It’s cold in my room, as Bea warned me. Even with the wood burner lit, it’s never exactly cozy. One corner of the skylight leaks if the wind’s in the wrong direction. This probably sounds bleak, but it isn’t too bad, really. I bought an electric blanket, and spend a lot of time in bed, because it’s warmer. I also bought a secondhand laptop, and I’m working hard on my memoir. I need to think of something else to call it; my brain shies away in embarrassment from calling it that. I think it helps though, to write about my life. There are some things I’ve never talked to anyone about, and it’s…cathartic…to write them down. I should probably have some therapy, but that’s expensive. So I’ll do it myself. I try to be honest when I write about my life, and sometimes it’s painful. It seems odd to make yourself cry just by writing things down.

  * * *

  There’s a big shed at Bea’s, round the other side of the house from the studio. It’s jammed with all sorts of abandoned treasure. She said I could look through it, and I found an old turntable and speakers and I buy old records from junk shops and charity shops—although most charity shops have stopped selling vinyl, you can still find it sometimes. I play things I’ve never heard before, things I’ve only read about, and things I used to own—some things I suppose I still do own. I think there’s a box of my records in Natalie’s attic. Sometimes I find stuff in charity shops that’s good enough to resell on eBay.

  I spoke to Steve Jones about cars, and I am now the proud owner of a twelve-year-old Vauxhall Corsa. It cost me fourteen hundred quid, and I was a bit worried I’d have forgotten how to drive, but fortunately not. Now I can visit other places, like Llandeilo or Swansea.

  I am reassembling my life again.

  I try not to think too much about Gethin, who hasn’t messaged me and presumably isn’t going to. Sometimes I write him letters, but I never send them.

  I really miss him.

  I have lunch with Kate, but I feel bad about that, because she’s his friend, isn’t she, and I don’t want to make her feel awkward. Also, when she asks me why I don’t want to live there anymore, I can’t explain it without telling her things I don’t want to tell her.

  “You know he really likes you,” she says.

  “I really like him, too.”

  “So—this might seem like a stupid question—how come you’re not speaking to each other?”

  “I think he doesn’t want to speak to me.”

  “He thinks you don’t want to speak to him.”

  I shrug. I’ve decided it’s easier that way. Although I miss him, I don’t think seeing him would help the ache in my chest.

  “He was terribly upset that you left without saying goodbye.”

  “I wrote him a letter.”

  “I know. It’s hardly the same, though, is it?”

  I think she’s…what? Slightly disapproving? She thinks I’ve behaved badly. Maybe I have?

  “I thought he’d gone out so he didn’t have to see me,” I say, although I’m not sure this is true.

  “He didn’t know you were leaving so soon. You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “I might not have done.”

  “I thought you’d get together. You always seemed so…comfortable together.”

  I shrug again. “I don’t think that was ever in the cards.”

  “Really?” She picks at her salad. “He told me you slept together.”

  I’m a bit shocked by this. I can’t imagine him talking to Kate about that. Although maybe it’s easier to talk about that sort of thing with someone else you’ve slept with.

  “Did he? What did he say?”

  “He said he was sorry it was only once.”

  I open my mouth to speak and then close it again.

  “He also said he was confused because—excuse me—you seemed quite keen, and that made him very happy, but then afterward it was like you thought it was a mistake.”

  “I didn’t think it was a mistake,” I say. “I wanted to. I was keen, if you like. Yes. But it wouldn’t have worked out, and I didn’t want it to spoil everything.”

  “Can you…why would it?”

  We look at each other for ages, until I’m embarrassed and have to look away.

  “I don’t have anything to give.”

  “Jess, that’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it isn’t. Look, Kate, I don’t really want to get into loads of…you know that…so, fourteen, fifteen months ago, I was living a completely different kind of life. And it might look like all that’s gone away, but it hasn’t. I really like Gethin, and he’s been…extraordinarily kind to me. But everything about me was smashed to pieces, pulverized, turned to dust. There’s nothing left, and what you see…is just a really wobbly simulacrum, a faked-up thing, a stitched-together monster.”

  She regards me silently for a long moment.

  “I don’t think that’s true,” she says. “I think you’re scared.”

  There’s a tight feeling in my chest as I look at her. “Of course I’m scared. I’m terrified of absolutely everything. My ex-boyfriend took everything away from me. He made me—” I stop. “He lives in my head.”

  “Yes, that’s awful,” she says, “but it’s nothing to do with Geth, is it?”

  “It would be, if we’d ever tried to…anyway,” I add, “you know his sister was right, wasn’t she, when she told me about Vanessa.”

  Kate looks puzzled. “What d’you mean?”

  “She was basically saying, ‘Look at what he’s used to.’ ”

  “I don’t think—”

  “And it’s fair enough. Did he tell you about that girl he slept with?”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “Well, she looked a lot like Vanessa.”

