Nina Todd Has Gone

by Lesley Glaister

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘Him that was going to take Charlie for a drink while you were on the course.’

  My head was still cloudy with concussion. What did that mean?

  ‘Tall, dark …’

  ‘And fit. That’s him.’ She grinned.

  ‘And you told him about the course?’

  ‘Wasn’t a secret, was it?’

  I turned away and squinted at my computer screen.

  ‘Was it?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, Chris,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to get this done.’

  ‘Sorree,’ she said and I heard the cross pattering of her keyboard.

  At last it was lunchtime. I walked into town and had my hair dyed dark and shiny, cut to fit the shape of my head. I liked the light feeling as I ran my fingers through it, the cool sensation of air around my neck.

  ‘That looks nice,’ Christine said when I got back.

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘It suits you.’ She lifted a wisp of hair to the light and examined it for split ends. ‘I wish mine would suit me short but it’s too thin. Mind you, Don likes it. He’s my new fella.’

  It got to five o’clock and I was about to divert my extension to the switchboard. I’d been watching the clock, willing it to speed round to this moment, and, just as I was ready to feel relieved, the phone rang.

  ‘Glad you’re OK,’ he said. ‘Thought you were a gonner there for a minute.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Meet me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll be outside.’

  ‘No.’

  I held the receiver away from my face and looked at it. I could still hear his voice coming out of the pattern of holes: ‘I’ll stay here till you come out.’

  I cut him off.

  ‘You OK?’ Christine said. ‘Was that him?’

  I closed my eyes.

  ‘Want an Aspro?’ she said. ‘Shall I call you a cab? You’ve obviously come back too soon.’

  She put her face close to mine and I could hear the rattle of a Tictac against her teeth, smell peppermint and smoke.

  ‘I’m all right. Thanks, Chris,’ I said.

  ‘A cup of tea?’ she said. ‘Water then?’

  I nodded and listened to the flap of her Dr Scholl’s recede and return. She handed me a paper cup of chilled water from the cooler.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you go now? I’m fine.’

  ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  ‘No, I’ll just sit a minute,’ I said.

  She took her shoes out of her bottom drawer, high and red with ankle straps, and hesitated, half into her lacy cardigan.

  ‘Sure?’ she said. ‘I’m seeing Don again tonight. Thank you, Snowy.’ She picked up the bear and planted a kiss on his white head. I could see the peachy traces of previous kissings. ‘Sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Have a good weekend.’

  ‘You too.’

  I watched her sway away on her heels and then waited for twenty minutes. Almost everyone else had gone home. There was no flexi-time on Friday afternoons. I could hear the dim roar of vacuum cleaners on the floor below. I looked out of the window: sun on dusty roofs, a spindly rosebay willowherb sprouting from a chimney. As I watched, some of its seeds were released in the breeze and floated upwards. Fairies, one of the foster mothers told me, and I’d believed her. But she was the same one who told not to lie. I can remember the conversation, remember her face, the little thread of spittle that stretched between the corners of her lips as she spoke.

  ‘You must never lie,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  She wrinkled her forehead. ‘Well hardly ever.’ And she told me that sometimes a little white lie did no harm.

  ‘What makes it white?’ I asked.

  ‘If it’s done out of kindness,’ she said, ‘or convenience.’ She thought about this for a moment, pushing her lower lip out till the thread of spittle snapped and shrivelled back into her mouth. ‘If there’s no ulterior motive,’ she said.

  I peered out of the opening flap of the window but you couldn’t see enough of the street to see who might be there.

  Gary looked over on his way out. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you back, Nina.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Can’t tear yourself away?’

  ‘I’m going.’

  ‘Come on then …’ I had no choice but to follow him out. He left a trail of harsh deodorant behind him. He must have had a squirt before leaving. I hoped it wasn’t in aid of anything underhand. It made me sad to think of him betraying that square of happy sunshine on his desk. He paused to chat with one of the cleaners and I left him behind.

