At the top of the receipt I’d found during my first search was a phone number and I dialled it quickly, feeling my heart pick up as a voice at the other end said, ‘Porters of Mayfair, good morning.’
I explained, in a voice that was running just a fraction too fast, that I was trying to do my tax return and had discovered a receipt among a pile of others, although I couldn’t for the life of me remember what the item I’d purchased was and would she be able to help me, please?
There was a pause and then the voice answered, ‘I’ll try.’
‘It just says “SSB” with “MM” in brackets. The price was seven hundred and fifty pounds.’
‘It’s a bag,’ she said almost immediately. ‘Sequin Shoulder Bag by Miu Miu. Your husband paid cash.’ There was a silence and then her voice came again. ‘Are you still there?’
‘I’m still here. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.’
That evening Will called me. It was nearly seven o’clock, and I’d offered to pick him up from the station because the rain had grown heavy, sluicing against the windows in gusts. His commute, uncomfortable and expensive and nearly two hours long, had been part of his reluctance to move house when I’d first started pressing him about it. He’d told me he didn’t want to live in suburbia and I’d told him Swindon wasn’t suburbia, and he’d said did I know that an anagram of ‘Swindon’ was ‘disown’ and that maybe he’d disown me if I kept on about it, and that had made me laugh and then everything had been good again.
‘Babe, I’m going to be late home.’
A coldness, spreading in my chest. In the background I could hear the faint rumble of conversation and music, a pub perhaps.
‘Why?’
‘Huh? Sorry, it’s so noisy in here. I’m in the pub, the one by Paddington, you know? I came for a drink with Matt and Olly and I’ve only just seen the time. I’m only staying for one more, though.’
Silence. I let it float, like dark clouds.
‘Babe? Frances? You mad at me? It’s only a couple of pints.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s not that. Who did you say you were with?’
The noise faded a little. Perhaps he’d moved outside. I could picture him with his overcoat unbuttoned and the phone pressed against his ear, stubble shading his jaw. Maybe he was playing with his hair, tugging at it the way he does when he’s lying. My hand gripped the phone tighter.
‘Matt and Olly.’
‘Which Matt?’
‘The one from – sorry, mate – I’m in someone’s way. The one who used to live by us.’
‘The courier?’
‘No, the other one. The Arsenal supporter. Are you okay? You sound weird.’
‘Put him on.’
Silence. My heart quickened.
‘What?’
‘Matt. Put him on the phone to me. I want to say hi.’
Will laughed uneasily. ‘You barely know him, Frances.’
‘Just do it, would you?’
He sighed; the line bristled with static. I waited, holding my phone so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. I had forgotten how to breathe. There was some rustling, and then a surprised voice, male, cheerful-sounding.
‘Frances? Long time no speak! How are you?’
‘Matt?’
‘Yeah! From Turnham Road. I bumped into Will as I was heading to Paddington. You all right, yeah? You staying dry? It’s miserable up here. Hang on, hang on, he wants the phone back – we promise we won’t keep him out too late!’
William’s voice sounded heavier when he took back his phone and asked me again if everything really was all right.
‘You need to be working,’ he told me. ‘All this time at home alone, it’s not good for you.’
By the time I hung up, tears were building behind my eyes and I blinked them away before they could spill, annoyed at myself. If William was having an affair, you would know, I told myself sternly, opening a bottle of wine. Besides, when would he find the time? He’s on a train for four hours a day and in an all-male office the rest of the time.
One of a team of only three, Will’s computer consultancy business had nearly been called The Three Amigos before I pointed out that there were copyright laws against that sort of thing. They’d settled on Three Squares because, as they told me, they were the most boring nerds they knew. Straight down the line. Dependable. Prosaic to the point of banality. It was one of the things I’d loved about William the most, in the beginning. My polar star, guiding me away from the wreckage of my twenties, sane and modest and easy to read, so unlike the other men and women I’d had relationships with.
Not long after we’d first got together I’d gone out alone one night and ended up drinking in a basement bar in Camberwell before finding myself at a party in Vauxhall in the early hours. Some woman had pressed a pill on to my tongue and I’d swallowed it without thinking, washing it down with warm cider and a kiss that smeared my lipstick. ‘I don’t normally take MDMA,’ I’d told her, and she’d smiled and said, ‘It isn’t MDMA, sweetie.’
For the next three hours my body had turned to liquid, something hot and molten beneath the strobing lights. Shadows swam at me, and I kept finding myself in the same spot where I’d begun, sitting on gritty concrete behind a speaker which rattled
