by Lesley Kara
I exhale slowly. He’s in earnest conversation with a rather beautiful woman who reminds me of one of those pre-Raphaelite models, all flaming hair and bright-red lips. I think of the red lipstick on the brandy glass and crumple against the hedge. I wanted to see sadness in his eyes. To know he’s missing me as much as I’m missing him, but he’s smiling. Laughing. Touching her arm.
More guests fill the garden. The music gets louder. I must leave before I do something insane, before I walk over to Josh, fling my arms round his neck and bawl my eyes out. But just as I’m about to creep away Richard approaches the two of them, a tray of nibbles in his hands. Josh helps himself to whatever is on there, then slips away and gets swallowed up by a group of happy, shiny young people. His cousins, maybe? The ones he couldn’t wait for me to meet?
Richard rests the tray on a table and whispers something into the redhead’s ear. She throws back her neck and laughs prettily. Now I see that she’s older than I thought, in her forties or early fifties, even. Richard’s hand rests gently in the small of her back. He leans in towards her and, for one brief moment, their foreheads touch. Now his hand slips a little lower. All of a sudden, Josh reappears. Richard grabs hold of the tray and disappears into the throng of guests.
Back in the darkness of the lane things fall into place. What I overheard Richard saying on the phone the other day, about not having told him yet and that he would do, soon. At the time I’d been so paranoid I thought he was referring to me, that he’d found out about my past and was waiting for the right moment to break it to Josh. But maybe he was talking to this woman, discussing when to tell Josh about their relationship. I’m no expert on body language, but they’re clearly much more than good friends.
The bottle of brandy in the beach hut. The red lipstick on the glass. The discarded bikini. It all makes perfect sense now. He’s been meeting this woman in private, keeping their relationship a secret. Hardly surprising, considering Josh’s reaction when I made a joke about his dad being a bit of a catch. All that stuff Richard said about not wanting Josh to get hurt again. I thought he meant hurt by me, but he must have been worried I’d seen the brandy and the two glasses in the beach hut. And didn’t I see him talking to a redhead once on the street? He was trying to warn me not to say anything. Of course he was.
I’ve been such a fool, doubting Josh. He really was serious about me and now I’ve gone and fucked it all up. First by lying to him all this time, and then by trying to justify it by accusing him of being some kind of player. No wonder he didn’t want me at his dad’s party.
How I don’t get knocked down as I stumble home in the darkness I don’t know. There are no lights on these country lanes and whenever a car whizzes by at what seems like death-defying speed, I shrink into the hedgerows in case their headlights don’t pick me out. I’ve forgotten to charge my phone, so it isn’t long before it dies, and with it the torch function I’ve been relying on. The only good thing about having to blunder along, half blind, is that all my mental resources are focused on keeping myself at a safe distance between the dangerous part of the road and the ditch at the side.
But I’m exhausted from the effort and soon my focus disintegrates. All this time I’ve been trying to convince myself that I don’t care, that losing Josh isn’t the end of the world and that I’m better off on my own, but now that I’ve seen him there in the garden I know I’m just fooling myself, because I want him more than ever.
By the time I smell the aftershave, it’s too late. The footsteps are right behind me. My heart thuds painfully in my chest. I’ve been so consumed with self-pity I’ve pushed all thoughts of my stalker to the back of my mind. I’ve let my guard down, and in the worst possible place. I’m all alone in the middle of a country lane in the dark.
I brace myself for the thrust of a blade somewhere soft and unexpected. In the periphery of my vision I see a shadow, but when my eyes dart to the right it’s gone. I reach into my pocket for my house key, gripping it by my side like a small, sharp knife. It could be used as one. A jab in the face. In the eye.
My jaw clamps tight. My whole body stiffens. This has gone too far. I won’t be bullied like this. I won’t. I’ve got nothing to lose any more. Nobody gets to scare me like this. Nobody gets to send me fucking death notices and poke around my room and steal my things. Nobody gets to terrorize me on the street at night.
