In the four days since the New Year, Jim had called Nancy a number of times, but she hadn’t picked up, hadn’t responded to his messages. He found himself increasingly reluctant to make the effort to get in touch, realizing he was still upset with her. Upset that she trusted him so little, believing he could be unfaithful on a mere whim. And with Izzy! Yes, he’d been drunk, but that wasn’t a crime, as far as he knew. And, yes, he’d gone down to Izzy’s when he’d said he’d stay indoors, but so what? It was New Year’s Eve and Nancy had chosen not to be with him. Why shouldn’t he socialize with anyone he chose?
Jim didn’t know what to do. He still longed to see her, he missed her constantly—everything he did he wanted to share with her, even if it was just gazing out over the balcony at the winter landscape or sitting in front of the stove with a book and a glass of wine. But since New Year he had lost faith that she would ever be part of his life here, even for a visit. What’s the point in booking a trip for her, when I know fucking well that something will happen to stop her coming?
He should go back, he knew that. Knew if he didn’t it would be the end for him and Nancy. But he had another gig lined up, this time just him, in Bruno’s club. He’d had offers of another couple with the band too, if he could persuade Mal and Jimmy P to get their arses in gear and come over. He was happy there, happier than he’d been for years. The place suited him somehow, and even though he missed Nancy, he didn’t feel lonely in his brother’s house. He’d started writing songs again too, which he hadn’t done much of since the debacle with Chrissie—he reckoned that twerp Benji had stolen his spirit.
His phone rang. Izzy.
“Fancy a trip into town? We could do a beer and a croque-monsieur at Brazza . . . or go further afield. Bonnieux’s cute.”
Jim had kept his distance from Izzy since the drunken episode, legging it up the hill before she’d woken on New Year’s Day, then taking the car out for a long drive to avoid her. He’d texted an apology, she’d texted back, but this was the first time they’d spoken.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Such a bloody boring time of year,” she said. “Nothing’s going to happen till next week. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”
Might as well, thought Jim.
*
The cafe was crowded. Izzy and Jim squeezed into a table in the corner, glad to be out of the gale-force wind battering the hill town. She ordered for them both—the croques and two Kronenbourgs.
“Izzy, about the other night, I’m so sorry.”
She laughed. “Hey, no big deal. We both got wasted, it was New Year, why the hell not?”
Jim nodded slowly. “Yeah . . . but I . . . Nancy said you answered my phone?”
“Well, you weren’t in any fit state.” Her eyes widened. “I hope she didn’t get the wrong idea.”
“Course not, but . . . were you in bed with me?”
Izzy glanced away, but Jim detected a slight blush on her perfect skin. When she turned back, her smile was distinctly shamefaced. “Truth? Yeah, I was. But only because I sort of fell down with you and couldn’t be bothered to get up.” She grinned impishly. “I didn’t, you know, take advantage of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Wouldn’t have known if you had.”
They stopped talking while the waiter delivered their plates of food.
“But I wouldn’t say no,” Izzy said.
“Wouldn’t say no to what?” Jim asked, taking a sip of beer, not really listening to her and wishing Nancy was sitting opposite him, not his brother’s rather annoying friend.
She began to laugh. “God, Jimmy, either you’re thick or just a total innocent.”
Now it was his turn to blush as he finally grasped what she was getting at. Bloody shameless, he thought, taken aback.
“Sorry, I’ve embarrassed you. Stevie used to say I have a ‘spectrum disorder’ because I don’t know how to filter stuff—but, hey, isn’t honesty the best policy?”
He was baffled. She wasn’t even flirting, just staking her claim with a confidence that took his breath away. Maybe she wasn’t used to being refused. “You might have got the wrong end of the stick, Izzy.”
She grinned. “Now’s the moment when you give me the speech about being in love with Nancy.” She spread her hands, cast a theatrical glance around the cafe. “But, you know, where is Nancy?”
*
When he got home from lunch, he immediately rang Nancy. He wished he could wash Izzy’s brown eyes from his thoughts as he would dirt from his body because he knew now that she was more of a threat than he’d first imagined. At lunch she’d begun to talk about sex without self-consciousness or constraint, rather as you might discuss travel or musical preferences. Jim had been like a fly on a pin, unable to move or speak. Her openness—delivered in a soft, low monologue to avoid offending the middle-aged Germans at the next table—was mesmerizing. He’d never experienced the like before. As she detailed the lovers she’d had—both men and women—the fantasies she indulged in and the explicit descriptions of how the sex games made her feel, it was like watching a porn movie. And, as with a porn movie, Jim had been horrified to discover he was aroused, right there in that stuffy cafe, surrounded by unsuspecting holidaying families. Worse, Izzy knew it, had obviously intended he should be. She seemed to be on a mission.
He had attempted to appear cool, making light of her revelations, as if this were the sort of chat he had every day. But Izzy had kept a firm hold of the reins. It was clearly not the first time she had seduced a man like that.
“Nancy?”
“Hi, Jim. How are you?”
He thought she sounded formal, not entirely pleased to be talking to him. “Okay. . .” He found himself tongue-tied. “Thought you were avoiding me, pissed off with me after the other night.”
“Nothing like that.” She sounded tired. “There’s just been another drama with Louise. The restaurant’s gone bust.”
“God! When did that happen?”
“Yesterday, day before . . . I’ve lost track. They cut off the gas and electricity because Lou couldn’t pay the bill. So they’ve had to close the place down, obviously.”
“Is it a lot, the bill?”
“Quite a lot, but that’s not all. Louise says she can’t pay the staff either. And to cap it all, bloody Ross has gone AWOL.”
“AWOL? What do you mean?”
He heard her sigh.
“Lou confronted him about the bills after service a couple of nights ago. Told him the utility companies were threatening to cut off the gas and electricity, told him they’d reached the end of the road. And he didn’t take it well, as you can imagine. She’s been warning him about this for months and months, but he just wasn’t listening. Anyway, they talked—not even a row, Lou said—and then she went home. He said he’d follow in his car, but he never came back. Hasn’t been home since. She’s going out of her mind.”
“Christ, Nancy . . .You don’t think he’s done something stupid, do you?”
“I have no idea. She’s rung all their friends, but they haven’t seen him. Lou thinks he’s just holed up, licking his wounds, but it’s bloody selfish, not letting her know where he is for two nights now.”
“Shouldn’t she call the police? He might be in a ditch somewhere.”
“I’m trying not to think that.”
They fell silent, both thinking what they didn’t want to think.
“I’ll come home,” Jim said.
Nancy didn’t reply immediately. Then she said, “Aren’t you playing in the club on Saturday?”
“Yes, but this is way more important, Nancy.”
“Thing is, I’ve got the girls here a lot . . . It’s all a bit chaotic. I’m trying to give them some stability, but obviously the poor things know something’s up. Hope hears everything.”
“Are you saying you’d rather I didn’t come back?” Suddenly he didn’t feel like using the word “home.” First her mother, then her daughter, now her grandchildren: there was always some sort of barrier between them, a reason to keep him at arm’s length.
“I don’t know . . . Perhaps you’d be better off there for the time being. It’s such a small house.”
He heard her landline ring in the background.
“Better go. That might be Louise. Sorry, Jim.” She was gone.
Wait? Jim stared at the phone as it lay dead in his hand. He felt weak, as if someone had struck him, and he went over to the sofa, sat down hard and leaned back against the cushions. Christ, he thought.
But as he sat mulling over their conversation, it was himself he felt sorry for as much as Nancy. She was under a massive strain, he understood that, but in her hour of need she obviously didn’t think he could help, didn’t want him by her side. Didn’t want him at all, maybe.