Chapter 16
Maggie
‘Riz?’ I poke my head around the lounge door. ‘I’m off now. Seren will be here in half an hour to help you change, OK?’
She grins at me over her glasses. ‘Say hello to Jack for me.’
‘How did you—’
‘Oh, give me a little credit, darling. Your face is flushed and you’ve been like a cat on hot coals all afternoon.’
‘It’s not like that… We’re just friends.’
‘Mmmhmmm.’
The last week has flown by. Jack kept me updated on their trip to the doctors’, how Riz told him about some of her past and that he enjoyed her company. He pushed for social services to arrange some care, and she’s now got a nurse who comes to check on her twice a day.
Even more good news is that I got the night-shift job too, and started straight away.
It’s three nights a week, Monday to Wednesday; I don’t get as much as I did at Pillow Paradise!
But it’ll help make ends meet… when I get paid next week, at least. It’s hard sleeping in the day, but there is also something so freeing and magical about being in a department store in the middle of the night.
I take my time exploring the different sections: sportswear, camping, and the tech department.
I’ve managed to work the state-of-the-art stereos so can blast my music while I clean.
I get to browse the designer clothes, try the sample perfumes, while not having to avoid intruding on people’s thoughts.
It’s like I’m in the film Mannequin, even if I’m no Kim Cattrall, and Andrew McCarthy is nowhere to be found.
Coming home as the sun rises has its bonuses too.
No people, no searching for the easiest way to navigate my way past.
Most afternoons, I’ve been here. Riz’s bedroom is mostly packed up, and I’ve piled the boxes up along the hallway.
‘Does this look OK?’ I ask stepping into the room. I’m wearing a jade green skirt, knee-high brown boots, and a burgundy cashmere jumper Riz had insisted I take. Luckily my apron will protect it from any rogue blasts of toilet duck.
‘You look gorgeous. Pass me that box, would you?’ I walk to the sideboard, lifting up a small blue velvet box and placing it next to her. She flicks it open and turns to me. ‘Now, how about these?’
I lean forward. Inside are a pair of earrings. Gold ovals, green gemstone inside. ‘I… I couldn’t…’
‘Poppycock. You can and you will.’
‘Thank you, Riz. They’re beautiful.’ She nods. I take the box and head to the mirror above the fireplace, sliding them into my ears. I turn to her, wiggling the tips of my fingers beside my ears.
‘Perfect. Now off you go. Have fun, darling, won’t you?’
I want to kiss her on the cheek. But instead I kiss my fingers and blow towards her.
* * *
Jack is early for our third date. Although, I guess it’s not a date any more, but still, Tess’s countdown to the truth beats through my racing pulse.
Jack is already in his seat by the time I’ve finished cleaning the loos.
I pause my steps as I head towards him. The lights are still on, the trailers yet to start.
I take a moment to capture him: broad shoulders beneath a navy sweater, thick dark hair, the way he tilts his head when he looks at his phone.
Inside my gloves, my hands are more clammy than usual.
I need to broach the subject of what has happened in his life that has caused him so much pain.
I want to help him find answers, and if I can’t, I’m going to have to try to explain how I know that his life is more complicated than he’s showing.
I hesitate. Maybe I should turn around and walk back out, send him a message and say I’ve got the flu?
But I take a breath, straighten. We’re friends.
Friends. And friends help each other through dark times.
But my throat still tightens as I step towards our seats.
Like he can sense me, his head turns. He gets up, the movement too fast, too awkward. ‘Hi!’
‘Hi!’ Our voices are too loud. Jack tries to overcompensate by tapping his watch. An overly eager laugh escapes my mouth.
‘Well, well… on time, I see?’ I smile.
‘Yep. Annoyingly punctual as promised.’
We stand awkwardly before Jack sits down, checking the space between us. A slushie already sitting in the cup holder. ‘I took the liberty of buying them… no tequila, I’m afraid.’
‘Thanks.’ I shrug off my fur and fold it beneath my seat. ‘You smell nice.’ Crap. I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s true – he smells fresh but with that hint of clove. ‘Sorry, was that a bit weird?’
‘No.’ He scratches the back of his neck. ‘Friends can compliment each other. I think. I’m a bit out of practice. And so do you, by the way. Nice earrings.’
‘Thanks. Riz insisted.’
He shifts, his leg is bouncing and he’s fiddling with his straw. ‘So’ – he clears his throat – ‘how’s the packing going? Sorry I haven’t been about much… I’ve had a few’ – he pulls at his earlobe – ‘things on.’
‘No worries.’ I smile even though I’ve tried to push down the disappointment in the distance growing between us.
‘So how’s things?’
‘Good!’ I tell him about the new job and how fun spending time with Riz has been. Going through her things has been like watching a soap opera unfold, stories about her travels, her wedding day, her life as a photographer.
‘It’s going well. She has so many stories. Did you know she worked on a cactus farm in Peru and that she had lunch with Salvador Dalí? And she’s so full of wisdom.’
‘Rizdom?’ Jack suggests and I laugh.
‘Yeah, Rizdom.’
We’re trying to talk as though things haven’t changed, even though they have. Jack is a little more guarded, my laugh a little too enthusiastic.
Behind us, the cinema starts to fill.
‘I can believe it,’ he says. ‘I think she was the inspiration for one of my favourite books: The Water on Horseback?’
I look over, curious. ‘Really?’
‘I talked to her about it when we were waiting at the doctors’. She made me laugh, told me it was full of purple prose.’
I half-smile, frowning. ‘Purple prose?’
‘Too much flowery writing, but I love that book. Must’ve read it five times, maybe more.
Anyway, before that she was telling me about her and Art being in Thailand and that he was there too, studying temples and it suddenly clicked: The Water on Horseback is set there, and the main character, Adam, gets obsessed with temples and’ – Jack is talking quickly, like he’s trying to repair the barrier between us with more words – ‘there is this absolute powerhouse of a woman, Clarissa, who happened to be a… guess.’
‘Photographer?’ I venture.
‘Right? She said Chris Renford, the author, never liked Art that much. Apparently he used to call Chris out on his bullshit all the time.’
‘Did you ask her if it was her?’ I take a sip of my drink.
‘Couldn’t help myself. Clarissa is one of my favourite characters of all time. Tall, red lips, feisty as hell.’
‘And?’ I question.
‘She shrugged. Said, “Who knows?”’
I shake my head. ‘Oh she knows all right. Every time I pick up an ornament, or scarf, or book, or record, she has this incredible story to tell. Her life with her husband Art sounds incredible. Real, proper, true love, you know?’
The lights dip and the trailers begin.
‘So, what is this one about, again?’ Jack asks, opening his popcorn.
I adjust my skirt. ‘A bookshop. Two actually.’
He hesitates, the popcorn halfway to his mouth. ‘Right.’
There is a late arrival: a tall man and his shorter girlfriend have chosen to sit on our row. I’m about to comment on Meg Ryan’s bookshop being similar to Jack’s but the woman’s leg bumps into my bare knees, as does the guy’s, and the joy drains from my face.