Back at the table I tip tonic into my glass, watching as tiny bubbles shimmy amongst the ice cubes.
‘I don’t know how you can still drink vodka,’ Lisa says. ‘Do you remember Perry Evans’s party? We must have drunk nearly a whole bottle between us.’ She pulls a face as though it was yesterday.
I haven’t partied like that in over ten years. Nick keeps trying to persuade me to have a big celebration for my birthday next year, but I keep putting off thinking about turning thirty.
‘I remember holding your hair back while you were sick all over the washing-up in the sink.’
I laugh at the memory and the sound momentarily startles me.
‘I’ve never touched the stuff since.’ Lisa shudders theatrically. ‘Jake was there that night too, wasn’t he?’ Her question is casual, as if she can’t quite remember, but I know she can. I see my own hurt reflected in her eyes.
Before I can answer, Mitch sets down a bowl of steaming carbonara and buttery garlic bread in front of me. As I lean forward to reach the salt, the gold cross around my neck hangs down, and Lisa lightly touches it with two fingers.
‘You still wear this?’
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. I know we are both remembering, and I wonder whether, even after all this time, Lisa thinks she should be the one wearing this cross, but as usual, I’m connecting dots that aren’t there. She’s been nothing but friendly.
We fall silent for a few minutes as I twirl pasta around my fork. Lisa tackles one of Mitch’s legendary roast potatoes which Nick and I always joke should come with a chainsaw.
‘Tell me about this husband of yours then. Nick, isn’t it? He’s the patron of a charity?’
I’ve a mouthful of food so I nod my response, and at first, I am grateful for the change of subject but, just as I begin to swallow, I realise Mitch never referred to Nick by his name and neither did he say Nick was the patron of a charity. The bread sticks in my throat. Is it really a coincidence she is here or has she purposefully tracked me down? And if so, why?
Revenge whispers the voice inside my head.
I drain my drink to silence it.
2
Now
‘Is everything okay with your food?’ Mitch asks.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Lisa says. ‘I was just asking Kat about Nick.’ Lisa turns to look at me. ‘Mitch was telling me a little about his charity work while I ordered drinks at the bar. He sounds a lovely man.’
That’s how Lisa knows about Nick, there’s nothing more sinister than that. Relieved, I order a bottle of red.
Lisa eats as I push food around my plate, filling up my glass twice as often as I do hers. She is barely drinking, sipping water instead.
‘Why did you move here? We came on a school trip once, didn’t we? The castle on the hill?’
‘The rubble more like,’ I say. ‘Crappy Craneshill we called it, didn’t we?’ I suppose that was what drew me. The memories. The fact I’d been here with Jake. ‘It seemed as good a place as any.’
‘How long have you been married?’ Lisa asks.
I twist my ring around my finger. The diamonds glint as they catch the light.
‘Eight years.’
Lisa grasps my hand and runs her thumb lightly over my wedding band. ‘Very nice! White gold?’
‘Platinum.’ I feel defensive although I’m not quite sure why. We both work so hard. Nick came from nothing, just like me. It’s testament to how strong he is that he left school without any qualifications but he’s made a success of his life anyway. He is determined to provide for our family. Our family. My mouth can’t help stretching into a smile. Soon we will be three.
‘It obviously suits you. Being married.’ Lisa jars me out of my thoughts. ‘How did you meet?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away. I was temping and was sent to Stroke Support, a charity Nick was setting up with his best friend, Richard, after Richard’s grandmother had a stroke.’ I can still remember first meeting Nick in the greasy spoon – the charity still doesn’t have an office, even now. Our outgoings are minimal, most of our staff volunteers. I was expecting him to be ancient, but he was the same age as me, brilliant blue eyes, and black curls. Gorgeous, although I was blind to it at that time, still recovering emotionally and physically. Despite my numbness, I felt a flicker of interest listening to his plans. He was so passionate. ‘People can change so much after a stroke. I want to help sufferers and their families come to terms with both the possible physical and mental impairments.’ I found myself becoming more and more animated as we brainstormed fundraising ideas, perched on hard orange plastic chairs, bacon sandwiches in thick sliced bread for lunch, melted butter running down my chin. Nick had wiped it away with his thumb, and I felt a spark. He brought me back to life.
‘And you still work for them, Mitch said?’
‘Yes, I run everything. Richard is busy with his law firm, and Nick has a property development company. That keeps us afloat financially.’ I don’t draw a salary from the charity. I feel humbled to be able to help. Before I met Nick, I’d assumed strokes were something that only affected the elderly but this isn’t the case at all. The stories I’ve heard over the years have been both harrowing and heart-warming. Triumph and tragedy. As well as the admin, I arrange counselling sessions and also take my turn to man the phone line. Each and every day I think how lucky I am to have good health.
‘And Nick swept you off your feet?’
‘I suppose so.’ Initially, I was in no state to have a relationship and turned him down time and time again, but his kindness softened the hard shell I had encased myself in. One date led to two, to three, until before I knew it he was slipping the ring on my finger, and I promised I would love him for eternity, ignoring the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me I should know nothing lasts forever. I was ready for my happily ever after. Even after eight years my heart skips a beat when he walks into a room. My nerve endings throb whenever he touches me. I’d be lost without him.
‘How is your mum?’ I study Lisa’s face trying to gauge her reaction, but I can’t read her expression.
‘She’s doing okay. You know what she’s like,’ she says, as if that should tell me all I need to know. It doesn’t. I don’t ask about her dad. There’s little point but suddenly I feel compelled to talk about what happened.
‘Lisa, I’m so sorry. About leaving. About everything.’ The fuzziness from the alcohol is starting to fade away. A headache forming behind my eyes. Mitch walks past the table with plates laden with chips, the smell of oil makes me feel nauseous.
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’
But I have. I was involved in a car accident that rocked our small town and then ran away, leaving Lisa to deal with the questions. The speculation. But I couldn’t talk about the horror that led to the crash, I just couldn’t. Only two of us know the truth and it must stay that way.
‘Sorry,’ I say again. It doesn’t seem enough. ‘I still feel so ashamed. I haven’t even told Nick about the crash.’ He has no idea. I have hurt people.
‘Why haven’t you told him?’
‘I don’t know.’ I pick at the beer mat again. ‘At first it was just too raw, and then when I thought I could share, so much time had passed it seemed wrong to bring it up, as though I’d deliberately deceived him. I didn’t want him to think less of me.’
‘Please, Kat. Stop blaming yourself. It was ruled an accident. The police didn’t press charges. It was one of those things. You’ve always been the same. Do you remember when Miss Masters gave you the part of Mary in the Nativity and Shelley Evans cried? You couldn’t stop apologising, although it wasn’t your fault.’
‘I remember picking up the Baby Jesus and his head falling off and rolling into the audience.’ Even now, I can picture the front row. The sniggering, the sympathetic looks, the mortification on the faces of my parents. Lisa comforted me afterwards. It always seemed odd me longing to perform on stage when in real life I hate to be the centre of attention.