Close to Me

by Amanda Reynolds

  Sash is waiting outside her office when I arrive, a light wind tugging at her loose shirt to bend it to her curves, revealing what I’ve suspected since the night I came home from the hospital. I’d been shocked by her appearance, the short hair, the dark make-up, but they were mere distractions from the most profound change: her fingers swollen, her jumper baggy and shapeless, her thin face rounded out. Was I too ill, too confused, or too preoccupied with my own troubles to face up to hers? I assume Rob knows, another secret he’s kept from me. I could have challenged him, but he would have told me he was only protecting me until I was strong enough to deal with it, and in a sense I think that’s what I was doing too; unable to admit it to myself until now.

  The sign for the drop-in centre catches my eye as I walk towards Sash, but I ignore it. Sash is waving to me, wrapping her coat around her as I approach.

  ‘Hey, Mum,’ she says, careful not to press her stomach too close to mine as we hug. ‘You’re looking better today.’

  ‘Yes, I feel it,’ I say, stepping back to take in Sash’s appearance. She has the same high colour in her cheeks I had when I was carrying her. ‘You look well; are you feeling well?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she replies, looking away. ‘Shall we get some lunch? I’m starving and I only have half an hour.’

  ‘Yes, sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find a space. Had to go to the multistorey in the end,’ I tell her, my head now pounding.

  She smiles, links her arm through mine. ‘Where are we going, the usual?’

  ‘No. I know a nice place much closer; just over there, in fact.’ I point to the café where I met Rose.

  ‘Not your usual style,’ Sash observes, looking around as she takes her seat. ‘Dad always says you should never eat anywhere with wipe-clean menus.’

  ‘I came here with a friend; thought it would be quiet.’ I smile at my daughter, glancing across at the table by the window, then quickly back to Sash, whose lip is curling as she brushes crumbs from her place. I pop a couple of painkillers in my mouth and swallow them down with the glass of tap water I’d asked for as we walked in.

  ‘You okay?’ Sash looks up at me. ‘You were quite insistent we should meet today.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m fine,’ I tell her, turning my attention to the laminated menu.

  The waitress arrives and we order jacket potatoes with tuna mayonnaise. ‘You’re eating fish again?’ I ask Sash. ‘I thought you were vegan?’

  ‘Just fish,’ she replies, smiling in a dismissive way at the waitress, the mannerism so reminiscent of her father. ‘I feel I need it,’ she says. ‘The protein.’

  A dare? To see if I’ll say something? But I want Sash to tell me herself. I glance across at the window and for a split second I imagine Thomas outside again, his coat billowing at his back, the smile there as he notices me. I close my eyes, willing the image away.

  ‘Mum, you okay?’ Sash asks. I open my eyes and smile at her. ‘You’re being really weird; you can’t just zone out like that.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I reply, but she frowns back.

  I notice she’s fiddling with the largest ring on her right hand and I comment on how pretty it is, much nicer than the rest.

  ‘I love it.’ Sash smiles, twisting the ring forwards again, then holding her hand up to show me. ‘You bought it for my birthday, you don’t remember?’

  ‘Horrible to have missed it,’ I say. ‘First one.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ she says, looking at the ring again. ‘You just don’t remember. March the—’

  ‘I know when your birthday is,’ I tell her, but then I fall silent again, trying to recall not only her birthday in March, but Fin’s in July.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum.’ She smiles. ‘I had a nice time.’

  I smile and we talk about me, how I’m feeling so much better, and she asks if I’ve remembered anything since she last saw me. I make vague references to how some things are coming back and I study her expression, looking for any sign of the huge secret she still refuses to give up.

  Sash sips her sugary drink through a straw, her dark lips puckered, her eyes thickly lined, but nevertheless looking very much like the child she still is. Our food arrives and is eaten, devoured in Sash’s case. It’s almost time for her to return to work and I haven’t mentioned the thing I came here to discuss.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’ I ask, leaving the correct money plus a tip on the table. ‘Something important?’

  Sash is putting on her coat, still seated. ‘Like what?’ she asks, feigning distraction.

  I sigh, disappointed she has made me say it. It’s insulting; her bump there, between us. ‘I know you’re pregnant, Sash.’

  I wish I’d spoken sooner, for we only have a few minutes together before I’m watching the revolving doors to her office, imagining her within, perhaps rushing to the toilet to wash her tear-stained face. She said it’s wanted, was planned. She’s happy; please be happy for her. I saw the desperation in her eyes, felt the worry in her swollen fingers as she’d reached across the table and laced them through mine. But there’s no way of returning her to the days when Rob or I could swoop in and take over, fixing a problem she had created. It’s just not an option. She’s almost five months pregnant; the neat bump much bigger than I’d expected when she’d lifted her shirt to show me the stretched skin beneath; the sight of it both shocking and needed, tangible and irrefutable. I asked if her father knows and she hung her head, then nodded, said he asked her not to say anything until I was feeling a bit stronger.

  I watch the spinning door which took her away from me, wrapping my arms around myself, the endless parade of office workers in and out strangely soothing in its perpetual motion. The days are a little colder now it’s mid-September. This time last year Rob and I had just taken Fin to university and soon after we’d gone away on holiday together. Rob said we were happy, getting on with our lives. We looked away for a moment and tragedies unfolded; as I’d always feared they might.

