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Chapter 8
Judith parked her car outside Mark’s apartment and peered up at the third-floor windows.He must be home, because Mark never went out after work.Somewhere in there he’d be gaming, his desk all set up with his space age-looking computer fit-out.The equipment she’d helped him pay for.
Resentment rose up her throat.
All weekend she’d kept trying to contact him.No return calls, not even a text message.So, this morning she’d gathered up a bag of his leftover bits and pieces and resolved that after work she’d front up and have it out with him.
She was anxious and jittery as she went up the steps and pressed the bell for apartment four.
No reply.She pressed again, longer this time.
She’d sent a text message just before leaving work.Mark, I’m worried about you.I’m coming over NOW.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mark’s voice crackled over the intercom.“Yeah?”
“Mark, it’s me, Smidge.”
She winced.Without thinking, she’d used his old pet name for her.Maybe it was just relief that he wasn’t dead.
“Oh, hi.”
“Can I come up?”
“Er—okay.Give me a minute.”
It crossed her mind that he might have a woman up there, which she immediately dismissed.Mark had let himself go these past couple of years as his gaming obsession increased.If she hadn’t been such a loyal soul, she wondered, would she have stuck around?
She stood hugging her elbows, looking out across the expanse of rooftops to the ocean visible on the horizon.At least he had nice views, not that he’d even bother to raise his head and look out the window.
The door buzzed and she pushed it open and entered the foyer, then made her way swiftly up the three flights of stairs.The door to number four was slightly ajar.
The apartment smelt of takeaway fast food.She flicked a look in the bedroom, which was a seething mass of discarded clothing.She resisted clucking her tongue.The open-plan living area with its tiny kitchenette was at the end of the passage, she remembered, because she’d helped him bring some furniture and boxes in.Another door to the left was closed.She knew what was in there.Mark’s huge black desk and leather chair surrounded by a cockpit of screens.Curtains closed to shut out anything but his gaming universe.It was the only thing he seemed to care about these days, because he’d long ago stopped caring about her.
A pang of sadness constricted her ribs.What a wasteland their relationship had ended up.Two young people who should still be enjoying life and each other, locked together in a habit that had made them both miserable.
And now it seemed she was clueless about how to get out there and date again.She pushed all thoughts of a certain brown-eyed guy out of her head; she had a job to do.
Mark was slouched on the sofa.
She took in the pallor of his skin, the dark shadows under his eyes and the fact his belly had got slacker even since they’d split up.
“Well at least you’re alive,” she said.He lifted a surprised eyebrow.“I was worried, Mark.You haven’t responded to any of my messages.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to call me back?”
“Sorry about that,” he muttered.
She dumped the plastic bag on the coffee table.“I’ve brought some stuff you left behind.”
“Right.”He didn’t look at her, just pointed the remote at the TV.A popular reality show appeared on the screen; women with big lips and boofy hair screeching at each other.
She went and perched on the easy chair next to the sofa.It was the one that used to be in her craft room.She’d had plans to re-cover it in a nice bright print, ready for when they finally bought a house together.But in the end, they’d had to split their furniture and she knew she wouldn’t get around to doing anything with this one.
“There’s your Grateful Dead T-shirt and a pair of your work overalls in there.I’ve bagged up your toiletries.Shampoo, and your shaving cream.”She’d be glad to be rid of his anti-dandruff treatment.“Your exercise ball is in the boot of my car.”She’d been trying to get him to do stretches, even practise some yoga with her.No luck.
“I don’t need the ball.”
