His Other Life

by Beth Thomas

  ‘Wow. You seriously need a hobby or something.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start,’ I snap, slamming the laptop shut.

  ‘Psychic investigators, though, Gee? Seriously?’

  I shrug. ‘Can’t hurt, can it?’

  She widens her eyes. ‘Oh my God, it so can hurt! Don’t you know anything? You start messing around in that stuff, you’ll be waking up some, like, long-dead malevolent spirit that will bring down a terrifying storm of violence and destruction on you before you can say “Ouija board”.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘OK, Lo.’

  ‘So anyway,’ she goes on, biting into an apple. ‘Is that right, you and Adam never got a mortgage?’

  ‘Oh for arse’s sake, what’s that got to do with anything?’

  She shrugs. ‘Nothing. We all just thought you had, that’s all.’

  ‘So what?’

  Shrug again. ‘Fancy a night out?’

  ‘Not really.’

  She comes closer and lowers her voice dramatically. ‘Think about it for a minute, Gee. You’re single again.’ She nods, knowingly. ‘You can pick up blokes for meaningless sex.’

  Pause. ‘OK. I’m in.’

  EIGHT

  I have no desire at all to pick up blokes for meaningless sex. But a night out would certainly help take my mind off things. Off Adam, that is. Off the absent bhuna and the secret safe. Off Leon, waiting in the wings with a weapon.

  Lauren gets dolled up – skinny jeans, strappy top, heels – then knocks on my bedroom door to collect me. She walks in as I’m saying, ‘Come in, Lolo.’

  She looks amazing, as always. I’ve brought disappointingly few nice going-out clothes with me. I have a grand total of none in my overnight bag. Doesn’t matter though, I can trail round behind Lauren in a black tee shirt and jeans and bask in her reflected sluttiness.

  ‘Come on, you don’t need to dress up,’ she says, looking at her watch. ‘We’re only going round the Fives.’

  Ah, the Bunch of Fives. It’s been a few years since I was in there. ‘Really? That place is a dive.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Nope. Got bought out. Completely revamped. It’s a theme pub now.’

  I give her the single raised eyebrow. ‘Great.’

  ‘Oh come on, stop being so grumpy. It’ll be fun.’

  It isn’t. It’s about as far away as you can get from fun before you start coming back again. It seems the Bunch of Fives is under new management, and apparently Hannibal Lecter has decided this is going to be his retirement fund. It’s very dim inside, considering it’s July, but then it always was because of the tiny windows. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, I wish they hadn’t. Every wall is decked with twinkling implements of torture – clubs, saws, bats, knives, axes – all apparently dripping with blood, which is running down the walls to the floor in copious amounts and pooling at our feet. The floor is uncarpeted black boards, for this effect to work to its best advantage. And worst of all, there are body parts everywhere. Silent, screaming heads; severed hands and feet; in one case an entire, dismembered torso; all liberally spattered with the same rusty red paint that’s all over everything else.

  I look at Lauren. ‘Oh dear God.’

  ‘I know, right?’

  As soon as we go in, Lo spots a couple of her friends and goes straight to where they’re sitting. I’m introduced to Cat and Nellie.

  ‘This is my sister, Grace. Her husband’s just done a moonlight flit.’

  I close my eyes briefly, then shoot Lauren a killer look. She’s facing away from me, though, and doesn’t notice it.

  ‘Oh wow,’ says Cat. ‘No way.’

  I nod sadly. ‘That is one way of putting it.’

  ‘So, where’d he go?’

  I look at her, then flick my eyes quickly at Lauren and back again. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh wow. Why’d he leave?’

  ‘I don’t know that, either.’

  ‘Oh wow.’ She takes a sip of her drink. ‘How long’d he go for?’

  I blink. ‘Again, I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh wow. That’s, like, so weird.’

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ll get us a drink,’ Lauren says.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Sitting on a stool at the bar is a headless corpse. I have to stop myself saying ‘excuse me’ to it as I lean over to get the barman’s attention.

  ‘What can I get you?’ he says cheerily, coming over.

  ‘Out of here?’

  ‘Ha ha! You don’t like our theme?’

