by Sarah Wray
We’re seated in an alcove in the corner. I’m glad of it but suspicious. Did Jeannie plan it this way on purpose, in case anyone were to see us? Would she ask the waiter to seat us out of the way? She might have told him, ‘We could be a bit rowdy,’ or something. I consider asking her but, Choose your battles, I remind myself.
When the main courses are finished, sparkly bags with coloured rosettes and cards start appearing on the table, whipped from below. Brightly coloured wrapping paper. It dawns on me that I have completely forgotten to get Jeannie anything – a card or a present. Not that I have any spare money or a single idea in my head of what I would get her. I don’t think anyone has noticed that I didn’t add anything into the pile.
Jeannie smiles and I nod approvingly as she displays cheap, dangly earrings in her hand and opens vouchers, holding them up for me to see. I smile, raise my eyebrows and nod. She looks relieved that I am playing the game again.
Everyone has dressed up for the occasion. One-shoulder dresses, jumpsuits, fake tan, heels, lots of mascara. In my old dowdy clothes and pale skin, I actually blend in less than I had hoped.
The girls share puddings, despite having garlic-bread starters and huge pizzas or bowls of pasta. The waiter brings Jeannie over some profiteroles with a coloured sparkler in the top and they force the whole restaurant to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Jeannie feigns embarrassment. I think the waiter keeps looking at me, but I can’t be sure. Does he know? Does he recognise me? I lose track of how many bottles of wine have been taken away and replaced. The supply seemed endless and there is a numbness in my mouth as if I have been gargling with strong mouthwash. I start to think about the cost and whether I have enough money to cover it.
When I come back from the bathroom everyone is putting on their coats. They are talking but they wrap it up when they see me. Jeannie gathers up her bouquet of gift bags.
‘How much do I owe?’ I ask, but Jeannie shoos me away and says not to worry about it, and everyone else pretends not to hear.
When we leave the restaurant, I am glad to be outside, the cool air a welcome relief against my burning cheeks. I’m hoping that’s it; that I can go home after this, but Jeannie has already hooked arms with me.
‘Where to, girls?’
Everyone except me is staggering along the pavement in spiked heels. We walk up towards the bars off The Parades. The image of Chris, the CCTV, flickers in my mind and I scrunch my eyes closed, pushing it out again.
‘In here?’ Angela says, beckoning us into a bar with fake flames outside, belting out loud pop music that I don’t recognise.
‘I’m going to go,’ I say, but I know I won’t get away with it yet, and they all start squealing and pleading.
‘Not yet.’
‘Just one drink.’
‘Come on, come on, come on, pleaaaase.’
I feel guilty leaving now since they paid for my food, so I give in.
The bar is called Xanthe, but it used to have a different name the last time I was here, years ago. The decor is all silver and purple inside, with swirling coloured lights that make me feel unsteady on my feet. They’ve probably spent a fair bit of money on the place, but it’s already lost its sheen. Posters on the wall are peeling, and parts of the sparkly floor feel sticky underfoot.
I haven’t been to a place like this in ages. I can’t say I miss it, but, in truth, I do miss having nights out, seeing friends. I feel awkward standing on the edge of the dance floor and I’m relieved when we sit down in a semicircular booth with padded, sofa-style seats.
Jeannie is already on her way back from the bar, carrying an unsteady-looking tray with two round fishbowls on the top, straws bobbing around in the liquid. One is full of a bright, gem-green-coloured drink, the other a Cadbury’s purple-coloured concoction. They seem to want to get even drunker than me. We all crowd round with a straw each and drink the sickly sweet cocktail, uncertain at first. Everyone sits back and holds the drink in their mouths for a second, thinking and assessing, as if we were at a high-end wine tasting. It doesn’t taste like alcohol at all at first, just sugary pop, but you can tell it’s strong by the way it catches on your throat, the heat after you swallow.
