by C. L. Taylor
up with Dad’s shit it doesn’t mean I have to do the same. If
Adam’s out of order, I tell him. That’s why we row, because,
unlike you, I’m not afraid to speak up.’
The ferocity of her daughter’s accusation hits Alice in the
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chest like a cannonball and she recoils, one hand pressed between her breasts. Is that what her daughter really thinks of her? That she’s a doormat? That Peter cheated on her because she didn’t
speak up? She stares at Emily, her gaze flicking from her hard blue eyes to the tight line of her lips. She did everything in her power to give her daughter a happy, stable upbringing. She
worked a part-time job so they could walk to school together
every morning and back home at a quarter past three. She gave
up her own little pleasures – weekly nights out with the girls, good quality make-up and getting her hair dyed professionally
– to ensure that Emily could have violin lessons, go to ballet and learn how to swim. She read her a story every night, cooked her fresh food and told her she loved her and was proud of her at every available opportunity. She did everything she could to win at parenting but it wasn’t enough, she’s still failed.
‘Mum,’ Emily says as Alice stands, smooths out the creases
in her skirt and walks out of the bedroom. ‘Mum, I’m sorry.
Mum! Say something. I’m sorry, Mum.’
Simon smiles and raises a hand in greeting as Alice crosses the busy Indian restaurant.
‘Sorry,’ she says as she draws close enough for him to hear
her through the babble of conversation and the clatter of pots and pans drifting through from the kitchen. ‘I couldn’t find a parking space.’
She had meant to order a taxi so she could drink but after
her argument with Emily she grabbed her coat, bag and car keys and walked straight out of the house. Hot, angry tears pricked at her eyes as she started the engine of her ten-year-old Golf.
There was no way she was going to turn up to her date with
smudged eye make-up and a red nose so she pushed the conver-
sation to the back of her mind and instead ran through everything she had to do at work the next day.
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‘No worries at all,’ Simon says, half-rising from his seat as
she pulls back her chair. ‘I’m just glad that you’re here.’
As he looks at her, his eyes as warm and welcoming as his
smile, Alice feels her shoulders relax, just the tiniest bit. And as she sits down at the table and reaches for the menu a voice in the back of her head says, Oh fuck off, Emily. What do you
know?
‘So,’ she says, looking at him over the menu, ‘what was that
all about earlier?’
Simon frowns.
‘The woman,’ Alice clarifies. ‘In Costa.’
‘Oh.’ He sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his
hair. ‘Dunno. Mistaken identity, I guess.’
‘Really? She seemed pretty sure that she knew you.’
‘Well I didn’t know her.’ He laughs tightly. ‘What can I say?
I must have one of those faces.’
‘You looked freaked out.’
‘Wouldn’t you if someone leapt out at you?’
Alice studies his face. She barely knows the man, but she can’t shake the feeling there’s something he’s not telling her. There’s an undercurrent of unease beneath his denial but she’s not going to push it. Maybe he feels embarrassed for jumping the way he
did, or for the fact he shepherded her out of Costa at speed. He didn’t say a word to her as they left the coffee shop. He just raised a hand and said, ‘I’ll text you about dinner.’ And then he was off. He didn’t look back until he reached the escalator, but then his gaze rested on the door to Costa and not on her.
‘So,’ Simon says. ‘Have you decided what you’re having yet?’
‘Lamb bhuna I think.’
‘Good choice. You know my dad once had an accident eating
a curry?’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. He slipped into a korma.’
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Alice laughs and the awkwardness she’s been feeling slips
away. Simon keeps up the terrible curry jokes for another few
minutes, then they slip into comfortable conversation, one topic morphing easily into the next. They laugh, a lot and by the time Alice’s lamb bhuna is placed in front of her, her cheeks are
hurting from smiling so much.
‘So,’ she asks, as she stabs her fork into a hunk of meat, ‘you still haven’t told me what you do for a living.’
Simon dabs at his mouth with his napkin. ‘Haven’t I? That’s
because it’s not very interesting.’
‘Well, I’m interested. Go on, tell me. I won’t judge. Or yawn.’
Simon laughs. ‘I just, um . . .’ His gaze flicks away from her, to the door of the restaurant as the bell chimes and an older
couple walk in. ‘I . . . it’s really very boring. Just insurance . . .
stuff.’
Alice fakes a yawn, her eyes on Simon, waiting for a laugh.
When it doesn’t come she says, ‘Sorry, I’m being rude. What
kind of insurance?’
‘Just, um . . . financial, for companies, institutions. Like I said, really very boring.’ He swipes a hand dismissively through the air. It’s the third or fourth time Alice has noticed him do that and it’s always when she asks him something he doesn’t want
to answer.
She takes the hint. ‘Okay, so, where do you live?’
