Page 35 of The First Time I Saw You
‘Your car is in the way,’ he answers. My smile fades.
‘In the way of what?’ I ask and fold my arms over my chest. I picture Bean copying my actions, a scowl furrowing on a tiny brow.
‘The van. I’m having a delivery.’ He has washed his hair, I notice, as he turns and nods towards where a large white truck is growling behind the gate.
‘Right, I’ll just grab my keys.’ He nods his thanks before I turn my back on him, stride into the kitchen and delve inside my handbag, which I’m alarmed to see contains an obscene number of empty crisp packets. ‘Bean . . . we’re going to have to cut back on the salt and vinegar.’ The keys dangle from my mouth, clattering coldly against my chin as I push my feet into my boots, closing the door behind me.
Charlie is walking towards the delivery truck, his hair bouncing up and down like it used to at school, that same eager walk that I’ve seen so many times. He stops at the gate and climbs over it easily as I open the car door and sit inside. My jeans are uncomfortable, so I undo the zip and smooth down my loose white shirt, then I start the engine and manoeuvre my car so that the gate can be opened, and the van can get past. I climb out, lock the door and watch as Charlie follows it. Two burly men jump down from the truck and begin to unload. Charlie issues instructions as he pushes his front door open. His voice is soft but authoritative, a voice that is used to handling people, making them feel valued but getting the best out of them.
‘Are you having something nice?’ I ask, making my way towards him, determined to get at least a small piece of civilised conversation from my new neighbour.
His eyebrows shoot up in alarm as if I’ve appeared from nowhere.
‘Just some old furniture,’ he replies. I stand next to him and watch as the delivery men go back inside the van, this time pulling out a sofa.
‘Mind yourself,’ he says, shifting himself backwards to let the men past. Bean and I shuffle backwards too.
‘Have you moved far, or did you stay locally?’ I ask, as he turns his head towards me, again as if he had forgotten I was standing there. The mild Welsh wind blows his hair into his eyes and he flicks his head and runs his fingers agitatedly through it, a glint from his ring finger surprising me.
‘Manchester.’
‘Didn’t like the city life?’
‘Something like that.’ He glances down and then looks away.
‘I’m fresh from the city, too – London.’ Charlie glances back with an expression that tells me he wouldn’t care if I had just said I’ve moved from Pluto. He looks down again and then climbs into the van, dragging what looks like a computer desk towards the end as the two men return and lift it down, carrying it back into the house. I put my hands in my pockets, unsure of whether to stay or go.
‘So why did you leave London?’ he asks as he leans forward and pulls on a rolled-up rug. He slings it on his shoulder, jumps down and carries it back into the house, leaving me pondering his question.
‘Why did you leave Manchester?’ I counter when he reappears.
‘Long story,’ he mumbles, looking away from me.
I watch as he carefully climbs back into the van, lifts a duck-egg blue glass picture frame and passes it to one of the re-emerging men.
‘That’s a beautiful frame,’ I say. ‘Really unusual to see glass tinted that colour.’
‘My wife made it; it’s Perspex, actually,’ he replies, and I see a glimmer of light behind his preoccupied eyes.
‘Wow! She is a very talented lady.’
‘Was.’
The word slams against my chest. The air which felt light a moment ago, air which had been filling and expanding my lungs without me even noticing, now feels heavy, dusty. How is he able to breathe with all this weight in the air?
‘I’m so sorry. How did she—’
‘Car crash.’
He looks down again. I follow his gaze to see what it is that is so interesting on the ground that he feels he must keep looking at it, but instead of seeing something nestling in the grass, I see a bright red polka dotted pair of Minnie Mouse pants staring out of a triangle of open jeans, my white shirt flapping away, oblivious to the embarrassment it is causing me. The heat in my cheeks is instantaneous.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I say loudly in explanation for my state of disarray, and smile. He looks up then and meets my eye.
‘And you moved here alone?’ he asks, his expression somewhere between disbelief and revulsion. I nod hesitantly, the smile frozen on my lips. ‘Sounds like a pretty stupid thing to do,’ he replies, turns his back and goes inside his house.
I feel like I’m walking through nettles as I tread back to my doorway; his words have stung, and my body itches as they echo through me. I slam the door and slump into Mum’s chair. What kind of man says things like that? The tears come, but they are short-lived. I’m not some weak, stupid woman without a plan. I know I can do this by myself; I don’t need help.
The sounds of twilight filter in through the open kitchen windows as I sip my water, the ice chiming as I tilt the glass. The word ‘Google’ is winking at me from my monitor. I drain the rest of my drink and crunch on an ice cube. My fingers begin to tap ‘Samuel McLaughlin Greenlight Finance’ and my hand hovers over the enter key. It’s as though I’m daring myself to do it, the way I did before I jumped off the pier when I went on a residential school trip when I was ten.Go on. You can do it. You’ll be fine. You’ve seen water before.I hit enter and within moments his face fills the screen. He’s still at Greenlight, then. I reach forward and follow the outline of his jaw but another knock at the door makes me pull my hand away. I exit the screen and close the lid. The knock is different this time, a tentative knock, one that could be ignored but doesn’t want its feelings hurt.
