You Never Told Me

by Sarah Jasmon

  Charlie shook her head. ‘I’m good.’ The waitress ignored the directive, standing with her pad open, not quite making eye contact. She was going to wait until they decided. Charlie gave in. ‘I’ll have some tea.’ When she’d gone, Charlie turned back to Max, managing a smile, wondering how to start now the moment had come. It was just business, she reminded herself, and in both of their interests to get it sorted out.

  ‘I can’t stay long.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting to get to.’

  ‘OK.’ Charlie was a little taken aback. ‘We agreed you’d cover the mortgage payments while I was away.’ She waited for his nod. ‘Things have obviously shifted somewhat since then and, well, we need to decide how to take things from here.’ That was it, really. Ten years of being together, and it came down to a house and a dog. ‘We need to think about selling.’

  Max was looking down at his hands, not meeting her gaze. His fingers fidgeted with a napkin before tapping decisively on the tabletop. ‘The thing is, I want to keep the house.’ He still didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes directly. ‘I’ve been working it out, in fact. Taking into account the outstanding mortgage and the payments I’ve made over the past year, plus what it would cost in fees if there was a sale, that would mean paying you around twenty-five thousand. Finished. Done.’

  Charlie looked up in surprise. He had it all worked out, whilst she was still approaching it as an exploratory discussion. ‘OK,’ she replied, trying to juggle figures in her head. ‘What sort of valuation have you had done?’

  He breathed out impatiently, leaning forward with an unexpected air of confrontation. ‘I’m not trying to do you out of anything. I just want to get it sorted.’ He glared for a moment, then sank back. ‘I need to move on.’

  What did he think she expected, that she wanted him to stay where he was? Moving on was the whole point, it was why they were here. What did it have to do with asking a question and expecting a rational answer? ‘Look, why don’t you email me the figures and we’ll take it from there?’ A basic response, and surely the one he’d expected. She was stunned, then, by the force he used to push his chair back.

  ‘Fine, if that’s how you want to play it.’ The waitress had just arrived with a mug in one hand, teapot in the other. He stood up, knocking into the girl so that hot tea splashed onto Charlie’s hand. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ Charlie watched him walk out, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

  ‘You still want this, right?’ The waitress was standing there, seemingly uninterested in the scene.

  ‘Yes, sure.’ Charlie realized her hand was hurting and blew onto the reddening skin.

  The waitress put her cargo down. ‘I’ll get your milk.’

  She was back within seconds with the little jug, and a serviette filled with ice. ‘Thought this might help,’ she said, turning away before Charlie could answer. ‘Stick to your guns,’ she added, over her shoulder. ‘He’s out for what he can get, if you ask me.’

  TWELVE

  The tea was surprisingly good, hot and strong. Charlie took her time with it, eking out almost three mugs from the pot. Had she been unreasonable? But how could he expect her to agree blind, without even knowing the figures involved? That made no sense at all. And it didn’t feel exactly like Max, either. He was careful, never buying anything, however trivial, without double-checking quality, comparative costs, guarantees. Choosing the right fridge had taken weeks, and even then he’d sent the first one back after tracking the power usage over a twenty-four-hour period. That made her think of all the other joint purchases: furniture, television, car. She’d packed up her personal stuff before she left, an urgent impulse telling her to get it out, somewhere safe. Max had been emphatic, though. She had no need to worry, there was enough space, don’t make any final decisions. Presumably it was still there, the boxes stacked in their compromise position at the back of the garage.

  Every complication brought to mind another, the things she needed to consider swirling around, coming into focus, disappearing again. She rummaged in her bag for a pen and started to make a list on a spare napkin. If Max was going to be difficult, she needed to get herself organized. And the first thing was a trip to the nearest estate agent. As she left the café, she would have liked to have given the waitress an acknowledgement, some thanks for her brusque kindness. She’d disappeared again though, so Charlie left coins instead, hoping it would send the right message.

