She cleared her throat before turning dark eyes to you. A shiver danced down my spine; those eyes, almost black in the subtle lighting. Perfect, that went well. The warmth in my cheeks crept upwards; I was aware that I was beginning to glow. Even better, cheeks to match my shoes. Like a gawky ten-year-old I hovered, fascinated by the obscurity in her eyes. Imploring you to make sense of the situation.
‘When did you return home?’ you asked, oblivious to my attempted conversation.
‘Last night. Nice of you to ask!’ she snapped.
‘Did you do as I asked?’ Ignoring her last gripe.
‘Don’t we always do as we’re told?’ she goaded you.
What were they talking about? Did what?
Your father didn’t utter a word, continuing to munch at his dish indifferently. It was so odd. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such a cold parental, maternal occurrence.
‘What about the paperwork?’ you persisted.
‘At home. Thought maybe you’d come and see us one day. If you have time, that is. Or if you need something, more like,’ she barked.
Paperwork for what? What had you asked them to do? You’d not mentioned anything. But then you’d not mentioned not getting on with your parents; or your mother, to be more precise.
‘Fine. I’ll have someone collect it in the morning. You did actually open it, didn’t you?’
‘The paperwork?’
‘No. The bank account!’
What bank account? Where had they been?
‘Yes. I just said we did, didn’t I?’
‘Good. Remember not to mention this to anyone.’
‘Like who? We hardly see anyone any more, do we?’
You turned to me, smiling warmly. It threw me completely, the smile being so incongruent with the mood of our small gathering. I attempted another pathetic smile at your mother; she turned away, took a swig from her glass, opening conversation with your father. Our cue to leave. You turned away, ushering me out as brusquely as we’d come in. Back on the pavement I allowed the cold air to extinguish the flames encroaching my cheeks as we continued in silence, turning left up Bridge Street. What was that all about? I waited for you to enlighten me, your hand tense in mine. Instead you began to hum, without uttering a word for at least a further five minutes. Were you upset? I wondered. Finally, you found your voice.
You squeezed my hand. ‘So, where to eat? I’m ravenous, are you?’
What the hell? Nothing? Nothing to say on the matter?
‘Eve?’ You playfully nudged my shoulder with yours. ‘You hungry?’
‘What the heck was that all about, Gregg?’
‘What?’ You looked genuinely surprised.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘That, then, back in there with your parents. Why did you introduce me like that? Why did they behave as they did – or your mum, anyway? And what the hell were you both talking about? I mean, what did you get them to do?’
‘Oh, I see. Listen, please don’t take any notice. She’s always the same. Rude. No etiquette whatsoever.’ You shrugged off my horror.
‘But you were pretty horrible to her too.’ You ignored me. ‘What have you asked them to do for you? What were you both talking about?’
‘Nothing. It’s not important. Forget about it.’ The sound of our out-of-tune footsteps filled the chilly air some moments before you decided to embellish. ‘She visited some properties for me over in Spain, on behalf of a client. He invests in overseas properties. That’s all. I asked her to hand in some documents to his bank. Nothing more. I assumed it would be a pleasant trip for them, with it being an all-expenses-paid jaunt to Spain. But no, nothing makes her happy. Don’t worry about it – she doesn’t understand social conduct. That was normal behaviour for her.’
Your voice muted in my mind. Did you think the interchange was acceptable, normal or, despite explaining it away, were you perhaps as perturbed as me?
‘But—’
‘Please, Eve, not tonight. I’ve had some fantastic news today; this is tainting it for me. Please, trust me. Leave it be. She’s not a pleasant person. It’s unfortunate she’s my mother, but so be it. So, for me, can we move on? Please.’
‘Perhaps…’
‘Believe me. There is no perhaps. Not with her.’
But why take me to meet them, if you knew how she would react? Knowing she would disregard me? How rude of her. It was more like some weird point-scoring ritual, than a mother-and-son get together.
You turned me slowly to face you. ‘I am sorry you had to meet my parents at all, if I’m honest. There never would have been a good time. My mother is discourteous, unappreciative and embarrassing. My father is too faint-hearted to do or say anything about it. We rarely speak, ever.’
I couldn’t even imagine how it had become so bad. My disappointment in you bowed to sorrow, such a sad situation. It didn’t bode well for the future either. I didn’t realise it then, but it would be the last I saw of them. I didn’t realise it then, but they too were tools in your box.
Chapter Eleven
Cornwall 2016
Over time, despite my ever-watchful fight-or-flight response, my memory system very effectively boxed, then filed away, specific experiences. These boxes altered my perspective on both a conscious and subconscious level. They remain intact, undisturbed, until something you do, hear, smell, taste, touch or see triggers the opening.
I couldn’t sleep last night for tossing and turning, listening for alien sound either outside or in. My eyes were heavy but my mind held me on alert. Then, at the rise of the sun, my mobile alerted me to two missed calls, incoming withheld calls at 03.08 and 03.12. What were you doing up at such an ungodly hour? Were you outside, watching? Did you really think I would pick up, or were you anxious for me to know you were thinking of me, even during sleep? I forgave Jack for his frustrating morning behaviours; I missed him not being with me. I couldn’t run from the house quick enough. Whichever room I was in, whatever I was doing, I could feel you breathing down my neck.
Now, I draw up outside Lemon Street Clinic and peer down the street. No sign as yet of our overzealous traffic warden. I can’t even use the old one of being on call. He knows who I am; I can’t be on call at my own clinic. I’ve already tried. I’ve probably about ten minutes of safe time. He’s on the larger size – it will take him a while to climb the street from the market area.
I burst through the clinic door.
‘Hey. What’s the rush? Could have made me jump, if I wasn’t so knackered.’
‘Traffic warden, I’m on borrowed time.’
‘Running late this morning, by any chance, are we?’ I squeeze past Ruan hovering in Reception and head straight for the filing cabinets.
‘Slightly. Been stuck in the roadworks for the last twenty minutes. I wouldn’t mind but as usual the workmen are invisible. I now have…’ I glance at the clinic clock ‘… yep, twenty minutes before my next appointment in Mevagissey. I forgot to take the blasted files home with me last night, didn’t I? All because I switched my briefcase yesterday for a lighter bag, then forgot my usual routine when I left last night, didn’t replenish my stock of files.’
‘That’s not like you.’ He smiles. ‘Talk about cutting it fine.’ He rubs tanned hands through his fair waves. ‘Here, let me help. You’re dropping stuff out the middle. I only sorted them for you yesterday. And it took me most of the afternoon.’ He hurries to me as I juggle all the silly open-ended A4 files in search of the only one I need. ‘You’re so going to be late.’
‘Thanks.’ I pile his open arms with files. ‘It’s fine. I’ll make it, kind of, so long as I can just find this – oh, where is it? Why is it always the only one missing? I had it out before I left last night.’ I continue to empty the entire contents of the filing cabinet.
‘Wait. You mean the one for Milly Sanders?’ Ruan quizzes me.
‘Yes. Have you seen it, then?’
‘You should’ve said. I’ve got it, haven’t I?’ He graces me with another childlike smile before casually wandering towards my room.
‘Jesus, Ruan, are you trying to test me or what?’ I follow him, half relieved, half exasperated. Ruan doesn’t seem to have the words ‘in a hurry’ in his vocabulary. Is this a male thing? Between him and Jack, I’ll end up with tachycardia.