Seven Days(55)

She squeezed his knee.

‘I love you,’ she said. ‘You know that, right?’

He looked at her, his expression one of slight confusion.

‘I do,’ he said. ‘I love you too. And we’re going to be OK, Sandy. Whatever happens, we’ll be OK.’

For a moment she almost believed him.





Eight Years Earlier: Sunday, 27 June 2010


1


Sandra took a mango and strawberry smoothie from the chiller by the supermarket checkout. She twisted the top off and sipped it. She’d been to the gym, and she was hungry. She hadn’t eaten for days. She didn’t have much appetite.

Her treatment started the next day – Monday – and, despite the fact she wasn’t hungry, she had decided to make a dinner. She finished the smoothie and smiled at the man behind the till.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I promise I’ll pay for it.’

She put the empty bottle on the belt and began to unload the rest of the groceries.

‘Twenty-seven pounds and sixty-two pence,’ the man said. ‘Paying by card?’

She inserted her credit card into the machine and tapped in the pin. As it processed the payment she loaded the bags into her trolley.

‘Can I help you with those?’

It was a familiar voice. She looked up.

‘Mr Best,’ she said. ‘Nice to see you. How are you?’

Best smiled at her. His glasses were smudged and he looked to have lost some weight. It had been a while since she’d last seen him and he’d aged.

‘I’m well,’ he said. ‘You?’

‘Excellent.’

‘Your family?’

‘They’re good. James is getting ready to go to university.’

‘How lovely! You must be glad to have him home for one last summer.’

‘Yes,’ Sandra said. ‘It’s always nice to have him around. Of course, he’ll leave’ – she shrugged – ‘they grow up, in the end.’

She glanced at his trolley. There were only a handful of bags in it. She glimpsed a box of fish fingers, and some sugary cereal. She pictured him, eating alone in his house, and felt a wave of sympathy. He really should be eating better. And with people.

‘You know,’ she said. ‘I’m sure James would love to see you. Your maths tuition helped him get the grades he needed. Why don’t you come over for dinner?’

Best’s smile widened. ‘Gosh,’ he said. ‘What a kind offer. I’d be delighted.’

Sandra felt the warm glow of a good deed lighten her mood. ‘How about later today? I’m making a roast.’

‘If you’re sure. I wouldn’t want to impose.’

She waved his objection aside. ‘Nonsense. It’ll be a pleasure. Two o’clock?’

Best nodded. ‘Two o’clock it is.’





2


Martin Cooper knocked on his son’s bedroom door. ‘You OK in there?’

There was no reply. He knocked again, but the door stayed closed. He was pretty sure James was home; he’d come back from a run about an hour ago and heard the sound of the shower. If James had left since then he would have told his parents. As a family, they were sensitive about people disappearing without explanation. They’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

He considered trying the door but decided against it. It was probably locked – James had installed a small bolt on the inside the summer before – but if it wasn’t, the last thing Martin needed was to walk in on his son masturbating, headphones on and phone in hand.

So he knocked again, louder this time.

He was about to walk away when he heard James’s voice.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Dad. Can I come in?’

‘Sure.’

He opened the door. James was lying on his bed. He had had his headphones on, although they were now lying on his chest.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was listening to music. The Cure.’

Martin nodded. ‘Great band.’

‘You know them?’

‘Of course I do. They were big in the eighties. I saw them live at the Liverpool Empire.’

‘You saw them live?’

‘Why so surprised, Jimbo? You don’t think your old man’s cool enough to go to music concerts?’

‘Music concerts?’ James said. ‘Try gigs.’

‘I’ve forgotten more about gigs than you’ll ever know.’

‘Right. I doubt that, Dad.’

‘Let’s see. The Cure, The Smiths, Joy Division, New Order.’ Martin paused. ‘UB40, twice. The Housemartins. Depeche Mode. There are others.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. And then there’s Grandpa. He saw the Beatles at the Cavern.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘It is. More than once.’

‘That’s unbelievable.’

‘It seems so, now.’ Martin sat on the bed. ‘But they were just another band back then. So make sure you go and see the good bands of your generation. Then when you’re my age you’ll be able to surprise your kids with how cool you used to be.’