I run at them, almost taking the impact of Nick’s fist as it sweeps towards the startled lad’s jaw. Nick spins around, his face contorted with anger until he registers who has pulled at the collar of his jacket. He steps back, a beat before he can shake off the previous moment and say, ‘Jo, I’m sorry, I—’
The lad is shouting obscenities at him now, threatening to report him to ‘the authorities’.
‘Okay, okay,’ Nick says, raising his palms in surrender. ‘No harm done. Let’s just forget it.’ He looks at the lad again. ‘Okay?’
The lad walks off, looking back at Nick once he’s joined the queue again, exchanging a few words with someone who has made space in the line for him, perhaps the person who first shoved him out of the way.
‘You okay?’ Nick asks, his usual demeanour now completely recovered. ‘Not hurt?’
‘Fine,’ I reply. ‘You didn’t need to do that. I’m sure it was an accident.’
‘Not everyone’s as nice as you, Jo.’ Nick smiles and adjusts his jacket collar. ‘Just looking out for you.’
He turns back to his office and walks towards the door, smiling at me over his shoulder before he closes the door behind him.
12
Ten Days After The Fall
‘Rose, hi.’ I transfer the phone to my other ear, my hair dripping on to my bare shoulders as I lean away from the already damp handset. ‘No, you haven’t woken me, I was in the shower, hang on!’ I throw a towel around myself and switch off the running water, padding back into the bedroom, wet footprints littering the wooden floor.
‘Sorry about that,’ I say, sitting on the edge of the bed and using a corner of the towel to dry my face. ‘I’ve been meaning to get in touch after rushing out of the café like that.’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ Rose replies. ‘I didn’t realise I’d be dragging you out the shower. And I apologise for calling you at home, but I tried your mobile and it’s still going straight to voicemail.’
I think about the broken phone, smashed to pieces on the tiled hall floor, perhaps in landfill by now, the voicemail message somehow preserved.
‘Jo, are you still there?’
‘Yes, sorry.’ I glance at the clock radio on Rob’s bedside cabinet and see it’s almost lunchtime; another morning lost. ‘I went for a run,’ I say, although I have no idea why I feel the need to excuse my late start.
The truth is, I hardly slept last night, or the night before, thoughts of my troubling conversation with Thomas keeping me awake until the early hours. At least with Rob away I’ve had time to analyse my visit to the bar, although I haven’t gained any clarity, not really, waking late again this morning and with no more certainty of what may have happened between Thomas and me than before. Perhaps I’ve had too much time to think; Fin and Sash have both been too busy to come over, a situation that has angered Rob so much I was tempted to hang up on our five-minute conversation late last night, one of the few we managed all weekend.
‘Jo?’ Rose’s voice jolts me back to our call. ‘I said, you must be feeling a lot better if you’ve been for a run.’
‘Oh, yes. I am thanks,’ I reply, using my foot to wipe the towel through the puddled footprints between me and the shower.
‘Great,’ Rose replies. ‘Because I’m after a big favour. The thing is, and I know this is probably a bit of a cheek as you’re still recovering from your . . .’ there’s a pause ‘. . . but we’re so short-staffed today. Sue’s had one of her turns, not that she’s either use or ornament most days anyway, but it’s the Jobs Seekers group. I know you don’t remember it, but you really were very good with people.’
‘You want me to help at the drop-in centre?’ I ask, my foot stilling. ‘Today?’
‘Only if you’re up to it, but it would be great if you could. Nick’s going to be completely stressed out when he comes in. He was off all last week, up in London trying to raise some funds for the new computers, and I know he’ll have loads of paperwork to catch up on, so—’
‘Nick?’
‘You don’t remember him?’ Rose chatters on about her boss, how he’s been away, trying to persuade his old colleagues in the City to donate to the drop-in centre, but she knows he’ll be really pleased to see me, he’s kept asking Rose if she’d heard from me and she hasn’t had a chance to tell him she’s finally tracked me down.
It’s odd, listening to her relay the concern of a stranger, but it’s comforting in a way to know that there are people out there, beyond my immediate family, who are invested in my well-being.
