Still ringing.
‘Hi…’
The shock almost made Lila drop the phone. Ken. His voice.
‘This is the Manson home. Leave a message and we’ll return your call.’
An answering machine. Lila broke the connection and leaned her head back against the leather of the seat.
Fuck. Adrenalin coursed through her veins, closely followed by another dose of that earlier mix of disappointment and relief.
She put the phone down and switched on the engine.
Time to go get laid by her boyfriend.
She could deal with the wife later.
Noon – 2 p.m.
9
Caro
So now what? She was here. In Glasgow. A city she’d only visited twice – once when Todd begged her to go with him to a Beyoncé concert, and the second time when she and Jason were flying to New York and the direct flight from Glasgow was the cheapest way to go. Now she was here with no plan whatsoever, on a trip that could only be described as borderline deranged.
Great.
The buzz of her phone made her pause at the end of the platform. A message. Jason. The coincidence jarred her.
Hey, how’s things? Drinks sometime over Christmas?
Her thumb returned the message.
All good thanks.
It wasn’t.
Will call you re: drinks.
She wouldn’t.
He was a nice guy. They’d been together a long time. But the truth was that she didn’t love him and there was no point in keeping it going on false hope and delusion. Wasn’t that what her dad had done to her mum? Mum had spent her whole life loving a guy, believing that he loved her back. Maybe he did. Or maybe he was just a vile, arrogant bastard who enjoyed her devotion and the adoration she lavished on him. Maybe he just needed a place to stay when he was in Aberdeen. Or perhaps he was keeping his options open by maintaining two completely separate lives, and now he’d chosen his preferred option?
She needed to find out for sure.
The streets were packed with shoppers as she left Queen Street Station, thick jackets on, hats pulled down against the chill, scarves around their necks, bags dangling from gloved hands. Over to her left she could see a beautiful building she recognised as the City Chambers, while George Square, directly across the street, was a Christmas wonderland of lights and stalls, an ice rink in the middle, filled with people getting into the festive spirit. The smell of food from the stalls and a tightness in her stomach reminded her that, other than the packet of shortbread on the train, she hadn’t eaten since… since… God, was it really yesterday lunchtime? Todd had appeared at her house, bringing a sandwich and a last-minute plea for her to change her mind about this trip. She’d accepted the sandwich.
Something to eat. But where? She crossed the road and began to walk, taking the natural route along the edge of the square, going right, then left, along the other side, until she was standing on the opposite side to the station. This road was even busier, bustling with people, heads down, striding in every direction. It was the smell she registered first, her eyesfollowed a few seconds later. Tapas. A Spanish restaurant sat just a few yards away and her feet were already taking her there.
‘Table for two?’ the waiter asked, assuming she’d be meeting someone. Caro almost wished she were. Why hadn’t she let Todd come? He thought it was because she was brave and stoic, but the opposite was true. She hadn’t wanted anyone here with her in case she backed out, couldn’t face it and hotfooted it home without an answer. ‘Just for one,’ she replied, then followed him to a cosy little table in the corner.
She scanned the menu, making up her mind to go for the easiest option. A set lunch. Three tapas.
‘A tortilla, garlic mushrooms, and chicken croquettes please. And a black coffee.’
The waiter took the menu from her with a smile and went off to make it happen. On any other day, she’d enjoy this. Spain had been her holiday destination of choice for years, Mum’s favourite too. Unexpected tears filled the tracks behind her lower lids, before a jarring memory beat them back down.
Spain. Mallorca. She would have been about fifteen. They had adjoining rooms in a hotel about ten minutes away from the beach in Puerto Pollensa. They didn’t get away every year, but when they did, it was always to the same place. The hotel wasn’t flash but it was nice, maybe a three star, with a buffet restaurant and a swimming pool big enough to do laps if you could avoid the families playing on their lilos. Not her parents. They would lie on adjacent sunloungers, holding hands across the gap, pretty much inseparable the whole time. Mum didn’t exactly neglect her – they’d still have the odd swim and eat together – but she made it clear she wanted to spend as much time as possible with Dad. Caro always made a point of tryingto find another single child on the first day, otherwise she knew it would be a lonely fortnight.