A few more people are trickling in now. Skinny girls, their tans glowing against tiny Lycra dresses, white or neon, under the UV light. It makes their eyes look other-worldly. I don’t recognise much of the music yet. It’s too loud to talk, and it’s making everyone drink even faster.
Angela looks woozy. She leans over to me to talk; I can see right down her top and try to look away. ‘So do you think he did it then?’ she slurs. I freeze, stunned. I can’t believe she’d be so blunt. But maybe it’s refreshing too – people aren’t usually so honest.
I take a long drink of the purple stuff.
She gives me a strange look, a forced, fixed smile.
The drink is hitting me now, my head buzzing. My brain says, I don’t know anything anymore. My mouth snaps, ‘Of course not. Why, do you?’
Angela looks confused. She moves closer now, raising her voice to shout right in my ear. I can smell her perfume, mixed with booze and garlic. ‘Alright, keep your hair on. I just came when it opened.’ My ear is vibrating. ‘Not been for yonks. Not really my sort of place, you know? I don’t get out a lot now. The kids and that.’
I quickly try to recover myself, cringing at my mistake. Of course she wouldn’t ask me that. ‘Yeah, me neither. It’s OK – we’re getting a bit old anyway, eh?’ I shrug, over-exaggerating my words and movements.
More drinks come after that, but no one will let me go to the bar when I offer. Not that I could afford it. Gemma brings cocktails that she shouts are called lemon bombs, and the thought of the sourness, the tartness of the smell, makes my tongue contract even before I drink any. Seemingly, no sooner have we started drinking those than Shelley brings shot glasses of something that looks dark and thick. ‘Jaeger!’ she shouts, handing the shots out and instructing us all, shouting over the music, to drink it ‘down in one!’.
I sniff it: liquorice, sugar. I knock it back after three like everyone else, retching, feeling all the liquid swimming in my stomach. The mixture of drinks and fatty food is making me feel queasy, and my head is pounding.
Then it comes on. That ‘Cheerleader’ song. Kayleigh in the park, the roundabout. A girl jumps up and down clapping on the dance floor.
I need to go outside, and I push through people to get to the door.
The cool air, the escape from the music is a relief when I get outside. There are people standing in groups, smoking, talking too loudly because they’re drunk, women shivering in tiny dresses.
I’m not sure it’s him at first, as he has his head down, but when he looks up he catches my eye. He looks stunned, but he quickly rearranges his face. It’s Sean, someone Chris used to work with at Green Point.
He’s sitting at one of the round tables with an umbrella branded by some alcohol company. The wood looks old, grey and flaky, chunks missing.
‘Heeeeeey! Rebecca, how are you?’ He’s smoking and offers me one, but I refuse. His eyes are glassy. Definitely had a few.
He gestures for me to sit down and I have to climb over as the seat is attached to the bench.
‘What are you up to then?’
‘Ugh, lads’ night out, you know. Too old for this shit. You?’
‘Same. Girls’ night out. Best mate’s birthday or I wouldn’t, you know… I don’t even know why I’m out.’ I feel like I need to add that, for some reason.
‘Listen, Rebecca, I’m really sorry I never replied to your texts or emails.’ He places his hand on his chest as he apologises. ‘I… I… I didn’t know what to say and so I kept thinking I’d reply after and I just – I still didn’t know what to say.’ His words have a slur to them.
‘Don’t worry about it. I get it.’
‘D’you want a drink?’
‘No, fine thanks. Having a break.’
‘Wise. Very wise. I’m going to suffer for this t
omorrow for sure.’
‘Where’s all this come from?’ I pinch my chin with my fingers and he mirrors me, ruffling his beard. I haven’t seen him with one before.
‘I’m getting old now,’ he says. ‘It’s obligatory to have a beard! Tattoos next. Hipster trend finally hits Shawmouth – just the decade later.’
I appreciate him trying to act normal.
Sean works in IT at Green Point. We’d been out with him and his wife Nicola a couple of times, met up after work or for a meal on weekends, but it didn’t really take off. He and Chris used to have the occasional pint, though, text each other about football and video games, eat lunch together. I joked about their ‘bromance’. I was glad he had met someone, hoped he’d miss his friends in London a bit less.
