‘I’m not in recruitment any more. I retrained as a massage therapist.’
Lewis laughs loudly. ‘A masseur! You mean a hooker, right? Is that what this call’s about? Are you a hooker hoping for a hand-out from an old friend? Or, should I say, a hand-job? No, wait – that’s the wrong way round. If you’re a hooker, you’d be offering me a hand-job. I’m mixing up my hooker metaphors.’
I do some fake-laughing and try to move the conversation on, but Lewis insists on knowing what I actually do, if not hookering. I explain to him about trigger-point massage, what led me to it, the principles involved. ‘Hmm,’ he says when I’ve finished. ‘Reckon you could sort out my tennis arm?’
‘Definitely,’ I say. ‘What about Flora? Is she working now, or—’
‘Hardly. She’s committed to slacking for life.’
‘You know, I … I drove past your old house.’
‘The Newnham flat? How’s it looking these days?’
‘No, the house you moved to afterwards. In Hemingford Abbots.’
‘Wyddial Lane?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What the hell were you doing there?’
My heart thuds. Is he suspicious? No. He’s just being Lewis.
‘Ben’s football team was playing nearby, in St Ives, and I took a wrong turn on the way. I recognised the street name from the change-of-address card you sent when you moved.’ Shit. That sounded so obviously like a lie. I hold my breath, waiting for Lewis to question it.
Instead, he says cheerfully, ‘So, you really think you could un-fuck my arm? I’ve tried sports massage. Didn’t work.’
‘Because the trigger points in your shoulder and neck need releasing, probably. Your arm is where the effects are manifesting, but not where the problem’s located.’ It’s hugely frustrating that so many people charging for massages all over the world don’t know this basic fact.
‘What the fuck?’ Dominic murmurs behind me. I wave my arm frantically: sign language for ‘Be quiet or leave’.
‘Inneresting. Hey, Flora!’ Lewis yells. ‘Guess who’s on the phone? Beth Leeson! She reckons she can sort out my tennis arm!’
‘Can I speak to Flora too?’ I ask, my throat suddenly dry.
‘You trying to get rid of me, Beth?’
‘Haha. No, not at all. I mean after.’
‘She’s in the bath. Hang on, she’s getting out. Seriously, though, you should all come over and stay with us. We’ve got a three-bedroom guesthouse in our garden, a swimming pool, a tennis court. You’d have fun! Oh, wait, here’s Flora.’
I hear a woman’s voice in the background. I can’t hear what exactly she’s saying – something about being lucky, I think – but … it sounds like Flora.
How can it be her?
‘What, hon?’ Lewis calls out. ‘Can’t you do that later? Oh, okay. Beth, she’ll ring you back in five, ten minutes. Is that okay?’
‘Sure,’ I say.
Lucky. Where have I heard that word recently?
‘Sit tight. And get your diary ready. Let’s schedule a visit for y’all to the good old US of A!’ The line goes dead.
I put my phone down on Ruth and Robin’s kitchen table.
‘That’s it?’ says Dom.
‘No. Flora’s ringing me back.’
‘When? Can we go home, and you talk to her there?’
‘No, she’s ringing in five minutes, Lewis said. Dom, I heard her. In the background. Well, I heard a woman. It sounded like Flora.’
‘You didn’t ask him why there’s no Flora or Georgina on his Instagram, or who Chimpy is.’
‘I haven’t spoken to him for twelve years. I didn’t want to sound like I was interrogating him.’
‘So how long are we going to sit here? I mean—’
Dom doesn’t get a chance to tell me what he means because my phone starts to ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Beth! I can’t believe this! Is it really you, after all these years?’
Is it really you, Flora?
I don’t need to ask. I know it’s her, without a doubt. I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s the same one I heard yesterday morning, on Wyddial Lane. I can’t pretend any more, not now I’ve heard her speak. ‘Flora – sorry to just go straight in with this, but … can I tell you about something really strange that happened to me yesterday?’
Dom covers his face with his hands.
‘Of course,’ says Flora.
I tell her the same lie I told Lewis – that I ended up on Wyddial Lane by accident. Then I tell her what I saw, and what happened when Dom and I went back there this morning. When I get to the end of the story, she says, ‘Beth, that’s … the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. I can promise you, Thomas and Emily are no longer five and