'What do you mean?'
'I would be sorry.'
I slammed the door so hard that the car shook.
Eighteen
I looked up at Jo's windows. There were no lights on, and the place seemed very empty and dark. I put the key into the lock. I imagined myself up there, sitting alone through the evening and the long night, picturing Sally's dead body and waiting for the morning to come. Perhaps I should go to Sadie's again, or Sam's, or Sheila's. But the thought of it filled me with despair. I would have to tell them everything that had happened since they'd seen me last, and too much had happened. Though I'd seen them all just a few days ago, they felt too far away. I had fallen out of their world and had become a stranger, and who would know me now?
I couldn't just stand there on the street, an unmoving target. I turned the key and pushed open the door. I looked at the stairs, climbing up to the unlit rooms, and fear rose up in me. I pulled the door shut again and stood for a moment, leaning against it and trying to breathe calmly. A part of me wanted to slide down the door and collapse on the path. I could curl up in a ball, with my arms wrapped around my head, and lie there like a dying animal. Someone else could come and deal with everything. They'd lift me up and carry me somewhere safe and warm and I wouldn't have to go on like this, day after day.
I didn't curl up on the path. I turned back towards the high street, where I flagged down a taxi and asked them to take me to Belsize Park. I didn't know the number of the house but I thought I would remember it once I got there. He probably wouldn't be there, and if he was I didn't know what I would say to him.
I found the house easily. I remembered the tree on the pavement outside, and I somehow knew that it had a wrought-iron fence. There were lights on both downstairs and upstairs. I gave the cab driver a ten-pound note and told him to keep the change. I walked towards the door and my legs felt like jelly and my breath kept catching in my throat. He would probably be in the middle of a dinner party. He'd probably be in bed with someone. I rapped the knocker loudly and stood back. I heard him coming and a little sob escaped me.
'Abbie?'
'Is someone here? Are you in the middle of something?'
He shook his head.
'Sorry,' I said. 'Sorry to bother you like this, but I didn't know what else to do. You're the only person I know who knows everything. If you see what I mean. Sorry.'
'What's happened?'
'I'm scared.'
'Come inside. You must be freezing.' He opened the door and I stepped into the wide hall.
'Sorry.'
'Stop saying sorry, for God's sake. Come on, come into the kitchen, get warm. Here, give me your coat.'
'Thanks.'
He led me into a small kitchen. There were pot plants all along the window-sill and daffodils on the table. I could smell glue, sawdust, varnish.
'Here. Sit down, move that junk. Let me get us something to drink. Tea? Or how about hot chocolate?'
'Lovely.'
He poured milk into a pan and set it on the hob.
'What about food? When did you last eat?'
'This morning, a fry-up. Remember?'
'Was that only this morning? God.'
'Did your meeting go all right?'
'It went, at least. Shall I make you something?'
'Just hot chocolate. That would be very comforting.'
'Comforting,' he said, with a smile.
He spooned chocolate granules into the boiling milk and stirred vigorously, then poured it into a large green mug. 'Drink that, Abbie, and tell me what's happened.'
'Sally died,' I said.
'Sally? Who's Sally?'
'Terry's new girlfriend.' I waited for him to ask who Terry was but he didn't, just nodded and frowned.
'I'm sorry about that, but did you know her well? Was she a friend?'
'I hardly knew her at all. But she was killed.'
'Killed? Someone killed her?'
'Outside Terry's flat. The police are convinced it was Terry.'
'I see,' he said slowly.
'It wasn't. I know it wasn't. But, of course, they just think I'm trapped in some paranoid fantasy. For them, this proves it: Terry bashed me around and I turn it from a squalid tale of domestic abuse into a heroic story of a kidnap. Then he continues the pattern and murders his next girlfriend.'
'But he didn't?'
'No. Terry wouldn't murder anyone.'
'Lots of people who wouldn't murder anyone go and murder someone.'
'That's what the police keep saying. But I know him. Anyway, if he did kill her he would have collapsed with guilt and phoned 999. He certainly wouldn't have dragged her body outside and put it a few doors up. And if he wanted to hide it, which he wouldn't have done, because anyway he wouldn't have done it in the first place, then he would have
'I'm not the police, you know.'
'No. Sorry. It's just .. . everything. I keep thinking about poor, stupid Terry. And Sally, of course. But there's something more. Sally looked like me. I mean, like I used to look before I got my haircut and stuff.' I watched his face change. 'I just have this horrible feeling that it should have been me.'
'Oh,' he said. 'I see.'
'He's out there, looking for me. He'll find me. I know it.'
'And the police don't take you seriously?'
'No. I don't really blame them. If I wasn't me, I don't know if I would take me seriously. If you see what I mean.'
'I do see what you mean.'
'Do you believe me?'
'Yes,' he said. '''
'In a big way, I mean? About everything.'
'Yes.'
'Really? You're not just saying that?'
'I'm not just saying it.'
I looked at him. He didn't flinch or look away. 'Thank you,' I said. I picked up my mug of hot chocolate and finished it. I felt better, all of a sudden. 'Can I use your bathroom? Then I'll go home. I shouldn't have come barging in like this, it was stupid of me.'
'Up the stairs, the first room you come to.'
I stood up. My legs felt wobbly as I climbed the stairs. I used the toilet then splashed my blotchy face. I looked like a washed-out schoolgirl. I came out and headed back down the stairs again. It was a nice house; I wondered if a woman lived there. There were pictures on the walls and books in piles. There was a large plant in the alcove where the staircase turned. I stopped dead and looked at it, its old, gnarled trunk and its dark green leaves. I crouched down and pressed a finger against its mossy soil. I sat down beside it and put my head in my hands. I didn't know whether to cry or giggle or scream. I didn't do any of them. I just stood up and went down the rest of the stairs, very slowly. I walked into the kitchen. Ben was still sitting at the table. He wasn't doing anything, just staring into space. He looked tired, as well. Tired and a bit low, perhaps.
Like a person in a dream my dream, the dream of a life I'd once inhabited, a dream I couldn't remember -I walked round the table and laid one hand against his face. I watched his expression soften. 'Was it like this?' I said. I bent over him and kissed him on the side of his mouth. He closed his eyes and I kissed his eyelids. I kissed him on his mouth until it parted. I felt soft and new. 'Was it?'
