Past Present Future

by Alexander, N J.

  But that’s how it was, although I didn’t say it to Lorna and Maddy; for some reason I felt connected to Anthony. He always managed to make me smile.

  I also felt protective of him, which was not a role I usually took in relationships.

  Most of what I knew about him had been learned from others, but I hated it when people made snide remarks about him. Behind his confident exterior I could see glimpses of someone who seemed lost and not really sure where he was going and yet he also appeared to be a deep, literate, thinker. Occasionally I would see him sitting alone, reading a novel of some sort an hour or so before he was due to start rehearsing. The erudite titles would always catch me by surprise. Maybe my instinct to protect was simply because he’d not long arrived in the UK and was such a long way from home – I didn’t know. Richard certainly didn’t need me to protect him – Richard was the one who made me feel safe, until recently.

  I sighed. ‘Anyway since I left the job I’ve no idea what happened to him. I presume his Visa ran out and he went back home. Thing is, because I never got involved with him, I would still want him, even if I saw him today. It’s weird isn’t it, that once you break up with someone you look at them and wonder what attracted you to them in the first place. But with him it will never be like that, because it never got off the ground.’

  ‘But why?’ Lorna said it as though it should have been the easiest thing in the world to have done back then.

  ‘There were loads of reasons why I didn’t and couldn’t pursue him, Lorna. He would have hurt me for sure. I think I was always the one he couldn’t have because I was with Richard. If he’d had me at the time, I’m sure I’d have been like the others: dumped and heartbroken. Even in his late twenties, he’d still got a lot of living to do before settling down. It’s all hypothetical anyway, even if he had had a thing for me, he would have moved on and long forgotten me – I was always going to be the loser out of the two of us.’

  Maddy and Lorna looked slightly shocked or surprised by my confession – I couldn’t decide which. But they hadn’t seen it coming. With a shake of the head Maddy brought us back to reality.

  ‘You see, that’s what I mean about Steve and Richard,’ she said in her singsong voice, spoken at her usual higher than average speed. ‘We know that we can trust them and that they’re not going to hurt us; they will always be there for us…I need a cigarette.’

  ‘I do know what she means though. I think there is the “what if” in everyone’s past,’ Lorna politely defended.

  But having had a severe case of verbal diarrhoea, I wasn’t sure the Anthony Hope confession was such a good idea.

  At least I’d had the sense to keep my mouth shut about my other crush.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Blue, our weimaraner was digging around in the soil surrounding the evergreen shrubs. I put my pen down and stared out of the window into the June sunshine; the gaps in the ivory shutters meant that I could see most of the garden and our field beyond. The expanse of mature trees, hawthorn hedges and the sound of birds singing reminded me how lucky we were to live in the English countryside. Our home was a three-storey new build, but it was unusual because of all the land that came with it.

  The parasol was still out from Elyse’s third birthday a couple of Sundays ago, and was gently flapping in the breeze. The wooden chairs were still in a state of disarray on the patio area; staring at them reminded me that they needed sanding down again – something I always did because Richard could never be bothered with it. Even the parasol has spun a hole this year which dad said looked like the work of mice.

  I called Blue back to the house before he wrecked any more plants then turned my attention to my studies glancing miserably at the pile of accountancy books to my right. This was my new work alternative until I could think of what I did want to do career wise. It wasn’t like I hadn’t done my share of exams in my time either: I already had a performing arts degree and a masters in journalism. To call me lost was probably more accurate than to say that I was well on my way to becoming a professional student, but the mountain of mundane study felt overwhelming as I’d wrongly surmised that getting the first exam out of the way would spur me to knuckle down to the next one.

  Facebook was open on the Log In page, but since signing up to the site, I vowed it wouldn’t detract from my studies.

  Normally the light, colonial feel of the room made me feel fresh and alive, but it wasn’t working today; instead it felt oppressive and isolating. I contemplated taking a break and doing something else constructive like tidying up, but then glanced around at the vast stone floor, the dining chairs covered in un-ironed shirts, and the dusty paw prints on the leather sofas and changed my mind.