  Rupert was outside, leaning against the wall, legs crossed, giving me a quirky smile. Linen suit, pale and baggy. I was startled by how good-looking he was. I kept forgetting. Brown eyes like velvet flowers. I hardened myself and began to walk. Last thing I needed was for Gary to see us. Rupert walked along beside me.

  ‘How are you?’ he said.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Did you get the roses?’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘Didn’t you like them?’

  I kept my eyes down, watching my feet taking two steps for every one of his.

  ‘I wanted to see for myself that you’re all right,’ he said.

  ‘I’m all right. The roses were lovely. Thanks. You shouldn’t have.’

  ‘You had me scared,’ he said.

  We parted round a gaggle of little kids holding Pizza Hut balloons and when we came back together I said, ‘Rupert, I’m with Charlie. And we’re happy, whatever you might think.’

  ‘You’ve got a new hairdo. It’s nearly black.’

  We’d passed the cemetery and reached the crossing where I’d been knocked down. I pressed the button this time, to wait for the Green Man. He tried to take my arm but I pushed his hand away.

  ‘Are you honestly saying you don’t feel any connection?’ he said.

  I stepped out in front of the stopped cars with a shudder of memory.

  ‘Even if I did … I’m with Charlie.’

  I wondered at that moment if Charlie would have pursued me like this, whether he had ever felt as strongly about me as Rupert seemed to.

  ‘Come and have a drink.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘A quick one.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A peace offering.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘Just a glass of wine,’ he said, ‘as an apology. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have walked out under a car.’

  ‘It was my own fault.’

  ‘Couldn’t take your eyes off me?’ He laughed.

  ‘It wasn’t like that!’ My mouth dragged unwillingly into a smile. ‘You did freak me out though. All that rubbish about goodness.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You can’t imagine how I felt … I rang the ambulance, you know.’

  ‘Did you? Thanks.’

  ‘A large glass of cold white wine.’ His words made me picture a glass, straw-coloured wine, beaded with condensation. It was exactly what I needed. It was a hot dusty afternoon, the air tired and used up. My mouth ached for the taste of cold white wine. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, I was thinking, just one quick drink and over it I could explain to him properly the impossibility of this.

  ‘Maybe a spot of dinner?’ he said. ‘Ring Charlie and say you’ll be late.’

  But hearing Charlie’s name spill so familiarly from his mouth changed my mind. Better to buy some wine and take it home. Charlie and I could laze on the grass and catch the last of the afternoon sun.

  ‘Look,’ I put my hand on Rupert’s wrist, ‘nothing’s changed.’

  ‘Does he know about us?’ he asked.

  ‘There isn’t an “us”.’

  ‘Did you tell him? Maybe it’d be easier if I did?’

  I froze. ‘I’m going straight home now,’ I said, my eyes skidding away from the shine of
his, ‘and I’m going to tell him and ask him to forgive me.’

  ‘What are the chances of that?’

  ‘I think he will.’

  He pressed a card into my hand. ‘Ring and let me know how you get on.’

  I took a deep breath and turned away – but then was overcome with a sudden surge of curiosity. ‘I don’t understand what it is you want.’

  ‘You,’ he said, as if that was obvious. ‘But it’ll wait.’ He walked away. I looked at the card – his name, his mobile number, that’s all. I watched the back of his dark head, taller than anyone else on the pavement. I made a detour to the offlicence and chose a bottle from the chiller. And then I sat on the bus, cooling my wrists on the glass and gazing out at the stale rind of the afternoon. To have someone who looks into your eyes and says ‘You’ like that. That doesn’t happen every day.

  Chapter 21

  ~

  ‘Here we are,’ Jeffrey said. Black dirt fell from between the rusty links. The chain was looped under an iron ring that was obscured by one of the sprawling bushes and fastened with a padlock, big as a man’s heart. He snapped it back and open.

  ‘No key?’ she said.

  ‘Hey presto,’ he said, grinning up at her, ‘watch.’

