Chapter Five

It was a while before Becca and I could meet again. We chose a bar we both liked for our rendezvous, a little subterranean cavern with lots of tucked away nooks and crannies. Since the smoking ban had come in, visibility had improved a little but I still had to screw up my eyes against the dimness as I threaded my way through the tables and chairs, looking for Becca.

I couldn’t find her anywhere in the bar; I was obviously the first to arrive. I found a little table right at the back with two spare seats and sat myself and my glass of wine down. I’d bought a bottle for us; I knew I’d be needing it. A candle in a votive glass holder cast a flickering golden light over the rough surface of the table. I pushed it further back against the wall and took out my book but I couldn’t concentrate. When I realised I’d read the same line five times, I shut it and put it away and concentrated on drinking my wine.

Becca came around the corner in her usual rush, trailing scarves and her battered old handbag.

“God!” she said, flinging herself into the chair opposite. “What a night! Total overload at the office and then I get here and make a beeline for someone who I was sure was you and obviously it wasn’t. Oh, excellent, you’ve got us a bottle - slosh some in there would you, darling? How are you doing?”

We talked about inconsequential things through the first half of the bottle. Becca asked after Matt, although I didn’t have much to tell her.

“He says hello,” I said. “He was pleased I was going out again. I think he’s worried I’m just going to closet myself away at home.”

“Well, it’s understandable,” said Becca. “You do have a tendency to get a bit hermit-like.”

“I do not!”

“Okay, well, only sometimes.” Becca wasn’t interested in arguing the point. “Anyway...”

“Anyway, what?” I was stalling and both she and I knew it.

“What’s upsetting you? I know it’s not just your dad. What’s wrong?”

I emptied the rest of the wine into our glasses. I could feel the two glasses I’d already swallowed warming my stomach and I basked in the feeling. It was such a comfort.

“How long have we known each other?” I said.

Becca looked surprised.

“Five years? No, more. Six years? Ever since we both worked at Whitfords.”

“Whitfords, that’s right.” Or ‘Shitfords’ as I’d overheard Becca calling it, one day in the canteen there. It had been a good time in my life, relatively; it was before I’d started to fall ill. Becca had left Whitfords not long after that but by then we were drinking partners, buddies, friends. That we still were, despite my illness and Angus’s disapproval, seemed something of a minor miracle.

I was aware I’d fallen silent. Becca looked at me through the candlelight, frowning slightly. “Want another drink?”

I gave her a wry look. “What do you think?”

She grinned and pushed her chair back. While she was waiting at the bar, I was thinking about my options. To tell, or not to tell? If I told, how much to tell? Should I just lie and make something up, for the sake of another few months of peace before she got curious again? It would be easier, but... in a strange way, I wanted to tell her. I hadn’t spoken of this to anyone except Matt for years. Matt and my therapist.

Becca came back with another bottle, bless her. She poured us both a generous glass and I watched the condensation bead on the glass and run in a shining droplet to splash onto the table.

We didn’t clink glasses this time.

“Look,” she said, gently for her. “I know something’s bothering you. You’ve got that look again.” I opened my mouth to ask her to elaborate but she waved me down. “It’s just – well, I want to help you. I’m your friend, after all. You don’t have to tell me anything but, you never know, I might be able to help.”

I nodded. I took a sip of wine, pondering. Becca sat back and smiled at me, still gently, but in her eyes I could see a glimpse of something that was almost greedy. For a second, I felt a tiny flash of dislike for her, and stamped down upon it. Of course she was curious, I’d been so mysterious about my past. I couldn’t blame her. I felt the old impulse to pretend it didn’t matter, to turn the subject. But what had Margaret said to me at our last session? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Maudie. I think it’s time you started letting people in.

Guilt gripped me around the throat and I coughed. I took a sip of my drink. I talked to myself, like I so often did. Becca’s my friend, she won’t judge me. Much.

“Well,” I began. I didn’t know how to start. “It’s not – I mean, it’s not as if I’ve got something really terrible to tell you. Well, terrible in that it’s something I’ve done. It’s not. It’s just – hard – for me to talk about.”

Becca didn’t say anything but she reached across the table and took my hand. Touched, I tightened my fingers around hers for a moment, before speaking again. I was finding it easier now, the words were coming more fluidly.

“When I was ten, I was on holiday in Cornwall with Angus. He’d bought two cottages out in the middle of nowhere, about a half an hour’s drive from Penzance, which doesn’t sound like much but really, they were incredibly remote, or so they seemed to me. It was the first time we went there - we had the one cottage and the other cottage–“ my voice clogged and I coughed and started again, “the McGaskills took the other cottage.”

“Who were they?” said Becca.

I looked down at the table, watching the flickering light of the candle. “We’d all been – friends – for ages, but we’d never had a holiday at the same time. Do you see?”

“Yes.”

I took a sip of wine. “The McGaskills had a daughter. She was the same age as me. Jessica–“ my voice cracked again and this time I took a gulp of wine. “Jessica. Her name was Jessica. We were best friends.”

“Ah,” said Becca, smiling. I felt a pang, knowing that what I was going to say would wipe that smile from her face. I knew she would be upset and distressed. But how could I spare her, when she wanted to know, and why should I spare her, anyway? I had to live with this every day. Let someone else share the misery, for once.

“We were best friends,” I repeated. “We were both only children and we lived in the same village back at home, up in Cumbria. We went to the same school. We even looked alike, you know, skinny and blonde and little. We liked to pretend we were sisters, it was almost as good as having a real sister. People often took us for sisters. Mrs. McGaskill – Jane – she was like a mum to me. I know people always say that, but she really was.”

I’d drained my glass of wine. Becca saw me swallow.

“More?”

“Yes, please. Could I – sorry to ask you, but would you mind if I got myself a brandy before I go on?”

Her eyebrows went up. “Of course. But don’t worry – I’ll get it.”

She went to fetch the drink. I sat back in my chair, trying to breathe deeply. I felt panicky, trapped underground with the rest of my tale to be told. Over by the toilets, I caught sight of a flash of bright blonde hair and felt my stomach clench in fear. God – not now. I shut my eyes for a brief moment. I was not going to crack up now. Becca was coming back to the table, glass in her hand. I took a cringing look over her shoulder. No blonde woman in sight. Get a grip, I told myself.

The brandy helped. I tossed it back in one and felt the burn of it light a fiery trail all the way down to my stomach.

“Easy,” said Becca.

“I’m okay,” I gasped. I took a deep breath. “Where was I?”

“You were telling me about the Mc-somethings. The McGaskills.”

“Yes. Jessica and I – we had such a good time – we’d go to the beach and go walking, bike riding. There was a farm next to the cottages where we used to go to look at the animals and help feed the calves if we could.” Remembering this, I smiled. “I’m sure the sun didn’t shine all the time, but it seemed like it did.”