Veronica is putting a box of documents into the back of her Mini as I hurry along the path away from Mum’s bungalow. The light is starting to go, but she peers through the gloom and offers a weak, tired-looking smile.
‘Was everything all right?’ she asks.
‘I’m not sure.’
That gets a frown as Veronica closes her boot and comes across to stand at my side.
‘Do the CCTV cameras above the gates actually work?’ I ask.
She turns and looks towards the front of the complex. ‘I assume so.’
‘Do you know where the footage is kept?’
‘It’s an off-site security firm. I’ve got the details somewhere.’
‘Do you think I can get hold of the footage for anyone who came and went yesterday?’
Veronica takes a moment and a plume of breath spirals from her mouth up into the air. It’s going to be another cold one tonight.
‘Is there something I should be worried about?’ she asks.
It’s probably the fact that I can’t come up with a good enough lie, but, for whatever reason, I decide to tell the truth. Or my version of it.
‘That photo on my phone was of my ex-husband,’ I say. ‘He disappeared two years ago. I think he might have visited Mum yesterday, but I’m not sure.’
Veronica reels her head back in surprise: ‘Oh…’
‘You know what she’s like,’ I say. ‘She confuses what happened yesterday with what happened years ago. It’s probably nothing, but I figure it’s worth looking. Do you think you’ll be able to get me the footage?’
‘I can definitely ask. Do I have your details?’
I’m certain she does, but I give her my phone number and email address anyway – and then she turns to go.
‘There was one other thing,’ I say before she can get too far. ‘There was a framed ticket next to the TV. I’ve not seen it around. Do you know where it came from?’
Veronica shakes her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. I was dusting around there the other week and don’t remember anything.’
I thank Veronica for her help and then watch as she reverses out of her spot and heads towards the gate. She eases through and then they close slowly behind her, leaving only the faint whiff of petrol.
I lean on the hood of Andy’s car, peering up towards the CCTV cameras. There are two: one pointing at the pedestrian gate; the other at the road. It would be easy enough to sneak around if someone could be bothered – although it would involve a hike along the cliffs, which isn’t as easy as it sounds on the type of icy days we’ve had recently.
I am torn between the car and the bungalow, not sure what to do. It doesn’t feel as if Mum is in danger and yet I don’t know if I want to leave her alone. That should make the option obvious, except that I know for certain there’s no way we can tolerate one another for an entire night. I ration my time with her because I’d rather have quality over quantity. The more months pass, the more that seems an impossibility.
I wanted to tell her to hit the panic button if anyone other than myself or Veronica turns up – but there’s a chance she’d get confused and have a full-on meltdown at the postman.
It felt as if the autographed ticket had been left almost like a calling card. An act that was simultaneously thoughtfully kind and overwhelmingly chilling. Mum did tell David – and more or less anyone she’s met in the past fifty years – about her regret at not talking to John Lennon on the occasion she saw him. I’ve never been certain that it was actually Lennon she saw – although I’ve never voiced that. She probably wouldn’t talk to me for a month.
I make up my mind to leave – and it’s a chilly, solitary drive back to the studio to take my evening classes. I half expect Yasmine to walk in, although there’s no sign of her tonight. Regardless of that, my head is still not in it. I make even more mistakes and it feels as if my world is crumbling.
I say my goodbyes after the class and then lock up the studio before the drive home. I’m nervous to let myself into the flat, even though the locks have changed. Once inside, I turn on every light and poke my head into all the rooms, wardrobes and cupboards before feeling reassured that I’m alone.
It’s only when Andy’s text arrives that I remember I’m supposed to be meeting him.
Any idea what time you’ll be done? X
I send him a quick reply to say I’ll be about forty-five minutes and then have a shower before changing into something more appropriate than gym gear.
Before I leave the house, I’m careful to leave a succession of tells in case someone was to enter while I’m out. I set the oven door ajar by a few centimetres, leave open the door to the main bedroom and put the TV remote on the kitchen counter. All small, insignificant instances – but all things I wouldn’t normally do.
The roads are already a mottled white as I drive along the country lanes that link Gradingham to Kingbridge. It won’t be long before the entire area is a glorified ice rink.
The Kingfisher is a sprawling pub that is, essentially, in the middle of nowhere. It attracts people from both Gradingham and Kingbridge because of the quality of the food. In the summer, the beer garden stretches as far as people want to go. There are B&B rooms upstairs and, regardless of season, it always seems to be bustling.
By the time I arrive, Andy’s van is already parked underneath the old stables at the front of the car park. I slot in next to him and then head inside, where I find him sitting in front of a fireplace in one of the side rooms towards the back. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and he’s scanning the menu with his glasses on. He removes them when he spots me and stands, before moving quickly. He scuffs my chair out from under the table and waits for me to sit.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say, although I don’t actually mind. Sometimes, the gallantry is welcome… although David had similar moments, too.
‘My pleasure.’
I allow him to shuffle me in and then he takes a seat opposite. The fire is crackling away, spitting sparks into the air as a steady glow warms my fingers.
Andy asks how my day was, but I don’t particularly want to talk about it – and I’m only going to tie myself in knots if I go too deep anyway. Instead, I let him speak. He tells me how his youth football team has a big game on Sunday and it seems like he’s probably more excited than his players.
Even though we’re moving in together, we’ve not had the full ‘children’ talk yet. I suspect Andy wants kids at some point and I can easily imagine him being a terrific father. He’d be the type who’d ferry them around to whatever they want, whenever they want. If it’s football they’re into, then great; if it’s music, then he’ll buy him or her a violin and drive them off for lessons with whoever’s supposed to be good for that sort of thing. After what happened with David, I’m not sure if children will ever be for me. It was kids that led to it all, not that I can tell Andy the truth about that.
