Читать книгу Her Name Was Rose: The gripping psychological thriller you need to read this year - Claire Allan, Claire Allan - Страница 13

I was shocked and surprised to find out I was being offered the job at the dentist’s. Okay it was a much lower salary than I had been paid in the call centre (and that had been a shockingly low salary to start with) but it did offer me the new start I had been longing for.

I sent a quick email to Maud to thank her for both the suggestion and the reference. And for persuading Andrew to give me a reference that probably led him to spending a good hour in Confession for all the lies he told. Not that they were really lies – I was a good worker. Or I could be.

Maud had been mildly horrified when I told her I’d put her name down as a referee.

‘I was only joking when I said you should apply for the job,’ she’d said, her voice solemn.

‘Maybe you were, but you had a point. There’s a job there and I need a job. Why wouldn’t I throw my hat in the ring?’

She had paused, a soft humming coming over the phone line. ‘Do you not think it a bit odd?’ she asked. ‘I mean, you saw that woman die. And now you’re applying for a job in her old workplace? Her job?’

‘Hmm,’ I shrugged. ‘Maybe if I had known her. But I didn’t. I mean, yes I saw what happened and it was horrible but it shouldn’t hold me back. This could be a real chance for me and I need one now that Andrew has turfed me out. It’s not like this place is overflowing with jobs either, is it? Beggars can’t be choosers.’

So I persuaded Maud to not only give me a reference but also to speak to Andrew and ask him to back her up. I knew it was cheeky, but I also knew Maud had pull. I had long suspected Andrew had a crush on her and would do anything she asked.

I smiled as I tapped out the email to her on my laptop. ‘This is going to be a new beginning,’ I told her. ‘I know I haven’t always got it right in the past but I can get it right now. You have to meet these people, Maud. You would really like them. They’re so genuine. I think I will really fit in there.’

I was still smiling when I hit send, and when I got up and started to declutter and clean the flat. This would be a new start and I would put myself in the best place possible to make the most of it. I threw open the curtains for the first time in weeks and whizzed round, vacuuming everywhere, even under the sofa and along the skirting boards. I stripped my bed, put the sheets in a boil wash and tried not to think about the last time I had changed them. I dusted. I bleached. I swept the pile of magazines and junk mail from the coffee table and put them in a pile by the door for recycling.

I cleaned out my cupboards and my fridge. I threw out a lot of food that was past its sell by date, and anything with mould went straight in the bin. Then I grabbed my shopping bags and took myself to the M&S Food Hall where I put a decent shop of fruit and veg and low-fat meals on my credit card. And bottled water. I bought a lot of bottled water. It seemed like the thing to do.

The old me was just that: old, in the past, and gone. This would be the new me – a better version than any previous model. Lessons learned, rock bottom hit, and I had pushed myself away from it again, swimming upwards towards fresh air. The last few weeks – the Ben Blip as I would call it – would be just that. A blip. I showered when I got home, then made myself a dinner of low-fat bolognaise served with butternut squash noodles and poured myself a long glass of mineral water. Then I sat on my freshly plumped and vacuumed sofa, pulled my laptop onto my knee and logged into my Facebook account.

I stared at my long-neglected wall – the account I’d only kept open so I could keep an eye on everyone else. That evening though, I updated my status, picking a quote about life being a big adventure and being grateful for the journey. I clicked into my notifications and finally rejected Ben’s friend request once and for all.

Then I clicked onto Rose’s profile. There was another message from Cian – and I couldn’t resist reading.

Rose,

It’s been just over a month since you left me. Since you left us. I know they say time heals, and that no time at all has really passed, but at the moment each day just gets harder.

Jack looks for you. His eyes search you out when he wakes. He calls out ‘Mama’ – and I know when it’s me that peeks over the cot at him he is disappointed each and every day. Every day that disappointment kills another little piece of me. He can’t understand where you’ve gone. How can I expect him to understand when I can’t either?

I don’t want this to be true. I have begged and pleaded with God to bring you back – I know, it’s stupid of me. You know I never even believed in God anyway. But if I thought there was a chance … Rose, I’d do anything. I’d promise him anything. Everything I have. All the success. All the awards. Everything. I’d give myself to have you here.

Then again, what kind of God would take you away from me? Take you away from Jack? What kind of a God would leave a child without a mother? No kind of God I would want to know or believe in. That’s not a God of kindness – there is no kindness, no ‘bigger picture’, no ‘plan’ in you leaving us.

My arms feel so empty – but so heavy, all at the same time. They ache for you. They don’t understand why you aren’t there. They are without purpose. I am without purpose.

If I had known our time together would be so short, I would have tried harder. I would have been better. I would have protected you more. I would never have let you out of my sight. Not even for five minutes. I’d have fought off anyone who tried to take you away. Even a god. I’d have fought, and I’d have kept you safe.

