When I walk through the front door, there’s a familiar suitcase standing in the hall.
“Hey,” I hear Seb call.
“What’s this?” I point to the suitcase.
“I have to go to the vineyard,” he says. “There’s a problem with our storage unit. If I leave now, I can be back tomorrow evening.”
It’s strange. Whenever he announced these unexpected visits to the vineyard before, I’d be burning to join him. Sad to see him go. But that was before all of this mess. Before he started lying to me.
I give the smallest of shrugs. “Okay.”
“Ana’s here if you need anything.”
“Oh-kay.”
That came out snippy, and I can see that Seb thinks so as well, because he takes a step towards me, but it’s cautious. He thinks better of it, and takes a breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I just want to lie down,” I say, not a total lie.
“You sure?” His eyes look concerned again, but they don’t tug at my heart the way they did last night. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, you’ll tell me—right?”
But you’ll just lie again.
“Of course I will,” I tell him.
Seb tries to smile, but it comes out as an odd twist of his lips. To save us both from the awkwardness, I walk towards the stairs. He steps aside, and there’s an infinitesimally small part of me that hopes he’ll stop me. That he’ll pull me to him and tell me everything he’s been keeping from me. That he’ll give me a believable explanation for what I saw last night, and promise me it’ll be okay. That we can fight this darkness together.
But without another word, I’m up the stairs.
I close the bedroom door behind me and lean against it as I try to gather my thoughts. Thinking of Seb and Ana together will only be torture. I need to focus on something else.
The charity. That’s where my focus should be right now.
I fish my old phone out of my suitcase and put it on the bed. I find the picture I took of the charity’s contact details when I was in Richard’s study, and type them into my old phone. Then I delete the picture on my new phone. I don’t want photos like this to be found and linked back to me.
I dial the number. The phone rings once, then disconnects. No longer in service. I create a fake account on Gmail, and write an email to Save a Village.
Hello,
I want to follow up on some billing information. My husband and I have been making regular donations. They are reflecting on our bank statements, but we haven’t received any receipts from you for the past few months. Can you please resend?
I press ‘send’. Then I double check that everything is deleted from my phones, and lie down on the bed. Now, we wait.
Any information will be of value. Maybe a confirmation that Richard’s been truthful about his donation, or a suspicious email response from the charity that I can take to Deb. She won’t be happy that I snooped, but if her husband is hiding money ahead of their divorce, then this would help her.
I scroll aimlessly through Instagram. I must keep busy. I listen for sounds downstairs, indicating that Seb has left for the vineyard or is still here, but there’s nothing. And come to think of it, I haven’t seen Ana since yesterday. Where is she?
I see a picture of Ruth. She’s sitting next to two men, holding a beer. She looks happy. How I wish I was there with her rather than here. Without thinking, I find her number and press Call.
“Hello?” Ruth answers.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” her voice is high-pitched, curt.
“How are you?”
“I’m all right, thanks.”
There’s an awkward silence, and I feel the unease build. “Good,” I say. “I was just scrolling Insta and saw you were out for beers. Just made me miss you. So I thought I’d call.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” There’s that tone again.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
She sighs. “No, there’s nothing wrong.”
“You sound… off.”
“I’m not off. I just don’t have the time right now.”
I frown, sit up straighter. “Time for what?”
There’s a loud thud and I can picture her throwing a handbag down on a counter. “To be here for your needs.”
“My needs? I don’t—”
“What’s it this time? Are you bored? Had a fight with Seb?”
I flush, struggling to find words as she goes on. “How many times have you asked about me lately? Or asked how I’m doing?”
My voice comes out small. “I just asked how you’re—”
“Did you? Did you really? That’s just small talk, Lisa. You call because you want to talk about you.”
Bubbles of air escape my mouth. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I don’t—”
“No—you know what? No. I was fine dealing with this selfish shit when we lived together, but I don’t have to anymore. I’ve got a lot going on and I really don’t have time for this.”
I scramble to find words. What’s happening? How is my closest friend saying these things?
“I don’t know what to say,” I start. “Look, I’m thinking of coming home.”
