Page 43 of The Forgotten
Jill plopped herself down on the sofa after letting Quinn into the flat and thrust out her chin in the direction of the kitchen, silently inviting Quinn to get wine glasses and a corkscrew. Jill swallowed half a glass of wine in one gulp, then set it down and turned her red-rimmed eyes on Quinn. Her fingers plucked nervously at the Indian throw pillow she hugged to her body like a life preserver.
“Jill, what’s happened? Why aren’t you at work?” Quinn asked, imagining every conceivable tragedy.
Jill shrugged. “I just couldn’t face it today.”
“Is something wrong at the shop, or with Brian?”
“Yes and yes,” Jill said as tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Quinn, everything has gone wrong so quickly. I was really happy. Finally, I was doing something I loved, and I thought I’d found a new love in Brian. We were getting on so well. And then it all went tits up, as Brian likes to say.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Quinn invited as she set down her own wine glass. She normally liked Malbec, but the wine made her feel queasy. Perhaps she should have eaten something before drinking. She hadn’t had anything since the madeleines Rhys made, and it was well past lunchtime.
“I must close the shop,” Jill replied, sounding broken. “I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to keep it going, but I simply can’t continue hemorrhaging money. I get about a dozen walk-ins during any given day, and maybe one of them, two if I’m really lucky, make a purchase. There are days when I sell nothing at all. Business picked up a bit just before Christmas, so I got my hopes up, but it’s been practically nonexistent for the past two months. I’m seriously in the red, Quinn.”
“Is there nothing to be done?” Quinn asked. She knew what this meant to Jill. She’d been so happy when she quit her job and threw herself into setting up her business. And now, less than a year later, she was talking about chucking it all in. “Can you not advertise, utilize social media?” Quinn asked, knowing the answer already. Advertising cost a lot and didn’t necessarily bring in customers. Jill catered to a particular type of customer, women who liked vintage and one-of-a-kind pieces, not mass-produced ready-to-wears peddled by all the major chains and priced to sell.
Jill shook her head. “I can’t compete, Quinn. I’m spending way more than I’m earning, and if I stay open for a few more months, I will get heavily into debt. I’m an accountant, for the love of God. I can’t allow that to happen. I made a bad decision. I miscalculated, and now I’m paying the price.”
Quinn poured Jill more wine and sat back, thinking. There was something niggling at her, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. Something she’d read. Quinn took a sip of her wine and closed her eyes, trying to envision what it was she was trying to recapture, but nothing came to her.
“And what happened with Brian?”
Jill’s fingers started plucking at the pillow again, pulling out bright red threads and tossing them to the floor, which was already littered with colorful fibers.
“Things were good. At least I thought they were. And then I found out that his ex has been stalking him on social media. I don’t go online much, but with business being so slow, I started spending more time on Facebook, searching for groups where I might promote for free. I never knew how many groups there were,” Jill said, shaking her head in wonder. “There are so many devoted just to Victoriana. I’ve joined several and posted some photos of my merchandise. A lot of people responded, but many of them are not actually based in London, so no joy.”
“And the ex,” Quinn prompted.
“She started commenting on all of Brian’s posts and sending him daily messages, asking him to come round. Seems that she’s no longer keen on the bloke she left Brian for. He appears to have a wife and two children that he forgot to mention for nearly a year.”
“Yes, that would put a damper on the proceedings,” Quinn replied, disgusted. She couldn’t help thinking of Luke, who most likely forgot to mention that he’d been living with Quinn for the past few years to his new love, Ashley, until he was sure that he wanted to pursue a future with her and give up Quinn. “What a wanker.”
“He is, and it did. I confronted Brian last week, and we had a blazing row. I accused him of wanting to get back with Denise and stringing me along until he knows for sure that things are back on between them.”
“And does he want to get back with her?”
“He claims that he doesn’t, and that he never replied to any of her messages, but I don’t really know. Do I? He could have gone to her flat if he wanted to, and I wouldn’t be any the wiser. What bloke can resist a woman who’s gagging for him? He’s probably shagging her right now,” Jill added dramatically.
“What exactly did he say?” Quinn asked, suddenly feeling sympathetic toward Brian. Jill was being a bit irrational, even for Jill.
“Other than that I’m controlling, mistrustful, and generally insane? He said he loves me and would never go back to Denise, not even if things didn’t work out between us.”
“But you don’t believe him? Has he given you reason to doubt him?”
Jill started crying softly and buried her face in the much-abused pillow. “No, he hasn’t, but I was so upset about the shop and so stressed about my financial losses that I took it out on him. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Has he heard from you?” Quinn asked carefully.
“No. Complete radio silence.”
“Do you think you might want to shoot him a text? Tell him you’d like to talk.”
“Why should I, when he hasn’t reached out to me? I’m the injured party here,” Jill retorted, tossing the pillow angrily across the room and splashing the rest of the wine into her glass.
“Jill, if you love Brian, then give him the benefit of the doubt. You are the one who accused him of cheating and lying. If you think he is, then grieve and move on, but if you think that he really does love you and wants a future with you, then you are making a mistake. Text him, call him, send a carrier pigeon. Whatever. Just make the first move. Talk things out. Clear the air. It’s never too late to end a relationship, but it might be too late to salvage one. I bet he’s desperate to hear from you.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do. Here,” Quinn picked up Jill’s mobile off the coffee table and handed it to her. “Do it now, before you change your mind.”
