The Last Goodbye

But phoning again would be completely weird. This time she’d be ringing to speak to him and not the ghost of her long-dead husband. This man. This stranger.

This kindred spirit.

That thought stuck in her head for the rest of the evening. She stayed in bed, reading, moping, staring at the ceiling. After a few hours, she took a bath and got into her PJs, then returned to bed to read and mope and stare at the ceiling some more.

Eventually, she could avoid the urge no longer. She pulled her phone off the bedside table and pressed the entry near the top of her ‘recents’ list, the number still labelled as ‘Spencer’. Her heart thudded as she waited for it to connect. She closed her eyes and prayed hard she wouldn’t hear the robotic voicemail message, and it seemed, for once, her prayers were to be answered. The ringing stopped, and shortly afterwards, a deep male voice said, ‘Yes?’

‘It’s me again,’ Anna replied, then blew a breath out to steady herself. ‘It’s Anna.’

Chapter Twelve

‘ANNA.’

There wasn’t a hint of surprise in his tone. There wasn’t a hint of much, actually.

Instead of apologizing and hanging up like any sensible person would have done, she asked, ‘Do you remember me?’

A pause followed, one she couldn’t interpret, then he said, ‘Yes. I remember you.’

A bald statement of fact. No joke that strange women who phoned at random times of day or night might be hard to forget. That was the sort of thing Spencer would have said, but this man wasn’t Spencer. She needed to remember that.

Her throat dried. Where were words when you needed them? She’d had thousands waiting and ready to go, but now they’d all run scurrying into the shadows.

‘I wondered if you’d phone again,’ he said.

‘Really? You were expecting me to?’ Until tonight she’d had no intention of doing so. How had he known?

‘More pondering the probability.’

And then it went silent again. She’d called him to talk, after all, but now she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

And he clearly didn’t have anything to say to her.

Just like that, she knew she’d made a horrible mistake. Her words were clanging nails dropping on concrete. This wasn’t the lovely, warm, intimate bubble of conversation she’d imagined it would be. It wasn’t the place where she could spill her soul and find healing.

Oh, Anna. What have you done? It’s time to apologize for disturbing this man and put the phone down. Once again, you’ve conjured something from your imagination that isn’t there.

A terrible sense of loss came with this epiphany. However, there was one thing she needed to know before she pulled the phone away from her ear and ended the call. ‘When we talked before… How did you know?’

‘How did I know what?’

‘About the exploding… About the keeping it all in and then… just…’ She made a gesture with her hand, her fingers springing apart from a closed fist, and realized she was making no sense again. Good one, Anna. Should have hung up when you had the chance. From the silence on the other end of the line, she guessed he was thinking the same thing.

He breathed out, long and hard. ‘I just know.’

That was enough, just those three words. He’d said everything he needed to say, everything she needed him to say.

He got it. Not because someone had told him, but because he’d lived it too.

Anna choked back a sob. ‘Th-thank you,’ she sputtered as hot tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

More silence followed, but this time it was warm. Open. Giving her space, giving her permission. Anna started crying so hard she thought she’d run out of breath. She lost all sense of where she was, of time passing.

Eventually, she sat up, letting the duvet fall away from her face, and reached for a tissue from the box on the bedside table. The nose blow that followed was not very ladylike or demure. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered again, although she wasn’t quite sure if it was the gurgling, snotty noise or the crying in general that she was apologizing for.

‘You didn’t find Spencer?’ he asked.

Anna frowned, confused. ‘What?’

‘You were angry with him for leaving.’

It all came back then, how she’d rambled on the last time she’d called. Oh, God… What a fool she’d made of herself. He deserved some kind of explanation. ‘I am. I was… He’s not coming back. I know that now.’

There was a soft exhalation at the other end of the line, not so much a sigh but a gesture of recognition. ‘Are you better off without him?’

One corner of her mouth curled up in a twisted kind of smile. Even though he was wrong, that Spencer hadn’t left her of his own free will, she liked the way this man phrased it; he didn’t tell her she was better off but asked for her opinion on the matter. ‘No,’ she said truthfully. ‘I’m definitely not better off without him.’

Another breath… sigh… Whatever it was. He understood this too.

