Yes, you guessed right. It was me outside your house just now. You’d better reply, I’m not joking.
I let go of my phone and it clatters onto the counter. From the corner of my eye, I see Bo peeing on the cream rug under the coffee table, but it barely registers. My chest feels tight and I gasp for air. I grip the counter top and try to think.
He’s here. He knows where I live. What the hell am I going to do?
Chapter Eleven
December 2012
I lay curled up on the sofa, under a duvet and two heavy blankets, feeling sorry for myself. I’d had to call in sick to work that week, which I really couldn’t afford to do, but stomach flu had me feeling wretched. I could barely eat a thing, my throat was swollen and raw, and my whole body ached. All I wanted to do was sleep, but the flat was so cold I couldn’t get comfortable. Our rooms faced north and the single-paned windows rattled in the wind, welcoming in the icy air. We didn’t have enough money to leave the heating on all day, so we allowed ourselves one hour in the morning and two hours in the evening. Being at work in the warm, was far more preferable to staying at home.
Fin had been sweet over the past few days – looking after me and telling me to take it easy, telling me my illness was because I’d been doing too much, that my college course had put too much pressure on me and I should consider giving it up. I’d had to reassure him that I’d be fine, that it was just a bug. Trouble was, I didn’t feel fine at all. I felt weak and hollow, stretched too thin as though I might snap in two at any moment.
There was no one I could talk to. Sian and I had somehow drifted apart over the past year. Fin didn’t get on with Sian’s new boyfriend, who worked in banking, and I was either too tired or too busy to see her on my own. I sometimes commented on her social media posts, and we occasionally texted one another, but that was about it. And I wasn’t close enough with my college and work friends to discuss anything beyond, well, college and work. I obviously couldn’t confide in my parents about how isolated and exhausted I felt as I couldn’t bear to hear my mother tell me that she’d been right all along. As far as they were concerned, I needed them to believe that I was the happiest person alive.
Talking to Fin about my true feelings was out of the question. Not because he didn’t care, but because if I told him how I truly felt, he would take it personally. He would think I blamed him, which I didn’t. Sleep was my only real escape – a way to block out the anxiety in my head and the fear in my gut. Part of me wondered if this bout of sickness was related to my state of mind, rather than from a real virus.
The click of a key in the lock roused me from my half-slumber, and I opened my eyes, peering out from beneath the duvet.
‘Hey.’ Fin walked in, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room. I looked where he looked, taking in the disarray. The unwashed dishes and general air of cold neglect. Guilt needled me. I’d been here all day, but hadn’t lifted a finger.
‘Hi.’ I croaked, pulling myself up into a sitting position, trying to appear more “with it” than I felt.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘A bit better,’ I lied, noticing a large carrier bag in his hand. One from work. ‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘A freebie from the shop?’
‘I wish,’ he replied, sitting on the arm of the sofa. ‘No. It’s a winter wetsuit. A total bargain – should have been four hundred quid, but it was a faulty return so Damian said I could have it for a hundred.’
My stomach dropped. Was he joking? Did he not realise what a financial mess we were in? That we didn’t have one pound spare, let alone a hundred.
‘I thought,’ he continued, ‘I thought, if you don’t get me a Christmas present then this can be . . . you know, my Christmas present.’ He grinned, his eyes wide like he’d just come up with a great idea.
I didn’t even know what to say. I wanted to yell at him, to scream like a fishwife, but I knew I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t cope with any confrontation – not while I felt so ill. I didn’t have the mental strength for it. Fin was scary when he got angry. Cold, dark. How could I stay silent, though? He needed to know we couldn’t afford it. That our money situation was perilous. I felt the sting of hot tears rolling down my cheeks.
‘What?’ Fin’s brows knitted together. ‘What’s the matter? Did something happen?’
‘We can’t afford it, Fin. The wetsuit, I mean. We can barely afford the rent, food, bills. We’re beyond skint. I don’t think we have enough money for even one more month. We’re already in the shit.’