  Grunting with the effort, he stuck his fingers under the edge of the wooden circle, lifted and opened a gaping slice of darkness in the ground. Grit and leaves pattered off the lid. ‘This hasn’t been opened for ages …’ he muttered, ‘maybe since …’ He slid the lid halfway across the hole.

  ‘Jeffrey?’ She stepped back from the edge.

  He knelt and peered down into the hole. ‘When I was a kid we discovered this,’ he said, ‘Steve and me. It was like our secret hideout.’

  ‘You went down there!’ She knelt to look. He took a torch from his pocket. The wavery beam barely reached the bottom. The sides were slimy with a dripping, blackish weed. It was about twelve feet deep. An old, cold smell floated out and she shuddered.

  ‘Coming down?’ He flickered the torch about.

  ‘No way,’ she said.

  ‘Come on. Chicken.’

  ‘I’m not chicken but …’ She shivered. ‘How would you ever get out?’

  ‘Climb. It’s not hard.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘What is it anyway?’

  ‘A well, I think,’ he said.

  ‘But there’s no water.’

  ‘No, I don’t understand that either,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been here for years. I thought you’d like to see …’

  ‘I’m scared of the dark,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll look after you. There’s nothing to it, watch. You hold the torch.’

  He put it into her hand, took hold of the chain and let himself down over the edge. ‘You get this far and …’ she could hear his feet scrabbling about, ‘there are steps. Ah, here, a kind of ladder.’

  She shone the beam down and saw a rusty ladder bolted to the wet black brick. The torch lit up the comb marks in his hair before he hit the bottom with a squelching crunch.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘Fine!’ His face was a pale balloon floating in the darkness, the torchlight glinting on his specs. ‘Come on, I’ll help you.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘honestly, Jeff, I can’t.’

  ‘Come on …’

  ‘I’ll mess up my clothes,’ she said, looking down at her summery skirt. ‘My sandals will slip.’

  His tut was amplified. She shone the torch and watched him haul himself back up the ladder and grab the chain, pull his head up into the daylight. He scrambled out and stood for a moment before heaving the lid back into place, a huge black eye, winking shut.

  ‘Come in jeans next time and proper shoes,’ he said, breathlessly. He held her hand as they walked home and the smell of rust rubbed off on her, setting her teeth on edge, making her queasy, uneasy, reminding her of blood.

  Chapter 22

  ^

  Dad and I said nothing more than ‘More tea?’ or ‘Pass the butter’ over breakfast, then it was time for goodbyes. I leant over Mum in bed and kissed her cheek, smelt the staleness of her pillows, grease from her hair.

  ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she said and flicked me a look that went right through me. ‘And none of your nonsense now.’

  ‘I’ll take care of everything,’ I said and her mouth opened in a question but I was out of there.

  As I went through the front door, Dad handed me an envelope. ‘Have a read of that, son,’ he said, ‘and a bit of a think, will you?’ I put it in my pocket and got in the car. He stood on the doorstep to wave me off but he went back inside before I’d even gone round the corner.

  I drove not straight back to Sheffield but the way I’d followed Dad the day before. I drove by her house and stopped the car under the same stand of trees. Before I got out I looked to see what Dad had given me. It was an old cutting from a magazine and the first thing that caught my eye was a photo of Isobel, not one I’d seen before, it was Isobel with the boyfriend and the caption said, ‘Steven Spencer and Isobel Curtis pictured shortly before the tragedy.’ There was a larger picture of the Spencers standing in front of a mantelpiece full of trophies. The caption said, Mr and Mrs Spencer pictured with a collection of Steven’s cricket cups.

  There was a throbbing in my head as I read the article, which was about how the Spencers had forgiven Karen Wild and had channelled their grief into setting up a charity to counsel the families of murdered children. I looked at the date on the top of the page. About five years after the event. Forgiven. Forgive and forget is how it goes but how can I forget? And the idea of forgiving! To think of Karen free in the world, all educated up at the taxpayer’s expense, some of Dad’s earnings will have gone into that, and some of what I’ve paid in tax, and the Spencers channelling their grief – well it was plain they’d gone off their heads and you couldn’t blame them for that but if Dad’s thoughts were going along the same lines … I screwed up the cutting and threw it out of the window, then I got out and ground it into the grit with my shoe. Forgiven!