‘Will it always hurt this much?’ she asked.

‘Probably.’

She almost laughed. God, it was refreshing not to be given a platitude or a proverb.

‘He died,’ she said softly, not aware she was ready to tell this story until the words left her mouth. ‘He was thirty-one, and he died.’

‘Yet you phoned him,’ he said, clearly perplexed.

‘Yes. Stupid, isn’t it? Wanting to talk to someone who’ll never be able to hear you again, who’ll never be able to talk back.’

He let out a hollow laugh. ‘No.’

Anna closed her eyes as more tears surged down her face. Oh, the relief… ‘You have no idea how lovely it is to be able to say all of this, to be honest, and for someone else to understand.’

‘Then tell me more.’

Her eyes snapped open again. ‘Oh, I don’t think I should… I mean, I’ve invaded enough of your time already. You must have other things—’

‘I don’t,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘Not right now.’

‘But why would—?’

‘Because I wish I’d had someone.’ There was a pause, a moment of heaviness. ‘Someone I didn’t know. Someone who wouldn’t judge me… I won’t judge you, Anna.’

No, he wouldn’t. She knew that already. She’d known that before she’d picked up the phone this evening, hadn’t she?

So Anna talked. She told him about the day Spencer died, the darkness afterwards. She told him about the horrible time she’d had at the beach with Spencer’s family that day. And he listened. He didn’t say anything, didn’t comment, until she finally ran out of steam. ‘Sorry,’ she said again when she’d run out of words.

‘Why do you keep apologizing?’

‘Because… because normal people don’t do things like this,’ she replied.

‘Maybe they should.’

‘Even though I’m bothering you?’

‘You’re not.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not?’

‘I’d have told you if you were, and then I’d have hung up.’

Anna couldn’t help laughing. She didn’t know much about this man, but she knew enough from his direct, no-nonsense answers that this was the truth, and for some reason that made it funny.

‘You know my life story,’ she mused, ‘and I know nothing about you.’

‘Nope.’

She smiled again. ‘Apart from the fact you’re not fazed by strange women phoning you up and pouring their life stories out to you. Is it a speciality of yours?’

There was a little huff that might have accompanied a smile. ‘I have to admit that you’re the first.’

For some reason that warmed her. She sighed. ‘I should probably stop tying up your phone line. Someone else might be trying to get through.’ She imagined friends, a wife, even, getting frustrated with an electronic voice apologetically telling them this person was busy.

‘I doubt it,’ he said in that same blunt tone. ‘This is a new phone number and I haven’t given it to anyone else yet.’

‘Oh.’ Anna shifted and reached behind her so she could readjust the pillows and lean back against the headboard. ‘But it’s been almost four months since I first called. I’m the only person you’ve talked to in all that time?’

‘You’re the only human being I’ve talked to, full stop.’

‘You speak to non-human beings?’ she blurted out, aware it was the most ridiculous response she could have offered. However, picking up the phone and dialling his number this evening had also been pretty ridiculous, so at least she was being consistent.

And then it occurred to her what he’d just said: he hadn’t talked to another soul in almost four months. That just wasn’t normal. Why hadn’t he? She’d been so focused on what she needed from him, she hadn’t even stopped to consider the truth of what she’d just told him – that she knew nothing about him. He could be in prison, in solitary confinement. That would be a very good reason not to have much social contact, wouldn’t it? He could be dangerous or psychologically disturbed. Or both. And here she was chatting away to him, telling him everything about herself.

He made a noise that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been filled with such heaviness. ‘I talk to the dog sometimes. I have to, otherwise my vocal cords might atrophy.’

Atrophy. That was a good word, wasn’t it? A clever word. This man had education, so maybe he wasn’t a psychopathic, stalking axe-murderer behind bars after all. And he had a dog. That had to say something about the kind of person he was, didn’t it?

‘Why don’t you talk to anyone?’

‘My choice. I live in the middle of nowhere. Don’t get many visitors.’

Anna frowned. Was he a liar too? ‘And yet you still get a decent mobile phone reception?’

‘It’s weak, but I have a booster that amplifies the signal. When we had a storm just before Christmas and the landline went down for the fourth time in as many months, I decided I needed a backup.’

