The Girl I Used to Be(31)

“Do you go back often?” she asked Rachel. “Are your mum and dad still there?”

“No, my mum . . .” All of a sudden her face was bright red and she looked as though she was going to cry. “My mum died a few months ago.”

“It wasn’t long after Rachel’s mum died that she came to work down here,” I said to Lucy. I didn’t want Rachel to have to say anything about it if she didn’t want to. “It’s still so recent.” I looked at Rachel sympathetically. “It must have been really tough.”

“It was.” She met my eye, looking proud and vulnerable at the same time. “Nobody knows what it’s like.”

Lucy made a move as though she was going to hug her, but Rachel dashed off to the cloakroom.

“What about her dad?” Lucy asked in a low voice.

“Her mum and dad divorced and he’s living abroad with his new wife now,” I whispered. “He’s in New Zealand, I think. She doesn’t see him.”

Lucy winced. “I don’t know how a parent could do that. Poor Rachel, she’s only in her twenties.”

I nodded. “She told me at the interview. I don’t think she was going to say anything, but when we were chatting afterward, I asked her what it was like living at home when she was a student. She told me she had been a caregiver to her mum, who’d died a couple of months before.” I thought of Rachel that day. She was so young, only twenty-four, and was all dressed up in a business suit and heels, and I could tell she was frightened of breaking down. My heart had ached for her then, having to cope without her parents. She was a great fit for the job and I offered it to her there and then. I felt really guilty now that I hadn’t talked to her more about her family life, but she was so reserved that it had never seemed appropriate. “I have to go, Lucy. Will you make sure she’s okay?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry, you can go now. I’ll deal with it.”

I called good-bye to the others and left, feeling guilty that I’d lied to them about where I was going. Once I was in my car, on my way to the railway station, however, I forgot about them immediately. I had a job to do.





TWENTY-TWO


IT WAS LIKE a repeat of the day six weeks earlier, when I’d taken the train from Chester to London. The train to Euston was just as crowded and I was squashed alongside a mother with two children. Those children wriggled more than any child I’d known. Looking at the mother read a book to them, watching them cling on to her arms so she could hardly turn the page, made me long for Rory. I needed to see him.

I sent Joe a text. Missing you both. Are you having a good time? Take a photo of Rory for me, will you? xx

Immediately he responded. Miss you too. Just about to go out with Brendan. Mum’s minding the kids. She’s taken them into town and then to a café for lunch. Will send a photo later. xx

I looked at my watch. I wouldn’t be back home until seven P.M. or so. I’d call his mum when the children were in bed. I didn’t want to disturb her while she was having some time alone with the children. I tried to quell the thought that I seemed to be the only person who wasn’t having time alone with Rory.

Tears pricking my eyes, I sent another message: Is Rory OK? Is he happy? Did he sleep last night? xx

In a few seconds my phone vibrated. Happy? He’s ecstatic. Have to run, talk tonight xx

I closed my eyes and thought of Rory running around with his older cousins. Joe was right; Rory would be in his element.

And then I thought of Joe’s face if he knew what had happened to me in London. Panic raced through me at the thought of his expression if he saw that photo from last night. I couldn’t let that happen.



* * *



*

FROM EUSTON I went straight to the hotel, walking down Tottenham Court Road again just as I had weeks before. This time my mood was different. I knew that whatever happened today, I was going to have to do something with the information I had. I knew I should talk to the police, but then Joe would hear about it. That was inevitable. I’d do anything to avoid that.

The hotel reception was busy when I got there. I hovered by the entrance, then decided to look into the bar before speaking to the receptionist on duty.

The bar was open to the public. There was no table service, just one huge mahogany bar lining one wall. I looked to see whether there were any staff I recognized but couldn’t see anyone and, besides, they wouldn’t have recognized me, anyway. There must have been a couple of hundred people crammed into the bar when I was last there; there was no reason why they should remember me.

Today there was plenty of space, with small groups of businesspeople and tourists dotted around the room. I ordered an orange juice and sat at a table by the wall. I remembered that night I’d come downstairs to see whether there was anyone I knew. I’d already bought a couple of drinks by the time I saw Liam, and I remembered trying to hide away from him. I wished now I’d talked to him, stood with his colleagues and listened to them brag about sales, rather than get drunk with David. What was I thinking?

When I finished my drink I walked over to the restaurant, which was on the other side of the hotel’s reception area. I stood in the doorway and looked in. I thought I could remember where I’d sat but realized I wasn’t too sure. I frowned. How could I not remember that? Clients could come into the office and I’d remember which house I’d sold them and for what price even several years later. How could I not remember which table I’d sat at just six weeks ago?