Single (ARC)

by K. L. Slater

  I feel the smile melt from my lips.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I take a step towards her, but she backs off. ‘Maria, are you OK?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It’s just that…’ She falters, and I hold my breath, thinking she’s about to open up to me about something.

  Then I hear the sound of feet thundering down the stairs.

  ‘Nanny!’ Romy jumps off the bottom two steps, skips across the hall and barrels into the housekeeper’s arms. I marvel at how relaxed she seems compared to her usual restrained mood when we’re around.

  ‘You were saying, Maria?’ I prompt her to continue, but her eyes flicker to the stairs, to where George now stands.

  ‘Hello, Maria,’ he says.

  ‘It was nothing important.’ Maria gives me a weak smile. ‘I’m just glad you all had a nice time.’

  ‘Romy, pop back upstairs and get your scarf and gloves,’ George says. ‘We just need a little chat with Maria.’

  We all go into the lounge and I see Maria’s fingers are fidgeting against her leg.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Maria,’ I say. ‘We just wanted to let you know about our plans.’

  We sit down and George speaks.

  ‘Darcy and her two sons will be moving in here with us shortly and we wanted you to know, that’s all.’

  Maria stares at him.

  ‘Are my services no longer required?’ Her lip quivers and I wish I knew her better so I felt able to put a comforting arm around her.

  ‘Of course we still want you to come in,’ I say quickly, anxious to reassure her.

  ‘Although Darcy may, in time, need to tweak your duties and hours,’ George adds.

  Silence.

  Romy thunders downstairs and into the lounge waving her scarf and gloves in the air. Maria stands up slowly as if she’s afraid she might keel over.

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she says and pats Romy’s head. ‘Get your coat on, little one. Time for us to get off to the park.’

  I follow them out to the hallway and help Romy with her outerwear.

  ‘Thanks, Maria,’ I say as they walk to the door hand-in-hand. ‘I’m sure we’re all going to get on just fine.’

  Romy drops a glove and I bend to pick it up but instead of looking down, I lift my chin to smile at Maria and stifle a gasp at the expression of pure hatred on her face.

  ‘Is there something wrong? Something you want to say?’ I stand up and fix her with a stare that belies my nervousness.

  Her face breaks into a smile. ‘Not at all,’ she says softly. ‘I’m sure everything will work out for the best. One way or another.’

  * * *

  When Maria has left and George is dealing with some paperwork in his office, I open up the Google homepage and in the search bar I type: Opal Vardy.

  Then I press enter.

  Predictably, there are hundreds of thousands of results. The first couple I click on take me to details of Opal Vardys all over the world, so I refine the search by adding in Nottingham. This time it’s better, but still nothing leaps out at me.

  I open up Facebook and select the fake profile I use to get closer to Daniela and retain my anonymity. To my surprise, not one profile in Opal’s name comes up. There are near misses and plenty of Opals and Vardys, but no exact combination of her name. This is highly unusual, though I only have to look at my own fake profile to understand what she is probably doing.

  Over on Twitter, it’s a similar story. There are two people named Opal Vardy. One has no profile picture and has only two followers. The other one is an American teenager who hasn’t posted or retweeted anything for over a year.

  Over on Instagram, there are two profiles with the name Opal Vardy. One has no followers, no posts and is following precisely no one. The other profile is private with no profile picture. I put in a follow request to this account.

  It seems I’ve hit the proverbial brick wall, but it will take more than this to put me off. The obsessed mind is clever, canny… She’s out there somewhere; it’s just a matter of finding that one less obvious link. It’s here somewhere, I can feel it.

  I return to Google and scan down the search results, aware that it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. Then something George mentioned pushes its way into my mind.

  She used to work in the hospital archives.

  In the search bar, I type: Opal Vardy City Hospital.

  My heart sinks a little as nothing interesting loads. I click on the images tab and the screen splits into photographic tiles. The third one along forces me to take a sharp intake of breath. I click on it and it fills the screen.