‘Hence the new phone and the new phone number,’ Anna said, sighing. ‘I bet you weren’t expecting this to happen when you got it.’

‘No.’ Again, no sense of irritation or weariness in his tone. She would have been on the verge of concluding that he was a bit strange not to mind her weird phone calls out of the blue, but now she knew just a little bit more about him, she wondered if maybe he was lonely. That would explain things.

And she did know a bit about him now. She crossed dangerous and psychotic off her mental list and added some new qualities: patient, calm and… kind. Yes, despite his bluntness and offhand demeanour, he’d been very kind to listen to her.

However, it struck her that there was one important bit of information she didn’t have about him. ‘I don’t know your name.’

‘It’s Brody.’

That fitted the deep gravel of his voice, somehow. She tried to picture him and came up with salt-and-pepper hair, maybe a beard. She got the sense he was older than she was, but it was hard to tell from his voice alone. He also sounded weary, as if he’d lived through a lot.

‘Brody,’ she repeated quietly, and then, because her manners hadn’t deserted her completely, she added. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

He laughed then, a proper deep rumble. ‘Surprisingly, I’m going to say “likewise”.’

There was nothing much left to say now. The bomb was no longer ticking away inside her. He’d defused it cleanly and effortlessly while they’d been talking, and she hadn’t even noticed. No explosion was imminent.

So that was that, then. It was time to go. The only problem was she didn’t know how to end a conversation like this. ‘Well,’ she began but was quickly drowned out by the insistent barking of a dog in the background on the other end of the line.

‘Hang on a sec,’ Brody muttered, and she could hear him putting the phone down and moving away, then mumbling something along the lines of: ‘Calm down! It’s only an owl.’ A few moments later he was back, sounding marginally more ruffled than he usually did, which was kind of reassuring. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘It’s okay,’ Anna replied. It had made her smile. She liked dogs. She and Spencer had talked about getting one not long before he died but had decided it wasn’t the best timing as Anna had just come off the pill and they were going to start trying for a baby. Another thing that had been stolen from her. But she wasn’t going to think about that right now. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to say—’

More barking.

‘Lewis!’ he shouted. ‘Quiet.’

There was such authority in his tone that the dog instantly fell silent.

‘You have a dog called Lewis?’ Anna asked, her voice raspy.

She heard movement and faint panting, and then he said, ‘Daft animal’ under his breath and she could picture the dog sitting at his knee and looking up at him with complete adoration as he scratched it between its ears. ‘Yes,’ he replied.

It was a sign.

Not from her deceased husband or anything stupid like that, but it was a sign. Why else would this man have not only her husband’s phone number but also a dog with exactly the same name as his favourite childhood pet? This was another connection that couldn’t be ignored.

‘Can I call you again?’ she blurted out.

He took a moment to reply. ‘If you need to.’

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘Goodb—’

She jumped in before he could finish. ‘Is it okay if we don’t say that word? I know it sounds strange, but I’ve had too much of “goodbye” today. Can we say something else or just hang up?’

He must have got used to her strange ways by now because he just said, ‘Fine’, not sounding offended in the slightest. Thank goodness. ‘Sleep well, Anna.’

She used all her determination to press her thumb onto her phone screen and make him disappear. After staring at her mobile for a few seconds, she turned out the light, thoroughly exhausted. She turned onto her back and lay staring at the ceiling, and for the first time that day, Anna breathed out. All the way.

Chapter Thirteen

BRODY STARED AT his shiny new phone. It was silent now, but the echo of Anna’s last words was still ringing in his ears. Lewis was nudging at his hand, asking for attention, but Brody kept his gaze on the screen. He didn’t actually expect it to jump into life again, but he kept looking at the display of recent calls. There were only four, all from the same number.

Each entry was just a row of digits. Eleven, to be exact. That was all that was left of her after she’d hung up. It seemed a little impersonal after the conversation they’d had.

He pressed ‘Add new contact’. All the while he was typing her name into the correct field, he told himself he didn’t really need to do this because she was the only person likely to call him in the foreseeable future – and that was only a vague possibility – but he carried on anyway until he was finished.

