Page 34 of Someone Else's Shoes
‘Navigating?’ he says. ‘Um. Bits and bobs. Normal stuff.’
Dr Kovitz looks at him over his notepad. Phil notices then the two boxes of tissues on the table. He wonders absently how many people cry in this office every day. He wonders if Dr Kovitz empties the bin between sessions so it won’t look like the saddest room in the world. He wonders what this man would do if he just lay down on the sofa and cried and cried. But the thing is, if he let himself do that he would probably never stop.
‘Normal stuff,’ Dr Kovitz repeats thoughtfully. ‘That’s an interesting concept. Do you think there’s such a thing as normal stuff?’
‘Well. What have I got to complain about, really?’
He smiles at Dr Kovitz. What has he got to complain about? It’s all pathetic. Compared with most people Phil has a lot. He has a body that works pretty well. He has a house, even if there is a weighty mortgage attached to it. He has a wife. He has a daughter. He will probably get a job again at some point. He is not running from armed terrorists or walking forty miles to fetch water. He is not counting his ribs, or trying to comfort a starving child. And what the hell can this man here do anyway, with his rattan furniture and his boxes of tissues? What good will talking do? It’s not going to rewrite his dad’s ending. It’s not going to lift the burden on Sam. It’s not going to get him a new job, or stop his daughter eyeing him as if he’s become some weird, deformed creature at a zoo.
It feels ridiculous. It’s all ridiculous.
‘I should probably go,’ he says, rising to his feet.
‘Go?’
‘You – you have people far more in need of help than me. I – I don’t think this is for me. Sorry.’
Dr Kovitz doesn’t try to stop him. He just watches him. ‘Okay, Phil,’ he says. ‘Well. I’m going to keep your session open next week and hope that you come back.’
‘There’s really no need.’
‘Oh, I think there is.’
He stands before Phil can tell him not to and steps past him to open the door for him. He holds it open, and says quietly, ‘I hope I’ll see you next week.’
It takes Phil twenty-three minutes to walk home. When he gets in he closes the door behind him, pats the dog and climbs the stairs heavily towards bed.
13
The gym was closed until further notice. Nisha had walked there on her way home the previous evening and stared at the sign, letting herself absorb the fact that that was it. Her clothes, the things that made her feel like her, were never going to be returned to her. She is not sure why the shoes bother her so much – perhaps because they had been her last gift from him, an emblem of their marriage. Carl had presented them with a huge flourish, admired her in them, wanted her to wear them on their most important trips. It had not been unusual for Carl to dictate her wardrobe. ‘I like to see you in them. I like everyone to see you in them.’ What had been the point when all this time he had been busy planning to eject her and install Charlotte in her place? It all adds to the growing feeling that she has been played, and that in turn makes her so angry she feels like her veins are permanently fizzing with it.
‘Girl, you’ve speeded up!’ Jasmine puts her head around the bathroom door and pulls an admiring face. Anger seems to fuel Nisha now. She is awake before her alarm, attacks stains and marks as if she is rubbing out Carl’s face. She obliterates dirt as if she is obliterating the past week.
‘You ready for your break? Or will I just leave you to do the other twelve rooms while I have a coffee?’
Nisha straightens up as Jasmine laughs, wipes her warm brow with the back of her arm. ‘Sure.’
It’s her fifth day at the hotel. Five days in which she has arrived at the narrow alleyway at 8 a.m., changed into the hotel-issue black clothes, eaten good pastries and cleaned disgustingrooms, all the while her mind humming with resentment. Today she will be paid, and she is not sure what she will do beyond that. The locker-room chat is full of stories of Immigration raids, of cancelled Leave to Remain. People come for one shift and are never seen again. Some stay weeks but never speak to another soul, their eyes darting away from contact as if they would prefer to be invisible. She sees a whole army of people who remain under the radar, living hand-to-mouth as they, like her, try to work out what to do next.
And Nisha has not yet worked out what to do next. She does not want this job, but it brings her daily proximity to her suite, and is still the best chance she has of recovering her things. Every floor that carries them closer she feels her heart beat faster as she tries to work out how she can get in. But undocumented maids do not get to work on the sixth and seventh floors. They are restricted to the cheaper rooms, the ones where business travellers and people who have booked on discount internet sites tend to spend one night. Jasmine says housekeeping staff need to be there for at least a few months before they are considered experienced or trustworthy enough to be allowed to the more exclusive floors.
She will get in there, she knows. But until she works out how, she must play a waiting game.
‘Hey, baby.’ She logs on to the hotel Wi-Fi (everyone does it) and calls Ray at two; she and Jasmine are on a late lunch break and she knows it will wake him far earlier than he’s used to, but she’s on her last night’s paid-for stay and she cannot work out what to do next.
‘Mom? Why are you calling so early?’ His voice is thick with sleep.
She tries to smile reassuringly as she speaks. ‘Darling – I need a favour. I need to borrow some more money. It’s a little complicated but I’ll explain everything when I’m home.’
‘More money?’ She hears him shift in his bed.
‘Yes. Another five hundred. Do you think you could wire it to me today? The same place as last time would be great.’
‘I can’t, Mom.’
‘You don’t have to do it right now. I just wanted to call early so that you could plan your day around it.’
‘No, I literally can’t. Dad has frozen my account. Apparently there’s been fraudulent activity on it. Didn’t he tell you?’
