The Better Woman (29 page)

The doctor, whilst renewing her prescription for the sleeping pills, had encouraged her to talk to Andrew.

‘Better out than in,' he advised. ‘It's wonderful therapy – and who knows, he may be able to hear you.'

Jodi tried it out. First, she'd just whisper as she told him about her day. Then, because it seemed so natural and right, her voice became louder, as if this were a normal conversation. She could even hear his response. They talked about everything, even the fact that part of her wanted to leave him and go back to Sydney.

‘You still don't like it here, do you?' he asked.

‘Not as much as you do,' she replied softly.

‘I'll go back to Sydney with you if you want.'

‘Do you mean it?'

‘Of course I do.'

His smile was so real. But when she reached to touch it, her fingers brushed air.

Suddenly angry, she swung to the other extreme, from denial to harsh acceptance.

Stop talking to yourself. He's dead.

Anger felt good, much better than the dull ache of grief or the bitter-sweet conversations. But it never stayed around for more than a few minutes.

If only I'd arranged to meet him earlier.

If he'd been crossing the road a minute earlier, even five seconds earlier, he wouldn't have been hit. It would have been someone else, one of the people at the side of the road, looking on at the accident and counting their blessings at their near miss.

If only it hadn't been raining so hard.

The road wouldn't have been so slippery. The tyres would have had some traction. The car wouldn't have pirouetted out of control.

If only the driver hadn't been going so fast.

The force of impact wouldn't have thrown Andrew up into the air. His shoes wouldn't have gone flying from his feet. He wouldn't have crashed down, his beige trench coat blanketing his broken body.

Grandma's nocturnal phone calls ceased.

‘She's devastated for you,' Shirley explained. ‘She was so sure you were going to be happy with Andrew. This has floored her – aged her ten years.'

‘I think it's obvious by now that my life plan doesn't have happy-ever-afters in it,' Jodi replied bitterly.

‘Will you come home?' Shirley implored for the umpteenth time. ‘Let her see for herself that you'll be okay. And let her, and me, help you through?'

‘I can't . . .' Jodi choked on a sob. ‘I'm sorry, Mum. You see, Andrew's still here, around me. I can't leave him.'

‘Don't cry,' Shirley urged with a catch in her own voice. ‘It's okay. Stay there if that's where you need to be. Grandma will be fine.'

Despite her mother's assurances, Jodi was filled with terrible guilt. She'd caused her grandmother a lot of pain: Bob's violent death, the murder trial, Andrew's accident. Grandma was a victim too: robbed of her right to a peaceful old age.

‘Tell her I'll come home for Christmas,' she promised impulsively. ‘That should give her something to look forward to.'

Jodi hung up and hugged her knees to her chest. She was convinced that Andrew's death was linked to Bob's. She had taken a life and, in return, Andrew had been taken from her. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Was God even with her now? Had justice been done? Would Grandma be able to live the rest of her days in peace, without further tragedy?

Janice called around once a week, on Thursdays. Jodi would cook a meal, one of the few nights she bothered, and they would share a bottle of wine. Janice talked about Andrew, her memories flitting from when he was a baby to a teenager. Jodi loved to hear things she hadn't previously known about him. She could almost fool herself into thinking he was still alive.

Inevitably, though, the night would end in tears. The comfort that the memories brought reached a saturation point and
hopelessness and loss took over. Sometimes Janice was too upset and too tipsy to begin the journey back to Harrow and she'd sleep on the sofa. Jodi didn't mind. Janice had become a friend. Someone with whom she could share a meal and a glass of wine. Someone with whom she could cry.

All too soon it was autumn and leaves fell inch-deep, cluttering the footpaths and gutters. They were brown and dry and would crunch underfoot, until heavy rain at the start of October turned them into soggy mulch. At first it had been seconds, hours and days that had passed by without Andrew. Now it was seasons.

Janice turned up one night looking different. Her hair had been trimmed and coloured, and the boots she slipped off at the door were high-heeled and stylish.

‘I've left Simon,' she announced as she set her contribution to dinner, a bottle of shiraz, down on the dining table.

