Our House by Louise Candlish (45)

46

‘Fi’s Story’ > 02:45:48

The last time I saw Bram, with my own eyes? It would have been on the last Sunday, Sunday the 8th, the noon handover at Trinity Avenue. Was there anything different about him, anything about his manner that augured betrayal – betrayal on a whole new level?

There wasn’t. I’m sorry. He briefed me on the boys, asked how I was. I noted, and appreciated, the absence of any mention of Toby. Even now, when I try to make something significant of a small detail, I fail. It was raining and he had no umbrella? That could be a metaphor, I suppose.

He was just Bram, or at least the creature Bram had become. When he left, I had the same feeling I’d had every Sunday and would no doubt have continued to have had the sky not fallen in: disbelief that he could have done this to us, sadness that he wasn’t mine anymore.

A weekly interlude of irrational sentiment, I admit. But I wouldn’t be human if that didn’t make me a bit sad.

Bram, Word document

Fi, I’d said goodbye to in my own way – that is, without her knowing. (Very defining, you’re probably thinking.) It was Tuesday the 10th and I knew from the diary app that she was doing what she usually did on a Tuesday, which was arriving at Alder Rise Station on the 18.30 from Victoria and going straight home, where her mother would have fed the boys and umpired their latest battle. She emerged from the tunnel on the edge of the commuter swarm, scratching the skin by her right eyebrow, adjusting the shoulder strap of her laptop bag. She didn’t notice me there, didn’t sense me following her down the Parade (she didn’t even glance at the Two Brewers). On the corner of Trinity Avenue, she paused and turned her head. It wasn’t an image that was ‘special’: there was no breeze to flare her clothing, no serendipitously placed light to catch her in memorable silhouette. Nothing about her expression or posture betrayed the emotions she’d confessed to feeling on approaching the house after work: general excitement to see the boys, specific dread that they might be fighting, that her day’s labours were about to begin just as she needed to rest.

She was exactly as she might have been any day at about that time. A woman with half her life behind her and the other half ahead.

Which, I know, was an unfair place for me to leave her.

*

Before dawn, I returned to the flat for the last time. I placed the keys on the kitchen worktop, along with details of the storage facility and Harry’s spelling book, unearthed at the eleventh hour from one of the boxes.

No note, no letter.

All set, I texted Mike.

As usual, he responded instantaneously:

As soon as I get confirmation the funds have landed, Wendy will deliver new pp etc to the flat. Cheers.

Cheers? Twat. I deleted the message, pocketed the pay-as-you-go phone, then picked up my pre-packed bag and left. I took a mini cab from the station to Battersea, where I had the driver wait while I posted a package through Challoner’s letterbox containing two sets of Trinity Avenue house keys (mine and the spares Kirsty kept for us, but not Fi’s or her mother’s – I hadn’t been able to engineer that). I told the driver to take me on to Victoria Station and messaged my mother en route to ask her to kiss the boys good morning for me and wish them a lovely day. I’d already briefed her that she should phone Fi direct to liaise about their return on Saturday morning.

In the street outside the station, I removed the SIM from my official mobile phone, slipped it into a drain, then re-pocketed the phone. Careful to leave the pay-as-you-go turned on in order to receive the many further messages Mike would be sure to send me throughout the day, I turned off the ringer and dropped it into the nearest bin.

Inside, I found a cashpoint and emptied my bank account of its last funds, before buying a ticket for cash and boarding the next Gatwick Express train. It was 7.30 a.m., the incoming throngs already thickening. I guessed Fi wouldn’t be awake yet, even if the charlatan in bed with her was already checking his phone, eager for confirmation of his remarkable change in fortunes.

‘Fi’s Story’ > 02:46:45

‘You keep looking at your phone,’ I said to Toby, over the hotel breakfast table. ‘Expecting a call?’

‘Just an email confirming something for tonight.’

He had an important function that evening, an advance gathering of the Commission before an announcement the following week of the initial findings of their report. Transport executives from Singapore, Stockholm and Milan would be present, as well as government officials. Though he would need to leave Winchester after lunch, he’d arranged for me to keep the room and return to London as late as I pleased.

God, what a patsy I was. I remember very clearly sitting there at the breakfast table when he’d gone to the bathroom, staring at the phone lying face down next to his cappuccino and consciously disregarding memories of Polly’s urging me to ‘dig for the truth’.

That’s the problem with actively disassociating yourself from life’s cynics: you deprive yourself of their good advice.

Bram, Word document

At Gatwick, I bought a return ticket to Geneva with cash. (My thinking: a return is less suspicious than a single. On the other hand, is cash more suspicious than card? Then: neither is suspicious. Millions of people fly out of here every week and airport staff have seen every last quirk of traveller behaviour. Get a grip, Bram.)

I used the self check-in, got through passport control without any trouble, and bought a mix of Swiss currency and euros with the cash I’d amassed.

With no time left for self-doubt, I proceeded to the gate.

