“Right,” said Matt, losing interest. He was looking around for a member of the bar staff. I could hear my heartbeat, quite clearly, thundering in my ears as I replayed his casual remark. It looked like you were just nattering away to yourself. I would not think about that remark. I would not think, full stop.
“They don’t do table service here, do they?” said Matt. He seemed to be talking from a great distance away. I stared at him, at his familiar face, willing my own face not to show my distress. “I’ll go in and get us a drink, if you want to stay?”
“That would be lovely,” I heard myself say. He stood up and went into the bar.
I sat there on the bench in my wine-stained jeans, trying to think of nothing. I couldn’t think of anything other than Jessica at the moment.
“Cheers, sweetheart,” Matt said, returning to the table. "Classes finished early today, thank God. It’s good to be out and about and not stuck in a bloody lecture hall for once."
“Yes," I said, in my cheerful robot’s voice. "Cheers."
Behind his back, the pub door opened and Jessica walked out, her long coat flaring out behind her. My hand twitched and I spilt yet more wine on the already sodden table.
“Whoops,” said Matt, mopping away with a tissue.
Behind his back, Jessica looked at me for a long moment. I couldn’t decipher her expression; I could barely see. But I saw her nod, a quick, sharp bob of the head, and she began to walk away, down the street, her hands in her pockets, her blonde hair fluttering behind her like a torn golden headscarf. She didn’t look back. I watched her until Matt had finished cleaning up the wine, and then I had to look at him. Jessica was gone.
Chapter Twenty Three
I got through the next couple of days quite successfully by not allowing myself to think. It was a good test of mental stamina. Every time my thoughts went to Jessica, I ruthlessly headed them off. I looped an elasticated hairband about my wrist and snapped it against my skin every time I thought about her, saying to myself 'stop'. Nothing else, just 'stop'. If that didn't work, I sang lyrics to Beatles songs under my breath until I'd tricked my mind into thinking about something else. Sometimes I thought of my brain, my mind, with something approaching hate. My body had never let me down – indeed, in one particular way, although it hadn't seemed so at the time, it had quite spectacularly not let me down - but my mind... It felt like the enemy; as if there were someone else stuck in my head. It gave me a grim pleasure to trick it into doing what I wanted, for a change.
Things between Matt and myself were rather better than they had been. Perhaps it was my own behaviour that had made the change; I was so determined not to give in to my darkest thoughts that I was almost relentlessly cheerful, even if I didn’t feel it. I was careful about drinking. I still drank, but not so that Matt could see. I went to the gym and swam, I bought new clothes and had my hair done, I bought new books and films and music. I began looking at property websites, working out what was out there, what could be done. I had quite a clear picture in my head of what I wanted. A country house but not a huge, stone pile like Caernaven, with acres of grounds. A manageably sized house, old but not too old, not too remote. Close enough to a big town so that we would still be able to shop and have dinner and see a film when we wanted to, but far enough away from the hustle and bustle for some peace and solitude.
I still hadn’t decided what to do about Caernaven. I spoke to Matt about it over dinner one night.
“Difficult,” said Matt. He laid his knife and fork down precisely in the centre of his plate. “It’s your childhood home, Maudie. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, darling. You must have some preference.”
I took a sip of wine and thought. What I wanted was for someone else to tell me what to do and then to do it for me, but I thought I had probably better not say that.
“Not sure,” I said. Matt sighed and I went on quickly. “Maybe – well, rent it out. I mean, once it’s sold, it’s sold forever.”
“If that’s what you think is best.”
“What about the board?” he said.
I shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Has Mr. Fenwick mentioned it again?”
“Not yet. But I’ve got to give him an answer sometime.”
“What do you want to do?”
I put my head into my hands. “I don’t know,” I said.
Matt got up to clear our plates. I could almost hear the forbearance sighing out of him as he went past. I would have to do something, anything; his patience was wearing thin.
“There’s still a lot of stuff to sort out up there,” I said, slowly. “I might need to take another trip.”
This happened sooner than I thought. The next evening we received a phone call from Aunt Effie’s housekeeper, Jane. Aunt Effie had had a fall, broken her collarbone and sprained her ankle, and would be in hospital for the next couple of weeks. She was asking for me to come and see her.
“Why?” I asked Jane. “I mean, is there any reason in particular? Apart from, well, just wanting to see me?”
“I don’t know, Maudie. She’s on quite heavy duty painkillers and she’s sometimes a little – well, confused. She just insists she has to see you. Will you come?”
I promised to drive up the next day or two. After I put the phone down, I went into the kitchen, hungry for a glass of wine. Matt had disappeared into the study and I could see a thin blue ribbon of smoke drifting from its wide open doorway. He was smoking a lot more these days and I knew why; he was stressed about work. He was stressed about me.
Our dinner plates were stacked on the kitchen counter. I rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. It was one of Mrs. Dzinkska’s days tomorrow but I drew the line at leaving her a pile of encrusted dishes. I shut the door and switched on the machine, drawing a little comfort, as always, from the reassuring hum as the washing cycle began. I let my gaze drift across the room, coming to rest on the window. Immediately I thought of Jessica.
I reached for my wristband but I'd taken it off when I'd showered earlier. I pinched the skin of my wrist instead. It didn't work. I kept seeing her face as she turned away from me, outside the pub, and her retreating form disappearing down the road.
Still at the sink, I caught sight of myself in the glass-fronted cupboard above it. At the sight of my rigid face, I suddenly realised how idiotic I was being. How self-pitying. I straightened up properly and took a deep breath.
That night, Matt and I made love for the first time in days. I lay in his arms afterwards, listening to his breathing returning to normal, and thinking, for once, of something different. I wanted to talk to him about what had been happening. No matter what Jessica had asked me, I knew I had to tell him.
"Matt," I said softly. He made a low, inarticulate noise in his throat. Encouraged, I went on.
"I know things have been a bit odd between us, lately," I said, almost whispering. "I know that sometimes - well - I'm a bit odd and I do silly things and I know you find it frustrating."
“You’re okay, silly thing,” he said in a sleep-slurred kind of voice. I laid my head back against his shoulder, listening to the steady pound of his heartbeat in my ear.
"It's just that, strange things have been happening," I said. I could feel my own heartbeat start to speed up as I thought of what I was about to say. “Very strange. Actually, it’s only just really sinking in for me how strange they really are.”