As I looked at him, I remembered the day we’d met; we’d run straight down to the beach that first night, after the long, hot flight. He’d stood in the water with his arms stretched out in the soft breeze, and when he’d turned to me and laughed, I could see all the pressures of work disappear.
He looked like that now: younger, tanned and completely relaxed.
He stood there a while longer with his drink, gazing down towards the canal, then turned back into the apartment and disappeared from sight. There was a brief moment when I felt like running into the building to find him, but I managed to hold back. I stared at the balcony for another ten minutes, but he didn’t reappear.
49
Back home, in the dark quiet of the night, I thought of Matt in his new place; how he must have looked forward to it, planned it, put a deposit down on it. My ears hummed at the thought of him walking around, agreeing on the price, letting them know the start date of the tenancy, all while I was in complete ignorance. I pictured him coming home to tell me about his day, carefully leaving out the part where he’d arranged to live in a canal-side apartment in Manchester.
My phone rang a few times that evening, when I was already in bed. My mum called first. I couldn’t face her questions after my visit home the other day. I knew I should ask how she was, whether she was all right. I should ask her what my dad said after I left. I couldn’t tell her I’d tracked Matt down. I knew she would tell me to write to him but not to go there.
All my life I’d thought my mum didn’t understand me. When I saw her the other day, I realised she knew me better than I’d thought. Better than I wanted her to. I couldn’t let myself think about the look in her eyes as I’d cried. She knew more than she ever told me. That was why I couldn’t see her for a while, couldn’t bear to look at the expression on her face. I didn’t answer the call; I let her leave a message. I’d listen to it tomorrow, after I’d talked to Matt.
Then Sam was back in touch, first with a phone call, which I left unanswered, then a carefully worded text:
Hannah, I need to speak to you. HR is sending you another email. Can you call me when you’ve read it?
I’d heard an email pinging into my inbox on my way back from Manchester and had taken a risk by checking it while I was driving, but once I saw it was from HR, my brain seemed to freeze and I ignored it. I knew I couldn’t just delete it, but I couldn’t face reading it either, so I’d shoved my phone back in my bag. If I didn’t think about work, if I kept my mind on a thin thread of hope that Matt would come back, then I could cope. I knew that if I started to think about the repercussions of everything that had happened lately, I’d go mad. Once he was back home, I could handle anything.
Now Katie was ringing me every few minutes. She knew me well enough to know that if I didn’t take her call, I wouldn’t listen to a message either, so she just played the numbers game, figuring I’d get fed up of her calling. I did, but not enough to speak to her. Then she started with the texts:
Hi, Hannah. What have you been doing today?
Hi, just wondered how you are. Have you booked an appointment at the doctor’s yet?
Hi, did you call HR to explain about the baby?
On and on she went. I don’t think I’d realised up to then quite how persistent she could be. She had some stamina, I’ll give her that. I would have got fed up long before she did. I was resolute, though; I wouldn’t answer any of those questions. The next time I’d speak to her would be after I’d seen Matt again.
If any of these people – Katie and James, Sam, my mum – heard that I was going to speak to Matt tomorrow, they’d all say I shouldn’t. I knew that; I wasn’t stupid. It was nothing to do with them, though. Some things were private. When Matt came home, there would be time to tell them how it had happened. I would daydream sometimes about how I’d invite people round for the evening and not tell them he was back. I loved to imagine their faces as they saw him right where he should be, back home with me.
I didn’t want them to help me get him back; I didn’t even want them to know about it. It was between him and me. The two of us. Just as it always had been.
And then the landline rang. I swore. That would be Katie, realising she had no chance with my mobile but thinking I would be sure to answer the house phone. I reached over to the bedside cabinet and looked at the caller ID.
I stopped still. I recognised that number! I’d written it down when James gave it to Katie the day after Matt left; it was in my notes and I still tried it every now and again, just in case.
It was Matt’s old number, the one he’d had when he was with me.
My hands were suddenly so slippery and shaky I could hardly pick up the phone.
‘Hello?’
There was silence.
‘Matt? Is that you?’
Silence again. I pressed the receiver as hard as I could against my ear.
‘Are you OK?’ I started to cry. ‘Matt! Say something, will you?’
The call ended then, and all I could hear was a dead tone. I lay back in the bed, tears streaming down my face.
After a few minutes, I tried calling back, but an automated message stated, ‘This number is no longer available.’ I frowned. How had he called me if the number wasn’t available?
I took my iPad from the bedside table and opened Google, but I didn’t have much luck. All I could find out was how to block someone. I didn’t want to block him – I wanted to do the opposite!
Then the phone rang again. It was the same number.
‘Hello?’
Silence.
‘Matt, how are you calling from this number?’
He didn’t answer, but this time I heard something, something faint. Was it breathing?
My skin tingled. I pressed the receiver closer to my ear. Yes, I could definitely hear him breathing.
‘Matt? I know you’re there. Say something!’
There was no response. I could still hear the breathing, a bit heavier now.
‘Stop acting like some pervert who gets a kick out of frightening women!’ I yelled. ‘You called me, so speak to me!’
