Besides, she thought, but kept it to herself, at the end of the day, there were really only three people from her old life that she missed. And now, one of them—
She tried mentally to finish that sentence, but the words just wouldn’t come.
‘So I guess … what I’m trying to say is,’ was all she could manage to get out now, ‘is that when I first arrived there, I think I was having a meltdown. A breakdown of sorts, if that’s what you want to call it. I needed to feel safe and to answer your question in a very roundabout way, I think that’s why I chose Cape Town.’
Simon looked at her for a long time before they turned and walked on a bit further. And the silence between them throbbed. It was getting chilly now; the wind was whipping up a bit, so she pulled the jacket she was wearing closer round her. Remembering back to all the times they’d stroll along here and the very minute she started getting cold, he’d immediately wrap a big, warm comforting arm round her, to warm her up.
All an age ago now.
‘You know, there’s something I wouldn’t mind getting off my chest too,’ Simon eventually said, looking over at her now.
‘What’s that?’
‘I suppose … well, I just want you to know that I felt awful about the way I behaved towards you when you called over to the house the other night. I acted like such a complete shit and, after all, all you were trying to do was explain …’
‘Oh, come on, it’s completely understandable,’ she said simply. ‘You were angry and you’d every right to be. Besides, I should never have just barged in on you like I did. I just wanted to try to make you see my side of what had happened, that was all.’
‘I know, and it was only when you’d left, and then over the past few days, that I’ve finally got round to accepting that. But you have to understand, it’s been … I just … I mean …’
‘You don’t have to say it …’
‘… Jean, you know there was a time when I’d have thanked God on bended knees to have you back here again.’
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
‘But it’s just been so …’
‘I know.’
‘… And you understand the way I felt … And the plans I had for both of us, back then …’
‘Sure I do.’
‘… I mean … the engagement ring and everything …’
‘… Which was so beautiful …’
‘… Then finding out the truth the way we did …’
‘I know.’
‘… All that deception …’
‘… It must have been …’
‘… Just like a betrayal.’
‘… Sure.’
‘… And then to have it all suddenly resurrected, out of the blue like that …’
‘… I can only imagine …’
‘… And just when I thought I might be able to move on, to finally let go …’
‘… Which you’d every right to do …’
‘… But you have to understand that ever since that funeral, I’ve been in pieces.’
‘… Which is completely understandable.’
‘… So if I behaved badly towards you …’
‘… You don’t even need to go there. It’s OK.’
Bloody hell. She even surprised herself by smiling. Because this reminded her of old times and the way they could read each other’s minds, finish each other’s sentences, the way their thoughts somehow always kept pace with each other, the way each would know exactly what the other was thinking without a single word ever being said.
Simon was walking close by her now, just inches away. So close she could almost smell him.
‘You’ve no idea just how much it’s thrown me,’ he was telling her now, gently. Sounding far more like his old self. ‘Just knowing you were in town the past few days. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep, I’m worse than useless in work, and now …’
‘Hey, come on! This is me you’re talking to. And I understand, I promise. I mean that so sincerely.’
A pause as they both just looked at each other. Don’t stop, just please, please keep talking, she willed him as he held her gaze. But nothing. He looked distracted, like he was trying to pluck up the courage to say something else, but somehow couldn’t.
Right then, over to her.
‘Well, it was lovely of you to take me here. And even better to see you before I leave,’ she said, making to leave. ‘But if I don’t get to the airport very soon, I’ll be going nowhere.’
And now he was standing right in front of her, blocking her path.
‘Then go nowhere,’ he said simply, eyes burning. ‘Stay.’
‘What?’
‘Jean, the thing is, I don’t know what the future holds. I wish I could process everything that’s going on in my head and I know it’s going to take time. But one thing’s for certain. None of us wants you to leave, and what’s more I don’t think you yourself do either.’
‘But what about …?’
‘You and me? Why don’t … well …’
‘… Unless …’
‘… I mean, it’s just a thought, that’s all …’
‘… But maybe if there was some way …’
‘… We could just take things …’
‘… One day at a time?’ she finished the sentence for him hopefully.
‘Yeah. One day at a time. And maybe … In time, we might be able to work our way up to … Maybe having a drink sometime? Down the line, I mean.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I’d like it too.’
Then she smiled, as a big lump in her throat nearly threatened to choke her. He took her hand, pressed it tightly and just looked at her for a long, long time.
‘In that case, there’s one more thing, Jean.’
Her heart leapt.
‘What’s that?’
‘Take your airline ticket, rip it up and throw it away. And stay. Definitely stay.’
Two months later, Women’s Aid Advice Centre, Wilton Place, Dublin
‘… And now can I invite you all to join me in a warm round of applause for the incredibly brave Jean Simpson, who so kindly came here tonight to share her story with us!’
The whole room round her broke out in spontaneous clapping and floor stomping, and Jean beamed. She’d been volunteering for Women’s Aid for a few weeks now and yet every time she told her story, she never failed to be astonished by the response. What was even more amazing was that these were women just like her, women who in many cases had far more harrowing tales to share than she had.
