Thursday, 3 November
‘Ahhh, for Christ’s sake go away.’
Jack’s cry woke Isla from a nightmare where she was being chased by a superhero with a machete, his Spider-Man ringtone piercing the darkness of the early morning. She turned to see him staring into the brightness of his phone screen, hair ruffled.
‘Jeez, Jack, who the hell is it?’ she said, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips.
He pulled back the duvet and sat up, twisting his legs round so they dangled off the bed. ‘Hello,’ he said, pressing the phone to his ear, as he rose and left the bedroom.
He returned five minutes later. ‘I’ve got to go down to Dorset,’ he said, face flushed, eyes hard to read. He didn’t give her time to respond, hurrying into the bathroom without looking back.
Once he’d showered, he returned. Shoving on his black jeans, and a round-neck jumper.
‘You’re going now?’ she asked, dragging herself up to a sitting position, and cradling her knees.
‘My mother’s had another heart attack,’ he said. ‘She’s back in hospital.’
‘Oh God. Is she OK?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Are you going to be OK? I won’t go if you need me, you know that.’
‘I’ll be fine, honestly. I’ve got a feature due in tomorrow. What I need is to get my head down, and fingers on keyboard.’
She watched as he packed. ‘I hope to be back for Millie’s party,’ he said, zipping his holdall. ‘Hopefully before that.’
After kissing her gently on the lips and touching her cheek, he headed for the door, glancing back once as he left the room.
From the window, Isla watched him drive away, and an annoying snag of worry at being alone niggled at her, followed by a surge of anger that she was letting the fear in. Even though she knew Carl Jeffery was locked away, she felt unsettled. Unleashed horrors of her past danced a manic dance in her head. But she was stronger than this, surely. Capable. She would lose herself in her book, and finish her feature. She hadn’t worked so hard to mend herself, only to fall apart.
***
Isla spent the afternoon in Hitchin choosing a costume for Millie’s party. It was a choice between Daffy Duck or Marilyn Monroe. She chose the latter. The blonde wig was a bit straw-like, but she felt sure she could do something clever with her own hair on Saturday.
Later, she picked out a gift for Millie – an ornament that depicted sisters holding each other close that she knew her sister would love – and she grabbed a Minion cake from the supermarket.
It was around seven, after she’d microwaved a ready meal and pushed it around her plate, barely eating any of it, that she began tapping away on her laptop, a glass of wine on the table in front of her. She needed to finish the article she’d been working on – a piece about tiny houses. She’d been gathering photos and information for a while now on houses she’d seen in Islington and Wales, another on the Rue du Chateau in Paris, and now the Little House in Toronto she’d seen so recently – a tiny white house built in 1912, the smallest in that area. How strange it must be to live somewhere so small. ‘Would you feel trapped?’ she typed. ‘Or would the size make you feel safe?’
Perfect memories of Canada bashed against all that had gone wrong since her return, and her hands stiffened on her keyboard, as though she had arthritis. She had to beat this. She had to.
She put down her laptop, and picked up her wine. A long gulp went some way to soothing her senses, and Luna’s purr, from where she was sprawled near the radiator, helped too. She closed her eyes, but moments later the sound of her phone vibrating across the coffee table prevented her from drifting into a doze.
It would be Jack, letting her know he’d arrived safely. But, as she leant over and picked up her phone, she saw that it was from Trevor.
Isla. I know we’re not friends on Facebook any more – but that’s OK, I’m a bit of a dinosaur in that department anyway. I just wanted to say sorry for my last message. I’d had a bottle of wine, and you know how it is – I just spilled it all out. And I’m also sorry I didn’t turn up at the reunion. I guess the nerves got the better of me. I’m trying to organise another, if you fancy it. Text back soon, and we’ll sort something out. Trevor X
She’d forgotten he had her mobile number. She should have blocked that too. She pressed reply.
Hi, Trevor, I’m afraid I won’t be able to come to another reunion. And please don’t contact me again. I’m in a relationship.
After a few seconds, guilt took hold, so she added – I hope you understand. Isla
Within moments her phone pinged again.
You really think you’re something special, don’t you?
Heart racing, she bit down hard on her lip, looking at her phone screen. Hand shaking, she typed a final message.
I don’t know why you’re being like this, Trevor. I never meant to hurt you. You have to understand I’m deeply in love with someone else.
Once the message had left her inbox, she took several long gulps of wine, before blocking him from her contacts.
She got up Jack’s number. Should she call him? No, it wouldn’t be fair. He was with his mother. She had to deal with this herself.
It was much later that she closed her laptop, her eyes growing heavy and sore from constantly looking at the screen. She hadn’t noticed the quiet stillness of the apartment while she’d been working, but now it was pawing at her, reminding her Jack wasn’t there. That she was alone.
She curled up on the sofa, resting her head on a cushion, and dragged the throw over her. She knew she should get up and go to bed, but the trip to the bedroom seemed a long way – too hard somehow. She would sleep where she was.
It was gone 2 a.m. when she woke with a start. Something had crashed to the floor in the kitchen, but now all was quiet. She sat upright, grabbed her phone, and pulled the throw round her. ‘Luna?’ she called into the darkness.
Within seconds the cat leapt onto the back of the sofa.
‘Jesus, cat,’ she cried, reaching for the band on her wrist, noticing Luna’s feline face was covered in the cream she’d left on the worktop earlier. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’
Friday, 4 November
‘Yay, you’re back,’ Isla said, looking up from her laptop as Jack walked through the door with his holdall. It was gone eight, and he looked so tired. ‘How was your mum?’
He flopped down onto the sofa next to her, and she felt the touch of his lips. ‘She’s not great, but stable.’ He paused. ‘She’s given me my dad’s address. Apparently she’s had it all these years.’
‘What? So you could have been in contact with him all this time?’
‘Pretty much.’ He bent to pull off his trainers. ‘She had an epiphany, apparently.’ He sounded flippant. ‘Suddenly realised I should be in touch with my father. She never did tell him where we’d moved to, when he walked out.’
‘Well at least you know where he is now.’ She rested her hand on his arm. ‘Will you get in touch with him?’
He nodded. ‘I called him on the way home.’
‘And?’ She felt excited for him.
‘To be honest, it was a bit stiff and awkward, but he asked me to come down to see him next Friday after work.’
‘When I’m away?’
‘Yeah, he lives on the east coast.’
‘The east coast is pretty big.’
He smiled. ‘Sheringham.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I can’t wait for him to meet you. I know he’ll love you.’ He touched her cheek. ‘You know I’d do anything for you, Isla, don’t you?’
‘Blimey, Jack, what’s brought this on?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He pulled her to him. ‘I suppose I look at the mess my parents made of everything, and feel so lucky I met you.’