Maggie #2
We both hang up. I think about my sarongs and flip-flops put to one side at the cash register.
The sales assistant is keeping them for me.
I should really go back inside and explain but somehow I can’t face disappointing her.
She was so excited for me, so hopeful for herself; after all, if this customer in her forties had finally found love and was flying off to a romantic beach wedding, why shouldn’t she get her happy-ever-after?
But it’s lost its sheen, somehow. The rain is really coming down now and despite the awning, I’m getting wet through.
I need to go home, talk to Theo, sort it all out.
I’ll come back for the sarongs another day.
I text Theo straight away, but don’t hear anything for hours.
He’s away working, scouting locations for a film in northern California.
He’s eight hours behind, so he’ll still be asleep.
In the meantime I try to look for any paperwork to do with the bank.
No one sends paper statements any more, and I can’t remember the login details as Theo set it all up, but I want to check the account numbers; I must be getting mixed up somehow.
But Theo keeps everything in his briefcase, and if it’s not here, he must have taken it with him.
In fact, I can’t find any paperwork at all.
Considering there’s been so much flying around recently, you’d think there’d be some here.
Theo’s always on his laptop. He likes to sit at the little antique desk that’s tucked away in the corner of the living room.
It’s one of those with the flip-down lid and little drawers and alcoves.
But no, nothing. All the drawers and alcoves are empty.
That’s when I get the first inkling that something’s a bit odd.
It’s not until early evening that the ticks finally turn blue. Theo leaves me a voice message. Telling me not to worry, that there must be a mix-up with the bank and everything’s in order, but he’s on set right now and will call me later.
I’m in the flat with George the cat, sitting on the sofa, when I get his message. I leave one back, telling him I’m worried, explaining again that I’m overdrawn and incurring a charge, asking him again about the account numbers for our joint account.
‘What if I’ve been targeted by one of those online banking scams?’ I tell him, feeling panicked. ‘You know how sophisticated they are; I’m worried I might have accidently opened a dodgy email, or clicked on a link and now someone’s hacked into our accounts . . .’
Even as I’m voicing my fears, I’m worrying about what Theo will say after listening to this message. What if that really has happened? He’d be so furious. I daren’t even think about it.
He sends a voice message back: ‘You’re being silly now, Mags; no one’s hacked into our accounts. Hang on, let me check them now.’
A few minutes later and then he sends me a photo. It’s a screengrab of the money in the joint account. Several hundred thousand. I feel a wave of relief. It’s all there.
Followed by another photo. This time it’s a screenshot of our investments and they’re all way up. I’m not good at understanding the stock market, or funds and unit trusts, but even I can see we’re up almost 30 per cent.
‘Plus, I meant to tell you, I just had another Zoom with some potential investors for the business. They’re based out in Silicon Valley, so if they come on board, the sky’s the limit!’
He sounds so excited in his voice message, I feel guilty. I’m always doubting him. That’s what he gets angry about, whenever we argue. That I don’t have faith in him.
‘Phew, sorry, I was just worried,’ I say, leaving another voice message.
‘When they said the account numbers didn’t match .
. . Can you do another screenshot so I can see them properly?
They’ve been cropped off. Or if you can give me the passwords so I can log in myself, I want to call the bank first thing tomorrow. ’
A few moments, then he texts back.
Sorry, I’m actually on set and they’ve started shooting so I can’t leave a voice message.
I’ve already logged out of the app and I can’t remember the passwords. It’s all face ID now.
I’ll send a better photo later.
OK, no worries.
Bye, babe. Love you.
Love you, too.
My phone beeps up a love heart emoji. I stare at it, feeling a sense of relief and reassurance.
And yet, something’s niggling me. Women’s intuition, gut feeling, call it what you want, but I can’t get rid of this strange feeling that something’s off.
That I’m missing something, somehow, but I don’t know what it is.
I get up from the sofa, much to the displeasure of George, who has chosen my lap as his bed for the night, and go into the bedroom.
I move over to his side of the bed. His dressing table.
I open the drawer. Empty. I stare at it.
I don’t know why that feels so strange, but it does.
Surely he’d leave the odd thing behind – a receipt, a bit of paperwork, something – but both his bedside cabinet and the desk he uses in the living room are completely empty.
I open another drawer, this time it’s where he keeps his underwear.
I rummage through his socks and boxers, before suddenly catching myself, and slamming it shut.
This is crazy! What on earth am I looking for?
What am I hoping to find? We’re getting married in a few weeks – surely I should trust him by now?
After all, it’s not like he’s done anything to arouse my suspicion.
I’ve seen pictures of his life in LA before he moved here.
The house he recently sold, with its swimming pool and palm trees, and his convertible in the drive.
I’ve even looked at his Instagram and Facebook accounts, and there’s nothing on there he hasn’t shown me himself.
It seems to be mostly old ones of him in his convertible, or recent photos of glamorous filming locations.
There aren’t any of us together. Which admittedly I felt a bit hurt by at first, as if he was keeping me a secret.
Or, as my friend George put it, Keeping His Options Open.
That was one of the reasons George and I had an argument a few months ago and stopped speaking. Theo was right all along: George did have it in for him. So now we’re no longer friends. I miss him sometimes, but it’s easier this way.
Plus, when I asked Theo, he explained that it’s not that I’m a secret; on the contrary, it’s because he wants to keep his private life private.
That what we have together is just for us, and not for public consumption.
Put like that, it makes sense. After that I deleted the photos I’d posted of us together on my accounts too.
Theo was right. He’s right about a lot of things.
I go back and sit on the sofa and turn on the TV.
George the cat is pleased to see me and curls his big fat ginger body in my lap.
I’m being silly. It must be wedding nerves.
Tomorrow I’ll call the bank and straighten everything out, then go back to the store and buy my flip-flops and sarongs.
I silence the niggly voice in my head. Tomorrow, everything will be fine.