  I look around me pointedly. ‘What, blood-soaked torture instruments, body parts and corpses? Who doesn’t like that?’

  He leans a bit nearer. ‘To be honest,’ he says quietly, ‘I hate it. Not relaxing, not pleasant, not comfortable. But, you know, I just work here. What would you like?’

  Lauren gets a round in and we shuffle back over to join Cat and Nellie at the table. Within five minutes, I’m ready to leave. I lean closer to Lauren. ‘I’m going home.’

  She seizes my arm. ‘Noooo, don’t go yet. We’ve only been here five minutes.’

  ‘Yep. More than enough. I’m off.’

  She sags. ‘OK.’ She turns to Cat and the silent Nellie. ‘I’m off, Gee wants to go.’

  ‘Oh, no, Lo, it’s OK, you stay. I’ll be fine on my own.’

  ‘OK then.’ She livens up immediately, and pretty much forgets I’m there.

  ‘It’s only plastic dummies, you know,’ the barman calls out as I head towards the door.

  ‘Sorry?’ I take the couple of steps back to the bar to hear him.

  ‘I said, this is all just pretend. Plastic dummies, red paint, a bit of papier-mâché. Don’t let it give you nightmares.’

  My first instinct is to throw him a quick, half-hearted smile, turn away, and leave at top speed. But before I have a chance to do that, I notice his wide, engaging smile and a memory from last year pops into my head. Adam and I were out for our usual Sunday lunch, and on my way back from the toilet my path to our table was blocked by a bloke in a cream cable-knit sweater. He looked like a model from the front of a knitting pattern. As we locked eyes, he gave me a wide, engaging smile and said something – the only thing I heard was ‘… made my day.’ It made me feel noticed, attractive, and slightly bubbly inside, so instead of side-stepping him and making my way straight back to Adam, I hesitated a moment, enjoying the eye contact and the exchange of smiles.

  ‘Come on, Loopy Lou,’ a voice broke in behind me, and I felt a gentle but insistent pressure on my shoulder. I didn’t have to turn round to see it was Adam. Cable-Knit Guy stiffened, his face fell, and he turned away with a little regretful shrug. And my day resumed, a little bit grey, a little bit uninteresting.

  But Adam is not here now.

  I give a slow smile and walk all the way back to the bar. ‘Well that’s a massive relief.’

  He inclines his head. ‘No need to leave then, is there?’

  ‘But it’s so … dingy. You know? I mean, maybe if you got some nice yellow curtains, or some flowers, it would brighten the place up a bit.’

  He’s laughing now and it feels nice. ‘Are you having another drink then?’ He’s got cute dimples when he smiles.

  I check my watch, more out of needing to look like I’m thinking carefully before deciding. ‘Oh, all right then, you’ve twisted my arm.’

  ‘Bloody Mary?’ he says, grinning mischievously.

  ‘Sangria?’

  He chuckles. ‘Have you seen our cocktail list?’ He hands me a sheet of laminated cardboard and I scan through the names in horror. ‘Can I interest you in a Blood Clot?’

  ‘Ugh! My God, this is disgusting!’

  ‘Oh, no, they’re all delicious.’

  I stare at the list. ‘What’s a Bloody Brain?’

  He looks up at the ceiling as he thinks. ‘Um, peach schnapps, Baileys and grenadine.’

  ‘Ooh, that does sound nice.’

 
He grins. ‘One Bloody Brain coming up.’

  The drink is delicious, if you can ignore the colour and thick consistency, coupled with its terrible name. But the barman – Greg – is great company. Lo looks over at me after about fifteen minutes and catches my eye, then nods appreciatively. She even raises her hands to make the ‘worm going into the hole’ gesture, but I look away quickly.

  ‘Looks like your friend is trying to say something,’ Greg remarks.

  I shake my head. ‘I definitely don’t know her.’

  In the end, the evening passes very pleasantly, culminating in Greg taking me out the back for a quick snog. Things are heating up nicely and I’m wondering whether I could do what Lauren suggested after all, when suddenly Greg pulls back.

  ‘I’m sorry, Grace,’ he says, rubbing his hand over his head. ‘You’re really lovely, but … I’m just not that guy.’