She gives a curt laugh. “Sure, you do that,” she says coldly. “Do whatever you want.”
Before I can say anything, the line goes dead.
I let the beep carry on until it fades. And then all at once, the thoughts break over me like a tsunami. Was I such an awful friend? She never told me she was unhappy. Or was I just not listening? I sift through my memories, questioning everything. A snide comment, an ignored text, nights out without me. She barely spoke of her family, her childhood. She always livened up a room, but didn’t get into the nitty-gritty of her emotions.
Unless I didn’t see it. Had I been so caught up in my own life that I’d completely skimmed over her? Who does that?
A horrible person.
For once, it’s not Eleanor’s voice in my head. Not yours either. It’s deeper, darker. The same one that comes out whenever the razor does, saying things I try to bury.
Eleanor’s biggest sadness is having a fat child like you.
Daniel dated you out of pity.
You’re never going to amount to anything.
You don’t deserve to be here.
Even now, I’ve made this about me. I never had a lot of friends, and maybe that’s why. I can’t seem to get out of my own head and into others’ shoes.
I had people I took pictures with, hid behind before the flash. Facebook friends. But then again, weren’t they all your friends? After our breakup, all that remained was Ruth. My happy-go-lucky friend who always fitted right in with my life.
But even she’s had enough of me.
Everyone’s had enough of you, the voice says again.
Except for Deb. Surely with her, it’s different. She trusts me. Opened up to me. And I took care of her, kept her company. That’s what friends do, right?
I sniff, picking through my contacts; a friend from uni, the girlfriend of your mate. All people who’d barely remember me.
I find a name and press Call.
“Hello?”
Greg’s voice is hoarse, like he’s just woken from a nap.
“Hi, it’s Lisa,” I say, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Sorry to call, I just…”
I don’t know why I called. Loneliness, the need to speak to someone who once cared. A reminder that my life’s not in shambles.
Several seconds pass. Then Greg says, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
His words make my stomach drop. I think back to that day at the restaurant, Seb shoving him on the street. How I’d retched on the floor.
“I know,” I say. “But I don’t know what else to do. I just wanted to talk to you.”
And it’s true. I’ve missed the familiarity of him, his softness.
He says nothing, and I continue. “It’s been the strangest couple of weeks.”
I gulp, the tightness growing in my throat. Without warning, tears rush to my eyes. “Things have gotten worse.”
“Worse how?”
My voice is a rushed whisper. “Crazy things have been happening. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I hesitate, but his breathing on the other side reminds me of how I used to feel being around him. Wanted. There’s sudden anger that burns and the words start to flow. “But I caught him. I saw it. And they’re making me think it’s all in my head, but it’s not. He’s a liar. It’s all just lies.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I know,” I say, placing my head in my hands. “It doesn’t make sense to me either. Everything’s a mess …” I take a breath, my voice a whisper. “I can’t make it my Holland.”
Silence, and just when I expect him to say something comforting, he sighs. “You shouldn’t be calling me.”
I can’t stop myself. “I miss you. You’re my only friend here.”
“Lisa, we’re not mates.”
The words reverberate in my head, and he speaks again. “I’m sorry, but we weren’t. And you should be talking to your boyfriend about this.”
I clasp the phone closer to my ear, my body shrinking.
“I’m going to hang up now,” Greg says.
When I open my mouth, the line’s gone dead. The phone falls from my hand and I sink to the ground, sobs wracking my body.
Who are you going to call next?
The voice is back, taunting me. I think of Eleanor, and how she’d respond to my crying over the phone. Embarrassing.
I want to scream that I’ve tried. That I’ve stayed to make things work, to build some sort of life here. To make this place my Holland. But it’s like the fog from outside has seeped into my head.
Perhaps I was never going to get out of this place with something good. Maybe my relationship with Seb—my freedom and trust in myself—was always meant to fail. If there’s nothing to go home to, and nothing to stay here for, then what is there?
I lie on the floor, listening for any movement downstairs. When there’s nothing but the sound of my breathing, I focus on that. I focus on that until sleep finally takes me.