something to do with my mother, Mary said. Is this the ‘million pounds, maybe two’? Oh God, what’s going on, what?
And – worse – what if Mary’s wrong? What if I’m the ongoing nightmare? The thought makes me feel cold and rather small inside. I’m remembering Dan’s face last night. The way he said, ‘I can’t do this,’ as though he was at the end of his tether.
Every time I remember last night I cringe inside. I called him a ‘boring, fucking cliché’. I assumed he was just following the same old tedious trope: Husband Hooks Up with Old Flame, Lies to Wife. But there’s more. There’s something else. As I’m walking, I pull out my phone, wanting to text him again, wanting to make it right. I even get as far as Dear Dan, but then I stop. What do I say? Phrases shoot into my mind but I instantly discard them, one by one.
Tell me who the other Mary is. Please don’t shut me out any more. I know you have an ongoing nightmare; what is it?
If he wanted to tell me, he would have told me. Which brings me back to the question which fills me with foreboding: am I his ongoing nightmare?
As I walk along our street, tears are running down my face, but when I see Toby, I hastily scrub them away. He’s standing outside Tilda’s house, clutching a pair of rollerblades and a helmet.
‘Hi, Toby!’ I say. ‘I knew you’d be back.’
He nods. ‘Getting my blades. I forgot to take them.’ He dumps them in the boot of an open Corsa, which I don’t recognize.
‘Is that your car?’ I say curiously as he locks it.
‘Michi’s. Actually, I’d better tell her I took it.’ He perches on the garden wall, sending a text. The sun has come out and when he’s finished texting he leans back, savouring the warmth, seeming utterly unhurried.
‘Don’t you have a job?’
‘I’ll go in later. It’s fine.’ He shrugs. ‘We normally work, like, noon to midnight?’
Midnight? I suddenly feel very ancient.
‘Right. Well, make sure you see your mum while you’re here. Is she around?’
‘Yeah, she’s making me spaghetti Bolognese.’ His face lights up and I can’t help smiling. He must have made Tilda’s day, coming home so soon. Either that, or they’re yelling at each other again.
‘D’you want to come for lunch?’ he adds politely. ‘I’m sure we’ve got some spare.’
‘No thanks.’ I try to smile. ‘I’ve got some stuff to … I’m … It’s all a bit …’ Without intending to, I sigh heavily and sit down next to him on the wall. ‘Do you ever feel like there’s a conspiracy?’
I’m not really expecting an answer, but Toby nods gravely. ‘There is a conspiracy. I’ve told you, Sylvie, it’s all a conspiracy.’
The sun’s getting hotter on our faces. He must be sweltering with his beard. I get out my sunglasses and reach for my lip balm, and as I unbutton the pink case, Toby nods at it, as though that proves everything. ‘Big Pharma, Sylvie. You see?’
I don’t respond. I’m gazing at the gold embossed P.S. I can’t believe Dan used my private nickname in texts to another woman. I can’t believe he referred to me as the ‘PS factor’. The ‘Princess Sylvie factor’. Just the idea of some other woman calling me that makes me cringe. It’s almost the worst betrayal.
Who is she? Who is she?
‘What would you do if you’d found a whole load of texts on a phone and you didn’t know who they were to?’ I say, staring up at the blue sky.
‘Get the number off Contacts,’ says Toby with a shrug.
‘A number doesn’t tell you anything,’ I object.
‘Google it, then. See if anything comes up.’
I turn to stare at him. Google it? I never even thought of googling it.
‘Mobile phone numbers aren’t on Google,’ I say warily.
‘Sometimes they are. Worth a try. Whose phone?’ he asks with interest, and my defences instantly rise.
‘Oh, just a girl at work,’ I say. ‘Her cousin,’ I add for good measure. ‘Half-cousin. It’s not a big deal.’
I could google the number. Suddenly I’m all jittery. I need to get to a computer, now.
‘Well, see you, Tobes,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘Bring Michi over! We’d like to meet her.’
‘Sure. Bye, Sylvie.’
I hurry into the house, fumbling with my key in my haste. It seems to take forever for my computer to fire up, and I actually start saying, ‘Come on, come on,’ under my breath.