  I looked at the time on the laptop; it said 13:01 – that meant I had a good few hours before Richard was home to cram in some decent study. I thought about opening the windows to let a breeze into the garden room but couldn’t think where Richard had moved the tiny keys for the safety locks, so instead I opened the lounge window. While I was in there I plumped up a few cushions on the sofa, another diversion tactic.

  Several hours later after being engrossed in my studies I felt warm again and noticed the breeze had stopped filtering through. The time on the laptop said 16:00. That meant the day was past peak heat, so I went to check the lounge window. It was closed again.

  I studied the window. It wasn’t possible it could close and the catch be firmly back in place. I opened and closed it several times over as though to prove my theory. If a strong breeze had forced it closed, the long metal catch would still be sticking out.

  I looked round the lounge. Blue was on the sofa watching me with intrigue – his head was cocked on one side. I thought back to when we were burgled a few years earlier, the whole reason we’d got a dog, even if he was useless. But this was the opposite way round – back then the burglars had opened the window; not closed it. They didn’t even shut any of the drawers they had gone through. In fact, the house had looked like a poltergeist had been through it at the time.

  I checked around downstairs: the TVs were still all in their place and nothing had moved. There was no evidence of burglary or even entry of any sort. I was baffled and ran my hands through my hair, pulling it away from my face and sighed. I called Richard.

  ‘Have you been back to the house, creeping around and closing the lounge window without telling me?’ I asked.

  ‘No. I’m on my way back from work and going to get the kids from school like I said I would. Why?’

  ‘It’s most likely nothing, but I opened the lounge window earlier and now it’s closed.’

  ‘Perhaps the wind blew it shut.’

  ‘No. Not possible.’

  ‘Has the gardener or window cleaner been, or Mick-The-Cleaner, has he done it?’

  ‘No, of course not – it’s not any of their days to be here, and besides you can’t close the window properly from the outside.’

  ‘You must have dreamt that you opened it.’

  ‘I haven’t been to sleep; I’ve been studying all afternoon.’

  ‘Well I don’t know then.’

  ‘Me neither, but I can’t see any evidence of anyone being in the house.’ I looked round uneasily as I said it.

  ‘I’ll be home soon. Relax. I definitely think you’ve fallen asleep and dreamt you opened it. You are studying too much. You could have got over tired.’

  He was probably right, I was just being silly. I let him go so he could focus on driving while I walked back in to the lounge for a final look. It was then that I remembered that I also plumped up the cushions after I opened the window. The cushions were still plump.

  Despite my initial good intentions with Facebook I noticed that Maddy and I were increasingly substituting texts, for Facebook messages. This morning, whilst still damp from my early shower, I double-checked that she hadn’t posted anything first thing which altered arrangements for meeting up for breakfast. While I was on, I quickly accepted a few more friend requests
from old school friends I hadn’t seen in two decades, but I didn’t have time to look at what they’d been up to. It seemed like the whole world had cottoned on to this thing while I’d been oblivious. If it wasn’t for Maddy I’m pretty sure it would still be missing my radar. Considering some of the people who had signed up, it still seemed strange to me that James Darnell and Anthony Hope hadn’t joined as far as I could see.

  I switched the laptop off, re-adjusted my towel and headed upstairs to finish getting ready.

  The bed was still unmade, and my damp towel soon lay crumpled on the floor, blending into the pale cream carpet. I stood in front of the wardrobes in a dilemma – they were full of clothes but I had nothing to wear. I cursed myself for falling into this so-common female trap. When I was small I would watch Mum get herself in a state over her clothes. I vowed back then that it would be something I would never do as an adult; whatever I put on, I would wear with confidence. Now I wasn’t working I’d got used to not having to think about what to wear: jeans, combats and vest top, hair back and be done with it.

