‘How long have you been hiding there?’ I cry.
He sighs, he stretches, he yawns. He closes the book, keeping his index finger sandwiched between the pages, and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. A slight shake of his head answers my question; he’s been there the whole time.
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ I snap.
Jim looks at Mary, perhaps for help.
‘He didn’t have anything to say,’ Mary says. ‘How’s the book?’
‘Yeah, it’s not bad, Mary,’ Jim says, that smile appearing from one side of his mouth. ‘I don’t mind this sort of crime thriller stuff now and then. It’s like crack on paper.’
‘But it won’t kill you,’ Mary laughs.
‘You’re not wrong there,’ Jim laughs, too.
‘Take it with you.’
‘You sure?’
‘I won’t be reading it twice. Do you wanna top up?’ Mary lifts the teapot from the oval table beside her armchair. ‘Another biscuit?’
‘Oh, go on then. You’ve twisted me arm.’
I sit frozen on the edge of the sofa, my hands hanging onto my chest. What’s going on here? Jim and Mary are acting like the best of friends, completely at ease within each other’s company. Now they’re talking about the book again, and other similar ones they’ve read, and I’m just getting lost listening to them, for they’ve somehow switched their chit-chat onto the area of Liverpool where Jim is from. Apparently Mary used to live down that way, going back about forty years. Jim says she must have done alright for herself, to get a house up this way. Mary says it was the only perk of being married to an accountant.
‘I thought you’d gone,’ I whisper.
Jim and Mary stop chatting.
‘What did she say?’ Mary asks.
‘She said she thought I’d gone,’ Jim says.
‘Gone where?’ Mary asks.
‘Dunno. I think she thought I’d just got off, like.’
‘Why would she think that?’
Nobody answers Mary’s question. I smile at Jim, my way of saying thanks. He didn’t just ‘get off’, or however he wanted to put it. Jim actually smiles back, that one-sided smile of his.
‘And now you’re awake, queen,’ Mary says. ‘Can you tell me why the bloody hell you’re carrying a bloody mop around with you? I asked your friend here as he was carrying you through me front door, but he said he didn’t know.’
‘Well, I told her I wouldn’t ask,’ Jim says. True to his word, he hasn’t.
‘I mean, it’s not unusual for a girl to be dragging a couple of suitcases around. But a mop?’
I hold my china teacup out for a top up and tell them my story. The elaborate details are discarded, a dumbed-down version of how I’ve been telling it before yesterday. Mary’s wrinkled, painted face seems to grow a few more grooves as she listens. Jim sits quietly in the rocking chair, listening, not opening his book once while I speak.
‘I wish you would’ve told me that story sooner,’ Jim says, when I finish.
‘Really?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, ’cause I could’ve warned you that Nick was a right plank.’
Mary breaks into a cackle.
‘My heart is shattered,’ I say, aware that I’m on the brink of yelling, but I’m furious. ‘I know I seem like a crazy person, carrying a mop around like a security blanket, but it became a thing … like a joke. A private joke. Just between us. We’d video chat and the mop was always there with us like this extra person and I’d dress it with a silly hat or a wig and … oh, you don’t understand.’
They clearly don’t.
They’re crying tears of laughter, Mary smudging her eye shadow and Jim pressing his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. They both keep apologising because they know their uncontrollable fits are offending me.
‘And you brought it all the way from Dubai?’ Mary asks.
I nod. ‘I’ve flown so much in my life, it’s almost like taking the bus. But this time was different. I had purpose rather than just bobbing back and forth.’
‘Bloody hell, queen. It would’ve been easier bringing a camel than a mop. At least you could’ve rode on its back.’
‘You know what, I don’t have to listen to you guys mocking me,’ I say. Enough is enough. ‘Thank you for taking care of me, thank you for the tea, thank you for lending me your ears, but—’
‘Oh, sit down, queen. Bloody hell, she’s a dramatic one, isn’t she?’ Mary cocks her head and rolls her eyes at Jim, who seems to be really enjoying rocking back and forth in that chair.
‘I’m not being dramatic,’ I say, admittedly loaded with drama. I take a breath. ‘I was under the impression that Nick was the person I’d spend my life with. He said those actual words, “We’re going to spend our life together”. What was I supposed to think? That really, he meant, “Oh, I’m secretly married and have two daughters”? Everything I own is squashed into those two suitcases. I booked a one-way ticket, for God’s sake. That’s how positive I was. No. That’s how tricked I was.’
Jim stops rocking. The cat reappears and finds Mary’s lap again.
‘Anyway,’ I say, calm, starting to feel the benefit of a decent cup of tea. ‘I’ve booked a flight back, tonight. This trip is over. Almost. I just need to get to the airport. If I miss my flight I’m screwed.’
‘What time’s your flight?’ Jim asks, both he and Mary looking up at the clock above the fireplace.
‘Ten.’
‘Oh, plenty of time,’ Mary says. ‘Do you wanna cheese butty?’
‘No. I don’t have plenty of time.’ I swallow. ‘I’ve got to get to Heathrow.’
‘Well, don’t let me stop you,’ Mary says, her attention switching to the cat, stroking with verve. ‘You both better get going soon. How far’s Heathrow? That’s London way, isn’t it … maybe four, five hours from here?’
A thick pause sits in the centre of Mary’s sitting room. Then, the cat, just about to drop off, is shaken awake, hissing, as Jim stands with gusto, the empty chair continuing to rock away.
‘LONDON?’ he shouts.
‘What are you shouting for?’ Mary asks.
‘He always shouts,’ I inform her. ‘Although he thinks he doesn’t.’
‘I DON’T,’ Jim shouts.
‘You must bring out that side in him,’ Mary says, trying to comfort her pissed-off cat.
‘Thanks, Mary,’ I huff.
‘You didn’t know you were taking her to London?’ Mary asks.
‘I thought I was taking her to John Lennon, or Manchester.’ Jim paces the room and has a good look at the pictures on the wall. He clears the shaggy curls hanging over his eyes, pushing them back past his forehead. ‘I know now,’ he says.
Did I just hear that right?
‘You’ll take me all the way to London?’ I ask.
Jim folds his arms, his focus remaining on the pictures.
‘If you let go of the mop,’ he says.
Well, of course I’ll let go of the mop. What a stupid suggestion. Why would I want to carry this pointless mop around with me any longer? It symbolises the most catastrophic waste of time and an abundance of lies, lies, lies.