by Tina Seskis
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Hi, this is Piers Romaine,’ said the voice. ‘The incompetent driver from earlier. I, er, just wanted to check you made your plane OK.’
‘Oh. Yes, I did, thanks. I’m just boarding now.’
‘Oh good. Look . . . can I buy you dinner when you’re back, to say sorry?’
‘Oh, really, there’s no need for that.’
‘Well, maybe I’d like to,’ the man said.
Christie hesitated. What a weird day this was turning out to be.
‘Well,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll be back in a week, so why don’t you call me again then?’
‘Deal,’ Piers said. ‘And in the meantime, have a great holiday.’
‘Thanks.’ She stared at the phone as it rang off, feeling the colour rising in her cheeks. She was unsure what to make of it. It was flattering, certainly, but she hoped he wouldn’t call back. She had enough on her plate right now. She was a widow in mourning. She had grown kids to worry about. She had fifty miles of walking to do.
51
ELEANOR
The rat-tat-tat of the knock was unmistakeable. It was strange how that was the case, that Alex had always knocked in such a unique way that it could never be anyone else. Sometimes he had come back from a trip when she’d least been expecting it, and that exact combination of raps had made her heart leap. Today Eleanor was unsure how to answer it. She’d had plenty time to think, but the fact remained that he’d stormed off from the Heath and then had been shitty with her for days afterwards, before buggering off on a job, leaving her feeling disproportionately let down. As if the one time she’d dared to complain about him not being around enough, he had turned it on its head and acted as though he was the wronged partner. She was worried too about how he would be with her, and maybe that was more the nub of it. After all, Alex had no relationship with his own family. He’d fallen out with friends too. In fact, he had a capacity for cutting people out of his life when it suited him, and it was a tendency that had always concerned Eleanor. She knew she wasn’t close to her family either, yet that was circumstance more than anything. But perhaps he’d turn her loose too if she weren’t careful.
‘Hi,’ Eleanor said, as she opened the front door, more gingerly than usual. She tried hard not to sound sulky.
‘Hello, Eleanor.’ He stared her down as she stood in the poorly lit hallway, and it was as if neither of them knew how to act somehow. Her feet were bare and the nail polish was chipped, but he didn’t notice. He lifted his hand, took hold of a soft strand of her hair.
‘I’ve been an arse,’ he said. ‘I’ve been working too hard, neglecting you. I’m going to take some proper annual leave. Let’s go away together. Just the two of us. Somewhere nice.’ He touched her cheek then, and his fingers felt strong and warm. He had never sent shockwaves through her, not like Rufus once had, but love came in all shapes and forms. She looked into her husband’s eyes now, and they were blue and beseeching. He could act so selfishly at times, and then he would do something like this. She didn’t know what to say.
‘I’ll book it,’ Alex continued, ‘for in a month or two, when things have hopefully calmed down at work.’
Eleanor raised an eyebrow, looked at him. ‘Is there something going on?’ she said.
‘No, nothing to worry about,’ Alex said. And that was enough for Eleanor. Sometimes he’d ring and casually suggest that she stay out of central London, and then it would be conversation over, and that was the closest he ever got to giving anything away. A ‘nothing to worry about’ now was reassurance enough for her.
Alex put his arms around her and pushed her back against the wall. ‘I’m going to make it up to you,’ he murmured, ‘and we’re going to have an awesome time.’ He bent his head to kiss her.
Eleanor pulled away for a moment. ‘Alex, what about what I said on the Heath, though, about the fact that I saw my ex-boyfriend?’
Alex gave her a look she would remember a long time from now.
‘Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?’
‘I don’t know. It was over. I was more traumatised by my stalker by the time I met you. And I so wanted to forget all about my boyfriend it never seemed relevant to tell you. I’m sorry.’
‘How did you feel about seeing him?’ Alex asked at last.
‘A little sorry for him.’
‘Anything else?’
Truth waxed and waned, tried to unveil itself. She stood up a little taller, faced him off.
‘No,’ said Eleanor, at last. Their eyes were searching, both searching, for secrets.
