Never Alone (14 page)

Sarah drops Will off in Thirsk on the way back. He is meeting a friend, he says. She leaves him in the Market Place and drives out towards Sutton Bank, pulls over in a lay-by and cries, great gasping sobs racking her body. There is nobody to see. Cars and lorries whizz past her. She forgets, of course, how bad things are with Louis. When months pass with no contact it’s almost easy to believe he is off somewhere, too busy to call. Being forced into that situation with him so cold – so
cold
– has made her realise just how angry he still is.

Now she has hiccups, and that stops her crying because she is cross at herself. It’s all so pointless; crying isn’t going to make anything better.

Back at home she takes the dogs out and thinks about going doing some more work, but she can’t face it. She stands shivering by the back door, watching as Tess sniffs suspiciously around the croft. Whatever freaked her out yesterday has gone; she gives the shack one last disgusted look and heads back down the hill, wagging her tail. Basil, tanks emptied, is already waiting to go inside.

The phone is ringing in the house. Thinking it might be Kitty, Sarah kicks off her boots and runs to the kitchen to pick it up.

‘Did I catch you at a bad time?’ Aiden says, chuckling at how breathless she is.

‘I just got in with the dogs,’ she replies.

‘I’m heading back now,’ he says.

She wonders why he is telling her. Presumably he’s been out working somewhere, doing whatever it is he does, setting up franchises. ‘Um, okay. Where are you? York?’

‘Harrogate. I was thinking of you today.’

‘Were you?’ she asks, surprised.

‘Couldn’t stop.’

She is not sure if him thinking about her is a bad thing or not. She is still pondering it as she goes into the kitchen, a few minutes later. Distracted, she makes a cottage pie big enough for six people, and leaves it to cool down. Doing that has used up an hour. Normally she would separate it into portions for freezing, but this one will do for Friday night’s dinner. She has shown herself to be incapable of cooking a fresh meal for one. Each time she attempts it, she cooks too much; now, five months after Kitty left, she has given up trying and instead gone back to her old, familiar amounts – the family plus leftovers – freezing it in plastic tubs she has bought from Yorkshire Deals in Thirsk. The freezer is already full – soups, curries, casseroles – but she has a need to cook. It distracts her from the empty house, makes her feel as though she has a purpose.

Kitty’s room is almost exactly as she left it, when she headed back to uni after Christmas, a week earlier than she needed to; citing work and the need to get into the library. Only the dirty clothes and linen have been removed, the cups and the dishes Sarah found under the bed. Otherwise, it’s all there; everything is lined up waiting for Kitty to return.

Sarah sometimes sits there, on Kitty’s bed, looking around the room at the posters and the corkboard with photos of her friends, gig tickets, doodles stuck to it. But she does not stay for long. It’s too quiet.

Louis’s room is empty; all that remains are a few oily stains on the wallpaper where posters were stuck to the walls. It looks like what it is now: a spare room. He took everything with him when he went.

 It is dark outside but she notices the light is on in the cottage; so Aiden is home. She had wondered if he was going to come over, but he has not. Probably it’s tiring, whatever it is he does.

When she has finished eating her bowlful of cottage pie she washes up and leaves the plate on the draining board. The dishwasher, that’s another thing – by the time she has enough crockery to fill it even moderately full, everything has dried on, and gone a bit manky. She had started rinsing everything assiduously before putting it in there, but quickly realised it was even easier to just wash it by hand and be done with it.

It’s these unexpected things that hit her hardest. The quiet in the house, the not having anyone to talk to – she’d considered the impact that would have, thought she had dealt with it by bracing herself. But it’s the repetition of doing her own washing, cleaning her own crockery. Things still being in the place she left them. And the lack of purpose! Nobody calling out that extended ‘Mu-u-um?’ when they needed her.

Nobody needs her now.

At nine, wondering if it’s too early to go to bed, the phone rings again – it’s Kitty.

‘Hey, Mum,’ she says.

‘Are you out somewhere?’ In the background, Sarah can hear the noise of a bar – clinking, tinny music, layers of voices, laughter – and instantly the wave of mum-worry washes over her. She frowns at her own reaction. Kitty can take care of herself.

‘Sort of. I wanted to stay in but Oscar’s meeting a friend so I said I’d come along. Going home in a bit, though.’

Kitty sounds as if she has had a drink, or several. Perhaps it’s Sarah’s imagination.

‘How are you getting home?’

‘Don’t worry, Mum. Oscar’s going to walk me back.’

‘That’s good,’ she replies, simultaneously thinking
is it
?

‘I’m going to try and get the 16.56 on Friday.’

