‘What did you two used to get up to?’
I have asked the question so many times, but Monica never complains. Sometimes, there will be something I’ve never heard before.
‘We didn’t get up to much really. In the first summer we spent together, we were fourteen. All we did was talk about boys, though the ones at our school could never compare to David Cassidy.’ She smiles at me. ‘He was famous in the seventies – Google him. We were so naive. We read about boys and sex from a book, for God’s sake. Forever by Judy Blume – though we’d heard about most things by sixteen.’ She returns her gaze to the window. ‘We didn’t spend much time at her house. I think she was ashamed, but she needn’t have been – her parents were lovely.’
‘Why would she feel ashamed?’
‘Her parents sent her to a school in the next town – she mixed with other people than those on her estate.’ She looks at me and places a hand on mine. ‘I’m not saying that it’s right or anything, for her to have felt like that. It’s just how it was. Her parents were older than most when she was born. When she was growing up, they focused on what was best for her. I wish my parents had been like that, but Debbie felt embarrassed that they showed so much interest in her life. It made her lonely, I think. She didn’t have many friends. She was like you, really.’
‘A loner, you mean?’
‘No, no. As if I’d say something like that to you.’ She squeezes my hand, rubbing the top of it with her thumb. ‘She chose her friends carefully … was wary of other people. Her parents sheltered her from the big bad world, protected her from the hardship they suffered.’ Monica sighs. ‘Time goes by too quickly. She was always there for me. Until the end. It was all my fault.’
My ears tingle with a new bit of the story – she has never mentioned any cross words between them.
‘What do you mean it was your fault?’
‘Has your dad never talked about the troubles we had?’
‘He doesn’t talk about her much at all, let alone any problems.’
‘Thinking about it … I don’t know if Peter would want me to say anything to you about it.’ Monica’s not looking at me any more. ‘We haven’t talked about it for such a long time, I don’t know what he remembers. Memories can get distorted … hold you back, you know? Such a horrible time.’
Monica is staring out of the window again. It’s like a mist has covered her eyes, between the past and the present. I follow her gaze. Mr Flowers, from the house opposite, has dropped his keys; he’s trying to pick them up using the end of his walking stick. I should go out and help him, but I want to hear what Monica has to say.
‘I’ve said too much. Your father never wanted you to find out anything bad about Debbie. He blames himself, too, I imagine. There’s a lot that’s been airbrushed from Debbie’s history.’
‘What do you mean?’
She sits up and reaches for a tissue to wipe away the fresh tears.
Dad’s heavy footsteps are on the stairs.
Monica leans over and puts a hand on my shoulder.
‘Please don’t tell your dad I told you anything, will you? He’d kill me if he found out I mentioned anything.’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. You’ve hardly said anything.’
She leans against the back of the chair.
‘I loved her, you know. She was like a sister to me.’
Dad turns the handle of the bedroom door. I put a smile on my face, so that when he opens the door, he’ll think everything is fine.
I put the key into our front door, and remember the letter hidden in Jack’s wallet. I have spent the past week worrying about it, but barely thought of it today. Does that mean I don’t care about him any more? I need to confront him, but that would mean admitting I was snooping again. I can’t have him think I’m not coping. It can’t be like last time. I nearly lost everything.
I let Sophie in through the door before me. She looks so small in her little grey school pinafore – her cute little legs. I can’t lose my little girl; I must keep it together – pretend everything is okay. But I make a mental note to go through all of Jack’s contacts on Facebook to see if there’s anyone by that name – there can’t be many. I have never met anyone called Francesca.
I reach into Sophie’s school bag and take out her reading book. She skips through to the kitchen and sits at the table next to Jack. I place the book in front of Sophie and she begins reading quietly to herself.
‘You’re back early,’ I say.
I glance around the kitchen. Jack’s put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and the empty beer bottles into the recycling. The worktops have been wiped clean and the bin has been emptied.
There’s a carrier bag of food on the counter. I peek inside: ingredients for a spaghetti bolognese and a bottle of red wine. I kiss the top of Jack’s head and we almost clash as he jolts in surprise.
‘Did you remember at last?’ I say to him.
‘Remember what?’ He winks and walks out of the kitchen, coming back seconds later with a bouquet of flowers and a small gift bag.
‘I’m so sorry, Anna,’ he says. ‘I’ve had the present in the boot of my car for days. I was mortified when I got to work this morning, saw it, and realised the date.’ He hands me the bunch of roses. ‘I got these as an extra – to say sorry.’ He strokes my cheek. ‘Are you going to open your present?’
‘I might save it for later – when I can really appreciate it.’
He’s smiling for the first time in weeks – I don’t want to spoil it by mentioning anything about love letters from strange women. He’s still looking at me, but his eyes glaze over.
‘Are you all right?’ I say.
He tilts his head to one side, blinking his thoughts away. ‘I was about to ask you the same thing. After that email—’
‘I’m fine.’ I don’t want to talk about it in front of Sophie. I nod in the direction of our daughter, her little head down in concentration.
‘If you put Sophie to bed,’ says Jack, ‘I can nip out to the storage unit and get that box of things you were looking for the other day.’
‘That would be great. Thank you.’
It seems I’m not the only one pretending we’re all right. I know he’s tried to make it better with the flowers, but I know there is something he’s hiding from me.
It was four years ago when I first searched Jack’s belongings. Sophie was asleep, and Jack had nipped to the bathroom. He’d just used his phone and the pin number wasn’t needed so I picked it up. There were several texts from a woman.
Jack caught me looking, though I was hardly subtle. I was standing in the middle of the living room with his phone in my shaking hands.
‘What are you doing, Anna?’ he’d said.
‘I was just borrowing your phone – mine’s out of battery.’
I didn’t look up. He walked towards me quickly, holding out his hand for me to give him the phone, but I held on to it.
‘But we’re at home,’ he said. ‘Use the landline.’
‘Who’s Samantha?’
‘What? Give me the phone, Anna. You can’t just go through people’s things.’
He lifted his hand to grab it, but I put my hand behind my back.
‘You’re