‘Fi’s Story’ > 02:38:27
New year, new level with Toby. He was taking me to a smart hotel in Winchester for a few days. I won’t use the term ‘romantic getaway’, not now. I realize the horse has bolted in terms of any credibility I may have as a judge of character. Can I just say that it was by no means a foregone conclusion that I should go? I did waver: our regular Saturday nights were one thing, but two nights away from home was another. I even chose Polly as my advisor, subconsciously expecting her to discourage me.
‘Go,’ she said. ‘What’s the big deal?’
‘You’ve changed your tune,’ I said.
‘It’s a holiday! If I were you I would use it.’
‘Use it?’
‘Yes. To dig for the truth. Look in his wallet, check his phone.’
‘What for, Polly?’
‘For photos of his wife, Fi.’
I groaned. ‘Maybe I could wear a wire as well?’
‘It’s a no-lose situation. If you find out he’s not married, great. If you find out he is, and I mean living with her properly, not bird’s nesting or some other trendy set-up, well, it’s better to know.’
‘Perhaps you should go in my place,’ I laughed.
She reminded me of that later. ‘Bram could never have done what he did with you in the house full time,’ she said. ‘He used your custody arrangements against you.’
‘Hindsight is 20/20,’ I said.
Was I falling in love with Toby? I don’t think so, no. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little, during that trip away. But what does it matter? Other than talking to you, I’ve done my best not to think about him.
As for work, the timing was perfect in that a presentation I’d been working on with Clara was about to go to our design agency, with feedback due the following week, creating a natural break for me.
‘I’ll need to sort out cover for the boys,’ I told Toby. ‘Otherwise I won’t be able to do it.’
‘Your ex’ll step in, won’t he? I take it he’s moved on from his initial disapproval of us?’
‘You could say that.’
If Bram couldn’t, I knew one of the grandmothers or neighbours would help, but he agreed without question, happy to prioritize family over work and handle every detail of their care. Even so, I lined Alison up for contingency.
‘You didn’t tell me how it went at Christmas,’ she said, when I popped in for a coffee. ‘With Bram?’
‘It was good. To be honest, I’m still trying to forget how good.’
‘I see. But nothing’s changed?’
I paused, admiring the polished stone of her breakfast bar, the vintage roses arranged in the flared vase I’d chosen from our recycled ceramics line a few years ago.
She gave a rueful sigh, forked fingers through her blonde hair, like mine highlighted to deny the grey. ‘I’m not saying I held out hope, but, you know, when you arrived at Kirsty’s together after the carol concert . . .’
‘I know. It felt like old times.’ I looked up. ‘But no, nothing’s changed. It’s too late.’
We lapsed into silence then, almost in tribute.
You know, speaking of falling in love, it’s almost as difficult to say when you’ve fallen out of it, isn’t it? I feel very strongly that just because you do, it doesn’t give you the right to deny the love existed.
I may be many things, but I’m not a revisionist.
#VictimFi
@DYeagernews So heartfelt, so true. Starting to wish they might get back together . . . #Bram&Fi
@crime_addict @DYeagernews Are you kidding me? You’re as bad as she is!
Bram, Word document
The solicitor emailed to say that contracts had been exchanged. The vendors’ ten per cent deposit – ￡200,000, a sum that the medication helped me visualize in Pokédollars – had been received and the final statement sent out to their solicitor. Completion was confirmed for Friday, 13 January (it was far, far too late to note the unluckiness of the date), the balance – minus mortgage settlement, estate agency fees, legal fees and other reimbursements – expected to land by 1 p.m. It would be close to ￡1.6 million.
Rav met the Vaughans at the house on Saturday 7th for a last check of fixtures and fittings, but I elected not to be there, taking the boys straight from their swimming lesson to Pizza Express for lunch.
It’s not real was my new mantra.
*
The next day, my final Sunday morning at the house, Sophie Reece came to the front gate as I was letting the boys back into the house after a bike ride in the park.
‘Everything all right?’ I said, approaching.
‘Yes, fine. Except I almost called the police yesterday!’
Why the fuck would you do that? ‘Why?’
‘There were some people standing right in your front window and I knew you were out at swimming. They looked innocent enough, but burglars are very sophisticated now, aren’t they? Carrying tools as if they’re on a plumbing job, pretending to measure up for curtains, that kind of thing.’
I smiled at her. ‘That must have been my friend Rav. He runs a decorating business. He’s doing some work for me next week, so you might see some of his team then as well. He was here with some other clients, talking them through his plans.’
‘Ah, that makes sense. Just as well I left it, then. They say you can’t be too careful, but actually you can, can’t you? He’s very well-dressed for a decorator,’ she added.
‘Yes, isn’t he?’ Decades of sales work had taught me that there was no more efficient way of shutting down an unwanted line of enquiry than to agree. ‘He’s more of a creative director, he doesn’t get his own hands dirty. By the way, I wanted it to be a surprise for Fi, so if you don’t mind . . .?’
She did that wide-eyed thing women do when a secret is spilled, breathed a little ‘Ooh!’. ‘Of course. I haven’t bumped into her for ages. You know how it is.’
‘Everyone’s so busy,’ I agreed.
*
All that remained was to book the storage space and removals service and pack up our lifelong possessions without the other members of my family, or my colleagues, knowing anything about it.
Though I did my best to be discreet, Neil overheard me taking a call and hovered by my desk, waiting for me to finish. ‘What’s this? You’re not moving house, are you?’
‘No, no, just helping my mum out. She’s putting some stuff in storage.’
Might the police interview him, I wondered, and discover there’d been no such arrangement? It didn’t matter. He could tell them what he’d heard verbatim; I’d be long gone.
‘Might as well bin it,’ he said. ‘I know that sounds harsh, but apparently the vast majority of people who put stuff into storage never bother getting it out again. Surprised she doesn’t donate it to charity, a good Christian woman like her?’
‘It’s just knick-knacks,’ I said vaguely. ‘No one would want it.’
‘Is that why you’re taking Thursday and Friday as holiday?’
‘Partly.’
He narrowed his gaze. ‘Nothing wrong, is there? I mean health-wise.’
‘No, she’s fine. Other than the delusions of eternal life, of course.’
‘Not her, you mug, you. And I don’t mean this mystery virus.’
What he did mean was the booze, I supposed. The loose jowls and bloodshot eyes, the afternoon beer breath. ‘No, I’m much better now,’ I said.
He was keeping an eye on me, that much was clear, and not only as a revenue-protecting sales director, but as a mate. The fact that I was going to let him down on both counts was somehow worse for knowing that he would bear no malice. He might even find a way to grant me pardon.
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‘Fi’s Story’ > 02:41:48