Chapter 19
19
FOUR DAYS BEFORE HE LEFT ME
Kit is asleep on the sofa when I get back.
I’m exhausted from my trip to Mum’s. I’d tried to tell her what had happened to me, but the minute she saw how upset I was, when I began to try to explain, her anxiety had already kicked into action. I had backtracked, told her I was hormonal, that I was just tired and then spent the afternoon eating cheese scones while surreptitiously trying to find out something about Rebecca Bevitt, but she is a ghost. I had gradually made my way through the list of names committed to memory, looking for anyone who sounded suspicious – in any way, shape or form – but there was nothing there except a few pictures of Kit with them back in the day, or friends that Kit had made on his travels years ago. There are no more suspicious messages and I can’t get into his Gmail account on my phone.
I hesitate next to him. This really doesn’t look like someone who has the weight of the world on his shoulders, white shirt open at the collar, deep and peaceful in sleep. I unshoulder my bag and watch him for a moment. His eyes are moving beneath his eyelids, mouth slightly open, freckles in the shape of a tick. I crouch down beside him, feeling the warmth of his breath against my face. I fold my legs beneath me, the stripes of the cheap carpet already making an impression against my skin. I lay my head on the edge of the sofa and close my eyes, as I listen to the sound of him. He shifts, his hand finding its way onto my scalp.
‘Hey,’ he says, his voice thick with sleep. I smile and turn my head to him. ‘You’re back early.’
‘I missed you,’ I reply, looking up at him.
‘Come here,’ he says.
I climb onto him, laying my head against his chest as he wraps his arms around me. My head lifts and rises with each breath. ‘I love you.’
He kisses the top of my head in sleepy acknowledgement. ‘How was she?’
‘Fine.’ I blink back the image of Mum’s face, the twisting of her hands, the fear of danger. ‘How did the meeting go?’
‘Good. They sound like they’re going to take me on.’
I turn myself over to kiss him. I let myself be her, the real her from seven years ago, with short hair and clear skin, eyes less tired, body more supple. It’s so easy to fall into the rhythm of his kiss. Everything is so familiar: the heat that rushes through me at the taste of him, the way I instinctively know how to kiss him. His hands tighten around me and I feel the pressure of him beneath me. Time falls away as he begins to pull my top off, the knot of questions – the whys and what ifs – all pushed away.
His hand cups my breast, his mouth moving along my collarbone down towards the edge of my bra. My hands bury themselves into his hair as my back arches, my fingers instinctively reaching for the buckle of his belt.
James.
The moment shatters into pieces, the sound of his name inside my skull like a vase being thrown at the wall .
‘Stop,’ I say. I pull back.
Kit looks up at me, his eyes somewhere between confused and aroused.
‘I… need the loo,’ I say.
He flops backwards. ‘Talk about ruining the mood,’ he says, but he’s smiling, safe in the knowledge that he has nothing to worry about. He knows how much I love him.
I climb off, my legs shaking. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’ Something in my voice, my expression, mustn’t ring true because he grabs my hands gently as I move away.
‘Is something wrong, Liv?’
I plaster on a calm smile and lean back over him, kissing him gently on the mouth. ‘I’m fine. You know how quickly coffee goes through me.’
‘You sure?’ he asks as I pull my top back on.
I try not to show the thick green of betrayal coating my thoughts. ‘Honestly, just my usual weak bladder.’
Did I have a weak bladder back then or did that come later once I stopped exercising so much?
I close the bathroom door behind me, my old young reflection staring back from the mirrored bathroom cabinet. I walk towards her, the old me, and trace the outline of my face, leaning my forehead against the cool surface until I hear our doorbell ring.
I turn and open the bathroom door a crack, watching him exit the lounge and make his way down the stairs. I analyse every movement. He’s not rushing; he doesn’t look worried at all. In fact, he’s humming, out of tune again, to ‘Seven Years’ – I wonder if time travel has a sense of irony. I open the door further and pad along to the top of the banister, standing back so as not to be seen.
