Читать книгу I Know You - Annabel Kantaria, Annabel Kantaria - Страница 13

Three

Anna Jones’ Facebook page was private, and she had only had one profile picture and one generic cover visible to the public. I still remember how it annoyed me at the time, in the way that anyone who buttoned up their privacy settings on social media annoyed me – and I’d flung the iPad down – but then I’d found her Instagram, and practically yelped with joy to see that that was wide open, my screen suddenly filled with gorgeous square shots to pore over.

I’d scrolled through them like a child opening a Christmas stocking, lifting and examining each one, and starting to feel as if I knew Anna Jones inside out. In one, there was a tall bear of a man and I stared at it, wondering who he was. Her compositions were careful; her pictures way more than just snaps. Lots were of details: her nail polish; a piece of jewellery or an accessory; a plate of food. I don’t know how long I spent looking at her pictures but after some time – half an hour maybe? – my back had started to ache and I’d gone into the kitchen. I remember wondering if the clock was broken, its hands stuck at 2.30 p.m., but my watch confirmed the news: the hump of the day wasn’t even broken; the afternoon still stretched ahead like a road through the Mojave Desert.

I looked for Anna on Twitter but ended up spending the bulk of the afternoon in an online discussion about whether or not you should find out the sex of the baby. Inevitably perhaps, someone got pissed with me. She – or he, I suppose it could be – sent me a rant spread over three Tweets and I sat there wondering if there was any point in defending myself; if there was any point in anything. I just felt so beaten. Lonely and beaten. Remember that before you judge me later; remember that this story is born from loneliness. Unless you’ve experienced it, you’ve no idea where it can lead you. Do I sound defensive? You can blame Jake for that.

*

Around six that day, when Jake’s due home, I start to get restless. I get up from the sofa, go to the front door, and squint through the peephole, disappointed when I see the emptiness of our parking space. On the hall table, tanned versions of Jake and me smile up at me from a photo frame. It’s a casual picture from our wedding day. Standing above us, the photographer caught us laughing as the guests showered us in dried rose petals. I close my eyes – the day had been perfect. Jake and I had had the barefoot beach wedding I’d always dreamed of, on an island off Key West. Although that picture’s now in a box in the basement, just thinking about it brings back the warm caress of the sun on my skin, the sound of the palms rustling in the gentle breeze, and the blaze of glorious colours: the turquoise of the sea, the white sand, and the vibrant pinks and purples of the bougainvillea that trailed around the resort, dripping off the white plantation-style balconies of the guest cottages. Easy days. Simple times.

Waiting for Jake to get home, I remember the way he’d grabbed my hand and led me and our friends barefoot down the beach to board the catamaran for our sunset drinks reception… I sigh – it seems a lifetime ago – then I leap as the doorbell rings. I didn’t hear the car.

I’ve a smile on my face as I open the door, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Jake why he didn’t use his key, when I realize it’s not Jake at all, but a smiling woman wrapped in a raincoat. Her brown hair’s shoulder-length and streaked with honeyed highlights, though at the roots I can see a hint of grey, and she’s wearing red lipstick and a foundation that’s slightly too tanned for the pallor of her winter skin. Still, she’s attractive. I’d guess she’s ten years older than me. She tilts her head sideways.

‘Hello!’ she says cheerily. ‘I just wanted to pop by and introduce myself. I live at number twenty-six.’ She nods her head down the street. ‘Saw you and your hubby moving in. Thought I’d give you a bit of space before saying hello.’

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Taylor.’

She extends her hand. ‘Sarah.’ The wind gusts and she tucks her hair back behind her ears.

‘Would you like to come in?’ I ask. ‘It’s just I’m expecting my husband home any second but you’re welcome to step in for a minute?’

‘If you don’t mind, there’s actually something I’d like to ask you,’ she says, so I lead her into the front room and we stand awkwardly on the carpet. Dinner’s pretty much ready so it’s a funny time to offer tea. Wine? Should I offer her a glass of wine? I don’t think we even had any in those days.

She gives a little laugh. ‘To be honest, I have to admit I’ve come here with an ulterior motive.’

‘Okay,’ I say.

She glances around the room, spots the bookshelves. ‘Oh good,’ she says. ‘You do read!’

Should I have been more guarded with a stranger at my door? Probably – but, ‘I love reading,’ I say. ‘My books were the first thing I unpacked when we moved in.’

‘Fantastic! I know what you mean! Well, I’m not so embarrassed to ask you now, but basically, I’m starting a book club – like a little reading circle. Just a couple of girls in the area where we can get together and have some drinks and nibbles and talk about books. When I saw you moving in I couldn’t help noticing all those boxes marked “Books” and I just wondered if, maybe, it’d be something you might be interested in?’

‘Oh! What sort of books do you read? It’s just…’

‘Oh, nothing too highbrow,’ she says with a laugh. ‘Please don’t worry about that. Contemporary fiction. Latest releases. Anything really.’

‘Oh, okay. Sounds good. Obviously, I might not be able to be in it for long…’ I pat my bump in case she hasn’t noticed it.

‘Oh!’ she says. ‘Very compact! How far are you?’

‘Due late Feb.’

‘Aww.’ She smiles at my bump for a moment, then looks back at my face. ‘Well, look, you’re very welcome. We’d love to have you, and the bump.’ She smiles again. ‘Bring a friend if you like.’

‘Thanks. I’d love to join,’ I say and out of the corner of my eye I see Jake parking the car outside so I start to usher her towards the door. At the hall table, she stops.

‘Oh wow, is that your wedding?’ she asks, picking up the photo and running a finger over the glass.

‘Yes,’ I say. What else can I say?

‘What a beautiful picture,’ she says. ‘You both look so happy.’

‘We were,’ I say. Outside, I hear Jake walking up the path. ‘We are! Anyway, here he is now…’ I pull open the door. ‘Hi, darling.’ I widen my eyes at him to show I’m as surprised as he is at our unexpected visitor. ‘This is Sarah. She lives down the road. Sarah – my husband, Jake.’

Sarah steps back to look at Jake, then leans into him and gives him a showy kiss on the cheek. ‘Mwa. Even more handsome in real life,’ she says with a laugh, wiping her thumb against his cheek to remove a smudge of lipstick, then she’s off down the path. ‘Bye, Taylor! I’ll let you know when the next meeting is. Byee!’

I’m smiling when I close the door.

‘What was that all about?’ says Jake.

‘That,’ I say, puffing up a bit, ‘was my invitation to join a book club. I think I’ve got a new friend.’