The Nothing Girl

by Jodi Taylor

  Afterwards, I switched off the TV, found my book, and climbed into bed. Thomas looked out of the window, occasionally describing what was going on outside. We’d turned the lights down low, the room was peaceful and warm, and slowly, I began to feel a little better. Married or not, I was still in bed before 9.30 in the evening. The more things change …

  I made another hot chocolate and settled back on my pillows, immersed in my book. A scrabbling at the door made me jump. The card lock clicked and Russell Checkland walked in.

  My heart sank. He hadn’t gone to walk it off at all. He’d gone to top-up.

  He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at me with no trace of friendliness. ‘What? In bed already? You’re keen, aren’t you?’

  He’d promised. He’d said – what had he said? I couldn’t remember the exact words. Had I misunderstood? Or had he changed his mind?

  Thomas shifted his weight, just very slightly, and the threat was implicit. I wasn’t alone.

  I remained perfectly still, looking at him over the rim of my cup, book open on my knees. Don’t move. Don’t say anything. What would he do next?

  ‘Good,’ said Thomas. ‘Very sensible. I think we both need to stay calm. Failing that, hit him with the bedside lamp.’

  The moment seemed endless. Neither of us moved. Finally, he gave a short laugh and disappeared into the bathroom. I put down my cup with a trembling hand.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Thomas. ‘If it’s any reassurance, after what he’s drunk today, I don’t think he could even raise a smile, let alone anything else.’

  Indeed, there did seem to be a lot of banging and crashing in the bathroom. I heard the shower go on. There was a thud and a cry.

  ‘Whoops,’ said Thomas, unsympathetically.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, picking up my book.

  ‘He might have knocked himself out.’

  ‘I’ll finish this chapter and if there’s still no sound then I’ll go and look.’

  He was back long before the end of the chapter, wearing T-shirt and shorts, which was a bit of a relief.

  ‘Our virtue is safe,’ said Thomas. ‘He’s looking for spare blankets and pillows.’

  So he was, unsteadily building himself a nest on the sofa. He fell heavily and pulled a blanket over himself. Within seconds, he was snoring.

  It was the first time I hadn’t slept alone. I mean, the first time I’d slept with someone else in the same room.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Well, you don’t snore like bathwater going down the plughole.’

  We listened some more.

  ‘It’s very – loud.’

  ‘He certainly sleeps with enthusiasm.’

  I lay awake for most of the night, thinking. Stubborn pride came to my aid. I wasn’t giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing me run back to Aunt Julia. If I gave up now, I would never, ever again have another opportunity to make a life for myself. I could see myself, dwindling down the years, becoming ‘Mad old Jenny Dove in the attic’. I shivered. I was twenty-eight. I could reasonably expect to live for about another fifty years. Fifty years of nothing.

  No, I had taken a small step towards independence. Tomorrow I would take another. And another the next day. I would get there. With or without Russell Checkland, I would do this.

  I must have drifted off at some point because I woke at around seven thirty the next morning. For a panic-stricken moment, I wondered where I was and then jumped a mile as someone snorted, grunted, and turned over.

  I sat up quickly and looked across the room. Russell Checkland – my husband – lay sprawled on his back, arms out-flung. He’d stopped snoring, thank God, but it still wasn’t a pretty sight. His mouth was slightly open and his hair, always unruly, lay in all directions. His pallor accentuated the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked sad and vulnerable. I hardened my heart.

  The bathroom was full of his clothes. I kicked them aside. Not attempting to be quiet, I showered, cleaned my teeth, dressed, and brushed my hair. Returning to the bedroom, he hadn’t moved at all. I wondered whether I should wake him.

  ‘ What for? He won’t thank you. I think it’s kinder to let him sleep. Should we roll him on his side in case he chokes on his own vomit? ’

  ‘He’s not vomiting.’

  ‘He might.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s done this before. He can probably roll himself over without even waking up. He’ll be fine.’

