Things have got better—or worse, depending on how you look at it. Since the weekend, the sense of being adrift has intensified and I don’t seem to be able to make any decisions. It might be a kind of paralysis because I don’t know what to do about Max. Whatever it is, I feel numb, incapable of carrying out the smallest of tasks.
I’ve even altered my morning routine to make things more manageable. Previously, on my way to work, if I saw a full bin—chip cartons hanging out of the top, wrappers fluttering down the road, littering the hedgerows—I used to stop and text the council the bin number so they knew to send someone to empty it.
Then I would pass this poor guy lying on the footbridge, rigid with the cold. The local papers are always running campaigns, telling us not to give the homeless money. So, I’d buy him a coffee and hot dog from the sausage van underneath the arches.
Well, I can’t face that now. It feels overwhelming—the bins, the homeless, the idea that I can’t make things better, no matter what I do. I’m just one person, and there are too many people in need of help. There was a story in the news a couple of years ago about an elderly lady who took her own life because of all the donation requests she received in the mail from charities. I never really understood that, until now.
“Everything all right, Jess?” I look up to see my boss, Gavin, standing there, frowning at me. I’m about to ask why, when I realize that I’m holding the receiver of my desk phone and it’s starting to make that high-pitched noise when it’s been off the hook too long.
“Sorry,” I mumble, hanging up.
“Are you meeting with Cole & Co. today?” he asks, rocking on his heels.
“Uh, yeah, that’s right.”
“Want me to tag along?”
I cast a double take at him. “Why?”
He plucks up the ball of elastic bands from my desk that I’ve been building for years and tosses it into the air. “No reason. Just a bit of moral support.” He catches it. “They can be tough.”
“That’s no problem. I can handle it.”
He gazes at me for longer than necessary, as though trying to suss something out. “Okay. Hope it goes well. Let me know how you get on.” And then he goes to talk to Mary.
Quick as a fly, I go to Elliott, whisper in his ear. “What was all that about?”
He’s wearing a colorful waistcoat today—is that Betty Boop? His Adam’s apple bulges as he looks at me, adjusting his specs. “I...uh...I’m not sure.”
He is sure. I can see it on his face.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
And then I think: wait, I don’t want to know. If it’s something bad, I’m not going to be able to handle it.
Going back to my desk, I sit down and start prepping for the Cole & Co. meeting.
I’m going to need all the help I can get.
When I get back from Cole & Co., which went as well as could be expected in the circumstances, meaning it didn’t go very well, the office is empty.
I sit chewing on a tasteless panini, wishing I hadn’t gone for melted cheese. Everything feels flat, hopeless. I wasn’t my usual self in the meeting and could tell they thought I was off my game. They’ll probably filter this back to Gavin.
And I’m starting to worry about that, about what that could mean, when my phone rings inside my bag.
I don’t recognize the number. “Hello?” I’m still eating, trying to do so quietly.
“Is that Jess?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Kim Turner. We spoke the other day.”
“Oh.”
I set down the panini, wondering what she could possibly want.
“I know I told you not to contact me again, but I’ve been thinking about what you said and I’d like to talk to you... Hello?” she says impatiently.
“I’m here.”
“I know you’ll have spoken to Lucy by now, and I’d like you to hear my side of the story. Is now a good time?”
I gaze at the congealed panini, before dropping it in the bin. “Okay.” Taking the phone to the window, I lean against the sill, watching a pigeon hopping up the wrought-iron fire exit.
“You said your husband was involved that night at the Montague Club. So, I thought it was important for you to know what really happened...because I can assure you, it wasn’t rape.”
Her voice is echoey and it strikes me that she’s somewhere confined, maybe in the ladies’ loos.
“Go on...”
“Well, I’d always wanted to go to the Montague. I mean, who didn’t back then? But it was clear as soon as we got there that something was off. They were sneaking around as though we were breaking the rules, and I kept thinking that if the faculty found out, we’d—”
“The faculty?” I ask.
“At university,” she says, as though this were obvious. “I’ve never broken the rules in my life and there were a lot of distinguished people in that club, people in my father’s network... I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, so Lucy and I went to find a bathroom, to talk about what to do.”
“You left Nicky?”
“It wasn’t like that. She was perfectly happy—didn’t seem to care whether we were there or not.”
“I see. So, what then?”
“Well, when we got back to the games room, no one was there. I told Lucy to stay put, while I went to look for them. I couldn’t see a thing, it was so dark. And then I saw a light at the end of the corridor, so I crept forward and opened the door, took a peek. I don’t think anyone knew I was there. They were too engrossed in what they were doing.”
