Page 16 of The Love of Our Lives
Too guilty.
I also manage to glean from Zoe (after a faintly awkward exchange due to me not actually being who I appear to be) that Emily has been coming here for two weeks and I find a mystery card in Emily’s wallet. But when I try to tug it out, it won’t budge.
Walking back out on to the street a little later, I look across to the Meadows. Just the sight of the familiar green trees and the rolling grass soothes my frazzled mind; grounds me to this moment.
I have no explanation for anything, but all I know is that some way, somehow, this is all actually happening.
This is real.
I wander down the street for a while, simply taking in the sun, the sky, because I have nothing to do and nowhere to go.
Or do I?
I stop.
Feel my eyes widening in panic.
CHAPTER EIGHT
With my heart pounding against my chest, I run back to the flat, weaving in and out of people on the street as I go. I can’t believe I was so stupid, just sauntering about for days, without a care in the world. I have no idea what Emily does with her time – what if she’s a carer or a doctor or something? What if I’m supposed to be somewhere right now, looking after an invalid, and I don’t even know because I’m wandering around eating porridge?
When I eventually arrive back outside Emily’s building, I stop for a moment to catch my breath. I wait for the laboured sound to start, that feeling like everything in my body might just fall apart.
But it doesn’t come. I’m barely sweating. Before I can process it fully, a figure appears across the road and my stomach flips.
Adam, as I discovered from some mail outside his door.
He’s wearing the same khaki shorts and a black t-shirt again, and he’s got shopping bags at his side, a head of celery sticking out the top of one. His eyes light up when he clocks me, and he raises a hand in greeting, smiles that lopsided smile again.
God, he’s attractive.
But it’s not the time or the place to get chatting to some guy, no matter how good-looking he is.
Giving him a small wave back, I let myself in and head to the top floor. The door downstairs opens, closes, and I quickly slip back into my flat.
Heading into the bedroom, I cast back around the space. First things first, find Emily’s phone. And I have a feeling about where it might be.
Hauling the Mulberry bag out of the cupboard now, I open it up, see something dark at the bottom.
‘Bingo.’
Pulling an old-looking handset out, I try to turn it on. Nothing. I plug it into the charger beside the bed and dash back to the hall cupboard to check the box with the papers. It looks heavy when I pull it out, but when I actually lift it, I find myself carrying it into the living room like it weighs nothing. It’s unsettling and freeing in equal measures.
There’s a lot more inside than I realised, and I can’t help wondering what the paper trail’s about. Isn’t everything online these days? Maybe she decided to go off-grid for some reason. I can’t think why but I guess there would be something freeing about cutting yourself off from it all. I’m just so dependent on technology to live that it’s never been an option.
At any rate, I start rifling through all the paper, find various utility bills addressed to Emily Perin at an address in Highgate.
She did move up from London then.
Concentrate, Maggie.
Rooting further down, I finally find what I think I’m looking for – an employment letter for some financial company. So, not a carer, thankfully.
Phew.
With my heart rate a little lower now, I settle down to go through this stuff properly. I probably should have checked this earlier, but I was so hungry and freaked out by everything – still am, really.
Some of the papers I find are around pension contributions, a rental agreement with a landlord called William Johnson. Another about a promotion;congratulations on the move to Director,it says. The pay rise printed below makes my eyes water – Emily has done really well for herself – and as I lookaround the room again, at the frayed rug and shabby sofa, I find myself frowning.