  I packed up my few things, again not attempting to keep the noise down, but there was no reaction. Maybe he really was unconscious. I went into the bathroom and filled a glass of water and left it and a strip of paracetamol where he could see them, snapped my case shut, picked up my coat, and headed to the door without a backwards glance.

  Down in reception, I said carefully, ‘Is it … possible to extend the … booking for another twenty-four hours?’

  ‘One moment please, madam. Yes, that won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Thank you.’ There was no way he was going to make checkout at 11.00 a.m. And I was sticking him with the bill. ‘Can I have a … taxi please?’

  I climbed into the taxi and the driver said, ‘Where to, love?’

  Where to indeed? My old home or my new home?

  ‘Well?’ said Thomas.

  Was there every any doubt? I gave the Frogmorton address.

  I remembered to direct him around the back because for all I knew the front door still didn’t open. Kevin appeared as I was paying him off.

  ‘Can I take your case – Mrs Checkland?’

  Yes, it sounded strange to me too, but that’s who I was. Mrs Russell Checkland.

  ‘Thank you, Kevin.’

  We went into the kitchen. Mrs Crisp bustled forward.

  ‘Welcome, Mrs Checkland. Welcome to your new home.’ She looked over my shoulder for the young master.

  She spoke with such kindness that I felt sudden tears prick my eyes. She must have seen my embarrassment because she said, ‘I expect you’d like to spend the morning getting settled. Let me take you up.’

  So we all trailed towards the stairs. The living room was full of boxes.

  ‘Your books, I think,’ she said, following my gaze. ‘I didn’t like to unpack them. Your clothes and personal effects are all in your room.’

  The room was exactly as I remembered it. ‘I’ve put some curtains up,’ she said, ‘and found some pretty bedding, but I expect you’ll be replacing everything, sooner or later.’

  Was there a bit of an off-note there?

  She signed to Kevin to put my case on the bed. I thanked him. It wasn’t heavy. I could have managed. They left.

  I walked to the window and looked out over the wet jungle that was Russell Checkland’s garden. I stood for a long time before Thomas wandered over.

  ‘Aren’t you going to unpack?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t feel like it.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It – just doesn’t feel like home.’

  ‘No, it’s better, don’t you think?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I walked away and sat on the bed.

  ‘Jenny,’ his voice was stern. ‘ I have not helped you through the emotional maelstrom of the last month to have you sit alone and friendless in yet another bedroom. Get changed, we’re going for a walk. ’

  ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Now put on something that won’t mind getting muddy and off we go.’

  So we did.

  Mrs Crisp asked if we were going up on to the moors. I said tersely that I didn’t know. She looked embarrassed.

  ‘We always ask, Mrs Checkland. The weather up there is very changeable, especially at this time of year. If you don’t come back then we know where to look.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Yes I am, but not very far. I’ll … stick to the path.’

  She nodded and we set off.

  We walked up the lane past the Braithwaites’ place. He was just emerging from the barn and waved. I waved back, slightly cheered
by this small sign of friendliness.

  As always, the air up here was crisp and clear. I felt it blow away more than my bad mood. The ground was wet underfoot, but the sun was struggling to come out. Perhaps it was an omen.

  We walked for about an hour. Thomas was very quiet and I was lost in my own thoughts.

  ‘What are you worrying about? Whether he will be at Frogmorton when we get back, or whether he won’t?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, honestly.

  ‘ Try not to worry too much. It’s been a pretty rough forty-eight hours. A good night’s sleep and some time to reflect and maybe things will get back on track. ’

  Are you talking about him or me?’

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure.’

  He wasn’t there when we got back. Mrs Crisp, looking even more worried than ever, asked me if he would be back for dinner. I said, truthfully, that I didn’t know.

  I sat in my room and wondered if I should telephone Andrew, but decided against it. If he was there then they would have called.

  ‘Maybe he’s finally run off with Francesca,’ I said.

  ‘ Will you get over this obsession with Francesca? The chances are that he’s woken up, felt like death, and gone back to sleep again. If he has left the hotel, he’s probably taken himself off somewhere quiet where he can calm down and start feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself. ’

  I nodded. He was probably right.

