Andy places the juices on the table between Jane and me. He smiles kindly and says: ‘On the house.’
‘You don’t have to,’ I reply, even though I feel Jane tense momentarily at my side. Never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. It’s been three weeks since what happened with David. His body hasn’t been found and everyone still believes he’s simply disappeared. It’s at the stage where all the people I know – and many I don’t – are giving me those closed-lip smiles with the are-you-OK? head-tilts. I play along, allowing myself to stare longingly out of windows. I also do a lot more sighing than I ever did before. I should probably miss him for real… except that I don’t. Other people were right about him and I was wrong. I don’t miss his lies and I don’t miss second-guessing everything he ever said.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ Andy says. He hovers at our side for a moment before turning and heading back to the counter. Jane waits until he’s out of earshot before speaking again.
‘Have you heard from the police?’ she asks.
‘Not really. They said they’ll be in contact if anything happens. I think they’re keeping an eye on David’s bank accounts, that sort of thing.’
I allow myself another sigh, although there is some truth to this exhalation. We’re a couple of weeks away from Christmas and Andy’s got some sort of festive playlist on the go. On its own, it wouldn’t be so bad – but these songs are in every advert break; in every store and on all radio stations. After a while, it makes a person want to rip their own ears off.
Jane slurps at her sympathy juice and then glances towards Andy, before looking back to me: ‘What happens next?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find out how long someone can stay missing before, well…’
I tail off because mentioning that he might be dead doesn’t seem like something someone in my situation would want to bring up.
‘I don’t know what to do with his things,’ I add. ‘They’re still in his drawers and the wardrobe. A windscreen company came out and fixed the glass in his car – but it’s still parked outside. Nobody seems to know what I should do with it all. He could be back tomorrow…’
I’m becoming used to following up sentences like this with a lingering stare at a blank patch of wall. This time I settle on the Christmas wreath that Andy has pinned to the wall next to the toilets. There is tinsel around each of the windows and a small fake tree near the door. My mind wanders to wondering whether he put it all up himself.
Jane reaches across and squeezes my shoulder for reassurance. This has gone on for far too long for me to ever tell her I don’t like it.
‘It’s good to see you out,’ she says. ‘But how are you actually doing?’
I’m not sure why but, from nowhere, the truth slips out: ‘I miscarried.’
The pressure of keeping everything else to myself has finally become too much, as if my brain only has space for a certain amount of secrets. I’m keeping back so much that this one has to be spoken.
There is silence, though I can feel Jane staring at me. Seconds pass as she searches for the words: ‘You were pregnant…?’ she asks.
‘I wasn’t far gone. Maybe a few weeks.’
‘Is that why David, um…’
She tails off and it takes me a few seconds to realise she was going to say ‘disappeared’.
‘I don’t know why he left,’ I say.
‘Did you tell the police?’
I shake my head: ‘Only you and him.’
She has another sip of her drink and we watch as a group in Santa hats enter the shop. It’s a mix of men and women, probably on a lunchbreak from work. The woman at the front knows Andy by name and sets about ordering as the rest sit near the Christmas tree. I don’t know any of them, though one of the women catches my eye and seemingly recognises me. I wonder how long it’ll be before people forget who I am.
‘It’s the not knowing, isn’t it?’ Jane says. Her voice is a murmur now, hard to hear over the music and voices. ‘If David said he was leaving, at least you’d know. If he was, um…’ she presses in slightly closer and this time actually whispers ‘dead’ with such reverence that it’s as if saying the word might make it true. ‘I’m not saying he is,’ she adds. ‘But it would be something final, wouldn’t it?’
‘I know what you mean…’
‘Are you sure there wasn’t a trigger for it all?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. An argument? Was he upset about the pregnancy? Or something else?’
I shake my head.
‘How’s your mum?’ Jane asks.
‘She blames me and says I must have done something to make him leave.’
I suppose there’s a degree of irony to the fact that, of everyone, my mother is the person who is right.
Jane shuffles back, unsure what to say. She has almost finished her drink, so I slide mine across the table towards her. ‘Not in the mood,’ I say.
We sit quietly for a moment as the volume increases from the group next to the door. I sense a couple of them sneaking sideways glances towards me, before my phone beeps to distract me. It’s an email and, as I skim through it, Jane glances in the other direction in the way people do when they’re too polite to ask what’s going on.
One thing I never could have expected is that David’s apparent disappearance has brought about what can only be called sympathy business. There is a fitness circuit of conferences and health expos that is an industry in itself. People become almost too famous for things like personal training and end up giving talks about the subject, instead of actually doing it. I’ve never understood how someone could get to that lucrative point – but this email is asking if I’d be interested in hosting a session at an upcoming expo for up to 500 people. It’s the third similar offer I’ve had this week. I’m also swamped with potential clients wanting personal training sessions.
What an irony that, even now, David is finding a way to support my career.
‘Word’s gone around,’ I say to Jane as I put my phone away.
‘What do you mean?’ she asks.
‘People keep offering me work. I’ve never been so in demand.’
‘Wow… at least something good is coming of this, I suppose. Not that it’s a good thing, I mean…’
We’re interrupted by Andy returning to the table to collect Jane’s empty glass.
‘Would you like anything else?’ he asks, talking to me.
‘I think I’m all right,’ I reply.
‘Just say if I can help.’
He lingers at the table for a couple of seconds too long and then heads back to the counter. I wonder if Jane is going to comment on it because she must have noticed it as well.
‘What about you?’ I ask, wanting to change the subject.
‘What about me?’ Jane replies.
‘All we do is talk about me…’
She snorts a little: ‘Ben’s not been himself for the past month or so – but he has busy periods at work, so I suppose it’s that.’ She pauses for a moment and then adds: ‘You should come over one evening soon. Or we’ll go out somewhere?’
‘We’ll figure something out,’ I reply, which everyone knows is code for, ‘not now’.
Jane finishes my drink and starts shuffling with her bag. ‘I have to get going,’ she says.
She asks if I need anything and then we do the usual goodbye hug before she heads off.
I continue sitting and it’s less than a minute until Andy appears at the table.
‘Are you sure you don’t want anything else?’ he asks.
‘I’ve got to head off,’ I reply.
He glances to the door and then focuses on me. Ever since I first started coming here, there’s been something of a buzz between us. Always unspoken, but undoubtedly there. Like two magnets at opposite ends of a table that are far enough away not to be pulled together.
‘I’m sorry to hear about what happened with your husband,’ Andy says.
‘Thanks.’
‘If there’s anything I can do, you know where I am.’
He waits for a few seconds, but I’m not sure what to say. Not yet, anyway. Not properly.
‘See you around,’ I say.
‘I hope so.’