The Face At the Window

by Ruby Speechley

  ‘I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about him.’ Her breathing quickens.

  I wince and take a moment. ‘Mum, I know you don’t like me asking, but I do have a right to know who he is. Can you tell me his name at least?’

  She glares at me. ‘There’s a damn good reason I haven’t told you, so don’t push me.’

  I’m startled by her abruptness, but I try not to let it faze me. ‘Which is what? Come on, tell me.’

  ‘Drop it,’ Mum shouts.

  ‘I’m old enough to know the truth.’ I stand up. She is shaking, but I won’t leave it. Not again.

  ‘Don’t you understand, I’m trying to protect you? I’ve spent your whole life trying to keep you safe, I’m not about to let it all go.’ She pushes her chair in, scraping the legs in an ear-splitting screech across the flagstones.

  ‘And I’m really grateful, but I can look after myself now. I feel ready to find out where I come from, who I am.’

  ‘You might think you are but believe me you’re better off never knowing.’

  She grabs her plate, the salad unfinished. ‘I can’t do this.’ She heads inside. Moments later the front door slams shut.

  Amy and I stare at each other.

  ‘I think he must have had an affair. That’s the sort of thing that’s made my mum that mad.’

  ‘I just want her to tell me!’ I kick the table leg and everything wobbles.

  ‘Carry on looking for him yourself, you don’t have to tell her.’

  ‘You’re right, I don’t.’

  * * *

  After we’ve tidied up, we go up to my bedroom. We’ve both got late shifts today, so another two hours to spare.

  ‘Will you show me how to straighten my hair like yours?’ Amy asks.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ I suddenly feel like a diva. It’s too hot upstairs so we take the straightening irons into the kitchen and open the back door wide. I place a chair in the middle of the room and give Amy a mirror to hold in front of herself.

  ‘What can I do for you today, madam?’ I say in an exaggerated polite accent, like Mum does in her salon.

  ‘Oh, the usual please, nice and straight, no kinks.’

  ‘Right you are, madam. Rest assured we don’t do kinky here.’ Amy laughs. I comb her hair through and separate a section with clips. ‘Going anywhere nice on your holidays?’

  ‘Oh yes, back to America for a grand tour. I really can’t wait. I do love the yanks. What about you?’

  ‘Probably Skeggy again. George does love a caravan holiday.’

  Amy bursts out laughing and can’t stop. I hold the straighteners away so as not to burn her or myself.

  I finish straightening her hair when we’ve both calmed down.

  ‘Mum won’t be back from work for ages yet. We could have another look in that box. Will you help me?’ I show her the back of her hair in a mirror.

  ‘That’s lovely, thank you. Of course I’ll help.’

  ‘There might be a photo of him in that bundle.’ I drain the last of my beer. Amy carries the steps upstairs behind me.

  We have the box down in a few minutes. Amy keeps watch out of the window. I lift out the bundle of photos and start going through them. They’re mostly of me, from when I was a baby through my toddler years up until about age seven. I’ve seen most of them before.

  Then right at the bottom is one of them on their wedding day, cutting a three-tiered cake. And there’s Dad, standing behind Mum, arms threaded around her waist. I peer as close as I can at him. His head is tipped back, mouth open, laughing. Big white teeth. Full lips. What is he laughing at? Has the photographer made a joke? Mum is smiling, head down, concentrating on cutting the cake. Her curls and veil have fallen forward. She looks so different, so young. Dad’s fingers are firmly slotted over hers, hands entwined around the knife. They’ve made the first cut, deep into the cake. I examine their hands more closely. His fingers are long and slim, he’s wearing a broad gold band. Hers are more delicate, the ring narrower but with the same rounded style. I crave more of his face, his features but that’s it, except his long legs in straight black trousers and the tip of his shoe, shone to a high polish. I stare at his face, obscured as it is, until my eyes blur. What’s your name? Where are you? What happened between you and Mum?

  And then I see something odd.

  ‘Look at this.’

  ‘What is it?’ Amy sits next to me on the bed. ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘Mum’s arm.’ I shiver. ‘What’s that mark?’