‘Just don’t see him again,’ Alex said. It was undoubtedly an order, but his voice carried a tinge of something else too. It was as though he might be struggling to control a deep river of rage somewhere inside him. ‘Eleanor, you’re my wife,’ he said. ‘That was years ago. You’re mine now.’
Eleanor nodded, and Alex duly kissed her, but he was rough and needy and she had to make her excuses for it not to go any further. And then afterwards, locked in the bathroom, she worried about him, wondered whether the stress of his job was getting on top of him finally. And she couldn’t work out whether she was OK with her husband being so territorial of her suddenly. Or whether she was scared.
52
CHRISTIE
Fireworks were exploding in Christie’s chest, and a stitch was stabbing her in the fleshy part of her stomach, and in the privacy of her own head she was fully cursing her daughter now. This wasn’t a gentle walking holiday at all – it was a full-on sodding climbing expedition. Christie had had no idea that there were such high mountains on a little island in the middle of the Med, and she really wasn’t fit enough for this kind of exertion. She kept her eyes focused on her feet and willed them on. Count to fifty, she said to herself. And then do fifty more steps after that, and then another fifty, and then you can stop for a drink. Break it up into chunks. One foot in front of the other. Never give up.
Today, the third day, was the hardest yet. The incline was steep, forcing her to lean into it, and the sun was pressing down on her back, and sweat was pooling in her cleavage, and she thanked God that at least she didn’t have to carry a rucksack. That was one good thing about this trip at least. Some time late this afternoon she’d arrive, dishevelled and dirty and utterly worn out, at some charming hitherto-unknown hotel, where she’d be shown into a clean simple room, with an awesome shower, most likely with a stupendous view, and almost magically her luggage would be already there, waiting for her. The anticipation almost made the pain of the hike worthwhile. In the evening she’d enjoy a hearty meal and a few drinks with her fellow hikers, at which point she’d decide that she’d had the most wonderful, amazing day ever – and then before she knew it she’d wake up the following morning and dread having to do it all over again.
Christie trudged on, breathing heavily. She briefly looked up and the air was hot as it blew at her. The whole sky was blue, and there were no clouds to save her from the unremitting sun. Right now, she was in the very centre of the worst part of her daily cycle. Conflicting emotions rang through her brain and threatened to undo her. She’d have to stop. She was determined to keep going. She was doing it for herself. She was doing it for Paul. She was getting on with her life. Moving on. As Paul would want her to. As she walked she found herself wondering about the man who’d crashed into her taxi. Piers Romaine. She thought how unusual the name was, how romantic it sounded, almost like a matinee idol. She wasn’t sure whether he would ring her but, assuming he did, what would she even say to him? Should she agree to go out with him, if he asked? And if so, how should she describe her status to him? She was a widow, of course, but she’d resisted ever referring to herself in that way before. ‘Widow’ was such a weird word. An alien state. It was something she’d never imagined becoming . . .
Christie groaned and made one last effort as the path steepened yet further, and then at last she reached the top. She stopped and put her hands on her hips, panting. Beyon
d her, far below, the water was a bold blocky patchwork of indigo and turquoise, as though a child had coloured in the sea with two different pencils. A crescent-shaped beach of white sand was flanked on one side by a ruined castle, and on the other by a smattering of pink-tinged boulders. Dots of yachts swung lazily on their anchors in the bay. Christie reached for her water bottle, pressed it to her lips, felt her heart soar with the eagles . . . Paul would have loved this.
‘Oh wow,’ said Helen, one of her fellow climbers, as she reached the top too.
‘Indeed,’ Christie said, and they smiled at each other, and for the first time since Paul had died Christie felt truly at peace. Friendship and beauty were all she needed for now. She didn’t need to go on dates with strange men who back-ended her taxi. This was the start of her recovery.
This was enough.
