Fear and excitement swell as I consider who it might be. Andrew? Damien Treadstone? Thoughts of the graveyard come to mind, DS Gray’s doubts and suspicions. But I have this gut instinct that the voice belongs neither to Andrew nor Treadstone. It is old, frail. It doesn’t sound like the voice that came at me through the mist.
‘Chloe,’ it says again. ‘Are you there?’ More knocking. I motion for Guy to open the door.
Before us stands an old man, the weight of his hunched body balanced on a metal stick with four plastic feet. If it had been a wooden cane, all crooked and gnarled, he could almost be a caricature from a fairy tale. His hair is grey, swept back from his face in a deep comb-over. The wind has worked several wisps loose and they trouble at his mouth and eyes. In his other hand he’s holding a red umbrella, a pattern of little birds flying across the surface. I remember him immediately.
‘Cecil,’ I say, but it sounds like a question. ‘Cecil,’ I say again, more confident this time. I step forward and my response is enough to relax Guy, who until that point has been standing at the door like a nightclub bouncer, blocking the man’s path.
‘It’s good to see you, my dear,’ he says as he steps past Guy, giving him a nudge with the end of his stick so that he moves out of the way. He glances towards the damaged lock and the fragments of wood but makes no comment as he moves towards me. ‘I heard you up and down on the staircase. Recognised your voice.’ He’s in front of me now, reaching out with a frail hand. ‘Your father told me about the accident. I’m so very sorry, Chloe.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, surprised, part of me wondering what exactly he knows. Does he think Andrew is dead? Has Andrew been here recently at all?
Cecil motions for me to move into the living room, and I step through, my mind racing. I hear footsteps following, the thud of the stick and the shuffle of cautious feet on the floor. Guy is trailing behind; by the time he arrives in the living room, Cecil is already sitting next to me on the edge of the tartan couch.
‘It’s been quiet here without you.’ The old man brushes the rain from his shoulders as if it’s dandruff. It splashes against the floor, glimmering on the polished wooden slats. I remember Andrew varnishing them right after we first moved in, a brief glimpse of a memory of good times. ‘I’ve missed you being around. When will you be coming back?’
Unconsciously I bring my hand up to my hair. Cecil’s gaze follows the movement, noticing the dressing on my head, my shrunken, suffering frame. I know I still look a mess, but it isn’t that that bothers me. I’m more concerned that he will somehow realise that something has happened between me and Guy. I’m aware of the tingling of my skin, the red blush perhaps where his stubble grazed against my cheek.
‘I’m not sure yet. My father thinks it best if I stay with them for a while.’
He nods. ‘Well, that does sound sensible.’ He takes a second glance at the dressing. ‘He told me about the knock you took. With something like that you really don’t want to rush things. When Alice slipped and broke her hip, she bumped her head and I couldn’t make sense of her for days afterwards.’
Alice? His wife? I don’t want to let on that I can’t really remember her, so I carry on as if I am sure. ‘That was a few years back, wasn’t it?’ I guess.
‘Indeed it was.’ He looks away, down towards his ring finger, on which he wears a dull and scratched band. It’s loose, spinning as he touches it. Where is my wedding ring now? I wonder. ‘Always thought I’d be the first to go, God bless her.’ He closes his eyes a moment, lost in the memory. ‘Not that we didn’t have a long life together to be grateful for. Eighty-three was a grand age, and more than our dear Lord blessed upon your boys.’
My boys? The use of the plural gives rise to a degree of suspicion; I’m sure in that moment that my father has told Cecil that Andrew is dead. If that’s the case, it would be impossible for him to have been back here since the crash.
‘God rest their souls, I’ve been praying for them, Chloe, and for you too.’ Cecil shakes his head, memories of loved ones brought simmering to the surface. He fiddles a small crucifix out from inside his jumper and gives it a light kiss. Then he opens his eyes from a place of quiet contemplation and turns to take a look at Guy. ‘And who might you be?’ he asks, his tone shifting, harsher and less friendly.
Guy appears anxious, fidgety. He nibbles on the edge of his index finger. ‘I’m a friend of Chloe’s, and one of her father’s colleagues.’ He smiles, but somehow it manages to seem forced and awkward. He leans against the wall, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I assume after all the talk of my husband and child that he must be feeling guilty about what we almost did upstairs. I feel awful, and so stupid. I’m supposed to be here mourning my child, searching for my husband, and in a moment of desperation I ended up kissing the man who had offered to help.
It seems to take forever for Cecil to avert his gaze. But eventually he does, turning back to me. ‘I think staying with your family is a good plan. Your father did tell me that that’s where you were when he was here last week.’ I exchange a glance with Guy, both of us realising that it must have been my father who cleared the house. Really, who else would it have been? Cecil brings a hand up to his head as if he’s confused. ‘I guess it could have been a couple of weeks ago now. With you not being out on your daily milk run, I’ve lost track of the days. I really have missed your afternoon visits.’ He smiles at me, strokes the back of my hand.
