Chapter 33
33
TWO DAYS BEFORE HE LEFT ME
We get out of the car. My legs are shaking, heart beating loudly in my ears as Kit bends over, fingers inspecting the smashed tail light. His face is pale, but he smiles up at me. ‘No harm done; I’ll get it fixed tomorrow. That nutter needs to learn how to drive,’ he says, walking back over to me, bringing me close, and kissing the top of my head. He pulls back, tilting my face left and right, running his hands over my arms and shoulders. ‘You’re sure nothing hurts?’
‘I’m fine, a bit shook up. Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, same. No harm done.’ He pulls me against him, arms holding me close.
‘I recognised that car. It was that double-glazing salesguy’s.’
‘Huh? You sure?’ he says. I can’t see his face, but his grip tightens a touch.
‘Yeah, blue BMW. I recognised the reg plate.’ We pull apart.
‘There are lots of BMW drivers out there who are wankers with fancy plates. I don’t think it was deliberate. The guy was on his phone, not watching where he was going, that’s all. ’
I let him lie to me. We drive home quietly, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
I’ll wait until I get home until I tell him – tell him everything that has happened. Everything that will happen.
In our flat, Kit opens us both a bottle of beer. His hands are still shaking.
‘We need to talk,’ I begin.
He leans back against the counter, bottle visibly vibrating as he lifts it to his lips, his eyebrow raised. ‘What about?’ he asks.
‘I know you’re in trouble, Kit. And the reason I know is that I’ve lived this week before. I’ve already lived the next seven years.’
‘What?’ he asks, taking a deep pull on his bottle.
And then I tell him.
‘This is ridiculous!’ he says. I’ve gotten to the part where we search for him and then I tell him that I suspect he fakes his own death. I haven’t mentioned James. I need to keep him focused.
‘Why are you saying these things?’ he asks. ‘We need to get you to a doctor; I think you’ve banged your head.’ He grabs his car keys. I stand and take them out of his hand.
‘You borrowed money from Becky Thomas, Kit. The guy who you claim to be selling double glazing to a house with new double glazing just ran you off the road.’
His eyes widen, hands dragging through his hair. He starts pacing.
‘Tell me what’s going on. I’m begging you. Let me help.’
Something passes across his face, a hesitation. He opens his mouth but then stops. Anger or something else closing the hesitation down.
‘There is nothing going on!’ He throws up his hands .
‘Yes. Yes there is. You’re going to leave me; you’re going to go on Friday and you never come back.’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ His voice is shaking. ‘I would never leave you.’
‘But you do!’ I shout, all anger and pain and regret, hand gripping the back of the kitchen chair. ‘You leave on Friday and you disappear. You go to a cave that is unreachable by search and rescue. You park your car in a place that you know it will be seen even though you don’t normally park there. You run away, Kit.’
He shakes his head, pulls at his hair. ‘This is such bullshit!’ he shouts, but there is fear in his eyes. ‘I don’t know why you’re saying these things to me. Is this a joke? Did James put you up to this?’
‘You know it’s not.’ I calm my voice, step towards him, try to take his hand; he pulls it back. ‘Just tell me, why would he run you off the road? Is it to do with money?’ There is a flicker in his expression, a recognition. ‘Why do you owe him money, Kit? I can help you; I can stop it from happening. Just tell me the truth.’
‘I don’t need to listen to this. Do you know how insane you sound right now?’
‘Actually, yes. Yes I do.’ I pull down the cuffs of my oversized cardigan.
‘I don’t know why you’re saying this, but it’s not fucking funny. I need some space.’
‘Where are you going tomorrow?’
‘I told you, I’m going to Wales.’
‘You’re lying. I know you’re lying. There is no Call of the Wild in Monmouthshire.’
‘I must have the wrong name. You want me to prove it to you?’
He storms out of the room and returns with his train tickets. ‘Satisfied?’ he asks as though this proves everything I’ve said to be wrong .
Kit grabs the car keys and storms out. I hurry after him, chasing him down the stairs. ‘Kit! Just wait!’ I try to take his arm but he shakes me free. I’ve never seen him like this before, never seen him so scared, so confused, so angry.
He slams the door behind him. I follow him. The sun is setting deep in the sky, but he’s already in the car, the engine roaring, lights on, pulling away. I chase after him shouting his name but he’s gone. I close the door behind me and stand there at the bottom of the stairs, back where it all began, where it all ended.
I’m dazed as I walk back into the lounge. I call Kit’s phone. I sit there, calling and calling and calling.
An hour passes, then another, then another. It feels so familiar, this waiting to hear from him.
I dial James’s number but it’s almost midnight now. It goes to answerphone. I don’t leave him a message; there’s no point.
I walk into Kit’s office and go through his drawers again; the receipts are all the same. I attempt to get into his online banking, but I can’t; my eyes are gritty as I stare at the blue screen. At the sound of every car passing, at the lighthouse blink of light flashing along the contours of the walls, I look out of the window, but he doesn’t come home. Where has he gone? Is he already driving to the coast? Is he safe?
My neck is stiff from the accident. I have a memory of Kit sitting on the sofa when I got back from the cinema, the same action, the same wince as he tilted his head – must have slept funny, he’d said.
I check his desk again, but nothing has changed. My focus roams the room, settling on one of his suit jackets hanging on the back of the door. I push the chair back. My hands finger the jacket, brush against velvet.
I pull out a box, my heart inside my throat. The box is different; I trace the gold lettering on the top of the box: H there is no engraving. It’s not the same box, but it’s the same necklace.
I take it out, eyes heavy, body aching as I feel the familiar weight of it against my clavicle.
Another lie. Kit had told me he’d already taken it to the jewellers. He’d hinted at a surprise… I’d guessed that he was going to have it engraved, but had let him enjoy his ruse. In the aftermath of his disappearance, I’d wondered if he was going to ask me to marry him, if that was what was going to be engraved on the back, a simple: Marry me. But it’s still here. It doesn’t make sense. He’d said it would be ready to pick up on Friday morning. That’s why all of this time I’ve pictured it on the bottom of the Irish Sea.
I have one more day until he leaves, one more day to find out the truth.