by Louise Voss
22
It took another month of determined but discreet flirting until Ed eventually asked me out, a few weeks before the opening night of Make Do and Mend. Naturally I accepted without hesitation.
This was my chance.
‘So, tell me about yourself,’ Ed said, pouring me another glass of a smooth Malbec. I made a mental note for that to be my last – I needed to stay in control. ‘What brought Lynn Jackson to Molesey – or, no, I think you said you live in Hampton?’
We were in a blandly expensive restaurant decorated in shades of cream; carpets and walls and chairs. Ed had already apologised for its boring hotelish appearance but made extravagant claims about the food. He stood out against the neutral decor in a soft cornflower-blue shirt that made the blue of his eyes look ridiculously bright, and I wondered if he had planned his outfit and the restaurant for that very reason. I’d noticed that he was a man very aware of his appearance; never a hair out of place, never without a high shine on his shoes, glancing into every mirror and reflective surface he passed. Every pair of jeans looked brand-new.
I bit my lip, as if his question stirred up painful memories, and stared down at my empty starter plate. ‘Hampton Hill, actually.’
Ed raised his eyebrows.
‘Nothing exciting,’ I continued, trotting out my rehearsed backstory in a suitably glum voice. ‘I just wanted a fresh start. Bad break-up, you know? I was married, far too young, army wife, stationed with Dave all over the place. Our last posting together was Cyprus, now he’s gone to Afghanistan. I used to come and stay with my granny round here when I was a kid – she had a houseboat somewhere, although I’ve not managed to find out where – so I know the area a bit, and have happy memories of it. Couldn’t afford to live in central London, so this seemed like a good compromise without being too suburban. So, this is the start of my new life. I’m being adventurous and doing all sorts of stuff that I’ve never done before – like acting.’
He smiled. ‘You’re not telling me you’ve never acted before? You’re a natural!’
I inclined my head. ‘Why, thank you. But actually I haven’t, not since I was the Dormouse in Alice in Wonderland when I was at school.’
This at least was true.
‘I’d never have guessed. And how is the new job going?’
I’d been in my new job for a month or so, office manager in a boring financial advisor’s office nearby.
‘It’s fine, thanks. Easy, you know? Just typing letters and arranging meetings for an accountant called Henry. It’s not exactly that taxing, if you’ll excuse the pun. Pays the bills, though, and I have my fun outside of work hours at MADS, so it’s all good…’
‘We could have a lot of fun, you and I,’ Ed interrupted with a glint in his eye, reaching out and stroking my finger, the one curled around the stem of my wine glass.
I knew by now that he fancied me, but even so it gave me a shock of anticipation and – I was concerned to discover – arousal.
‘I think so too,’ I said. ‘But—’
At that moment the waiter came to clear away our starter plates. He looked whey-faced, as if he’d been chosen to match the bland decor, concave and hunched. I waited until he had gone.
‘But what?’ Ed asked. ‘But you’re still married?’
‘I was going to say, but you’re still married, aren’t you?’
It was the first time either of us had acknowledged the missing Shelagh. ‘Do you mind me mentioning it?’
My mouth had gone dry so I took another sip of the wine, feeling it soak into my tongue, plumping it up like a sponge in water.
Ed sighed. ‘Well, we had to at some point. I assume you know the story, then?’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Just a couple of comments people have made, you know, that she’s missing and nobody knows where she is.’
‘She’s dead,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m sure she is.’ Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away furiously.
‘Oh Ed, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.’
He took my hand then, unfurling my fingers and weaving his in between them. The touch of his flesh on mine gave me a sudden start, a little hourglass of desire tipping over in my belly. Uh-oh, I thought. It was a stark reminder that I’d not had anybody in my life who really cared about me since my parents died.
‘You aren’t. I am upset, yes, but a year on I’m more upset that she could be so selfish, do that to Benjy, cause this much stress and anxiety to everyone.’
‘You think she killed herself?’
