Chapter 24
ALICE
I turn the sound down on the TV, where The A-Team is playing on a Freeview channel called Legend, which I have recently become addicted to. The eighties loved their American action. I wipe the chilli sauce from the corner of my mouth, my doner kebab half demolished on top of the clean white sheets.
‘Al? You awake?’ Spence’s voice comes from behind the door.
I pull it open. ‘You look like you’ve just been shagged,’ I say. He’s wearing a crumpled white T-shirt, his hair sticking up at odd angles. ‘Heather, here?’ I ask, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
He ignores my barb. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’
Spence slumps onto my bed, back leaning against the headboard.
‘Where are the girls?’
‘Stayed over at Josie’s. They’re going to have a pamper night, apparently.’
‘They have a good night?’
He smiles. ‘Yeah. Looks like I’m back in the good books. For now.’ He reaches for my kebab and takes a bite. ‘Since when do you eat kebabs? I thought you said they look like roadkill?’
‘Thought I’d give it a try.’
I’d ended up walking through Soho for longer than I’d intended, the walk and hours spent taking photos of where Michael may have ended up quickly burning through the basket of chips from the pub.
‘Shove up,’ I say, joining him.
‘The A-Team?’ He nods to the screen. ‘You’re really going for full-on eighties immersion, aren’t you?’
I shrug and he chews thoughtfully.
‘So, do you want to talk about the elephant in the room?’ he asks.
‘You mean how Ryan has moved on with his new six pack, a Margot Robbie lookalike, and a successful career? No, not especially.’
‘You forgot a pretentious American accent that he seems to have acquired in the space of a few months.’
I huff a laugh and reach over for the kebab, taking another bite. I let out a long breath, tears already forming.
‘What am I doing, Spence?’ I nod to the TV, to the laptop with too many tabs open to count.
‘What you’ve always done. Trying to find answers.’
‘But to what end? What would finding him even mean?’
On screen, Hannibal is coming up with a plan and lighting his cigar.
Spence is thoughtful for a moment, as though he’s choosing his words carefully. ‘Do you remember when your mum lost her handbag?’
I reach for a bottle of water and crack the lid, bringing it to my lips with a small nod.
I remember sitting at the top of the stairs while Mum and Dad shouted at each other over it.
She’d been Christmas shopping and bought a load of vouchers as gifts.
‘Yeah, she’d left it on the bus. God, that was years ago. How old were we? Eight?’
‘Nine. You went full-on Scooby-Doo. Put posters up, went in every shop she remembered going to that day.’
I nod with a smile. ‘I told them I was going for dinner at yours and convinced you to come with me to the bus depot.’
‘And you refused to leave until they’d searched lost property. There you were, pigtails swinging and arms crossed. Poor security man didn’t know what had hit him.’
‘I was right though.’ I grin.
‘You were.’
‘She was so happy when I came back… Didn’t even get bollocked for lying.’ I can remember the relief on her face, the way she’d held me tightly and planted firm kisses all over my cheeks.
‘Speak for yourself! I was grounded for two weeks.’
‘Were you?’ I turn to him, frowning. ‘I don’t remember that.’
He shrugs, eyes on the screen as The A-Team finishes and the adverts roll.
‘It wasn’t so bad. And it was a win… all things considered.’ He looks over at me, his eyes scanning my face, and I wonder if he’s thinking about the day before I’d dragged him to the bus depot. The day when I cried telling him Dad was really angry at Mum.
I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. ‘You’ve always put up with my shit, haven’t you? Even when—’ I gesture to the laptop ‘—I feel like I’m losing my mind chasing a ghost.’
We’re still for a moment. He takes a long, slow intake of breath, like he’s preparing to say something I’m not ready for. Something shifts, and the air feels like it’s contracting around us. I’m acutely aware of the warmth of his shoulder, the steady beat of his pulse, the way he smells.
I lean forwards, reaching for the controller and shifting my body away from him.
‘Your turn. Tell me about Heather.’ I fold my legs. He takes a breath and nods slowly. ‘From the beginning right up to the moment you told Georgia,’ I add. ‘Do not skip anything.’