God, nights like this, she had to almost pinch herself! To think that she’d actually made it this far, when just two short years ago she’d felt so powerless? Like such a victim. It was the one thing she’d hammer home relentlessly, time and again, every time she got up to speak here. You may feel utterly alone and friendless, but, trust me, you never are. Pick up the phone to me, she’d tell the room, anytime. And I’ll come running. And I’ll understand, and what’s more I’ll help.
‘So just before we wrap it up for the evening,’ Emily, tonight’s organiser and a tireless director of Women’s Aid announced, ‘does anyone here have any questions they’d like to put to Jean?’
A hand shot up and Jean saw that it was a pale-faced, underweight-looking young girl, sitting right up the very front.
‘Jean … em …’ but she broke off here, like she’d come this far, but couldn’t bring herself to go that bit further.
‘Just relax and take your time,’ Jean told her soothingly, remembering back to the very first night she’d got up to speak here and just how petrified she’d been. ‘And remember,’ she added encouragingly, ‘we’re all in the same boat here. Sure, otherwise we’d be down the pub.’
Pale Girl smiled a bit at that and taking a deep breath, willed herself to talk.
‘Well … the thing is … would it be all right if I asked you about your life at the moment?’ she said softly, nervously. ‘It’s just that you sound lik
e you really went through the mill and I wondered if you were in a good place now, that’s all? Do you ever feel afraid? Or does that fear live with you for ever? Because …’ She broke off a bit again here.
‘It’s all right, love, take your time,’ Jean said, instinctively going over to where this slip of a thing sat and squeezing her hand.
‘Well, you see …,’ Pale Girl went on, and it was only when Jean was up this close to her, that she realised the girl was actually trembling. ‘It’s just … living in fear for me is the worst part. Even though I’m out of the … well, the situation I was in, I just feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. It’s scarred me and I wondered if these scars will ever heal.’
She looked up at Jean with big, watery blue eyes and Jean gave her a bear hug.
‘What’s your name?’ Jean asked gently.
‘Ingrid.’
‘Well, Ingrid,’ she answered gently, ‘the main thing is that you’re here. And trust me, that’s the first step towards healing. As for me … well, I’d be the first to say that I’ve been incredibly lucky. My abuser went bust and was forced to leave the country. I’ve made a full police statement against him now, so even if he did return, which is unlikely, he’d have a whole barrage of questions to face. But I completely recognise that a lot of women in similar situations aren’t as fortunate as I was.
‘So to answer your question, I suppose I’m just grateful every day now. Whole weeks go by when I don’t feel frightened, then I remember I’ve nothing to be frightened of. I feel safe, secure, even happy, and I promise you that you will too. In time. That’s all it takes, trust me. Because I used to live my whole life in fear and dread, just like you. But it took what I went through to make me realise that I was actually living at all. Sure, I was safe in Cape Town, but it was only ever half a life. My abuser took so much from me, he took my whole past, but over my dead body was I letting him get away with robbing my future!’
Ingrid smiled tearily and nodded as another round of applause broke out. Next thing, a hand shot up, this time from the very back of the room.
‘I’ve a question for you,’ called out an older woman who Jean couldn’t help noticing had a suitcase at her feet. Like she’d come to Women’s Aid to find safety and wasn’t leaving without it. Her heart immediately melted. There, but for the grace of God, etc.
‘You changed your whole identity to escape your abuser,’ said this lady. ‘But why did you stay away for so long? You must have missed your family and friends here so much, especially when they found out the truth about you. Were you in some way punishing yourself?’
‘It’s a hard one to answer,’ said Jean, ‘and even harder to explain to those I left behind, believe me. But all I can really say is this. I had a meltdown, a complete and utter meltdown, that’s the only way I can describe it. And for what it’s worth, I learned that sometimes you can only really find heaven by backing away from hell.’
The woman nodded in understanding and thanked Jean for her honesty.
Half an hour later and that week’s meeting had broken up. Emily, the organiser, thanked Jean warmly and invited her to come along next week too.
‘If you’re not too busy working at Byrne & Sacetti, that is, of course,’ she added.
‘Be delighted to,’ Jean smiled. In fact, try and stop her. It was never easy, coming here and speaking about what she’d been through, but when she saw how much support she was able to give to other women just like her, she’d started to develop a powerful sense of motivation about their meetings. And OK, so maybe she couldn’t put the clock back, but she certainly could do her level best to help anyone who found themselves in the same situation she had, all those years ago. In a weird way, it was almost healing, cathartic even.
‘It’s just wonderful to have a young, confident, fresh voice here, someone who’s lived through what these women are going through now and who came out the other side to tell the tale,’ said Emily. ‘We’re all so pleased that you’re one of our volunteers, love. I hope you know that.’
‘It’s the least I can do,’ Jean told her sincerely. ‘Besides, all I do is talk straight from the heart. And tell them that if it can happen to someone like me, someone who was always so gobby and strong and independent, then it can happen to anyone.’
‘Well, we’re certainly all delighted to have you on our team,’ Emily said, holding open the door for her as they both stepped out on the busy street outside. ‘Can I offer you a lift home?’