‘How’s everything at work?’
‘You know, same old, same old. Anyway, bollocks to that. How you doing?’ Sean asks.
I shrug. ‘Ah, you know. Same old here too.’
‘You working?’
I shake my head and he takes big gulps from his lager. Pleasantries are drying up now. He’s probably wondering whether he can go back inside yet. Find his mates. Now’s my chance to rip the plaster off. Ask the questions that have been swimming round my head.
‘I haven’t been all that well, to be honest,’ I offer. ‘Just coming round really. Well, sort of.’
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise – on top of everything else. Wow.’
‘Well, not ill exactly. But just with everything that’s been going on; it’s hit me hard, you know.’
‘Can totally imagine. I’ll tell Nicola I saw you. She’ll be pleased. We’ve… we’ve wondered about you, you know. Didn’t want to intrude, though. Sorry, I should have emailed you back.’ He shakes his head at himself.
‘Nicola not out tonight?’
He doesn’t meet my eye. ‘She’s with the kids. No sitter. She wouldn’t want to go out with this lot anyway. You wouldn’t catch her dead in here. You sure you don’t fancy a bevvy? I’m taking advantage of a rare chance to get out.’
‘No, I’m right, thanks.’
‘Last one I’ll have in a while. We’re expecting again, Nicola and me.’
‘Congratulations.’
He is wondering if he shouldn’t have told me that, but it really makes no difference. I’m happy for them.
‘Anyway, I’m glad I’ve seen you.’ He looks startled and on edge again. Thinking of a way to leave.
I push on. ‘The reason I was texting you before, why I wanted to meet up… Well, now that I’m getting my head out of my arse a bit, I’m just, I’m trying to get a clearer picture of what happened. You know, with Chris. Police don’t tell me much.’ I shrug. ‘Suppose they can’t, really, when it’s all ongoing.’
He looks a bit uneasy now, plays with his beard again. There are white flecks in it.
‘So, work. How was Chris doing, you know? Was there anything unusual before he went missing? We didn’t really talk about his job that much. It’s all a bit of a blur, to be honest. I am just trying to get things straight in my head; see if it jogs my memory or something, you know. I don’t want people to just… give up.’
‘Well, he, he...’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve been told he’d lost his job.’
‘Right, yeah.’
‘Wasn’t aware at the time though.’
He shakes his head, looks as bemused at the idea as me. ‘I’ve told the police everything, just so you know. I want to be totally upfront with you.’ He raises his palms to me.
‘It’s fine. I’m not asking you to tell me anything you shouldn’t. But if it was Nicola, you’d need the details too, wouldn’t you?’
He scowls. Two deep lines appearing between his eyes. ‘Well, I don’t really think she er…’
‘I know he lost his job, but I don’t have any other details.’
‘I don’t know, I…’
A girl in the group next to us screeches and staggers into the table, but one of her friends grabs her by the arm and pulls her back into the group.
‘Honestly, I’m not going to go storming up there shouting the odds with Big Boss Bernie or anything. I just need to understand for myself.’
He smiles over his pint. ‘I would love to see you having a go at Bernie. What a prick.’ His face softens again now.
‘Imagine how you’d feel if Nicola was just gone one day. Just like that.’
He winces at this.
‘You’d want to have all the details, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, it’s not really the same thing but…’
‘Can you just tell me? Please?’
‘It might be better if you were to come into the office, talk to someone in charge. I could set that up for you.’
‘I’d rather talk to you. At least I’ve talked to you a bit before. A friendly face. I’d rather hear it from someone I’ve been out for a curry with than some bloke I have never met, but have heard on good authority – from more than one person – is a bit of a wanker.’
‘Ooh, curry – I could murder a vindaloo after all this.’ He lifts his half-empty pint glass.
‘I’m not going to take it further, it’s purely for my own sanity, like I said. Although I think that ship has pretty much sailed.’