  I went and knocked on Jessica’s door. She opened it, surprise written all over her face. She was pulling a dressing gown together over her chest, silky white material. ‘I thought you were going to be your dad for a moment there,’ she said. ‘Do come in.’

  We walked through a room full of toys, the smell of sweet cereal. Two kiddies were on the settee in their pyjamas, thumbs in their mouths, goggling at the box.

  ‘Excuse the mess,’ she said, ‘bit of a late start this morning.’

  I said nothing. I wasn’t here to put her at her ease. She turned the volume down and the children moaned and squirmed and then settled back. You could see the cartoon colours flickering in their eyes. ‘Shouldn’t let them really,’ she said, ‘but it keeps them quiet. What did mums do before TV, eh?’

  Her accent was local. As she spoke some of the Isobelness fell away but when she turned, I could see it in her profile, the way her hair fell forward as she stooped to pick up the plastic cereal bowls.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mark?’ she said.

  ‘I want a word,’ I said.

  ‘Sure.’ She went through into the kitchen and I followed. She switched on the kettle. ‘I’m having a cuppa, you?’

  She put the bowls in the sink and ran a tap over them. It was a tiny kitchen but immaculate. A clean J-cloth hung over the sink, rubber gloves on a special hand-shaped stand by the window.

  She turned and waited for the kettle to boil but nothing came to me to say. ‘Well, I reckon I know why you’re here,’ she said in the end. She waved a mug at me but I shook my head. She went ahead and made herself a cup, teabag straight in a Tellytubby mug.

  ‘Go on then,’ I said.

  ‘I know all about what happened.’ She looked me in the eye. There was a strand of hair caught in the corner of her mouth and the way she pulled it out made my heart turn over because that was something Isobel did and I’d forgotten.
It makes you wonder how many of the little things you do forget, the gestures and inflections, the funny little ways.

  My heart was going like a drum. ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  ‘Your sister … your dad’s poured his heart out to me. I know you’re …’ she stopped.

  ‘What?’

  She coloured up a bit then, even with her dark skin. ‘Er … troubled.’

  ‘Troubled.’ I said it quietly. So he had been confiding in her, this stranger, this impostor, raking over our private family business with her.

  ‘Sure you don’t want a cuppa?’

  It was too much for me. I shouldn’t have been there. I couldn’t be Mark and stand for this, I didn’t know who the hell I was, I reached for Rupert and tried the smile but I’d started off on the wrong foot and it was too late. I should not have done this, should not have come.

  ‘He’s a wonderful man, your father,’ she said and I could hear it as a line from a play, or a soap, it all started to seem like that, as if everything you could possibly come up with was some stale old line that had already been trotted out to kingdom come. One of the kids came in then and she bent to talk to him and there was the flick of the hair again, the dark crease where the silk fell apart and you could see the start of her breasts. She sent him off with a couple of chocolate biscuits, closed the door and then faced up to me.

  ‘Have you come to warn me off then?’ she said and then she laughed and it was Isobel’s laugh. I hadn’t forgotten that. It was so much like her laugh, the giggly sound, the way she lifted her chin and looked into your eye, that he couldn’t possibly have missed it. She used to laugh at me like that, tease me, till it drove me mad.

  Sick, it was all sick, if he had to screw around why couldn’t he have picked someone his own age, or someone different? The more I looked at this one the more I saw Isobel, or the more she mutated into Isobel, blurred my memory, and that was even worse.

  I looked away from her at the magnets on the fridge. ‘You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs Before you Find a Prince!’ one said. Was Dad supposed to be the prince?

  ‘He must be nearly thirty years older than you,’ I said.