I need to believe you are out there, my one and only. I need to believe my arms will hold you again.

Always and forever,

Cian

I wiped away a tear, looked at his profile picture. Still the smiling image of his late wife. I contemplated, very briefly, sending him a message. Telling him she was still out there. I believe that. That people don’t really leave. Their echoes remain. Someone as bright and vivacious as Rose – that energy doesn’t just, can’t just, disappear. It has to go somewhere.

I wanted to tell him to stay strong – for that beautiful blue-eyed baby who smiled so brightly at his mother as she sang to him. The baby who screamed as she pushed his buggy out of the way of the oncoming car, throwing herself in its path instead.

But I didn’t. I closed my laptop and reached into my bag for one of my anti-anxiety tablets. They would help me sleep and prepare myself for my new beginning. Hopefully they would even stop Rose from slipping into my dreams again – her face pale, her eyes now cloudy and grey.

*

My uniform fitted nicely. I found the conformity of it – the sense of belonging that came with it – comforting. Teamed with a pair of white soft leather ballet shoes and a silver name badge, I looked good. Crisp. Fresh. Professional. I still hadn’t contoured my make-up or flicked my eyeliner, but I had made more of an effort than usual.

I looked good, and more than that, I felt good. Both Donna and Owen greeted me when I arrived. Their smiles seemed warm, their welcome genuine. They introduced me to the other staff, whose names I would remember eventually. Although, to be fair, I felt like I knew some of them from their Facebook profiles already. Donna led me through to the staff canteen, showed me where everything was – the teabags, the coffee, the ladies’ loos. Then she led me to a small back room that was lined with lockers. ‘This is yours,’ she said, pointing to one right in the middle of the top row. All the others looked as if they were in use. I wondered for a second whether they were giving me Rose’s locker. I wondered whether to ask, but decided against it. Instead, I pushed my bag into the back of it and closed it, taking out the key and slipping it into my pocket.

‘Owen doesn’t like us having our phones while we’re working, but it’s fair game at break and lunch. Although, to be honest, we tend to spend more time gabbing than tweeting or Facebooking,’ Donna said.

‘Do you all eat lunch together then?’

Donna nodded. ‘Well, sort of. I mean, we have staggered lunches because we can’t all just disappear for an hour – but we do tend to have a good natter. We ring a sandwich order to the deli down the street every day at 11. You’re not obliged to join us, but they are lovely sandwiches. They do paninis, wraps, all that sort of thing. And the most delicious salads and soups.’

‘You’ve me sold,’ I smiled, imagining girly gossips over lovely food in that cosy kitchen, where a framed picture of Rose was now hung on the wall, watching over us all.

‘You’ll shadow Tori for today,’ said Donna. ‘She’s been on reception for a year – was Rose’s deputy. She’ll show you how everything works. We’ll get you a bit of time in the surgeries too, sometimes we have to pull people in from reception to help. Nothing on the squeamish side, but note taking, making sure the records are updated properly. Best to get used to working with the sound of the drill. But Tori will keep you right, show you the system out front. Explain our policies with emergency appointments, missed appointments, and regular bookings.’

She smiled the whole time she talked so it was impossible to feel overwhelmed. It all sounded doable – even working to the sound of the drill.

‘That all sounds good,’ I said, beaming without having to force it.

Owen was equally welcoming. He smiled and shook my hand, welcomed me to the ‘madhouse’, made sure I had all the logins I needed for reception, and showed me the filing system in the admin office.

‘It’s your first day. Everyone gets a get-out-of-jail-free card on their first day. So just take it easy. Don’t worry about things. Follow Tori’s lead. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, and as long as we don’t find you sucking on the nitrous oxide between appointments you’ll do great.’

He laughed and I laughed back and threw myself into my new work. I felt so light – so inspired.

Donna made sure the pair of us ate lunch together, recommending a BLT from the deli, which she told me had an extra zing thanks to a gorgeous tomato chutney they made in store. We sat at the small table, steaming cups of coffee in front of us, and she told me I had done well. ‘I’m sure you will fit right in. Owen knows how to pick good staff, you know.’ She smiled then paused, glancing up at the picture on the wall.

‘Is this awkward for you all?’ I asked softly. ‘Someone being here who isn’t Rose.’

She looked down at her sandwich, put it down and sipped from her cup.

‘Not awkward as such. Strange maybe. I never thought we wouldn’t have her here. Even when she was on maternity leave with Jack she would call in all the time. She couldn’t stay away. She’d pop in for a five-minute chat and end up offering to sort out some charts for Owen, or help out with a nervous patient. She had a way of calming them. All of us got used to nursing Jack while she did her bit, not that we complained. That baby is a dote.’

Her smile dropped at the mention of his name. I suppose she was imagining him as a poor motherless child – the baby that couldn’t understand where his mother had gone according to Cian. I reached over and rubbed her hand.

‘I can’t imagine …’ I said.

