Andrew wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the bath (or why he’d decided to run one in the first place), but it had been scaldingly hot when he’d lowered himself gingerly in, and now it was barely lukewarm. He’d put Ella on in the living room, but the bathroom door had swung shut so he could only just hear the music. He’d considered getting out and opening the door, but there was something different about experiencing the music like this, where he had to train his ears so intently that he heard every key change, every subtle shift in vocal inflection, as if for the first time. He felt overwhelmed at Ella’s capacity to surprise and thrill him after all this time, but now the record had come to an end and every time he shifted position he felt the coldness of the water seeping into his flesh.
He couldn’t really remember leaving Meredith’s earlier that evening. He’d stumbled out, his phone still ringing, vaguely aware that Meredith was screaming, “He’s killed him! He’s killed him!” as Peggy tried to calmly explain the situation on the phone to the emergency services. The next thing he could recall was the scuff marks and the strip light and his neighbor’s perfume. Maybe he was in shock.
He finally worked up the courage to get out of the bath and sat shivering on his bed with a towel wrapped around him, looking at his phone on the floor in the corner where he’d dropped it. He’d turned it off after the third time Carl called, but he knew he couldn’t ignore him for much longer. Carl and Meredith. Meredith and Carl. There was no way Carl’s calling him now was just a coincidence. And then there was Keith. Maybe he should call Peggy first, see what had happened. He couldn’t really have hurt him that badly, surely?
He went to the living room and sat with his phone, switching between the two numbers, unable to make a decision. Eventually, he pressed “call.” Digging his fingernails into his arm, he waited for Carl to answer, the silence horribly absolute. He was suddenly desperate to puncture the stillness, and he rushed over to his record player and clumsily dropped the needle, Ella’s voice filling the room. It was the closest to backup he was ever going to get. He walked around the train tracks in a figure eight, the phone still ringing out.
“Hello, Andrew.”
“Hello.”
There was a pause.
“Well?” Andrew said.
“Well what?”
“I’m returning your call, Carl. What do you want?”
Andrew heard Carl swallow. A disgusting protein shake no doubt.
“I met one of your colleagues last week,” Carl said. “Meredith.”
Andrew’s head swam violently, and he crumpled slowly to his knees.
“She came to a yoga class of mine. Business has been slow, so it was only her and a few others. We’ve not been able to afford proper advertising, of course.”
“Right,” Andrew said, clinging on to the slimmest hope that Carl wasn’t going where he thought he was with this.
“We got to chatting after the class,” Carl said. “It was a bit awkward, really. She suddenly started going on about some miserable affair she’s having. I don’t know why she thought I’d be interested. I was desperate to get rid of her and then suddenly, out of the blue, she mentioned where she worked. And, lo and behold, it was with you. Small world, isn’t it?”
Andrew considered hanging up. He could take the SIM from his phone and flush it away and never have to speak to Carl again.
“Andrew, are you still there?”
“Yes,” Andrew said, through gritted teeth.
“Good,” Carl said. “I thought someone might be distracting you. Diane, perhaps. Or maybe the kids.”
Andrew balled his free hand into a fist and bit down on it hard until he could taste blood.
“It’s funny how our memories distort,” Carl said. Andrew could tell he was trying to keep his voice level. “Because I could have sworn that you lived on your own in a bedsit just off the Old Kent Road, that you hadn’t been in a relationship since . . . well . . . But according to this Meredith person you’re a happily married father of two living in a fancy town house.” Carl’s voice was vibrating with repressed anger. “And there are only two explanations there. Either Meredith has got things spectacularly wrong, or it means you’ve been lying to her and god knows who else about having a wife and children, and Christ I hope it’s the first one, because if it’s the second then I think that might be the most pathetic, awful thing I’ve ever heard. And I can only imagine what your boss would think of that, were he to find out. You’re working with vulnerable people a lot of the time, and for the council too. I can’t imagine such a revelation would go down particularly well, do you?”
Andrew brought his hand away from his mouth and saw the cartoonish bite mark on his skin. A memory swam into his mind of Sally throwing a half-finished apple over a hedge and protesting to their mother when she told her off.
“What do you want?” he said quietly. At first there was no reply. Just the sound of their breathing. Then Carl spoke.
“You ruined everything. Sally could have gotten better, I know she could, if only you’d made things right. But now she’s gone. And guess what? I spoke to her lawyer today, and she tells me that the money—Sally’s life savings, just to remind you, Andrew—will be paid to you any day now. Christ, if only she’d known the sort of person you really are. Do you honestly think she’d have done the same thing?”
“I don’t . . . That’s not . . .”