‘I’m sure she did. She suffered from depression. She used to threaten to do it all the time. We didn’t have a good marriage, Lynn. Like you and your husband, we got together far too young and we were so different. She was really shy, crippled by self-doubt. She had all sorts of issues – body dysmorphia, do you know what that is?’
I shook my head – although I did know. I’d seen it in one of the police interviews Shelagh’s friends and family had given around her disappearance. In fact, I thought I recalled it had been Ed who had brought it up. I’d had to go away and look it up online.
‘It’s when you’re a normal size but you think you’re huge.’
‘Like anorexia?’
‘Sort of, although Shelagh wasn’t anorexic. She was bulimic, and she self-harmed. I think she used to wish she could be anorexic and her lack of success at not eating was just something else she used to beat herself up about…’
‘But she was so beautiful,’ I said. ‘That portrait of you all, the one on the stairs at your house – she was gorgeous.’ I wondered if he would correct my use of the past tense, but he didn’t.
‘She really was,’ he agreed instead. ‘It was tragic that she couldn’t see it herself. I tried to get her along to MADS, get her involved in something fun, but she wasn’t interested. She hated me going, but she didn’t want to join in either.’
‘Did she have any hobbies or interests of her own?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really. She loved reading, and jogging.’
‘Both pretty solitary.’
‘I know. She was very close to her sister though, and most evenings they would talk for hours on the phone. Ellen lives outside of Edinburgh so they didn’t see each other that often.’
‘Must have been really hard for Ellen when Shelagh went missing.’
Ed nodded. ‘She lost the plot. Accused me of all sorts. It was a nightmare.’
I sat forward, my eyes wide open with affected shock. ‘Shelagh’s sister thought you killed her?’
The waiter brought our main courses on enormous cream dinner plates at that moment, putting them down with a weary flourish. Ed squinched his eyebrows between his thumb and middle finger, a gesture of stress. When the waiter had retreated he said, ‘No, not that drastic. Just that I had driven her away.’
He snorted, picking up his knife and fork and sawing off a large triangle at the edge of his steak. ‘God, if she had any idea how difficult her sister was to live with!’
‘Do you miss her; Shelagh, I mean?’ I asked, scrutinising my chicken in cream sauce. I appeared to have selected my food to match the walls, the carpet and the waiter. I had a sudden urge for some beetroot or broccoli, something vibrant and colourful.
Or perhaps the urge was for Ed himself, in his cornflower-blue shirt and matching eyes. It was a relief to be discussing Shelagh after so many weeks of her being the elephant in the room. The elephant not in the room, or anywhere else, I thought.
‘We can change the subject if you like,’ I added hastily. ‘Wow, this chicken is delicious!’
He smiled briefly at me. ‘It’s OK, Lynn, really. We had to talk about it at some time. I do miss her sometimes, yes. Mostly I miss her on Benjy’s behalf. He adored her. I feel so angry with her that she could do that to him. She didn’t even leave a note…’
He stabbed at a chip, his jaw set. ‘If she came back now, the truth is I’d divorce her like a shot,’ he said. ‘The worst part for me is this limbo.
I can’t move on with my life, not knowing. I just wish they would find her body so we can all have closure.’
‘What makes you so sure she’s dead?’
The restaurant was filling up around us, and we were both leaning forward and speaking in low, intense voices so nobody could overhear.
‘She must be. She would have contacted Ben if she wasn’t, I know she would.’
‘It’s so sad.’ I felt genuinely emotional. Poor Ben. It was hard enough being a teenage boy at the best of times, let alone with the sense of abandonment and unresolved grief his mother’s disappearance must have engendered. ‘I hope he’s having some sort of counselling? I lost my parents when I was in my early twenties, so I know how hard it is – and their deaths weren’t anything as traumatic as what Ben’s been through.’
Ed snorted. ‘Counselling? He won’t talk at all unless it’s to order a pizza over the phone. Everything is communicated via the medium of grunts or text messages.’
‘Sounds like fairly standard teenage behaviour to me.’