I spin round, still clutching the key. ‘What do you want with me?’
My voice slices into the night air, shrill with rage. It’s her, the girl in the puffa jacket. She freezes, like a startled deer. Her face is moon white, her eyes like dark saucers. She visibly shrinks under the glare of my gaze. Her hands, I now see, are empty. My breath returns.
I step forward to exploit my advantage, but she’s already rearranging the features of her face. There is a condensed fury about her that threatens to erupt at any second. My fingers tighten round the key.
‘Astrid Phelps.’ She spits my name out as if it’s the worst kind of insult.
I stand my ground. ‘Who are you? Why are you following me?’
She glares at me. ‘Because I have something to say to you.’
39
She’s smaller than I thought, but I have the impression that behind that little-girl façade are nerves of steel.
‘Well, get on with it, then.’ My voice sounds a hell of a lot braver than I feel.
‘I know all about you,’ she says. ‘The things you’ve done.’
I step back. So I’m finally face to face with the person who’s been tormenting me all this time, the person who knows things about my past that nobody else should know.
‘Who are you? Why did you go to the house? Why did you trick my mother into letting you in?’
She narrows her eyes. ‘We were going to get married, Simon and I. Did you know that? We were childhood sweethearts.’
I stare at her, my brain tying itself in knots, trying to process her words. This must be the girl who had a crush on him, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. The girl he finished with when he met me. She’s lying. She must be.
A small laugh explodes in my mouth. ‘Married? No, I don’t believe you. He only went out with you for a few weeks. You’re lying.’
She smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about the shape of her mouth. ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. He came back to me, when he gave up drinking. When you wouldn’t. I took him back.’
‘Took him back?’
‘Didn’t he ever tell you about me?’ She gives a bitter little laugh. ‘Of course he didn’t. You only knew him when he was drinking. He was a completely different person when he was sober. That’s when he contacted me again. We used to be an item back in the day, before you turned up.’
A car whips by and we shrink into the hedge as it passes.
‘Come on,’ she says, and before I can gather my thoughts I’m doing as she says and walking alongside her. How did I let this happen? How has she managed to reassert herself so fast, to take the upper hand?
‘He was doing so well,’ she says. ‘Until he met you again.’ Her voice is icy. Unforgiving. ‘You were a selfish, drunken bitch.’
I don’t say anything in my defence, because there’s nothing I can say. She’s right.
‘I knew who you were as soon as you answered his phone.’
I stop walking and stare at her. ‘What do you mean? I don’t remember anything about that.’ Except now that she’s said it I realize that I’ve had that memory before, seen the image of his phone vibrating in his shirt pocket. Did I really answer it?
There’s that bitter little laugh again. ‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? You were off your head. Who do you think called the ambulance? It took me ages to get any kind of address out of you.’ She pauses. ‘Not that it made any difference in the end.’
Tears spring to my eyes. I thought that calling the ambulance was the one good thing I managed to do in that whole sorry episode and now it turns out that I didn’t even do that.
‘If it was up to me, I’d have nothing whatsoever to do with you. I’m doing this for him. For Simon.’
‘What do you mean? Doing what? Simon’s dead.’
She stops and eases her arms through the straps of her rucksack. She puts it on the ground in front of her and crouches down to undo the buckle. At last she finds what she’s looking for and draws out a long brown envelope.
My knees begin to tremble. What else can she possibly taunt me with?
She straightens up and looks at me, the envelope still in her hand. There’s a strange, wistful expression on her face. ‘Can’t believe I’m finally handing this over. So many times I nearly tore it up, but something always stopped me. I guess it was the thought of him watching me from wherever he is and hating me for it.’
I stare at her, bewildered by the sudden change in her behaviour, her voice. Maybe it’s all some horrible trick to lull me into a false sense of security. Maybe this envelope she’s still clutching as if she can hardly bear to pass it over contains something so terrible I’ve wiped it from my memory.