At the sound of the tone as he ended the call, I shrieked in frustration and threw the phone across the bed.
I tried to sleep after that, but I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing him the next day and asking him what the hell he was playing at. It was obvious he wanted to see me; why else would he be calling? Was he missing me? Was he lying in his own bed, wishing he was with me, wishing he’d never left me?
When the phone rang again, I was half asleep and had to blink hard to make sure it was his caller ID.
‘Hello?’
Again there was silence, but then I heard something else. Not breathing this time. I could hear music. I strained my ears. What was that? It sounded familiar.
‘Matt? What are you playing?’
There was no reply. I could hear the music more clearly now: ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling’. For the duration of the song, I lay on my bed, imagining him on his, both of us listening to the same music. It made me think of those days when he was in London and I was in Liverpool and we’d talk on the phone for hours. Sometimes we’d play the same tracks as we talked, shouting ‘Now!’ down the phone so that our music was in sync. Other times we’d put on the same album and just lie in our beds, not talking, just drifting off to sleep to the sound of music and each other’s breathing. I loved those nights, loved the intimacy despite the distance. Listening to that song now reminded me so much of those days that tears drenched my face, but I made no sound. It was perfect, really.
The music came to an end and there was silence. I thought he was holding his breath, thought he was about to speak, but then there was a click and the call ended.
I tried to call him back. I called again and again. I just wanted to tell him that I did still love him, I always had. I wanted to tell him I’d see him tomorrow, but the line was dead. No one was there.
50
I didn’t sleep we
ll that night. I dreamed of Matt, and in my dreams, I was angry with him, and shouting. I kept waking, gasping for breath and sweating, then falling straight back into the same dream. I woke early, and the dreams didn’t disappear, the way they normally did, but lingered in my mind, so that although I was excited about the day ahead, my head ached with the memory of the arguments we’d had.
I jumped out of bed and into my running gear. I needed to run, to forget my dreams, to plan the day ahead. I put my house key and phone in my pocket and quietly closed the front door behind me. Outside on the pavement I stood still, trying to steady my breathing. The houses nearby were still in darkness. In Sheila and Ray’s house the bedroom curtains twitched, then Sheila drew them open and stood staring out into the road.
I jumped with fright. Ray was standing at their living room window, beneath the bedroom. He was flattened against the wall by the window and he was looking out. I’d almost missed him there, hiding in the shadows. He was watching me. Uneasy, I glanced back up at the bedroom window. Sheila was still standing there. She saw me looking and I gave a tentative wave. She stared a moment longer, then lifted her hand and disappeared into the room.
I looked back at their living room. Ray had gone.
Unsettled, I ran down the street, aware of their eyes on my back. I thought again of the text, Enjoy your run?, and realised I didn’t know Sheila and Ray’s mobile numbers, though I’d given them mine ages ago, when Matt and I were going on holiday one time. Had they always watched me like that? I’d thought it was Matt down by the river, tracking me. I’d thought he’d missed me. The thought that it might be Ray or Sheila, filming my every move, unnerved me. Then I shook myself. Of course it wasn’t them. Why would they watch me run by the river?
It was hard to relax, though, when I didn’t know whether I was being observed, and by the end of the run I felt like my shoulders were up around my ears. I would book into the salon for a massage soon, I thought. Mind you, once Matt was home, I wouldn’t need one; he could just rub my shoulders in the way he used to and I’d be able to relax again.
I thought of those early days, when he’d kneel over me on the bed and knead my shoulders and back until I fell asleep. Bliss. Those days would return, I knew. It wouldn’t be long before he was home and I’d be back at work and everything would be as it was. Yes, he might have to travel to Manchester to work for a while, but maybe his old company would take him back. You never know; he had a good reputation with them. He might have to wait a while, but that’s the price of being impetuous, isn’t it?
Back at home after my run, I had a bit of time to burn. I assumed Matt would be going back to his apartment at about the same time as the evening before, but I wanted to make sure I left in good time.
I looked around and realised how long it had been since I’d tidied the house. Full of pent-up energy, I spent a couple of hours cleaning the place with a vengeance. If he was coming home with me tonight, I wanted it to be perfect. I polished the floors, vacuumed the rugs, cleaned the windows and washed down the woodwork, all on a high.
I’d left the kitchen until last, and when I finally got to it, the rest of the house looked immaculate. I stood in the doorway and my heart sank. My notes had taken over the room. The cabinets were covered in writing and Post-it notes and the island was a sea of red and black ink, where I’d sat at night scribbling reminders to myself.
I hadn’t really eaten properly since Matt had left, and the kitchen bore evidence of that. On the counters lay pizza boxes and takeaway containers amidst piles of dirty plates and glasses. I’d been so busy working out where he was that I’d figured I either had time to eat or to tidy the kitchen, and it was obvious that eating had to come first. Anyone would do that. The kitchen did smell stale, though; even I had to acknowledge that. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d emptied the bin, and next to it were a few over-full bin bags that I’d already tied up. A couple of flies buzzed around the rubbish; I found some fly spray under the sink and spritzed it around the room.
