Читать книгу Her Name Was Rose: The gripping psychological thriller you need to read this year - Claire Allan, Claire Allan - Страница 11

I missed the smell of smoke in pubs. The comforting mix of stale smoke mixed with stale alcohol was a signal to the senses that they were about to be soothed. Now I had to buy my drink and stand outside, hopping from foot to foot, cradling my drink to me in a bid to keep warm while I sucked on my cigarette.

Vodka was the drink of the day. I hadn’t had it in a while – but desperate times called for desperate measures. Lots of 35ml measures of impending oblivion.

Jim, the barman, had looked at me oddly when I walked in from the bright winter sunshine to the cosy gloominess of Jack’s Bar, just a short walk from my flat on Northland Road.

‘Early doors today?’ he asked as I took a seat at the bar.

I looked at him quizzically.

‘Is it not early to be knocking off work? Time off for good behaviour, eh? Teacher’s pet?’

I couldn’t help but snort at the irony of the words. ‘Yes, something like that,’ I said. ‘Double vodka and a Diet Coke.’ He raised his eyebrows but didn’t speak, just lifted a glass and carried it to the optic where I stared as the numbing clear liquid poured out.

‘The hard stuff, eh?’ he asked, as he added ice and popped open a small bottle of Diet Coke. He didn’t pour it. I imagined he knew as well as I did that the soft drink was really only for show. I would add a splash; enough to colour the vodka but not enough to dilute its potency.

‘Hard to beat,’ I said, raising my glass before tipping it back, allowing the sharp taste of the alcohol to warm my throat and sink to my stomach where it would settle the growing sense of unease.

‘I thought you were going off the booze for a bit?’ Jim asked, as I pushed the glass, now empty, towards him and gestured for a refill.

‘I did,’ I said. ‘It’s been a few weeks.’ I knew as well as he did that it had been just over a week, but he didn’t correct me.

‘Are you sure you want another? It’s still early and last time you were in you told me—’

‘Never mind what I told you,’ I said, making a conscious effort to keep my tone light when all I really wanted was for him to pour me another drink. ‘Look, Jim. You can pour me another drink – and maybe even another after that – or I can take my business elsewhere. But if I’m honest, I like it here. It’s quiet and most of the time you’re not a pain in the ass.’

Jim shrugged and poured my drink. To try and make him feel a little better I added more than just a splash of my Diet Coke to the glass and nodded towards the beer garden, where I headed with my drink and my smokes to imbibe nicotine along with the alcohol.

I knew I shouldn’t be drinking. Of course I did. Not least because of the double dose of anti-anxiety meds dissolved in my system. Ones that came with a big ‘Do Not Consume Alcohol’ warning on the front. But the alternative was not appealing. Go home to my flat in the half-light of the afternoon, work out just how many weeks’ rent I could afford to pay before I was officially broke. Broke and homeless. With a mild drink problem, an addiction to prescription medication, in hiding from a man who wanted to cause me actual physical harm and nursing a very heavy dose of guilt about the death of Rose Grahame.

Standing shivering in the beer garden beside a plant pot festooned with cigarette butts and some fairy lights that no longer twinkled, I felt the first wave of negative feelings towards Rose and her perfect life. Had she not the sense she was born with? The sense to look both ways before crossing the road? She was pushing her baby in a pram for the love of God. If she had just looked up I wouldn’t be tormented by the abnormal angle of her neck and her left leg when she fell. I would be able to escape that glassy-eyed stare. I wouldn’t have felt compelled to go to the funeral and I wouldn’t have had to lie to Andrew and I wouldn’t now be unemployed and feeling slightly fuzzy headed as the last dregs of my vodka and Diet Coke slid down my throat.

I’d have one more – and then go home. I stubbed out my cigarette, left it teetering on the pile of butts on the plant pot – all playing a dystopian version of Buckaroo, and walked back into the bar. I pushed my glass in Jim’s direction and he shook his head but poured another double measure anyway. ‘I’ll get you a toastie made. Some soakage,’ he said, but I shook my head.

‘I’ve dinner plans,’ I lied. ‘I’ll be good,’ I lied again.

He walked away, knew he was beat. I poured the remainder of my Diet Coke into my vodka glass and took out my phone, clicking back into Facebook. I stared at the dialogue box asking me ‘What’s on your mind?’ – it had been just over five years since I had shared what was on my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to delete my account. I hadn’t always been so reticent to share what I was thinking, of course. I used to share everything. My life on view for whoever wanted to see it and even a few people who didn’t. When things were better, of course. Or at least when I thought they were better. The fool that I was.

