Page 87 of Close to You
‘Jane?’
I pull myself up using the sofa and the fog at the edge of my thoughts starts to clear. I stumble across to Jane and crouch next to her, fearing the worst. David wanted me somewhere else because he always planned to be here.
She moans as I gently rock her shoulder and then her eyelids start to flutter. I squeeze her hand as she rolls onto her back and then blinks her eyes open to take me in. She rubs her head with her free hand and squints.
‘What happened?’ she asks with a croak.
‘I don’t know. I—’
I stop because Jane’s eyes have widened. When I check behind me, there’s nobody there.
‘What?’ I add.
‘Your hair…’ she says.
I push myself up and drift across to the mirror in the corner, now able to see why Jane was so shocked. My hair has been butchered off.
Forty-Three
THE WHY
Two years, one month ago
Andy places the juices on the table between Jane and me. He smiles kindly and says: ‘On the house.’
‘You don’t have to,’ I reply, even though I feel Jane tense momentarily at my side. Never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. It’s been three weeks since what happened with David. His body hasn’t been found and everyone still believes he’s simply disappeared. It’s at the stage where all the people I know – and many I don’t – are giving me those closed-lip smiles with theare-you-OK?head-tilts. I play along, allowing myself to stare longingly out of windows. I also do a lot more sighing than I ever did before. I should probably miss him for real… except that I don’t. Other people were right about him and I was wrong. I don’t miss his lies and I don’t miss second-guessing everything he ever said.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ Andy says. He hovers at our side for a moment before turning and heading back to the counter. Jane waits until he’s out of earshot before speaking again.
‘Have you heard from the police?’ she asks.
‘Not really. They said they’ll be in contact if anything happens. I think they’re keeping an eye on David’s bank accounts, that sort of thing.’
I allow myself another sigh, although there is some truth to this exhalation. We’re a couple of weeks away from Christmas and Andy’s got some sort of festive playlist on the go. On its own, it wouldn’t be so bad – but these songs are in every advert break; in every store and on all radio stations. After a while, it makes a person want to rip their own ears off.
Jane slurps at her sympathy juice and then glances towards Andy, before looking back to me: ‘What happens next?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find out how long someone can stay missing before, well…’
I tail off because mentioning that he might be dead doesn’t seem like something someone in my situation would want to bring up.
‘I don’t know what to do with his things,’ I add. ‘They’re still in his drawers and the wardrobe. A windscreen company came out and fixed the glass in his car – but it’s still parked outside. Nobody seems to know what I should do with it all. He could be back tomorrow…’
I’m becoming used to following up sentences like this with a lingering stare at a blank patch of wall. This time I settle on the Christmas wreath that Andy has pinned to the wall next to the toilets. There is tinsel around each of the windows and a small fake tree near the door. My mind wanders to wondering whether he put it all up himself.
Jane reaches across and squeezes my shoulder for reassurance. This has gone on for far too long for me to ever tell her I don’t like it.
‘It’s good to see you out,’ she says. ‘But how are youactuallydoing?’
I’m not sure why but, from nowhere, the truth slips out: ‘I miscarried.’
The pressure of keeping everything else to myself has finally become too much, as if my brain only has space for a certain amount of secrets. I’m keeping back so much that this one has to be spoken.
There is silence, though I can feel Jane staring at me. Seconds pass as she searches for the words: ‘You were pregnant…?’ she asks.
‘I wasn’t far gone. Maybe a few weeks.’
‘Is that why David, um…’