  Amy takes her glasses off and peers closer. ‘I think it’s a scar.’

  ‘I don’t remember noticing one on her.’

  ‘I’ve not seen one either but they fade a lot, don’t they?’

  ‘Hang on,’ she runs her finger over it, ‘I think it’s a scratch on the photo.’

  I touch the surface. ‘It could be.’

  There’s nothing else in the box that remotely indicates what my dad’s name is. There’s no wedding certificate, no wedding cards, letters or gift tags. Nothing with their names on. Has she really chucked everything else away to do with him?

  ‘Let’s try and get that other box down. I bet there’s something important in it.’ I have a quick look out of the window. It’s quiet and still except for Pixi slinking across the road.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Amy climbs up the steps. I hand her the backscratcher and she eases the box towards her until it’s at eye level. ‘It’s got a lock on it,’ she says.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Do you want me to break into it?’

  ‘Better not. I might ask Mum what’s in it.’ I hand it back up to Amy and she slides it into place next to the other one. ‘I need to get ready for work.’

  ‘Maybe you could order a copy of the marriage certificate online.’

  ‘Without knowing both their names?’

  ‘I don’t know about that. You’d have to look into it.’

  I’m burning to find out what Mum feels she needs to protect me from. Is it wrong to want to know if I’m like my dad? Why doesn’t she want him to be a part of my life?

  Chapter Fifty

  31 July 2018

  Scarlett

  When I arrive at the restaurant, the mouse is already there at the front, showing a large group to their booth. I quietly go round the back and change into my uniform. The other waitress, Bonnie, is taking food orders. Her shift ends in fifteen minutes. She raises her pencil at me and smiles. I get on with clearing tables on the terrace.

  The trellis is lit up with pink and yellow fairy lights and tealights at each table. It’s another balmy night and there’s a good vibe, an excited hum of conversations and laughter, the clink of glasses and cutlery on plates. ‘Inner Smile’ by Texas is playing softly in the background. I spray and wipe tables singing along, imagining Cole holding my hips from behind, the two of us swaying together as one.

  There are lots of balloons set up on reserved tables which means we’ll be helping people to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries in our usual way, encouraging all the customers to join in the singing. A lot of young families come here for that extra special service. Gemma spots me and smiles warmly. She runs a good business, I’ll give her that.

  I tidy the cleaning stuff away and grab a pencil. Another group arrives and she shows them to their table. I wince at the way she is walking, her bump sticking so far out her back seems to be caving in.

  ‘You’re early, Rosie,’ she says, coming over, ‘you must have a sixth sense. We’re one man down again tonight and we’re going to be packed out by seven. Bonnie is staying on an extra hour but that’s all she can do. Could you blow up some more balloons after you’ve taken some food orders, please?’

  ‘Sure. Are you okay? You look a bit… uncomfortable.’

  ‘My back is killing, but the show must go on, hey?’ She pats my arm as she goes over to greet another large party arriving.

  The evening goes surprisingly well despite it being so busy. I’ve done everything I can t
o go above and beyond, helping the mouse out and making sure she notices too. I need to gain her trust so she knows she can rely on me. I’m about to make cappuccinos and lattes for the last few tables when I hear his voice. I daren’t turn round in case he sees my face, but I can see them together reflected in the mirror above the bar. Gemma is talking to him just inside the door, then she tries to kiss his cheek, but he moves away. I could cheer. I sidestep to the end of the counter then dart forward into the cloakroom area tucked in the alcove. I peer out but Cole is still standing there. What the hell? Tables four and eight are waiting for their coffees, but I cannot possibly come out. Gemma seems to be looking around for me, so I dive into the ladies and lock the door. I’ll have to tell her I was desperate for the loo, time of the month or something, because she’ll wonder why I’m taking so long. I could blow all my hard work if she thinks I’m slacking off. How will I know when it’s safe to come out? How long is he going to be here? I cannot let him see me. She knows me as Rosie, but he will expose me as Scarlett. His pregnant ex-girlfriend.