*

My keys clattered onto the floor as I kicked the pile of letters away from the door and stumbled into my flat, wondering who had moved the light switch a few inches to the left. I had been true to my word. I had left after my third drink (that it was a double wasn’t important). Now though, stumbling towards the moving light switch and feeling my stomach – empty but for the alcohol – churn, I decided I’d had a little too much. I needed to sit down and try to stop the room from spinning. My head had started to hurt. I knew I needed a glass of water and a few painkillers, so I made my way to the kitchen and pulled out a packet of pills, taking two small yellow and green Tramadol capsules out and throwing them back with water from the tap. I didn’t need painkillers this strong any more; they were given to me for backache a few months ago. I probably should have returned the remainder to the chemist, but I liked how they made me feel. Not only would they sort out my headache, they would knock me into the oblivion I desired – the kind of oblivion where, if I was lucky, I would dream of happy endings and nice things. An escape from my reality and of the face of Ben Cullen that haunted my notifications. Perhaps dreams of a sexy, stubbly husband called Cian, and a chubby cheeked baby called Jack and a life where I felt I had something to contribute to Facebook after all. A life worth mourning. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the sofa, pulling a blue chenille throw over me and drifting off into a hazy sleep.

I was woken with a start at 2.37am, my blurred eyes trying to focus on the shadows drifting across the room, cast by a car driving by. In my half asleep, slightly drunk, Tramadol-induced state, I was sure I saw her, standing, head still twisted at an unnatural angle, eyes glazed, blood dripping from her hands. But smiling – because life was perfect. Because even dead, it was still better than mine. My heart froze, I pulled the blanket over my head and concentrated on trying to steady my breathing, aware of the thumping of my heart in my chest, trying to chase away the ghosts of the sound of the car crunching into her, the noise and the screams of those around her. For the first time I heard my own scream join the mêlée. Had I screamed that day? I didn’t know any more.

I woke again when it was just getting light and my phone was beeping incessantly. I glanced at the low battery warning, and spotted five missed calls and six text message notifications.

Rubbing my eyes and spreading the dregs of yesterday’s mascara across my dry skin, I tried to focus on the screen. The missed calls were, all but one, from my friend Maud. The other was from Andrew; I gave my phone the finger at seeing his name. I scrolled down my messages. Five from Maud, panic increasing in each of them.

Ben Cullen? WTF?

Called work. You’re not there? Kieran said you were let go. WTF happened?

Tried calling you. You’re not answering.

Emily, call me. I’m really worried.

ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

The one from Andrew was a simple: HR would like to see you on Monday morning. 10am.

I swung my feet around and stood up, fighting the nausea in the pit of my stomach. I wandered to the bathroom, used the loo, splashed cold water on my face and pulled my hair back in a loose ponytail. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was a fetching shade of grey, dark circles under my eyes. I gulped water directly from the tap and brushed my teeth before going back to my bedroom and peeling off my clothes from the day before. I pulled on some tracksuit bottoms, a T-shirt and a pair of mismatched socks and walked through to my kitchen where I made toast (after cutting the slightly mouldy corner off the bread) and a mug of tea before walking back into my living room, sitting cross-legged on the sofa and calling Maud.

The phone rang twice before she answered, her voice thick with sleep. Remembering it was only 3am in New York – I immediately apologised for waking her.

‘Jesus, Emily. I’ve been worried to death. Ben? And then you going off grid? And work? What the hell is going on?’

Maud could be confidently called my one true friend. And Andrew’s predecessor at the call centre. She’d taken me under her wing when I started at CallSolutions. I liked to think she saw something fixable or loveable in me; but whatever the reason, she helped me find my feet again.

She kept me (just) on the right side of the company’s many policies. The day, 17 months earlier, she announced she was moving to the States to head up the opening of a new call centre for our multinational company was the day my time with CallSolutions started to slide towards the inevitability that one day I would end up eating stale toast and wondering where it had all gone wrong.

‘I went to Rose’s funeral. Told Andrew I was going to a dental appointment. He fired me.’

I heard her sigh. ‘Jesus, Emily. Was that wise? To go to her funeral? And to lie about it?’