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘The guy that fucks other guys over. Sorry.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He looks down at my hand still resting on his arm, and we both stare at the fourth finger. Of course. There’s a big beautiful diamond there, and a thick, gold band. I look like I’m very happily, very securely, married.

  I shake my head. ‘Oh, no, no, that’s … that’s not really relevant any more.’

  He smiles sadly. ‘No, I know. It never is.’

  ‘I mean it!’

  ‘I know.’ He turns away and opens the door back inside. ‘Come on, you’d best be getting home.’

  There’s no sign of Lauren so I trudge home on my own feeling humiliated and let down yet again by my presently absent husband. The worm. He spent three years of my life blocking out just about everyone from my life, and he’s still doing it now, even after clearing off to God knows where without so much as a backward glance. In a moment of tipsy fury, I wrench the rings off my finger and fling them across the street into the darkness. Except I don’t quite fling them. At the last moment before releasing them, I decide not to, and shove them roughly into my handbag instead. They’re probably worth a few quid.

  The next morning, everyone has already left the house by the time I come downstairs. Good. Last thing I need is twenty questions from Lauren about what happened. She’s probably told Mum that I stayed out all night shagging some random barman by now, but I don’t care. I have a cunning plan today which I’ve spent some considerable time devising, and I’m rather pleased with it. First, I’m going to go back to the house and look in Adam’s wardrobe. Genius plan, isn’t it? If the safe’s not there, I’m out of ideas.

  I shower and dress quickly, without pausing to Google anything, and grab Dad’s car keys. At least, I put my hand in the bowl, but there are no keys there. Oh arses! I didn’t even think to ask him if I could borrow it again today. He must’ve taken it to work.

  I go back to the kitchen table and Google taxi companies in the area, but I can acknowledge that’s not a very sensible suggestion. Taxis cost money, and that’s one thing I don’t have much of. I have tried not to think about my financial situation so far, but I will have to face it soon. I suppose I must have blocked out the possibility that Adam wasn’t coming back, but it’s day seven now and there’s no word from him. Rent will need paying, I expect, and money will be coming out of the joint account to pay for power and council tax. I have no idea when those payments are due. I will have to look into it. Soon.

  Right now, I need to find out bus times. I Google the bus company, but I know it’s going to take me well over an hour to get back to the house. I have to get on and off multiple buses between here and the end of Maple Avenue in an unfunny, boring and tiring parody of that old maths question. It’s a hellish journey, and the prospect of another bus ride right now is filling me with misery.

  ‘I knew you weren’t up to getting the bus all the way there on your own,’ Adam told me once, after I’d persuaded him to drive me to my parents’ for a visit without him. ‘It’s a pretty long journey.’

  But right now, I don’t have much choice, so the bus it is. I got here on it two days ago, when it was my only option; I can do it again. I reach for my handbag and start rummaging through my purse, and instead of a decent amount of small change, I come across Ginger’s brother Matt’s business card. As I stare at his details, I remember what he said when he gave it to me. If I needed anything, any time, I should call him. I tap the card against my hand. Right now, I need a lift. Does that count?

  ‘Gracie, wow, hi,’ he rolls, in that deep, stranger’s baritone that just doesn’t go with the memory I have of him. ‘Didn’t think you’d call, actually. How’s things? Are you doing OK? Is everything OK?’

  ‘Hi Matt, yes, I’m fine, thanks. Staying with my parents for a few days.’

  ‘That’s a great idea.’

  Something in the way he says it makes me wonder whether he knows something I don’t. Like maybe Leon has been identified and they’re tracking him even now. Maybe he’s got previous. Maybe he’s got mob connections. Obviously that’s not part of the investigation they would need to keep me informed about, so I’ll probably never find out what’s going on. Unless Matt tells me, unofficially.

  ‘Really? You think so?’

  ‘Yes, definitely. You’ll need their support.’

  ‘Oh God, will I? Why?’

  There’s a short silence. ‘Because your husband is missing, Gracie.’