  The photograph forms part of a local hospital magazine article from two years ago. Underneath the narrative are the words: Employee Opal Vardy was awarded Temporary Staff Member of the Year at the Nottingham University Hospitals NHS Trust awards presentation at the East Midlands Conference Centre.

  I take a screen shot of the photo and crop it so that Opal is the only one in the picture. She looks younger and happier than the woman I saw in the hospital, but you can clearly see it’s her.

  When Maria brings Romy back from the park, she watches her to the door from halfway down the drive. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to speak to me again.

  When I’ve helped her off with her coat and scarf, I bring the photo up on my phone and show it to her.

  ‘Is this the lady who tried to speak to you in the woods at the lodge park, Romy?’

  She stares at the screen. Doesn’t blink, doesn’t say a word.

  ‘You won’t get into trouble if you tell me. I just need to know so we can keep you super safe, OK?’

  Her eyes are still fixed on the photograph, but I can’t tell if that’s because she recognises Opal or if she’s trying to recall the woman in the woods.

  ‘Have you seen this lady before, Romy?’ I press her, nervous in case George pads softly downstairs without me hearing.

  She nods, and my heart seems to jump up into my throat.

  ‘She’s my friend,’ Romy says, and looks away.

  I feel breathless, trying to make sense of why she’d say that. Has George been secretly seeing Opal? Is he doing the exact same thing with another woman that Joel did to me?

  My voice catches in my throat and I cough before speaking.

  ‘Do you see her often? Does Daddy take you to see her?’

  She shakes her head and I feel a flood of relief in my chest.

  ‘How do you know she’s your friend then?’

  ‘Because I saw Maria talking to her and she said she was,’ Romy says.

  Thirty-Seven

  When Brenda had gone up to bed, Leonard sat in his armchair nursing a brandy. He wasn’t a drinking man, had never over-indulged on that score. Nevertheless, he had to admit there were times you needed a little boost that only a stiff drink could bring.

  Darcy and the boys had been over for tea and everyone had been looking forward to hearing all about their trip to the log cabin. He and Brenda, especially, had missed the boys terribly over the Christmas period. It had been the first Christmas day since the boys’ births that they hadn’t spent it with them.

  Brenda had done all the usual festive things. Set the table so beautifully, planned a feast fit for kings and Joel’s photograph had sat pride of place as always. Yet without the upbeat energy of their grandsons, Joel’s handsome face had added a sadness to the proceedings. Rather than feeling he was there with them, watching over the family, they all felt his loss so much more keenly.

  So when Darcy agreed to come over for tea – she made some excuse about George being too busy to come – Brenda had taken heart and got all the boys’ favourite foods in.

  From the moment Darcy appeared, they all knew something was wrong. She seemed jumpy, on edge. It was worrying as they’d witnessed this behaviour before when she’d spent time in the clinic.

  She was a very persuasive person, good at putting on an act that fooled most people but they all knew her too well, now. Knew
that she often imagined things, conjured up imaginary situations in her head which she then convinced herself had actually happened.

  In the kitchen, while Darcy sat talking to Dave in the living room, they’d all congregated and agreed that something was wrong.

  ‘Maybe they’ve had a fall-out,’ Brenda said hopefully. ‘Maybe George is off the scene.’

  Sadly, there was something Darcy was nervous of telling them, but it wasn’t that.

  When Brenda called everyone to the table and, before they touched a morsel of the food she’d so lovingly prepared, Darcy spoke up.

  ‘I’ve something to tell you all.’

  Leonard saw the knowing look Brenda shot Steph. Here it was, he’d thought to himself, the big news that the relationship was off. They’d all make the expected sympathetic noises but when she’d gone home, they’d be celebrating. Leonard thought he might even open the bottle of Moët he’d had in the fridge for a few months, waiting for a special occasion.

  ‘Me and the boys, we’re moving in with George next month.’