He runs a hand over the back of his neck, his eyes still on
the door. Alice turns her head to look but it’s closed. No one’s just come in.
‘St George’s,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a little three-bed house.’
She starts to tell him that she lives in a two-bedroom flat
in Kingswood with her daughter Emily, then realises she’s
already told him that. She shifts in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable. Simon definitely struggles with direct questions. He can riff for ages about books and films, holidays and politics, 89
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but whenever she broaches anything remotely personal he clams
up.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, sure.’ His smile returns. ‘I’m having a really good night.
You?’
‘Yeah,’ she says, but there’s an invisible question mark that
hangs in the air.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
I need to know what you’re hiding, she thinks but doesn’t say.
‘Have you ever been in prison?’ It feels unlikely but it might explain why he’s so reticent about talking about himself.
Simon laughs – a loud, incredulous bark. ‘What? No! Of
course not.’
Alice changes tack. Why else would someone warn her off
him?
‘Have you ever cheated on anyone?’ she asks.
This time his answer isn’t quite so immediate and his gaze
drops to the table. ‘No. Unless you count a kiss. I was a student, my girlfriend was back in our hometown and I got drunk at a
house party. Actually that is cheating, isn’t it? So yes, but it was a long time ago.’ There’s a pause, then, ‘Anything else? I’ve got the feeling you’ve got a checklist hidden away under the tabl
e and you’re working your way through. Do you need my shoe
size too? They’re massive by the way.’ The edges of his mouth
lift into a smile.
Alice smiles too but it doesn’t reach all the way to her eyes.
He thinks she’s a weirdo, bombarding him with questions, and
she can’t say she blames him. She is being unusually full-on.
She’s going to have to mention it, isn’t she? The Facebook
message that warned her not to trust him. She was convinced
that Michael was behind it but the reaction of the woman in
Costa made her rethink that theory. How would Michael know
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Simon’s name? As far as she knows, Simon didn’t stop to check
on Michael; he picked up her purse and ran after her, following her all the way to the Meads. And she’s watched enough episodes of Line of Duty to know that offenders aren’t told the name of witnesses by the police.
‘Simon,’ she says cautiously, ‘can you think of anyone who’d
want to put me off you?’
‘Weird question.’
‘I know.’ She raises her eyebrows to let him know she’d still
like an answer.
He reaches for his beer and takes a sip, his eyes not meeting
hers. Alice waits, fighting the urge to fill the silence with an apology or an explanation. Simon takes another sip, longer this time, then sets his glass down on the table.
‘No, not really. Although my ex-girlfriend isn’t my biggest fan.
I’m not going to call Flora a psycho because the sort of men
who call their exes that are normally pretty dodgy themselves
but . . . well, let’s just say that relationship didn’t end well.’
‘In what way?’
‘We were engaged, six months away from getting married. The
venue had been booked, the dress had been bought, invitations
had been sent out, the whole lot. And I, um . . . I called it off.’
‘You cancelled the wedding?’
‘I ended the relationship. She was a lovely girl, woman,’ he
corrects himself quickly, ‘the best. But I knew it wasn’t right.
Spending the rest of our lives together would have been a
mistake.’
‘I’m guessing she didn’t take it well?’
He laughs ruefully. ‘You could say that. I’d been feeling that things weren’t right for a while but I put off saying anything. I thought they might sort themselves out but they . . . um . . .
they didn’t . . . and when I went to the fitting for my suit I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even put it on. Anyway, God . . .’ he 91
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runs his hands over his face and sighs heavily ‘. . . why are we even talking about this?’
‘Look at this.’ Alice pushes her mobile across the table towards him.
Simon picks it up and looks at the screen. His eyes flick from left to right as he reads the Facebook message from Ann Friend.
‘Who is this?’ He looks at her, her phone still in his hand.
‘I don’t know. I thought it might be Michael, the man from
the pub, but there’s no way he could know your name unless . . .
unless you told him?’
‘No.’ Simon shakes his head. ‘I didn’t speak to the guy.’ He
reaches into his jacket and pulls out his own mobile. He checks it, then puts it back in his pocket.
‘Don’t you think it’s creepy?’ Alice asks.
There’s that look again, blankness behind the impenetrable
grey of his irises. ‘A bit. I’d ignore it if I were you. If you’ll excuse me.’ He gets up. ‘I just need to make a quick call.’
‘Sure.’
Weird , Alice thinks as Simon leaves the restaurant with his phone in his hand, suddenly having to make a phone call after
she showed him the message. Should she ask him who he was
speaking to when he comes back or would that look too obses-
sive? No, she decides as she reaches for her glass, better to say nothing and see what he says. As she takes a sip of water her
phone vibrates on the table. It’s a text from Emily.
