Chapter 22
22
THREE DAYS BEFORE HE LEFT ME
The room is different from the last time I was here. The walls are lilac; the bedding is grey.
I’m still here. In 2016. Will I ever be able to get back?
I sit down on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands as I begin sobbing. I lie face down and pound my fists against the mattress.
Kit’s face as he got in the car, the way they looked at each other; Kit shrugging his backpack on; standing with my coat wrapped around me as police dogs and the search party combed the hills and crags of the Pembrokeshire coastline; Rebecca, Becky , her face as she approached me at the funeral, red eyes, soft hand on my forearm. There was something in the way she looked at me that was off, I remember now, but then the next person was sorry for my loss, and the person after that, and the person after that.
I close my eyes: the image of myself in my wedding dress and James. James. The security being with him brings me, that feeling of safety, of being protected, his smile; the way he looks ten years younger while he sleeps; the look of joy that would pass his face as I took a mouthful of something he’d cooked. All of it feels raw, all of it real, not real, lost but found.
There is a message on my phone. I play the robotic voicemail introduction and listen to the voicemail from Mum: Hi darling, just checking in to see how you are. It feels like I haven’t seen you for weeks! I hope everything is OK? Give me a call when you’re free. Love you, bye. Bye.
I feel the uselessness of my endeavours again. Mum has no recollection of the afternoon I spent with her where I tried to explain everything that has happened. On the flip side, this is a good thing. At least she didn’t spend yesterday afternoon shaking and wracked with anxiety that her daughter was either losing the plot or about to jump headfirst into imminent danger.
I don’t know how long I lie on the bed, but it’s dusk when I sit back up. I take off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor, and step into the shower. I close my eyes under the water, resting my palm against the cool tiles.
I need him. I need James.
I dry myself off, pick up my phone and dial his number.
‘Hello?’ he says. His voice has an edge to it. Gone is the familiar, ‘Hey, you’.
‘It’s me. Liv,’ I say redundantly as if my name wouldn’t have flashed up on his phone screen.
‘I can’t talk. I’m at work.’ I can hear the sounds of the bar, picture him with his phone on his shoulder as he pulls a pint.
‘Can we meet?’
‘Meet? Why ?’ He’s blunt and there is something in the shock of his voice that makes me want to laugh. ‘Hold on—’ I hear a thanks, a beep of a card reader. ‘This isn’t a good time.’
‘I… I just need to talk to you. It’s about Kit. ’
‘Is he OK?’
Oh, he’s fine, I almost say, he has probably been having an affair with his ex for God knows how long and is about to do a runner. Did he leave with her? If he did, they didn’t stay together because she was at the funeral. Or maybe they were still together and she was there to scope it all out, to check that we really did believe he was dead. Jesus, is this really happening? Was he sat outside waiting in a car for her so they could drive off into the sunset? Maybe she grinned at him as she got in, Kit wearing a fake pair of glasses and a hat. ‘They bought it!’ I imagine her replying then kissing him passionately before he turns the key, gravel spinning out behind them as they drove away laughing at their plan working.
‘Liv?’
I push the thoughts away. Kit wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t .
‘I just need to talk to you about something. Can you meet me?’
‘Can’t you just tell me over the phone?’
‘No. It’s important, James. I wouldn’t be asking you otherwise.’
That seems to strike a chord if nothing else I’m saying does.
‘Fine. I’ll come round after work.’
‘I’m not home. I’m at the Grange Hotel. I’ll explain why when you get here. When do you get off?’
‘In about an hour.’
‘Perfect. Thanks. Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you then? I’ll be in the bar. And James?’
‘Hmmm?’
‘Don’t… Could you not mention it to Kit?’
He pauses. I can hear the noise of people in the background, a muffled sound as he moves the phone, a door closing behind him, the conversations around him dulled .
‘Liv, I’m not interested in getting mixed up if you two have had a fight.’
‘We haven’t… I just, I need your help with something. Please, James. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
‘I’ll be there in an hour.’
I sit nursing a glass of wine. I’ve ordered James the same. His frame fills the doorway as he scans the room. I smile. His hand moves, flexes by his side.
‘Hi. I’ve got you a drink,’ I say, pulling at my ear. It’s such a strange feeling, to be nervous talking to a man who I know inside and out. His brows furrow but he sits down and takes a sip.
‘So what’s this about?’ he asks, his delivery blunt.
I swirl my drink, already half empty. ‘What can you tell me about Rebecca Thomas?’
His eyebrows rise in surprise. ‘Becky? Why do you want to know?’ Just beneath the table his leg is bouncing up and down. To an outsider this would symbolise nerves, but James’s leg bounces even when he’s relaxed. But pulling and messing around with the cuffs of his shirt, that’s nerves.
‘Because I think Kit’s having an affair,’ I say.
James laughs, leans back in his chair, shaking his head.
‘You think it’s funny?’ I ask, heat rising in my cheeks.
‘Yes.’