A multitude of memories concerning my old routine are still missing. But now as I think about what Cecil said, I think I can recall dropping by his house every day, delivering him a pint of milk if he needed it.
‘After getting home with Joshua, right?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
It feels good to know I was connected to Cecil in this way, something kind and neighbourly, an effort to help somebody in need. Perhaps it was because he was old and infirm. Maybe because I knew he was lonely. But I don’t really believe it was only for those reasons. Instead I am sure I used to go there because I was lonely. We had both lost our spouses, even if it was in different ways. I think I used to go there because he understood me.
‘Is there anything else you can tell me about my old routine?’ I ask. He waits for me to elaborate, his eyes narrowing a little, a deep crease forming between his eyes. ‘It’s just that I can’t remember all that much, Cecil. Anything you can tell me would be a great help. Like things I used to do, places I used to go. Perhaps people I used to talk about.’
He rubs one of his arthritic hands against his chin. Guy sits down on the arm of a chair, crosses one leg over the other. ‘To be honest with you, Chloe,’ Cecil says, ‘you were quite a private person. You didn’t seem to have many friends, but there was this one girl you talked to a lot. Her name was Sara, I think. You used to speak to her every day.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I think she worked with you.’
I can’t remember anybody called Sara, but if she used to work with me, she should be easy to find. If she really was such a good friend, maybe she will know where I can find Andrew, how I was feeling before the crash.
I stand up purposefully. I need to uncover the truth of those days before the accident. Once I do that, I might be able to understand my life, find a way to move forward. ‘Cecil, I hate to rush you off,’ I say, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. ‘But we really have to be going. My father is expecting me home.’
When I return to the lounge after seeing Cecil out, I find Guy still sitting on the arm of the chair. He looks out of place and uncomfortable. I notice that his shirt is still partly untucked at the waist.
‘Chloe, about what happened. I should—’ he begins, but I cut him off. I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ I say, a flush of embarrassment spreading up my neck and into my cheeks. What happened wasn’t his fault, and I wanted it just as much as he did. I stare out of the window, at the people, the noise; so many lives right there within reach. Not one of them is mine. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Guy.’
‘But I—’
I don’t mean to raise my voice, but I can’t help it. I hope Cecil is already out of earshot. ‘No, Guy. I should never have kissed you.’
He nods his head, one hand brushing against his forehead as he lets go of a long breath. ‘Just listen for a moment. Let me at least say this.’ He seems distressed and urgent as he moves towards me, almost close enough to touch me. ‘I know that at the moment your life is complicated, and you have a lot on your mind. But I wouldn’t have kissed you back if I didn’t want it. I’m a grown man, I know my own mind.’
‘Guy, I’m here to find my husband and instead we nearly end up…’ I can’t bring myself to say it.
‘No, Chloe. Don’t do that. Don’t say it like it’s shameful.’ He reaches a hand out towards me before he seems to change his mind. ‘You don’t even know where your husband is.’
I stare out of the window, see a couple walking past hand in hand, smiling at each other. Will I ever have that again? ‘It was shameful, Guy, and it should never have happened. I got carried away. Can’t we please leave it at that?’
He takes another long breath, and stares at the floor, perhaps searching for answers, perhaps just unable to look at me. He’s so tall, broad-shouldered, but in that moment he appears small and shrivelled. ‘Is that what you want? To just forget it happened? To be tied to a life that doesn’t exist any more? Bound to a past that you can’t even remember?’
Is it? I’m not sure. What I do know is that I have so many other things to think about right now, and the most important of all is finding my husband so I can start to understand what happened that night. I can’t get distracted by talking about a kiss that was never meant to be.
‘I can’t move on unless I understand the past, Guy. I need to find out what led to my accident in the first place, and in order to do that, I have to find Andrew.’
‘OK. So do you want me to take you back to your parents’ house?’
‘No. I want to call by my old work. Maybe this Sara woman is there. She might know where I can find Andrew.’
‘I’ll take you.’
‘No, I’ll find my own way there.’ I can’t ask for his help again, not after what just happened. ‘You’ve already done enough.’
But he’s shaking his head. ‘Don’t be silly. How are you going to get there? Let me help you. After your recent surgery, you shouldn’t really be alone.’
It’s difficult to admit, but he’s right. Even if I was to go on my own, what next? What would I do and where would I go after that? Back here? Back to my parents’ house? Neither of those options feels good.
We cross the road together, climb into the car. We head towards the coast, towards the place where I used to seek solace. I feel his eyes upon me as we drive, but I keep my focus on the road ahead, taking in the sounds and sights of the shore. Trying to remember something of my life here. I stare out at the water, feel the chill of it against my skin. I feel an urge to get out of the car, walk down the beach and sink into the waves. The sea always could calm me, I know that now.
‘All I want to do is help you, Chloe. Help you find what you’re looking for. Right now, that is the most important thing.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
As we pull away from the red lights he speaks once more.
‘Because once you do, I know that everything will start to make sense.’