Angus, I realised, must be extremely rich, far richer than me, a thought which made me want to sit down in the street. I crossed the road to a darker corner in case anyone looked out of the window, and fished out my phone. Zoopla told me the house had been bought five years before for ￡3.2 million; its estimated worth was now ￡8.1 million.
Lights were on in the front room, although the white shutters were closed, so there was nothing to see. I had the very strong sense that V was in there, moving around in the rooms beyond, perhaps even thinking of me. Maybe she was unhappy; maybe she too was regretting starting this game. It was entirely possible that her unhappiness had drawn me here because our connection was so strong. It seemed absurd that I could simply cross the road and knock on the door and she would be revealed to me. I hesitated on the kerb, my feet half on, half off, rocking with the thought. But the likelihood was that Angus would be home, and although his part in the Crave wasn’t entirely clear to me yet, I didn’t think it involved a doorstep argument. V had other plans for him, of that I felt sure.
A light flicked on in an upstairs room and I saw a figure pull some heavy curtains across the window. My heart jumped into my mouth and my hand reached uselessly upwards, as if to wave. Even though I’d only got a shadowy glimpse of the person, I knew it was V. ‘I’m here, my darling,’ I whispered into the night. ‘I’m coming to save you.’ She had felt me; I knew that then. She might not have known for certain I was standing on the street outside her door, but something had pulled her upstairs and to the window. Something had compelled her to give me that sign.
I don’t remember getting home that night or how I broke the wine glasses. I went into the kitchen after my run the next morning to get a glass of water and there was a pile of glass in the corner by the bifold doors. I turned and there were three glasses missing from my open shelves. I reached out for one and realised if I had turned and thrown it immediately it would have landed right where the pile of glass now was. There was something familiar in the movement and there was a certain pleasure to be found in imagining myself being so reckless. But the actual memory was absent.
‘I know, I know, sorry, V,’ I said as I got the dustpan and brush from under the sink. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll hoover afterwards. I don’t want you getting any glass in your feet.’
After that I showered, shutting my eyes against the water, but still I couldn’t shake an uncomfortable feeling of dislocation. I towelled my body and felt a bit better because my muscles reminded me that I am strong and in control. But the house still felt so empty when I came out on to the landing, dressed for the day. I knew I only had to walk down the stairs, put on my coat, pick up my phone and briefcase and leave, but still it felt scary. As if my only actions could be ones I knew by heart. Actions I would repeat again and again and again, meaninglessly. My mind jumped forward to the winter and I saw myself doing all these same tasks in the dark. Without V anchoring me, I realised suddenly, it didn’t matter how strong I was, I was still very capable of floating clean away.
‘See you later,’ I shouted as I shut the door behind me, which made me feel somewhat better. An image followed me all the way to work of V asleep in our huge bed, with the linen sheets she liked and the mohair rug on the end. I had even invested in those pointless pillows which you see on beds in magazines that I simply threw on to the floor every night and replaced every morning. But V had had them on our bed in our flat and she always seemed to judge hotels by the number of extra pillows they provided.
V didn’t have to be at work until 9.30 a.m., so it was entirely feasible that when she moved in she would be able to have an extra half-hour in bed after I left. Or maybe she would go to the kitchen and use the coffee machine to make one of her beloved espressos, which she would take back to bed. I was glad I had hoovered, in case she wanted to stand by the back doors and look out over the garden while she sipped her coffee.
I hadn’t, I realised, cooked properly since I’d moved in and that was a shame as I liked cooking. I resolved to buy some ingredients on my way home that evening and christen the kitchen with a proper meal. I reasoned that might make it feel more like home.
Work was busy that day. We were in the middle of the Hector deal and the chairman had put me in charge. It should have been relatively simple, but some of their figures didn’t add up and no one was answering my questions in a way I thought to be adequate. I felt myself coming close to losing my temper a few times during the day, as I heard one excuse after another. And not just from the people at Hector, but also my own team. I think I might have spoken a bit harshly and I felt people glancing in at me as they passed my office. But I can’t believe I wasn’t fair. If people do a good enough job and give me the right answers, then all is good. I can’t stand incompetence. V says I expect too much from other people, which always used to make me laugh, as I was brought up to expect nothing at all.
I stopped at the deli on the High Street on my walk home from the tube. I had loaded up with wine and salads and was standing looking at the ridiculously priced vacuum-packed steaks when Kaitlyn walked in. I raised a hand in greeting, but inside my heart sank. She seemed to be behind me wherever I went and the feeling was unnerving. I turned back to the red meat, hoping she’d get what she needed and leave, but she came straight over.
‘What are you having?’ she asked. The basket hanging off her own arm was empty. ‘I’m starving but don’t know what I fancy eating.’
‘Steak,’ I said, keeping my eyes on the meat. ‘It’s Verity’s favourite.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I’m vegetarian.’
I turned to look at her and her deathlike appearance made a bit more sense. But I also realised something else. I couldn’t very well buy just one steak now I’d said that. I reached up and deposited two large steaks in my basket, trying hard not to hear Elaine’s voice telling me she could feed five people for a week on what they cost. When you are brought up in a foster home, excess never comes very easily, however much money you accrue.
Kaitlyn moved towards the next fridge and picked up some gourmet hummus and a fresh pasta sauce. Her hand hesitated over the wild mushroom or spinach and ricotta tortellini, but the wild mushroom won. She sighed. ‘I wish someone was cooking for me tonight.’
‘V and I take it in turns,’ I said. ‘Whichever one of us is back first.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit lonely buying all these sorts of ready meals and eating them in front of the telly. It doesn’t make it any better just because you’ve paid ten times what you would in Tesco.’
I tried to smile, but an image of Kaitlyn doing just that almost knocked me off balance. I thought she probably changed into a tracksuit and scraped her hair off her face as soon as she got home. She probably let her dog eat the leftovers from her plate.
We stood in the queue next to each other, which took an annoyingly long time because a woman at the front was going through every ingredient of her vegan lasagna. Kaitlyn smiled wearily and I pretended to be interested in a non-existent message on my phone. We emerged into the evening together and walked up the hill until it was my turning, where we said an awkward goodnight. I realised as I walked down my road that I would be seeing Kaitlyn again in eight hours’ time and that it was perfectly possible that neither of us would speak to anyone else in the meantime.