  Brenda’s colour had drained and Leonard had stood up to get her a glass of water.

  ‘It’s a bit soon, Darcy, love,’ he’d said in the absence of everyone else’s stunned silence.

  ‘You don’t always need months or years to make an important decision, Leonard,’ Darcy had told him tartly. ‘Sometimes you just know.’

  ‘And what about the boys?’ Steph had asked, turning to her nephews. ‘What do you two think about going to live with George?’

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ Kane said lightly, helping himself to another cheese sandwich.

  But Harrison looked at his plate and his face crumbled. Tears began to fall.

  ‘Oh lovey, come here.’ Brenda’s voice cracked as she rushed over to her elder grandson and pressed his head to her. ‘That’s it, let it all out. It’s all right, my darling. It’s going to be just fine, you’ll see.’

  It tore Leonard apart to see his family in pieces and he looked at Darcy in expectation.

  ‘I’ve chatted about this,’ Darcy said, watching Harrison with alarm. ‘They’re fine about it. It’s probably just being here, in front of you all. He feels torn.’

  ‘Torn?’ Steph gave a harsh laugh. ‘He doesn’t look torn to me. He looks devastated, like moving in with George is the last thing he wants.’

  They didn’t stay for tea after all. Darcy bundled them up and rushed them out to the car, refusing to discuss the situation further.

  When Brenda went up for a lie-down, Steph and Leonard had a chat.

  ‘If there’s any good that’s come out of this, it’s that it’s proved it is definitely time, Dad,’ she said grimly. ‘We have to put our plans into action soon. For the sake of the family.’

  And Leonard knew she was right.

  He drained his glass of the last of his brandy and turned off the lights. In the morning, he would set the ball rolling.

  Thirty-Eight

  It’s another six weeks before we’re ready to move in with George.

  Six weeks might sound like a long time, but it’s gone in a flash, with everything that has to be done.

  It feels particularly sweet when I draft out the email to the lettings company informing them we’re vacating the house. I’m on a month-to-month contract so only need to give four weeks’ notice. In view of the new owner, of whom I’ve heard nothing about yet from the company, I don’t intend giving her the courtesy of a day more than I have to. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to think of Daniela having to foot the mortgage bill while she finds new tenants.

  I can’t find out any more about what’s happening on the house front because Steph isn’t speaking to me any more. The boys are still going over to their grandparents’ house but our contact is polite and minimal. If that’s how they want to play it, then so be it.

  I sit down with the boys and ask them how they feel about moving in with George and Romy.

  Kane is buzzing with excitement about the move but Harrison is a little more reticent.

  ‘Are we leaving here forever?’ he asks quietly. ‘Someone else will live here, where our Dad was?’

  A physical pain grips my chest and I reach for my boy, kiss his forehead.

  ‘It would mean us leaving this house, yes,’ I tell him. ‘But the memories of your dad and the fun times you had with him? They go with us. And they’ll always be with you; nobody can take them away, Harry.’

  ‘Keep them in here.’ Kane taps the side of his head. ‘Then you can get them out and look at Dad’s face, even in the middle of the night.’

  I bite down hard on my back teeth. If I’m not careful, I’m going to burst into tears and ruin my chance to discuss the move properly with the two of them.

  ‘Will we have to call George “Dad” if we go to live with him?’ Harry asks, scratching at the seam of his jeans.

  ‘Absolutely not! He’s just George to you; you already have a dad, right?’

  He nods, seeming to be relieved.

  At the end of our chat, both boys seem happier, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the really tough bit out of the way. Sorting out their admission to Papplewick primary school, giving the landlord notice that we’ll be moving out and everything else that moving entails is straightforward by comparison.

  * * *

  Halfway through February, the big day arrives, the day we’ve all been waiting for, when the boys and I finally make the momentous move into George’s house to create a new whole family from our two halves.