  But today I was feeling the pressure to make a little more effort, which had no logic to it either – it was only breakfast, I reminded myself.

  I pulled on my high-waisted, straight-leg jeans, grabbed a white shirt and dressed it up with a long sleeveless cardigan; one I’d bought and never worn. I grabbed some matching grey beads and I stood in front of the tall mirror that was fixed to the inside of the wardrobe door. I turned to the left, then right, glanced over my shoulder and concluded it wasn’t working; the look wasn’t me. It worked well with my blondish hair, but it looked smart, too smart as in well-dressed 50-year-old, even when I removed the beads! The problem was the weather – despite the June heat wave, we were back to a cool July.

  I know…where’s that little dogtooth, charcoal skirt?

  I wanted to get at least one wear out of the cardigan to justify its purchase. I knew that it was in there somewhere. I made my way through the hangers, thinking I really needed to sort my wardrobe out. It seemed ridiculous that we had a bedroom the size of a double garage with fitted wardrobes all down one side and it was still a disorganised mess; but I had things in there from when I was eighteen.

  Aaargh that bloody phone, I cursed before picking it up to hear Richard’s voice.

  ‘The kids went in okay,’ he said chirpily. Richard always did the morning school-run because it was on his way to the office.

  ‘That’s good…’ I waited for him to explain why he was calling.

  ‘Don’t you want to talk to me?’ his voice was still calm. Richard’s voice was always calm. He had a quiet, authoritative voice, typical of a barrister or surgeon and perfect for his job. Even in an argument his voice remained quiet but in firm control, whereas as mine always lost it – along with my head.

  ‘Yes, errr…no – I’m trying to find a skirt,’ I continued, as I rattled through the hangers with the phone balanced against my shoulder. ‘Ha – I’ve found it but I haven’t got time to talk…I’m meeting Maddy in a minute…you know that I am.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll go then, see you later and…enjoy your breakfast,’ Richard had now gone from calm chirpy to calm dejected.

  ‘Will do. Thanks, see you later.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘Yeah, love you too. Bye,’ I said, feeling bad that I’d cut him short. Richard always phoned me, he probably phoned me three or four times a day, always had done. But he was calling now because he was trying to gauge me. A few nights before, he started discussing things that filled me with shear dread. I recalled the tail end of a conversation I’d caught in Maddy’s kitchen recently. It had been between Richard and Lorna’s husband Bruce, but I’d listened in after having a playroom door slammed in my face after the kids’ game of dob had got way out of hand. But he’d said then: ‘Lawyers are still running up ridiculous legal fees for the sixty thousand balance payment for that company we bought back in July, we all lost out, but they still want my blood, and the bank want the hundred grand overdraft paying off; there are still issues with relinquishing the lease on the showroom…they’re all still on my back.’ I knew about the financial bits and pieces, it was the ‘want my blood’ and ‘all still on my back’ that had bothered me. Obviously everything was getting on top of him. But I couldn’t tell him how I felt about his latest suggestion. I certainly didn’t want to start another argument over why he’d bought that second company – what was done, was done.

  I still couldn’t get my head around the fact that someone in Richard’s position; working in financial services, had no knowledge of the financial storm that was coming. He had access to insider financial journals that the rest of us don’t get to see. So I knew I was being a bit quiet about it all, and I knew that it was bothering him. But I felt that explaining how I felt was only going to make things worse.

  I did one final check on my reflection, with the skirt on I’d gone from fifty, to borderline schoolgirl, but I didn’t think the skirt was too short, not with my knee-high boots. Anyway, I was going to be late, so it had to do. I fluffed up my hair to get some bounce in my bob, then left.

  I parked my car in the lay-by that was supposedly for drop-offs only and took my chance on a ticket to save time. St. Byrke-Crale was a tiny picture-postcard tourist trap and most of the residents went back generations. I walked past the quaint gift shops, chocolate shops and boutiques before getting to Gossips that stood right in the heart of our town. The smell of coffee, cakes and fresh pastries hit me the second I opened the tiny door.