‘We’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘It can’t be that bad. We’re both working.’
‘We’re both on minimum wage. Do you even know what our outgoings are each month?’
‘So, what do you want me to do about it?’ He scowled. ‘I can’t just magic up a better-paid job.’
‘We can’t afford the wetsuit.’ Our eyes locked and I saw heavy disappointment flit across his face. His current suit was ancient, falling apart at the seams. It didn’t do anything to keep him warm in the freezing water. I knew he needed a new one, and I sympathised. But we also needed food and heating – a roof over our heads. We had to prioritise.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ He pushed himself up off the sofa arm and tossed the carrier bag across the kitchen floor, turned around and left the flat, slamming the door behind him.
I pushed the duvet off my body and wobbled to my feet, my heart racing. Should I go after him? I wasn’t even dressed. I wasn’t strong enough. No. I’d give him time to calm down. He’d see sense eventually. There would be no presents for either of us this Christmas. We’d be lucky if we weren’t forced to beg Fin’s dad to let us live in his garden shed.
I’d been meaning to tell Fin about our precarious finances, but there had never been a good time. He always used his current bank balance to determine how much money he had, never taking into account all the bills that had to be paid at the end of each month. Consequently, we were always going overdrawn and having to work overtime to catch up. I didn’t want to be the one to point out our money problems every month, but if I didn’t do it, who would? I wished we could rewind to those early carefree days before we had to worry about all this stuff. Those lazy beach days where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and love was the only thing that consumed our thoughts.
I made a move to clear the breakfast dishes, noticing that this morning’s milk had frozen to the inside of the bowls. This was ridiculous. I would have to switch on the heating – just while I cleaned up the place. Once I could crawl back under the duvet, I’d switch it off again. I walked over to the thermostat and pressed the switch. The sound of the boiler firing up lifted my heart momentarily. But it didn’t change the fact that Fin was AWOL. Where had he gone? For a walk? To a friend’s? Part of me wanted him to come home, but part of me dreaded it. Was it my fault we had no money? Was it selfish of me to want to finish my management course? Maybe I should forget it and work more hours instead, but I knew that would only keep us in this financial mess for longer. What chance did we have of getting married and having a family if we couldn’t even take care of ourselves? I dumped all the dishes and cutlery into the washing up bowl and part-boiled the kettle for hot water, placing my palms on the warm plastic jug as it heated up.
It took me around half an hour to get the place looking vaguely tidy. Central heating and a clean room made me feel a little less wretched. At least when Fin came back, he’d walk into a more welcoming atmosphere. I checked my phone, but there were no messages. If he hadn’t come home by eight, I would call him. In the meantime, I decided to watch some TV while I waited.
Eight o’clock came and went, and still no sign of Fin. Reluctantly, I had switched off the heating, and the temperature inside was dropping fast. Having crawled back under my nest of covers on the sofa, I sent him a couple of text messages, but they both went unanswered. I finally steeled myself to call him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Was he mad at me? Did he hate me for asking him to ret
urn the wetsuit? I tried to think of a life without him, but I couldn’t picture it. I’d built everything around him. Around the two of us. Without Fin, I didn’t know what I would do, or where I could go. My head pulsed with anxiety. What should I do?
~
I slept fitfully on the sofa, the mattress on our bed so cold I couldn’t face lying on it without Fin there to warm me up. Still, the icy air penetrated the covers, and my limbs were chilled to the bone, my toes and fingers numb. Every hour, my eyes flew open in a panic, heart sinking each time I realised Fin still hadn’t returned home. My throat was on fire, my eyes swollen with tears and exhaustion. I kept checking my phone, but there were no texts. No voice messages. Nothing. Where had he gone?
Finally, at 6.30 am, I dragged myself off the sofa, flicked on the boiler switch and called Fin once more. Again it went straight to voicemail and I felt like pitching my phone across the room.
