I Know You

‘That’s kind of you, and we’d love to,’ Anna says as she pours the water into two mugs, ‘but I don’t know when Rob’s next back. He often can’t confirm until a day or so beforehand.’

‘Sure. Or maybe you could come on your own? We won’t bite.’

‘That would be great,’ Anna says. ‘Maybe a better plan, actually. Rob’s usually really tired when he comes back. He often just wants to relax at home, to be honest. Boring old fart that he is.’ She smiles. ‘Right. Have you got the energy to open some of these bags? I’m dying to see what everything looks like.’

It takes a good hour to arrange things – an hour in which I feel a bit like a magician waving my wand over the house. Anna’s face lights up as her living room transforms in front of her eyes. I take a few pictures of my handiwork.

‘Right, we just need to get some pictures in those frames and get them up on that wall,’ I say as we stand back to survey the room, ‘and, if you painted that bookcase white or even a combination of white and maybe a pale, chalky blue, it would make a world of difference. It would come up a treat with some Annie Sloan paint, and it’s not difficult to do.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

I smile. ‘I’m happy to help. Painting furniture’s my therapy!’

‘You’re amazing. It’s incredible what a difference you’ve made,’ Anna says, and I seize the chance.

‘Would you mind if I put some pictures online? It’s the first “project” I’ve done and it might help me drum up some business if I decide to do this professionally.’ Anna opens her mouth but I interrupt. ‘I could tag you, if you like? Or not.’

‘Oh, I…’ Anna begins, then she shrugs. ‘Be my guest. As long as I’m not in them.’

‘Why not?’

‘You never know who’s out there,’ she says, then laughs. ‘I’m not paranoid, I’m just…’ she frowns as she searches for a word, ‘wary.’ She tells me the name of her account, and I type it in as if I don’t know it, then click follow. ‘Perfect. Done. I’ll tag you when I upload them.’

Anna leads me to the door then turns to me. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘It’s a pleasure. So, are you up for the walking group on Wednesday?’

‘Yes, sure. See you there.’

‘You will do!’

‘If Simon doesn’t get to you first!’ Anna waves from the door. ‘Safe journey!’

We both laugh and I’m still smiling to myself as I set off, thinking back over the day. Anna’s a good shopping companion, open-minded and willing to go along with whatever I suggested; never shy of paying for things, either. I’ve been shopping with friends who, when it comes to actually making the decision, never actually buy anything – and where’s the fun in that?

Later, when everything’s happened – a lot later, when the police have bowed out, the dust has settled and life has moved on as it inevitably does – I remember this day with Anna. I remember how happy I was.

I know what your favourite restaurant is

Wahaca.

A Mexican chain, where ‘the food is fast, fresh and feisty’.

You may deny it – if asked, you’d probably name some fancy place where all the celebs go – but the trail’s there, isn’t it? Six check-ins in two months. Instagrammed: crispy prawn tacos. Instagrammed: Mexican feast. Instagrammed: huitlacoche empanadas. Instagrammed: ancho chicken tacos #fresh #streetfood #marketfood #lovemexico #clean #authentic. Nom fucking nom.

Oh, you think you’re such a foodie. The phrase ‘street food’ falls out of your mouth like diarrhoea. To listen to you, anyone would think you’re the first person to have discovered authentic Mexican food; that you’ve single-handedly pioneered Wahaca’s success; that it’s entirely down to you that Time Out’s called it London’s ‘trendiest chain for chatting and chowing down’. You spout off about ‘fresh’ and ‘honest’ ingredients to anyone who’ll listen. It’s like you think you’re Deliciously fucking Ella.

But what do you actually do to earn the label of foodie? Did you know the best chefs before they became famous? Do you travel the world seeking them out; do you go to places just to immerse yourself in the food culture? Have you ever travelled rough from Hanoi to Saigon, living hand to mouth and eating the best op la, pho, and bun rieu? That’s street food for you, princess. That’s being a foodie.

Oh no. You think all you need to do is check-in every time you eat out, and Instagram your food from above, and you think that makes you part of the in-crowd, don’t you? One check-in at the Wimbledon branch. Two in Covent Garden – could it be more ‘cringe’? Three check-ins on the South Bank.

That’s your favourite, isn’t it? Those containers in their bright colours overlooking the laconic sludge of the Thames. ‘It’s so authentic,’ you bleat, but you’re not lying: your favourite thing in the world is to eat there then walk along the South Bank, watching the street artists, listening to the buskers, watching the boats and pretending you’re some kind of trendy London type. It makes me want to puke. Can I tell you something, sweetie-pie? You’re no foodie: you’re boring. You’re pathetic. The only food you are is fucking vanilla.

