by Nicci French
When I got home, a piece of paper was lying on the doormat. ‘Where are you, what are you doing and why aren’t you answering my calls? RING ME NOW! Gwenxxxx.’
I pushed the message out of my way, took the new phone out of its box and plugged it in to charge. Then I opened my hotmail account and copied out the new email address. ‘This is my phone number,’ I wrote, and keyed it in. I took a deep breath and pressed send. There, it was gone. Now all I had to do was wait.
I couldn’t put off listening to my phone messages any longer: Gwen, Joe, Gwen, Gwen, my bank manager, Joe, Mary, my mother twice, Mary again, Gwen and Gwen and Gwen, my sister, Fergus twice, a woman calling about a chest of drawers that needed stripping, my bank manager again, a wrong number, Gwen, who sounded frantic with anxiety now. I felt a pinch of guilt. I would call her soon. Tomorrow. After I’d sorted this latest thing out. I couldn’t talk to anybody until then. It wasn’t possible.
But even as I was thinking this there was an insistent knocking at the door. I got up to answer it, then sat down again. No: it would be Gwen or Mary or Joe or Fergus and I wasn’t in the mood. If I didn’t open the door, they’d go away. The knocking continued. Did they know somehow I was in there? Then it stopped.
I breathed out with relief and stood up. What now? I opened the fridge door and stared dispiritedly into the white space. A lonely knob of hard cheese, a past-its-sell-by-date packet of butter and a shrink-wrapped stub of chorizo sat on the otherwise empty shelves. As I stood there, I had a creepy feeling that I wasn’t alone. I heard a rustle behind me, coming from the garden and, very slowly, I turned. Someone was staring in at me through the window. Gwen. Her sweet-natured face was transformed by a huge scowl. Another face appeared beside her and the two glared in at me. Then Mary raised her fist and rapped sharply on the glass. ‘Let us in!’ she yelled.
I opened the back door and stood aside so that they could enter.
‘What are you playing at?’ hissed Gwen, dumping a large shopping bag on the table.
‘What are you wearing?’ said Mary.
‘Didn’t you get my messages? My note? Do you know how worried we’ve all been?’
‘I – I was busy,’ I mumbled.
‘Busy? Well, I was busy too, as it happens. You can’t just hide away, you know. Fuck. I pictured you lying in a ditch – or in a bath with your wrists cut or something. If you don’t want to see us, fine, but at least tell us you’re all right. We were going to ring the police if you hadn’t been here this evening.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘Well, you should have done! That’s no excuse. You should have a bit of consideration.’
Gwen started pulling items out of the bag. Ground coffee, milk, shortbread biscuits, wholemeal bread, salad, carrots, a bottle of wine, eggs. She thumped them down on the table angrily.
‘Was that suit Greg’s?’ asked Mary.
‘Yes,’ I said shortly.
‘You look great.’ There was a hint of accusation in her voice. It would have been better if I’d been haggard and red-eyed with grief. ‘Doesn’t she look great, Gwen?’
‘Hmm. Where have you been?’
‘Trying to sort things out.’
Gwen snorted. ‘That’s a feeble answer.’
‘It’s true,’ I insisted, and after all, it was in its own way.
‘Have you been getting back to your work?’
‘Not exactly. A bit.’
‘A bit. Have you dealt with your financial stuff, been to the bank and your solicitor, visited his parents, like you said you would?’
‘I will soon.’
‘So what have you been sorting out?’
‘I – There’s a lot of bits and pieces.’ It sounded so lame that I blushed to the roots of my hair.
‘What are you up to, Ellie?’ Gwen asked.
‘I’m not up to anything.’ But I couldn’t meet her gaze.
‘This is us, remember,’ said Mary. She had sat down at the table and was now chewing absent-mindedly at one of the carrots Gwen had brought.
The phone rang suddenly and I stiffened. But it was only my landline and we waited in silence as the answering-machine picked up and Joe’s voice came on: ‘Ellie. Ellie, honey? It’s me. Come on.’ There was a pause, and then he said again, ‘Ellie?’ before hanging up.