‘I had a really bad night, Rose. Two in fact,’ I say, thinking if I could just sort things out in my head a bit first, then I’d actually quite like to go back to the drop-in centre, see if I have any recollection of my time there; but not as a volunteer and certainly not today. ‘Maybe another day?’
‘I’ll keep you topped up with strong black coffee, just the way you like it.’
I tell her even if I did come in I wouldn’t know what to do, but she counters my objections by saying she can show me the ropes, and anyway, I’m sure to remember it once I’m there.
‘Please, Jo. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.’
The idea of triggering some memories – the slurred words of the blonde woman at the support group come back to me again – is certainly appealing. And Rob is due back this evening so this is my last day of freedom.
‘Okay, give me an hour,’ I tell Rose, dismissing her extended gratitude.
My small car slots easily into the last free space across the road from The Limes; my Mini found its own way there, as though I’d allowed my subconscious to guide it. I cross the road and look in through the glass door, but the unlit interior is empty other than a barman with overly distended earlobes, enlarged by piercings I can see daylight through as he walks towards me. I retreat before he reaches the door, walking briskly away.
A wall of sound hits me as soon as I enter the drop-in centre. I take in the scene and experience a moment of euphoria as I realise I know this place, especially the line of computer terminals where I would sit next to one person after another, tapping in a potted history of their professional achievements. But then, on the far side of the room, a closed door causes me to stumble in my thoughts. I stare at the old-fashioned wooden door, waiting for the memory which has caused such a shift in my mood, my gaze dropping to the sticky carpet tiles. Nothing concrete forms, just a feeling of dread which falls like wet sand to the base of my stomach. I force myself to look at the door again, more carefully this time, and now I can see myself on the other side, in an office I think, talking to someone, a man. There’s no definition to him, just a sense that we were in there together.
‘Jo!’ Rose stands up from a computer terminal, the woman who was beside her still attacking a keyboard with sharp clicks of her long nails as Rose walks towards me. ‘I’m so pleased you came.’ She places a hand on my arm. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?’ Then before I can answer she says, ‘If you can take over here whilst I try to restore some semblance of order in the queue?’ She moves closer and whispers, ‘Let me know if you’re struggling. Just sit and listen, help where you can, and don’t take any nonsense, okay?’
I look over her shoulder towards maybe a dozen people waiting for the next available terminal. At the front of the line an argument is brimming over between two lads, both of them certain the other has pushed in, their feelings vented with increasing volume and shoulder barges.
‘You go,’ I tell her, removing my coat and placing it on the table beside me, my handbag on top. ‘I think I remember what to do, and if not I’ll ask.’
‘I’ll put those in Nick’s office for you,’ Rose says, picking up my belongings. ‘Best not to leave them lying around.’
I watch as she walks towards the closed door, opening it and going inside, affording me the briefest of glimpses into a cluttered dark room dominated by a desk. She smiles at me as she emerges again, pointing towards the chair she’s vacated.
&
nbsp; The woman Rose had been helping doesn’t need much input from me, just a sympathetic ear as she types up her curriculum vitae, printing it out with a hard taps of her nails on the keyboard. ‘Not much point in this,’ she tells me. ‘Not at my age.’
She only looks about forty, but her date of birth informs me she’s even younger; thirty-five. ‘You’re hardly on the scrap-heap,’ I say, stapling together two copies. ‘I’ve got almost twenty years on you, in fact—’
She glances up and assesses me from head to toe. ‘I’ve got three kids under five.’ She takes the documents I’m holding out to her. ‘Anderson’s used to be flexible about child-care, not many employers are.’
I think back to my attempts at rejoining the workplace; the term-time part-time jobs I’d considered had paid little, but which were like gold dust. We hadn’t needed the money so the appeal of getting out of the house had waned quickly, something always cropping up which sabotaged my efforts. ‘I hope it works out for you,’ I tell her, and she flashes me a half-hearted smile.