The door opens. A man. Tall. Blond. Suited.
The man then leans in, his words quiet. I step forward and it’s then that I see the change in Kit. His shoulders pull back; his stance is firm. He steps forward, casts a glance towards the bathroom and steps out, closing the door behind him.
Now I have a flash of memory. I remember looking out of the window. I’d been at the desk again. I’d been preparing reading comprehension questions for the Gifted and Talented group in Year Six. I hadn’t gone to Mum’s as planned; I’d been too busy. I remember knocking my head on the roller blind and wondering who was at the door.
I rush to the lounge window, moving past my ghost self, trying to get a closer look. The blond man is smiling. I remember that smile. That’s all I’d seen: a tall blond man in a suit. I’d paid no attention to Kit, standing in the doorway. I’d been too relieved that I’d almost finished writing the questions. This time I pay more attention.
Kit has folded his hands in his pockets and his head is lowered. A series of nods, no eye contact I see. I scan the road outside. Parked on the edge of a kerb is a blue BMW, a personalised licence plate: K8N WYT1. The car is new. Expensive. It seems to match the person talking. Kit’s head flashes upwards, a knee-jerk of a reaction that seems to make the blond man smile. No, smile isn’t the right word. But sneer wouldn’t work either. It’s a ‘gotcha’ smile, a ‘you know it’ and ‘I know it’ expression. Kit’s body changes. Gone is the strength of his stance. His hand gestures show that he’s now asking for something.
I make my way down the stairs and open the door.
Kit’s head turns towards me, his easy smile in place.
‘Thanks, mate, but we’re renting so not interested.’
The blond man’s demeanour changes. He takes a step forward, a hand outstretched. Kit sucks his breath in. The sound is quiet, almost a click, but it has a bite to it, like he’s got a boiled sweet tucked against his molars. Kit’s arm slopes around my shoulders.
‘Kane,’ he says, clasping my hand long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. ‘Sorry to have interrupted your evening.’ He drops my hand, with his eyes back on Kit. ‘Remember that this is a one-time offer.’ He flashes his non-smile in Kit’s direction.
‘Um, sure.’ The man takes his leave. Kit’s arm is tight around my shoulders.
‘What was all that about?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. He’s trying to sell us double glazing. Talk about giving it the hard sell, I couldn’t get away from him. Arsehole. Christ, I’m starving. Fancy a takeaway?’
Double glazing. That’s what he’d said last time too.
I’m about to say we had takeaway last night. We had fish and chips and if I carry on eating like that I’ll soon lose this size-eight body, but we didn’t, did we? We had some sort of pasta bake. ‘Sure,’ I say. It’s not like it’ll make a sod’s bit of difference – anything I eat doesn’t really exist. ‘Let’s have extra sides and some cookie dough too?’ I add.
‘That’s my girl.’ He releases me and walks back into the flat. I watch as the BMW pulls away. Kane catches my eye and gives a small salute as he pulls off the kerb. There is something in the way he looks at me that makes me feel like I need a shower.
Later, full and bloated, I try to bring the conversation back, but Kit just shrugs and changes the subject to the TV, then goes and grabs us two cold beers from the fridge.
We go to bed. I make excuses as he tries to touch me… Too much pizza and beer, I say.
I wait until I can hear his breathing regulate then creep from the bed. I tread quietly to his side and retrieve his phone, locking myself in the bathroom .
I close the toilet seat and open up his phone. One new message from Rebecca.
Rebecca
Can we meet?
Kit
Yes. Tomorrow. Usual place?
Rebecca
See you there.
His Gmail account reveals nothing suspicious between the lines of IT talk, so I slip back into the room, replace his phone, and slide in next to him. Before I go to sleep, I turn my clock around so that it’s facing away from me. Something that says I was here, that I was present today. My mind begins to drift and just when I’m at the edge of sleep, about to slip back into the past, the thought comes like a blow from a hammer: the stickers are still on the corners of our windows. The double glazing was only replaced a few months ago. So why would a double-glazing salesman knock on the door of a flat with new windows?