Eleven

Long before I reach the walking group’s meeting point, I see her straight blonde hair and bright blue coat sticking out among the sea of browns and olives that ebbs and flows around her. On Instagram, she’s posted a collage of shots she took on our shopping trip ‘#new friends’ and I’m on top of the world. I sneak up behind her.

‘Do you come here often, young lady?’ I say in my creepiest voice. She spins around defensively, almost as if she’s going to strike out, then her face softens as she realizes it’s me.

‘Hey. Morning! No sign of lover-boy today so it looks like you’re stuck with me.’

‘Oh, I suppose I’ll survive!’ I say, rolling my eyes to hide how pleased I am that I’ll get her to myself.

A few minutes later we set off. The others fall into groups and we tag along near the back of the raggle-taggle string. Anna takes a quick picture of a squirrel that’s unusually close to the path.

‘Instagram!’ she sings, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

‘So, how’s Rob?’ I say, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. It’s cold and damp, not really the blue-sky day I’d hoped for, and there’s a heavy scent of petrol fumes in the air, but at least it’s not raining.

‘Fine, I guess. I haven’t spoken to him,’ says Anna.

I tilt my head. ‘Really?’

‘It’s difficult with the time difference and everything…’ She shrugs. ‘We message. Talk once a week.’

‘I guess you’re more used to being apart than I am. I’m on the phone with Jake most nights.’

I don’t point out that it’s him who calls me, and that I suspect it’s only to prove that he’s not out with a woman. Not that a phone call proves anything, of course, but he doesn’t seem to see it that way.

‘How long have you guys been married?’ Anna asks.

I kick a pile of brown leaves, sending them flying into the air.

‘You should never do that,’ Anna says. ‘There might be hedgehogs under it.’

I look to see if she’s being serious, then apologize, thrown off-balance that I might have upset her.

‘No worries,’ she says. ‘Don’t do it again. So, how long have you been married?’

‘Two. And together for one before that.’

‘Not so long then.’

‘How about you and Rob?’

‘Seven years married. And you know what they say about that.’ Anna rolls her eyes.

‘Seven-year itch?’ I ask, and she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. It surprises me. Young couple, pregnant wife – I’d assumed, I suppose, that their marriage was a garden of roses. But I, of all people, should know that’s not necessarily true.

‘It’s difficult keeping things alive when we’re apart so much,’ Anna says carefully. ‘I only see him for a few nights every four to six weeks. Sometimes it feels as if he spends more time on aeroplanes than he does with me. It’s a joke I even got pregnant. And now…’ she exhales. ‘Now, I guess I’ll be pretty much raising this baby alone.’

‘But he’ll come home for the birth, won’t he? Stick around a bit?’

She shrugs. ‘You’d hope so, wouldn’t you?’ We walk a few steps while I digest this, then Anna speaks again. ‘God knows what he gets up to when he’s away.’ She looks away from me, across the park.

‘Surely not a lot? It’s Qatar, isn’t it?’ I’m really out of my depth now but, from what little I’ve heard about Middle Eastern countries, I imagine Rob’s living in some sort of compound with other male members of staff. Segregated from the women. Or is that Saudi Arabia? I’m ashamed how little I know, but it can’t be like California, can it, where temptation-in-a-bikini is all around.

Anna sighs. ‘I think it’s pretty relaxed in the big hotels. They can get alcohol and stuff. There are clubs and bars, and pretty, young cabin crew a-plenty.’ She shuts her eyes. ‘I just try not to think about it. So how do you and Jake keep it alive while he’s away?’ she says.

I laugh, thrown off guard by the question. ‘I’m hardly the right person to ask.’

‘Oh, come on! I need some tips.’

I go to kick another pile of leaves and remember I mustn’t. ‘I just try to keep him interested, that’s all. So he doesn’t look elsewhere. But, you know… with the baby…’

‘It’s safe, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Course it is. It’s just…’

Anna smiles. ‘I know exactly what you mean. The most important thing is to get the baby to full term, right? After what you’ve been through.’

‘Yes!’

‘And surely he understands that? I mean – it’s his precious son and heir, right?’

‘Exactly. Yes, of course.’

We smile, understanding each other perfectly.

‘But before that. What did you do to keep him interested?’ she asks. ‘You’ve got to have some tricks up your sleeve, right?’

I suck my teeth. ‘Well, we’d talk on the phone…’

‘Like… dirty talk?’ She’s peering at me, her curiosity naked.