The next in line is one of the young men involved in the tussle for first place. He sits down and tells me he doesn’t need my help, thanks very much. I watch as he types in the URL of a games website, one of Fin’s favourites; at least it used to be. I wonder if I should challenge him, deciding instead to check on the other computer users and make sure they’re happy. Then I smile at those who are still waiting, walking up and down the queue to sympathise with them, telling them we hope to get more computers soon, sharing the information from Rose, and pleased all over again to have found so much has come back to me. I look over at the games player, who this time returns my smile and then, to my surprise, gives me a cheeky thumbs-up. I look away, laughing to myself at his audacity, but then I catch sight of the office door, still closed, and my stomach flips over.
‘You okay, Jo?’ Rose calls across to me.
I nod, surprised she’d noticed me falter. I’d thought her to be deep in conversation with the scruffy man standing beside her. He carries his world on his back and a folded cardboard box under his arm, his face puckered in an earnest expression of deep concentration.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I call back.
‘If you need a coffee, go into Nick’s office,’ she tells me. ‘It’s in there.’ She points at the closed door.
‘Jo knows where Nick’s office is,’ says her companion, his mouth spreading into a toothless grin, his dreadlocks swishing back and forth as he looks first at me, then back at Rose as she resumes their intense discussion.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I announce to the queue, a shuffling disgruntled murmur at my back as I walk towards the closed door.
I knock and wait, then tentatively open the door an inch or two. The unoccupied room is small and dimly lit, with a desk under the tiny window and a chair behind it. Another lower chair is angled away a little, its back to me, facing the messy desk. Every surface is piled with papers and folders, the dust catching in my throat as the air is disturbed by my entry; an undernote of stewed coffee cutting through the stale atmosphere. There’s nothing about the room which triggers a memory, good or bad, but the persistent sense of unease remains. I spot the coffee pot resting on its warming plate, both unsteadily balanced on a tall filing cabinet.
‘You found it then.’ Rose apologises for making me jump, her face full of concern as I almost spill the coffee I’m pouring. ‘Just came in for one myself,’ she says, pointing to the pot. ‘And to check on you. How’s it going? You coping alright?’
‘Fine,’ I reply, stepping aside to allow her through. ‘I’m actually remembering a lot.’ I look out at the crowded room beyond the door, alive with activity.
‘I told you it would come back to you,’ she says, splashing a thimble-sized pot of UHT milk into her coffee. ‘Must be a relief,’ she says, stirring in two sugars.
‘It is.’ I smile at her, resting my mug down on the desk where it leans precariously against a pile of folders. ‘Nice to feel useful again.’
Rose grins, exposing pink gums. ‘How’s things at home?’
‘Fine,’ I reply, taken aback by her blunt question. ‘Everything’s great in fact. Why do you ask?’
Rose places her coffee next to mine then she closes the door and walks past me to sit down behind the desk. ‘That lot can wait,’ she says, pointing me towards the low chair then waiting until I’m seated, a space cleared for my feet, before she says, ‘I know you don’t believe me, Jo, but you told me you were leaving your husband. Next thing you’ve fallen down the stairs, and then everything’s hunky-dory between you two again.’
‘What were my exact words?’ I ask, hoping there may have been some kind of misunderstanding. ‘When I told you I was leaving Rob, what did I say?’
‘Oh gosh, Jo. I’m not sure. It was over two weeks ago now; the last time you were here, in fact.’ Rose looks around her. ‘We might have been in this room. You don’t remember?’
I tell her no, but then I wonder if that’s why the office door felt so significant. Maybe Rose and I had talked, my confession the discomfiting scene I’d recalled. But it feels wrong, not a good fit at all. I’d remembered a man and me, not Rose.
She sips her milky coffee. ‘You don’t remember us talking . . . but you remember where we keep the pencils.’ She smiles at me. ‘Sorry, it just seems—’
‘I’m not in control of this; it controls me,’ I tell her, not finding the comparison at all funny. I’d thought she understood.
‘Of course, it must be so frustrating for you.’ Rose dips her head and looks up again with wild eyes, as though she’s recalled something significant.
‘Yes?’ I ask, leaning towards her.