‘See? Another anxious friend.’
For a moment I considered telling them everything I had done. But to do that wouldn’t I also have to give up my subterfuge, my lies, deceits and unhealthy obsessions? ‘I’m really, really sorry,’ I said. ‘Honestly I am. I know I’m behaving oddly, wrongly. I can’t explain it properly. I’ve been all over the place.’ I twisted my hands together, my naked, ringless fingers. ‘I keep thinking things will get better.’
‘We’re here to help you,’ said Gwen. ‘You know that. Don’t shut us out.’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Now we’re here, shall I make us tea?’ asked Mary. ‘Tea and biscuits and then we can go out. Eric’s looking after Robin this evening so I’m free. What d’you say? Film and meal, just the three of us, like it used to be?’
What I wanted to say was that I felt tired and agitated and my heart was bouncing in my chest like a rubber ball and all I wanted to do was wait by the phone, but their two kind, familiar faces showed such concern that I said, ‘That would be very nice.’
I got home just after midnight and ran to check the new phone. There were no messages but there was one missed call. I picked up the mobile. Resting in my hand, it felt like a bomb that might go off at any time. In bed, the phone on the table beside me, I could feel myself fizzing with excitement and dread, and when I finally slept, it was fitfully, to taunting dreams.
Frances kissed me on both cheeks. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve got to dash out in an hour or so and I won’t be back until mid-afternoon. It would be great if you could go through the new brochure for me. I’ve got to get it to the printers this afternoon and it’s littered with errors.’
‘It’s not that I mind, but what about Beth?’
‘Oh, you can show it to her, but she’s no use. She studied events management at university, which means she can barely read or write.’
‘Fine. I’ll do my best.’
‘Let’s have coffee first, though.’
‘Shall I get it?’
‘No, no. Let me.’
There was a hectic air about her: she couldn’t seem to sit still; she kept taking her glasses off and putting them on again, running her hand through her hair.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘Me? Fine. Why do you ask?’
‘You seem a bit restless.’
‘Maybe I am. Strange times.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I’m really glad you’re around, though, Gwen. I don’t have many women friends I can talk to.’
That she counted me a friend filled me with fresh shame. I buried my face in my coffee cup to hide my expression.
‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’ she continued. ‘Sometimes I think women are much more rivalrous and catty with each other than they ever are with men. Don’t you agree?’
She was probably remembering Milena, but I thought of Gwen and Mary as they had been last night, their grumpy, unflagging loyalty and love, and shook my head. ‘Not always,’ I said.
‘Do you have close friends?’
‘A few.’
‘Good.’ She sounded wistful. ‘I’m glad. We all need friends. Listen, there’s something I need to talk about. Otherwise this feeling I have, of guilt and disgust with myself, will rot away inside me and poison me. I need to confess.’
What could I say? I gave a small nod for her to continue.
‘In your relationships,’ she asked, ‘have you always been faithful?’
‘Yes,’ I said, because it was the truth.
‘That must be a nice feeling.’ Her voice was so soft I could hardly catch her words. She stared into my eyes for a few seconds, then look
ed away. While she spoke, she gazed at a spot a few inches to one side of me.
‘When I married,’ she said, ‘I made promises, but I didn’t really think about what they meant, not properly. And David and I – Well, you’ve seen us together. It’s not great. It hasn’t been for some time. He was busy, I was busy, we had separate lives. Bit by bit we drifted apart without realizing it. And bit by bit I became lonely – but I didn’t realize that either. It happened too gradually. And one day I knew I was unhappy. My life felt all wrong but I was stuck in it. And then…’ She stopped and turned her gaze on me briefly. ‘It’s such a fucking cliché, isn’t it? I met a man. A very special man. He made me feel good about myself. It was as if he recognized me, saw someone precious behind the façade I’d built up.’
She rubbed her eyes wearily. ‘It was such a mess, though. Not just because I was married – for a bit that hardly bothered me. He’d had a thing with Milena first.’
I managed to make a small sound. My heart felt large and painful.
