‘You don’t have to marry me.’ I’d laughed when I opened it and saw the most beautiful emerald ring. ‘This isn’t 1956.’
‘No, it’s 2006, and I want you to be my wife.’ He’d grinned, although his smile had slipped slightly at the thoughtI might say no. I’d loved him for that. His uncertainty. A glimpse at his more vulnerable side, which I rarely saw. And we really did try to make it work. We were happy for a long time. Until we weren’t.
There have been so many moments over the last seven months when I’ve been tempted to pick up the phone and ask him to come home. To beg him to give our marriage another try. But I know it’s not what he wants. Not really. And I’m not sure it’s what I want either. I can’t separate the longing for him from my longing not to be alone.
And now he’s met someone new.
‘So … last night …’ He looks sheepish. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out that way.’
‘Is it serious?’
He fidgets from foot to foot. He still wears the same style of trainers as he did when I first met him: black Adidas Sambas. ‘It’s early days.’
My chest feels tight as it hits home that it’s really over between us. ‘Right.’
‘There’s another reason why I wanted to talk to you.’ He hesitates, his eyes not leaving mine.
‘Spit it out, Charlie.’
‘The house.’
My stomach drops. ‘What about it?’ Our arrangement was that I’d keep the house. Charlie still owns the flat he had when I first met him and which he’s now moved back into.
‘We need to sell it.’
9
NATALIE
Natalie rushes back to her flat. She can’t stay here. Not now. She’s blocked the number, but what if they know where she lives? She has no choice but to flee, and her heart sinks at the thought of giving up her job, her life. Again. She’d liked working at Herman, Hardy and Sullivans. The guys were friendly but respectful of the fact she wanted her privacy. They didn’t hassle her to go to the pub or try too deeply to get to know her. She did a good job and they knew it. She could live under the radar there, do her own thing, within reason.
And then there was the guy she’d met at the pub. She hadn’t wanted to risk giving him her mobile number, but she’d hoped she’d see him there again this Friday night. He’d left enough heavy hints that that was where he’d be if she wanted to meet for a drink.
But now everything has changed.
How have they found her after all this time?
They must have seen that stupid newspaper article. Her photo had been in the paper, even if her name was different. She knew she hadn’t imagined being followed. How had they done it? A private investigator?
It had been a man who had called her. But as soon as he used her real name she knew. Everyone she’d met since then knew her as Natalie. She’d abruptly ended the call. But it was them. It had to be.
‘Oh, you’ve really messed with the wrong person this time.’ She still remembers those chilling words after they accused her of ripping them off. She goes to the window, pulling aside the curtains, and looks out onto the busy street with its array of independent shops, cafés and the park around the corner. It’s still early and there aren’t many people around. A half-eaten kebab lies splattered on the pavement below. Is that someone watching the flat? But, no, it’s just a woman pushing a pram. A person with a normal life, who isn’t on the run like her. This is karma, she knows. She’s made some stupid, stupid mistakes in her life. And for what?
She’ll have to wait until it gets dark. Less chance of being seen. She closes the curtains with a sigh. She’s loved living here. It’s not much, just a one-bedroom rented flat above the kebab shop, with the smell of cooked meat seeping through the floorboards, scratchy carpets and the ugly furniture left by the landlord. But she’s always felt safe here. Where should she go next? Maybe north. Perhaps Scotland. She could find a small village, somewhere they won’t think of looking. She can’t risk working for electricians again. Not now they know that’s what she’s been doing for a living. Thankfully, she’s got enough money saved up to tide her over for a bit.
She needs to tell her brother. She hasn’t seen him in the last few years, but she keeps in touch sporadically. Just so that he knows she’s safe. But she can’t contact him yet.No, the most pressing thing she needs to do right now is flee and then, once she’s settled, she can let him know where she is.
She hides in the flat for the rest of the day, and once it starts getting dark, she grabs her suitcase from the wardrobe and starts pulling clothes from their hangers and shoving them inside. She takes only what she needs – she’s never been one for fashion and has just a few pairs of jeans, some jumpers and T-shirts, plus some faded bras and old pants. She scoops up her make-up, dumping it in a dusty sponge bag with a foundation mark on the side.
She’s suddenly filled with a fire so intense she can feel the heat all the way to the tips of her fingers and flooding her face. She pauses at the door to look back at the flat, the scratched pine table she never used, the old leather sofa where she’d spend her evenings eating a ready-meal in front of the TV, living her life through her favourite shows. And then she grabs her trusty Mulberry bag and closes the front door softly behind her, pushing the key through the letterbox. She’s paid up until the end of the month. She’ll let the landlord know – when she’s far away from here – that she won’t be coming back.
She heads down the stairs. The kebab shop is closed so nobody sees her leave. She steps onto the street, looking back over her shoulder every now and again, but there’s only a few people around and nobody is paying attention to her. She finally allows herself to breathe when she gets to the end of the street. It’s fine, she tells herself. It’s going to be fine. They haven’t found out where she lives. Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time so she’s done the right thing. She takes a few deep breaths, her heart still racing.Yes, she’s definitely doing the right thing. It will all be okay. She won’t be so stupid in the future. She’ll be extra careful. She repeats this to herself as she takes a shortcut through the park to the station, walking as quickly as she can, dragging her suitcase on wheels behind her. It’s even darker in the park without street lamps and she quickens her pace, the leaves on the trees whispering overhead. Maybe she should have gone the long way around, but there is no time, she tells herself. It’s better she’s on the next available train.
And then she hears footsteps.
She daren’t turn around. It could be nothing. A stranger. Not someone who means her harm.
But then it could beone of them.
