The florist hadn’t been able to tell Caitlin anything. An order had been placed over the phone; the message delivered as it had been dictated by the caller. ‘Well, how did he pay for them?’ Caitlin had asked. ‘He must have given you the name on his debit or credit card?’
‘I’m sorry, we can’t give out that kind of information,’ the woman had told her.
Damn her to hell, Caitlin thought as she hung up. It was there on file, of course, if anyone ever decided to take her seriously. She couldn’t phone the guards and tell them that someone had anonymously sent her flowers though, they’d laugh at her.
She’d kept the flowers, not because she wanted them, but because she was afraid that in discarding them, she might get rid of a clue – something that would lead her to the person that had sent them. It was impossible, she knew. What would she find among the bouquet apart from the card? Regardless, they stood now in a vase in the hall and were the first thing she saw when she came through the door. If only they were from David, but she knew that they couldn’t be.
And then there was Andy. She felt bad about the way she’d spoken to him. He’d stayed over to make sure she was okay, and she’d repaid him with cold indifference, no, not even that, what she’d shown that morning was contempt. She took out her phone to text him, then changed her mind. A text was too impersonal, a cop out from having to talk to him. She’d call him as soon as she could, much as she didn’t feel like talking.
She had never been one to have a large circle of friends, instead getting fixed on one person. David had been that person from the moment they’d started going out. She hadn’t pursued him, hadn’t needed to. She’d stayed distant enough to lure him and it wasn’t long until she’d had him hooked. She hadn’t been good at keeping in touch with the few friends she had and so it had been natural that Andy was the one she’d turned to – their mutual friend. Someone who cared for David almost as much as she did. Others had of course been concerned about David’s disappearance, at least in the beginning. Weren’t people always interested in tragedy, in the novelty of it?
She remembered when the other kids had found out that she was adopted. She’d been five years old and had gone to live in a new neighbourhood where she knew no one. Her parents had been dead only a few months and she’d been trying hard to get used to her new home and to the woman who had adopted her – she always felt it was the woman who had adopted her, the man gave her no reason to believe that he’d ever wanted her. When he left just a year after she’d gone to live with them, she wasn’t sorry, but then the woman began to act differently too. She was cold, withdrawn, and Caitlin felt that she blamed her for the man leaving. When she thought about it now, she wondered that they had ever passed the stringent tests that couples were put through before they were finally allowed to adopt. The process itself took a minimum of two years, which had given them plenty of time to think about it.
The kids at school had been interested, wanted to know who she was and where she came from, and what had happened to her parents. She told them that her parents had died in an accident – that was what the adults had told her – and she was too little to understand anything else. She’d only discovered the truth by accident, searching one day through a box of papers in Violet’s room, she’d found them – newspaper cuttings that told the real story. She was twelve years old at the time, old enough to understand, but with too many years of ingrained love for her parents to change her mind about them. For years, she’d comforted herself with memories of the three of them – herself and her mother and father – a happy family. The violence of their deaths stunned her, didn’t tally at all with the people she’d known as her parents.
The couple who adopted her had lost a little girl. Caitlin had seen the photos the first time she’d gone to the house, and she’d thought that she was going to have a new sister. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but there was no other child. She had died, been taken from them suddenly with a fever. She was the replacement, the same age as the little girl, Becky, had been when she’d died. They looked quite alike – both dark-haired, blue-eyed girls. It was the reason she’d been chosen. The woman had chosen her to continue where Becky had stopped, but she was different from Becky, and the man despised her for it.
Life continued with the woman. She wasn’t unkind to her, but she was distant. And maybe she was right in blaming Caitlin for the man’s leaving – though she couldn’t think what she might have done to make him dislike her. As an adult, she’d decided that she wasn’t to blame, that the man would have left anyway, that whatever had existed between the man and the woman had been torn asunder by the grief they’d suffered.
She didn’t refer to the woman as ‘mother’ even though she’d told her to. Caitlin already had a mother and no stranger was ever going to take her place. She didn’t address her as anything until she was twelve when she began to call her Violet.
Violet didn’t object to this. She’d long given up hope of replacing Becky. She did her duties mechanically, fed and clothed Caitlin, gave her a good education. They got on well enough, but at a distance. They were neither family nor friends. Nowadays, Caitlin kept in touch with Violet, but infrequently. They didn’t have much to talk about, and she phoned her only as a duty. There were far worse fates that could have befallen her if Violet had not adopted her. What she felt for her most was a sense of pity that nothing she wanted had come to her. When the man left, no one else had come along, so it was just the two of them. She supposed that Violet was glad of her for company, but she never particularly showed it. They were two strangers thrown together by their equally ill circumstances, but no feelings of warmth grew between them as they might have done.