  April – This Year

  Rose arrives at the drop-in centre after me; at one time a rare occurrence, but less so these days since I’ve taken to getting in early and leaving later too. Spotting me from the far side of the room she shoots me a quizzical glance, beckoning me to join her.

  ‘Okay if I leave you to it?’ I ask the young lady at my side. She nods and continues to tap the keyboard two-handed and at great speed.

  ‘Hey!’ I say to Rose, catching up with her in Nick’s office. ‘Everything okay?’

  She’s slipped off her rainproof jacket and is folding it back into its own pocket, depositing it in her bag-for-life. ‘Where’s His Nibs today?’ she asks.

  Sometimes he’s Nick, sometimes ‘His Lordship’ or ‘His Nibs’. Presumably in reference to his private education; the upper-class accent was dropped long ago, along with the corporate suits and flash cars, though Rose did tell me he has a ‘swanky apartment’ overlooking the park.

  ‘He’s gone to meet with Anderson’s, to discuss redundancy and pensions,’ I tell her. ‘There’s so many of them losing out, they’re thinking of mediation.’

  I’m summarising the briefest of conversations I had with Nick. He was rushing out as I was arriving, although he paused to tell me my hair looked nice. I’d thought to reprimand him, the warning look I’d given him seemingly ignored as he’d returned it with a cheeky grin, but in the end I thanked him for noticing my trip to the hairdresser when no one else had. It’s been two months since that night in his office; we both know where we stand.

  ‘Let’s hope Nick can do some good over there,’ Rose says, stuffing her belongings into a corner of the office behind a pile of papers. ‘The pensions should be protected, but redundancy packages have been disappointing, much less than expected. I can’t see they’ll change them, though. There’s no money for it.’

  Nick’s previous experience in corporate finance has allowed him to act as a mediator between the ailing firm and their ex-employees; a self-appointed
role. It’s strange, because although he speaks evangelically of his passion for charitable work, he still behaves like a corporate man, drawn to high-level meetings and finance plans. I’ve sometimes wondered if he’s angling for a role back in that world, although I know he’d deny it, citing his love of the Third Sector.

  ‘Did you want me for anything in particular?’ I ask Rose.

  ‘Not really, just a chat,’ Rose says, pouring herself a coffee. ‘Second time this week you’ve been in early.’ She smiles, gums on show. ‘Couldn’t help but notice.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’ I ask, almost adding a sardonic, ‘Didn’t know you were counting.’

  ‘No. Just an observation.’

  ‘I’m still not as committed as you,’ I reply, refusing her offer to pour me a cup too. I may have taken to the work, but the coffee is virtually undrinkable; especially when it’s stewed. ‘You’re practically wedded to this place,’ I say, wishing immediately I could take back the less-than-tactful comment.

  ‘You know . . .’ she says, glancing past me to the room beyond. ‘This is a place people come to face up to their problems.’ She looks me directly in the eye. ‘Not run away from them.’

  Rose’s bluntness always shocks me, although it shouldn’t; we’ve known each other for five months now and I’ve come to think of her as a friend – an unlikely one, but a loyal one too.

  ‘Are you talking about them or me?’ I ask, looking behind me to the early-comers; most of them regulars whom I recognise.

  ‘I’m talking about you,’ Rose replies, unrepentant.

  ‘I should get back,’ I say, but Rose walks past me and closes the door.

  ‘That lot can wait,’ she tells me. ‘I think we need a chat.’

  Rose has noticed over the last few weeks, she says, facing me across the small room, that I’m at the drop-in-centre more often, arriving earlier and earlier, and I stay for longer too. She tells me I’m very good at what I do, so I’m not to take this the wrong way, but if there’s anything I’d like to share, she’s always there for me. ‘You can’t shock me, Jo. I’ve heard it all before.’

  Rose and I have discussed many things as we’ve wiped tables and hoovered carpet tiles caked with mud, or worse. I’ve confided my worries for the children, how detached I feel from their lives and how rarely I see them, but I’m circumspect in what I choose to tell her and I think she’s aware of that.

  ‘You know everything there is to know about me, Rose,’ I reply. ‘I’m really very boring.’

  ‘That’s not true at all,’ she says, looking straight at me, and for a heart-stopping moment I panic she may have guessed what happened between Nick and me in this very spot, but then she goes on to say, ‘You’re the least boring person I know. Anyway, no one’s boring, not when you get to know them properly. This place has taught me that if nothing else.’

  I smile, thank her for the compliment, if that’s how it was meant. Rose sips her coffee then rests the mug on a thick reference book left open on Nick’s desk, some kind of legal tome, then balances one of her wide hips on the corner of the cluttered desk. ‘I’m concerned about you, Jo. You seem withdrawn lately, and if there’s anything I can help you with, then I’d like to.’

  ‘There’s nothing,’ I reply, smiling at Rose to reassure her all is well. ‘I should probably get back.’

