‘Sign here?’
‘Ah. Thanks.’ Vince coughs to clear his throat and waggles a finger across the screen. The man doesn’t even thank him. He just rubs at his blond stubble and saunters back to a scuffed white van, leaving Vince to frown at the enormous flat box that’s been left propped up against the house.
‘What’s this?’ he asks Jarvis. But of course the dog doesn’t know. Baffled, and feeling oddly cheated, Vince manhandles the thing inside. He leans it against the wall in the hallway, next to the bathroom door that’s still propped up there, after the party that he can hardly bear to think about these days. He must rehang it sometime, and have a proper functioning bathroom door once again, so he can do his business without Jarvis sitting there staring at him. But how? Vince has no idea how to hang a door, any more than he knew how tounhang it.
Frowning, he studies the parcel’s label, which offers no clue as to its contents. He rips off copious brown tape and pulls the box apart messily. Looks like furniture of some kind. Huge slabs of something that mean nothing to him. There’s a document inside, sheathed in clear plastic, and he pulls it open. Now he realises it’s the shelving unit that Kate went on at him to order many months ago, when life was normal. ‘You could make your study more of a functioning place,’ she suggested. ‘If we’re going to be here forever—’ he caught the pain in her voice there ‘—we’d better make it our home, Vince. I mean, somewhere that feels more likeours.So how about we choose some things to put in it?’
It’s like a stab in his heart to think of that now. Vince has always been immensely fond of 37 Sycamore Grove, filled as it is with memories of birthday teas and a glittering silver Christmas tree that his father had hauled down from the attic every year, and the aroma of Sundays roasts, his mother’s baking and her powdery perfume. He’s tried to pretend he’s okay these past few months, and that the place still feels like home. But it can never be home without Kate.
He’s picturing her now at the scratched old kitchen table in their Bethnal Green flat, with an open bottle of wine and a candle flickering and Tash, Shawn and Julian all gathered around, laughing, sharing stories and jokes.
Julian always said the same thing whenever Vince walked in to find such a gathering happening: ‘Pull up a chair, Vincey. Come and join us. Good to see you, man!’ Vincey. A word to set his teeth on edge. He’d meant well, though, Vince reflects. He was only being friendly and trying to bring him into the fray. Why was Vince so prickly about Kate’s friends? He can’t understand it now.
He turns to glare at the shelving unit, partly pulled out of its box. He can’t just leave it sitting there, can he? It might even bring order to his fractured life. As Vince pictures it all built and neatly storing his work papers, his spirits start to rise.That’swhat he’ll do on this bleak wet Monday morning. He’ll build the fucker and Kate will come back and be amazed, and realise how deranged she was to run away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Kate
We work away – Fergus, Rory and me – scrubbing and rollering fresh white paint over grubby magnolia walls. The radio’s on, the kettle on a rolling boil. Alice has dropped by to man the shop, which she seems delighted to do. It feels like a real team effort.
By late afternoon the first coat is finished and we stop to admire our handiwork. ‘It’s looking good,’ Rory offers.
‘It really is,’ I say with a surge of pleasure.
‘Think you’ll be comfortable here?’ Fergus asks. ‘I’ll bring bedding over, and towels, crockery, all the things you’ll need...’
‘That’d be great.’ I beam at him, suddenly transported back to when Tash and I moved into our first shared flat. It was bare and basic – actually this is much nicer – but that sense of newness is the same. Then I’m remembering Ingrid, my friend and manager at the museum.There’ll always be a job for you here. Nothing has to be forever if you don’t want it to be.I’d hugged her and taken one last look around our displays. I knew every exhibit intimately: every china doll and matted bear and wooden rocking horse. It was impossible not to cry as my work friends all gathered after we’d closed, and threw a party for me in the museum.
It had felt like an ending then. However hard I convinced myself that I was doing it for my marriage, and that life didn’t have to be perfect – didn’t being a grown-up mean compromising sometimes? – I couldn’t push away the hollow feeling in my gut.
But this feels different. It feels like the start of something – a new chapter beginning in this tiny but bright and welcoming flat overlooking the pastel-painted cottages across the street.
‘Let’s finish up,’ Fergus says. ‘We can let this coat dry, and maybe do the next one tomorrow—’
‘I’m up for that,’ Rory says amiably.
‘Me too,’ I start. ‘Maybe we could—’ I break off as my phone rings and I grab it from the windowsill.
Vince. I stare at his name in panic. Weeks have flown by without us speaking. Has something happened? Something serious that he really needs me for? Clutching my trilling phone, I hurry downstairs and out into the street. ‘Vince?’ I say.
‘Kate. Hi. How are you?’ As if we are colleagues who haven’t spoken in a while.
‘I’m... I’m okay, Vince. I’m fine...’
‘Great. Look, I don’t know if it’s all right to ring you. I’ve tried not to hassle you, I really have—’
‘You’re not hassling me,’ I say firmly, striding away from the shop now. Alice is still there but it’s nearly closing time. An awkward silence hovers. ‘So, um... is there something—’
‘Erm, yes. There is. Look, I’m sorry to call you. I’m sure you’re having a great time with Tash. I just wanted to ask—’
‘Vince, I’m not at Tash’s,’ I cut in.
‘Oh, aren’t you?’
‘No. I’m actually not in London...’
I sense him frowning, his forehead crinkled, a look of bewilderment in his eyes. ‘Where are you, then?’