‘Don’t say that, Rebecca.’
‘I’m totally in the dark here.’
‘OK, I’ll do what I can. What do you want to know?’ He scratches his head. He looks knackered now.
‘Why did Chris get sacked? Really?’
He rubs at his forehead and takes a large drink, his throat contracting twice to let the liquid flow down. A deep breath. ‘He came into the office one lunchtime. I say lunchtime, it was like… two thirty, three or something. Quite a way after the hour that we’re meant to take. You still clock in and out up there, so they know. Ian, his line manager, had been looking for him. He was meant to be in a meeting or something.’
‘Go on, please – it’s already more than anyone has told me. I just need to get a picture of those last days.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, it wasn’t pretty. He stank of booze. I’d noticed that once before and I remember thinking on that day that I was going to have a word with him after work, you know – tell him he should watch it. Or have a quiet word with him over the phone or on a weekend or something. I didn’t want to ambush him at work. Anyway, that day when he came in late… he was talking loudly. Slurring. Knocking stuff over. He wasn’t plastered but he had an edge to him. I didn’t like to see him like that.’
I nod.
‘Well, Ian came over. Asked him where he’d been, what was going on? He’d missed a scheduled meeting. Ian’s pretty hot on that kind of thing. Chris just said he’d been “out”. He wouldn’t answer Ian’s questions.’
I can’t picture it. Chris behaving like this. At work of all places. I’d always had him down as a rule-follower. But then, you don’t really see your friends or family at work. They might be someone else there.
‘Anyway, Chris just ended up laughing and telling Ian to fuck off. Ian sent him home. He was properly furious – looked like he was going to explode. You could have heard a pin drop in the office.’
‘So he got sacked there and then?’
‘No, not there and then. I went to see Ian later. I said let me talk to Chris. He said he’d think about it.’
‘Right… so…? I don’t get it.’
He bites at his lip.
‘There were meetings, closed doors. Anyway, IT were asked to look at his computer. Next thing we know we get an email round from Bernie saying Chris was no longer with the company and to direct any queries to HR. Usual business bullshit speak, you know, you can’t get a straight answer from anyone.’
‘So they didn’t give details on the reason for the sacking?’
‘Well, not exactly, but I think the thing with Ian would have been enough. Being pissed. Telling his boss to fuck off?’
The image of this is still boggling my mind. ‘Right, but you
said Ian seemed to be open to you having a word with him. So something with the computer?’
‘Have the police not told you any of this? They were in the office a fair few times at first. Much to Uncle Bernie’s displeasure, I can tell you.’
‘They have. But broad brush strokes, like I said. Need-to-know basis. But I do need to know the details; I really do. I can’t… move forwards… otherwise.’ I can’t quite bring myself to say ‘move on’.
‘Well, when people just go like that – it’s happened a few times. I mean not quite as spectacularly as that, but when people get made redundant and that, they don’t tend to give us the dirt. Just the blanket announcement. They don’t want the workers getting ruffled, now, do they?’
‘So you don’t know the details of what happened then?’
‘Well, look – and seriously, please do not quote me on this or I will probably be out the door myself.’
Everything tightens. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.
‘The email just said all the usual stuff. But then a reminder about “prohibited activities” on work computers being taken seriously. We all had to sign to say we’d read the policy again. We’ve had a firewall to rival China’s put in since then – can’t access Facebook or owt now. Thanks, Chris.’ He cringes at his own joke. ‘Maybe they were looking for justification; maybe they found something, I don’t know. They’re pretty strict about that stuff. Modern branding and all that, but pretty old-fashioned set-up behind the scenes. Bernie can’t even get his head around me taking paternity leave.’
‘So the computer stuff, you don’t know anything more?’ That familiar squirming sensation in my stomach. This bit pains him, it’s obvious.
‘People were talking. God knows they do – I mean it’s that boring up there. They love a bit of scandal to break the day up. First I heard, when he was sacked, it was gambling.’