Friend Request(77)

Chapter 32

2016
The last few days since my walk in the park with Pete have been very dark. I haven’t had any client meetings, thank God, so apart from the school run where I hold Henry’s hand tightly in mine all the way, I have stayed in the house, spending most of the time Henry is at school in bed. He should have been at Sam’s this past weekend, but Sam asked if we could swap as he had something on, and I was only too happy to agree.

I know that I’m slipping behind with work, and that in a few weeks when it comes to light how little I’ve done for her I will be in danger of losing Rosemary altogether, but I can’t rouse myself to action. I am jumpy, looking over my shoulder, the image of Sophie’s body always in the back of my mind. I wonder if I will ever stop imagining myself on some other piece of ground, cold and lifeless. I save my energy for those hours between picking Henry up and his bedtime where I need to put on my best performance.

He’s asleep now, shattered after the school day. He wanted to go to the park again today, but after last time I can’t face it. I am making a cup of tea when the doorbell rings. I jump and stare unseeing at the teaspoon in my hand. Who would turn up unannounced at this time?

I’m in my oldest tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirt, and I can’t remember when I last had a shower. I run an exploratory tongue over my teeth and it catches on the roughness; I definitely haven’t cleaned them today and possibly not yesterday either. If I stand very still perhaps whoever it is will go away.

The bell rings again, a double press this time, followed by a loud knock, official-sounding. What if it’s Reynolds? If so then there’s no point hiding; she’ll track me down eventually. I put the teaspoon down, noticing as I do all the rings on the worktop from the spoons and cups of the preceding days. Have I actually eaten anything or have I just been drinking tea? I can’t remember.

I edge into the hallway. A blurred shape waits on the other side of the frosted glass. I advance along the corridor, holding my breath, and then in a swift motion pull open the door.

‘Oh. It’s you.’ I keep my hand on the Yale latch, unsure how long it’s going to be before I close the door, and which side of it Sam is going to be on.

‘Charming,’ says Sam, his eyes flicking up and down, taking in my dishevelled appearance. ‘No need to sound quite so excited.’

‘Sorry, but… what are you doing here?’

‘Again, charming. Traditionally in our country when a guest arrives at your home, you welcome them in, offer them a drink, that sort of thing.’

I step back, wrong-footed. ‘Sorry. Come in.’ He fills the hallway, as he always did. The flat was too small for him. He had filled every space in it. It’s much more suitable for a spinster like me. Sam peers into the sitting room as we pass on our way to the kitchen.

‘Wow, it looks really different.’ He hasn’t been into the flat since that time when I almost gave in to my loneliness and let him back in to my life. That was a good eighteen months ago, but I remember the way it felt: the longing, how much I wanted to let go. Since then, I’ve tried to make sure I only see him at handovers, which always happen at the door. On the odd occasion we have needed to meet to discuss something to do with Henry, it’s been on neutral ground.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, what did you expect?’ My voice is harsher than I’d intended. ‘That I’d keep it a shrine to you? Add a big photo of you over the fireplace?’

He looks stung. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean… it looks nice. Just different.’

In the kitchen Sam looks around, clearly trying to keep his expression neutral in the face of the dirty cups, unswept floor and general air of neglect.

‘It’s not normally like this,’ I mutter. ‘Not had a very good few days.’

‘It’s fine, Louise, don’t worry about it,’ he says, looking worried nonetheless.

‘Give me a minute, will you?’ I say.

I dive into the bathroom and brush my teeth, splash cold water on my face and have a cursory wash, trying not to think about why I am doing so. In the bedroom I take off the stained sweatshirt and pull on something that at least falls into the daywear category, reappearing in the kitchen feeling slightly more human.

‘Tea?’ I ask, gathering up used bowls and stained cutlery and hastily wiping down the kitchen worktop.

‘I’d rather have something stronger,’ he says, pushing a crumb-strewn plate to one side as he sits down at the kitchen table. I snatch up the plate and shove it along with the rest of the dirty crockery haphazardly into the dishwasher.

‘There’s wine in the fridge. Can you get it while I…’ I gesture to the dishwasher.

He stands up easily and gets the wine, reaching up to the top cupboard to get two glasses. He knows where everything is. I haven’t changed a thing in here since he left. He pours us both a glass and pushes mine towards me.

‘Sit down, Louise. Don’t clean up on my behalf.’

I give up, promising myself that when he’s gone I will throw off the lethargy that has settled on me since I saw Pete in Dulwich.

‘So now you’re in and you’ve got your drink, what are you doing here? Henry’s asleep.’ I sit down and take a gulp of wine. I’m not in the mood for games and it’s liberating to realise that I don’t care what he thinks of me, not in this moment.