Seven Days(52)

When he saw her, James felt the world start to spin. He gripped the table and closed his eyes to steady himself.

‘Jesus,’ Mo said. ‘What the fuck?’

Kevin’s girlfriend – his fiancée – was the spitting image of Maggie. It was as though she was in the pub with them.

James pushed himself upright.

‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’





3


He sat on a bench around the corner from the pub and lit a cigarette.

He could not get the image out of his head. For a moment – until he realized it was not actually her – he had thought Maggie was back. Kevin’s fiancée – Jenny – was taller and had a thinner face, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

His hand shook as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth.

God, he wished it was Maggie. The moment he had thought it was her had been brief, but even so it was enough for a feeling of utter euphoria to engulf him. She was there! Maggie was there! Everything was restored, back to normal. Life was OK again.

And then, the despair. It wasn’t Maggie. It was like losing her again, and all the grief and pain was right there, stabbing him in the heart.

He took a drag on the cigarette, then exhaled. He watched the smoke move and swirl. He was never going to get over it. Never. It would always be with him.

‘You OK?’

He looked up. Vicki was standing by the bench, her arms folded. She was wearing a green rucksack.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘No.’

‘What happened? In the pub?’

‘It was that girl. Jenny. The guy she was with – Kevin – was my sister’s boyfriend. A few years back.’

‘Must have been quite a break-up.’

‘You could say that.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

James realized that he did. Even though he barely knew Vicki, he did want to talk about it. He might as well; after all, it was the only thing in his life he could think about.

‘Do you remember Maggie Cooper?’ he said.

Vicki frowned. ‘The name’s familiar.’

‘She went missing.’

‘Right. I remember now.’ She caught his eye. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling about what you’re going to say next.’

He nodded. ‘She was – is – my sister.’

There was a long pause, then Vicki puffed out her cheeks. ‘Holy shit.’ She gestured at the cigarette. ‘Got a spare?’

He handed her the packet.

She took one and lit it. ‘Did seeing that guy bring it back?’

‘Yes, but there’s more. Jenny – his fiancée – looks exactly like Maggie. I mean, the spitting image.’ James dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his toes. ‘For a moment I thought it was her.’

‘Fuck. I’m sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘I thought my sister was back.’

Vicki sat next to him. She shrugged her rucksack off her shoulders and opened the flap. She pulled out a plastic bottle of vodka.

‘Want a drink?’ she said.

James did.





4


Sandra watched as Martin nibbled his toast, then pushed it to the side of his plate.

‘He’s eighteen,’ she said. ‘He can stay out at night.’

‘I know. But I worry.’

‘He sent a text. He went back to a friend’s house. It’s fine.’

Martin nodded. ‘I like knowing where he is. That’s all.’

It was understandable, given what had happened with Maggie, and on another day Sandra might have shared his concern, but her mind was elsewhere.

It was on the appointment she had at the hospital later that morning.

For a few months she’d felt bloated after eating. Not every time, but enough to notice. She’d assumed it was some kind of late-onset food allergy – a colleague had developed an allergy to apples a year or so back, so she knew that kind of thing happened – and tried cutting out various things: wheat, dairy, alcohol. None of it made a difference.

Then there was the weight loss. Not too drastic, but noticeable all the same. About ten pounds in total. She put it down to the bloating and change in diet.

But then, two weeks ago, she had gone to the toilet at the gym and seen blood on the toilet paper. She’d looked at the stool.

Blood in there, too.

Of course, she made the mistake of googling ‘blood in stool’, and was convinced, mere minutes later, that she was going to die.

She calmed herself. There were many possible causes. Haemorrhoids. Benign polyps. It could easily resolve itself.

It didn’t. The blood was there every day, so she went to see her GP.

Who told her she needed to get it checked out, and referred her for a colonoscopy.

Which was in about an hour and a half.

She hadn’t told Martin. She didn’t want to worry him, in case it was nothing, which it almost certainly was. It had been quite difficult to keep it from him, though, given that she had been sent a set of detailed instructions on ‘prepping the colon’, which basically involved taking a powerful laxative two days before and then not eating anything.

The abandoned toast on his plate looked delicious.