  I ordered myself some tea, sat at one of the pine tables dressed in white linen. Gossips was slightly old-fashioned, but charming. I slid the wild flowers and china salt ‘n’ pepper pots out of the way and got myself comfortable with an old edition of Heat magazine; the choice of available magazines had always puzzled me on the basis that most of its customers, apart from us two, were elderly or recently retired – which is probably why it was so relaxing. It was free from career-bragging social climbers who were only interested in what people can do for them and every conversation requiring an ego filter.

  I sat and waited for Maddy to arrive, desperately trying to prevent my skirt from riding up my thighs and disappearing altogether. When she eventually turned up she said that her morning had been chaotic and as she talked to me her mobile was still firmly clamped to her ear.

  Maddy was permanently stressed these days because of her own legal mess. She and Steve were subjected to a dawn raid about a year or so after I met her. But one morning I received a phone call from a clearly distraught Maddy. I thought she was going to say something had happened to Henry, her son. In between sobs, I managed to decipher that she and Steve had both been arrested. She had been released on bail and Steve, twenty-four hours later, was still being questioned.

  The day it happened she’d opened her door to be greeted by uniformed police officers with a warrant. I didn’t really understand all the charges, but the police document was about a centimetre thick and listed a load of companies I’d never heard of. It also made references to the Proceeds of Crime Act, fraud, money laundering and frozen assets. Steve had got himself involved with a gang who had all been simultaneously arrested. Maddy and Steve in a state of paranoia even had their house swept to see if any bugs were present.

  Even months after the arrest, we still didn’t dare say much in their kitchen because she was convinced that the cooker extractor fan was bugged. But there was still no clear date for a trial. It felt like Maddy’s charges would eventually be dropped and that her arrest just happened so that Steve could not move his assets around.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Maddy said, finally letting go of her mobile. Her narrow, heart-shaped face looked more strained than usual and I didn’t really want to burden her with my crap.

  ‘Nothing,’ the false spring in my voice pinged in my ears and her eyebrows raised – evidence that she heard it ping too.

  ‘Aargh. Okay! Richard says he’s thinking about retiring,�
�� I could feel my eyes rapidly welling up. I closed the magazine, placing it back on the side as a means of distracting myself and hiding my expression.

  ‘I know, he’s told me.’

  ‘Told you?’

  ‘Yeah, because he says you won’t talk about it.’

  ‘I can’t,’ and I headed straight for the sugar packets in the centre of the table, twiddling them through my fingers to avoid meeting her eyes.

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘I can’t.’ This time I stared at her defiantly but the terrier had its rat, and it was slowly but surely going to torture it, whether it liked it or not! That was the problem, that despite only knowing each other for four years, we had become very close as friends after William and her son Henry became best friends. They were both at the same private school. But Maddy and I pretty much hit it off when we found out that we had both been driving round in our twenties in Mercedes SLK sports cars. But Maddy knew better than anyone else how to work me.

  ‘All right, I had a crush on James; our Administrator.’

  ‘Yeah, I know you did.’

  ‘What do you mean, you know I did, I never told you?’

  ‘I could tell, the way you just dropped his name into every conversation.’

  ‘God…this gets worse.’ I felt my face flush.

  ‘Anyway, what’s that got to do with Richard retiring?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Everything? ’

  ‘All right…if Richard retires, although I’m very much over the James thing and…I didn’t realise he was only twenty-one!’ I’d now gone from stubborn silence to rambling. ‘Anyway…I don’t know if he fancied me, it wasn’t like he could have ever got involved with me, as it would be unprofessional and compromising. He was the oldest-looking 21-year-old I’d come across anyway. He had a girlfriend and was really bright and focused on his exams and career. Most 21-year-olds are out getting hammered all week aren’t they?’