The First Mistake(60)

I rushed through to the spare bedroom, expecting to see his treasured possessions filling the familiar space, but nothing had changed since I was last there. My wardrobe, where his clothes had hung happily with mine, was devoid of his shirts and trousers. Only the faintest scent of him remained, to prove he ever existed.

My ravaged brain couldn’t compute what was going on. Had he gone away for a couple of days with his mistress? Was he going to come back on Friday, pretending that all was well and assuming that I’d be none the wiser? Or had I just witnessed him walking out of my life?

I ferreted for my phone in my bag, but I was all fingers and thumbs as my heart beat against my chest. Tears clouded my eyes and my judgement.

‘I don’t care about her,’ I said out loud. ‘We can get through this, just please come back home.’

I called him again, and the by-now-familiar woman’s voice read out the banal announcement.

‘You need to call me, right now,’ I hissed, barely able to breathe. ‘If I don’t hear from you in the next hour, I’m going to call the police.’

I slid down the wall onto my bedroom floor, the room which just a few days ago had been where we’d made love, where he’d said he wanted us to live together, where he begged me not to leave him. Had it all been a lie?

No, it couldn’t have been. He couldn’t have pretended to love me that well. He couldn’t have faked what we had. It was impossible.

But then I remembered his parting shot. Had it always been about the money?

I pictured my mum’s smiling face, excited about restoring her beloved house to its former glory. I could see her in the warm glow of her kitchen, the room where Dad used to whirl her around, and could hear her saying that she’d never leave. That all the time she had him, me and the beat in her heart, she would never let anything happen to the house we all loved.

My throat contracted and I raced to the bathroom, where my stomach was quick to dispel the sandwich I’d managed on the train. With my head still hanging over the toilet, I noticed that where there’d been two toothbrushes neck to neck in the cup on the basin, only one now remained.

As soon as I felt able to, I called Mum, not knowing what I was going to say.

‘Has the money definitely left your account?’ I blurted out before she’d even finished reciting her phone number.

‘Oh, hello darling,’ she said, sounding perplexed. ‘Yes, why?’

‘But have you actually checked?’ The panic in my voice made me sound more cutting than I meant to be.

‘Yes, why?’ she asked hesitantly, feeding off my own distress. ‘Has Thomas not received it? I thought you said he’d received it.’

I was stumped to know what to say for the best. Should I tell her I lied? Was there any chance that it had somehow gone to someone else’s account by mistake? Could Thomas be exonerated of any wrongdoing, apart from kissing a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend? Should I tell her that I think we’ve been scammed? Did she need to know that every penny she had is probably on its way to Rio de Janeiro?

If you’re about to break the heart of the person you love most in the world, how’s best to do that?

I knew I couldn’t do it over the phone – she deserved more than that, so I jumped in my car and spent the time driving there going over and over what was happening. Trying to think of a single logical reason why Thomas would have done what he’d done. My own pain paled into insignificance when I measured it against my mum’s. Her lost pride. Her broken promise to my dad. The future that she thought she had, snatched away from her . . .

And it was all my fault.





28


I don’t even remember driving towards Treetops, Thomas’s mum’s care home. But I found myself sitting at the junction, just half a mile away, being beeped and honked at.

You’ve got one more chance, I said to myself, as I hit call on Thomas’s mobile number.

The tone ran long and constant, as if flatlining. Even the robotic woman had given up on him.

‘Fuck!’ I said, slamming the steering wheel.

I didn’t know what to do. I sat at the junction, debating which way to go. Turn right, and I go to my mother’s and tell her what I’ve done – what he’s done. Turn left, and I go towards the only link that I have to Thomas. The car behind blared its horn with impatience – I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw an agitated man waving his hands at me, forcing a decision.

There was a different girl on reception as I approached the desk, feeling sick with trepidation. If she told me I couldn’t see Joyce, I feared I might burst out crying. I took a deep breath – I needed to stay calm and in control.

‘Oh hi,’ I said, trying to sound casual – as if I came here all the time. ‘Is Elise not around?’

The girl looked covertly from side to side. ‘She’s been dismissed,’ she whispered.

‘Oh,’ I replied, shocked. ‘Why?’

She leant in. ‘Apparently she wasn’t checking credentials. She let just about anyone in – didn’t even take their name.’

‘That’s not good, is it?’ I said. ‘You have to be so careful.’

‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘So we’re asking all visitors to sign in with their name and who they’re here to see.’