Chapter 6
6
SIX DAYS BEFORE HE LEFT ME
‘We need to get going or we’ll hit traffic,’ James says to Kit, ignoring me.
I remember this moment – I wasn’t lying on the sofa though. My eyes are guided towards the table, replaying the scene as it was at the time, another version of me, hair tucked behind my ears, black-rimmed glasses, white top, books spread out before me. I picture her, this other me: a half-eaten bacon sandwich next to her; highlighter in hand; another version of Kit, trying to distract her, kissing her neck, so he could swipe the rest of her breakfast.
James had come in the same way, uttered the same words, making it clear that this was his time with his brother, not mine.
When Kit and I were first together, I used to try to get James on side, to include him if we were going somewhere, but he made it obvious that he didn’t want me around. But hearing his voice, seeing the way he is avoiding my eyes, cuts deeper than it did back then. Back then, I would have just rolled my eyes and inwardly seethed. But today – Is it today ? – today, it hurts because right now, all I want to do is step towards him, let him hold me and tell me everything is going to be OK, that he will fix this and I will feel safe.
But this isn’t my James. If my James even exists any more.
This is Kit’s brother… Kit’s brother who sometimes made me feel like I was an outsider. He was never cruel, always politely abrupt, never said anything that made me feel as though I wasn’t good enough for his brother… It was more like I was invading their relationship, like he was jealous of the time I was taking away from him and Kit.
‘Liv’s not well,’ Kit says, putting a hand to my forehead again, as he looks up at his brother. ‘I’m staying here.’
‘What’s up?’ James asks, eyes flitting to my supine position.
‘She almost passed out.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say sitting up straighter. ‘Honest. Low blood sugar, that’s all. I’ll be right as rain once I’ve eaten.’
Kit shakes his head. ‘I’m not leaving you,’ he says kissing my forehead as I hear a not-so-subtle sigh from James.
‘Right. Well, I can’t get a refund, so…’ James rummages in his pocket and unwraps a stick of chewing gum, avoiding my eyes.
I search my memory. Where were they going? Ah, the boxing club. James didn’t own it back then, but he trained there and he would hire the ring and spar with Kit. Kit did it for fun. He was fast on his feet, agile, but he never loved boxing the way James did.
‘I can’t leave her, bud.’
‘James will lose his session if you don’t go. How about… I come with you?’ I look over at him, the man I’m about to marry. Whose whole body seems to have just sagged. He quickly rearranges his expression, shrugging his shoulders. ‘James?’ I prompt. Again, he avoids my eyes.
‘Don’t go overboard with your enthusiasm, will you?’ I say. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Life with James has always been built on honesty. Ever since Kit left, we’ve always laid our cards on the table. Nothing was hidden; everything kept plain and simple, or so I’d always thought. His eyes widen slightly at my response, as though he’s one of the good kids in school who has just been caught cheating.
Kit scoffs. ‘Ignore him,’ he says. ‘Did the honourable Lady Penelope knock back your advances again?’
James gives him the bird.
Kit bursts out laughing, turning to me. ‘That’ll be a yes. How long has it been since Elizabeth and the EpiPen? Three months? Four?’
Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth… I shuffle through my memory until I find her. Ah yes. James had a three-week fling with her. I remember he made her dinner with anchovies in the pasta sauce, and her face blew up like a puffer fish. He’d told me not long after the first time we slept together. From then on one of the first things he asked a prospective date was if they had any allergies. They carried on dating for a while after, if I recall. But it had fizzled out. I forget why.
I’d been lying on his chest as he told me about her face, the way it had swollen so quickly, her eyes shutting. He thought she would die right there at his kitchen table. ‘Looking back, it’s no wonder I went through a dry spell. I must have come across as a right weirdo asking them if they wanted to go for a drink then quickly following it up with: “Do you have any allergies?”’ I’d propped myself up on my elbow, looking down at him, his body naked beneath the sheets.
‘Why did you never have any long-term relationships?’ I asked softly.
‘I’m just not built that way. I mean, I wasn’t. Back then.’
‘Liv?’ Kit asks. I bring my attention back to him, heat creeping across my cheeks, as I appear to have just been staring at James by the way he is focusing all his attention on the car keys in his hands.
