The Story of Us (32 page)

‘Dad? Mum?' I called out into the silent house. Something was wrong. Since Mum had fallen ill, their lives were governed by routine and order. Spontaneity and impulsive behaviour had moved out when Alzheimer's moved in. I thundered up the stairs, but even before I had flung open their bedroom door, I already knew I was the only one home. I ran back down the stairs, almost losing my balance in my haste to find my phone. I seized my bag and took it into the kitchen, pulling out my mobile as I went. I was still dialling my father's number when I saw the note. It was propped up against the kettle.

I flicked on the overhead lights and read his neatly written script. By the time I reached the end of the brief explanation, the perplexed look on my face had changed from a frown to a scowl.
Have gone to the pub with George
, the note began, which was almost as ludicrous as having written,
Have been kidnapped by aliens, please bring ransom.
It was rare for my father to indulge in the luxury of a little male-bonding time in the local with his friends. But, bizarre as that was, that wasn't the part of the note which really bothered me
. Your mum is at the school with Richard. Dinner is in the oven. We should all be back at eight.

What did he mean Mum was
at the school with Richard
? Had she gone wandering again, and had Richard found her? Surely that couldn't be right. There's no way Dad would be socialising over a pint if Mum had managed to get herself to the school again. So that could only mean that Richard had
taken
her to school? But why? For the life of me, I couldn't think of a single reason why he would have done such a thing, even when we
were
engaged, and far less so now. It made no sense. And worse than that, it made a mockery of my father's begrudging agreement to exclude Richard from our family life, at least until the dust of our break-up had settled.

The more I thought about it, the madder I got. Richard was using my mum's long-standing affection for him as a tool to worm his way back into my life. It was outrageous. And if he thought that acting like this was going to win me back… well, he had another think coming. Fired up with righteous indignation, I grabbed my car keys and headed for the door.

I had to keep reminding myself to slow down as I travelled the familiar route to the school. But it wasn't easy with anger coursing through my veins like a stimulant, practically forcing my right foot to press down harder on the accelerator. Pithy imaginary conversations ran through my head as I drove, each of them cutting Richard down to size. In reality I knew I'd probably not say anything of the sort in front of my mother. It didn't matter. I was just going to find them and take Mum back home, and if he couldn't get the subtext from that, then he was even more obtuse than I thought.

The school was largely in darkness and I knew the main doors would be locked, so I headed for one of the side entrances, hearing the whirr of security cameras following my progress. I realised this plan could end badly: alarms going off, police cars arriving, and no easy explanation to offer as to why the daughter of an ex-member of staff had been caught trespassing within her old school.

I reached the door and saw the corridor beyond was in total darkness. I paused for a second with my hand on the aluminium handle. I didn't have to do this, did I? The fiery anger that had propelled me out of my house and into my car had banked down to smouldering embers of annoyance. I should probably just go back home and forget all about it. My fingers flexed around the tubular handle, then almost of their own volition pulled open the door. I held my breath. No alarm sounded, no security guard came racing down the corridor. I took it as a sign that I'd been right to come.

I didn't need the benefit of lighting to find my way around the building. Nor to know where I should look first. I ignored the passageway that led to the Technology Department and Richard's office, and headed straight for the Art Block. It was where Mum would want to go. It was where she always headed.

As I walked through the swing doors, I could see that several rooms were brightly lit in the suite of art classrooms and staff offices. I took a steadying breath, steeling myself for what was sure to be an unpleasant scene, whichever way it went.

‘Excuse me, can I help you?' The voice came from behind me, and I must have jumped a foot in the air; I certainly hadn't heard anyone approach, or emerge from any of the rooms. I'd been so focused on liberating my mother from Richard's care, I'd been deaf and blind to anything else. Despite the enquiry, the tone was sharp and suspicious and they didn't sound like they wanted to help me at all. Unless helping was a euphemism for throwing someone out. ‘The school is closed and this is private property.'

I turned slowly, unsure of how much trouble I was in.

‘Emma! For goodness sake, I didn't realise it was
you
.' The person, who only a few seconds ago had sounded like they might be about to hit me over the head with a sculpture, now enveloped me in her arms in an enormous hug. ‘What on earth are you doing walking around in the dark like that? You gave me a proper scare. I didn't know you were coming too tonight. How are you, sweetie? We've all been so worried about you. Such a tragedy.'

I nodded, a little distractedly. Janice's presence took even more wind out of my sails. She was a warm and friendly woman, who liked nothing better than a nice gossipy chat. When Mum had run the department she'd been her assistant, and I knew they had been good friends as well as colleagues. For that reason alone, she deserved more of my attention and courtesy.

‘I'm doing well, thank you.' Janice patted my hand consolingly, and I knew the empty ring finger hadn't gone unnoticed.

‘Such a shame you had to postpone the wedding,' she said, and I think there was a question behind the seemingly innocent statement. Did that mean Richard hadn't told anyone at school that our wedding was more than just postponed?

I decided to go with a noncommittal ‘uh huh', which thankfully she didn't pursue. I flicked a glance over my shoulder at the lit art room behind me, expecting that at any moment Richard and my missing parent would emerge, to make my discomfort complete.

Janice misread my look. ‘They're in C4, the large art room,' she advised. ‘You can go on through and join them.'

I hesitated, wondering what to say, and how much of it was likely to be the hot topic of conversation in the staffroom by break time tomorrow.

‘Er, what are they doing, Richard and Mum?'

Janice looked a little surprised at my question. ‘The same as usual.'

That didn't really help. I hoped if I just stayed quiet long enough she might elaborate; Janice wasn't a woman who really went for silences. She didn't disappoint me. ‘I always think this is such a lovely thing for him to do.'

