Page 59 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
‘How are you supposed to do all that?’ I say, laughing. ‘I know you’re very capable but you’re only one person, Dee. Let me help. Besides, it’s my pub.’
Dee shakes her head, knowing I will do what I want to do regardless of what she says. I go up the stairs, trying not to think about the last time I was here, the last time I was on these very stairs, the fear I felt at that moment. The fact that I thought I might die. The flat is cold and feels slightly different, like a home always does after a period of time away. I can smell David. Thestuff he puts in his hair. His deodorant. That strong cheese he always insists on buying, which has probably been sitting in the fridge getting more and more ripe. But David is not here. Dee has told me that he’s moved back in with his mum for a while. And she’s had the locks changed, just in case. So why do I feel like my heart is about to explode as I make my way through the rooms?
As I’m getting changed into some jeans and a navy and white striped top, I realise that Dee must have been in here and tidied things up. Everywhere’s pristine. And before she did that, did the police come? Suddenly, my home doesn’t feel like my own, and it hits me that, for the first time in my life, I now live alone. I sit on the edge of the bed for a minute or two, take some deep breaths. And then I go downstairs to the pub, give Dee a smile that I hope will look genuine.
‘Have you been looking after Whiskers?’ I ask, standing next to my friend as we both pour glasses of wine.
‘Yes. Let me know when you want me to bring her back. She’s been pining for you.’
It’ll feel better when Whiskers is there. More like it used to be.
For the next couple of hours, I let myself get lost in the work. The dull repetitiveness of it. Making the drinks, taking the money, judging who’s up for a bit of small talk and who wants to be left in peace. Collecting glasses, loading and unloading the dishwasher, wiping tables. I’ve always loved this about the job – I can close off the thinking part of my brain and just do it. I’m jolted out of it at about half-eight by Dee, who puts a warm hand on my arm and whispers in my ear.
‘Can you serve Liam?’
I look up and see Liam across the bar from me, looking hopefully in Dee’s direction, then at me.
‘Shelley, you’re back. I didn’t even know you were out of hospital, let alone working.’
‘Well, here I am. Usual?’
I wonder whether Dee and Liam have gone on another disastrous date. At the end of the night, when we’ve closed the door on the last drinker and Dee’s taken off her shoes and put on the slippers she keeps in the back room, I ask her about it.
‘It’s just awkward as hell,’ Dee says. ‘He’s been in twice, while you’ve been in hospital, and the first time he was asking about you and the second time he asked me out again and I panicked and said I had to change a barrel.’
‘I don’t get it,’ I say. ‘He really likes you. And I think maybe you like him too.’
Dee does her most scathing eye roll. ‘If he liked me, he would make some kind of grand gesture or something. Coming into the bar where I work isn’t really good enough, you know?’
I laugh. Dee’s always had high expectations, and the men she’s met have always failed to meet them. I think about how I can help Liam out, point him in the right direction.
Dee asks if I fancy a drink, and when I nod gratefully, she makes us both a vodka and tonic while I do the last of the tidying, and we take them upstairs. We do this occasionally, and I am grateful that Dee sensed I didn’t want to be alone in my flat.
‘I don’t think I can carry on living here,’ I say once we’re upstairs and I’ve found some crisps to tip into a bowl.
‘Really? I wondered about that. Is it about him knowing where you are?’
I take a slug of my drink. ‘No, not really. It’s just… ruined, I suppose. I can’t go up and down those stairs a hundred times a day and keep thinking about what he did, and how it could have gone. People die falling down stairs, don’t they?’ I shudder.
‘So where will you go?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. There’s so much I don’t know. I need to get a divorce, sort everything out. But this place sort of comes with the pub, and I don’t want to give the pub up. I don’t want him to take that from me.’
‘What if I moved back in?’
Dee’s been living alone for a few years and always says she’ll never share with anyone other than me. I consider it, the two of us living together again, watching films under one of our duvets on winter days, taking it in turns to cook. Would that be enough, to stop me feeling scared and sad in this place?
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Let me think about it for a while. I’m not going to do anything immediately.’
Dee looks away, and I see that she is hurt.
‘It isn’t about living with you again,’ I say. ‘I’d do that in a heartbeat. It’s whether or not it can be here.’
Dee nods but I’m not sure she believes me. We don’t say much while we finish our drinks. I’m working up to asking about David, and when Dee looks like she’s getting ready to leave, I blurt it out.
‘Have you seen him? David? Since that night, I mean?’
‘Only when he came to drop off his key. I was behind the bar, and he came in the front door and everyone glared at him. They all knew what he’d done. He looked at me and he said, “It was an accident, Dee. It’s not what you think.” Of course, I knew it wasn’t true. I knew he’d been getting worse and worse and I should have known that it would lead to this.’