“Which was?”
“Having sex. Nicky and—I don’t remember any of their names...”
“One of them was my husband.”
She hesitates. “Oh... Yes, well, it looked to me as though she was enjoying herself. Not that I hung around to spectate.”
“Were all three of the men there?”
“Yes. I was disgusted! I’d never have shared a flat with her, had I known what she was like.”
I absorb her words, still watching the pigeon. It looks straight back at me and then takes off, ascending to a chimney pot.
“Didn’t you feel guilty?” I ask.
“No!” She laughs. “Why? She put us in that position, no one else. She could have got us into real trouble if the club had found out we’d entered against policy. I wasn’t convinced that the boys were members. They didn’t even sign us in.”
“But you gave her a lot of cough medicine, though, didn’t you? It must have been a potent cocktail, along with all the alcohol. I mean, she didn’t have a lot of weight on her. Don’t you think it must have contributed to what happened?”
“What?” She sounds flabbergasted. “You’re blaming me? You weren’t even there! How do you know all this, anyway? Who cares what she weighed? What’s that got to do with anything? She was a grown woman. She could have said no!”
“But why give it to her in the first place, when you were going out drinking?”
“Why are you so fixated on that?” Her voice is louder now. She drops it again, whispering into the phone. “Forget about the cough medicine. She—”
“Lucy said you were jealous of Nicky. Did you do it out of spite?”
“Do what? This is ridiculous! Of course not! I was trying to help... God, I can tell Lucy’s got to you, and Nicky too. She had a way of twisting everything, when it was clear as day that she was manipulating things for her own gain. That was what she did. Men flocked around her on campus and the lecturers all wanted to get inside her pants. Drove me mad. And—”
“Yeah, jealousy will do that to a person,” I say, turning away from the window, sitting down at my desk.
“I wasn’t jealous! I felt sorry for her! She was pathetic, throwing herself at men. But Lucy wouldn’t hear a word against her, especially after what happened. She took Nicky’s side against me and wouldn’t listen, even though we were friends first. She said she was going to help Nicky press charges against those men. I couldn’t believe it... In the end, we fell out and I lost my best friend and I had to look for a new apartment.”
“Must have been a real bind,” I say.
She pauses, and when she next speaks her voice is low, controlled. “I know what you’re thinking. That I’m a bitch, and now she’s dead, so that makes her untouchable, an angel. But let me tell you something—she’d have done anything to get what she wanted. She was out for herself. There’s a girl just like her in my sales department, and as CEO, I have to try to police it and it’s impossible. Because there are Nicky Waites everywhere, using sexuality as leverage. And there’s always a soft touch like you or Lucy waiting in the wings to mop up their tears and turn them into a victim. If she were alive now, you’d see what I mean. I assume you never met her? Well, I can tell you that whatever you think she was, you’re wrong. Very wrong.”
I wait. Then I ask, just to make sure. “Are you done?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Good. Don’t ever call me again.” And I hang up.
I go home the wrong way, the old way, without thinking. Force of habit. I don’t realize until it’s too late and I’m passing a bin that’s spilling out over the top, milkshake cartons leaking over sulfur-yellow chips. Seagulls squawk at me aggressively for disturbing their feast. But I don’t take my phone out to text the council. I keep on walking, tapping my teeth together.
Under the arches I go, ignoring the smell of urine. It got dark quickly tonight. There’s ice underfoot as I go up the incline to the footbridge.
He’s there, where he always is—the triangle of his legs in his sleeping bag, his head against the railings, cardboard underneath him as insulation against the cold. The sausage cart has packed up for the day. I’ve nothing to give him. Besides, I don’t do that anymore.
I’m trying to step past without knocking him, when he speaks. He’s never spoken to me before. All he ever did was smile up at me with that broken face—rotten teeth, cloudy eyes. “Missed you the past couple days, sweetheart.”
I’m amazed he knows who I am. He always seemed so out of it. “I go a different way now,” I say.
He nods peacefully in response.
I point into the shadows of the arches. “The sausage cart’s gone. Or I’d have...”
“S’okay.” He closes his eyes. There’s a full moon tonight, the branches of the trees stark in contrast against it. At least he has light. I start to walk off, and then stop, wavering, looking back at him, the frost sparkling on the bridge.
Taking off my puffer, I empty the pockets as I return. He doesn’t open his eyes. His skin is withered with cold, his mouth sunken over missing teeth. Bending down, I lay my coat over him. “Hope this keeps you warm,” I say, and go on my way.