‘Fi’s Story’ > 02:47:37

As it turned out, it was I who got the pesky work call, when we were back in our room after breakfast gathering a few things for a guided tour of Winchester College.

‘Where’s the Spirals brief for the agency?’ Clara asked, her degree of panic suggesting it might have been building for some time.

I frowned. ‘Didn’t you send it to them yesterday?’

‘No, they’ve asked for a briefing in person and we scheduled it for this afternoon. But it’s not on the server. I’ve had IT down to look and they can’t find it anywhere.’

Calling me was her last resort, plainly. I saw exactly what was going on here. In my absence, she’d sensed an opportunity to present the work as her own. (Yes, irritating, but if you’re good at your job, you have no need to feel threatened.)

‘Don’t worry, it’s on my hard drive at home. I’ll see if I can get it sent over to you.’

‘We really need it this morning, Fi. Early afternoon at the latest. The meeting’s at three.’

‘Three?’ A crazy slot to have agreed for a briefing, last thing on a Friday. I did not point out that she was a little slow in noticing the file’s absence – not to mention in rehearsing her presentation. I hadn’t worked on it since Tuesday evening.

‘Let me call you back. Meanwhile, have another hunt. I might have used a different file name.’

‘What is it?’ Toby asked, glancing up from his own phone.

‘Just a presentation I must have forgotten to put on the work server before I left. It’s on my laptop at home. Clara’s only just noticed.’

‘Can’t she wait till Monday?’

‘No, she’s presenting it today. Not to worry, my neighbour Kirsty’s got keys to the house so I’ll ask her to find it. I’m just trying to think where I left it. Maybe in my bedroom . . .’

‘Why not ask Bram?’ Toby suggested. ‘Didn’t you say he was working from home today so he can pick the boys up from school?’

‘That’s true.’ I dismissed uneasy thoughts of the last time Bram had been granted access to my bedroom and dialled his number. ‘How weird, it’s saying his phone’s out of service.’

‘Really? That’s not very helpful, is it?’

‘Let me try Kirsty. Otherwise I might have to head back a bit early.’

Toby watched with dismay as I scrolled for Kirsty’s number. It was flattering that he wanted me to stay, to eke out our time together. You know, there were many things I was enjoying about the sapling relationship, but the one that sprang to mind there and then was control. Balance. I was the one cutting short the break, I was the one deciding what came first – in this case my duty to my colleagues. And, yes, it did cross my mind that I was also the one who had strayed, but it wasn’t as if we had sworn exclusivity, was it? The point is it was all in glorious contrast to the uncertainty I’d felt during those last couple of years with Bram. It made me optimistic for our future, hopeful that we would be exclusive.

‘Kirsty? Hi, darling, are you at home by any chance? Could you do me a favour and use the spare key to pop into my place? What I need is – oh, really? Okay. No problem. I’ll see you later.’ I turned to Toby, frowning. ‘She says Bram asked her for the keys earlier in the week. He’d lost his, apparently. He didn’t tell me that, surprise, surprise.’

‘Fool,’ Toby said, with feeling.

‘I know. This is the kind of thing that drives me nuts. I know it was him who lost those car keys.’ Remembering the antidepressants, I curtailed further criticism; perhaps the medication had impaired Bram’s memory? (Well, if he was at home that afternoon when I returned, it would be the perfect opportunity to broach the subject.) ‘I’m sorry, but it looks like I’ll have to shoot off early and save the day.’

‘Are you sure your laptop’s not at the flat?’ Toby said.

‘What difference does it make?’ I’d noticed that since the assault he often asked about the bird’s nest logistics, presumably wary of bumping into the Neanderthal ex again. ‘There’s no need for you to come with me. If you don’t fancy the college tour, we’ve got that table booked for lunch, you could still go? Then head back in time for your drinks thing.’

He surprised me then by crossing the room to kiss me. ‘At least stay a bit longer,’ he murmured, his fingers in my hair.

‘It’s already ten o’clock, I really can’t.’

‘Come on, what’s twenty minutes?’

When I finally made my exit, the taxi waiting to take me to the station, he kissed me again with such feeling the cabbie averted his eyes.

‘How long does the train take?’ he asked, finally releasing me.

‘I’ll change at Clapham Junction for Alder Rise, so I should be able to get the file to Clara by one-ish, which will be in good time for the briefing. I suppose I should be grateful she’s only spotted it now and not earlier. It’s been a great few days, Toby. Really. Let’s do it again.’

‘Definitely,’ he agreed. ‘Text me that you’re home safely.’

Really, it was sweet how dejected he looked.

*

The gods were on my side and my train connections were smooth, getting me into Alder Rise Station before 12.30 p.m. I texted Bram to say I was coming, but the message was undelivered, thanks to the out-of-service line. Not ideal if the school needed to get hold of him, but it didn’t matter, I was back in Alder Rise, back in charge.

I turned into Trinity Avenue with a smile on my face. The sunlight was unusually rich and golden for January. Lovely, truly lovely. Focusing on the van about halfway down, I thought, I must be mistaken, but it looks exactly as if someone is moving into my house . . .