‘Aye, Mike wore it round his neck like a bloody crown jewel. It was hers. Alice’s. There’s a load of sketches of it. Like I said. Obsessed, he was.’
Alice’s whole body shifts forwards, her face lit up like a beacon.
I feel it then. The shift.
My throat tightens as I try to swallow. I’m not jealous. Not… exactly. But it’s hard to compete with a man who never got to disappoint her.
I thought we were close to the end of this.
But it feels like we’re right back at the beginning.
42
ALICE
Spence is quieter than usual as we check into a small B&B. It’s cute, chintzy. The only place I can afford. The owner fusses around us, filling the strange silence that is stretching between us.
‘You OK?’ I ask him again as we each stand outside our bedroom doors opposite each other.
‘Yeah. Knackered. Georgia is going to call at nine, so I’d better…’ He trails off, unlocking the door.
‘Well, sleep well.’
‘You too.’
He closes the door behind him.
I push down the confusion growing inside that tells me Spence isn’t telling me the whole picture. I take out the small bag of toiletries we’d stopped off to buy, and head into the bathroom, taking a shower and wrapping myself in a towel. My hand sweeps an arc through the steam. I brush my teeth, spit and take in my reflection. So similar and yet so different to the painting of Alice on Kate’s wall.
I’m so close to finding the answers I need to finish the story. One more step to reclaiming my life. To moving on. So why do I feel like I’m about to lose everything?
I throw on one of the two-pack of shirts Spence had bought, and settle down onto the bed, opening my laptop. I upload the photos I’ve taken throughout the day, smiling at the stupid selfies Spence took on my phone when I wasn’t looking. I ping one back to him, saying ‘mature’ then a funny face emoji. Two ticks. No response. I frown, turning my head towards the closed door. He’s probably on the phone to Georgia.
Or Heather.
I open Spotify, shuffling Mike’s playlist for inspiration. ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ playing through my laptop as I begin looking through the box from Carl. Most of the drawings are creased, like Carl’s scooped scrunched-up paper fresh out of a waste-paper bin. I picture him as he was then, a lanky teenager, flattening down the paper beneath his palm. Quietly hero-worshipping his brother.
Much of the work is similar to the finished versions Kate had, but there are others. The ring in different positions, half of Alice’s face, some just of her eyes, others mostly formed. And Kate. There are lots and lots of Kate. I smile as I look at them. She’s happy in all of them, mid-laugh, looking across a room, behind her market stall. Some are on the backs of old receipts, others on lined notepad paper, the tops serrated, like they’ve only just been ripped from metal spirals.
I look to the door, halfway to getting up and showing Spence, but something holds me back. Instead, I put them into a neat pile, placing them carefully back in the box, then I reach for my laptop, opening a fresh document.
There are times in our lives when we feel like we have everything worked out. A job, a partner…
I look up at the ceiling then glance back to the door.
But life sometimes doesn’t end up like we planned, which is where I found myself six months ago.
I reach for my phone again. Three dots appear, then vanish. No snarky comment. Maybe something is wrong with Georgia? Or maybe he’s sexting Heather. I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
They say things happen for a reason, that our lives are already mapped out and that fate is already pre-ordained. But sometimes, fate intervenes and reveals to us the truth about ourselves…
I sit still, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I reach for my phone again, flicking through photos of the last few months for motivation. I bring up the photos of our trip to Yorkshire the first time, when we found the mural. There are a few road trip snaps from the back seat: me and Spence arguing about the direction, my arms thrown up in frustration, Spence’s mouth hovering over analmostsmile. Then we are leaning against the wall. Spence is laughing at something I’ve said. Something tightens in my chest. A flash of the strip of skin as he reached inside the fridge. The feel of his hair in my fingers. I close the laptop, head into the bathroom and splash water on my face.You’ve got a good one, there.
I grip the edge of the sink, looking up and giving my irritated reflection a shake of the head, then shut down my laptop, switch off the lights and try to sleep. But the day’s events run through my mind. I turn over and punch the pillow.
Unfamiliar sounds are creeping into the room: the click of a boiler somewhere in the building; floorboards creaking. I tunemy ear across the hall. Spence’s footsteps, a door shutting. I sit up, turning the light back on. The carpet is soft and warm beneath my feet as I pad across the room, open the door, not giving myself time to think this through. The corridor is dark except for a green fire exit light. Then warm light spills onto the corridor. Spence is in a pair of grey shorts, hair at odd angles. A fold forms at the corner of his mouth, the beginnings of a smile, but not there yet.
‘I was just…’ My hand rests on the doorknob behind me. ‘Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts buzzing around my head.’
