Dan is waiting for me outside work. I can see him through the glass door, scowling, checking his watch. I’m ten minutes late, but it couldn’t be helped.
His face changes to a smile. “Hi, darling.” He kisses me lightly on the cheek, avoiding my mouth since I’ve just applied lipstick. “What’s the matter?” He glances over his shoulder to see what I’m looking at.
A woman wearing a black coat is standing in the exact same place as before. My heart misses a beat, but it’s not her—not Jess. It’s a tourist, taking a photo of the Circus.
“It’s nothing.” I force a smile. “I thought I’d left something at—”
“I don’t have long.” It’s starting to rain, so he puts up his golf umbrella, holds it over me. “Time’s tight today as it is.”
“Sorry. Mrs. Edgell was in for a checkup. She—”
“Shall we cut through behind the bank?”
“Yes. Good idea.”
He often interrupts me when I’m speaking, doesn’t ask what it was that I was going to say. He doesn’t mean it nastily. He’s just an impatient sort of person and I’ve learned to keep my sentences short.
We make our way down the steep hill to the main street, going a little fast for my liking.
“Should you be wearing that?” He touches my elbow to lead me across the road. We’re crossing recklessly on the corner; I normally walk along farther to the lights. It’s busy and we dodge between cars. I pull my scarf to my nose, trying not to breathe in exhaust fumes.
“Wearing what?” I glance at my reflection in a shop window. I’m wearing my red wool coat, a cashmere scarf and—
“That dress. Isn’t it the revealing one?”
It is, yes. A wrap dress that’s slightly low-cut, but I’m wearing a scarf over it. No one wants to see cleavage when booking root canal work. “Not sure.”
“Well, you need to be sure. I’d hate you to be taken advantage of. You know what men are like.”
If anyone knows, it’s Dan. He’s always been surrounded by men, with two brothers, an army career and now a car business, which he inherited from his father. Mr. Brooke Senior was a notorious character about town at one point, brash, yet granted access and even a key to the Montague Club by merit of his money. Dan says he could tell me things about his dad that would make my hair curl, without actually ever telling me those stories, not that I want to know. He can keep his dirty anecdotes for the club.
I didn’t mean to think about the club. I’ve been purposefully not thinking about it, or about that silly girl, Holly Waite. It’s not her life she’s trying to destroy. She was already dying. Why ruin our lives too for something that happened thirty years ago? Only a vindictive person would do that, and only an idiot would let her.
“Everything okay?” Dan asks, steering me out of the way of a lady walking two Dalmatian dogs. I’m not a fan of dogs, or animals in general. “You seem tense.”
I’m gripping his arm too tightly. I relax my hold. “Just work. It’s busy.”
“Well, make sure they don’t pile too much on you. Tight wads. They don’t pay you enough for that.”
I think they pay me very well. Leonardo is always kind to me. And the new specialist endodontist is turning out to be quite the charmer with the older clientele. He’s from Miami and finds England chilly at this time of year. One of the elderly ladies is knitting him a scarf.
I keep these thoughts to myself. Dan would misread them. He can be slightly possessive.
Slightly possessive? Are you serious?
This is one of Rosie’s favorite rants. I don’t know why it bothers her, if it doesn’t bother me. Her father was a far worse husband—couldn’t keep his hands to himself. After he slept with half the town and abandoned us, my life in Midsomer Norton was never the same. I died many times over, just pushing the pram along the main street, trying to avoid the gossip and sniggers.
“Maybe you shouldn’t wear that dress to work,” Dan says, as we go along the corridor of shops, underneath the hanging baskets of flowers.
It’s pretty, the corridor; chic. I used to dream of shopping here as a child, but we were always on our way to the indoor market near the abbey, to the secondhand books, food counters and cheap haberdashery. My mother used to make our clothes out of itchy material scraps, haggled for, but I never complained. Nor did Fiona.
“Hmm?” Dan is waiting for a response. We’re standing outside a designer jewelry shop. I’m still thinking about my mum, about how much she went through. Holly Waite isn’t the only person to have suffered, to have known hunger and deprivation.
“The dress.” He frowns, leans toward me, picking a blond hair from the lapel of my coat, flicking it away. I watch it drifting to the pavement, landing in a puddle. “I know you, Stephanie. You think you’re being friendly and polite, but other people will take advantage of that. I’d hate to think of someone ogling your breasts. Especially that slimy Leonardo.”
Leonardo is slimy in Dan’s view because he drives a Jaguar XJ, and didn’t buy it from him.
I smile, tug his hand. “Forget about that. You don’t have much time, remember? Let’s go inside.”