Ignoring her question as to whether I should’ve gone to the funeral, I told her I had lied to Andrew because he wouldn’t understand why I needed to go. If Maud couldn’t understand it, there was no way Andrew would.

Her sigh was heavier this time. Before I’d told Andrew, Maud had been the only person who knew I had seen the accident – she had told me to look into counselling, or at least talk to my GP if I felt my mood slipping or my anxiety growing. Actually, she had made me promise I would talk to my GP and look into counselling.

‘He would have understood, if you’d told him. You know that. Anyone would have understood. You witnessed a major trauma,’ she said, cutting through my thoughts.

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t want him to know. I don’t want anyone to know. They’ll make me go over it all again, or talk to the police …’

‘And Ben, how does he come into all this?’

‘He sent me a friend request, I told you that.’

‘Did you accept it?’ she asked.

‘No, of course not,’ I almost shouted, without letting her know it was still sitting ignored in my account.

‘So just ignore him. Leave it at that. Nothing to worry about.’ She sounded so sure that I wondered was I overreacting or simply going mad?

‘But what if he wants back in my life?’ I asked her, omitting the fact that I feared he already was and that he might be tied up in the whole Rose situation. I knew what she would say. She would rationalise it to nth degree – but little about Ben Cullen was ever rational. He was just one more big reason why I couldn’t and wouldn’t go to the police myself. They had been so firmly on his side before – willing to believe whatever he told them. Everyone believed Ben over me. Everyone. I couldn’t go through being made to feel like a liar again.

‘Do you want me to talk to Andrew?’ Maud interrupted my thoughts. ‘Perhaps I can persuade him to give you one last chance? Although, he has given you enough chances before.’ Her tone was soft, but I still felt the judgement in her words. Yes, he had given me chances but then any other decent boss – like Maud had been – wouldn’t have made such a big issue over such little infractions anyway.

‘God no. No, it’ll be fine. I’ll get another job. It will work out. It was probably about time for a change anyway. It’s not been the same since you left,’ I said with more confidence than I felt.

‘Hmmm,’ Maud replied. ‘Well maybe this is the kick up the bum you need? And I say that with love in my heart. You can do so much with your life, Emily. You need to go out there and grab it by the balls. Maybe you were too comfortable in CallSolutions. It didn’t challenge you. It was easy – which is what you needed at the time, but comfortable isn’t rewarding, is it?’

I stifled a laugh. I was never comfortable in CallSolutions – not really comfortable. I found most days unbearably dull and I lived with the constant feeling of being the odd one out. The co-worker who was never invited for Friday drinks, or Saturday nights out and who wasn’t even invited to be part of the Lottery Syndicate. But Maud was right – it didn’t challenge me in any way. It had been a safe place when I needed to feel safe. Now, even though I still needed medication to switch my mind off at night and help me sleep, I needed more than safe.

‘What could I do?’ I asked.

I heard Maud yawn. ‘I don’t know, honey. But you could try your hand at anything. Get online – see what’s on offer.’ Then she stifled a laugh. ‘Oh I’m going to hell for saying this, but I’m pretty sure there’s a post for a dentist’s receptionist that’s just been made available?’

I laughed back, said my goodbyes, told Maud I was sorry for waking her and for worrying her.

‘Don’t apologise, Emily. And most of all try not to worry about Ben. It was a long time ago. Everything got a bit out of hand back then. Maybe he just wants to say sorry? Now, try to keep calm and carry on, as the saying goes. You’ve got this. This is your new start.’

I ended the call and sat on the sofa, the tea going cold at my feet, and wondered if this was all some strange karmic intervention. Maybe I was meant to see Rose die so that I could move on to a job where I would be happy and fulfilled, and where everyone would be lovely and friendly and supportive? Maybe Maud was right – she always could talk me down. Ben may just, finally, be saying sorry. That this apology came at the same time as Rose’s death was more than likely just a twisted coincidence. I chided myself for being so paranoid. Thought about my options.

There really wasn’t anything to stop me from applying for Rose’s job, was there? In fact, given that Derry ranked among the top three unemployment blackspots in the UK, it was probably wise that I did. I had experience in customer care. I had, years ago, gained all my admin qualifications. I could answer phones with cheeriness – even when people were being complete pains in the ass. I could do it. I knew I could.

And even if contemplating taking over a dead woman’s life – or a facet of it – was a tad morbid, it wasn’t as if she had use for it any more.