  I wait a bit longer before flushing the toilet. I poke my head around the door. He’s still there, his back to me now because he’s leaving. Thank God.

  ‘There you are, Rosie. I was looking for you.’ Gemma is by my side a few moments later looking puzzled.

  ‘Sorry, I had to dash to the loo. I’m just making coffees for four and eight.’

  ‘Good, because they’re looking a bit impatient. I was going to introduce you to my husband, Nick. Shame he missed meeting you.’

  ‘Oh, is that his name?’

  ‘He hates his name, Nicholas, says it makes him sound like a Russian tsar. Most of his friends call him Cole.’ Her nose wrinkles in disapproval. ‘Anyway, he’s taking me away for a long weekend. Our last one before the baby arrives.’

  ‘That’s nice. Somewhere special?’ I bite my lip. I don’t want to know but I must sound polite and interested and not scowl.

  ‘He won’t tell me where, says it’s a surprise, although I’ve got a feeling it’s where we went when he first took me on a proper date.’

  ‘Oh, and where’s that?’ My hand weakens and tips to the side so the milky foam I’m pouring spills over the edge of the cup. What a bloody mess. I start again, pouring semi skimmed milk into the metal jug and switching on the steam nozzle. Gemma doesn’t bat an eyelid at my mistake.

  ‘St James’s Hotel in Mayfair. He said we’re going to see a play first.’

  ‘Sounds like fun,’ I say in the best happy voice I can manage. I try not to picture them writhing around in a luxurious king-size bed of black satin sheets. My eye catches her hand touching her enormous bump and reminds me how impossible that would be right now. I smirk to myself: Nick, eh? Never told me wifey calls him that. He’ll be craving our time together when he gets back.

  ‘I really am lucky.’ She stares into the distance. ‘I used to go to the theatre a lot with my parents when I was growing up.’ She wipes a tray down and passes it to me. ‘Do you spend much time with yours?’ She helps me stack the saucers and carefully place the cups of coffee without spilling any of them.

  ‘With Mum, yes, because I’m still at home, but Dad’s never been around.’ I say it more sharply than I mean to, but it’s hard holding in the bitterness sometimes. Saying it aloud makes the shame I’ve been holding in flood over me.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, I hope I haven’t triggered a difficult subject for you.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ I do not want to overshare.

  ‘It must be hard for you and tricky for your mum.’

  ‘I suppose so. But she’s told me absolutely zero about him, I’m not even joking.’ I forget for a second who I’m talking to. Gemma’s too bloody nice for her own good. But I guess that’s what people are like who’ve never had anything bad happen to them. If she wasn’t married to the man I love, we could be such good friends.

  ‘Listen, if you ever want to talk about it… I mean, they say it can help confiding in someone who’s not directly involved, don’t they?’

  I nod my thanks and carry the tray of coffees to table four, the image of her sympathetic face stays in my mind. It’s the first time I’ve noticed a hint of sadness in her tone, in her eyes, behind all her fake glamour and her seemingly having it all insta-life. But I can’t imagine what could be missing, unless she’s aware of her husband cheating.

  It’s gone midnight by the time the last customers leave. Gemma doesn’t like to hurry people and she doesn’t seem to mind going home so late. She tells me to go, she’ll lock up. As soon as I’m outside I realize I’ve left my phone. I tap on the door. It takes a good minute before she answers.

  ‘I think I’ve left my phone in the cloakroom.’

  ‘Come in.’ She closes the door behind me, sniffing and dabbing her nose with the back of her hand.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I look right at her then. Her eyes are wet.

  ‘Yeah, just the hormones kicking in, I guess.’ I follow her to the cloakroom where my apron is hanging on the peg where I left it. I rummage around in the pocket and sure enough, my phone is tucked in there with a pen and orders pad. When I turn to go, Gemma has her back to me taking her work top off over her head, arms up in the air. Her face is covered for a few seconds in the dark material as I reach the door. I wait a moment to say goodbye, staring unashamedly at her protruding bump, the way the skin has stretched. As her head appears through the top, she turns and I catch sight of a blue-black bruise, the size of a child’s hand. I shiver.

