painted Milky Way. ‘Thank you, Linda. Thank you so much. I promise you you’ve done the right thing. I love you, Linda!’ I drop the telephone, grab my keys and fly out of the flat.
20
I run to the tube, my feet thudding on the pavement, my blood thundering to my heart, my heart pounding. I run all the way to Tower Hill station. I pass the happy crowds drinking pints in the street; they leer and jeer at me as I’m sweaty and not wearing a sports bra. I keep running. Although I usually run eight miles in the gym every day, I haven’t been since ‘the show’. Not that I’ve been afraid of the inevitable pointing fingers (they like notoriety better than celebrity at our gym – the receptionist nearly orgasms every time she spots Jeffrey Archer using the treadmill); it’s just I’ve had no motivation. Every moment has been consumed with finding Darren. So now I’m panting heavily. Then again, the shortness of breath isn’t just to do with the rapidly decreasing levels of fitness. It’s also excitement. Hope. Possibility. A long shot. But a shot.
At the tube station I realize that I left the house in such a hurry that I didn’t pick up my purse. When did I become so disorganized?
‘Please can you let me have a ticket?’ I smile sweetly; it really is my most dazzling.
‘Where to?’
‘To South Kensington.’
‘£1.80.’
‘I have no money.’ The smile is frozen and stuck to my face.
The ticket officer snorts. ‘We’re not operating a charity.’
‘Pleeeease. It’s an emergency. I have to get to South Ken.’
I have abandoned my tone of pleasant authority and I’m begging. He’s impervious.
‘Mind along. There are other customers. Ones with money.’
I stay still.
‘Pleeeeease.’ I think I might cry. Tears that I’ve managed to hold back for years are now constantly threatening and erupting. The officer doesn’t even look at me.
‘No money, no ticket. Bugger off.’
That’s the proverbial straw. Huge, ugly overwhelming sobs storm out of me. I’m not sure where they come from – certainly not just my mouth, but my nose too and perhaps my ears.
‘I’ve got to get there. He’s there. He’s there,’ I sob, which is ridiculous on many counts. For a start, the Underground officer doesn’t know who I am or ‘he’ is, and anyway, he cares less. Secondly, I don’t know if I’ll find Darren there. There’s snot on my arm and days-old mascara on my cheeks. I’m blind with tears, bogies, regret, frustration, pain and loss. I slump to the floor. It’s too much. I can’t act any more. Years of acting as though I don’t care, then I care, and now I’ve hurtled past caring, straight, slap bang into despair. It’s too much. Life without Darren is not enough.
‘I’ll pay her fare.’ I hear the lazy, warm drawl of an American accent. ‘She sounds kinda desperate.’ I daren’t believe someone is being kind to me. The recent, constant volley of abuse has left me bereft of hope. I can only assume this guy has just arrived in England or that he doesn’t read any newspapers. My Good Samaritan kneels down next to me and the crushed cans and cigarette stubs. This isn’t easy for him, because he’s obviously a man who enjoys a good breakfast, and lunch and dinner too by the look of it.
‘Hey, ain’t you that girl on the TV?’ he whispers as he hands me the ticket.
‘It wasn’t how it looked,’ I defend through my tears.
‘Nothing ever is.’ He staggers to his feet and offers me his hand. I let him pull me up.
‘You’re not a journalist, are you?’ I ask nervously. He shakes his head and then melts back into the throng of people busy sightseeing.
I consider it. I look up and see a security camera. It is just possible that this is another set-up. That guy could be a plant.
Get a grip. Only Linda knows I’m coming here. She would never be part of a set-up.
But I could have been followed. I’m still breathing shallowly and quickly. The guy looked honest. Unlikely though it seems, I think he was just doing a good thing. I don’t waste any more time thinking about it. I push my ticket through the machine and dash to the platform.
The sand and grey building creates a swell in my heart and I allow myself to hope, because, maybe, just maybe, he’s in there, the Natural History Museum. I realize I have the money problem to face again. At the desk