  “Yes, but—no offense to Vanessa,” she says, “but lots of people look like her. Don’t they? And hardly anyone looks like you. Or me, for that matter. So what’s your point about that? Are you saying he’s got a type and it’s not you? Because frankly, Jess, that’s bollocks.”

  “I’m not sure I see the point of this conversation.”

  “I’m just trying to…” She closes her eyes. “Okay. I know it’s none of my business.”

  “It’s kind of you to try to help. But there’s no point.”

  “All right. I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.”

  * * *

  One Saturday, I’m shopping in town. It’s November already, and I’m looking for presents for my niece and nephew. I said to Natalie, last time I spoke to her, that I’ll visit in the New Year. She was surprised. I think she’d decided they might never see me again. It’s not like that’s never happened before in our family. After my brother left home and never came back, I suppose it’s easy to think this might happen again. I wouldn’t do that, though. I don’t know the kids very well, but I wouldn’t vanish from their lives, especially when they have such an unreliable grandmother, a missing uncle, a dead grandfather. I want their aunt, at least, to be a regular purveyor of stuff. Stuff they might not need, but nonetheless.

  I always remember their birthdays: I send them postcards if I go anywhere; I look out for things they might like. I’ve been in Waterstones and bought some books, and now I’m going to buy some bits and pieces, barrettes for Sophie perhaps, in Claire’s, maybe some coloring pencils.

  I’m walking up Victoria Street in the rain, huddled into my new coat, which is like a beautiful cozy quilt with a big fake-fur-lined hood. Although I know quite a few people now, I pay no attention to anyone hurrying past me. I never expect to see Gethin, for example, and I never have. I know he still goes to the restaurant, sometimes, because Maura tells me if he’s been in. He doesn’t go on Tuesdays, which is the day I go. I assume this is deliberate.

  “Jess!”

  Someone is calling my name. I look round and am rather horrified to see that it’s Abby, waving at me from across the road. I pause, and wave back, uncertainly. She darts across the street, narrowly avoiding being run over.

  “Jess, hello,” she says.

  “Uh, hi. How are you?”

  “Good thanks, yes. Come and have a coffee,” she says, most unexpectedly.

  “Oh, well, I don’t know if…”

  “No, come on,” she says, “get out of this horrible rain.” She hurries me down the alleyway and across the square to the coffee shop on Gwelfor Street. I’ve never been in—I hardly ever come this way, and always forget it’s there.

  “Oof,” she says, “what an awful day. I hate the winter. What can I get you?”

  I’m confused by this friendliness, wary. I ask for an Americano and find a seat while she goes to the counter. I really don’t want to have a coffee with Abby, of all people.

  She brings the coffee on a tray with two almond croissants.

  “I didn’t know if you’d want one,” she says, “so I chose something I could eat two of.”

  I nod, as this seems fair.

  “Help yourself,” she says, cutting one in half. “So how are you?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” I say cautiously.

  “How’s your new place?”

  “It’s okay. A bit cold at the moment. No central heating.”

  She looks vaguely appalled. “Really?”

  “It’s an extension,” I explain, “not part of the house. But it’s fine.”

  “I was so surprised when Geth said you’d moved out.”

  I look at my coffee, too hot to drink. I don’t know what to say to her. I glance briefly at her face to see if I can tell what her motivation is for this conversation. No clues there.

  “I suppose I thought you’d be there forever. After all the work you did on the place.”

  I clear my throat and lift my shoulders in a half-shrug.

  “I think maybe I was a bit…I know we didn’t really get off to a good start,” she says, “when we first met.”

  I stare at her. Is she going to…apologize? Surely not.

  “But I’m sure you understand why I was worried about him.”

  I nod slowly. I do, of course.

  “You know, he’d been at ours for a while, and I knew how…they’d been together for a long time, and it was…I was worried about him being on his own. And we didn’t know anything about you.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “When he said he was helping a homeless woman…well, you know what happened. With Evan. Our brother?”

  I nod.

  “I didn’t want him to get involved in anything…complicated.”

  I nod again.

  “But I know I was wrong about that. Mum says—and I agree—that you were a…” She looks uncomfortable now, awkward. “You know, a breath of fresh air and everything.”

  “It was very kind of him to let me live there,” I say dully.

  “I know it helped you,” she says, “but it helped him too. It made such a difference to him, I think, to how he felt.”

  I look miserably out of the window. “Did it? That’s good.”

  “He was much happier, as soon as he moved in. And I don’t think that was just because he didn’t have to live with us anymore,” she says.

  I glance back at her. She’s frowning at her croissant.

  “What I mean is, I think it really cheered him up, having you as a…housemate.”

  “It was nice. I was really lucky to meet him.”

  “It was good for both of you.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “And we wondered,” she says, “you know. What happened.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Oh, me and Si. And Mum. She likes you.”

  “Your mum’s lovely,” I say, pleased to be able to be honest.

