“Here, eat these.” There’s a rustle of paper as Jam reaches into her dinky knapsack and pulls out a bag, setting it on my lap.
I peer inside, although I can already smell the sugar. Six doughnuts. “Are you kidding me?”
“Just do it,” she says, reaching for one, taking a bite, raspberry dripping onto her jeans. “Woops.”
I smile, my skin tight. It’s colder today, the first time it’s felt like autumn. I dug out my puffy jacket from Will’s wardrobe, running in and out of his room before I could get sad. Behind us, distant church bells ring, calling the congregation. I’m half-tempted to join them. I have a lot to pray about.
“So what did you want to tell me?”
I open my mouth, hesitating. “I…don’t know where to begin,” I say, doughnut on my lap, untouched.
“Just pick a place, any place. I’m a fast learner.”
She is, but I don’t want to blurt this out. For a start, I haven’t made sense of it myself. But, if I’m really honest, I’m scared of my part in it. Because I don’t know what that is.
Right on cue, a rollerblader hurtles down the lane beside us, swooping past our bench, before wheeling along the promenade, her hair flailing. “Jeez, she scared me!” I say, clutching my heart.
Jam glances at me. “What’s got into you? Come on—eat your doughnut. Sugar’s good for nerves.”
I’m not sure that that’s a fact. But I nibble it, licking sugar from my lips. “It’ll sound crazy.”
“Try me,” Jam says, reaching into a paper bag, pulling out two Styrofoam cups, handing one to me.
I pry off the lid, puckering my lips to drink the foamy coffee. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Yeah, you do.”
We don’t speak for a while, Jam’s hand on my knee, sugar all over the bench. “Okay, time’s up. You have to tell me now or I’m leaving.”
I turn to look at her, wondering how much I can say. I can trust her with my life. It’s just that I don’t trust myself—what I said or did that night that caused Ellis to play some kind of sick game.
She sighs heavily. “Look, if it’s Fred, then bring it on. Let him do his worst.”
“You mean, risk losing the house?”
She nods, running her tongue over the front of her teeth. “It’s just a house. It didn’t bring you much luck, when you think about it. It’s not worth making yourself ill over.”
I give a little sniff, staring out to sea.
It’s not just a house though. She knows that.
“Have you thought any more about contacting a lawyer? That one in town’s supposed to be good—great at getting a fair deal for women. Gina at work used her and got the dog too.”
“Maybe,” I reply, pushing my free hand into my pocket to keep warm. “But not yet.”
“Because…?” Her eyebrows zigzag in concern. “You’re not backing down, are you? I thought this is what you wanted and—”
“No, it isn’t. I wanted to take my time and think about how it would affect Alice and Will, and Monique and—”
“And what, the kitchen sink?” She frowns more deeply, pointing her coffee at me. “This is about you—what you want. Because while it’s nice to consider the kids—” she holds her hands out on either side of her “—I don’t see them here right now. You’re alone, in your marriage alone, and it’s about what you alone want. Get it?”
That sounds like a lot of alone to me.
“So what’s the plan?” she asks, swinging her foot up and down.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Well, you need to get on that!” She shivers, doing up the zip on her jacket, slipping her arm in mine. “Look, what’s going on, hey? Why did you text me last night?”
I gaze at her, at her soft brown eyes. I want to tell her so badly. Pulling up the string of messages on my phone, I hand it to her.
“What am I looking at?” she asks.
“Anonymous texts…threats.”
“They don’t seem all that threatening to me. Is this why—?”
“I think I’m being followed.”
“What?” She hands me back my phone, brushing sugar from her coat. “Who by?”
“Some young woman…I met her after you left Rumors last week. She came up to me, started talking and I don’t know if my drinks were spiked or if the Viagras were too strong, but I ended up saying some stuff…”
She gazes at me, eyes large, unblinking. Will used to look like that when I read him adventure stories at bedtime. “What stuff?”
“I don’t know, but I think I said I’d be better off if Fred were…” I look out to sea.
“What?”
I can barely say it.
“Dead.”