There was an icon next to her name, a lifeless little grey silhouette of a woman’s head on a paler background. It seemed too bland, so he pulled up the library of pictures that were preloaded onto the phone and chose one: an arching stalk of lily of the valley. For some reason, it seemed the most fitting.

She’d sounded young, more than a little fragile. Lost.

Brody knew what it was like to feel lost. He knew it very well. Maybe that was why he’d kept listening instead of hanging up.

He stuffed his phone in his jeans pocket, then went and fetched Lewis, let him out of the back door of the cottage one last time before they both settled down for the night – Lewis in his bed in the kitchen near the oil-fired Aga, and Brody upstairs in one of the low-ceilinged, black-beamed bedrooms. He lay in his bed and stared at the misty, moon-soaked clouds through the open curtains, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Anna.

She was still in the awful, early stages, when everything was raw and all-consuming, when you got stuck in an endless, grinding loop of hurt and sorrow. And regret. Don’t forget about the regret, he reminded himself. It might seem the most benign item on the list, but Brody knew it was the heavyweight. Regret would knock you to the floor with a single punch if you let it.

Did I lie to her? he wondered as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. Would it have made a difference if he’d had someone to talk to, some faceless person who hadn’t known him, who hadn’t been tainted by the knowledge of what had happened? Logically, it seemed possible, but he doubted it. He doubted it very much.

There was a faint scratching at the door, then it was nosed open by a naughty but rather hopeful terrier. Emboldened by the lack of a reprimand, the animal trotted over to the edge of the bed. A second later, the mattress dipped, and Brody felt the damp touch of a nose on his hand. Lewis collapsed on top of the duvet beside him and let out a long doggy sigh of contentment.

Brody usually kept his phone in his study, but it lay on the dark wood of the old and rickety bedside table. He drifted off to sleep, half-wondering if it would make another sound that night, but when he woke again the next morning, only four calls remained in the log. He shooed Lewis off the bed and dragged himself up.

He caught sight of his distorted reflection in the wardrobe mirror that was cloudy and dappled with age. When had he last had a shave? Last week? The one before? Whenever it was, he looked a state. Maybe he’d do it when he came back from his run. Although he didn’t know why he was thinking of bothering with shaving. There was no one here to impress. Only Lewis, and being a shaggy kind of dog, he’d probably prefer Brody the way he was.

He looked more like his father now he was getting older. There were a few specks of grey at his temple, which was expected, he supposed, given that on his last birthday he’d become officially middle-aged. Forty hadn’t been a shock, though. He’d felt older than that for years now. Much older.

The lanes that criss-crossed this part of the moor were still sleepy with mist when he set out. The nearest village was five miles away, and the nearest town more like thirty, which was exactly why he’d chosen this spot for his home. Most likely, the only living things he’d see on his route were some cows and a few rooks.

He checked his watch as he began to run. The grocery delivery was due at eight, so he’d make sure he was back at least ten minutes before that. He turned and vaulted over a farm gate, which was no problem, thanks to his long legs, and powered up the edge of a muddy field towards the top of a steep hill.

When he returned to the cottage, dripping with sweat, the pleasant sting of lactic acid in his muscles, Lewis came bounding into the yard to greet him. However, something else was also in his yard – a van with Hexworthy Organics emblazoned on its side in large green letters, its engine idling.

Crap. It was early.

Lewis, the traitor, went running off, tail wagging, to greet the driver, but Brody cut around the back of the outbuildings that were part of his property. Talking to the man wasn’t necessary: he always left a note with his order for the driver to leave everything in the small and very ancient conservatory that served as a mudroom. He wouldn’t quibble about substitutions. He’d take whatever they brought.

He entered his garden and slipped back into the house through the French doors that led from the patio into his living room and then entered the study next door. This guy must be new, because he was pounding on the front door, yelling: ‘Hello?’ Lewis was barking along, just for the sheer joy of joining in. Stupid dog.

Read your clipboard, mate, Brody thought. All the relevant information is on there, and then you can sling your hook and leave me alone.

What Brody could really do with was a shower, but the stairs could be seen through the glazed portion of the front door, so he sat down in his desk chair and waited, staring at a patch of chipped paint on the windowsill until the knocking stopped and he heard the rumble of an engine pulling out of the yard and disappearing down the lane.