‘Samantha, it’s OK, you don’t have to apologize,’ I said quickly. Time was very much of the essence for Samantha and me. She needed my help and I needed not to upset the security guards Myrna claimed to have found via a contact in ‘The Mob’ who still owed her a favour. ‘I told you to call me and I’m glad you did. I’m here, I’m listening, whatever you need to say, you can say it to me. I won’t tell a soul, you’re safe.’
It was difficult, trying to keep calm and carry on when what I really wanted to do was leap into the air, fly around the world to pick her up then pop back to the UK and string Thomas up by his predictably small penis. I’d set things straight if I had super powers; they were always wasted on men.
‘He hasn’t done anything wrong, not really,’ she whispered. ‘But some of the things he says. I thought it would get better after we got engaged but it’s getting worse.’
‘I believe you,’ I said, reeling with the same rush I felt when Bel said the same words to me. ‘I understand.’
But the acknowledgement was too much for her. At once, Samantha’s voice brightened like the sun trying to shine through a dirty window. ‘It’s probably cold feet, isn’t it? I’m overreacting, being too sensitive, just like he says.’
‘If you really believed that you wouldn’t be talking to me now,’ I said, channelling Suzanne as best I could, kind but firm. ‘Have you talked to anyone else about it?’
Another sob hitched in her throat.
‘Who would I tell? Everyone loves him.’
‘Your parents? Family?’
‘I can’t, we’re not close like that.’
So he had a type. Blonde hair, blue eyes, open to being manipulated and easy to isolate from everyone they loved. What a guy.
‘We were watching telly the other night and I dropped the remote down the back of the settee. We had to pull it out to find it and the settee scratched the floor. It was the tiniest little scratch, you wouldn’t be able to see it unless you were looking for it, but he started screaming,’ she babbled, all of it pouring out at once. ‘He starts pacing up and down, telling me how clumsy and stupid I am, how I can’t even change the channel without messing something up. No wonder I’m only a teacher, I’m too stupid to get a proper job. No wonder I was single for so long, I ought to be on my knees, thanking him for marrying me or I’d end up alone in the gutter.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, wishing there were better words that meant more. ‘None of that is true, not a word of it. You’re none of those things, Samantha, do not take it to heart.’
‘But that is what they say about teachers, isn’t it? Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach. And Iwassingle for a long time.’
I knew what she was doing, because I’d done the same thing. She wanted to believe it, she was debating with herself as much as me, trying to make sense of it and finding truth that wasn’t there. I’d heard all I needed to hear.
‘Samantha, it’s four o’clock in the morning on the day you’re supposed to get married and you’re calling your fiancé’s ex-girlfriend to ask if him abusing you is normal. It isn’t. It’s not normal.’ I paused to let her speak but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t hang up either. ‘If you need somewhere to go to think things over, you can go to my house. It’s the last place he’d expect you to be. There’s a key hidden underneath a little red plant pot in the back garden, I’ll text you the address.’
Still no reply, just stuttered breathing.
‘You can still get out of this,’ I said. ‘Telling someone is the hardest part, trust me, I know.’
‘I just needed to talk to someone.’ She spoke through tears that sounded like they were coming thick and fast, no way to hold them back now. ‘You were the only person I could think of.’
‘We all need someone to talk to,’ I assured her, thinking about my sister, Myrna, Bel. And me. How many people were drifting through life, feeling this alone? ‘You can talk to me any time you need, twenty-four-seven, round the clock, and I’m texting you my address right now. Apologies in advance for the state of the house and take a pint of milk for tea because I’vebeen away for two weeks and whatever is in the fridge will be rancid by now.’
‘I’d better go,’ she said, committing to nothing. ‘It’s really late. Or early.’
‘Both, I suppose,’ I replied. ‘Depends on your perspective.’
I looked back out on the sparkling city below me. Half past four in the morning there, half past eight in the evening here, but the truth was still the truth.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And sorry.’
‘Don’t apologize,’ I replied. Had I got through? Was it enough? ‘Remember, the key is under the smallest red plant pot. Call any time.’
She hung up without saying goodbye. I stared at the blank screen as though it might give me a window into her world if I concentrated hard enough. Picking up the phone must have been hard. Cancelling the wedding at the last minute would be even harder. But getting out while she still could would be worth all that pain and more.
I raised my champagne in a toast to Samantha and wiped away a tear I hadn’t felt escape. It was the last tear Thomas would ever get out of me and that was worth celebrating.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Until someone got their shit together and turned a DeLorean into a real time machine, there was no way for me to go back in time to see what Myrna and Wally’s parties were like in the fifties, but if they were only half as decadent and debauched as this one, it was a wonder she was still alive at eighty-two. Even as an innocent bystander, I was certain the night had taken ten years off my life.
Phoebe from two weeks ago would have gone home the moment she got off the phone with Samantha. She would have made her excuses and taken herself to bed with a cup of tea and a lovely big box of assorted misery, indulging until she felt sick. But this Phoebe, in her red dress and her perfect make-up, decided not to. She made a choice to stay, to be with her sister and celebrate the changes she had made instead of worrying about things she couldn’t change, and no one was more surprised than me.