53
ALEX
It was a quiet day at work for once, and Alex was in a reflective mood. He could hardly believe Mason would be turning eighteen this weekend, and he didn’t know where the time had gone. He could still recall every moment of his youngest child’s first birthday – perhaps because it had happened to be the self-same day that Alex had finally fallen in love with him. The memory made Alex smile even now. Eleanor had bought Mason a checked collared shirt and a pair of smart beige cords for his party, and proper little leather shoes, and a few days previously she’d had his softly ringleted curls cut for the very first time. Mason had spent the afternoon fiendishly surfing the furniture, grinning triumphantly, looking like a miniature person at last, rather than a scrunch-faced blob, and the relief Alex had felt had been greater than he could have imagined. It must have been so hard for Eleanor, Alex thought now, for him to have rejected his son like that, especially as he hadn’t been like that with Brianna. He’d tried to hide it, of course, but mothers knew. Babies knew too, and it seemed that Mason had picked up on it, as whenever Alex had gone near him, Mason had started bawling. Father-son relations had got better after that, thank goodness, and since then family life had mostly been fine. Until now.
As Alex stared absently at the CCTV camera footage, searching for that one elusive clue that he knew must be there, he felt an almost dangerous mixture of agitation and resentment about this Rufus character. Jealousy had nearly been the undoing of them once before, back in the early days, and the memories were prodding at him again, teasing him. There was one particular time he remembered that seemed pivotal now, pin-sharp in its apparent innocuousness. They’d been sitting in the kitchen together, Brianna bouncing on Alex’s knee, giggling, when Eleanor had asked him to mind the kids for a couple of hours on Saturday, so Lizzie could take her for afternoon tea as a belated birthday present. Alex had raised an eyebrow, yet kept his voice even.
‘Lizzie who?’
‘Lizzie Lizzie,’ she’d said. Had that been a note of sarcasm in her tone, as though she’d thought he was stupid? He still wasn’t sure.
‘I’m working this weekend,’ he’d said.
‘Oh. I thought you said you were off?’
‘Well, I’m not,’ he’d replied, and he still didn’t know why he’d lied about it. What had been so wrong with Eleanor wanting to see Lizzie again? Alex had known that Eleanor loved her ex-boss, so why had he been so hostile about it? Perhaps he simply hadn’t liked his wife’s increasing independence. Or else he’d been worried that she’d be seeing the husband too. Even all these years later, Alex was convinced there’d been something between Eleanor and Oliver Davenport. But still. He’d behaved like a prick.
‘Maybe next weekend,’ he’d said, as if by way of appeasement. Eleanor had scowled at him, but he’d refused to bend, and his only excuse was that things had been getting him down at the time, and the situation had panicked him. The easiest option for him would have been to have told her he’d got off work after all, but he hadn’t. He regretted it still. Of course he did.
As Alex half-heartedly surveyed the ghostly images on the screen his mind was in turmoil. It kept turning backwards, wending and winding into dark forgotten places that made him angrier than he knew he was capable of becoming. Surely it was because of the funeral. He swore now he’d gone there to make peace, but it most definitely hadn’t turned out like that. As he’d slipped out of the church into the brittle winter sunshine, he’d felt an isolation that had shrunk him to nothing, rendered the world giant and throbbing around him, with him playing no part in it, almost as if he were dead.
‘Oi, you still here, Al?’
Alex jumped. One of his colleagues was at the door, a large clear plastic bag full of clothes in his arms.
‘Seen a ghost, have you?’
‘Ha,’ said Alex, mirthlessly.
‘You all right?’ Gary persisted.
‘Yes, or else I would be if I got some sodding peace.’
As Gary’s florid face fell, Alex felt bad for him, regretted his rudeness.
‘Sorry,’ he said, but Gary had already lumbered off and Alex knew he’d made an error. Stay undercover; that was his motto. Never draw attention to yourself. Being arsey with the most genial bloke on the team was not the way to go.
Alex felt a weight pressing on the back of his throat now, as if someone had him on the ground, with a boot to his neck. Eleanor. He could still recall the effect she’d had on him when she’d walked into his life, how much he’d wanted to look out for her. It was almost as if they’d been saving each other. Those early months had been heady in their strange mix of danger and romance, what with the salacious packages and anonymous phone calls, the fact that as well as being the police officer she’d first made the report to, he’d entered into a romantic relationship with her. And yet she’d never ever told him about this Rufus. Or that they’d apparently bonded over a mutual level of screwed-upness. Fuck’s sake. How much else about his wife didn’t he know?