  ‘Oh, right, yes, of course. I thought for a moment that …’

  ‘That what?’ There’s a second’s pause as he realises what I was thinking. ‘Oh, God, no, no, sorry, nothing like that.’ There’s a short puff of air, like he’s snorting out a laugh. ‘I really must stop doing that to you, mustn’t I?’

  ‘Well, at least it means that when there is eventually some news, I’ll be primed.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. You’ll probably be completely exhausted with all the false starts.’

  ‘Entirely possible. When I do find something out eventually, I probably won’t react at all. Everyone will think I’m a cold-hearted bitch.’

  He pauses, then, when he speaks, his voice is quieter, softer. ‘I don’t think that that’s very likely.’

  I’m not really sure how to react to that. Is he paying me a compliment? Or is he simply saying it’s unlikely that I won’t react? I don’t know, so I laugh lightly and blunder on. ‘Matt, you did say, when you gave me your card, that if I ever needed anything …’

  ‘Of course, Grace. I’m at your service. What can I do for you?’

  ‘It feels really, really cheeky to ask this, but would you by any chance be free to come and pick me up and drive me back to my house today? I hate to ask, but of course the car is still quarantined up somewhere as evidence or something, which leaves me—’

  ‘I can be there in twenty minutes.’

  I release a long breath. ‘Oh Matt, thank you so much. Let me give you directions to my parents’ place.’

  ‘No, no need, I remember where they live. Gladstone Road, right?’

  ‘Wow, fancy you remembering that, after all these years.’

  ‘Huh. I guess some things just stick. See you in twenty minutes.’

  He makes it in closer to fifteen, which is pretty good going, given that it must be about fifteen miles, door to door. Although technically I don’t know which actual door he set out from. He’s not in uniform today, so I guess he’s come from his home.

  ‘Where do you live now, Matt?’ I ask on the drive back.

  ‘Oh, I have a flat, on Arron Drive.’

  A flat. I process this information interestedly. Is that likely to be a family home, a flat? It sounds small, like maybe enough room for someone on their own. I wish I could remember if Ginger has ever mentioned a girlfriend. She doesn’t talk about Matt much, just the odd snippet here and there. I wish I’d paid more attention. Arron Drive though – it’s a nice area, classy. ‘Oh yes? It’s lovely there.’

  He nods slowly. ‘I like it. Not as nice as Maple Avenue though.’ H
e glances across at me. ‘Very posh.’

  ‘Oh, we’re only renting the place.’

  ‘Oh really? Oh.’

  He definitely wants to say more. His mouth even makes the shape of the next word – it looks like it starts with a ‘w’ – but he doesn’t say it and I’m not asking. Our decision to rent a place was perfectly valid and I don’t feel like I need to justify it to him or anyone else.

  ‘We decided to rent because we weren’t sure whether we would stay in the area or move back to be nearer my parents,’ I burst out defensively. ‘Or nearer his parents, or into town or whatever.’

  He nods. ‘OK.’

  ‘It was only ever a temporary arrangement.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Because we didn’t want to be tied to one place for ages.’

  ‘Understandable.’

  ‘Selling a house once you’ve bought it is so expensive, what with stamp duty, estate agents’ fees, solicitors and so on. If you’re not sure about where you want to live ultimately, it’s sensible to rent somewhere first.’

  He looks at me again. ‘No, no, you’re absolutely right.’

  ‘I know.’ I turn and stare out of the passenger window, furious for some reason. We drive on in silence.

  I remember the conversation with Adam about this. I quite liked the idea of getting our own place, starting to buy somewhere, feeling settled and secure, without that uncertain feeling of knowing we only ever had until the tenancy agreement ran out, or less if the landlord suddenly decided to sell up and move to Dubai or Croydon.

  ‘I agree about the security,’ Adam had said, ‘but it’s so permanent, isn’t it, buying somewhere?’

  ‘Well, yes. That’s what I like about it.’

  He’d nodded, thoughtfully. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  I’d thought that was the end of the conversation, but he’d come back to it a few minutes later.

  ‘I still feel that we’d be tying ourselves down to a specific area, straight away, if we bought somewhere.’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Which might not necessarily be a good thing, you know.’

  ‘I suppose not. Why not?’