Mindsight. Chris Curran
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I had no option but to raise my eyes.
It was Matt, Emily’s Matt. He looked a little older and rather more solid, but it was unmistakably him.
The shock of seeing him here made me step back and the hedge of the house I was passing pressed into my back. He was coming towards me, his hands outstretched, but all I could do was stare.
‘Clare, I thought I’d missed you.’
His arms were round me, my face pressed into his crisp blue shirt. He was very warm, but smelled only of citrusy aftershave. When he pulled away he held me at arms’ length, nodding and smiling.
‘You look great.’
‘You too.’ It was true. The weight gain suited him and with a tan and designer sunglasses he looked really good. ‘But what are you doing here?’ I cringed at how that sounded, but he laughed, threading his arm through mine and walking us back to the house.
‘Came to see you, of course. And I’ve been hanging about for half an hour, so I hope you’re going to ask me in.’
‘I’m sorry, that sounded awful. I was just so surprised to see you.’
At the front door of the house, he leaned against the wall as I fished out my key. ‘I’ve just come back through the Tunnel – conference in Le Touquet – so I was almost passing,’ he said. ‘Emily phoned to tell me you’d emailed and she’s desperate to know how you are and made me promise to persuade you to come visit us soon.’
It was just as well that, as I let us into the flat, he walked straight into the living room and over to the windows, and he couldn’t see me scrub at my eyes, because if he’d opened his arms to me again, I would probably have sobbed on his chest.
He was looking out of the window, swapping his sunglasses for an ordinary pair as he did so.
‘Hey, nice view. Must make a change from what you’re used to.’
I laughed, ‘You could say that.’
He turned, pulling a face. ‘Sorry, but you know me, not the most tactful of men.’
‘It’s fine, I’d rather keep it out in the open.’ It was true. I certainly didn’t want to talk about prison with strangers, but it was a relief to be with people who knew. And I’d always liked Matt. There was a warmth about him, a sense of reliability that had something to do with his size, but was more about his personality. Now he sprawled on the sofa, seeming to fill the room, and looking more like the Matt I was used to in his dark-rimmed spectacles. I headed for the kitchen. ‘Coffee?’
A chuckle. ‘If you don’t mind I’d rather have tea. If I remember right, your coffee is strong enough to stand a spoon in.’
‘Actually, after the dishwater I’ve been drinking for five years, I’m making it a lot weaker. Still, tea it is.’
When I brought the tea and sat in the armchair opposite, Matt leaned over and touched my knee, with a big friendly hand. ‘It really is good to see you looking so well, Clare, and Emily can’t wait for you to come and stay with us in Cumbria.’
‘Well, I’ve got a job.’ He put down his mug, a broad smile on his face, but I shook my head. ‘Only in a flower shop, working for a friend of Alice, but it’s good to be back in the working world. I’m still part-time, though, so I should have a few days free soon.’
I knew Emily was finally pregnant after years of trying, IVF and so on, and we talked about that for a bit. The baby was due in a few weeks and Emily had stopped work and was staying at their house in the Lake District all the time. Matt still had to be in London and was using their flat there. ‘So poor Em gets lonely. I’m working extra at the moment to have more space when the sprog appears. In fact I’ve got some meetings in town tomorrow.’
‘On a Sunday?’
‘Well since the Yanks took over the firm, it’s breakfast meetings, late night conference calls, you name it. To be honest, I can’t wait to get out, but they’re cutting the chemistry departments in the universities and there’s a glut of people like me looking for a change.’ He ran his hand through his dark blond hair, looking more like his old scruffy self by the minute. ‘Still you don’t want to know about all that. How you are, really? How are things with Tom?’
I took a breath, better to start as I meant to go on. ‘It’s early days, but so far so good. There is one problem, though, Matt. He’s convinced himself I wasn’t to blame for the accident. Wants me to look into the whole thing again.’
He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Blimey, that’s a bummer. So what have you said?’
‘That I’ll try to find out what I can.’
He drained his mug. ‘Look, I should be going. Only stopped to deliver the message. If I remember, it’s a long and winding road from here to London. Just tell me you’ll definitely visit us soon and my job here is done.’
‘I promise, but why don’t you stay for something to eat?’
He stood up. ‘Better not, I have some work to do before these meetings tomorrow.’
I couldn’t let it end there. ‘I wanted to ask you a couple of things. To help Tom.’
His spectacle case had slid down the side of the sofa and he bent to fumble for it. ‘What’s that?’
‘Well, I’ve always wondered about who could have supplied me with the speed. It must have been someone at the wedding, you see.’ It was difficult to talk to him while he was pulling out the case, then opening it and rubbing at the sunglass lenses, and I was very aware I was holding him up. ‘You and Emily knew everyone there, so I wanted to know if there was anyone you could think of?’
He’d put the sunglasses on again and was looking more like the stylish guy I’d seen outside the house. ‘It’s a long while ago, Clare, and if any of our friends did have a habit we didn’t know about it. And to be frank I wouldn’t want to give you their names if I did. Can you imagine how they’d feel if you turned up asking questions like that? And the chances of them telling you if they did supply you are zilch I’d say. Besides it was more likely someone from the catering company.’ He leaned close and kissed me, his cheek just a little stubbly. ‘Let it drop, sweetheart. Tom’ll forget about it once he gets used to you being around and starts enjoying having a mum again.’
After I’d seen him out I closed my front door and leaned my head against it. I’d made a complete hash of that and I knew I should have waited until I’d thought out what to say more carefully. I microwaved a pasta meal and ate it at the kitchen table, wondering how I’d got myself into this when I should be focusing on making a new life for Tom and me.
The day, and the sleepless night before it, had drained me completely and I wasn’t even tempted to turn on the TV. Instead, I threw off my clothes, pulled the curtains to shut out the glow of fading sunlight and climbed into bed.
The pillow was smooth and cool but I was wide awake again, my mind racing. I turned on the bedside light and picked up the photo frame. Steve and my boys smiled at me. The eight-year-old Tommy in the picture was still more real to me than the awkward teenager I was trying to get to know. And Toby – the gap where he’d just lost a tooth making his grin cheekier than ever. My dear little boy would never be a teenager, never grow up, because of me and I could never look at his face without that agonised throb. ‘I’m sorry, Toby,’ I whispered.
My husband was standing behind the boys, smiling his wide, white smile. One hand was on Toby’s shoulder, the other pushing strands of fair hair away from his own face. Little Tommy leaned back against him. ‘Oh, Steve…’
I smoothed their dear faces with a fingertip, then pressed the photo to my chest. But it was only plastic and glass and it gave no comfort.