We’re picking out a sixteenth-birthday present for his niece. I don’t like the girl. She’s sullen, pampered and recently blocked Georgia on social media just because she could, but I said I’d help.
As Dan speaks to the shop assistant, I lean against the glass counter, looking at the rows of lit gems. I would have died for something like this as a teenager—something sophisticated for my hope chest. Welling up, I glance at Dan, but he’s busy asking for a cabinet to be unlocked.
I think of Rosie again, how she would call this shopping trip total bull. She doesn’t like anything about Dan, nor his family, which is an awful shame. She thinks everything about him is suspect, including the fact that he’s allowed to be called Dan, whereas I’m not allowed to be Stef or Steffie anymore, but have to be Stephanie in full.
Her constant griping gets me down, as though I’ve failed once more to find her a happy home. After all, Vivian accepts Dan. Why can’t she?
“Why aren’t you helping?” Dan hisses, even though we’re alone. The assistant has gone to the back room for keys.
“I am.” I take his arm. “Show me which one you like.”
He taps the glass with his fingernail. “That one.”
I stare at it. “The sapphire?”
“Yes. Why not?”
Because it’s £375?
I swallow, blush. “It seems...”
“I’m her godfather.” He lowers his voice. “I want to do this.”
“Yes, of course.” I glance about, wondering whether I can find an alternative. But he’ll see straight through me.
“Happy?” He bends his knees to look in my eyes. Sometimes, his breath smells a little sharpish. It’s the smoothies.
I give my best impression of a smile and Dan grins, rubbing his hands together. As the assistant returns with the key, I stand by the window, looking at the bunting flapping in the breeze and the rain dripping from the baskets of flowers.
His niece won’t give that necklace a second thought. She’ll rip off the ribbon and toss the box aside, to the bottom of her wardrobe. It’s a complete waste of money, but he wants to show off in front of his brothers—show them that he’s got this.
There’s a beep as a text message arrives. Dan will be annoyed—thinks phones should be turned off in public spaces. Yet he’s not paying any attention to me, is talking to the girl as she wraps the sapphire necklace painstakingly.
I read Jess’s begging text, my heart beginning to race, my finger hovering over the image. I can just about make out three men, but daren’t click on it, not here.
What is she doing, taking chances, sending this to me? Pressing delete, I drop my phone back inside my bag.
I watch Dan as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, feeling a surge of loyalty and sympathy for him. He’s just trying to get by, like we all are—fighting middle-age, boosting his thinning hair with volume gel.
The shop assistant is polite, but wary. He’s too masculine for some women, especially young ones, which is why Rosie hasn’t taken to him. It takes maturity to appreciate a man like him, whose feminine side isn’t evident. His hair is soldier-short; his friends have nicknames like Captain and Sniffer; they organize boys’ tours where they’re sworn to secrecy.
It’s all rather immature. Yet I understand there’s a line between us that he doesn’t want crossed. I don’t want it crossed either. As far as he’s concerned, I’m a natural blonde. He doesn’t want the details, doesn’t want to ruin the mystique, as he puts it. And nor do I. It’s not necessary or appropriate.
But now...I think of those tours, those secrets, and feel a niggle of doubt as he smiles paternally at the shop assistant.
His footsteps are heavy as he comes toward me. He’s a bit of a stomper, heavy-handed. And I wonder at the power in his sinewy body; the fanatical sit-ups, running, strength building. He could easily overpower someone. He could—
“Okay?” He takes my arm and we leave. It’s stopped raining. The sun is shining, causing a glare on the wet pavement. “That’s a job well done. Thanks, Stephanie.” He pats my hand. I can smell his breath again and I turn away, looking at the appealing shop fronts—a jade lamp glowing within, a string of fairy lights, a log fire—wishing I could have brought my mum here once, just once, to treat her to something.
I’m welling up again, so I root in my bag for my sunglasses. I never leave home without them. Squinting is very aging.
Outside my office building, Dan kisses me goodbye before thudding off to work, his footsteps sounding loud in the quiet Circus.
Back at the reception desk, I fix my cashmere scarf over my chest, ensuring there are no peepholes. Dan is just looking out for me. He’s right: there are a lot of perverts around.
I gaze at the fish tank, watching an angelfish fluttering along the glass. I don’t want to go back to that ghastly storage unit tonight. I don’t have the energy. I want the whole thing to crawl away to a dark place and die. But if I leave Jess to sort this out without my input, she could ruin my life.
It takes me the rest of the afternoon to reply. I save the text, mull it over. It’s only three words, but still...I’m not sure.
On my way.
Just as I step outside into the fading light, I press send.