I heard the mocking taunts from my childhood echoing in my bedroom. They were like ghosts from the past who wouldn’t leave me alone. Mean ghosts who delighted in reminding me I wasn’t part of the in-crowd. I was a misfit. A reject. A loner. Alone.
I said goodbye to Jem and walked through the park to my house a couple of streets back from Bayswater Road. I was really proud of my home. I had a shockingly high mortgage, which would take me the rest of my life to pay off, but I didn’t care. I loved my three-storey Victorian house with its quaint pocket-handkerchief front garden.
I was teaching myself how to paint and decorate, not just to save costs but because I found it therapeutic. There was something incredibly soothing about painting. I was doing a room at a time and really enjoyed seeing the transformation happen before my eyes. Cracked and peeling paint replaced by smooth fresh colour. I’d done the master bedroom and now I was working on the sitting room. I scrubbed and sanded back the woodwork and applied the first undercoat before I left for my … well, you know. Andy was going to help me finish it. Or at least that’s what he’d said. Not that he’d helped me with any of it, although I do seem to remember once he carried some old wallpaper out to the recycling bin.
My dad isn’t much help. He can barely change a light bulb, mostly because he and Mum went through a no-electricity phase, which lasted about ten years. Solar power is great when you live in a place like Australia where the sun shines just about every day. Not so good on the Yorkshire moors.
I had a bite to eat and set to work but I had barely got the undercoat lid off the paint tin when there was a knock on the door. I peeped through the spy hole. It was the neighbour who lives six houses up from Elsie. Margery Stoneham was in her mid-seventies and was our street’s neighbourhood watch. Nothing escaped her notice. She had an annoying yappy little dog called Freddy who humped my leg any chance it got. Don’t get me wrong. I love animals, dogs in particular, but Freddy was the most obnoxious little mutt I’d ever come across. He looked like a cross between a ferret and a rat and had the sort of wiry fur that felt like a pot scourer.
I felt on the back foot as soon as I opened the door. I had—inadvertently—sent Margery a postcard, along with Elsie. Who could believe three little pieces of cardboard could do so much damage? The dog was at Margery’s feet, looking up at me with a beady look not unlike hers. ‘Hi, Mrs Stoneham,’ I said, with a bright smile. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ Not.
Margery peered past my shoulder. ‘Is your hubby at home?’
‘Erm, not right now.’ Here we go again, I thought. But Margery was the last person I wanted to announce my failed wedding to. I might as well take out a billboard ad or announce it in The Times. ‘How’s that leg ulcer? Healed up now?’ Freddy had taken a nip at her, not that she admitted that to me. She told me she’d scratched it on the coffee table. I checked out the coffee table when I was over there, dressing the wound for her. As far as I could tell it didn’t have any teeth.
‘Just about.’ Margery looked past my shoulder again. ‘Are you sure I’m not intruding? You’re only just back from your honeymoon. I wouldn’t want to—’
‘It’s perfectly fine,’ I said. ‘What can I do for you?’
That’s one thing I did know for sure. Margery nearly always wanted something. She didn’t just drop in for a chat. I can’t tell you how many prescriptions I’ve written for her and I’ve only been living there just under a year.
‘I wanted to ask a little favour of you,’ she said. ‘I’m going to visit my sister in Cornwall and I need someone to mind Freddy for a few days. I’d ask Elsie but she’s not confident walking him and he does so love his walk.’
I wanted to say no. Jem would have said no but, then, she’s a lot stronger than I am. I have this annoying tendency to want to please everyone. I say yes when I really want to say no because I’m worried people won’t like me if I grow a backbone. ‘Of course I’ll mind him,’ I said. See how good I am at lying? They just slip off my tongue. ‘We’ll have a ball, won’t we, Freddy?’
I knew better than to lean down and try and pat him. He lifted one side of his mouth in a snarl that showed his yellowed teeth. Did I mention his foetid breath? Oh, and he farts. A lot.
When I got to work the next morning there was no change in Jason Ryder. He had been moved to my end room and was surrounded by his family. I spent a bit of time with them before I did a central line on a new patient. The morning was almost over before I ran into Matt Bishop. Literally. I was walking past his office with my head down, thinking about my ridiculous and steadily increasing web of lies, as he was coming out, and I cannoned straight into him. He took me by the upper arms to steady me and a shockwave went through me as if he had clamped me with live voltage. I couldn’t smother a gasp in time. ‘Oomph!’
His hands slid down my arms before he released me. I couldn’t help noticing he opened and closed his fingers once or twice as if trying to rid himself of the feel of me. ‘Sorry. Did I hurt you?’
I looked into his eyes—they were a darker shade of blue than grey as he was wearing a light blue shirt and a dark tie—and I felt like something tight and locked flowered open inside my chest. ‘No. Not at all. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
He continued to look down at me. He had to look down as I’m only five feet five and I wasn’t wearing heels. I felt like a Shetland pony standing in front of a thoroughbred. And, going with the equine theme, Matt’s nostrils gave a slight flare, as if he was picking up my scent. I hoped to God it was the dash of the neroli oil I’d put on and not the musty smell of Freddy, who’d been dropped off that morning. ‘Did Lynne Patterson speak to you about the ball?’ he said.
‘Yes. Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ I couldn’t quite remove the hint of sarcasm from my tone. ‘I hope you don’t live to regret it.’
‘I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job.’ He gave me one of his enigmatic smiles. ‘Planning a wedding can’t be too dissimilar.’
Every time the word ‘wedding’ was mentioned I felt my cheeks burn up. I was going to have to wear thick concealing make-up or something at this rate. Or maybe I could pretend I had rosacea. ‘I’m going to check out the venue after work,’ I said. ‘And I’m thinking we should make it a costume ball. What do you think?’
‘That could work.’
I angled my head at him. ‘What costume would you wear?’
The twinkle was back in his gaze. ‘Now, that would be telling. You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘Will you bring a partner?’ I’m not sure why I asked that. Actually, I did know. I wanted to know what sort of woman he dated. I bet he would be a wonderful partner. He would be polite and respectful. He would open doors for his date and walk on the road side of the footpath. I bet he could dance, too, proper dancing as in a waltz. Andy mashed my toes to a pulp on the one occasion we waltzed. And he got horribly drunk and I had to get two security guards to help me bundle him into a taxi. Talk about embarrassing.
‘No.’
‘Why not? Surely you could ask someone.’
He gave a loose shrug. ‘I’m too busy for a relationship just now. I have other priorities.’ He waited a beat before asking, ‘Will you bring your husband?’
He’d done it again, that ever so slight stress on the word ‘husband’. Every time he did that it made me feel as if he thought I was too hideous to have landed myself a man. I know I’m not billboard stunning or anything but I’ve been told I’ve got nice brown eyes and a cute smile. Well, I know parents are always biased, but still. ‘Erm, I think he’ll be away with work,’ I said. ‘He travels … a lot.’
‘That’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting him.’
I wrinkled my brow. ‘Why?’
His expression was impossible to read. ‘You said he was a stock analyst, right?’
‘Yes