Over time, the children at school teased her about being adopted. Whereas in the beginning they were curious, sympathetic even, their knowledge turned to ammunition whenever a childish disagreement broke out. She remembered the chants of ‘Go home and tell your mammy’ and then ‘she can’t, her mammy’s dead’. Those were tough times, but she never told Violet. Instead, she ignored the jibes and stayed with her one friend – a girl called Linda Doherty who’d sat next to her on her first day. They’d remained friends until they’d parted ways to go to different secondary schools, and in time their friendship, too, had fizzled out.
Caitlin opened the door to see the flowers on the hall table. She sighed and went upstairs to change into her jogging clothes. She thought of the friends she and David had spent time with, those who’d disappeared not even six months after he had – a gradual withdrawal, unreturned calls. When she realized that she was the one making all the effort, that it was she who initiated every meeting, she stopped, and the phone, for the most part, remained silent. Only Andy and Gillian called consistently to make sure that she was okay.
Andy. She flopped down cross-legged on the bed and picked up the phone. It’d be best to get it over with. She wanted to apologize before Wednesday came around again and she had to face him. Wednesdays had been the best day of the week for her over the past six months – the social element was good for her, as much as she felt like locking herself away. But now there was the person masquerading as David on Twitter to worry about. Would he be there again this week? And what could she do about it? She wasn’t going to change her habits because of some creep who thought he’d scare her. She wasn’t going to be intimidated like that.
Andy’s phone rang out. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her runners on. She’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when the phone rang. She sat down on the steps and answered.
‘How are you doing?’ Andy sounded chirpy, typical of him to ignore the fact that she’d insulted him. Sometimes he was too nice; she’d prefer if he stood up for himself, told her she had no right to talk to him like that, no matter what she was going through. She tried to focus on that rather than allow his passivity to irk her. Otherwise, she’d end up lashing out at him again before she’d even had a chance to say she was sorry.
‘Look Andy, I want to apologize. I was awful to you yesterday.’
He made some dismissive sound but didn’t deny it.
‘No one’s stayed over since David’s been gone. When I heard you downstairs, there were a few seconds when I thought it was him, and then … ugh, look, it’s no excuse, you were there for me, you didn’t deserve that …’
‘Forget it, Caitie. It’s fine. I figured I’d crossed the line.’
‘No … look, you’ve listened to me go on and on … don’t think I don’t appreciate that. You’re the only one who has, apart from Gillian.’
‘Did you get the flowers?’
She didn’t answer straight away. ‘That was you?’ she asked.
‘Sure, didn’t you get the card?’
‘No, I mean, yeah, but there was no name on it. I rang the florist’s. They wouldn’t give me any information. But why were you sending me flowers anyway?’
‘It was your birthday, wasn’t it? But hang on, what did it say on the card?’
‘It said, “with admiration always …” No name on it.’
‘That’s not what I put, they must have mixed up the cards. I just told them to put: Happy birthday, your friend, Andy.”
She took a breath, aware that he could probably hear her irritation on the other end. ‘My birthday’s not till next week. Anyway, there was no need to send me flowers. I thought they were from him; whoever that creep is pretending to be David.’
‘Oh Jesus, I’m sorry, Caitie. I can imagine … bloody florist. I’ll call them tomorrow …’
Caitlin sighed. ‘There’s no need, it’s just a stupid mistake. But Andy, please … don’t send me flowers. I’m-I’m not comfortable with that.’
‘What? Can’t a friend send flowers? What’s wrong with that?’ He sounded annoyed. ‘I thought it was your birthday.’
‘It’s not that, it’s …’
‘I’m not trying to take David’s place, Caitie, if that’s what you think. I’m just being a friend.’
Caitlin closed her eyes. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘As long as you know that’s all it can ever be. I’m not saying you want anything else, it’s just it’s better to say it now rather than risk any misunderstandings …’
‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s loud and clear, Caitlin. No flowers – nothing that might be misinterpreted …’
‘For God’s sake, Andy. I’m trying to be straight here. I’m sorry if I’ve bruised your ego.’
He laughed but it was a harsh sound. ‘I think you might be the one that’s got the wrong end of the stick … I care about you, Caitie. I cared about David and that’s why I look out for you. I’m not making any moves here … I’ve never thought of you like that. To be frank, you’re not my type.’
His words, so unexpected, stung. She didn’t believe him – there had been signs, particularly in the last few months – but if she wanted to keep him as a friend, she’d have to take him at his word.
‘Well, that’s good then. I didn’t mean to insult you, Andy, but it’s a relief to get things out in the open. Now we both know where we stand.’
He didn’t answer, and she figured the best thing would be to wrap up the call. She tried to sound less curt, get back to the reason she’d called. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I felt bad about the other morning. I was grateful you stayed. I’d better let you go, I’m just on my way out for a run. I’ll see you Wednesday?’
‘Sure, yeah, Wednesday.’
She hung up, knowing that she’d angered him, but glad she’d set things straight.