With every measure she poured, she hated herself more. There was no comfort in the heat of the alcohol burning down her throat. This was the life she’d tried so hard to leave behind. Meeting Evelyn was the pinnacle, the moment she had known that she had risen from the ashes. But she could not keep it. She’d let it slip through her fingers.
No, that wasn’t fair. She took another drink. Evelyn hadn’t slipped through her fingers. Jos had pushed her away. She knew it. When she thought back over the conversation of that morning she could not even follow her own logic. Why be so frightened at signs of commitment and love from Evelyn? In what way was that terrifying?
Now, she would give anything to go back. To be close to Evelyn in the warmth of her bed, to hold her close. Even to just eat breakfast at her side. Evelyn made the simplest of things seem pleasurable. She had thrown it away.
Jos was not prone to tears, but she found herself fighting them now. They were not so much of sadness but of fury with herself. How had she done this again? To the best woman she’d ever met?
She drank more whisky. It was far from a good scotch but it was starting to do its required job. There was a barrier between her and the world now. She felt removed from the lives of everyone around her, isolated in her misery but at least starting to be numb to the worst of the pain. There was nothing for her now, just a bleak, solitary future. Why not just accept it?
Jos usually took the coward’s way out, running away rather than facing up to her troubles. As she sipped the scotch, she knew she was doing it again. If she shut herself in her flat for a few days, only going out to go to work, refused to answer the door, perhaps the mess she had made would just go away.
But what if Evelyn came to her door? Could she ignore the doorbell, knowing Evelyn was so close? And was it better for Evelyn that she did? What sort of life could she offer to Evelyn, anyway? She drained her glass and poured another. Perhaps Evelyn would be happier if Jos just left her alone. And yet, she had talked of love. How could Jos go against love?
She looked around the room and realised her vision had blurred slightly. It could have been the whisky or the tears, or both. Her hearing seemed to have lost its clarity too, and she heard the constant chatter of men’s voices as if they were in a separate room, through a thin wall.
She would go to Evelyn. Not now perhaps, but in the morning. She would talk to her and she would see what response she got. She could not always be a coward. Evelyn might slap her face and send her away. If that happened, at least the decision was made for her. She would find Evelyn.
Her new determination in mind, she tried to stand up. But she had drunk more whisky than she realised and she fell back into the chair, her head spinning. Frustrated, she cursed under her breath. Then her eyes fell on the empty glass in front of her. There was some whisky left. Why not have another, for courage? In the morning, she would see Evelyn. But tonight she was drunk and anonymous and there was an old comfort in that.
*
In the morning, Evelyn awoke to the sound of voices. It took her a moment to realise where she was, then all the grief of the previous day flooded back to her. She listened again to the voices in Dorothy’s sitting room, daring to hope that one might be Jos, terrified that one would be Lilian. As it turned out, it was neither. She very distinctly heard Courtney’s American accent and Clara’s rather musical tone, in conversation with Dorothy.
Easing out of bed, finding her feet aching from the trudging of the day before, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and went through to the sitting room.
“Good morning, Evie,” Dorothy said, with a gentle smile. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”
“I don’t know if you did or not, but I’m glad to be awake. Do you know where Jos is yet?”
“Oh, Evie, she’s treated you in the most rotten way,” Courtney said. “I’d be furious.”
“I just want to talk to her,” Evelyn replied, realising she was not angry with Jos at all.
“She doesn’t seem to be home yet,” Clara said. “I was just saying to Dorothy that Courtney and I are going to try some of the pubs she’s been known to frequent in the past. She tends to take herself towards the East End, where no one knows her and the whisky’s cheap.”
“You don’t think anything’s happened to her, do you?” Evelyn demanded, her blood running cold at the notion.
“No. She’s done it before. Don’t worry, Evie, she can look after herself. It’s just that she doesn’t want to be found sometimes. As soon as we find her, I will make her drink coffee and I will bring her to you.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said. To have their support was comforting, to have their reassurances about Jos, even better.
“Now, before you woke up, Courtney and I went to see Lilian and we collected all of your things.” Dorothy gestured to the suitcase resting near the door to the sitting room, and an additional leather bag by its side. She had
