Something Only We Know (6 page)

I said, ‘OK, well, nice to meet you too.’

Owen sank down on the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘So she’s just gonna doss down here for a couple of weeks while she does some research.’

‘Oh. Right.’ I wondered what my face was registering.
Did you know she was coming, Owen? Who exactly is she? How long will she be around?
‘Research?’

‘Thought I’d see if I could fill in a few blanks on the family tree while I was over in the UK.’

‘You have relatives round here, then?’ I asked, wondering why she wasn’t staying with them.

‘Nobody alive. A couple of ancestors, maybe. Mainly I’m here to do some comparative work, study a few businesses and government systems in the UK and assess the way they impact on
various social groups. Plus I’m thinking, I’d really like to get to V as well. That would be pretty awesome.’

‘The festival? That isn’t for another two months.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ll probably have moved on before then. I’ve lots to do, places I want to see. Tons to pack in. I’m on a mission.’

She grinned, and Owen grinned back. I looked from one to the other.

‘And how did you two meet?’

‘Chelle and I got chatting online, in this Worldfair forum. I was asking about working conditions in Vietnam, and she’d visited there the summer before. I wanted to know if
she’d seen any sweatshops. We started a discussion on the wage chain, and it kind of went from there. One time I said to her, you know, if your travels ever bring you in this direction, give
us a shout. And then it turns out—’

‘When? When did you say that?’

‘January, February.’

‘You never mentioned it.’

‘I often chat online, to all sorts of people, Jen. About stuff you’re not interested in.’

I knew the stuff he meant: corporate dominance, macroeconomics, the politics of exploitation.

Chelle was unrolling some kind of batik sheet or throw, a brown affair with a fern pattern. She paused and blinked at me. ‘Is it a problem, me stopping here?’

‘No. God, no. Of course not. Make yourself at home. My boyfriend’s very easy-going.’

He smiled his approval at that so I knew it was the right thing to say, but really my heart had sunk. I wanted to rewind the last hour and start again from a better place. Owen, lodger-less,
opening the door and greeting me with open delight, asking how my day had been, sympathising, offering at the very least a snog and a shoulder massage. Some South American folk music. A toasted
pitta. Space to relax. I loved being in his bedroom, with its strange pin-ups of pre-war Dresden, the Prime Minister morphing into an alien, a glass head full of pills. Some of those posters
I’d sourced myself, from obscure shops down the backstreets of Manchester. It felt as if everything in there, from the tatty kelim bedcover to the dangling cobwebs, was at least
part-mine.

Even if I was never allowed to stay over. Unlike some. Who was this woman anyway? How sane? How honest? Might she not clear off with all his possessions at some point?

‘It’s funny, though,’ he was saying, ‘the way sometimes you meet a person online and you just click with them. I don’t know what it is. A coming together of minds,
I guess.’

I watched her drape her ferny throw across the sofa. ‘So you don’t know anyone else in the area, Chelle?’

‘There are some guys down in, where is it, Tilford? In Shropshire?’

‘Telford.’

‘That’s right. But I don’t really know them that well and they’re away travelling. Oh, hey, Owen, did you manage to get me a key cut?’

‘I did. It’s in the kitchen.’

‘Awesome.’

There was a pained silence. I didn’t have a key.

As Chelle went off to hunt, he reached across for my hand and drew me nearer. ‘This is great, isn’t it? It’s going to be so cool to be able to compare notes with someone from
the other side of the world. The global village in action. We’re going to have to make the most of Chelle while she’s here. There are so many questions I want to ask. Tonight she can
come down the Oak and I’ll introduce her to the crowd. You up for that, Jen?’

‘Well—’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. It’s my zumba class this evening.’

Owen looked disappointed. ‘I thought it would be nice, all of us together.’

‘I suppose I can miss it, for once. What time?’

‘Eightish, here. Or if you’re late, we’ll see you in the Oak.’

He pulled me down gently so I was sitting next to him.

‘Love that blouse on you, Jen. It makes me think of blood or rubies. Makes your hair look darker.’

‘You were the one who told me I looked good in red.’

‘I was right, then.’