I gave a wan smile. Richard doing lovely things was a concept I'd been struggling with recently, but it wouldn't do to tell her that. ‘I guess it is.'

‘Oh absolutely. And you just know how much it means to her.'

‘Oh yes, of course.'

‘It always bring a little lump to my throat though, you know.'

Okay, that was enough, I just wasn't going to figure it out without asking. ‘I'm sorry, Janice, just what
exactly
is Richard doing here with Mum?'

‘Taking her round the art exhibition, of course. As usual. Isn't that why you've come too, to join them?'

‘The art exhibition,' I said, on a long sigh of comprehension. It was something Mum herself had instigated, and she'd worked long and hard to raise private sponsorship for a small exhibition gallery to be built on the side of the art rooms, where each year the students' work was displayed.

‘You said, “as usual”
;
do you mean Richard has done this before?'

Janice frowned, clearly confused that I appeared to know so little about what was going on. Welcome to my world, Janice. ‘Oh yes, he's brought her for the last three years now. But they always come late in the evening, when school is closed and everyone's gone home. I don't even come out of my office any more until they've gone. Your mum gets upset when people greet her and she doesn't remember them. And I don't want to cause her any more distress, especially when I know how much she loves looking at the work the kids have done.'

I stood in the corridor feeling smaller than any child who went to school there. Richard had done a really nice thing, secretly bringing Mum here over the years. And the fact that he'd never told me about it, or looked for thanks, just made me feel even more of a heel, if that was possible.

‘Didn't he tell you anything about it?' I shook my head dumbly and saw Janice's gentle answering smile. ‘That's so very Richard, isn't it? He's such a nice thoughtful young man. He's a real keeper, isn't he?'

I truly didn't know what to say, especially as I had thrown my ‘keeper' back almost as cavalierly as I'd thrown away his ring.

‘Go and join them,' urged Janice, giving me a gentle shove in the direction of the exhibition area. ‘I'll just go back into the office – don't want your mum seeing me.'

I waited until she had disappeared and shut the door behind her before proceeding down the corridor. From the doorway I stood watching Richard and my mother in the room beyond, through the glass doors. The walls were covered with paintings and charcoal sketches and there was a large display area with pottery exhibits. Richard was following Mum as she walked slowly around the exhibition, carefully studying each piece in turn. He appeared to be listening intently as she pointed out details that caught her eye. I had no idea if what she was saying was sensible, if she was in one of her lucid moments, or if it was all a meaningless jumble. It was impossible to tell from Richard's face, because he was listening and smiling, patiently standing beside her, asking her questions I could only guess at, but which seemed to evoke an animated response, lighting her up with an enthusiasm I hadn't seen on her face in a very long time. I took one last lingering look at the two of them together before turning and silently walking away.

I'd been putting it off for quite some time, the way you put off making a dental appointment, despite a nagging toothache, because you just
know
that despite the dentist's best assurances, it
is
going to hurt. But I had finally run out of excuses. It was time to clear the last vestiges of my presence from Richard's flat.

Monique clearly applauded this decision, providing me with an extended lunch break and an enormous cardboard box to transport my belongings out of Richard's life. ‘It is time you close the door on this chapter of your life, Emma,' she advised with charmingly mixed metaphors.

‘I know. But every time I try, Richard just keeps jamming it open with his foot.'

‘Then you must stamp on it,' she suggested, tempering the words with a disingenuous smile, ‘
then
it will close.'

I did the familiar drive to Richard's flat on autopilot, wondering as I turned into the residents' car park if this was the last time I would ever visit this place. Probably. I pulled into Richard's empty parking bay and hefted the cardboard box out from the back seat. Working on muscle memory my fingers automatically punched in the code on the keypad at the entrance. The block was quiet; the residents were mainly young professionals who were most likely at work at this time of day. That was good; I didn't really want to bump into any of Richard's neighbours while I was severing these final ties. My footsteps echoed hollowly on the linoleum-covered stairs as I climbed up to the third floor. I slid the door key into the lock, reminding myself that I must remember to remove it from my keyring before I left, and leave it behind.

There was a vague musty smell in the air as I opened the front door and stepped into the flat's small hall. I sniffed and my nose wrinkled at the combined odours of leftover takeaways and a room which hadn't seen an open window in quite a while. I glanced into the kitchen and grimaced at the dirty plates stacked on the worktop, despite the fact that there was a perfectly good dishwasher just below them. Richard hadn't entirely reverted to student living, but he wasn't far off. Not my problem. Not any more. I resolutely turned away from the dirty crockery. I positioned the cardboard box more securely on my hip and headed for the bedroom. I had only taken a few steps when I heard it. I froze like a startled fawn and turned my head slowly in the direction of the sound, as though if I moved too fast even the bones in my neck might give my presence away. A second later I heard it again, and this time I could tell precisely where the noise was coming from. Richard's bedroom. There was someone here in the flat with me, someone who had even less business being there than I did. Too late I remembered the fliers that the local police had circulated some months before, warning residents about the spate of daytime burglaries in the area.

I felt my heart begin to race and my mouth went instantly dry in panic. Any moment now the bedroom door could burst open and whoever it was who had broken in would find me. I heard a scraping sound of something moving across the wooden floor in Richard's bedroom. Were they coming? Did I have time to reach for my phone and call the police? No, of course I didn't. I had to get out of there.
Run
, my brain told my unresponsive legs, which were frozen in fear where I stood. No, they'd hear me too easily and would be upon me before I got halfway to the front door. I had to creep out silently and hope the noise of the opening door wouldn't be heard. I took one slow tentative step backwards and knocked into a framed poster Richard had hung in the hall. It fell from its flimsy nail and crashed to the floor in a cacophony of breaking glass.

Shit! Run!
I told myself, just as a voice cried out from behind the bedroom door.