Was this it? Were we over? I should never have asked him to return the wetsuit. We would have managed somehow. It hadn’t been worth all this. I realised I would do just about anything to have Fin come home to me. To make things right between us again.
I crawled back under my covers and stared at the damp patches on the wall which had bubbled the paintwork, at the skin of ice coating the inside of the windows. Through the wall, next door’s alarm clock beeped. In the road below, the dustbin lorry growled and screeched. All the everyday noises I’d grown used to, but which meant nothing without Fin. I felt like a stranger in my own home.
And then, finally, the sound I’d been waiting for – footsteps on the landing, a key in the lock. My heart skittered in my chest. I took a breath, preparing myself for whatever came next.
‘Christ, it’s colder in here than it is outside.’ Fin walked into the room, his cheeks red, his hair dishevelled. He didn’t look angry or upset. Just dipped his head and gave me a half smile. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ I replied, my heart in my throat.
‘Anna, I’m so sorry.’
At his words, all the anxiety and sadness I’d been holding on to evaporated. ‘Me too,’ I replied. ‘Of course you can keep the wetsuit. I was being–’
‘No. No, you were right,’ he said, ‘about everything.’ He closed the door behind him and came and sat next to me on the couch, his hands cupping my face, his lips finding mine. Then he leant back and closed his eyes briefly. ‘I’m sorry, Anna. I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry I stormed out. None of this is your fault. It’s just . . . I dunno. I get so angry and frustrated all the time.’
‘I know. I know.’
‘I see these people come into the shop, dropping five or six hundred quid on a wetsuit, on new surfboards, on clothes and shoes, and I think, how are they doing it? How did they get into the position where their lives are so easy? And why are our lives so hard? I want to look after you. I want us to have an easy, happy life. This shithole, this isn’t where I want us to be.’
‘It won’t be forever,’ I said. ‘Things will get better.’
‘Listen to me, Anna,’ he said, his voice more serious. ‘If we stay as we are, then nothing’s going to change. We’re going to keep working our arses off for nothing, just to freeze in a shitty bedsit with no hope of anything else. But I’ve been thinking . . . there is a better way . . . than this.’
I hoped he had come around to my way of thinking. That he’d decided we needed better qualifications if we were ever going to escape our situation. That finally, we were going to do something real. Something that would lift us out of the mire.
‘That teacher,’ he continued, ‘back at school – Dickhead Williams – I don’t want him to be right about me. I don’t want to be a loser all my life. Do you understand?’
‘You’re not a loser. Williams was an idiot.’
‘I am a loser, Anna.’ His voice cracked for a moment. He gave a sniff and carried on. ‘But I’m not going down easy. I’ve got some ideas. They’re a bit radical, but one of them could work. Every other option I’ve thought of is either a gamble, or it means years’ worth of slogging our guts out. But this way, well, I think we could really turn our lives around.’
For the first time in days, I stopped feeling so wretched. I allowed a glimmer of optimism to creep into my thoughts. I’d never seen Fin so fired up. So determined. ‘Okay, so tell me. What are your ideas?’
‘Just bear with me while I explain, okay?’
I nodded.
‘Neither of us is rich, right? We don’t have rich parents, we weren’t given any handouts. We just have to carve our lives out of basically nothing.’
‘We have each other,’ I said with a smile.
‘Yeah, sure, but we need more than each other to live. We need a place of our own, clothes, food, warmth.’
‘Yeah, I could do with some warmth about now.’
‘You’re shivering,’ he said.
I hadn’t even noticed, but he was right. My whole body was shaking.
He took my icy hands and began to warm them in his. ‘Better?’
I nodded, even though his hands felt just as cold as mine.
‘Anna, those rich kids don’t realise how lucky they are. They had a head start. They never played by the rules. You could even say they cheated. They never spent one day of their lives struggling.’
