Chapter 31
Jack
‘So, what did you think of the film?’ Maggie asks, toggling up her coat before punching in the code and locking the doors. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t what I was expecting, when you said Adam Sandler I was expecting something more, I don’t know…’
‘Goofy?’
I laugh. ‘It’s an interesting dilemma, isn’t it? How, for her, each of their fifty dates are first dates and yet for him, he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. It’s a great hook.’
In all honesty, though, my mind hasn’t been on the film, it’s been on the way that Maggie has started to let her guard down around me.
We haven’t touched since last week but there has been a lowering of her barriers.
To an outsider, Maggie sitting straight, rather than leaning away, wouldn’t even be a footnote in an observer’s recollection, but this is a big step for her. For us.
‘I love that even though she’ll never be able to remember him properly, he sacrifices a normal relationship because he loves her so much.’
I don’t miss the hope in her voice and I wonder if she asked Romy to play this film this week, so I could see how our relationship could work.
It’s timely, that’s for sure. And if I’m being honest, I have been having…
not doubts exactly, but I do wonder how this could work in the long term.
I could never keep anything from her. I’m jumping ahead though.
All I know is that it’s working. That I’m happy. And that’s enough, for now.
She stops, bends down and untangles the bottom of her skirt, which has snagged on the top of her boots.
We begin walking towards the White Lion, having figured going on a Friday night might give us more of a chance of finding out if anyone was there that night.
But as we approach, Maggie tenses. The pub is packed.
A football match must have finished, going by the sport shirts and people holding pints spilling out onto the kerb.
‘I…’ Maggie looks over. ‘I can’t go in there, Jack. Drunk thoughts are so unfiltered…’
I turn to her. ‘We’ll come back another time.’
‘No!’ she says. Despite her reservations, there is a gleam of encouragement in her voice. ‘This is good. Someone might know something. This is the perfect time.’ She nods to a bench across the road. ‘I’ll wait here.’
I hesitate.
‘I’ll be fine.’
I look to the pub, the Tudor frontage, the white lion rearing up on the sign swinging in the breeze.
‘Shoo!’ She wafts me away with a grin.
‘I’ll be five minutes.’
‘Ten,’ she challenges. ‘Ask as many people as you can.’ She pulls out her phone and wiggles it. ‘I’ve got the Kindle app; I’ll carry on with The Girl on the Train.’ She pauses, looks up at me, almost embarrassed. ‘Can I kiss you good luck?’
I smile and lean in, her mouth meeting mine briefly, lips soft and smiling.
‘Now go!’
The air is warm inside, filled with the smell of perfume and beer, a loud cheer as a glass smashes to the floor. Conversations noisy and theatrical. She was right not to come in.
I shoulder my way through the bar. ‘What can I get you?’ the bartender asks through his perfectly groomed beard, his tattooed arm pulling a pint.
I order a Heineken Zero, even though I know I won’t be staying, and broach the subject of the night that changed my life.
‘Sorry, mate, I barely remember last Friday let alone a year ago.’
‘Are there any regulars? Smokers who might have seen something?’
‘There’s Frank?’ He nods over to a man sitting in the corner, weathered skin, blue woolly hat pulled over his ears. ‘Frank!’ he bellows. ‘Fella wants a word!’
‘Cheers,’ I say, tapping my card as Frank makes his way through the throng.
I put out my hand. ‘Jack.’
‘What can I do you for, Jack?’
I explain what happened and ask if he remembers that night. ‘Anything at all might help,’ I prompt as the creases in his forehead furrow. ‘Sorry, lad, nothing springs to mind.’
‘Not to worry, it was a long shot. But if you do remember anything, could you give me a call?’ I ask the barman for a piece of paper and a pen and scribble down what I hope is my name and number.
‘Will do. Good luck, I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.’
I ask a few more people, but no dice, and exit the pub scanning the bench to where Maggie is sitting, pink fur collar pulled up against the cooling sea air.
‘Hey.’ She smiles looking up and pocketing her phone. ‘Anything?’
‘Nope,’ I say with a sigh.
Her shoulders slump. ‘I’ve been googling the newspapers again. There was a robbery that night but that was a few towns over.’
I’m hit again by how much that means to me, that she would sit outside in the cold, trying to help me find the answers I need. My stomach rumbles.