‘Sometimes. And I’d send him pictures. Nothing that’d be worth hacking my iCloud for. Just a bit of a tease.’

‘To keep him interested?’

‘Yeah. You know how it is… handsome man; travels a lot…’ I exhale, plastering over the wound of Jake’s infidelity in my head; thinking further back to a time before I’d caught him cheating. ‘I dunno. I might buy some fancy new underwear when he was coming home after a longer trip. Not every trip, just now and then. And he likes a bit of role play, so – wow, this goes back to before we were married, I don’t think we’ve done it in ages – god, I’m embarrassed to say, but I’d get some dress-up costumes. We used to be quite playful.’ I laugh, self-conscious now, and sneak a sideways look at Anna. ‘It sounds seedy, doesn’t it? It was just a bit of fun.’

‘It’s not seedy, and I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I hope you didn’t mind me asking, but who else can you ask but your girlfriends?’

I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. You don’t do any of that, I take it?’

‘Rob’s not the sort. He’s more your wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type. You know, straight-up, no frills. If I put on fancy underwear he’d think I’d got a boyfriend coming over.’

I can’t imagine lovely Anna with someone who sounds, frankly, so dull. ‘How did you two meet?’

‘Long story. Boring story. Not-telling-you story.’

I pout to disguise my hurt. ‘Really?’

‘It’s not worth the breath. But let’s just say I was vulnerable at the point at which he came into my life and I think that’s got something to do with the fact we got together. He was what I needed at the time. Manly. Protective.’ She looks off into the distance and I remember the picture of him in her house; how much taller than her he is.

‘Sounds intriguing, not boring.’

Anna sighs. ‘It’s a story for another day.’

We walk in silence for a while. It hurts that she doesn’t want to tell me after everything I’ve just told her. It’s like three steps forward, one step back but I don’t want to push too hard.

‘So have you made any other friends?’ she says.

‘Well, funny you should mention that,’ I say, ‘but I’ve been invited to join a book club.’

‘Wow, I used to be in a book club in Bristol.’ She laughs to herself. ‘Fun times. Who’s running that?’

Even as she’s speaking, my mind’s running at high speed. Sarah said I could bring a friend, and Anna’s within walking distance.

‘Would you be interested?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I’d have to check, but it’s run by a woman in my street. It’d be awesome to have you there – if you’re a reader, I mean. Don’t join if you don’t like reading. What do you think?’

‘Really?’ We’re walking quite fast and Anna’s face, as she turns to me, is flushed. ‘I’d love that. Thank you!’

And, for the first time since I arrived in London, I feel I’m doing something useful – making friend connections – and it fills me with happiness, which is probably why, when footsteps run up behind us and I turn to see that it’s Simon, I give him a huge smile.

‘Hello, Taylor,’ he says, falling into step with us. ‘I thought that was you. Very distinctive walk you’ve got. And you’re Anna, aren’t you?’

Anna nods and gives him what I realize is clearly a fake smile and he smiles back then looks away.

‘How’s your dad?’ I ask.

He smiles again and I notice a couple of hairs sticking out of his nose. They quiver with every breath. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. ‘He had a much better week, thank you for asking.’

‘Good. And what about you? How was your week?’

He gives me another smile and shrugs. ‘Comme ci, comme ça. It is what it is.’

‘How long have you been caring for him?’ I ask.

‘It’s been a year since I moved in to Father’s place. I had to. It was too difficult otherwise. I couldn’t be everywhere at once.’

‘There’s no one else who can help?’ I realize what a daft question that is as it comes out of my mouth. Anna, who’s remained silent throughout this exchange, gives me a sideways look.

‘I don’t have any siblings,’ says Simon. ‘It’s okay. I don’t mind. It can just be a bit intense sometimes, which is why I enjoy coming to this group – getting outside, seeing other people, feeling like I have a normal life… Otherwise I tend to live my life vicariously through social media.’ He gives a nervous laugh.

‘Don’t knock it,’ I say. ‘Saved my life. When I moved here. I didn’t know anyone. If it wasn’t for social media, I think I’d have been dragged away by the men in white coats by now. My husband likes to joke that my best friends are Twitter and Instagram.’

‘Lol,’ he says with an ironic smile. ‘You are quite prolific.’

I do a double-take. ‘What?’

He taps the side of his nose with one finger. ‘Oh yes, I’ve checked you out already. I liked a couple of your posts. On Instagram, and Twitter.’

‘Really?’

‘Hmm. You won’t have known it was me: my account’s a load of random letters and numbers.’ He waggles his eyebrows at me. ‘I don’t like to give anything away.’

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