‘Just a fling, really, but you know what Milena was like. She didn’t take it well that he preferred me. That was putting it mildly. She hated me, really hated me. I felt her hatred would literally scorch me when I walked into the room.’ Frances shuddered. ‘And then she died.’
‘So this man,’ I said, ‘she knew you were with him?’
‘Oh, yes. Milena always knew everything.’
‘Was he married as well?’ I barely recognized my own voice.
‘What do you think, Gwen? Yes, he was married.’
‘Who was he?’
Her expression hardened. ‘That’s not what it’s about,’ she said, in a tone almost of distaste. ‘What does that matter?’
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s over, that’s all that matters.’ She gave a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all, closer to a sob. ‘Something happened. I still can’t make sense of it, Gwen. It’s tormenting me. That was why I had to tell someone – otherwise I’ll go mad.’
She leaned forward, and at that moment there was a ring at the front door. She straightened. ‘That’ll be my cab.’ She gave me a rueful smile. ‘To be continued,’ she said, and with that she was gone, tossing her gorgeous coat over her shoulders, picking up her bag, throwing me a pleading smile, running up the stairs. I heard the front door slam.
After she had gone I stayed where I was. I was trying to breathe. I felt as though I had knives in my chest and each small inhalation hurt. It was several minutes before I felt able to get up, but even then I stood in the middle of the room, not sure what to do next. Thoughts hissed in my brain. Everything was murky and confused.
But I had come here to work and work I did: I went through the brochure very carefully and marked it up for the printers. When Beth arrived, I gave it to her to check. I had worried that she might be resentful, but Beth never resented anything that made her workload even lighter than it was already. While she leafed through it and talked on the phone and made tea, I filed the few remaining invoices and receipts; I answered calls when they came in; I even tidied the room a bit. And all the time the phone was in my pocket with its single missed call. The more I tried to put it out of my mind, the more it occupied it, so that by the middle of the day it was all I could think about. That, and Frances’s secret, the one that had been rotting away inside her and was now out in the open.
I couldn’t call the number because what would I say? Yet if I didn’t call, what had been the point of going to all that effort? Maybe I should try and match the number with one in Milena’s various address books. I started and quickly gave it up as impossible.
I went out to the deli down the road and bought lunch for the two of us: paninis stuffed with roasted vegetables, green pesto and melted mozzarella. While we ate, Beth asked me about my life and quickly shifted the conversation back to hers. We were both more comfortable with that and she told me about the failings of her current boyfriend.
Afterwards I shuffled pieces of paper. I put books back on shelves. I took the phone out of my pocket and laid it on the desk. I put it away again: out of sight, out of mind, I instructed myself sternly. I made more coffee, very strong this time, which I drank while it was still too hot so it burned my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I took the phone out once more, stared at it as if it could talk. I fed unwanted mail through the shredder and watered the plants on the window-sill. When Beth left for the day, I couldn’t stop myself. I took my phone, pulled up the missed-call window and pressed call, then cancelled it immediately.
I pressed the number again and this time I held my nerve. I could hear it ringing now and closed my eyes, swallowing hard, trying to breathe normally in spite of the rushing in my head and the pounding in my ears.
‘Hello?’ said a male voice down the phone. And ‘Hello?’ it said, outside the door.
‘Who…?’ I began in confusion, before realization flooded through me. I jabbed end call and slammed the phone on the desk. It skittered along the shiny surface and clattered to the floor.
‘Hello?’ said the voice outside the door again, irritable now. ‘Are you there? Hello? Hello?’
I was trembling so much I could barely sit upright. The door swung open.
‘Hi, Gwen,’ said David, pushing his mobile back into his pocket.
I pretended I was so hard at work that I hadn’t heard him properly. I stared at some figures and underlined a few. My hands shook and the pen made incomprehensible scrawls across the page. David, I thought. So it was David.
‘Gwen?’
I felt unable to speak coherently. I could barely manage to breathe. But I made myself say something, as if I were a normal human being. ‘David,’ I said, ‘how are you doing?’