“Shut up and listen,” Carl said. “Given the fact I now know just how much of a liar you are, let me make it very clear what’s going to happen if you decide to go back on your promise to give me what’s mine. I’m going to text you my bank details, right now. And if you don’t transfer the money to me the moment you get it, then all it takes is one phone call to Meredith, and everything’s over for you. Everything. Got that? Good.”
With that, he hung up.
Andrew took the phone away from his ear and gradually his brain tuned back in to Ella’s voice: It wouldn’t be make-believe, if you believed in me. He immediately logged in to his online banking on his phone. When the screen showed his account, it took him a moment to realize what he was looking at: the money was already there. His phone vibrated—Carl’s bank details. Andrew started a new transfer, entering Carl’s details, his heart racing. One more click, and the money would be gone, and this would be over. But, despite every instinct, something stopped him. For all of Carl’s words about what Sally would make of his lies, would she really take a better view of what Carl was doing right now? This money was the last thing that connected him and Sally. It had been his sister’s last gift to him. The last emblem of their bond.
Before he could stop himself, he’d hit “cancel,” dropping the phone onto the carpet and putting his head into his hands, taking long, calming breaths.
He’d been sitting on the floor, thoughts flitting between weary defeat and desperate panic, when his phone rang again. He was half expecting it to be Carl—that somehow he’d worked out Andrew had the money already—but it was Peggy.
“Hello?” he said. The background noise was chaotic, people shouting over each other, clamoring to have their voice heard.
“Hello?” he said again.
“Is that Andrew?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Maisie. Hang on. Mum? Mum? I’ve got him.”
Andrew heard a collective “Whoa!” and the sound of blaring horns, then everything went muffled with the sound of fingers scrabbling at the phone.
“Andrew?”
“Peggy? Are you okay? Did Keith—”
“You were right about Steve. Got back and he was shouting at the girls, drunk out of his skull and on god knows what else. I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t. Grabbed as much stuff as I could and shoved the girls into the car. Steve was too busy smashing the place up to stop me leaving but he jumped on his motorbike and came after me.”
“Shit, are you all right?”
Another horn blared.
“Yes, well no, not really. I’m so sorry, Andrew, I should have believed you earlier.”
“It doesn’t matter, I don’t care—I just want to know you’re safe.”
“Yeah, we are. I think I’ve lost him. But the thing is, look, I know it’s late and everything but I’ve tried everyone else and . . . I wouldn’t normally ask but . . . could we come to yours, just for an hour or something, till I figure out what to do?”
“Yes, of course,” Andrew said.
“You’re a lifesaver. We won’t be a hassle, I promise. Okay, what’s your address? Maisie, grab that pen, darling, I need you to write Andrew’s address down for me.”
Andrew felt his stomach somersault as he realized what he’d just agreed to.
“Andrew?”
“Yes, I’m here, I’m here.”
“Thank god. What’s your address?”
What could he do? He had no choice but to tell her. And almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth the line went dead.
“It’s fine,” he said out loud, the words swallowed by the yawning indifference of his flat, the four walls that comprised living room, kitchen and bedroom seeming to have encroached.
Okay, let’s look at this logically, he thought. Maybe this could be a second house? A little place he had all to himself for a bit of . . . what was that dreadful phrase Meredith had said the other day? “Me time,” that was it. He turned slowly on the spot and took the place in, trying to imagine it was the first time he’d seen it. It was no good. It felt too lived-in to be anywhere other than his home.
I’m going to tell her everything.
The thought caught him off guard. Moments later came the sound of a car pulling up outside. He looked around. Maybe he should try to clear up—though there was hardly any mess. As usual, there were one plate, one knife and fork, one glass, and a single saucepan on the draining board. Nothing else was out of place. God, what was the use?
He took one last look around, then grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Down the stairs. Past the scuff marks. Through the faint cloud of perfume. The lower he got, the colder the air became, and he felt his confidence starting to drain with it.
No, you’ve got to do it, he urged himself. Do it. Don’t turn back now.
He was in the corridor, just one set of doors separating him from Peggy and the girls, their shapes blurred through the frosted glass.
Do it. No going back.
His hand was on the door handle. His legs were shaking so much he thought they might give way. Things just have to get worse before they can get better. Do it, you fucking coward—do it.
Peggy threw her arms around him and he felt her tears on his cheeks. He hugged her back so tightly he could feel her loosen her own grip in surprise.
“Hey now, hey,” she whispered, and the softness of it brought tears swimming into his own eyes. He could see Suze trying to carry three different bags out of the car at once, struggling to keep her balance. Maisie was at her side, her face pale, her arms folded tightly around herself. Peggy put her hands on Andrew’s chest. “Shall we go inside?” she said. Andrew watched her eyes searching his, concern now dawning.
“Andrew . . . ?”