how I looked, what I ate. In the kitchen someone dropped a plate—the sound made me jump. When I looked back at Sam, her expression was difficult to read.
“Claire’s right. You’ve changed.”
I shook my head, knocked back the last of the tea. “No. Just stressed with work. Tired out. You know how it is,” I said.
She leaned across and patted my hand again. “I’m here if you ever need to chat. You know that, don’t you?”
I managed a bright smile for her. “Of course. But I’m fine—really. I just need a bit of a break, I think. So what was last night like? Was the Cheshire busy? Did you go clubbing?”
“Yeah. Town was packed, no idea why.”
“It’s the end of term today. Last night for all the students to get wrecked before they all go home and get their laundry done.”
Sam laughed. “Wasn’t only students, though—loads of people. Saw Emily and Julia—she was asking after you. Roger who used to work with Emily was out too. Remember him? He was after you, once, wasn’t he?”
I gave a wry grin. “’Fraid so. He was a bit of a nightmare in the end—always phoning me up at work.”
“And Katie. She asked where you were, too.”
“I’m sorry. It sounds like it was a good night out. Shame I missed it.”
“You’ve not been out for ages and ages.”
“I know. Look,” I said, desperate to change the subject, “why don’t we go to Manchester next weekend? Have a look for some new shoes, do lunch?”
“I can’t next weekend, I’m looking at houses,” she said. “I’ll give you a call, though, okay? We can do that soon. It sounds like a great idea. Just don’t let me spend too much money.”
I paid the bill for our lunch, although Sam tried to intervene. A birthday treat, I insisted. She was the only contact I had left with my old friends. Even if I wasn’t sure about her, she was all I had left.
Outside in the cold air, she hugged me so tight it hurt, all over. She put her arms around my back and patted and rubbed, as though she was trying to force some warmth inside.
“Christ, you’re getting thin,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “Fabulous, isn’t it?”
She looked at me a little sternly. “You’re sure you’re all right? You promise me? Because I think something’s not quite right.”
“Sam, everything’s fine.”
I couldn’t promise. If she asked me to promise again, I was going to break down. I was going to totally lose it. There was only so much lying I could do, and promises were important to me, I didn’t take them lightly.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She hugged me again, just in the wrong place. I was trying hard not to wince, but it hurt. My whole body hurt.
“You know where I am if you need me, all right?” she said.
I nodded, and then she headed off back up the hill toward the college where she worked. I wondered if she’d guessed what it was. She knew something wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t have a name for it yet.
I had names for it, but not ones I could repeat.
I looked around the Market Square for a moment, just in case I could see him, but there was no sign. That didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Sometimes he was, sometimes he wasn’t. I was no good at telling the difference anymore. I just felt as though I was being watched the whole time, every minute of every day. Sometimes that just made it easier, safer. Less likely for me to make a mistake.
I counted my steps back up to the office: four hundred and twenty-four. That was one good thing, at least.
Tuesday 12 February 2008
When I got home tonight, it wasn’t quite dark. The mornings were getting lighter, too, the bulbs pushing through every spare patch of soil in the grayness of London.
I indulged my vice for circuitous routes home, enjoying the not-quite darkness, thinking about what I was going to cook for dinner.
By the time I got to Talbot Street the sky was getting dark and it was getting colder. I walked along the alleyway at the back, looking up at the rear of the house, at my flat, at the balcony, and the curtains. I looked at the gate, hanging off its hinges and the thick grass behind it.
The curtains hung exactly the way I’d left them. I looked at the faintly yellow space of my window, staring intently, trying to see into the room beyond.