‘Yep? Sorry, I was in a world of my own. Do I need a jumper, do you think?’ I glance towards Kit’s laptop. Will there be answers on there? ‘I’ll take the laptop,’ I say. ‘Get some work done while you two’ – I put my hands into fists and throw a few jabs – ‘pow, pow, pow.’ I add sound effects to my punches. James frowns, an eye-roll in eyebrow form, then rummages in his backpack. ‘Um, I mean while you do your thing,’ I add, my voice trailing off.
‘It can get pretty chilly in there,’ Kit says.
‘Right, I’ll grab a jumper. Back in a tick.’ I hesitate briefly before landing a quick kiss on Kit’s mouth. I try to sidestep James’s frame in the doorway, trying not to breathe in his familiar smell. He lands a hand on my arm as I pass. I look down at it then to his face.
‘Low blood sugar, right?’ he says, passing me a breakfast bar. The packet is battered, the bar in question probably in pieces.
‘Thanks,’ I reply.
He gives me a quick nod, already moving away from me.
In the bedroom, I close the door, leaning against it with my heart banging insistently against my chest.
Jesus. Is this really happening? Am I really standing here in our flat, seven years ago? My hand reaches up to my collarbone, rubbing along the length of it, a nervous habit. My fingers linger along my clavicle; I can feel the weight of the necklace as though it’s still there.
Why did James have it? How did James have it?
I place the breakfast bar on my vanity unit, the remains of my old make-up there. I reach for the bottle of perfume, lifting the nozzle to my nose, memories tumbling over themselves for attention. I replace it and glance around the room. The bed is made, light green duvet tucked and folded tightly into place – Kit’s doing, not mine; my discarded clothes are on the bedroom floor. I’ve always been messy; so is James, always too distracted by something else to be able to spare the time to tackle the mundane. But Kit? Kit was always tidy, organised, methodical . Just the same as with his work. Neat lines of numbers, neat lines of coding: neat lines. It’s the same as the way he climbed. An adrenaline junkie? Yes. But a calculated one. He liked statistics; he liked the idea of being the one in a million. It was analysing the risks and beating them. That’s what he loved: beating the odds. That’s why his job suits him. Kit was – is ? – an IT consultant. He offers web design, IT support and cyber security services. Different companies commission him for various aspects. He goes in and cracks their security, then tells them how to fix it. It’s like a game to him: cracking the codes.
I walk around to Kit’s side of the bed, my hand smoothing over his pillow. I lean in, burying my face into it; it’s still rich with the scent of him. The pain of those first few weeks is swollen in the back of my throat as I breathe him in. How many times had I done this after he left? How long was it until, defeated, I had taken off the bedclothes, forced them into the washing machine and sobbed as they spun around, his smell drowning in a sea of Persil.
I close my eyes; see the image of James last night. I love you .
I was so sure this morning in the hotel, so sure that he was right. But what if he’s been lying to me? If he’s been keeping Kit’s whereabouts from me, then our whole life together so far has been based on a lie. And if Kit’s alive then where the hell has he been for the past seven years ?
The thoughts tumble around my mind, the old mixed with the new, with the now, with the then.
‘Liv? You ready?’ Kit shouts from somewhere behind the door.
‘Just a sec!’ I reply.
To Kit.
This is going to take some getting used to.
Opposite me is a full-length mirror. I sit up then take slow steps towards it. Woah.
The girl in the mirror is at least three sizes smaller than the woman who is about to get married. I’m a size eight here, I think. I turn to the side, and would you just look at my arse! It’s all perky and firm, as are my thighs beneath my jeans. I jab them with my index finger, not even a hint of a custard-cream-induced wobble. I lift up my T-shirt; my stomach is flat, no sign of the gentle weight I gained once James took over the cooking and when staffroom cakes and biscuits started creeping into my daily eating routine. I was much fitter back then, I mean, back now .
I lean into the mirror, flashing a grin. Hmmm. Hardly any laughter lines yet. The whites of my eyes are brighter, my skin clearer, my body holding more vivacity. It’s hard to describe but I just feel younger. I pull open the wardrobe door, my fingers running along our clothes, all of which will be pulled from their hangers in just over a weeks’ time. Ava had turned up when the whole flat looked like it’d been ransacked. I’d fallen asleep amidst his clothes.
But that hasn’t happened yet.
And that means… I can stop Kit from leaving.
The thought lands like that heart-stopping moment when you’re just about to fall asleep.
Because if I stop Kit leaving, what will happen to me and James?