‘I suppose. But they’re the exception. Most people have to struggle, no different to us. You can drive yourself mad thinking about what other people have got. It’s not worth letting your mind go down that path.’
Fin shook his head. ‘But why should we struggle when there are other options open to us?’
‘Like what?’
‘Would you ever consider a change in career, Anna? . . . God, this is hard to explain. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.’
‘Fin. Just say whatever it is you have to say.’
‘Okay.’ He rose to his feet and went and stood over by the window. Then he turned to face me, his eyes glittering. ‘Like I said, I have a few ideas, but this is just one. I’ll just come out with it. Tell it to you straight. Anna, do you know how hot you are? Wherever we go, I’m in danger of punching every guy in the room for just looking at you. You could have anyone you wanted.’
His words made my cheeks warm and my skin tingle, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. And I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, either.
‘Well, I was thinking – we don’t have great careers, or money, or assets. In fact, right now, we could say that your looks are our only asset.’
‘Asset?’
‘So, what if . . . Have you ever thought about becoming an escort?’
‘A what?’ I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about but I needed him to spell it out.
‘It’s nothing bad. You basically go out with men who are too sad to get their own dates.’
‘A prostitute?’ Surely he wasn’t being serious.
‘No! An escort. You just go on dates. You don’t sleep with them.’
‘Oh, right, okay, and you could be a – what do you call them? – a gigolo.’ I gave a short laugh and shook my head. ‘Yeah, right. Very funny. That’s your plan?’
He nodded.
‘Fin!’
‘What?’ He grinned. ‘It’s a good plan to get rich.’
‘Fin, I am not doing that for money, what kind of girl do you think I am?’
‘All I want,’ he said, ‘is to be with you. But I have this dread, that if we go on like this – skint, ill, struggling, arguing – we’re going to end up hating each other. My plan is more about love than about money.’
I raised my eyebrows. Fin’s plan was definitely more about money. But he had a point. If we carried on as we were, we weren’t going to last. I decided to play along for the fun of it. ‘So, how much would I charge an hour? A thousand? Two?’
‘At least.’ He grinned, coming back over to sit with me. ‘I’d pay more than that for you if I had the money.’
‘Even when I look like this? Hair unwashed, ratty pyjamas, shive
ring with the flu.’
‘Some guys might get turned on by that.’
‘Ew, gross.’ I shoved Fin, pushing him back against the arm of the sofa. ‘Wouldn’t it be less icky to just – I dunno – rob a bank?’ I laughed.
‘Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But, no. Robbing a bank would be way harder, and we couldn’t spend the money here. We’d have to go on the run. This way, we’d have the money legitimately and could get on with our lives without the police coming after us.’
‘So, let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘We go on dates with rich people, earn a ton of money and live happily ever after?’
‘Not quite,’ he replied. ‘You go on the dates, I run the business side of things.’
‘Like a pimp?’ I tilted my head to the side. ‘Yeah, I can just see you in a long fur coat and gold jewellery. You’d look good. God, you’re such a nutter.’ I closed my eyes for a moment. ‘Tell you what,’ I said, snapping my eyes open with a grin. ‘I’ve got a better idea – you go out and prostitute yourself and I’ll organise the business side.’
Fin shook his head. ‘We’d earn more money my way.’
‘Yeah, well, if only there really was such a neat solution to all our problems – one that didn’t involve me selling my body and you wearing fur, of course.’
‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘If only.’
The sofa moved as Fin shifted up next to me. I leant in towards him feeling much better. Our crazy conversation had cheered me right up.
Chapter Twelve
2017
More than anything, I don’t want to be alone this evening. The house feels too big. Too empty. A place of shadows where anyone could lurk. But if I call Will, he’s going to wonder why I need him to come home. He’s going to ask questions that I can’t answer.
I pick up my phone again and begin tapping in a new message.
Hey Sian, what are you up to this evening. Fancy hanging out at mine and watching a trashy movie on TV?
There’s barely a ten-second delay before my phone pings.
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