He lets out a long breath. ‘She got in touch last year. An email, of all things. She’s moved back here temporarily, got a placement as a manager at a call centre.’
I snort. ‘That does not sound like the most popular girl at school.’
‘Like I said. She’s changed.’
‘Wait, temporarily?’
‘For now. She’s still got her own place in Scotland. She’s renting it out.’
‘Does she still look like she’s one step away from a hair flick?’ He gives me a warning glance. ‘Sorry. Continue.’
‘We met for coffee. She was nervous, hands shaking… very… I don’t know. Contrite?’
‘Good.’ I take another sip of water.
‘Are you going to let me tell this or not?’
‘Yes. But don’t expect me to forgive her and welcome her with open arms.’
‘I don’t.’ He drags his hand through his hair. ‘She didn’t try to make excuses. She just kind of owned it. The whole thing. How what she did was—’
‘Destructive. Heartless? Fucking cowardly?’
‘Yes.’ He meets my eyes. Unflinching. ‘She knows all of that.’
‘Good.’
‘I told her I wouldn’t let her see or speak to Georgia unless she was certain. In it for the long haul. We started meeting for coffee once a week. I’d answer her questions, show her photos… then twice a week. You get the picture.’
‘And it was purely about her seeing Georgia?’
He stills. ‘Mostly… but I don’t know. Lately it’s felt like there might be something there.’
I take another sip, but the water feels lodged in my throat.
‘So, the dinner the other night? The new aftershave.’
‘It wasn’t new.’
‘The almost new aftershave… If things are purely platonic, why did you act like you were about to pick her up for prom?’
‘I didn’t ever pick her up for prom. I picked you up.’
‘I know, but I bet you didn’t bother with all that faffing about when it was just us.’
He shifts off the bed, eyes searching the room.
‘I need a drink of something that’s not shimmering or red. Tea?’
I nod, watching as he moves across the room, hands fumbling over the kettle, the cups.
‘What happened, Spence? The night of the not-so-new aftershave? You looked like you’d won the lottery.
’ He looks at me over his shoulder as he makes the drinks.
‘I didn’t. I was just… relieved.’ He focuses back on the task at hand then passes me a cup.
He sits on the edge of the bed, focusing on the surface of his drink.
‘Nothing happened, but… I think that maybe it could.’ He glances quickly at me.
I have no idea what my face is doing right now, and I try my best not to grab him by the shoulders and scream at him.
‘But that all depends. On Georgia.’
I clutch the tea in my hands and shuffle up the bed. ‘When did you tell her?’
He taps the edges of his cup with his thumb. ‘Last week.’
‘And?’
‘I told her everything. That I’d been meeting with her mum, that she’s changed, wants to see her.’
The word ‘mum’ feels like it’s echoing around my head. ‘I’m guessing finding out that you’ve been seeing her, Heather, in secret didn’t go down too well?’
‘Understatement.’
‘You have to know why though, right? You kept it hidden from her.’
He nods. ‘I know. But I needed to be sure. Needed to know that I wasn’t going to bring her back into our lives only for her to leave again.’
Knight Rider has started playing on the TV – a very young David Hasselhoff driving along a highway. I reach for the controller, turning it off.
‘So, what next?’
‘She’s coming round. Next week. To meet Georgia.’
I let out a long plume of air.
‘Big day.’
‘Big day.’
He takes a beat, glances at me then reaches for the laptop. ‘So, how far have you got? Any luck finding him?’ He closes the conversation about Heather, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or something else.
‘Not yet. I can’t find any record of him being an artist.’
‘Maybe he gave it up later, but still got into St Martins…’ He runs his finger over the mousepad. ‘There must be some record of him from back then. An exhibition, maybe?’
He leans closer to the screen then cracks his knuckles.
I laugh. But part of me wants to slow down the search.
Because deep down, in a place I don’t want to acknowledge, part of me is scared that if I find him, if he stops becoming a ghost, I’ll be left with the real world.
And I don’t know where I fit in.