  ‘Now, start unpacking and putting down roots.’

  So I did. Mrs Crisp brought me some tea. I unpacked and hung my clothes, sliding my wedding dress carefully to one side of the wardrobe. I laid my bits and pieces on the dressing table and my toiletries in the bathroom. Thomas was right. He usually was, although there was no need to tell him that. I did feel better. Tomorrow, I would unpack my books and laptop.

  I had dinner in solitary state in the little morning room, having refused point-blank to use the awful dining room. The living room seemed cold and bleak and was full of my boxes, so when I’d finished eating, I went to bed.

  Mrs Crisp said goodnight gravely and watched me go. I managed to get into my room before the tears started to fall. I curled on the bed and sobbed. Thomas gave me a few minutes before dropping his head and nuzzling my hair. The room filled with the smell of ginger biscuits.

  I gulped a bit and pulled myself together.

  ‘So,’ said Thomas. ‘Was this day as bad as yesterday?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘Well, there you go then. Progress.’

  ‘Thomas, where is he? What could he be doing?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he’ll be back soon. He has to be. He lives here.’

  ‘He was drunk at the wedding. He didn’t attend the reception, such as it was. Now he’s gone missing. Do you think we should call the police?’

  ‘No,’ said Thomas, firmly.

  ‘Well, if he hasn’t gone off with Francesca then the only reason he’s not here is because he doesn’t want to be with me.’

  ‘Yes, I think you might be right.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘ No, I didn’t mean that. I think he’s too ashamed to show his face. Let’s face it, he frightened you last night, he wakes up this morning and you’re gone. He’s the one who should be panicking, not you. He’ll turn up tomorrow, you just wait and see. ’

  Somewhat comforted, I went to bed.

  He didn’t turn up tomorrow. I went downstairs for breakfast and now Mrs Crisp looked really anxious. ‘He’s not a bad lad,’ she said. ‘But he does take things to heart sometimes. Always has.’

  My thoughts went back to Francesca again, wondering what sort of body blow she had dealt him this time and whether she had done it out of spite, or, more likely, was just too stupid and self-absorbed to realise the damage she had done.

  Mrs Crisp disappeared and I slowly finished my breakfast and wondered what to do next.

  ‘Boxes,’ said Thomas, who appeared to have some sort of box fixation. ‘ Get your books arranged and you’ll feel better.’

  So I did, taking my time and arranging them on the half-empty shelves in the living room. Even so, I was finished by lunchtime. I unpacked my laptop and set it to charge.

  I looked around the big, cold house and wondered what had happened to the bright, warm world I’d known here only a couple of weeks ago. I went up to my room again.

  ‘Jenny, you must stop this,’ said Thomas. ‘ You moved the world to get away from your aunt and all you’re doing is sitting alone in yet another bedroom. This is your house. You can go wherever you like. Do whatever you like. ’

  ‘Thomas, I don’t know what to do. I never thought I would be here alone like this. I just don’t know what my role here is. Aunt Julia never lifts a finger except to arrange a flower or two. Mrs Finch does pretty well everything, but I’m not sure that’s for me. But not only do I not know what to do, I don’t know how to do it, either. I could probably plug in a vacuum cleaner, or dust something, but I don’t know how to run a house. What would Mrs Crisp say? What does she want me to do? Being Jenny Checkland is very different from being Jenny Dove.’

  ‘Well, tell her.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘ She’s not a monster, Jenny. She’s nice old Mrs Crisp who looked after Russell when his mother died and is probably worried to death, not only about where he is at the moment, but also whether she’s still going to have a job here under the new regime. ’

  I hadn’t thought of that. That someone could be even more apprehensive about the future than me. Feeling a little braver, I went downstairs. Lunch was on my own again. I ate slowly and then took my dishes back to the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Checkland, I would have done that.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Crisp. Can we have some tea, please? I’d like to talk with you.’

  She bustled about while I clenched my hands and tried to marshal words in some sort of order. When everything was ready and I couldn’t put it off any longer, I began.

