What Lies Between Us(26)

He looks as if he wants to come closer, but stops himself from walking up the path to the front door. It gets me to thinking, what would happen if a burglar was to break in? Would they reach the first floor, see the locked door and assume there must something valuable in the attic? Would temptation prove too much and is that how I’d be found? Would I be able to talk them into setting me free?

It’s all speculation because this man turns his back, climbs inside the little white car he arrived in, does a three-point turn and drives away. I spot the black sunroof and remember it being here a few days ago. Something’s going on, I can sense it. And I admit the thought of being burgled does rather excite me.

As I turn to pick up a Tupperware container with sliced apple inside, Nina’s memory box catches my eye again. But it doesn’t repel me. Today I feel strong, today I feel ready for it. So I place it on the bed, lift the lid and start removing its contents one by one. Among school reports and drawings, there’s a photograph of Alistair and I taken as we left the registry office; I wonder where she found it, as I thought I’d thrown all these photos out. It brings back an unexpected happy memory of the day itself and how there were only a handful of guests, but that was enough for us. It was such a joyous time, but I don’t allow myself to dwell on it or any of my other years with him. They have all been tainted by everything that followed.

Also inside is a birthday card he made for his ‘only girl’ – his nickname for her makes me shudder. There’s a bottle of coloured sands that Nina filled on a holiday to see her Aunty Jennifer in Devon, school portrait photographs of her throughout the years, and an English exercise book and essays. There’s a small wooden figure wearing a blue suit that I remember was one of the toys she used to replicate me, herself and her dad in her doll’s house. All three toys used to be inseparable. There’s a dried red carnation from when she was a bridesmaid at Jennifer’s wedding, and a Sweet Valley High pencil case with photos of the cast on the side.

It dawns on me that everything here is related to events that happened before she turned thirteen. It might as well have been sealed tight at that point. Could this be its purpose, to remind me of what was taken away from her the last night she saw her father, the night I let her down? Is it possible that, after all this time, she is starting to remember what happened? Are the events of that night – and what she lost – represented by this box? Maybe she’s piecing things together and is asking me for help to push her over the finishing line?

Or perhaps I am giving her too much credit. Yes. More likely – no, almost certainly – this memory box is just another way for her to pile guilt upon my shoulders.

‘Well, it’s not going to work, Nina,’ I say defiantly. ‘Nothing you can do can make me feel any worse than I do already.’

I replace everything in the box, with the exception of my wedding photograph and the flyer of The Hunters’ performance with his picture on it. I don’t want his or Alistair’s pictures in this room, reminding me of what they took from me. I rip them in half, then into tiny shreds until they’re like a small pile of confetti lying on the floor.





CHAPTER 20





MAGGIE


TWENTY-FOUR YEARS EARLIER


I don’t know the first thing about modern music or what kids listen to these days. But I do know that the man Nina is spending time with is in a local band. I rack my brains as to where I can find out more about them before I come up with a starting point. I make a few shortcuts while cleaning the surgery and finish early, then hop on a bus into town. From there, it’s a short walk down the hill to Spinadisc, a record shop that Nina talks about.

There are a dozen or so teens here, still in their school uniforms and flicking through racks of CDs or trying on T-shirts with band names I don’t recognise emblazoned across the front. Rock music blasts from wall speakers and rattles my bones. I wonder how the staff can focus on their jobs when they’re surrounded by this noise day in, day out.

I question when I became so out of the loop with popular trends. At forty-four, I am prehistoric compared to everyone else in this shop. I know by sight the difference between Oasis and Blur when I see them performing on Top of the Pops and of course I remember the hangers-on from the 1980s like Madonna, George Michael and Prince. But the rest of these new faces stacked up in racks are alien to me.

I flick through the CD singles until I find one by The Hunters, and recognise Nina’s friend in the centre of the cover picture. I look at my surroundings and the walls are plastered with brightly coloured posters. Some are advertising the release of new records, others are posters you can buy. There’s a section dedicated to the local music scene. I scour the walls and find a much larger image of Hunter’s band. Below it is a list of tour dates they are playing across the county this month. One immediately captures my attention – it’s for a gig tonight, only a ten-minute walk away from where I am now. I look at my watch. It’s 5 p.m. I wonder if Jon Hunter is already there with his band setting up equipment. It’s an unexpected opportunity. I hesitate as I think this through. As far as I can see, I have no choice but to confront him. I need him to leave Nina alone.

My hunch is right. When I arrive, the front doors to the Roadmender are locked shut, but around the corner and to the side, there is a fire door propped open by red extinguishers. Two greasy youths are carrying amplifiers and guitar cases from a transit van into the building. I hover on the pavement, partly because I want to see Hunter in neutral territory, and partly because I’m still unsure of what to say. Five, ten, then fifteen minutes pass before he finally appears from inside and makes his way to the corner of a small car park, turning his back to the street as he lights a cigarette with a match. I take a deep breath before I approach him.