhaps they’d been delivered to the wrong room. I looked again at the note. It didn’t say ‘To Dee.’ Of course, it had been a mix-up. Mistaken identity. I’d raise it with the receptionist on the way downstairs and ask her to relocate the flowers to their rightful owner.
I jumped into the shower, letting the water soothe away the aches from the flight. It couldn’t do anything about the pain caused by every flashback to the conversation with Pete. I was convinced he wasn’t coming back. This was more than some early mid-life crisis. It was more like a finality. A closure on a door that I wasn’t ready to close. Before I knew it, tears were mingling with the water from the shower.
I stayed there way too long, the jets blasting away every hope and dream I had for the future. Eventually, my body pummelled and my fingertips wrinkled with moisture, I turned the shower off. The towels were thick and soft, and I wrapped one around me as I went back into the main room of the suite. Maybe I could just extend my stay here. Have a break. Wasn’t that what everyone had been telling me I should do? I needed time to figure out how to begin to make myself feel better again because I knew I couldn’t go on like this. The misery was killing me, bit by bit.
I sat down at the dressing table, took a comb out of my handbag, and ran it through my hair, before taking the hairdryer out of the drawer and blasting my hair dry. I pulled it back, plaited the bottom half around to the side, and tied a bobble on to the end. It wouldn’t win any prizes for style, but it was as good as it was going to get.
I threw the comb back in the bag, and was just fishing out some moisturiser when I noticed the letter I’d been given at reception. I ran my finger along the seal and pulled out a note. Headed paper. The Waldorf Astoria. Dee had stayed there last year and I remembered how she’d raved about it.
The words were written with handwriting that I instinctively knew was male.
My darling Dee, Usual place. Usual time. Can’t wait x
What the…? For the second time in the last hour or so I didn’t understand what was going on.
My darling Dee? It sounded intimate but there had to be an innocent explanation. Of course there was. Dee would never cheat on Luke or do anything to hurt him. Sure, she had a real thirst for life and loved anything that got her adrenalin going but if she was doing anything untoward, I’d have known about it. She trusted me with all her secrets and she knew she could tell me anything and I’d never judge her.
There was another story here. Maybe just someone with an overenthusiastic line in endearments. A friend. Someone she’d met before. Loads of the PRs were like that – it was all ‘darling’ this and ‘sweetheart’ that. All air kisses and effusive hugs. That was it. For sure. Nothing to see here. Time to move on. Except…
I took the letter over to where I’d left the card off the flowers and compared the two.
Identical handwriting.
But what did that prove? Nothing, other than it was the same excitable, overfamiliar PR person who’d written them both.
I checked the Google calendar again, even although I knew what time her first entry was at.
Yep, Westside Jazz Club 8 p.m.
Then there was one entry for tomorrow night. The Bar at the Baccarat Hotel, 9 p.m. I looked it up – it was a gorgeous, upmarket bar in a hotel on W 53rd Street.
The final entry was the morning after that, before I headed to the airport to fly home. All it said was ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’
So. As well as the travel expo at the Jacob Javits Convention Centre tomorrow, she had planned to go see a jazz band, visit a swanky bar and have breakfast at Tiffany’s. It all sounded like the kind of stuff that Dee loved to do on these trips, giving her material that she would then spin to make a great review or article for the blog and give our followers great suggestions for a fun, sexy New York experience. Nothing obviously suspicious there. Nothing untoward. I gave myself a shake and told myself to get a grip. Dee was coming here on company business and it was time I got on with fulfilling her plans. Grabbing my coat, I headed out, leaving the notes behind.
Despite the cold, I decided to walk to the jazz club, picking up a hot dog from a stand at the corner of Times Square on the way. It wasn’t that they were a particular favourite, but they were one of the things Dee looked forward to most in the city. She’d land, get a cab to her hotel, then head for the first hot dog stand she could find. After that she’d have at least one every day she was here. It felt right that I did the same.
The wind was whipping up a storm and I was glad I’d brought a beanie and boots. Dee and I had the same pair, Hobbs sale, mine in black leather, hers in brown. How many times had that happened over the years? We’d bought the same stuff, turned up in similar outfits, picked out the same place for dinner. Luke used to joke that we shared a brain – a brain that now kept going back to those messages. Why? I’d already decided there was nothing illicit about them. Hadn’t I? As I walked on, again, I found myself rationalising them. It was impossible that anything untoward was going on. Absolutely out of the question. Although, it did raise the point that I hadn’t actually gone through Dee’s contact lists and informed everyone she’d passed away. Of course, all our friends knew and I’d told all the regular customers, although not in the kind of blunt manner I’d used with Delilah, my least favourite customer of all time. The way I’d told her still made my toes curl, but I guess emotions got the better of me that day.