  ‘I … need your help, Mrs Crisp. I don’t … know what to do. Russell isn’t here to … tell me. I don’t know where he is. I’ve … never run a house. What do I do? … Do I offer to help? It’s a … big house. I should be … doing things. But I … don’t … know what.’

  All that took a very long time. At the end, I sipped my tea and didn’t look at her.

  She folded and re-folded a tea towel. ‘I’m so pleased to have this opportunity to talk to you, Mrs Checkland. And we certainly don’t need Russell to sort this out. Not that he’d be the slightest use anyway. I don’t know where he is, either, but don’t you worry yourself, my dear. He’s probably not daring to come back because he knows he’s not too big to get a clout round the ear when he does. Properly speaking, of course, that’s your job now. If you need something to stand on, just let me know.’

  She looked so fierce, I couldn’t help laughing. I just hoped she’d never come after me with a tea towel!

  ‘But thank you for your offer, Mrs Checkland. It’s gratefully accepted. I’ve been thinking about this. When the other Mrs Checkland, Russell’s mother, was here, we would get together on Mondays and talk over menus and things and what we needed for the coming week. Then on Fridays, I would present her with the bills and we’d do the accounts. Would you like to start with that?

  I could do that. I nodded. This was much easier than I had thought it would be. Across the kitchen, Thomas was nodding encouragement and approval.

  ‘About the housework,’ she shifted in her chair. I thought this had been too easy. Was some ghastly domestic problem about to present itself and I had to sort it out? I remembered Aunt Julia once saying that any sentence that started with the words, ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you, madam …’ was the lead-in to domestic meltdown. I braced myself.

  ‘The thing is,’ she said slowly and then straightened her back and carried on more firmly, ‘the thing is, when the other Mrs Checkland was here, there was me, of course, and two women from the village came up to h
elp. Just part-timers, a couple of days a week. When it was just Russell and me, it didn’t matter so much, but now he’s opened up the house again, there’s all these rooms to clean, and Kevin’s here so there’s extra laundry and extra meals, especially if everyone doesn’t eat together, and I’m sorry, Mrs Checkland, but I’m not as young as I used to be and …’ She stopped. I wasn’t the only one who feared for the future.

  I patted her hand. Aunt Julia would have thrown a fit – but tastefully, of course.

  ‘It’s OK, Mrs Crisp. We’ll – I’ll see what I can do.’ I didn’t have a clue, but hopefully, I’d think of something.

  If anything, her embarrassment increased. ‘To tell the truth, I’ve already got someone in mind, only I haven’t liked to mention it because, well, she’s a relative and it didn’t seem proper somehow.’

  Tired from all that talking, I just raised an eyebrow, but she understood.

  ‘Actually, I think you might already know her. It’s Sharon Ellis. She used to be a waitress at The Copper Kettle. She’s my niece.’

  My mind flew back. ‘Has she left?’’

  ‘They weren’t very kind to her. And she’s a good girl and a very hard worker. You wouldn’t regret it, Mrs Checkland. She bakes like a dream. She wants her own cake shop one day. That’s why she can only do part-time. She goes to college two days a week.’

  ‘She sounds ideal.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you, Mrs Checkland. I’ll give her a ring. She’ll be thrilled.’

  My first decision as Mrs Checkland. I felt quite proud of myself. And if Russell didn’t like it then he should have bloody well been here to say no.

  ‘Fine. In the … meantime, shall I lend a hand until she starts?’

  ‘That would be appreciated, thank you.’

  ‘I’ve finished my books, so I’ll get rid of the … boxes and dust and hoover the living room.’

  It was never going to be that easy.

  ‘I’ll dust. You hoover.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, feeling a little bit happy for the first time in ages.

  We compromised again that evening. I had a delicious dinner on a tray on my lap in the newly cleaned living room. A fire crackled merrily in the gate. The curtains were closed and I’d switched off the harsh overhead light and just kept the wall lamps. It was the kind of room that looked best in the evening.