There’s a pause and then she laughs, throwing back her head. “So? You don’t think I’ve planned Nate’s death before? It’s a running joke at work.”
“Really?” I say, looking at her doubtfully. “That’s pretty twisted.”
“No, it’s called a sense of humor in a long-term marriage.”
“Well, this didn’t feel jokey. It felt…dangerous.”
Her eyes narrow, smile vanishing. “Why?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, you should have seen her, Jam. She was stunning—said she worked in fitness. But there was obviously something else going on. She offered to be a honey trap because I told her I wanted to keep the house and—”
“Wait.” She jumps up, knocking over her empty coffee cup, staring down at me. “You told some little GD your husband’s available and your house is worth fighting over? Are you for real?”
I look up at her, her hair glowing in the sunshine, a halo behind her head.
“Next you’ll be telling me you said he’s a catch and…” She trails off, stares at me. “You didn’t, Gabby.”
I look at my feet, old sneakers, ruined by sea and sand. “I don’t remember.”
She sits back down, setting her hand on my knee. “Are you running a dating app that I don’t know about? Is this Tinder?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“So does she know where you live? Did you give her any personal details?”
I shuffle my feet. “Not sure. But I think she’s watching the house.”
“So she knows where you live!” She looks at me in amazement. “This could be a scam, Gabby! You need to remember what you told her and fast!”
“You think I don’t know that?” I sink my nails into the Styrofoam cup, feeling them catch, leaving spiky marks. “I’m scared, Jam. I don’t know what happened that night. I’m missing bits. What if I did something terrible?”
“Like what? You’ve done nothing wrong. I know you, Gabs.”
This makes me feel worse—her complete trust in me. Because I’m really not so sure.
“Look,” she says, softening her voice, “I think you need to go to the police, show them those texts. They’ll be able to trace them. And if she’s following you, then—”
“I don’t know for certain that it’s her. She gave me her phone number when we met and although I deleted it, I went back through my call history and these numbers don’t match.”
She shakes her head. “That doesn’t mean anything. It could be a burner phone—a cheapie that she’s using and then she’ll throw it away.”
“But I don’t even know if she’s really following me. Everything’s been so strange, I’m not sure what I’m imagining and what’s real.”
She picks up my phone, waves it. “This is real though. You have evidence here.”
“But like you said—they might not be threats. Maybe I’m being paranoid.” I take the phone, return it to my pocket. “What if I did something that night that she knows about? What if I implicate myself by going to the police?”
She laughs. “Now you’re just talking rubbish. The only safe thing to do is report this.”
“Well, I guess I’m going to have to take a risk then, Jam, because I’m not doing that.”
“And that’s your call to make. But don’t come crying to me when it all goes tits up.” She folds her arms, conversation closed.
We’re not arguing. This is what we do. We’ve always told each other the truth. It’s just that lately that’s become impossible for me because I don’t know what the truth is anymore.
I gaze at the sea, my nose running. I pull a tissue from my winter coat; it smells faintly of mints. I miss the woman who put that tissue there. Her daughter was at home, and her husband wasn’t being a rat. Or if he was, she didn’t know about it.
“I’m going to lose my home, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, probably.” She pats my arm. “But it’ll be okay. And I didn’t really mean that: you can come crying to me if you want.”
We stay there for about an hour, talking about everything, nothing. When we’re ready to leave, we collect the coffee cartons, sweep sugar from the bench.
As we leave, I try not to look over my shoulder for her, but can’t help myself. “That’s why you’ve been jumpy, isn’t it?” Jam says. “Because of her.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that in itself should tell you everything.”
I tug her arm for her to stop, gazing into her eyes. “What do you mean?”
She clutches my hand, shaking it as she speaks. “I’ve known you for thirty years, Gabs. And while you’re homely and soft as mashed potatoes, I’ve never seen you scared of anyone. You’re tougher than you think.” She starts walking slowly, kicking the sand. “So if this woman’s frightening you? Then I say you’ve got good reason.”
We don’t speak again, not until we part ways. She hugs me lightly and I know she’s worried about me. The thing is I am too.