‘Fancy grabbing something to eat? There’s a place not far. It’s usually quiet…’
A siren goes off in the distance, a fire engine or ambulance. Flashes of memory fire into my subconscious: blue lights, someone asking what my name is, then a flash of something red. Red hair. Long and flowing, caught on the air. I look across the road, a deep groove forming between my eyes.
‘I think I remember something.’ I’m still, eyes darting to the left and right, my face tight in concentration. I take slow steps. Forward then backwards, eyes scanning the dark road opposite.
‘Jack?’
I crouch down, leaning my head to the left, narrowing my eyes, viewing the street from a different perspective.
‘I think…’ I stand back up, hand rubbing across my mouth.
‘There was a woman. With long red hair. Up ahead of me. I might be wrong but… it’s something?
’ My voice is hopeful but edged with doubt.
‘Where?’ Maggie steps towards me.
‘I don’t know… She had long red hair, bright, like fire engine red. It was blowing out behind her.’
‘Maybe you hooked up with someone?’
I laugh, shake my head, holding up my hand and tapping my ring finger. ‘I was engaged, remember?’
‘Right. Yeah, sorry. Anything else?’
I shake my head. ‘No. That’s it.’
‘Should we go to the police? They might reopen your case?’
‘Maybe? Let’s wait until I have something more solid. Let’s go eat. I can’t think on an empty stomach.’
I lead us towards the American Diner in town: red leather stools along the bar, separate booths, jukebox that only stocks fifties music. I think Maggie will appreciate the vibe.
‘May I?’ I hold out my hand. She hesitates, looking down.
‘You may, just…’ She pulls out a pair of gloves from her pocket. They’re mittens, a rainbow of colours. She glances at me, pulls her bottom lip with her teeth then pockets them.
Our hands meet and I focus on keeping my thoughts as neutral as possible. She bursts out laughing and drops my hand.
‘What?’
‘You’re trying to block me by singing about my milkshake bringing all the boys to the yaaaaard?’
‘Shit. Sorry. I have no idea why I’m thinking that.’
‘I do. You’re taking me to the American Diner?’
‘Well, bang goes my surprise.’
A look of hurt flashes across her face before she replaces it with a smile. But I’m reminded of how tricky it will be, for us to have a future, for me to keep even the smallest secret from her. ‘It’s still a surprise to me. Let’s pretend you’ve told me instead of thinking about it?’
‘I can do that. So, Maggie’ – I swing her hand in mine – ‘I thought I’d take you to the American Diner in town? They do incredible banana milkshakes.’
‘That sounds like a great idea, Jack!’ We laugh but she drops my hand and tucks it back into her jacket pocket. ‘How did your session with Dr Levin go?’
‘Good. I mean, I now hate the letter K with a passion but…’
‘How come?’
‘He made me eat liquorice while shaping it out of playdough. There is method in his madness though, but even though I’m making progress, it’s…’ I let out a breath. ‘It’s hard, you know?’
‘And the shop?’
‘I…’ I think of the subletting offer I’ve received and the pain I felt once I’d used the read-aloud function. The hour it took to write a response that’s still not finished.
‘I’m not sure if I can, even with the progress I’m making.
I’m afraid of making a twat of myself on a daily basis if I go ahead.
Watch out!’ My arm instinctively reaches out to help her avoid the huge pothole filled with last night’s rain, and instead of gallantly helping her across the puddle, her instinct to avoid my hand has sent her falling into it.
‘Well, crap!’ She looks up at me, her body sitting on the road, hands slapping down into the water. We both begin laughing. I want to help her up, but she shakes her head.
‘Shit, I’m sorry.’ I try to say the words but we’re both laughing so hard that my words barely make a dent in the atmosphere.
She waves away my apology instead flexing the tips of her purple boots back and forth like she’s sunk into a bubble bath rather than a metre-long crack in the tarmac.
Our laughter dies away as she folds her legs and begins to stand, redundantly brushing down her clothes.
‘See? You’re worried about looking like a fool trying to recover from a stroke and look at the mess I’m in!’
‘Here.’ I take off my coat, but she shakes her head.
‘There’s no point in both of us being soaked.’ She looks over to the other side of the street at a bus trundling towards the stop. ‘I can’t go for dinner like this. Fancy coming back to mine? I need to change.’ She gestures to her clothes, nodding towards the bus.