‘Deep down, I knew he didn’t love me. Not the way he loved you.’
Her voice is so quiet I have to strain my ears to hear her.
‘I kept thinking he’d get over you and that he and I would … I don’t know, live happily ever after.’ She laughs, but it’s not the bitter little noise she made earlier. ‘Like that was ever going to happen.’
‘I don’t understand.’
She stuffs her things back in her rucksack and stands up with the envelope. She holds it out towards me and I see my name, the familiar slope of Simon’s handwriting. ‘Then you’d better read this.’
For a few seconds we’re each holding one end of the envelope. I can’t bring myself to take full possession of it and she can’t bring herself to release it. Eventually, her fingers loosen and the envelope is mine. My heart is racing. Can this really be a letter from Simon? A letter to me?
‘I think it’s what’s commonly known as a suicide note.’ She looks away. ‘I know I shouldn’t have opened it, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to stop reading after the first couple of paragraphs. It was too painful.’
She tilts her head back and sniffs.
‘I’ve been trying to give it to you for ages, but every time I came anywhere near you I changed my mind. I didn’t want you to read his lovely words. I was jealous of you, don’t you see? All I ever wanted was for Simon to love me the way he loved you.’ She sniffs again. ‘You were the one he was thinking of, right up to the end.’
I stare at her, open-mouthed, my mind still trying to catch up, to recalibrate. Is this what it all boils down to? All these weeks of wondering who the hell has been stalking and persecuting me like this, thinking I’m in real danger, thinking my own mother might be at risk. I feel like grabbing hold of the wretched girl by her collar and shaking her.
‘Is that why you’ve been trying to freak me out all this time? Because you were jealous?’
She pinches her lips together. An angry little frown puckers her forehead.
‘I wasn’t just jealous, I was angry with you. Furious. Still am, if you must know.’
She’s walking away from me now, striding off towards the main road. She’s picking up speed. No, she doesn’t get to walk away from me that easily. Not after everything she’s put me through. I’m the one who should be furious.
‘Laura, come back!’
She stops and turns, her face streaming with tears. She wipes them away with her fingers. Mascara streaks her cheeks. Even when it’s blotchy with tears, I can see that she has a beautiful face. High cheekbones and pale, almost translucent skin. She’s like a tiny porcelain doll. How could I ever have been scared of her?
‘So you told Mum the truth about your name, at least.’
She looks down at her feet. ‘I don’t really know why I went to your house. Maybe I was hoping I’d find some evidence that you didn’t deserve to have Simon’s letter. But when I saw your room, it looked so … empty and sad. I saw you were reading the Big Book and then I saw …’ She glances at me from the corner of her eye. ‘Then I saw the gold ball and I knew. I knew you still loved him.’
She reaches into her jacket pocket and takes it out, stares at it. ‘Here, have it back. I’ve got the other two at home. I shouldn’t have taken it.’
She fumbles around in her pocket for a tissue and blows her nose. She’s given up trying to wipe away her tears. Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m starting to feel sorry for her now. And I can hardly take the moral high ground, can I? Not after the things I’ve done.
‘Keep it,’ I tell her. ‘They belong together.’
She puts it back into her pocket. ‘If only I hadn’t let him go.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her shoulders sag. ‘When he gave me this letter to give to you, he told me there was something else he had to do. Something that would make everything all right.’ She gives me a helpless look. ‘I should have gone with him. I should never have let him go off on his own like that. It was too soon. If I’d had the slightest suspicion he was going to … to do what he did, I’d have told one of the nurses. I’d have made him stay in hospital.’
She stares at her feet. ‘He was so persuasive, though. So calm and determined. I had no idea.’
‘There’s nothing you could have done,’ I tell her. ‘When someone’s made the decision to end their life, they don’t usually talk about it.’