We eat and we chat. Time passes and, for a while, I almost forget about everything else. This is when we’re at our best. This is when I’m happiest. Ever since David, I’ve had to ask myself what I actually want from life and a relationship – and I figured it’s this. It’s companionship.
When we’ve finished eating, we head through the pub towards the games room at the front. There are a pair of pool tables, a darts board, plus a rack of board games crammed into a shelf at the back. Andy and I have often played pool here and I’m never sure whether he sometimes lets me win, or if I actually win. He is exceptional on occasion, as if he spent his teenage years hustling old-timers in a grubby snooker club. Other times, it’s like he’s a left-hander trying to play with his right. I’m never sure which Andy is going to show up.
I’m busy waiting for Andy to line up a striped ball when a man comes across to the second, unused, table and crosses his arms. At first, I think he’s eyeing the table, wondering when our pound coins are going to run out. It takes me a moment to realise he’s actually staring at me.
He’s probably nineteen or twenty, wearing a tight olive jacket, with a baseball cap that sports a logo I don’t recognise. His hands are in his pockets but his upper body is arched forward, as if he’s an overly aggressive strutting flamingo.
I look back to him and then he turns and strides back towards the entrance. I figure that’s the end of it, but then, less than a minute later, he returns. This time, he doesn’t bother standing at the second table, he strides directly towards us. His hands are out of his pockets and he’s jabbing a finger towards me.
‘You’ve got some nerve,’ he says with a snarl.
I stare at him, wondering if he’s someone I know, although my mind is blank. I have no idea who he is.
‘Sorry…?’ I reply.
‘My dad’s in hospital because of you. You should be in prison.’
He spits the final word, with flecks of saliva spinning from his teeth and landing on his pockmarked acne-splashed chin. He wipes it away, before pointing his finger at me again.
‘Left him for dead.’
It suddenly dawns on me that this must be the son of the person who was hit by my car. Trevor-someone. I have no idea how he knows who I am.
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Don’t give me that. You nearly murdered a bloke and now you’re here playing pool? Pah!’
He turns to look around the room. There are only a dozen or so people in the games room, though everyone is now turning to watch.
‘Sorry?’ he continues. ‘You’re sorry? How about you go tell the police what you did?’
‘It wasn’t me,’ I manage. ‘I didn’t—’ I’m stammering and spluttering but the words aren’t coming easily.
Andy’s far from the combative type, but, before I know it, he has stepped between me and the man. His arms are wide and welcoming; his tone calming.
‘Her car was stolen,’ Andy says firmly.
The man begins to fire back, though some of the confidence has left him: ‘Yeah, sure it was. How’d they get the keys?’
I start to reply, but Andy speaks over me: ‘I think you should probably go, mate. This isn’t doing any good, is it? It’s not helping the police. Not helping your dad…?’
‘Don’t talk about him.’
Andy takes a step closer to the man, who takes three or four steps towards the door. ‘OK, I won’t,’ Andy says. He angles towards me, although he never takes his eyes from the man. ‘We’ll leave, all right? We don’t want any trouble.’
The man is nodding, though it’s clear from the way his eyes are darting to the onlookers that he’s suddenly unsure. ‘We’re going anyway,’ he says.
It’s only then that I notice a woman hovering by the door. She’s half hiding behind the frame, not wanting to be here. Without another word, the man turns and hurries away. As soon as he gets to the door, the woman turns and follows. A moment later and they’re gone.
There are a few seconds in which it feels as if everyone has frozen. It takes a moment and then the group by the window playing a board game swiftly turn their attentions back to what they were doing. A dart thuds into the board and, even though I know everyone is still half-watching me, at least it’s not their full attention.
Andy turns and threads an arm around my shoulders.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks.
‘I think so. I want to go.’
‘Let’s give it a minute.’
We wait awkwardly at the edge of the pool table. The balls are still scattered across the baize; a match that will never be finished. Andy returns the cues to the rack and then we leave hand-in-hand. There’s a momentary pause when we get outside as Andy scans the car park. A tingle tickles along my spine; a sense of being watched. I’m not sure if Andy feels it, though he grips my fingers tighter and leads the way across to the stable where his car and van are parked.
‘Do you want to follow me back?’ he asks.
I know the way, of course, but that’s not what he’s asking.
‘Sure.’
There’s a crack from somewhere off towards the bushes and we both turn at the same time. There are no lights around the edge of the car park and the slick mud of the autumn months has turned into a thick, solid blend of muck and ice.
I continue staring, remembering the flash from the bushes I saw years before, though there’s nothing there.
‘Are you OK?’ Andy asks – and it’s only when I turn to him that I realise this is the second time he’s asked. It’s as if I blanked out for a moment.
‘Yes…’
He goes to take my hand, but it doesn’t feel as if there’s enough strength in my fingers.
‘I know that look,’ Andy says.
I’m still watching the bushes, although I’m not sure whether anything has moved since we heard the crack.
‘What look?’ I ask.
‘You’re thinking of him…’ Andy tails off but the twinge in his voice is hard to ignore.
‘Who?’ I reply, although of course I know.
‘David.’
I bite my tongue to stop my first reply from emerging. It’s always hard to hear Andy say David’s name; as if he’s too pure for it. Like a toddler using the F-word.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘I don’t mind.’ Andy takes a breath and then grips my hand.
‘Can I stay at yours?’ I ask.
‘Of course.’
He pulls me gently away from the bushes and then puts both arms around me, pulling me into him. I press into his shoulder, wishing he wasn’t so damned understanding all the time.