Although he had spoken to me, he didn’t seem to hear my reply. He just wandered restlessly around the office. I stared at the paper, and tried to make sense of what I had just learned. There was so much of it that I could only process it in fragments. David was one of Milena’s lovers. Those tender, effusive emails had been from him – he was usually so ironic and amused. Milena had sat in this office reading his messages, writing to him, while Frances had been in the same room just a few feet away. How could he have done it? With her friend and colleague? Right under her nose? How could she have done it? Or was I reading it the wrong way? Was that part of the excitement? They say that there’s no point in gambling for small amounts of money. It has to hurt when you lose. Maybe it’s the same with infidelity. Anyone can have a one-night stand on a business trip, at a conference in another country. The real thrill is doing it like an illusionist, risking discovery at every moment, witnessing your victim’s lack of knowledge.
When I thought of Milena’s messages, the chill of them, the manipulation, I wondered if she was more interested in the power than in the sex. Was sex for her just a demonstration that she could have any man she wanted? That she could triumph over any woman, in any circumstances? Was it likely that Greg could have held out against that? Was he so different from the others?
I tried to remember what David had said to me about Milena and Frances. In all those conversations when I had been lying to him, he had been lying to me, as he had also been lying – had he? – to Johnny and Frances. Well, if he had, he wasn’t the only liar. There was Frances, with her own infidelity. They had been betraying each other.
‘Is Frances around?’
I felt like someone very, very drunk trying to imitate someone sober and not knowing whether the act was convincing or ludicrous. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, enunciating each word carefully. ‘She’s seeing the printers some time this afternoon.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said David. ‘I can phone her.’
I couldn’t stand this any longer. I stood up and reached for my jacket. David gave me the appraising look I always found so hard to read.
‘I’m not driving you away, am I?’
‘I’ve got a meeting,’ I said. ‘I have to go.’
‘At your school?’ he asked.
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‘No,’ I said, and stopped myself elaborating. I didn’t want to risk any lies I might trap myself inside. ‘Could you tell Frances I’ll give her a ring?’
I walked to the door. Just as I was opening it, I heard David call my name. What was it? Had I made a mistake?
‘Sorry, Gwen, I forgot.’
‘What?’
‘Do you want to come out to lunch with us tomorrow?’
‘Sure.’
‘Hugo Livingstone’s coming. We thought it would be good if you could join us. What with Milena, Hugo’s in a bad way. It would do him good to meet a friend.’
‘That would be great,’ I said, hearing my voice tremble. ‘Look forward to it.’
All the way home I felt as though I was stained with something. I had turned over a stone and found horrible slimy things, but in the end what did it amount to? What had it really told me? Yet still I felt contaminated by it. When I got home I had a long shower, trying to wash off all the Gwen-ness, all the deceptions and entanglements. I stood there until the tank began to empty and the water turned lukewarm. Afterwards I pulled on a torn pair of jeans and a scraggly old sweater. I went outside into the garden and stood for a while, feeling the cold darkness on my face.
I thought of calling Gwen and asking her to come over, but I knew she was with Daniel tonight. Mary? She was looking after Robin, and I couldn’t abide the thought of talking to her while she held his little body to her chest and cooed into his downy hair. Fergus? He was with Jemma, waiting for the labour pains to begin. Joe? I could call Joe and he’d be over like a shot, with a bottle of whisky and his gruff brand of tenderness, calling me ‘sweetheart’ and making me cry. I almost picked up the phone, but then I had a vision of myself as they must see me: poor Ellie, sucking misery into a room, needy and sad and not moving on, battening on to the lives of others.
So I went back into the kitchen, and first of all I made a phone call to Party Animals, knowing Frances would not be there so all I had to do was leave a message saying I wasn’t coming back and wishing her luck with the future. That done, I opened the small drawer in the table, where I pushed miscellaneous leaflets, flyers, bills, and took out the list that had been given to me all those weeks ago by the police-woman, the leaflet with helpful phone numbers for victims, for the stricken, the harmed, the bereaved, the helpless.