I wondered if Shelagh had merely decamped to live nearer her sister in Edinburgh, and Ellen’s anger towards Ed was some kind of vengeful double bluff? Although it did seem harsh of Shelagh not to have contacted her son in over a year, if that was the case.
‘Anyway. Let’s talk about more cheerful things. Are you enjoying the rehearsals?’
‘I love them! Honestly, Ed, Mondays and Thursdays are the highlights of my week. Everyone’s so nice and I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in years.’
This was true. I’d forgotten what it was like to laugh until your sides hurt and your cheeks ached. ‘And I love the girls.’
The three other women in the play, April, Robina and Pat, by happy coincidence shared a somewhat dirty sense of humour with me, meaning our repertoire of shared jokes was growing by the week – quite often at the expense of Sandra the producer, who had a tendency to nitpick and criticise.
‘I can’t believe I didn’t do more stuff like this years ago,’ I said, scraping up a final forkful of my roasted garlic and Parmesan mashed potato.
‘Well, we’re loving having you.’ Ed gazed at me with an unmistakably lustful expression. Then he leaned forwards. ‘Just, er, keep this to yourself though, would you? You know how people talk, and I wouldn’t want the others to be jealous…’
I wasn’t quite sure if he was joking about the jealous bit or not, but I agreed immediately, feeling a huge rush of adrenaline at it all: my new start, the play, Ed asking me out.
What I wasn’t so sure of, however, was my motive for feeling so happy about the progress of my mission with Ed. Was it because Metcalfe would be pleased with me – or because I really did fancy Ed?
‘Let’s have another glass of wine,’ I said impulsively.
23
October 2016
I came back from a trip to Tesco one afternoon the following week to find Ed waiting for me by the front door looking excited, hovering in the hall in the pitch dark. He looked like a dog waiting for its owner to return and I imagined him having sat on the doormat all day with a resigned expression on his face. He was wearing his coat over the top of his pyjamas, which was his only concession to getting dressed that day.
I dumped five full shopping bags in the hall, switched on the hall light and hung up my jacket. ‘Hi sweetie. Were you waiting for me?’
He fished about in his parka pocket, pulled out a folded and creased piece of A4 and handed it to me. ‘Look. I printed it when you were out,’ he said proudly.
It was another email, dated a week before. I unfolded it curiously. ‘So you remembered what your password is then?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what is it?’
‘What’s what?’
‘Your password!’
‘I’ve forgotten again.’
I narrowed my eyes at him, unable to prevent the thought, Well, that’s convenient, springing into my mind. ‘Next time it comes to you, write it down?’
‘OK, bossy boots.’
‘Ha ha. Help me with this lot?’ I said, gesturing to the bags as I scanned the email and speed-read the contents out loud: ‘Dear Dr Naismith, my name is Dr Ellie Webster and I am working with our mutual colleague Bill Brown on the Phase 3 trial for aducanumab. I’m sorry to hear of your recent diagnosis of Pick’s Disease and appreciate that this must be a difficult time for you and your family. Thank you for volunteering your participation and I would like to invite you to come for the first intravenous infusion on Wednesday, 25th October at 11am. I will send a taxi for you at 10am. I have your address and am looking forward to meeting you.
I am truly confident that you will see remarkable improvements in a short time from this new drug, specifically in the areas of cognition, memory and behaviour…’
I remembered the sensation of Ed’s big hand whacking the side of my head in the night, and winced. Bill Brown. So that was his surname – that was good to know. I hadn’t contacted him on his personal email yet because I’d need to get into Ed’s laptop to find out what it was. Then I did a doubletake.
‘Ed, the 25th was yesterday! You’ve missed it!’
‘Yeah,’ said Ed, vaguely, picking up two bags. ‘I mean, no, I haven’t. I went!’
‘What? Are you serious?’
‘You were at work.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I wailed, picking up the other three and following him into the kitchen.
He shrugged. ‘You were at work,’ he repeated.
I sank onto a chair at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. ‘But you didn’t mention it last night! I asked you what you’d done yesterday and you said “nothing”!’