‘No, thanks, I just live close by.’
‘Till next week then, and thanks so much again!’
Jean said her goodbyes and strode quickly through the city centre and down into Temple Bar, which was even more thronged than usual, given that it was a Friday evening and a rare sunny one at that. Pavement cafés were packed and customers were spilling out of bars onto the street, to soak up the last of the autumn rays.
With a spring in her step, Jean headed up towards Angie’s flat, where she’d been sharing with her for the past few months. Working incredibly hard, both of them, but having the time of their lives every single chance they got. And now that Angie and Jack were officially seeing each other, it was like having a new pal to hang around with too. Jack was terrific, Jean decided; she really liked him. Bonkers mad about Angie and a very welcome addition to their little group.
She picked up her pace, turned a corner and suddenly arrived at the place she’d been looking for.
And there he was, with his movieplex good looks, handsome as ever. Sitting at a tiny pavement table, with two drinks in front of him and an empty seat beside him. Just like she knew he would be.
Waiting for her.
‘Hello there,’ Simon said, instantly lighting up when he saw her approach, just like he used to.
‘Hi.’
‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’
‘Beautiful.’
‘How did tonight go?’
‘Went well, I think. And how are you?’
‘At this exact moment, I’m surprisingly good,’ he grinned back at her.
She laughed, folded her arms and tilted her head back to really have a good look at him, to drink him in.
‘Thing is, Jean,’ he eventually said, ‘here I am, all alone at a table for two and … well …’
‘Yes?’ she teased.
‘… And … I was just wondering if … maybe … you’d like to have that drink now?’
Claudia on … her inspiration for writing Me and You
Ask any author and they’ll all tell you the same thing. One of the questions you get asked most often is, ‘where do you get all your ideas from?’ And the slightly clichéd but honest answer is, from anywhere and everywhere. For instance, one time I just happened to overhear half a conversation in a Starbucks queue. The woman was utterly convinced her boyfriend was seeing someone else behind her back. Her best friend was beside her and I’m not joking, was trying to convince her to get onto his mobile phone company, to try and blag a set of his most recent monthly statements.
‘But they’d never give out that kind of information,’ Worried Girlfriend stammered, ‘no matter what I told them!’ Then she desperately tacked on, ‘wouldn’t they?’
‘Course they would,’ her pal insisted, so authoritatively that you’d swear she did this every day of the week. ‘It’s dead easy! You just call the phone company and pretend you’re his mother! Then you say something like you’re really worried he’s got in with a bad crowd and is going to end up either an alcoholic or else on drugs. You know, improvise a bit; use your imagination. Trust me, they never say no to a concerned Mammy!’
The girls collected their lattes and moved off to a table out of earshot, but it made me wonder what other pearls of wisdom the pal would pass on next. By the time she was finished, I’d visions of her convincing Worried Girlfriend to camp outside the boyfriend’s house with a long lens trained at his bedroom window. And that they should start checking out ebay in case there was any surveillance equipment
for sale on the cheap. Just in case.
God bless coffee shops. Trust me; they’re an absolute minefield for novelists everywhere!
But with Me and You, it was actually a tiny article in the paper that initially set me off thinking. There was an interview with the head of the missing persons unit and one of the things he revealed absolutely intrigued me. He said that in well over ninety per cent of cases, people go missing voluntarily. Well, of course, that line alone totally grabbed me. I started to wonder what it was that would make someone just walk out on their whole, entire life. I mean, can you imagine? Just turning your back on family, friends, work, home, everything you’d built up over years … and checking out.
And the more I researched it, the more hooked I became. I got in contact with the Missing Persons Association and the head of the organisation, a lovely man called Aquinas Duffy, was incredibly helpful and generous with his time. And gradually, the deeper I dug, the more intriguing the stories became.
It seemed like every single week, the news brought a fresh story of a different person who’d gone missing. And of course, a percentage of these stories sadly had tragic consequences, making the headlines for the most gut-wrenching reasons. This is utterly devastating and heart-breaking for the families concerned, but that wasn’t what I wanted to focus on with this book. Enough, I felt, had been written about such cases elsewhere. Instead, I wanted to write about a heroine, who for reasons beyond her control, unwittingly finds herself in a situation where she feels she has no choice but to up sticks and go.
And so, as a result of all my research, I eventually met up with a young woman who we’ll just call Susan for now, and she very kindly – and bravely – told me that she was happy to share her story. Because about four years ago, she went missing voluntarily. She was twenty-four years old at the time and had been working far from home, but had found the going much tougher than she’d expected. Susan had thought moving to a new city on her own would be exciting, and that she’d quickly fall in with a new gang of mates to hang around with. Just like something out of Sex and the City she said, smiling at me. But it didn’t work out quite like that; in her new job, people barely gave each other the time of day, they were all so stressed out of it, and it was incredibly hard to forge new bonds from scratch. Susan says she’s a naturally shy person, so it was extremely difficult to get to know people who were at best cliquish and at worst, just too busy to take on a new friend in their lives.
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