  She smiles at me. “She is, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah. You’re lucky.”

  “Is your mum—is she still alive? Gethin said your dad died when you were young.”

  I nod. “I was still at school. Yeah, Mum’s still going. Amazing really.” I see her trying hard not to ask nosy questions. “She drank too much for a long time; I don’t think any of us expected her to make seventy. Her included.”

  “Oh,” she says. “That must have been difficult. Was that…when you were young?”

  “She started drinking more after Dad died, so, yes. Anyway,” I say, “she’s not a straightforward person. Even when she’s not drinking.”

  “Have you seen her? Since you moved here?”

  I shake my head. “I call her sometimes.”

  “I can’t imagine not seeing my mum.”

  “No, well, like I say, you’re lucky with Marian. She’s a…nice lady.”

  She eats another piece of croissant and takes a sip of coffee. “Yes, so anyway—I expect you think I’ve done nothing but interfere, and not in a good way, and I know you probably don’t want to talk to me about what happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…the thing is…we don’t really understand why you left? Geth’s been…” She clears her throat, awkward. “I know he liked living with you. He won’t talk about it, about why you left. I know it’s none of my business. It just seems like…I don’t know. I wondered if you met someone.”

  “Met someone?” I laugh. “God, no. No. Anyway, Gethin knows why I left, so if he doesn’t want to talk to you about it…”

  “Does he though? I’m not sure he does. Or if he does, he doesn’t understand?”

  We look at each other. Abby pushes the plate with the remaining croissant on it toward me and I shake my head.

  “I did explain. He might think my reasons are…peculiar. Stupid, even. But they’re real reasons.”

  “I don’t think stupid’s the right word. I wasn’t trying to…”

  “Sometimes things are untidy,” I say. “Or awkward, or not what anyone would have…wanted, exactly. But you can’t force life into a neater shape.”

  She sighs. “No. No, that’s for sure.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  My friends at the restaurant have finally persuaded me to go on a date. I’m not sure why I said yes, apart from the relentlessness of their insistence. It’s the middle of December, and I suppose at the back of my mind is the fact that I’ll be on my own for Christmas, not that I really care. I’d rather not sit around thinking about last Christmas, though, and how it seemed like—how it was—the beginning of something quite pleasant.

  Anyway, I did think that if this guy—recently divorced mate of Alys’s uncle—is all right, we might be able to spend Christmas together, or some of it, even if that doesn’t lead to anything else, which it probably won’t, because I don’t even really want it to. It’s six months since I slept with Gethin, though, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about this a lot. If I slept with someone else, maybe that would go away. Actually, the idea that Gethin might be replaced as “the last person” makes me unbearably sad, and that in itself is probably a good reason to do it.

  So Alys gave my phone number to her uncle, and his mate—Owen—phoned me up, and we had an awkward conversation and we’re going out to dinner. Not to the restaurant, though, because, as he said, we don’t want to be the entertainment. We’re going to the Griffin, which is an upmarket sort of dining pub. Gethin and I went there for lunch once and had a hilariously bad time, because they didn’t have either of the things we ordered, and then they got our second choices wrong. We had quite a lot to drink, and he had to leave his car in town.

  Anyway.

  I’m not sure what to wear. I don’t really have any going-out clothes—when I go to the pub with Maura I usually wear jeans and a vaguely dressy top. I feel like I should make a bit more of an effort. I’ve only got the black dress I wore to Gethin’s party, and I don’t want to wear that. I go shopping at lunchtime the day before and trail miserably round the shops. Why am I doing this to myself?

  The shops are full of Christmas party clothes. I remember when I thought my life might involve the sort of events that would require such outfits. I go into Monsoon and find a black dress with embroidery and net sleeves. I try it on and look at myself critically in the mirror. It’s a good length, although…will I have to buy shoes? The long, flat boots I wear to work, bought from eBay, won’t really cut it. I’d forgotten how this stuff snowballs out of control if you let it. The dress is pretty though, so I buy it. Then I buy some strappy sparkly evening shoes, and a bag. I haven’t spent this much on clothes in years, and it makes me feel a bit anxious.

  * * *

  Owen’s a year younger than I am, and he’s been divorced for a year. He’s had a couple of dates with various friends of friends and one woman he met online. He’s very shy—I don’t know if this is always true, or if it’s me, or the situation. He also has a really quiet voice, and I’m worried I won’t be able to hear him once it gets a bit busier. We sit in the bar for one drink before going through to the dining room, and I already feel a bit despondent. I think my dress might be wasted. He’s perfectly nice, don’t get me wrong, although he has one of those droopy handshakes that I can never understand. It’s not hard to shake hands firmly, surely. It’s not encouraging when a man doesn’t, and I know that’s a weird psychological thing, and probably unfair.

  We’ve ordered our food, anyway, and we’re making (very) small talk about Christmas and work when he says, “Wow, is that Vanessa Winslade?”

 

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