I nodded. I was almost laughing, I felt so elated. I would have promised anything. “I promise,” I said. “Don’t worry. Jesus, if I tell anyone about this, they’ll really think I’m–”

There was a short silence.

“They’ll really think what?” said Jessica.

“Nothing,” I said, my elation gone. The sun had not been shining but I felt as if it had gone behind the clouds anyway. “Nothing.”

I waited for her to push me on what I meant, but she simply sat back and breathed out smoke. She was such a contrast to all the people I knew. It made a strange and refreshing change to be sat opposite someone who would just let me be, who would leave it, who wouldn’t make a fuss.

“I’ve never been back, you know,” she said, suddenly.

I raised my eyebrows. “Never been back where?”

“Cornwall.”

It gave me a jolt. I’d thought she was going to say Cumbria. “Nor have I,” I said rather slowly, realising it for the first time.

She read my mind. “I haven’t been back – home – either.”

“You haven’t?” So she still called it home. As did I. When do the houses of your childhood stop being home?

“No,” she said, shortly. “I didn’t know it was home until recently.”

I felt a little chill again, a finger of cold nudging me in the pit of the belly.

“No?” I said, for want of something better.

“No.” She stubbed out her cigarette. The ashtray was piled high with stubs and flaking grey ash.

“Well–” I said, unsure of what I was going to say. The choice was taken from me. I heard a shout from afar and realised, with disbelief, that it was my name being called. I looked down the street to see the distant but recognisable figure of Matt striding towards me.

“It’s my husband,” I said, panicking. I felt as guilty as if I were sitting there with a lover. “He’s coming over here.”

The panic in my voice was echoed in Jessica’s. She stood up so abruptly, my half full glass fell over, emptying red wine over the surface of the table.

“He can’t see me!” she said. She was grabbing up her cigarettes, her bag, her blonde hair falling over her face. “Maudie, I can’t meet him, not yet, I can’t. I’m sorry – I’m going to have to go–”

She stumbled over the seating bench of the table and almost ran into the pub. I stared after her, open mouthed. Red wine began to drip onto my jeans beneath the table.

“Maudie!”

Matt was almost upon me. I managed to drag my gaze from the door of the pub and brought it to focus on my husband.

“Maudie,” said Matt. He was wearing his tweed jacket and the red scarf I’d bought him for Christmas. “Hello, darling. I’ve been calling you, didn’t you hear me? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nothing much,” I said, managing a smile. Belatedly, I realised red wine had soaked into my trousers and cursed, brushing at them ineffectively beneath the table. “Shit. Not much, darling. I just thought–”

“Drinking during the day?” he said, sliding into the place Jessica had so recently and violently vacated. I blinked. He looked so... so real and alive.

I couldn’t read his tone; normally, I’d know if he was being serious but my brain felt battered by Jessica’s presence. “Terrible, huh?” I said, smiling. “I’ve just been to the gym so I was feeling rather virtuous and thought I’d put a stop to that immediately.”

“Right,” said Matt. He smiled and I relaxed a little. “Who on Earth were you talking to, anyway?”

I stopped in the middle of righting my upset glass. I could feel the blood thumping in my head.

“Oh no-one, really,” I said, as casually as I could. “Just someone wanting directions. Some tourist.”

“No, I mean who were you talking to?” he said, unbuttoning his jacket.

“What do you mean?” I said.

He smiled. “Well, I couldn't really see clearly but it looked like you were just nattering away to yourself for a while. Talking to yourself. Did you have the phone headset on?”

I felt my heart give a painful jump. My mouth felt suddenly dry.

“That’s right,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice under control. I breathed in and out a few times before I went on. “I had to make a few calls. Then someone asked me for directions.”

“Right,” said Matt, losing interest. He was looking around for a member of the bar staff. I could hear my heartbeat, quite clearly, thundering in my ears as I replayed his casual remark. It looked like you were just nattering away to yourself. I would not think about that remark. I would not think, full stop.

“They don’t do table service here, do they?” said Matt. He seemed to be talking from a great distance away. I stared at him, at his familiar face, willing my own face not to show my distress. “I’ll go in and get us a drink, if you want to stay?”

“That would be lovely,” I heard myself say. He stood up and went into the bar.

I sat there on the bench in my wine-stained jeans, trying to think of nothing. I couldn’t think of anything other than Jessica at the moment.

“Cheers, sweetheart,” Matt said, returning to the table. "Classes finished early today, thank God. It’s good to be out and about and not stuck in a bloody lecture hall for once."

“Yes," I said, in my cheerful robot’s voice. "Cheers."

Behind his back, the pub door opened and Jessica walked out, her long coat flaring out behind her. My hand twitched and I spilt yet more wine on the already sodden table.

“Whoops,” said Matt, mopping away with a tissue.

Behind his back, Jessica looked at me for a long moment. I couldn’t decipher her expression; I could barely see. But I saw her nod, a quick, sharp bob of the head, and she began to walk away, down the street, her hands in her pockets, her blonde hair fluttering behind her like a torn golden headscarf. She didn’t look back. I watched her until Matt had finished cleaning up the wine, and then I had to look at him. Jessica was gone.

Chapter Twenty Three

 

I got through the next couple of days quite successfully by not allowing myself to think. It was a good test of mental stamina. Every time my thoughts went to Jessica, I ruthlessly headed them off. I looped an elasticated hairband about my wrist and snapped it against my skin every time I thought about her, saying to myself 'stop'. Nothing else, just 'stop'. If that didn't work, I sang lyrics to Beatles songs under my breath until I'd tricked my mind into thinking about something else.  Sometimes I thought of my brain, my mind, with something approaching hate. My body had never let me down – indeed, in one particular way, although it hadn't seemed so at the time, it had quite spectacularly not let me down - but my mind... It felt like the enemy; as if there were someone else stuck in my head. It gave me a grim pleasure to trick it into doing what I wanted, for a change.

Things between Matt and myself were rather better than they had been. Perhaps it was my own behaviour that had made the change; I was so determined not to give in to my darkest thoughts that I was almost relentlessly cheerful, even if I didn’t feel it. I was careful about drinking. I still drank, but not so that Matt could see. I went to the gym and swam, I bought new clothes and had my hair done, I bought new books and films and music. I began looking at property websites, working out what was out there, what could be done. I had quite a clear picture in my head of what I wanted. A country house but not a huge, stone pile like Caernaven, with acres of grounds. A manageably sized house, old but not too old, not too remote. Close enough to a big town so that we would still be able to shop and have dinner and see a film when we wanted to, but far enough away from the hustle and bustle for some peace and solitude.