‘Is that the one that gets in at half-past six?’

It’s the briefest of conversations, and it leaves Sarah feeling worse. Before it can take hold, she distracts herself by letting the dogs out the back for a last wee.

When she shuts the door again, she hears a noise in the house; Tess barks at it and then Basil does too, and she follows them into the kitchen. Basil is scratching at the door and then she hears a knock.

Aiden is outside.

‘You can just come in,’ she says. ‘I told you, it’s not locked.’

There is something about the way he is looking at her. Inside her, something fires.

You want to talk to her.

You want to tell her about Karine, about how suddenly your life feels different, because of her, but when she opens the door all the words evaporate.

‘You can just come in. It’s not locked.’

You are not listening. You do not wish to be reminded that you could just walk in at any moment. The thought of that is just too, too tempting.

You knock on the door and you will continue to do so because you have this feeling, this sixth sense that she might be there with that kid, that they are fucking or whatever, that you will see something now that you will never be able to unsee: her in the arms of a man who is not you. The sight of her happy with someone else. You saw that before, didn’t you, when she started seeing Jim? You had to run away to the other side of the world to try to get over it.

In the kitchen you hold yourself in check for as long as you can. To prove to yourself that you can resist. You have control.

But then the need to kiss her is too strong. You are expecting her to resist, to flinch, but she does neither. In fact to your surprise and relief she is responding, her hands at your back, pulling at your sweater, slipping up underneath to touch bare skin. She makes a sound, like a groan, and you pull away from her again to see her face, to check she is all right.

She smiles at you.

You push her back against the kitchen table and her fingers are fumbling at your belt buckle, struggling with it until you take over. She undoes her jeans and without any hesitation slips them down, off, spreading her knees so you can get between them, and within a second or two you are pushing inside her. Her hands on your backside, pulling you closer.

Yes yes yes.

The feeling is indescribable. You try not to move too fast, because, if you do, this will all be over; but she is pulling you in, and you can’t help it, thrusting because it’s the only thing you can do. And you can hear her breathing fast against your neck, and something else, a sound like pain or something, a little squeak.

It’s enough to make you stop, to pull her face towards you so you can see her eyes. You have also realised with a shock that this is the first time you’ve not worn a condom.

‘You stopped,’ she breathes. ‘Don’t stop, Aiden, don’t…’

So you stop thinking and fuck her hard, fast, losing control until you feel it building inside you and then you spin over the edge; holding it for a second, holding your breath, then pulling out because you have to, coming between her thighs and then it’s over.

She is holding you, both her arms around you.

You’re aware that she is leaning back against the kitchen table in a way that must be uncomfortable. You hear a soft whine and look down to see Basil sitting at your feet, looking up at you in confusion.

‘Oh, my God,’ you say, and laugh. ‘Sorry, Basil.’

She laughs too. She is breathing hard.

‘I think I just traumatised your dog.’

‘Good job he can’t talk,’ Sarah says.

You look at her face, flushed, her eyes shining. Then you kiss her, tenderly this time, tasting her.

You move away, and she pulls her jeans on, standing awkwardly. A second later, and you are both fully dressed again.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say. ‘That was –’

‘Do you want a drink?’

‘Sure,’ you say.

‘Can you help yourself? I’m just going to, um…’

She disappears upstairs. You’re angry at your loss of control. You have never done that before. You cannot let it happen again.

You find a bottle of wine in the fridge and two glasses, make a mental note to replace it. It’s probably in there ready for her visitors this weekend. Still, it will do for now, and you need something to take the edge off. When you pour the wine you realise your hand is shaking.

She is standing in the doorway.

‘What is it?’ you ask.

Sarah gives an odd little laugh. ‘Nothing. I just thought you’d be gone by the time I got back.’

‘Is that what I do?’ you ask.

‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘You’re always running away.’

‘Ouch.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to stop you.’

‘What if I want to stop?’

You offer her a glass and she takes it and leads you into the living room, curling up into the corner of the couch. You sit next to her, where you can place your hand on her knee.

‘I saw Louis earlier,’ she says.

‘How is he?’ you ask.

‘Hostile,’ she says, drinking her wine.

‘Are you going to tell me what happened between you?’

She gives a short, humourless laugh. ‘I’m not even sure. He blames me for Jim’s death, that’s part of it. He didn’t agree with the decision to not resuscitate. He blames me for
the accident too, like I said. So for most of that year he was barely speaking to me.’

‘He loved his dad very much,’ you say. ‘He must have found it tough. It’s not right that he took it out on you.’