  In the first place she tried, the only agent was caught up in a long phone call. Charlie sat for nearly twenty minutes, waiting for a glance, a gesture that they would be with her any minute. At least it gave her time to sift through a pile of recent listings. She took the sheaf with her when she gave up and left. The second agent refused to speculate on possible prices without visiting the property. Charlie couldn’t even talk the woman into discussing houses in the same area of the town. In the third, however, she struck lucky. The young man behind the desk, Carl according to his name badge, was putting the phone down just as she walked in, and turned to her with a welcoming smile. An hour later, she was walking away with a clear picture of the local housing market, a list of options in dealing with joint mortgages, and an equally comprehensive list of possible pitfalls. Carl had echoed the previous agent in not committing to a valuation without a visit, but he’d taken her through all the recent sales in the area. It turned out that his sister had just been through a difficult divorce, and he was almost evangelical about how not to approach the problem. She wouldn’t listen to me, kept thinking her ex would be reasonable. He’d tapped the topmost leaflet on the desk between them. Your fella’s working on a figure that’s right at the bottom of the market. Even with all the variables, you’d be unlucky if this was all you got for it.

  As Charlie walked away, her mind was buzzing with plans for action. There was no way she was going to just fall in with whatever Max had planned out. Whatever else, this had to be fair. Without thinking, she had started walking in a direction that would, eventually, lead to her old home. She paused, weighing up time and effort and possibility. There was nothing she couldn’t put in an email, except that she’d have to go out and find a computer with internet. And why not go now, whilst it was all straight and clear in her head? That way, at least they’d both know where they were.

  It was weird, walking along her old road. Maybe it was because she was on the outside looking in, but she had the sense of things being invisibly altered. Like a spot-the-difference cartoon challenge. Different blinds at the Taylors’, a new car at number 73. The rain, which had tailed off earlier, was now coming down again with a gloomy determination. At least she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew. And here was the house, a neat red-brick semi with the bins out for the morning. Strange that it was, technically, still half hers. Max’s car was in the drive, so she wouldn’t have to hang about. Stupid idea, walking over in the rain without a coat or umbrella. She stopped by the driveway, almost ready to turn back. Then a figure appeared around the corner of the house next door. Mrs Crabbe, wheeling a bin almost as big as she was down towards her gate. Charlie watched her progress with resignation. She knew better than to offer to help, but she could make sure nothing went too badly wrong. The old lady made it to the pavement in one piece, however, positioning her bin with care and taking a final look under the lid before turning to Charlie.

  ‘You won’t have any luck there,’ she said, standing with her head to one side.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Crabbe. How are you keeping?’ The rain intensified, a blustery wind picking up to blast it against Charlie’s face. She wiped away the thin stream running down from her hairline. Her neighbour didn’t seem to notice. It was hard to tell if she was aware of Charlie’s recent absence, or even if she remembered her at all. She was regarding her with suspicion rather than acknowledgement.

  ‘So many young people in trouble in these places,’ she said, finally. ‘I tell my granddaughter she’s better off staying put. Poor Judith never liked the heat.’

  �
��Ah, yes. Well, we don’t have to worry about the heat here, do we?’ Maybe the weather would cut the conversation short. Charlie had never quite learned the trick of breaking away from one of Mrs Crabbe’s circular diatribes. She wiped her forehead again, slicking back the tails of wet hair that were now dripping water into her eyes. ‘I’d better get on. You don’t want to be outside in this much longer.’

  ‘That’s right, dearie. He’s not been the same since his mother died.’ Mrs Crabbe put her hand on the bin handle again, tipping it back and making a minute adjustment to its position.

  ‘Whose mother is that?’ The old lady was getting worse, her comments more random than Charlie remembered. There was no chance she was referring to Charlie, because Max was particularly good at avoiding conversation with any of their neighbours, particularly this one. Charlie felt a stab of responsibility. Mrs Crabbe didn’t have any family that Charlie had ever seen. Was there anyone looking out for her?