The rest of the house was beautiful. I’d gone to the shops that morning and bought huge candles, the kind with several wicks in them, and bunches of summer flowers. I’d arranged the candles in the hallway, in the living room fireplace, on the coffee table, on the tops of the bookcases. The fragrance of roses and lilies filled the air and the wax polish I’d used made the room smell warm and festive. I couldn’t wait for him to see it like this.
I looked at the kitchen, then glanced at my watch. I was cutting it fine now. And in any case, just as the living room and bedroom would remind Matt that I had a lovely home and that he really did belong here, the kitchen would show him just how much I had suffered while he’d been away.
He needed to know that. He needed to see it. There was no point hiding it from him. He had to look at those notes, at all the work I’d done, and recognise exactly what he’d put me through. I closed my eyes for a second. I could just picture his face as he saw it.
I shut the kitchen door behind me and went out of the front door, diving into my car before Sheila or Ray could see me.
I wore the same clothes as I’d worn the day before. They were my lucky clothes now. And I’d lain awake all night in them too, so that the luck didn’t wear off. I couldn’t risk that.
51
I’d only got halfway down the road when my phone beeped with a message. I pulled over and dug deep into my bag to find it. I looked down, hoping it wasn’t an email from work. There was no way I would read it. My stomach tightened when I saw a text from my dad:
I bumped into Alex Hughes at a dinner last night. He told me you’ve been suspended. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? Yet again you have let me down.
Panic rose in my chest and I thought I was going to choke. In that moment it was as though I was standing in front of him again. Cowering. He wanted to draw me back in line, to show me who exactly was boss. He needed to. How could I have forgotten how he’d been the other night? That should have been my priority, not Matt! Now I was really in for it. I forgot about Matt and called my dad. It went straight to voicemail and I knew he was ignoring me. I tried to speak but I couldn’t, or not without crying. I cancelled the call and sent him a text. My fingers slipped on the keypad and I had to keep deleting what I’d written and start again.
Dad, I’m really sorry. I need to talk to you. Can you call me? xxxxx
I waited a few minutes, my stomach knotted and tight. I could hear the rasp of my breath and closed my eyes and visualised my counsellor, her face so warm and kind. I pictured her mouth moving as she whispered instructions and I breathed in and out the way she’d shown me. It worked. It nearly always worked. When I opened my eyes, five minutes had passed and there was no reply. If he was going to call he would have done so straight away. I kept the phone on the passenger seat just in case and started the car again.
I was halfway to Manchester when my phone beeped for a second time. I was going at quite a good speed as I was trying to get ahead of the lorries that were thundering along. Thinking it was my dad again, I swerved in to park as soon I came to the Sainsbury’s just off the M62. The message was from Matt’s phone.
On the screen was a photo of me at the supermarket that morning. My trolley was full of candles, wine and beer, strawberries and Brie, and there were a couple of huge bunches of flowers on the baby seat. I was reaching up for a bottle of the Nuits-Saint-Georges that Matt liked; it was on the top shelf and the halter top I was wearing had ridden up around my stomach, making me look desperately thin. I looked closely; I didn’t think I’d ever been that thin, not even when I had food poisoning in Australia when I was eighteen and lost twenty pounds in a matter of weeks. I twisted the rear-view mirror and saw the circles under my eyes and the hollow of my cheekbones.
How many phones did Matt have? I wondered. And why didn’t he just approach me in the supermarket? Why bother sending me photos? I tried to remember what time I’d been in the shop. Had he told his colleagues he was out o
n a project?
Just then I caught sight of the time on the dashboard clock. I panicked and drove quickly out of the car park. I thought I’d only been there a minute or so, but the message that came up as I left the car park showed my number plate and that I’d been there for twenty minutes. I’d have to get a move on.
This time I didn’t need the sat nav and found my way to Matt’s apartment on autopilot. I drove past the entrance to the apartments and parked on a side road at the back of the block. I walked up towards the building, wondering whether I would bump into Matt on his way down and thinking of his reaction if he saw me there. He obviously wanted to see me if he was calling me, but maybe he wanted to make the first move. It was too late for that now. There was still nobody on duty at the porter’s lodge, and I made a mental note to remind Matt to put in a complaint about that.
When I reached the doors, I realised I couldn’t get in without a key code, so I wandered around the building until I saw a young couple coming out of another entrance and then I just smiled and walked in, saying, ‘Thanks a lot.’
It took me a while to find Matt’s apartment once I was inside. The building itself was huge, with a small marina in its centre. Some of the internal doors needed codes to be entered before they’d open, but others were held open by fire extinguishers, completely breaking the fire regulations. I knew Matt would be annoyed at this, but I hoped he’d see it was better for me that way. I weaved my way around the building, up a couple of flights of stairs and along corridors, until I knew I’d found it. It was the only one on the corridor that didn’t have a name outside, which was as big a hint as he could possibly have given me.
It was 4.15 by the time I got there; later than I’d hoped, but I guessed from the silence inside that I’d beaten him to it. I had nothing to do but stand by his door and wait.
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