‘She loved it here too. Said we were her family. You know, she didn’t have to work – especially after Cian’s books became so successful. He wanted her to stay at home with Jack but she said we were all her family too, and while she loved him, she loved us as well. I used to tell her I’d give anything to have a husband who begged me to stay at home – provided for us …’ Her eyes filled and I gave her hand an extra squeeze. She sniffed and looked up, roughly rubbing her eyes, her perfect eyeliner smudging. ‘Yes, but we have to move on, don’t we? And God, here you are putting in a great first morning. We don’t want you to think you have to try and fill her shoes. You’re your own person and we’re happy to have you here.’

‘I understand that it’s tough. What happened to her … The shock of it must have been fierce.’

‘It was,’ she said, putting her coffee cup down and rewrapping her half-eaten lunch. She stood up. ‘It still is. Look, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and check my phone – make sure the kids’ school hasn’t been on to me. There’s always one of them forgetting their PE gear or recorder or some other such disaster. I do my best to keep on top of them but, well, I’m only one woman, and not Wonder Woman.’ She offered me a smile but it didn’t seem to reach all the way to her eyes. As she left the room she glanced again in the direction of the picture on the wall.

‘I’m my own person. I’m here on my own merits. I am doing a good job,’ I whispered to myself as I forced the last bites of the sandwich down – the zesty tomato chutney now tasting a little bitter.

As I balled up the wrapping from my sandwich, Donna came back in, and took a deep breath. ‘Look, see everything here, with Rose, with it all. It’s just … well, it’s complicated, and it’s still raw.’

‘Complicated?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She looked to the door, and back to me. ‘Look, it’s … maybe complicated is the wrong word. There’s a lot to try and make sense of is all. It gets on top of me sometimes.’

I would have asked her more, but just as I opened my mouth one of the other girls walked into the kitchen and started asking us about our day. The moment was gone, but the words would stay with me.

That night, changed into my lounge wear, my make-up removed with cleansers and toners and not my usual swipe of a baby wipe, I smiled at a friend request from Donna on my Facebook page, and when Owen sent a quick text to say he hoped my first day hadn’t been too off-putting.

I typed a quick reply, put my phone down and sat back and thought of everything that had happened over the last few years. After Ben. My life was divided that way; before Ben and after Ben. The actual ‘with Ben’ stage didn’t even seem to matter so much anymore. It had been a lie anyway.

Was this, this new era at Scott’s, a new beginning? I didn’t know. I wanted a new beginning. A new start. Friends. A lover maybe. A life.

All the things I had fought in vain for over the last few years. The years that had followed that most public fall from grace. I had been broken. In pieces. Pieces that no matter how patiently, how delicately, I tried to fit them back together, could never be the same as they were before they were broken in the first place.

Sharp edges jutted out. Others, dulled by thick globs of glue – ugly, deformed, misshapen. All the pieces were still there. But they weren’t the same. I was not the same. How could I have been? The whole had become both more and less than the sum of all its parts.

Maybe what I had been trying to do these last few years was to break myself again in a stupid attempt to make this break cleaner, hoping the fix would be neater this time. But it just made it worse. The gaps started to widen. So I stuffed the gaps with whatever I could find. First drink, then pills. They made the broken edges softer. They made it more bearable.

Except they also made it worse. They facilitated me making poor decisions. Voicing my hurt to him. To show Ben my anger, and not realise that the truth can often be distorted. He told his side of the story – his lies – to anyone who would listen and they believed him because they saw the drunk I was quickly becoming. Believed I was unstable.

I started to spend each and every minute of darkness in a ball of anxiety, sure that it would never get light again. You can’t take these things for granted. When you get complacent things go wrong.

I had thought about suicide. Especially at night when the very act of existing hurt. When even banging my head against the wall didn’t silence them. When I missed him so badly that all I could think of was how little effort it would take to make it all stop.

To break myself so badly that no one – not even all the king’s horses and all the king’s men – could put me back together again.

I even planned it. It was the awful winter of 2010. The snow didn’t seem to stop. The headlines were filled with record low temperatures. The River Foyle froze, Europe’s fastest-flowing river, now creaking, slow, thick with the effort of trying to break through the ice.

I planned to go the beach. I would wash down some pills with vodka, walk down to the shore front, sit crossed-legged on the sand, and wait for the cold to feel too warm. Wait for the vodka and the pills to lull me to sleep, or to a place where I didn’t hurt so much.

Maud thinks I mustn’t have really wanted to do it. She thinks it was all a cry for help. Why else would I have sent Ben an email telling him that it was my turn to leave him? That I couldn’t live without him.

Maud needed to think it was just a cry for help, if you ask me. Because it was too hard to think it was anything but. And my parents? I don’t think they have ever forgiven me. I let them down. How could I have done that to them? As if I had done it just to spite them. Our relationship has never recovered. I have never recovered.