  The woman paused in her bin positioning, looking over her shoulder before shuffling forwards to take a hold of Charlie’s sleeve. ‘All I will say is that there’s no point coming here and expecting to get any money.’ This was said in a confidential tone. Up close, her skin was pouchy and grey. Charlie wanted to pull away but the woman carried on, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘If I was you, I’d cut my losses and save yourself the trouble.’ She nodded, giving Charlie’s arm what might be an encouraging shake. With the air of someone who has said their piece, she straightened up and made a move towards the driveway.

  ‘Thanks.’ It was like having a spirit consultation. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘That dog, though.’ The old lady came to a stop, her head trembling as if her neck were a coiled spring. Charlie’s skin prickled. ‘Barking and barking.’ The woman turned back to Charlie with the jerkiness of a marionette. ‘I told them, it’s against the licence, leaving them outside like that. Barking all day.’ She turned again, this time not stopping. Charlie could hear her muttering to herself as she went.

  A light came on in the downstairs window of the house. Charlie shifted. Should she go and knock, or leave it? It was the talk about dogs that made up her mind. The chances were Mrs Crabbe was talking about another dog entirely, probably from a long-distant decade past. Even so, she wouldn’t rest easy until she’d checked.

  She stood inside the porch, shivering in her wet clothes. There was no answer to her first ring, and she was just about to try again when the inner door opened a crack. A waft of floral perfume washed past, along with a billow of centrally heated air.

  ‘Yes?’ The voice was unfamiliar, and Charlie had a sudden thought that Max might have sold the house behind her back. But that was definitely his car outside. Surely he wouldn’t have sold that as part of the exchange? Then she heard a flurry of excited barks and the sound of paws skidding along the wooden floor. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, will you just shut up!’ As Charlie was processing the fact of a strange woman in Max’s house, undercut with the thrill of Bella recognizing her just from some sense of smell or presence, the woman stuck out a foot. She shoved at Bella’s small form with a brisk movement, almost a kick. ‘Get back in there, you little—’ With a lithe movement, she sidled through the narrow opening and pulled the door behind her. Holding it closed, she turned back to Charlie. She was tiny, barely coming up to Charlie’s shoulder, and dressed in exercise leggings and a crop top. There was no way she could be more than, what, twenty? ‘Sodding dog, never shuts up. It’s supposed to live outside, but I said all right, just this once, because of the rain.’ She shook her head, inviting Charlie’s sympathy. ‘Were you wanting to find out about the Pilates?’ She waited for a response, then pecked forwards, her head at an enquiring angle. ‘Sorry, who did you say you were again?’ After waiting for another moment, she tapped one finger against a card stuck to the porch window and raised her voice, as if Charlie was too stupid to have heard her. ‘No cold callers,’ she said, and made to close the outer door on her.

  ‘Oh, I’m not selling.’ Charlie was shaking with anger, barely able to control her voice to get the words out. ‘And that’s my dog, and she doesn’t live outside.’

  The girl drew back so that she was practically flat against the inside door. ‘You must be Charlie.’ She made the name sound like a disease. ‘I think you should leave.’

  ‘Not before I talk to Max.’ Charlie nodded towards the door.

  ‘He’s got nothing to say. He told you what we decided.’

  ‘Oh, what you decided? And what makes you think it’s your decision?’ Charlie moved a step closer. From inside the house, she could hear Bella whining and scratching.

  ‘Uh, the fact that you walked out and left Max paying for it all?’ Charlie barely heard the words, even though the girl’s voice was rising. ‘Because it wasn’t good enough for you then, was it? Even with your precious dog. Left that behind quick enough when it suited you. And now you want to kick us out because it suits you. Let me tell you something—’

  There were footsteps coming up the path and then Max was there, blocking her in, interrupting whatever words had been about to fall. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ He was looking at Charlie. His shoulders were hunched against the rain, and he was holding a plastic bag giving off the smell of Indian spices. Max, who had to be persuaded into buying chips on a day out to the coast.

