we arrived. He was sitting at a table by himself, clearly waiting for someone, and she’d joked that if his date didn’t turn up she would offer to replace her. When it became obvious that his date wasn’t going to materialise, she went over, already a little drunk, and asked him if he wanted to join us.
‘I was hoping nobody would notice I’d been stood up,’
he’d said ruefully as Connie sat him down between her
and John. It meant that I was opposite him and I couldn’t help noticing the way his hair fell over his forehead, or the blue of his eyes whenever he looked over at me, which he did, quite a lot. I tried not to make too much of it, which was just as well, as by the time we stood up to leave several bottles of wine later, he had Connie’s number firmly in his phone.
A few days later she came up to me in the staff room,
a huge grin on her face, to tell me that Matthew had
called her – to ask for my number. So I let her give it
to him and when he phoned, he nervously admitted, as
he so sweetly put it, ‘As soon as I saw you I knew you
were the one for me.’
Once we began seeing each other regularly, he
confessed that he couldn’t father children. He told me
he’d understand if I didn’t want to see him again but, by then, I was already in love and, although it was a major blow, I didn’t feel it was the end of the world. By the time he asked me to marry him, we’d already talked
about other ways to have a child and had decided that we
would look into it seriously once we’d been married a
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39
year. Which is about now. Usually it’s a constant thought in my mind but now it seems so far away I can’t reach it.
Matthew’s arms are still around me. ‘Did you get what
you wanted?’ he asks.
‘Yes, we bought Susie some luggage.’
‘Are you all right? You seem a bit down.’
Suddenly the need to be on my own is overwhelming.
‘I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, pulling away from
him. ‘I think I’ll get an aspirin.’
I go upstairs, get a couple of aspirins from the bathroom and swallow them down with water from the tap. As I lift my head I catch sight of my face in the
mirror and search it anxiously, looking for a sign that
could give me away, something which would tell people
that everything isn’t as it should be. But there’s nothing to show I’m any different to the person I was when I married Matthew a year ago, just the same chestnut hair and the same blue eyes staring back at me.
I turn my back on my reflection and go into our
bedroom. My pile of clothes has been moved from
the chair to the now-made bed, a gentle hint from
Matthew to tidy them away. On a normal day I would
be amused but today I feel irritated. My eyes fall on
my great-grandmother’s writing desk and I remember
the money Rachel spoke about, the hundred and sixty
pounds that everybody gave me for Susie’s gift. If I took the money, it would be in there, it’s where I always put things I want to keep safe. Taking a deep breath, I unlock the little drawer on the left-hand side of the
40
b a paris
writing desk and pull it out. Lying inside is a scruffy
pile of notes. I count them; there’s a hundred and sixty
pounds exactly.
In the warm peace of my bedroom the hard facts of
what I forgot suddenly loom over me. To forget a name
or a face is normal but to forget suggesting a gift and
taking money for it isn’t.
‘You look better already,’ Matthew says from the
doorway, making me jump. ‘Did you take some aspirin?’
I quickly push the drawer shut. ‘Yes, and I feel much
better.’
‘Good.’ He smiles. ‘I’m going to have a sandwich,
do you want one? I thought I’d have mine with a beer.’
The thought of food still makes my stomach churn.
‘No, go ahead. I’ll get something later. I’ll just have a cup of tea.’
I follow him downstairs and sit down at the kitchen
table. He puts a mug of tea in front of me and I watch him as he takes bread from the cupboard, a slab of cheddar from the fridge and makes himself a quick sandwich, pushing the two together and eating it without a plate.
‘That murder has been on the radio all morning,’ he
says, crumbs dropping to the floor. ‘The road’s been
closed and the police are all over it, looking for evidence.
It’s insane to think it’s all happening five minutes from here!’
I try not to flinch and look absent-mindedly at the
tiny white crumbs on our terracotta stone floor. They
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41
look as if they’re stranded at sea with no help in sight.
‘Do they know anything about her yet?’ I ask.
‘The police must do because they’ve advised her next
of kin but they haven’t released any details. It’s awful to think what someone must be going through right now.
Do you know what I can’t get out of my mind? That
it could have been you if you’d been stupid enough to
take that road last night.’