This was more like it. ‘Shut up and kiss me,’ I said. And he did. In the second before our lips met I smelt something sweet and malty, a lunchtime beer, overlaid with his
rosemary-scented vegan deodorant. I knew he’d have spent his morning writing to Amnesty or emailing an MP or leafleting passers-by about exploitation and greed, and I wanted to say,
I
understand you’re fighting the good fight and I love you for it, but, just sometimes, why can’t you be less interested in the world and more interested in me? Why can’t you be
ordinary-selfish like the rest of us?

Because I am who I am, Jen,
I imagined him replying.
You knew that when you got involved.

‘Nearly forgot. I picked up this. I thought you’d like it,’ he said, drawing away from me and reaching inside his jeans pocket.

When he opened his hand he was holding a pebble, pale cloud-pink and smooth with delicate cerise veins across the surface. I could see why it had caught his eye.

‘Pretty. Where did you get it?’

‘Down by the river. I thought it looked a bit like a heart.’

He dropped it into my palm and closed my fingers round it.

I laid my head against his chest and exhaled, letting out the complications of the morning. Rosa’s nastiness I vanished away easily enough, but imprints of Joe and Ellie’s profile
photos still hung about in my mind. I wished I could talk to Owen about the Pascoe business. In the past he’d been sympathetic about Helen and her problems and demands; in fact he had a whole
heap of opinions regarding the media’s portrayal of women’s bodies and the unrealistic claims made on young people to conform.
Listen,
I could say,
Hel’s asked me to
do a thing and it doesn’t feel right. Yet I’m flattered she came to me for help and I want to trust her. Will I do more harm than good? Do you think she’s being honest? Am I being
unfair to Ned? Is it possible to update on an ex and then walk away scot-free?

But even as I ran through the questions I knew I wouldn’t be voicing them. Not to Owen, not to anyone. I was too unsure of what I was doing, too anxious over the morality of it. Simply
being here, though, being held close and letting my thoughts run freely was as good as a confession. Better, because there was no risk attached, no chance of judgement or a lecture. I clutched my
pebble and breathed into his shirt. I felt him stir against me.

There was a commotion as Chelle marched back into the room and, without warning, pulled the table out from the wall, scraping it judderingly across the carpet. ‘That’s better.’
That’s bitter.
‘Uh, hullo? Guys?’

With extreme reluctance I raised my head and pulled away from my boyfriend.

‘What?’

She was standing above us, a power lead in her hands. ‘Sockets?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Yeah, sorry to interrupt there,’ she said, not-sorry-at-all. ‘But any ideas where I can stick my charger?’

When I got home, Hel was watching TV and eating an ice pop. I noticed she’d put some lipstick on, which meant Ned must be coming round. She was wearing her favourite
dress, too, a vintage Laura Ashley with long sleeves. Even in the warmest weather my sister still tends to feel the cold.

‘What time are you out tonight?’ she said.

‘More or less as soon as I’ve eaten.’

‘I thought your dance class wasn’t till later?’

‘I’m not going to zumba. I’m off back into Chester.’

‘Ah. Don’t you mind that it’s nearly always you who trails in to see him and never the other way round?’

I flopped down next to her. She’d never said it outright, but I knew Hel was pretty lukewarm about Owen. The trouble was, she didn’t see him often enough to know what he was really
like.

‘It’s difficult for him because he only has the bike. He can’t be cycling twenty miles each way, in the dark, down those fast, twisty A roads whenever he wants an evening drink
with me.’

‘Well, I don’t see why he can’t get a car. A cheap little run-around. Surely his dad’d buy him one like a shot?’

‘He’d
love
a car. But they’re crap for the environment. Even the greenest models.’

‘So instead he lets you pollute the air with your carbon emissions.’

‘No, because he goes on a website and pays for me to off-set them.’

I let my head fall backwards, too tired to argue any more.

Perhaps she picked up on how I was feeling because she said, ‘It was only that Ned wanted to catch you before you went. He has this app on his phone, to do with generating spoof tabloid
news reports. He said you’d appreciate it. But he can show you another time. Owen taking you anywhere nice?’

‘We’re just meeting friends at the pub.’ I wondered what she’d think if I told her about the Chelle set-up. ‘How was the kennels?’

‘Poo city. As usual.’

‘That’s what you signed up for.’

‘I know, I’m not complaining. I scoop and hose, that’s basically my day. The dogs are nice. That’s what makes it worthwhile. There’s this Staffie with one eye, only
came in two days ago and he’s dead cute. He wags his tail so hard when you talk to him he nearly falls over. They’ve called him Isaac.’