As Alex felt his mind glazing over, he had to force himself to concentrate on the CCTV images. They were so grainy, and he wondered moodily why technology hadn’t moved on to make them not so, a thought he’d had myriad times before. He yawned. Tapped his leg. Cracked his knuckles. Nothing. This was a waste of time. After another ten minutes he flipped off the screen and stood up. His shift was nearly over anyway. He needed to go home, try to get a grip on what was going on in his life. Before he did something he regretted.
54
ELEANOR
Rufus had somehow managed to get hold of Eleanor’s number, as she definitely hadn’t given it to him. When they’d first bumped into each other, they had simply arranged to meet for coffee a few days later, and part of why she’d ended up going was because there had been no way for her to cancel. But now she felt unsure what to do. It seemed she had made Alex jealous, which was perhaps no bad thing, but her and Rufus’s meeting had threatened to open up doubts in her mind about all sorts of issues. Seeing him again wasn’t worth the potential trouble. The past was the past.
Eleanor put on her raincoat and sighed when the buttons felt that little bit tighter. She needed to do something about her weight, but she’d gone off the idea of running along the old railway line for now. She didn’t want to risk bumping into Rufus again, or at least not somewhere so secluded and romantic, where who knew what she might be tempted to—
Eleanor pulled herself up. Those thoughts were out of line. And yet it seemed she still couldn’t help thinking about Rufus, mourning the boy he’d once been, the love they’d once shared – especially now she knew that his life hadn’t turned out remotely how she’d imagined, with him swanning off into the sunset with his old girlfriend and living happily ever after. It left her confused. Rufus was in the past – but the past was no longer how she remembered it. Alex was in the present – and yet it wasn’t the same between them any more either. Mason was about to leave home, and even the thought of it was highlighting Alex’s absences, compounding her loneliness. It seemed that circumstances were ripping open a chasm-sized gap in Eleanor’s life, in her history, and she felt untethered somehow. Neither h
ere nor there. Vulnerable again. Getting out in the air, moving, would hopefully help in more ways than one.
Eleanor left the house and walked Peanut past the shops and then up into the little park that sat on the brow of the hill. She was just letting him off the lead when her mobile rang. Even all these years later, after suffering Gavin Hewitson’s telephonic onslaught, the sound of a phone unnerved her. Involuntarily she recalled her stalker’s sick obsession with her – how he’d sent her a bullet through the post, and then another time a dead mouse. The harassment warnings hadn’t worked, but of course it was hard when he’d lived next door to her, especially as the police never seemed able to pin anything specific on him. By the end she hadn’t known whether she was imagining things, and that was how much it had messed with her head. Even having a policeman for a boyfriend hadn’t been enough to quell the terror she’d felt, every single time she’d left the house, or answered the door, or at the way Gavin had peered at her from behind his curtains. It had been such a relief when she’d moved out from Lizzie’s to live with Alex and the harassment had stopped, overnight. Presumably he just hadn’t known where to find her.
But today it was Rufus calling, again, causing Eleanor’s memories to sweep backwards, ever backwards, even beyond those days of being stalked, to when she’d been in King’s Cross still, alone and desperate. It almost made her feel tempted to answer, if only so she could ask him what had happened to the girl he’d left her for. That was the only piece of the past she still didn’t know. The face that had haunted her for years. She pictured the girl now – red-headed, Asian, blonde, brunette, black – the images flicking through Eleanor’s mind as if in a fruit machine, never stopping, never revealing her nemesis’s identity. Who knew? Who cared? It made not one iota of difference.
Eleanor sighed, stared at her mobile, as if willing it to stop, before at last it cut out. She felt close to tears suddenly. She made the next call before she had time to decide not to, but inevitably it cut straight to voicemail. Jesus. Where was Alex when she needed him? Didn’t he realise how close she was to—