  Why, then, is my stomach roiling? I can’t eat breakfast, or sit still for any length of time.

  Romy and Kane have been like effervescent balls of excitement about the move, but I had a little blip yesterday with Harrison.

  He wouldn’t come down from his bedroom for tea, and when I went up there, he was sitting on his bed with his photograph of Joel in his hands, fat tears splashing down onto the glass. I sat next to him and took his hand.

  ‘Your dad will always be with you, sweetie,’ I said softly. ‘Remember what Grandma told you? He’s looking down on you all the time, and he wants you to be happy.’

  Harry sniffed and nodded, then laid his head on my arm.

  The boys stayed over at Brenda and Leonard’s last night. For once, Brenda seemed to understand that I had a lot on with the move.

  ‘It must be very stressful, leaving your home,’ she said when she called yesterday afternoon. ‘How about we pick the boys up from school and then tomorrow we can bring them back.’ She paused for a moment. ‘We can even bring them to the new house, if that helps.’

  Despite my efforts to hold out the olive branch, Steph still doesn’t seem as happy for us. But I get the feeling Brenda is intent on worming her way into our new life until she’s got the same kind of involvement as with our old. I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.

  ‘Well that might be a bit tricky,’ I said lightly. ‘I’ll be here for the first part of the morning, but after that, I’ll be back and forth.’

  ‘Leonard can bring them back in the morning before the removals arrive.’ She sounded quite upbeat. ‘How would that work?’

  Thanks, Brenda.’ I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn’t offended her and began to relish the thought of a clear evening ahead to make a start on the hundred and one jobs that needed doing before I handed the keys back to the management company.

  I haven’t heard anything from Steph since the day before yesterday. To be fair, she has come round a bit from her sulk and done some useful things to help: informing the utility companies, the local council, time-consuming tasks like that. But something between us has changed for good. I can just feel it.

  I know that if the boys and I were moving to another rented house alone, she’d be virtually camped out here, helping me every step of the way. She would have insisted on it.

  There’s no doubt about it: Joel’s family have been wounded by my unexpected and rapidly progressing relationship with George. Moving in wi
th him is a step too far in their opinion. I feel regretful that I’ve contributed to their sadness, but I understand it. Yet I wouldn’t renege on this chance of happiness for myself and my sons and they’ve really got no choice but to accept my decision.

  I stand in the living room and look around. Everything has been packed into boxes now, and our local Oxfam shop sent a lorry to take away the sofas and other large items of furniture we don’t need to take with us.

  The result is a long bare wall with squares of clean magnolia paint. The biscuit-coloured carpet still looks fresh and new close to the walls, but in the middle of the room it is flat and faded and marred with dents from the newly removed furniture. Everything is grubby and in need of an overhaul, where once it seemed to be our perfect place. A place we could be happy together.

  I can remember standing in this exact spot with Joel all those years ago, deciding how to furnish what would be an important space in the house for our growing family. He slid his arm around my shoulders and I leaned into him affectionately.

  ‘I think we should definitely go for cosy, but not too fussy,’ I suggested. ‘Lots of blankets, a basket of logs even though it’s a gas stove, plenty of cushions.’

  ‘A warm den for us all to snuggle up in together,’ Joel agreed, grinning. ‘Oh, and a big TV on that wall.’

  I laughed and rolled my eyes.

  ‘Not just for the footie!’ he protested, nudging me playfully. ‘I mean for family movies and pizza nights, holed up together against the great British weather. That’s the only kind of entertainment I’m interested in now.’

  He kissed the top of my head, and I still remember the feeling of utter contentment that settled over me like a comforter.

  Eighteen months later, and the sad reality was that Joel was hardly ever home to watch movies with us. He was far too busy driving around the country on jobs, building his customer database of I.T. contacts. At least that’s what he led me to believe. On the nights he didn’t stay overnight somewhere, when he told me he was up north or down south, he hardly ever got back home until the boys had gone to bed.