Mr. Nobody(19)

    Like anyone in recovery, I try to be wary of certain people, places, and things.

And somehow, over the years, I’ve managed not to reveal it, to keep it all inside, the sadness and the regret, like a gaping hole inside me.

I take the glass elevator up to the third floor, watching the heads of patients and visitors recede beneath me and feeling my familiar stomach-flip of vertigo. My primal fear of heights snapping me back to reality. A decision needs to be made. Peter will be waiting for my phone call this evening. I’m going to need an answer by then. Do I stay and keep pretending none of it ever happened? Or do I go and face the past and perhaps make something good of it?

The elevator doors open and I head down the corridor to my office. Milly isn’t at her desk when I round the corner. I check my watch. Lunchtime. She won’t be back for a good half hour yet. I need to speak to Joe. Joe’s who I need.

I flick on my office lights, lock the door, and sink into my chair. On the desktop I bring up FaceTime, wiping the dust and various marks from the screen and camera with my sleeve. I guess it’s been a while since I needed to make a video call.

Joe is my brother, and whenever I make a big decision in life, it’s Joe I tend to run it by. Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not saying I ever actually follow his advice, but I at least know that whatever advice Joe gives, he’ll give it to me straight. And that’s what I need right now. I need another person’s gut reaction. Plus, Joe is the only one who knows about Norfolk. Well, Joe and Mum and Dad. I’ve never told another person what happened. I don’t think I’m even allowed to. Which has made relationships hard, to say the least.

My last proper relationship was with an orthopedic surgeon. Harry. It lasted three years. He was easy to spend time with but I didn’t want to marry him, so, yeah. I don’t have someone like that just now.

    Joe has a family; he’s a husband and a dad. Which is great. I’m an auntie.

Joe’s got ties, responsibilities, connections. I do not. So, I’ve sort of come to value his opinion more as the years go by. He seems, for want of a better word, happy.

I pull his name up on Contacts and shrug off my coat. I take a stab at fixing my hair in the dark reflection of the screen and press call.

Joe lives in Hertfordshire, about twenty-five minutes from our mother’s house. I couldn’t do that but I suppose it must be handy for babysitting. I know he’ll be in; he works from home. He’s an architect who has the good fortune to be able to pick and choose which projects he works on, which is convenient now that they have little Chloe to look after.

The electronic bounce of the FaceTime call tone cuts out sharply and Joe’s face replaces mine on the screen. He’s in. He’s always in. He’s reliable that way.

“There you are!” Joe’s one of those people who always answers their phones no matter how busy they are. I admire that level of accessibility, because I am not one of those people. He beams at me. I expand the pixelating window until his smiling face fills my screen. His glasses are at a crazy angle on the top of his head, his hair disheveled—I needn’t have worried about mine.

“Here I am!” I call in response. Our greeting.

He catches sight of himself in his own window and sets about mushing his hair. He’s always been a hair musher. He’s only thirty-one, and yet he’s somehow managed to look like a harassed thirty-year-old since his second year at uni.

“So, where exactly have you been for the last week, missy? Thought you’d at least call us when you got back to London after Christmas.” He continues typing as he talks, as if I’m right there in the room with him.

    “Sorry. Work.” I shrug a what-can-you-do and Joe glances up, frowning.

We spent Christmas together at Mum’s, the whole family. And I didn’t call when I got back because…well, life, I suppose. Actually, probably, work. Things get surprisingly busy in hospitals around the festive season.

Joe isn’t impressed. “Hmph. Right, well, just so you know, Mum started checking the traffic news for crashes, so…make of that what you will.”

“Listen, Joe, I need your advice. Something has come up. But you’ve got to promise me you won’t tell Mum, all right?”

“What are we—seven?” he chuckles.

“I need you not to tell her, Joe, please?” There’s urgency in my voice and his smile fades slightly.

“What is it, Em?” he asks, instantly serious.

“I’ve been offered a new job and I don’t know if I should do it, or even if I want to do it yet, so I don’t want you mentioning it to her. I don’t want her to worry about it. I don’t want her going through anything she doesn’t have to….But—I might have to go back to Norfolk.”

His gaze hardens at the word.

“Why?” he asks bluntly.

It’s a good question.

If I didn’t have his full attention before, I have it now. He stares at me grimly, as if he’s seen a ghost. And in a way he has. We don’t talk about the past; all of that got left behind with the house.

“It’s a job opportunity, Joe. A big one. Have you seen the news?”

He’s silent for a moment before he speaks.

“Er, yes, I have. Why? Which story? This isn’t to do with the dead girl on Hampstead Heath, is it?” He looks away, rubs his eyes, suddenly tired.