Page 50 of Close to You
‘About an hour ago. Maybe an hour and a quarter.’
‘Are you sure it was his car?’
‘It had that weird bobblehead thing in the back. I’ve never liked that thing.’ She pauses for a mouthful of yoghurt and then adds: ‘How’s he getting on with his, um, job and all?’
She might as well put ‘job’ into quotations, because it’s clear what she thinks of it. Even though I’ve had those doubts myself, I suddenly feel defensive.
‘Don’t say it like that,’ I snip back. ‘It’s not an “um” job. It’s a job.’
When we were teenagers, we would argue about things like this all the time.
That’s a nice, um, top.
Those are nice, um, shoes.
Sometimes I would let it go, other times I’d pick a fight. Jane would rarely, if ever, admit the clear malice she intended. I always took things in the wrong way.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Jane says – although we both know that she did. She can be an,um, nice person. I can be, too.
‘His job’s going great,’ I say. ‘Everything’s goinggreat.’
I finish with an audible full-stop that puts something of an end to the conversation.
We continue eating in a silence that’s broken only by the girlish giggling of the flirty mothers. Moments later and Jane drops her spoon into the now empty bowl.
‘I have to get back to the office,’ she says. ‘Was great catching up.’
We have a brief hug, although there’s little feeling in it, and then she waves a cheerio to Andy and heads out. I wait until she’s out of sight and then say a brief goodbye to Andy before hurrying to my own car. I might have been dismissive with Jane – but it’s hard to ignore what she said.
I drive through Gradingham and out the other side, then follow the lanes until I reach the unmarked turn into the motorway services. There’s a big ‘no entry’ sign, although everyone ignores it. It is this entrance that staff use to get to work, while, for everyone else, it’s a cheeky – and probably illegal – entrance to the motorway.
I drive down the ramp and head towards the main services building, which is when I spot David’s car. There are a few trucks on the furthest side of the car park and a coach slotted in across four spaces. Other than that, there are barely any vehicles. I hate that Jane’s right, but there’s no question she is.
I get out of my car and walk around David’s. There’s the scuff on the back bumper and the familiar football bobblehead in the back. I agree with Jane that it’s weird. I’ve never liked it, either.
I check the text message with the photo and now know that, if I were to Google ‘Tyne Bridge’, this would appear somewhere deep in the results. It’s probably come from Instagram, or something like that.
After another lap of his car, I stop at the bonnet and turn in a circle. There must be an explanation for all this. He got up at half past five to travel to Newcastle for work. Perhaps he caught a bus from here…? Or he’s carpooling with a friend…? He never mentioned either of those things, but there must be some reason for why his car is here.
I head towards the main building and make my way up the grimy steps. I don’t need to go any further. I don’t even need to go inside. The Burger King is on the corner, a giant splash of red, blue and yellow set against the grimness of this concrete monstrosity. The glass is slightly tinted, but it’s easy enough to make out the figure sitting at the table closest to the window. He has his phone in hand, an open box in front of him, with a half-eaten burger spilling onto the table.
David’s definitely not in Newcastle.
Twenty-Three
Three years, one month ago
How’s Newcastle?
I watch as David picks up his phone and reads the message. He licks the fingers of his other hand, wipes them on his top, and then taps something back. Moments later, my phone buzzes with the reply.
Just going into a meeting. The sun’s out.
I’m not sure why, but I look up to the darkening sky that matches my mood.
I head into the building and cross to the coffee shop opposite the Burger King. I don’t order anything but find a chair in the corner that gives me a perfect view of David. He continues to eat his burger, although it is small bites at a time. I suspect he wants to drag it out, like a teenager trying to make a milkshake last all evening.
Fifteen minutes pass and David does nothing other than use his phone – which is plugged into a socket on a pillar. I wonder how long he’s been in the same spot.