‘I totally forgot. Sorry.’
I noticed that his eyebrows badly needed trimming. Ed had a whole shelf in the bathroom cabinet of grooming devices for the more mature male: nose-hair trimmers, tweezers, nail scissors and so on, but he clearly hadn’t gone near any of it in recent months. I remembered how he used to be; sharp haircut, no stray facial hairs, clean-shaven and beautifully dressed in an expensive suit and a well-cut shirt, tall and in control. All those designer jeans and cashmere jumpers in his wardrobe and now he just wore PJs all day. Had he worn his pyjamas to the appointment? In my mind’s eye I saw him as how he looked when I first met him, with that particular expression of lazy arrogance in his blue eyes I always found utterly irresistible.
Even when I still thought he could be a murderer.
We all got older, of course … I certainly didn’t look anything like as good as I had done in my thirties – but still … I’d so have loved to have the old Ed back again.
‘Well – how was it?’
‘Fine,’ he said, putting a bag of frozen spinach into the dishwasher. ‘She filled in a long list thing.’
‘Form? Don’t worry, leave the shopping, sweetheart, I’ll put it away.’
‘Yeah. Then I got an injection here’ – he pointed to the crook of his elbow – ‘that took a while. Then I came home. No big deal.’
I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start. So many, in fact, that I didn’t ask any of them. The mood Ed was in would only yield monosyllables, and if he’d forgotten even going, he was unlikely to be able to give me any satisfactory answers.
‘Let’s see?’ I pushed up his sleeve. One of those tiny round plasters perched on top of a purple vein flowing beneath his skin, but there wasn’t any bruising around it. Ed normally had a tendency to bruise after blood tests, but perhaps it was different when stuff was going in instead of blood coming out … but what did I know?
‘Oh my love,’ I said impulsively, retrieving the spinach and putting it in the freezer. ‘Wouldn’t it be incredible if it worked? If it cured you?’
I went over and hugged him, but he backed out of the embrace. ‘I wish everyone would stop making such a fuss,’ he said. ‘It’s just a cold.’
Later that evening, when Ed had gone to bed, I took out my phone, hesitating before I pressed the name Li
nda. That was the name I’d saved Adrian’s number under, having already concocted a story in my head about Linda being an administrator from a different faculty with whom I’d recently struck up a friendship. Calling ‘Linda’ was already a regular occurrence – in the ten days since we’d bumped into each other, Adrian and I had talked three times. I felt weird and uncomfortable about it, in as much as I’d never had a friendship with another man, not since my mate Sal in the police, but Adrian had encouraged me to talk, vent, cry – not that I’d do that, not yet. He was appalled to hear my situation, and so deeply sympathetic that I already felt myself looking forward to his counsel. Somehow it was easier to talk to him than to April or Maddie, my friend who’d recently moved to Jersey. Perhaps because he was so neutral?
I knew I had to be careful, not to steer into the choppy waters of ‘emotional infidelity’ – but he hadn’t said or done anything that could be construed as flirtatious, beyond telling me how good I still looked, when we said our goodbyes at the Barbican. He wasn’t looking for another relationship, he said, not at the moment.
He was pleased to hear from me, I could hear it in his voice. ‘Waits—er, Lynn! How are you? Hold on, I’ll just turn down my ratatouille and grab a glass of wine…’
And we talked. I told him about the medical trial, how Ed had gone without me. How I felt about locking him in his room at night. I lightened the tone, made them sound like amusing anecdotes, and Adrian’s belly laugh made me laugh too, in a way I hadn’t done for ages. When we said goodnight, I went to bed feeling rejuvenated, almost happy, like a woman who was still attractive, listened to, a woman who could make a man laugh.
Nothing more complicated than that.
Well, that was what I told myself, anyway.
24
Two weeks of solo sleeping later, I woke up, stretched and squirmed, toasty-warm and woozy in my bed – how quickly I was thinking of it as ‘my’ bed. Would I never share a bed with Ed again?