‘We weren’t in here. It was a quiet day, we’d sat at a table out there, the corner one.’ She points towards the room beyond the closed door. ‘Or maybe we were in here. I’m not sure, Jo. Sorry.’
‘Oh,’ I say, slumping back into my seat.
‘I’m sorry, but like I said, you didn’t tell me much, just that things had changed between you and Rob since the kids had left home.’ She sighs. ‘I was worried about you, it seemed like you were keeping something back.’
‘Like what?’ I ask, sitting up again in my chair.
‘I don’t know.’ She hesitates. ‘What’s your feeling?’
Rose’s practised technique is maddening. I understand she’s trying to draw me out, but I want answers, not more questions. ‘Oh this is useless,’ I say, standing up. ‘You’re not my counsellor, Rose. I’m asking you as a friend. We were friends, I assume?’
‘Yes, of course we were. Still are, I hope.’ She picks her way around the desk to place a hand on my arm. ‘Let’s start over, shall we?’
I sit down again, waiting for her to speak, my right leg bouncing up and down. Like before, I’m reminded of a meal, Rob and me at our dining table, his foot tapping out a similar beat. Thomas was there, and Sash. Thomas had leaned towards me, his foot touching mine. I move mine back now, tucking them beneath the chair.
Rose sits down behind the desk again. ‘You didn’t always confide in me,’ she says. ‘Not everything, and that was okay, I didn’t expect you to. But I was worried about you. There were signs, things you said.’
‘How do you mean?’ I ask, recognising myself in her appraisal. I wouldn’t have told her everything, but maybe there were signs, as she says.
‘I’d thought you were unhappy for a long time before you told me you were leaving Rob,’ she replies. ‘I think you blamed Rob for your son leaving home. And you didn’t like your daughter’s boyfriend, Thomas. Your husband had reacted particularly badly to him; caused a rift.’ I nod, her account so far sounding spot on. ‘But I think the main problem was . . . at least I got the impression there was . . . there may have been someone else involved.’ She smiles at me apologetically, the gums covered by her closed lips. ‘I’m sorry, Jo. I don’t know for sure. It was just a feeling, but it felt like the logical conclusion.’
Someone else? Th
omas? Or another someone else? The man I remember in this office?
‘Do you have any idea who?’ I ask her, not sure what answer I’m hoping for.
But before Rose can reply, the door is flung open and a man throws himself through it, his eyes ablaze behind his glasses, his hair unnaturally spiked up. He doesn’t acknowledge me, my back to the door, the low chair obscuring me from his view, addressing Rose as he discards his leather jacket on to the floor. ‘It’s chaos out there; what’s going on?’
‘Nick, there’s something you need to—’ Rose says, standing up, but her words are lost to his.
‘There’s no one supervising,’ he tells her, his tone abrupt. ‘And two guys are brawling on the floor.’ He ushers her out of his way and sits down. That’s when his eyes widen as he sees me at last. ‘Jo!’ he says, standing up again.
‘That’s what I was trying to tell you, Nick,’ Rose says, her hand on my shoulder as she stands behind my chair. ‘Jo’s back.’
I look up at the man who has just burst into the office, all bluster and noise, but who now stands still, looking down at me, his eyes not moving from mine. I scan his features for anything that resonates from the past, a gesture, a nuance, the grey-blue eyes so penetrating, the spiky hair more suited to a younger man. He clearly knows me, the intensity of his gaze causing me to look away, but I don’t know him at all. Not one bit. Except . . . the sight of him has caused that same sense of dread, as though I should run away from him, out of this office, and when I half-close my eyes an image replaces his hard stare. The drop-in centre in darkness, the door behind me slamming shut as I’d run out, away from here. Away from him.
‘Can you give us a minute, Rose?’ he says.
Rose looks at me for my approval and I nod. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I tell her.
‘Are you sure you’re okay? If you need me to stay . . .’ She still looks unsure.
‘Why would she need you?’ Nick asks, not waiting for the answer. ‘Close the door after you.’
He waits until her heavy footfall dies away, absorbed into the general background noise of the room beyond, then he leans forward across his desk and says, ‘Where the fuck have you been, Jo?’
Close to Me Page 17