‘Well great, I’m glad you think there is something funny about it, because let me tell you, James, it’s not. Not in the least.’
‘Kit’s not having an affair.’ He takes a sip of his drink, his focus roaming around the hotel lobby.
‘So why did I just see him driving off with her? ’
His eyes dart back to mine, uncertainty in them.
‘Look, as far as I know, Becca and Kit have been over for years. She married Nate, moved on. End of story.’
‘But it’s not the end of the story because this afternoon Kit met with her and, let me tell you, they looked pretty comfortable together.’
He avoids my eyes, tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck. I try to ignore how I know that it’s softer than it looks, how it feels between my fingers.
‘Look, Liv, I honestly don’t know anything about this. But Kit’s not having an affair. It’s not his style.’ He’s telling the truth. At least I think he is, but if he’s been lying to me about his brother being dead, then what do I know? ‘Have you asked him?’
‘No. I…’
‘Is that why you’re here?’ He gestures to the hotel bar. ‘You’ve left him before he’s even had chance to explain?’
‘Yes and no.’ I take a sip of my drink, while James’s eyebrows draw in. ‘Would he tell you?’ I put the drink back down. ‘If he was having an affair? Would he confide in you? I mean, it’s not like you’re my biggest fan.’
He leans back in his seat. ‘I don’t know. What my brother does with his private life is his business.’ He’s saying the right words, but his demeanour has changed. He’s upset. Hurt.
‘Would you tell me if you knew?’
He keeps his eyes on mine. Long lashes that I’ve watched closed as he sleeps, lashes that have touched the inside of my thigh. A conversation runs through my mind. I’d been watching him, head dipped between the pages of a magazine: If you were an animal, you’d be a giraffe.
A giraffe? I think you mean a tiger or lion… a bear.
Nope. A giraffe. It’s the eyelashes .
He’d fireman lifted me, running across the heath. Take it back.
No! I’d been laughing, squealing as he spun me around, dog walkers smiling and nudging each other as they watched these two people in love.
‘It’s not my business.’ His reply rips the memory apart, screws it up and throws it to the floor.
‘So that’s a no?’ My voice wavers. ‘You wouldn’t tell me if I’m being lied to?’
‘Look, Liv.’ He pushes the drink aside and shoves his chair back. ‘I don’t know anything. As far as I know, you’re the fucking love of his life. So if you’re asking me if I think he’s having an affair, then my answer is no. I don’t know why he would be meeting with her, but I sure as hell don’t think my brother is capable of lying to us both.’ He pushes the chair back and stands. ‘Thanks for the drink.’
‘James, wait!’
He hesitates, his hand on the back of the chair.
‘You’re wrong.’
He frowns.
‘He is capable of lying to us because in a week’s time he’s going to leave. And he won’t come back for seven years.’
James tilts his head, his eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Can you… can you just wait for a moment? I can explain. Please?’
He looks towards the door, back to the seat and sits down.
‘Thank you.’ I drain the rest of my drink, take a deep breath, then begin. ‘I’m going to tell you something now, and you’re going to think I’m making it up. But I’m not.’ I fold my hands on top of the table. ‘I’ve been here before,’ I begin.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m from the future. ’
He stands immediately, anger making his fists clench and unclench. ‘I don’t know why you’re messing with me, but accusing my brother of having an affair and then telling me you’re what… Marty McFly? It’s not funny.’
‘I’m not trying to be funny, James, I?—’
He pulls out his wallet and throws a ten-pound note on the table. ‘For my drink,’ he says and strides across the room. On the TV above the bar is the six o’clock news. Memories come flooding back. I chase after James.
‘James, wait!’ I grab him by the arm. ‘The charity football match!’ I say, slightly breathless. ‘Man U and Arsenal.’ He frowns. ‘Both teams are allowed to have a wild card player.’
‘Wild card player? Jesus, what is with you?’ He shakes his arm free.
‘Just listen.’ I point to the TV above the bar, the news subtitles running along the bottom of the screen in yellow. I remember the news coming on later that night, just before we had our argument. ‘I’m telling you the truth. I’ve lived this day before. Watch the news and I promise you, you’ll see. The wild card player for Man U will be injured and his replacement will come on and score three goals. Four. But one is disallowed. He’s only sixteen. His name is Steven Watts.’ I look at my watch. ‘In about four hours, this will be on the news. I know you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either, but I promise you, James. This will happen.’ His eyes search mine, anger, confusion all there. ‘Look, I’m staying in room 307. If you change your mind and you want to listen to what I have to say… I’ll be waiting.’
I’m watching the news on the hotel bed. Kit rings my phone again. I’ve sent him a text telling him I’m staying at Ava’s, too many Proseccos while we were shopping, I say. I can’t face him, not until I’ve spoken to James again. There is a knock, and I turn down the sound, opening the door a crack.
‘OK,’ James states. ‘You have my attention.’
I push the door wide. He walks into the room, the door slamming behind him.