  ‘Anything else you forgot to tell me?’ She was finding it difficult to breathe, adrenaline flooding her skin in an almost painful wave. ‘Because—’

  Behind her, the other woman’s voice was breaking in, shrill with accusation. ‘She was threatening me, Max, she—’

  ‘Zoe, go in.’ He squeezed past Charlie and held out the bag. ‘And take this.’ He herded the girl back inside the house. Charlie caught a glimpse of Bella trying to get out, then the door banged shut. Max leaned against it, his face weary. ‘What do you want, Charlie?’

  ‘I want my dog.’ Charlie slumped against the side of the porch, nearly knocking over a bowl of miniature daffodils. ‘Which is more than your new girlfriend does.’

  ‘Bella’s fine.’

  ‘Really? Left outside all day so the neighbours complain?’ Charlie shook her head. Her rage was making her feel very close to tears, but she wasn’t going to cry. Not for this.

  ‘Mrs Crabbe?’ Max gave a humourless laugh. ‘And you’re going to listen to her over reason?’

  ‘Your girlfriend,’ Charlie responded, unable to stop herself from giving the word a heavy emphasis, ‘said, and I quote, “the sodding dog’s supposed to live outside”. Since when has that been fine?’

  ‘Zoe exaggerates,’ Max said, shaking his head with his familiar show of impatience. ‘She just doesn’t like Bella on the furniture. She’s got a perfectly comfortable bed in the utility room.’

  ‘I want her back,’ Charlie repeated. She thought of Bella snuggled up against her on the sofa, could almost feel the warmth of the skin beneath her shaggy coat. The thought of her kept on hard floors with no cuddles … She should never have left her.

  Max was replying. ‘This isn’t the time to discuss it.’ She was aware of him putting his key into the lock, signalling an end to the conversation.

  ‘Oh, and when is?’ She stood upright again, a hand out to stop the door opening. ‘Because I’m ready now. And we can discuss your ridiculously low estimate of this place at the same time.’

  ‘Really? You want to talk it over in the porch, when you’re soaked to the skin?’ Max sighed, his face drawn in planes of dark and light by the orange glow of the street lights. He looked exhausted. ‘Look, I’m sorry it happened like this.’ He tilted his head towards the house. ‘It’s not quite how it looks.’

  One of those odd shifts happened, something she’d experienced occasionally in the weeks after her decision to leave. The emotional temperature suddenly levelled, and Charlie saw him again as Max, the person who had been closest to her for years. Distant now, maybe, but still the same person. ‘I don’t know how you think i
t looks,’ she said, the surreal sense of calm removing them into a kind of parallel universe. ‘I mean it, though. I don’t want my dog living with someone who doesn’t want her. And don’t tell me it’s my own fault for going.’ She shivered. ‘You can’t just give me a price and expect me to agree. That’s not how it works, and you know it.’

  Max’s mouth tightened, but then he nodded. ‘So email me, Charlie. Don’t turn up on my doorstep.’

  She let the ‘my doorstep’ go as they stood for a moment, not quite exchanging glances. As she walked away, Charlie could sense Max watching her down the path. Whether it was with any degree of sadness or just to make sure she’d gone, she couldn’t tell. She paused as she reached the pavement.

  ‘I mean it. I want Bella.’

  She didn’t wait to hear his response, if he even gave one. It was still raining, if less violently than before, and she headed back to the station weighed down by her wet clothes, and something more.

  It was properly dark by the time she got back to the marina, her head thumping and her heart sore with longing. Bella’s frantic yelps had followed her to the train, had rung out again with every step from the station, and Charlie was still going through each moment over and over. She should have forced her way in, forced Max to hand her over. The walkway was slippery, her feet uncertain. She was afraid of finding that something had happened whilst she was gone, that she’d get to the water and find Skíðblaðnir lost beneath the surface. The boards swayed beneath her feet as she made her way along, with surely more movement than usual. Most of the boats were still and silent, but she spotted a few portholes glowing with yellow light, caught a whiff of smoke from a wood-burner. It made the area feel homely, welcoming. And there was Skíðblaðnir, waiting for her, still afloat. That was something, anyway.