‘Oh.'

Jodi was taken aback at the news. Janice rarely spoke of Simon and had given no clue that she was about to take such a drastic step.

‘Should have done it years ago,' Janice declared. ‘I knew early on that I'd made a mistake, but I thought I'd made my bed and had to lie on it. Life's short, though, isn't it? Too short to be unhappy. What's for dinner?'

‘Beef curry,' Jodi replied woodenly.

‘Great. I'm famished.'

Janice did most of the talking throughout the meal. She had the confident air of a woman who was getting her life back together.

‘What's up with you tonight?' she asked, looking closely at Jodi's face.

‘You,' Jodi answered honestly.

‘What have I done?'

‘You've left Simon, got your hair done – which is lovely, by the way . . .' Jodi trailed off, fearing she sounded churlish.

Janice didn't need to have it spelled out for her. ‘This hasn't been easy,' she confessed, her eyes glazing over, ‘but I'm trying really hard to pull myself together. That's me, though, not you. Let your grief run its course, Jodi. I'm here for you regardless of how long it takes.'

Suddenly they were both crying and it was just like every other Thursday night.

Jodi dutifully went through the mechanics of fulfilling her promise to Grandma. She booked a flight to Sydney, organised leave from work, and tried to dismiss the panic she felt at the thought of leaving London, albeit only for two weeks.

‘I know you're scared,' Janice was understanding, ‘but this is the right thing to do. It'll be hard at first, like opening a wound, but you have to do it to move on. Don't worry about the apartment while you're gone – I'll keep an eye on it.'

It seemed that Janice was now joining her mother and grandmother in the push to get her out of London. It felt unfair, especially when Janice had told her to ‘take her time' with her grief.

Jodi browsed through Harrods for gifts to take home. She chose an expensive silk scarf for Grandma and a leather purse for Shirley. She found herself smiling at the thought of being scolded by Grandma for her extravagance.

The week before Christmas, just as Jodi was beginning to come to terms with the emotional consequences of the trip, Invesco provided her with a way of bowing out. The CEO announced
a major strategic initiative: the expansion of the existing investment management business into the institutional pension-fund market.

‘We're designing a portfolio of institutional pension funds that will compete favourably in the market,' Gretel told Jodi after the initial announcement had been made. ‘The funds will be designed by a product-development project team. You – because of your unit pricing experience as well as your aptitude for process change – have been selected as a senior lead in the project.'

‘How senior?' Jodi asked.

‘Reporting to the project director. Essentially, you'll be second-in-command in the most significant strategic project in this company since my time here.'

With Gretel's service period closing in on the twelve-year mark, that was no small statement.

‘Will I still be able to take my holiday?' Jodi asked, though she already knew from the urgency in Gretel's tone what the answer would be.

Gretel shook her head. ‘The pension funds must be ready for April, the new financial year. Work will have to start immediately.'

‘Have I got time to think it over?'

‘No.'

‘Can I turn it down?'

Gretel glared. ‘Certainly – if you don't give a toss about your career.'

Gretel had worked too long in the hard-nosed investment management world to know when she was being unreasonable. Even her stance, hands on hips and legs apart, was uncompromising.

‘I'll have to take the risk with my career, then,' Jodi answered
evenly. ‘I made a promise to my grandmother, and, by all accounts, this trip is important for my healing process. Sorry.'

Gretel shrugged. ‘Your decision.'

For Jodi it was a calculated risk. She was sure that Gretel would come round and hold the job open until she came back.

‘It's real silk,' Grandma said as she rubbed the scarf between her callused forefinger and thumb.

‘Yes,' Jodi affirmed. ‘I got it in Harrods.'

‘You shouldn't waste your money.'

‘It wasn't a waste.'

Jodi had woken at dawn. She'd stayed in bed, enjoying the feeling of being back in her old room. Then she'd heard her grandmother moving about: the old lady started her day with the birds. The shuffling footsteps and pottering sounds from the kitchen had lulled Jodi back into a light sleep that lasted till midmorning.

