I sat back in my chair, gripping the phone in both hands as though it was a grenade and my hold on the pin was slipping. I was waiting for the next message but instead four images flew across the Atlantic and landed on my phone screen. It seemed to take an eternity for Amelia’s slow internet to download them.
The woman in each of the photographs was so close to Jeff, she might actually have been superglued to his side. I recognised her immediately as one of the assistants in his firm. I knew very little about her, except that her name – Tallulah – seemed to crop up in conversation more frequently than his other colleagues. I tried to remember what else he’d told me but could only come up with the fact that her family were extremely wealthy, and that she’d gone to Harvard. Both things were likely to have impressed Jeff.
I jumped and almost lost hold of my mobile when it suddenly rang in my hand.
‘Screw it,’ Kacey said on a rush. ‘You need to hear this in person, although I feel terrible telling you, what with your sister being so sick and everything. But if it was me… well,I’d want someone to let me know if my boyfriend was playing around behind my back.’
I scrolled back through the images she’d sent me. There were entwined arms, and bodies pressed up together on a dance floor, and heads resting on shoulders they shouldn’t be on, but that was hardly conclusive evidence. Although perhaps it was enough to cause anyone in a serious relationship to be worried.
So why wasn’t I?Is this how you know when something is really over? When it flatlines right in front of you but you carry on breathing and your eyes stay dry?
And yet despite that, my pride was bruised… just a little. Which was why I answered Kacey the only way I knew how.
‘It’s sweet of you to be worried. But I knew Jeff was going to the wedding as Tallulah’s plus-one. He checked I was fine with it first.’
For a basically honest person, I was beginning to grow concerned about how many lies I’d been telling recently.
‘And are you?’ Kacey asked. Was there a trace of disappointment in her voice? There’d be no water-cooler mileage out of this conversation.
‘I am, Kacey. I really am. So, what’s going on at work?’
*
Telling Kacey I was okay wasn’t a lie, but I was human enough for my feelings to be a little hurt, even if my heart wasn’t. Of course, there was a chance that the photographs were misleading. After all, hadn’t I just spent an entire day recreating something on the screen that didn’t exist between Nick and me? Wasn’t that the same thing?
Entirely different, my reflection contradicted, as I wiped the make-up from my face and climbed into bed. My mind was racing too much to lose myself in a book, so I reached for my phone and began scrolling through the photographs I’d taken that day at Lassiters. My motives had been pure, but didn’t the photographs with Nick’s arms around me, or of us holding hands on the roller coaster, appear every bit as damning as the ones of Jeff and Tallulah at the wedding? If my photos were entirely innocent – which they were – then it was only reasonable to assume theirs could be too.
My dreams that night were confused and disturbed and for once I was delighted when the noisy cawing of the seagulls on the beach pulled me out of them.
16
Kippers. I could definitely smell kippers. My nose twitched like a rabbit’s as I pulled the duvet from my face. Rain had been falling heavily when my seven o’clock alarm had woken me, and one look at the windswept beach had been enough to persuade me I’d rather grab a few extra hours of sleep on a Saturday morning than go jogging in a deluge.
Without the filter of duck down and feathers, the aroma of smoked fish intensified. How was that even possible? I reached for my dressing gown and swung out of bed. The old oak floorboards felt cold beneath my bare feet, but I didn’t bother hunting for socks. I paused at the top of the stairs, where the smell of fish was even stronger. Was it coming from the sea?
‘Hello? Is anyone down there?’ I called out as I began to descend the creaky treads, never for a moment expecting a reply. I jerked in shock when a figure emerged from the shadows.
‘Well, finally. I thought you werenevergoing to wake up,’ said Mum from the foot of the staircase.
‘Jesus, Mum, you scared the life out of me. I thought you were an intruder.’ Which she kind of was, because I’d had no idea she was planning on visiting that morning.What if I hadn’t been alone in the guest room double bed?I shook my head, wondering where on earth that ridiculous thought had come from.
As my eyes adjusted to the shadowy hallway, I noticed Mum had an old-fashioned apron knotted around her waist. There was a cleaning cloth in her hand and the sleeves of her paisley shirt were rolled up for business.
‘What are you doing here, Mum?’ I asked. Her answer was interrupted by the warning siren from the kitchen’s smoke alarm. With a speed that belied her years, she hurried back to whatever was spitting and sizzling beneath the grill.
While she attended to the oven, I silenced the alarm before throwing open both windows to let out the worst of the smoke. Sadly, the smell of fish wasn’t so easy to dispel. I cinched my dressing gown more tightly around me and watched as Mum slid two large herring fillets on to waiting plates. I was wondering if this was the right moment to tactfully remind her that I didn’t eat kippers when she reached for the roll of plastic wrap, covered one of the plates with it, and carried it to Amelia’s back door.
I wondered then if I might actually still be asleep, because this was beginning to feel like an incredibly vivid but totally surreal dream.
‘Where exactly are you going with that kipper?’ Surely one of the strangest questions I’d ever asked anyone.
Mum paused by the open doorway, a slight flush colouring her cheeks. ‘I’m just taking it down to Tom,’ she replied, ducking through the opening before I could ask one of a great many questions.
In her absence I made us both tea and then, when ten minutes had passed and shestillhadn’t reappeared, I slid her breakfast plate back beneath the grill. I was halfway through a bowl of muesli when she let herself back into the kitchen, bringing a strong March breeze in her wake.
‘Is this like a Meals on Wheels or Help the Aged kind of thing?’ I asked, nodding my head in the direction of Tom’s cottage.
Mum’s face flushed again, which really ought to have alerted me. In my defence, I’m really not a morning person.