  ‘I know you think I’m interfering, Jo. But I worry for you. I worry a lot.’ She reaches out and touches my arm. ‘You’re looking for something, always searching, but just be careful, okay? Make sure it’s what you really want.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, turning to the door so she’s forced to relinquish her hold on me.

  I return to the young lady I’d abandoned earlier, although my thoughts remain with Rose and our conversation in Nick’s office. I’ve considered confiding in her more than once, the burden too much at times to shoulder alone, but it would seem more real if I told her what happened between Nick and me. Even if I could get past the humiliation of saying out loud what I constantly try to silence in my head, I don’t think it would help, the shame doubling if shared, reflected back at me in her pitying eyes. And I know I will never be able to share with her how I’d run to the bar looking for Sash and found Thomas instead. She wouldn’t judge me, but I would judge myself, and life is slowly returning to something akin to normal now Rob and Sash are finally speaking to one another. I can’t risk undoing that. Thomas seems to be keeping our secret and so must I.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I ask, sliding on my glasses to read the covering letter the girl typing away beside me has composed in my absence.

  ‘Yeah, no problems,’ she replies.

  Distracted by the atrocious grammar and proliferation of emoticons and text-speak, I don’t notice Rose approach.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says, crouching down beside me. ‘I think I may have overstepped the mark back there.’

  I lean back from her breathy apology. ‘It’s fine, I know you meant well, but honestly everything is good. I promise.’ I smile at my companion too, directing her attention to the red words on the screen.

  ‘So we’re okay?’ Rose asks, hauling herself up with a hand to the back of my chair.

  ‘Of course.’ I smile up at her.

  I watch Rose as she moves around the room, the instinctive way she spots anyone struggling, just as she did with me. The only difference is they came here to ask for help, not give it. But she was right, I am here to get away from my problems. I suppose it’s much the same with Rob, sinking himself into his work, spending more and more time away from our empty nest, crawling into bed long after I’ve fallen asleep. We used to be a couple, but now we run in parallel, our paths rarely crossing; and more than anything, I feel alone.

  16

  Thirteen Days After The Fall

  I contemplate walking straight back out; the drop-in centre is so busy it seems the wrong time to talk to Rose, and I’m still upset after my lunch with Sash, but then Rose spots me standing by the entrance and comes over.

  ‘Jo, how are you?’ She places a hand on my arm. ‘I was going to contact you if I hadn’t heard from you.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, I meant to get back to you but—’

  ‘Did you sort things out with Nick? He wouldn’t tell me what you’d discussed, but I guess it was a bit of shock seeing him again like that? You looked upset when you left!’

  ‘A shock, how do you mean?’ I ask, looking around the crowded room for him. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘You two were such good friends, must be odd not remembering him; or have you?’

  ‘No, not really,’ I tell her, glancing across at the closed door, the familiar feeling of dread returning. ‘Is he in?’

  ‘Locked away as usual,’ she says. ‘So you’re feeling better I hope; up to joining us again?’

  ‘Not really,’ I tell her, ignoring her concerned expression. ‘Sash is pregnant.’ Rose doesn’t seem particularly surprised at the news.

  ‘You knew?’ I ask. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Sorry, I assumed you remembered, or that—’

  ‘Someone would have told me?’ I say and she nods. ‘Rob wanted to wait until I was stronger,’ I tell her, although neither of us seem convinced.

  ‘Well he’s told you now,’ she says, smiling back, but her lips are closed over the gums.

  ‘Yes, all sorted,’ I reply, glossing over the facts, anxious to leave before Nick emerges from behind that closed door. ‘The thing is, what with the situation with Sash and my fall . . .’

  ‘You’re leaving?’ she asks. ‘God, Jo. I just get you back, then you’re off again.’

  I explain how I’ve decided to give up my volunteer role, but only for the time being, just until Sash has the baby, or maybe for a few months after. As I speak I begin to look ahead, wonder what the next year may bring. Sash may well need to go back to work; there’s a limit to how much we can support her financially, babies are expensive and Thomas can’t earn much. Besides
, her career is too important to abandon at this early stage, and we have Fin to support as well. Perhaps Sash will want some practical help with the baby, especially if Thomas proves as useless as I suspect he will be. Panic grips me at the thought of Thomas’s continuing presence in our lives. It’s stupid, but I hadn’t considered that before. I’d been too wrapped up in Sash, the implications for her. The realisation hits me hard. I will never be free of him. He will always be the father of her child, my grandchild. But of course, he won’t stay. He’s unreliable. He will tire of her; the realities of parenthood will find him out. It’s little consolation, and any it does provide wracks me with guilt; for he will leave my child, and his, of that I have no doubt. ‘How could it be planned?’ I’d asked her. ‘Why on earth would this be what you want?’

  Rose reaches out to touch my arm. ‘Jo, you okay?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. What did you say?’

  ‘Just that you don’t have to leave us. Keep something for yourself.’

  ‘I can’t, Rose. I have to—’ Nick’s door has opened. He looks across the crowded room to Rose and me and raises his hand in a wave.

  I’d told myself I need to leave because of Sash, to free myself up for her entirely, but the sight of Nick distils in me a thought I had barely acknowledged. I don’t ever want to see him again.