  ‘How did you do that?’ I wince and can’t help pointing at it. As soon as I have, I kick myself, she’s probably dead embarrassed.

  ‘I walked straight into the corner of our kitchen table at home.’ She grabs her floral top and pulls it over her head, her hair lifting and crackling, full of static electricity.

  ‘Looks really painful.’ No wonder she’s been walking so awkwardly.

  ‘It’s very sore, but not as bad as it was.’

  ‘If there’s anything I can do that you need help with, just say, okay.’ I push my phone into my back pocket, grateful that I’d switched it off. If Cole had texted and she’d seen it, it would have blown everything.

  ‘There is one thing I meant to ask you earlier. Our neighbour can’t feed Missy while we’re away. She promised she could, but she’s been called away to look after her dad. I can’t bear to go to London if we don’t have someone going in to feed her. Nick says she’ll be fine on her own for one night. He doesn’t want to lose his deposit, so I was just wondering if perhaps you might be able to?’

  She barely takes a breath. I guess that’s what she’s upset about.

  ‘Especially as you love cats as much as I do and you’re always so massively helpful around here. I’d pay you, of course. Do you think there’s a chance you could do that for me?’

  ‘Yeah, I can, but you don’t need to pay me.’ I try and sound as casual as possible, but my brain is already buzzing at the possibilities this will give me. I’ve never been in his house before. He’s been careful to keep me away. This is a perfect opportunity to find out more about their lives and ways I can split them up.

  ‘Really? Are you sure?’ She’s grinning like I’ve promised to save the world which seems disproportionately over the top. I’ll be feeding her cat, it’s not a biggie.

  ‘It’s not a problem.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, Rosie, you’re literally a lifesaver.’ She wipes her eyes. Maybe they had a big argument about it? It’s so cruel to suggest leaving the cat on its own to fend for itself. I’m pretty shocked. But he’ll be the sorry one now.

  ‘Honestly, I’m happy to help out.’

  ‘I’ll give you our address and spare key now, if that’s okay? It’s just that he’s insisting we leave first thing in the morning, so I won’t have time to show you around, but I’ll leave Missy’s tins and bowl out. It’ll be really straightforward, I promise. She’s got a cat flap so if she doesn’t turn up just leave her food down and she’ll com
e and find it. Morning and evening if possible, whatever time is best for you.’

  ‘Okay, what’s your address?’ I take my notebook and pencil out of my apron and scribble it down. Working here is even more useful than I expected.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  3 August 2018

  Scarlett

  On Friday morning we’re up early to see them off. We crouch behind a couple of bins on the other side of the road and watch Cole load a suitcase into the boot of their car.

  Mouse waddles down the path, one hand cupped under the bump and the other carrying her jacket and handbag. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing glittery flip-flops and her ankles are puffy and white, must be this heat. It doesn’t look like she’s had time to do her usual full spray tan. Probably can’t wait to mask that horrendous bruise.

  Cole rushes to open the passenger door for her. He takes her hand and helps her step down from the kerb then into the car. I presume she can’t see her feet easily. He’s being more attentive than I’d expect if he’s thinking of leaving her. And why bother taking her to a swanky hotel?

  ‘She looks like she’s about to pop,’ I whisper.

  ‘He said in one post on Facebook that she’s still got a few days to go.’

  ‘Could happen any time, though, couldn’t it? Mum says I was early. Took her by surprise.’

  ‘I was too, at twenty-eight weeks. I only weighed a pound.’

  Somehow, I’m not surprised, Amy is still scrawny now.

  ‘Do you think they could be on their way to the hospital?’

  ‘She’d have said if she was booked in to have a caesarean.’ And she said he didn’t want to lose his deposit. Could he really be that selfish?

  ‘What, she’s going to tell you?’

  ‘Yeah, I think she would.’

  ‘He’s not said anything about it.’ Amy taps her phone and starts scrolling through his Facebook page.

  ‘Seems a bit crazy going away for the weekend so close to the birth.’