There is a pause. She is thinking about everything she says. You wonder if that’s because she still doesn’t trust you.

‘I thought it was. I blamed myself, too. Which meant it was very hard to find a way to reach him. And, in any case, he just wanted to get away. He wanted to escape from it all. After his birthday –’ She stops short, thinks, and drinks some more wine.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘Just that he left home.’

That wasn’t it, you think; or, if it was, it reminded her of something she had forgotten.

‘But you saw him today?’

‘Will turned up this morning. He found out where Louis works, I don’t know how. So we had a weird kind of road trip out to where Louis has this farm. Lots of polytunnels.’

‘And? How was it?’

She looks at her hands, bites her lip. ‘Pretty grim, actually. Still. It was nice of Will to go to the trouble. I think he knows I’m finding it tough without Kitty.’

You are surprised by this, by her calm acceptance of what you would call interfering, especially from someone she hardly knows.

‘Are you?’

Sarah takes a deep breath in. ‘I’ll manage,’ she says. ‘It’s nice that he cares.’

‘You’re not on your own any more, though.’

You know instantly that it’s the wrong thing to say, and you wish you could take the words back. A cloud has crossed her face. You cannot interfere, or imply that she needs you.

‘It’s late,’ she says.

‘Sure.’

You take your wine glass through to the kitchen, rinse it under the tap. Sarah is standing in the doorway. ‘I would ask you to stay,’ she says. ‘I’m not very good company at the moment, though. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ you say, smiling at her to reassure her that you mean it.

‘I didn’t even ask how your day went.’

This time your smile is genuine. ‘It was fine. But I was glad when it was over and I could come home.’

A few minutes later you’re shutting the door of the cottage. It’s cold in here because you’ve been out all day. The door has a deadlock on it, and you have not been bothering to lock it, once you’re home. But now you stare at it, thinking about Will and how he invites himself in, surprises people, interferes in friendships and relationships that are none of his business.

You lock the door.

Perhaps Sarah should start locking her door, too.

Sarah finds it difficult to get to sleep.

She should have had a bath to warm up a bit, to relax, because, lying in bed, she has the darkness for company and there’s nothing to stop the thoughts; they crowd over her, jostling for space.

Even taking into account the money Aiden is giving her for rent, it’s not enough. She doesn’t want to resort to bankruptcy, or raising money on the house through an equity release scheme, because Sophie would find out about it and then she would demand to know why Sarah didn’t ask her for help. She could, of course, actually ask Sophie for help. But there is no way to pay Sophie back, and, even though the debt is not her fault but Jim’s, she cannot bring herself to talk about it with her friend.

The thought of it makes her think of her father, who died from a heart attack in his early fifties. He was a proud man, and money was personal. He would sooner have squatted in the corner and had kittens than discuss financial concerns with anyone, much less a friend who was well-off. Then there is her sister, Kay, who lives in Devon with her own family and is, these days, scarcely ever in touch. Could she ask her? It would be a very difficult conversation. Sarah has never got on particularly well with her, and they barely manage Christmas cards.

And then there is the other option, much closer to home. Louis, who seems to be doing well now. Will mentioned
a contract with a big hotel. And now Louis has a team of people working for him. Maybe, if she can manage to stay in touch with him, he might give her some work? She could even take the dogs with her.

But it is no use. Even if she could bring herself to ask Louis, which she cannot, what if he said no? How would she ever be able to repair things between them then?

She closes her eyes against the darkness and breathes deeply, slowly, trying to relax, trying to force all thought of money from her mind.

The wind roars outside, wrapping itself around the house and tugging at the loose stones, pushing its way in through the gaps and cracks and mouse holes. That’s the other thing to consider: the house is in need of serious repairs. Even if she were to find a buyer for a grey stone farmhouse hunkering into a cold, damp hillside miles from anywhere, whoever was mad enough to make an offer would probably take one look at the structural survey and pull out.

A sudden noise – not the wind, something close by – makes her eyes snap open again. She sits up. The door to her bedroom, the one that she pushed almost closed, is ajar. She hears a soft whine, and Basil’s tail thumps against the carpeted floor. He usually sleeps downstairs, but tonight perhaps he has sensed that she could do with company. She holds a hand out into empty space, hears him padding across to her, feels a warm lick on her fingers and then a heavy doggy sigh as he settles down next to the bed.

Sarah closes her eyes again and thinks of other things: Kitty, drunk, walking home alone because Oscar, whoever he is, has gone off with someone else… Louis, mad with fury, shouting at her on the morning after his twenty-first birthday… and Jim, in the car beside her, unconscious, blood on his face.