Laura looks up at me then. ‘I miss him so badly.’
‘So do I.’ My words come out all muffled because now I’m crying too. ‘And anyway, it’s my fault he started drinking again. My fault he died.’
She turns away. ‘I wanted to kill you when I found out what had happened.’ She faces me at last. ‘But I don’t feel like that any more. Not now I’ve met you.’
‘Tell me, Laura, why do you wear his aftershave?’ But even as I’m asking her the question I already know the answer.
‘It’s my way of kidding myself he’s still with me. I’d have looked after him, Astrid. I’d have stayed with him for ever.’
‘You couldn’t have stopped him, you know, even if you’d tried.’
She nods. ‘I know that really, but I still torture myself about it.’
We’ve reached the main road now. She looks at her watch. ‘The last train leaves soon. I’ve got to run.’
She races off, rucksack bumping against her back, her dark hair flying out in the wind.
‘Wait!’ I shout after her. ‘I’ll come with you.’
But she doesn’t slow down and after a few minutes trying to catch up with her, I stop, exhausted, and hang over my knees to get my breath back. It’s not as if the two of us are ever going to be friends, not after all that’s happened, so what’s the point? She’s done what she came here to do and now she’s gone.
She’s gone. After weeks of dread weighing me down like a heavy cloak, I feel lighter. As if I’ve finally come up for air. As I walk back to Mum’s cottage, my heartbeat returns to normal. I’m safe. At last.
My fingers curl round the envelope in my pocket. A letter from Simon. I’m going to need every single ounce of my strength if I’m to read his final words. How will I cope, hearing his voice in my head after all this time, as if he’s back from the dead after all?
There she is, letting herself into her mother’s house, like a sad little wraith. All alone in the dark with her guilt and her shame and her fragile sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, she’ll get another chance at love.
I’d laugh out loud if the very thought of her didn’t make me want to retch.
I think it’s about time I stopped fannying around with hate mail and bottles of vodka in her coat pocket, fun though it was. About time I stopped playing games. I’ve wasted enough time here as it is. The little bird is weak
ened now. It’s time for the cat to pounce.
Like I told you before, bitch, what goes around comes around. Some mistakes can’t be corrected. Some mistakes you have to pay for.
40
I close the front door behind me and go into the living room, curl up on the end of the sofa. But before I’ve even drawn the envelope from my pocket the craving starts. A delayed reaction to everything that’s happened since Mum left for her retreat. The implications of not being invited to the party. The confrontation with Laura. The words I’m about to read.
I draw my knees to my chest and hug them tight, rock backwards and forwards. I want a drink so badly I can barely breathe. All this time, I’ve been running scared and I’ve managed to keep it together, but now, now that I’m finally safe, I’m on the verge of throwing it all in.
I get as far as opening the flaps of the envelope and holding the edge of the folded paper between my forefinger and thumb when the feeling swells till it’s all there is. I focus on my breath. It’s fear, that’s all. Fear of the emotions I’ll experience when reading it. I might not have to worry about Laura and her nasty games any more, but my memories will always stalk me. The grief. The guilt. And now I’ve lost Josh too – the one person who might have saved me from the worst of myself.
I glance at the clock. The Co-op will be shut – it’s gone ten. But there’s a little Asian shop that sells food and wine, isn’t there? That might still be open.
No. It’s crazy to give in now.
Suddenly, I’m back on my feet and in the hall again. I’m just minutes from buying what I need. From pouring it down my throat and drowning out the noise in my head. Mum won’t be back till Sunday evening. I’ll have time to sort myself out by then. It’ll be just this once, to get me through tonight. She’ll never know. How am I supposed to read this letter without a drink inside me?
Now I’m opening the front door, going back out into the night. My feet move faster and faster. Slapping rhythmically against the pavement, they’ve got a life of their own. They’re not listening to that small voice of reason. The one that’s getting quieter by the minute. The one that’s fast losing the battle.