Page 59 of Can You See Her?

Stop asking me that, I didn’t say, of course.

‘I’m fine, love. Don’t be worrying about me – I like to be busy.’

I had the punters to make small talk with, pints to pull, meal orders to pass through to the kitchen and take to the tables. I had Phil to say hello to, sad and hunched over the slot machine with the last of his coins, ghost of a man. I got through those seconds and minutes and hours like you’d get through pushing your forehead up a tarmac road. Phil’s suit was hanging off him, poor thing.

‘Here,’ I said, handing him my sandwiches.

‘What’s that for?’ He looked shocked, like kindness was a surprise to him.

‘Your suit’s falling off you,’ I said. ‘And I’m not hungry.’

He smiled, then laughed.

‘I’m not losing weight,’ he said. ‘The ex cut up all my suits. This one’s from Oxfam. It’s too big, that’s all.’

‘You’re joking.’ I shook my head. ‘Bloody hell, Phil,’ I said. ‘I think that deserves a cup of tea an’ all.’

I made him a cup of tea even though I’m not supposed to give anyone anything for free. But whenever conversation stopped or I was between punters, Anne-Marie fell into my mind’s eye; she wouldn’t stop falling, falling forward, slumping over the steering wheel over and over again. I’d met and spoken to tens of people in the last few months. Only two, three, tops, had become victims like the ones in my clip file.

But only three had provided an opportunity, hidden away from watchful eyes. And three was enough. Three was three too many.

Seconds ticked, minutes passed, hours struck. At half past two, I told Dave to go – there was no point in him being there, sad get.

‘Are you going to be OK?’ He was already shrugging on his jacket.

‘Of course. Off you go.’Stop asking me if I’m OK, because if you knew the real answer, you’d be horrified.

Bill the chef left as usual at ten. Late on, there was no one in so I closed up at quarter to eleven. I turned all the lights off and sat behind the bar in the dark. I was thinking about Katie and how I’d not seen her in days.

I dug my phone out of my bag, switched it on and called her.

‘Mum?’ She sounded like she was in a disco or something, judging by the noise.

‘Katie, love, is that you?’

‘Course it’s me, Mum. It’s my phone.’ She laughed. ‘Mum? Are you all right?’

‘Course I am. Not seen you, that’s all.’

‘I’ve been at Liam’s.’ The background noise became suddenly quieter, though I could hear what sounded like a road. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I’m fine. It’s me asking if you’re all right, remember?’

‘I know, I just thought… Are you sure you’re OK?’

Jeez, don’t you start.‘I’m fine. About to set off home. Your dad’s out, so shall I call and get us a bottle of wine in? I’m going past the off-licence. I could order a pizza, too. I know it’s late, but we could watch a film, stay up past midnight, eh, be wild, what d’you reckon?’

She hesitated. Quite right, I supposed. It’d been over a year since we’d shared a bottle and made ourselves cry laughing looking at memes and silly videos on her phone. Over a year since we’d shared anything at all.

‘I thought you were… I’m in Warrington.’ The background noise died. ‘There’s a few of us. I’ve just stepped out of the club.’

I swallowed hard. Somehow this cut me to the bone in a way her rudeness never had. ‘That sounds like fun.’

‘I can come home. I… I thought you’d be doing something with Dad. Or Lisa.’

Dad and Lisa are doing something with each other, I didn’t say. Perhaps she didn’t know, then.

‘Will you heck come home,’ is what I did say. ‘Go on. Have a Jägerbomb for me, will you? For… old times.’

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