“You were right, Maudie. You were right.”
“What?” I said, gasping.
“You were right. You were right, you were right, you were right–” her voice was going up and up, humming upwards like a warning signal. I was shaking my head without knowing I was doing it. “You were right. You are guilty. You are guilty! It was your fault–”
“But–” I said, uselessly.
She thrust her face forward. “My fucking parents are dead because of you. Because of you, I’ve been fucked over my entire life! And you sit there and tell me you have problems. You fucking bitch. It’s your fault my parents are dead, your fault, your fault, your fault–”
I had a terrifying flashback to her mother in the kitchen of the cottage, eyes squeezed almost shut, flecks of spit landing on my face as she screamed at me. As then, I could only shake my head in terrified denial.
Suddenly she fell silent, silent except for her gasping breaths. Slowly, she backed away from the table, shaking her head. “You’ll pay for this,” she said, her chest heaving. “I’ll make you pay for this if it’s the last thing I do.”
She turned and ran from the room and I heard the door of the pub bang open and then closed. I sat there in my chair, clothes soaked with wine. I looked as if someone had shot me in the chest. I could only sit there, hands plastered across my useless, treacherous mouth, shaking.
Chapter Twenty Nine
The telephone rang at nine thirty the next morning, as I was sat picking miserably at my breakfast. Matt got up to answer it and I held my breath.
“Hello?”
I knew it was her. Under the table, I clenched my fists. “Hello? Who is this?”
Matt banged down the receiver and came back to the table. The phone rang again.
“Oh, leave it,” I said, unable to bear it.
“I will,” he said, reaching for his coffee. “It’s getting rather tiresome. Some idiot obviously thinks it’s funny.”
The phone stopped ringing and the answerphone clicked on. There was nothing on the line, no speaking, just the click and burr of a broken connection.
“This is starting to become a bit more than annoying,” said Matt. “Perhaps you could call the phone company?”
“What?”
“The phone company. Perhaps they can – oh, I don’t know – put a block on the line? Trace the calls? I don’t know what they do but – could you call them?”
I stared down at my empty coffee cup. “Okay.”
“Thanks, darling. It would help,” said Matt. He upended his coffee cup. “Ugh, lukewarm. Anyway, what are you up to today?”
“I’m seeing Margaret at eleven. Then – I don’t know – maybe lunch somewhere. I’m not sure...” My voice trailed off.
“Well, I’ve got a meeting with the high-ups at work,” he said after a moment. “So we could be celebrating later."
I barely heard him. “Sorry, what?” I said, looking up.
Frowning, Matt rested his hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “I said, we could be celebrating later. My promotion, I mean. If you want to. Oh, and if I get it.” He laughed. “Mustn’t count my chickens.”
“That’s great,” I said, dredging up a smile. “Good luck. I’m sure you won’t need it.”
I watched him walk out the kitchen and waited until I heard the front door close. Then I slumped forward onto the kitchen table.
I had to brace myself before I left the flat. I pulled gloves on over my shaking hands and thought cravenly about taking a taxi. I took a deep breath and marched outside.
Jessica wasn’t there. I let my breath out in a shuddering sigh. The relief almost made me nauseous. I walked quickly to Margaret’s house, swinging my arms. I tried not to think of Jessica’s last words to me but they kept repeating themselves in my head. I couldn’t get that look of hatred – and it had been hatred – out of my mind’s eye.
It wasn’t a very good session with Margaret. I was nervous and distracted and kept running down into silence. I was worried she would smell the vodka on my breath which made me speak more haltingly than usual. I remembered to ask her for a prescription. As she was a psychiatrist, she was able to write them for me and had always done so, saving me a trip to the doctor’s surgery.
“Just sleeping pills?” she said. “Or do you think you might need the anti-depressants again?”
I wavered. I probably did need them but it seemed like such an admission of failure. “Just the sleeping pills,” I said, managing to sound quite firm.
I closed the front door without thinking of anything much. I tucked my scarf more firmly into my coat.
Then I saw her. She was waiting for me on the other side of the street. She wore her black coat, of course; it swirled about her in the wind like an ink cloud. Her eyes were fixed on mine. I froze and shut my eyes.
I stood there, blind. The roar of cars passing echoed the thunder of my heartbeat. I opened my eyelids, quaking. Jessica was gone. Saliva rushed into my mouth and I turned aside for a moment, my hand going to my mouth, almost retching.
The worry of what other people would think still won out. I straightened up, putting my hand back in my pocket, trying to seem as if I didn’t care. I put one foot in front of the other, the wavering line of the pavement unrolling before my eyes. I reached the kerb and managed to look one way before stepping out into the road.
A horn blared. My legs went from under me, even as they got me to the opposite pavement. I felt them buckle and then the pavement was rough and cold under my palms. I was knee-down in the street, hair falling forward, the pain in my knees nothing compared to the public humiliation.
“No, I’m fine, thanks – I’m fine–”
I struggled upwards, the kind hands of some passerby shaken off and left behind. I staggered onwards, my knees smarting.
A taxi light glowed ahead of me. I hailed it, and almost fell in through its door. I didn’t dare look round, for fear of seeing her. I shrank back into the back seat of the taxi, shivering. I held onto my elbows with opposite hands, feeling the bones juddering underneath my palms.
When I got home I locked the front door - both locked, deadbolts - to keep out the dead.
I gasped all the way to the bedroom, to the vodka bottle in my underwear drawer. There wasn't as much left as I thought; there wasn't enough to work properly. My knees went again as I made my way to the bathroom. Vodka wasn't enough. I didn't really take pills, not when I didn’t need to, but this was just intolerable... I crawled the last ten yards on my hands and knees, tear drops marking my way, my knees smudging them into the carpet as I finally got there, scrabbling at the bathroom cabinet, fumbling for the pill bottle that had been hidden away, unneeded for so long. Got it, take it, bitter taste in the throat, scramble for the glass, chiming against the tap, water falling coolly over my unsteady fingers. I got the pill down my throat and sat back against the bath, laughing weakly.
After twenty minutes, when the Valium began to percolate through my system, I breathed in and out, in and out, slowing my heart beat, getting myself back under control. Come on, Maudie. I dropped my head back against the side of the bath, closed my eyes, and breathed. I conjured up Margaret in my mind, her colourful blouses, her comforting grey hair. What would she say to me now, if she were here?
Thinking of Margaret calmed me, somewhat. I knew she’d tell me that I wasn’t to be afraid, that there was always a logical explanation. What was the explanation here? I was feeling almost normal again. Even propped up as uncomfortably as I was, I could feel myself falling towards unconsciousness. It was an effort to sit up, to shake off the drowsiness. I got up, carefully, holding on to the side of the bath, wobbled my way down the corridor and fell onto the bed.