I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to insult you. I hope you’re having fun with Simon. You deserve to be happy. SORRY, SORRY, SORRY. I LOVE YOU. Xx
Alice smiles as she taps out a reply:
I love you too. You mean the world to me. xx
As she sits back in her chair she looks longingly at Simon’s
pint glass. Maybe she should ask the waiter for a small glass of red. She’d still be under the limit and it would take the edge off 92
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her nerves. As she raises her hand to attract a waiter’s attention her phone bleeps again.
Hello! How’s your night in with Emily going? There’s sod all on the telly. Anything good on Netflix?
Lynne. Shit. She’d completely forgotten about the lie she’d told to get out of going to the cinema. She loves Lynne to bits but sometimes hanging out with her can be exhausting; their conversations go round in circles – picking over old relationships, gossiping about the staff in the other shops, gossiping about the staff in their own shop (although Alice tries very hard not to), and discussing various health woes. It’s good to have a bit of time apart every now and then. But she should have been honest with her.
I’m such a dick, she thinks as she taps out a text:
Actually, I’m having dinner with Simon. It was a last minute thing. She cringes at the lie then continues, It’s not going well.
I don’t think there will be a second date. Cinema tomorrow night instead? You can choose. xx
She presses send before she can second-guess herself then
glances up as the bell at the front door tinkles and someone
walks in. It’s Simon, all ruffled blonde hair and broad shoulders but with the stooped posture of a man who feels uncomfortable
with his height.
Alice’s phone bleeps with a reply from Lynne.
No way, how exciting! Sorry it’s not going well though. Give me the goss tomorrow. Yes definitely to cinema. x
‘You’re still here,’ Simon says, as he shuffles, rather than
strides, up to Alice. He doesn’t sit down. Instead he hovers beside the table, unsure, his hands in his pockets.
‘Of course I am.’ She turns her body towards him. ‘Why would
I leave?’
Alice walks through the dark streets of Bristol, her arm looped through Simon’s. There’s something about the way her arm fits
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into the crook of his and the light pressure of her coat sleeve on his that feels right, even if she has to take two steps for each one of his. The mood lightened after Simon returned from making his phone call. Alice pushed Ann Friend’s message to the back
of her brain and she and Simon both laughed a lot over dessert.
After he paid for dinner he said he’d walk her back to her car.
It wouldn’t be right, he said, letting her navigate the back streets of Bristol alone, not when it was so late. In any other circumstances she would have laughed and said she was perfectly
capable of finding her car alone but she was touched by the
gesture and besides, it would make the date last that little bit longer. And perhaps there would be a second date after all.
As they pass the NCP car park, Simon makes a soft little
snort of disapprov
al. ‘Full. Still. At nearly 11 p.m. on a Tuesday night. Honestly, the council really needs to sort out the parking situation. Not to mention the bloody roadworks.’
‘I know,’ Alice says, then, with nothing more to add to the
discussion, adds, ‘we’re not far away now. I’m just round this corner.’
As they turn the corner into the dark alleyway, her heart
flutters a little. Will he kiss her goodnight at the car? It must be at least twenty years since—
Simon sighs heavily. ‘Yours isn’t the white Golf is it?’
‘Yes. Why?’ Alice peers into the gloom and immediately spots
the issue. A parking ticket, inside a clear plastic sleeve, tucked under the windscreen wiper. She swears under her breath, then
unhooks her arm from Simon’s and stalks up to the parking
sign on the opposite side of the narrow street.
‘It says here that parking is free after . . . oh.’ She closes her eyes in frustration and inhales sharply through her nose. In her desperation to get to the restaurant as quickly as possible she’d only glanced at the sign, seeing what she wanted to see and not what it actually said.
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‘Alice,’ Simon calls out. There’s a note of urgency in the way he says her name. ‘You need to look at this.’
She glances across the street, to the last place she saw him,
a few feet from her car. But he’s not there.
‘Simon?’ She looks towards the end of the alley and the traffic rushing past. There’s no one in the other direction either. There are no shops open for him to have slipped into, no pub doorways for him to shelter in. He’s completely disappeared.
‘Simon!’ She heads back towards the main street but a flash
of light somewhere between her car and the wall makes her
pause. She turns, waiting for it to happen again, then squeaks in surprise as Simon pops up from behind the car. He’s got his mobile in his hand, the light from the torch app flashing across the alleyway.
‘Alice.’ He beckons her over.
‘What is it?’ she asks as she draws closer, but Simon doesn’t
answer. Instead he crouches down and slowly sweeps the light
of his phone across the driver-side door.
It takes her a couple of seconds to make sense of the jagged
scratches in the paintwork but the longer she looks, the clearer it becomes. Three words.