‘Was he ill-treated? Is that how he lost his eye?’

‘No, I think it was a disease. But his owners couldn’t look after him, he was too boisterous, so they brought him to us. He’s a total sweetie. All he needs is a loving
home.’ She tilted her face appealingly.

‘I hope you’re not getting ideas. Mum won’t entertain the idea of a dog, you know that. Too messy, too hairy. She moans enough about keeping the house clean as it
is.’

‘Yeah. I did wonder about taking Ned to see him . . .’

’Don’t. That wouldn’t be fair. Anyway, his landlord won’t let him keep pets.’

‘No.’ I could see the cogs going round. She was trying to work out how she could get her own way.

Mum was clattering about in the kitchen. The front driveway was empty, which meant Dad must be working late. All I could think was that I needed to get under the shower, if I could just summon
up the energy.

‘And you, how was your day, Jen?’ asked Hel, unexpectedly.

‘Mine?’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Put it this way, I’d rather have been scraping up dog mess.’

‘That bad?’

‘Uh-huh. One day soon you’re going to read a newspaper headline about an editor being bludgeoned to death at her desk. Gerry’ll slope in one morning and find Rosa sprawled over
her keyboard, mouse in hand.’

‘And your prints will be on the murder weapon?’

‘You guessed it. Why are some people so vile?’

‘Good question. Something broken inside. Something that leaks poison into their souls. Mum gets some absolute gits coming into hotel reception. Did you hear about the guy who got fed up of
waiting because she was on the phone to another customer? Unzipped his wash bag and wrote “SERVICE” in toothpaste on the counter.’

‘Bloody hell. No, she didn’t tell me that one. What did she do?’

‘Wiped it up and dealt with his enquiry. That’s the job, she has to stay polite.’ Helen looked thoughtful. ‘You know, there’s this old guy at the kennels
who’s been there about twenty years, clearly hates my guts. It got to me at first, but I’ve worked out that an aggressively pleasant approach winds him up way better than snapping or
complaining would. It’s become quite funny, watching him struggle to manoeuvre. He’s got nothing to batter against, you know? You could try that technique with Rosa.’

‘You mean a charm offensive? Hmm. It might kill me in the process, that’s the only problem.’

Helen tipped up the ice pop and drained the melted liquid into her mouth. Even an action like that seemed graceful when executed by her. One time I’d been leaning on the saloon bar in The
Foxes, trying to order a drink, when a middle-aged man had sidled in next to me and begun a conversation. At first I’d assumed he was chatting me up, but then it transpired he used to work
with Dad and was simply being friendly. Except, when I’d got my beer and the barman was handing over my change, he went, ‘Say hello to Don and your mum from me, won’t you? And
that beautiful sister of yours.’ The phrase had burned itself across my brain there and then. Your Beautiful Sister. Because what did people say to her in similar circumstances? Give my
regards to the Plain One?

I heaved myself up off the sofa. Helen motioned me to wait.

‘Don’t let Rosa spoil it for you, Jen. Really. You’ve waited long enough for that job, studied and passed your exams and sent off a stack of applications. You mustn’t let
some sour old baggage get in the way of your career.’

‘No.’

‘You deserve to get what you want.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Well, you do.’

I was touched by her concern.

‘While you’re here, can I quickly ask,’ she went on. ‘It’s been a week now. I was wondering, have you had chance to search for Joe online?’

I noticed she’d lowered her voice. From the kitchen came a thud, like someone slamming a drawer in anger.

‘Um, yes. I’ve had a quick look. I want to go back and . . . make notes. What I mean is, summarise everything I can find, cover it all, so you don’t have to go searching
yourself. Then it’s done, finished, and you can put it to bed.’

‘I see. Like a dossier?’

‘No! Not like a dossier. That sounds way too creepy.’ But she was right; some kind of information file was almost what I’d had in mind. On my way home from Owen’s that
afternoon I’d glanced at my watch and noted it was primary school coming-out-time. I’d toyed with the idea of nipping over to the school named on his daughters’ sweatshirts, and
hanging around to see if I could catch a glimpse of Joe in real life. And then it had occurred to me that if
I
was thinking those weird stalker-thoughts, what might happen to Hel’s
brain if she slipped into the same groove? It was vital I kept her away from Facebook.