Page 19 of The World Outside My Window

The house is behind her and she slowly turns to take in the rest of the garden; the white metal bench, the mossy patio with the table and chairs still huddled together, unused and unloved since they moved here. The back of the house, that she’s never actually seen before, looms over her, the upper windows dark, like inquisitive eyes, protective. The rhythm of her heart has settled, a steady but insistent thrump thrump against her ribcage, and her hands have stopped shaking. She strains her ears. She can hear a faint tweet of birds, a clipping sound like a hedge cutter, and a steady thump that might be the boy opposite kicking his football against the garage. A car door bangs somewhere and an engine starts, then the sound slowly fades into nothing. Life goes on, as it has always done. Nothing has changed.

Except her.

‘I think I can do this,’ she whispers.

‘You can. You are doing it.’ Debbie struggles to hide the excitement in her voice. She hadn’t imagined Laura would get this far quite so quickly, but she’s clearly under-estimated her friend’s determination.

‘You were right,’ Laura says. ‘This is the only way I’m going to be able to help Jim. I need to get out there and find him. He needs me.’

She looks around the garden, tears shining in her eyes. She’s made it. She’s on her way.

* * *

After Debbie has left, Laura pours herself a large glass of vodka and reflects on how far she’s come in just a few days. She’s never thought of herself as brave, but for the first time ever, she’s beginning to feel as though she might just be brave enough to do this one thing. Jim is counting on her. It’s what’s getting her through it.

After the first day and the aborted attempt at getting into the garden, she was worried she might never make it. But later that evening after Debbie went home she tried again, and this time, under the cloak of darkness, she managed to stand up from her chair without falling over.

Throughout the next day she tried a few more times, and each time she got a tiny bit closer to the door until, early this morning, she finally reached the threshold. Debbie was amazed at her friend’s progress when she arrived later that afternoon and they finally made it out into the garden.

‘At least one good thing has come out of Jim disappearing,’ Debbie said as they walked back inside. ‘You’re finally overcoming your agoraphobia.’

Laura didn’t think much about her words at the time but now she realises that Debbie was right. Laura might constantly feel as though her whole body has been swallowed by anxiety, but not only has Jim’s disappearance given her a reason to get better, it’s also forced her to be stronger than she’s had to be in a long, long time.

Laura allows herself to think about Jim for a moment, about their life together. When they met she was totally swept up in the romance of it. At forty to her twenty-six he was significantly older than the men she usually went for. But more than that, he was straightforward and open. Her previous boyfriend had been quiet and shy, too scared to tell her how he felt. Too similar to her, if she was honest, which meant it was destined to fail from the start.

But when she met Jim, he was so different, it felt almost like starting all over again, from scratch. Wiping the slate clean and learning the new rules.

Not that she’d had that much experience with men. She’d spent most of her teenage years without a boyfriend, until she’d started to believe she was never even going to kiss a boy, let alone find someone who liked her. And then, finally, blissfully, it had happened, at a friend’s house party. It had involved alcohol of course – Cinzano swigged straight from the bottle, which had reappeared again many hours later in a bush outside – but finally, at the ripe old age of fifteen, Laura had had her very first snog.

Dating didn’t come easy to her, but she tried. All her life she’d had an overwhelming need to be looked after, protected. Dad had been her hero, the person who made her fall in love with cooking and food, and when he walked out, her mum didn’t have much left to give. She did her best, but she was weak, and when Brian came along with his fags tucked behind his ear and his cocky swagger, she believed he’d look after her the way Laura’s dad always had. By the time it became abundantly obvious that Brian was neither a protector nor a good man, he had his feet well and truly under the table and it was made clear to Laura that she was in the way.

She left home at seventeen and moved in with Debbie. Debbie had been desperate to get away from home too, and they both started working behind the bar in their local. Debbie took to it immediately, always finding ways to chat to the men who spent their days propping up the bar, downing pint after pint of ale, without letting them put their lecherous hands anywhere near her. Meanwhile Laura begged to be allowed to work in the kitchen away from all of that, and in the end, when the cook left, the landlord reluctantly offered her the job.

‘Just make sure you don’t get any fancy ideas,’ he said as he stubbed out his Benson & Hedges in the overflowing ashtray.

She didn’t stay long, but soon after she found a job in a local restaurant where she could be more creative than just heating up frozen shepherd’s pies and boil-in-the-bag slabs of gammon. She missed Debbie but at least they still saw each other at home. Even though Debbie was only six months older than Laura she’d always been wiser, savvier, and if it hadn’t been for her, Laura probably wouldn’t have got through those first years of living away from home.

Soon, work became Laura’s focus. Creating new dishes, working her way up from kitchen assistant to junior chef and, eventually, head chef, gave her an independence she’d never experienced before so that, by the time Debbie moved out to buy a flat with her new boyfriend, Steve, Laura was doing things on her own for the first time in her life. She began to think that maybe she didn’t need anyone else after all.

Then she met Jim.

After he barged into her kitchen – ‘I didn’t barge, I politely entered and left again until you’d finished,’ he insisted – Laura felt the knot of tension in her belly slowly start to loosen as she realised that, actually, she did like having someone to look after her after all.

Jim made her feel safe, it was as simple as that. ‘Just make sure you’re not mistaking security for love,’ Debbie warned.

But Laura knew she wasn’t. Jim was like no other man she’d ever met, and in return for him looking after her, Laura made sure he was the most important person in her life too.

While Jim sorted the bills, paid the mortgage, spoke to people on the phone and helped her to blossom from a shy, slightly awkward young woman into a grown-up with friends and a social life, Laura looked after him too, in her own way. She’d spend hours whipping up special meals, learning Jim’s favourites and perfecting them: toad in the hole with plenty of fiery mustard; American pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup for weekend breakfasts; scones and cream, Welsh cakes, home-made jam. She loved seeing his face when she presented him with her latest creation. He looked after her, and she looked after him. It worked perfectly, and they didn’t need anyone else.

It's only now, with Jim missing, that it occurs to Laura that, by cutting herself off from everyone else in her life apart from Jim and Debbie, it means she’s quite, quite alone.

* * *

The doorbell peals and Laura leaps up, her heart racing. It’s gloomy now, the late-autumn shadows pushing themselves into the deepest corners of the living room, so she flicks on a lamp, downs the rest of her vodka, and makes her way cautiously to the front door. Even this action is a huge step and as she reaches for the latch and pulls the door open she takes a deep breath and averts her gaze from the outside world.

‘Sorry I’m late, had a childcare nightmare,’ Debbie says, stepping inside and shaking off her coat. Before Laura can close the door, two other, smaller figures step in behind her friend and hover uncertainly in the hallway. ‘Sorry, Lau, Steve was meant to be at home this afternoon but he had to go out last minute so I brought the kids with me. I hope you don’t mind.’ She sweeps her arm towards her two children apologetically.

‘Of course not,’ Laura says. She’s always loved Laura’s children, Lily and James, but she hasn’t seen them since the incident and she wonders whether, at nine and six, they even remember who she is. She crouches down. ‘Hello, you two, it’s lovely to see you,’ she says. Neither of them reply but Laura is rewarded with a shy smile from Lily.

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