‘Your present is there – it's the big one.' Grandma used her stick to point towards the fake Christmas tree with its bald-looking branches and tawdry baubles.

Grandma looked well. Her hair was whiter and her face thinner, but her eyes were as alert as ever.

Jodi knelt in front of the tree. Grandma had a dozen or so presents under there, all neatly wrapped and labelled. The rest of the family were coming to Christmas lunch and she had ensured nobody would be forgotten.

The gift with Jodi's name was large and heavy to lift. She tore back the wrapping.

‘It's lovely,' she exclaimed when she saw the oval-shaped serving platter. ‘But I'm not sure I'll be able to get it back to London in one piece.'

The old lady's face fell. ‘I was hoping you wouldn't be going back there . . .'

Jodi laughed, trying to make light of her grandmother's naivety. ‘I've just got a big promotion, I have to go back.'

The promotion wasn't quite in the bag, but Jodi was fairly sure it would be hers when she got back.

‘Life's not all about work and promotions,' said Grandma plainly.

‘True,' Jodi felt a pang of pain but kept a smile on her face, ‘but work helps me keep going.'

Grandma wasn't going to give up easily. ‘You have a family who loves you here –'

She was interrupted by the sound of the front door being opened.

‘Happy Christmas,' Shirley shouted out in a chirpy voice. Her heels clacked down the hall and she appeared in the back room wearing a white and red summer dress and glossy lipstick. Her hands clutched bulging carrier bags of food for lunch.

‘You look great, Mum,' Jodi remarked.

‘Thanks.' Her face took on a self-conscious expression. ‘I thought I should make an effort at least once a year. Did you sleep okay?'

Despite the longhaul flight, the emotional reunion at the airport, and the catching up that had gone on late into the night, Jodi had slept surprisingly well. ‘Yes. Better than I have in ages.'

Shirley went to dump the carrier bags in the adjoining kitchen and Jodi got up to help.

‘Where's Marlene?'

‘She's running late,' Shirley replied, opening the door of Grandma's fridge and frowning when she saw how little free
space there was. She began to rearrange the contents. ‘She couldn't prise the toys from the younger ones and the older lot are glued to some computer game.'

‘Why don't you move in here with Grandma?' Jodi asked in a low voice, so the old woman wouldn't hear from the next room.

Shirley giggled into the fridge. ‘We'd kill each other, that's why. No, I'm saving for a deposit on a place of my own – a nice apartment not far from the sea. I was hoping I'd be able to buy something this year, but the prices keep going up and up and up.'

Jodi took the perishable items from the bags and handed them to Shirley for fitting in the fridge. She wanted to buy the apartment for her mother. She owed it to her: a modern, two-bed apartment with a large balcony and sea views; a replacement for the house in Lewis Street: a home. She just needed another few promotions to make it happen.

Alison had acquired a live-in boyfriend while Jodi was away. His name was Jack. He was a massage therapist.

‘I can't wait till you meet him,' she grinned excitedly when she met Jodi alone for a drink. ‘I've told him all about you. Well,' she pulled a face, ‘not
everything
, of course.'

They were perched on bar stools in a trendy inner-city hotel, the kind of place Alison would have once made fun of. Alison looked every bit as sophisticated as the rest of the clientele. Her hair, now a respectable shade of mahogany, had grown to shoulder length and her fingernails were painted a nonoffensive shell colour. She wore a V-neck top inside her two-piece trouser suit. Jodi wondered whether it was Jack, her new boyfriend, or her job, where she was now a manager, or a combination of both that had tamed her appearance so much.

Later on in the night, when Alison invited her back to her
apartment, she got to meet Jack and find out for herself. He was a hunk of a man with hands so large that Jodi feared they would inadvertently crush rather than massage his poor clients. Alison, tipsy from a few too many beers, gave him a wobbly kiss and his big muscled arm steadied her against his waist.

‘Jodi, can I get you a drink?' he asked, his voice surprisingly soft for a man of his size.

‘I'll have a red wine, if you have it.'

‘Me too!' Alison chimed.