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Sometimes I learned their names, sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes we walked together a little way, sometimes a longer way, parting with a cheerygoodbye then, nice to meet you, you too, ta-ta. Sometimes I bumped into the same people, talked some more –goodbyeturned tosee you later, love, take care, mind how you go.
Mark didn’t bother asking me where I was going anymore, never bothered saying goodbye. Katie? Who knows, you tell me.
Meanwhile, the visions still came, less often but still troubling. I’d be in the Co-op picking up a few bits for tea and I’d see the back of Jo’s shoulders in that old man’s coat, her face frozen in shock and disbelief as she fell away onto the pavement. Or I’d be slicing up chicken breasts for a curry and just the resistance of flesh against blade would have me shaking and crying in horror. It was almost as bad for Henry Parker. My knuckles had healed but I couldn’t rid my mind of the image of him turning to peer at me from the dark doorway of the church, the screwing-up of his eyes, the eventual looking beyond.
Lisa texted me regularly:How’s things?
I would text back:Same old! Keeping on keeping on.
She’d write something like:Fancy getting together for a drink/that new quiz night/the Prosecco offer at Bank Chambers?
I could see, or thought I could see, that she was trying to get me out of myself.
Definitely!I would thumb.
She’d come back with heartbreaking speed:How about next week?
And I’d think, bless her, she’s trying her best, and reply with a version of:Sounds good,I’ll let you know.
I wouldn’t get back to her, hoping the trail would go cold. Which it did. Until, on one of my days off in lieu, she texted:Have you emigrated? Haven’t seen you in months!
I can remember staring at the words on my phone, thinking,Months? Surely it’s only been weeks? I couldn’t hold her off any longer.
Undercover operations, I texted.Secret government business. You in later? Will pop in 4ish.
Once again the speediness of her reply tore me up:Great! Will have kettle on!
I set about the rest of the chores. Katie’s room was a bombsite of mouldy mugs and crumby plates; the hoover actually made a stripe when I pushed it over her carpet. When Kieron had gone to uni, I’d just closed the door to his room and hadn’t opened it since, and our room was nothing that fresh sheets, an open window and a squirt of Febreze wouldn’t sort.
When I’d finished, I sat down on the sofa for a quick cuppa.
I woke up to cold tea and a headache. My watch told me I’d been out of it for two hours. Two hours! I had no memory of falling asleep, only of how heavy my limbs had felt when I’d sat down, then lain down, telling myself it was just for a minute, how my bones had felt like they were being sucked deep into the cushions as if being pulled into the underworld by Hades himself. If you’re shocked by the Greek reference, don’t be. I know I haven’t had a classical education, but I did watch the Hercules cartoon with Kieron and Katie when they were little.
I digress, as per. Sorry.
It was late afternoon by then. If I didn’t get a shift on, I’d be late for Lisa. I popped up to the bathroom and put a comb through my hair. In the mirror, fine wrinkles magnified under the hard, white daylight. It was the first time I’d looked at myself close up for ages, and it was a bit of a shock, to be honest. There were four thick whiskers on my upper lip, which I plucked with Katie’s tweezers. On either side of my chin, pouches had started to develop, as if the apple-blossom cheeks of my youth had slid down from the tree and were now hanging onto the lower branches for dear life.
I groaned but tried to keep in mind George Burns or whoever it was who, when asked how he felt on the occasion of his ninetieth birthday, apparently said something like:compared to the alternative, pretty good.
‘You’re alive,’ I said to my reflection, though I can’t say the fact made me particularly happy.
A swipe of Katie’s mascara, a quick brush of my hair and a hasty scrunchy, and I decided I didn’t look too bad, for me. That small attention to myself had made me feel better than I had in months.
‘I’m fine,’ I practised. ‘Honestly, yeah, I’m great, actually. How’s things with you?’ I smiled to see if I could get my eyes to go with it.
Almost.
29
Rachel
‘I was wondering about calling Missing Persons.’ With a flourish, Lisa stood back to let me in. She looked at me; her brow furrowed and her head fell to one side. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’
‘Just brushed it and put it in a scrunchy, that’s all.’
‘It looks nice off your face. You’ve got make-up on as well.’ Her smile was one of encouragement, for God’s sake.
‘Not sure a paint job is enough these days.’ Already flustered, I stared at the floor, heat climbing up my neck. I’d thought I could face her, but now I wasn’t sure. ‘Not when the brickwork is crumbling.’
