Something Only We Know (20 page)

At the top of the stairs I paused to get my bearings because they’d changed the café round since I was last in. It was soft furnishings where the tables had been, and the eating
area had been moved to the opposite side. I began walking towards the sign, still (in spite of myself) pondering Ellie’s Facebook page and how I might get past the block, when there she was
again, sitting with a grey-haired woman near the food counter. They must have slipped past me while I was preoccupied. Ellie’s face was bowed and her companion was leaning forward
urgently.

I didn’t know what to do. For a while I stood by a shelf of cushions, watching them. The grey-haired woman might be her mum, I supposed, although she didn’t look anything like Ellie.
She was built on a large scale, broad and florid, with a frizzy mop of curls. Her calves under the table were encased in thick sheepskin boots. She took Ellie’s fingers in hers and it was
like a slab of meat closing round them.

Whoever she was, she certainly had a lot to say.

The position of their table meant I could legitimately have gone right up to them, stood close by as I ordered my cake. That way I wouldn’t have been able to help overhearing their
conversation. With a spot of strategic lingering, I could probably have found out who this woman was and what was the topic that absorbed them. Then I saw that Ellie was crying. My own heart was
gripped by a spasm of both pity and self-pity, a connection so intense for that moment that I was amazed she didn’t sense it and turn to look at me. Grey-hair frowned and soothed and patted
about for a hanky. She ended up offering a serviette which Ellie took, but after half a minute screwed into a ball and threw on the table.
What?
Grey-hair seemed to be asking.
What can
I do?

With a decisive action Ellie got to her feet, waving the other woman away. She pushed her chair under the table and set off in my direction, then veered off to the left. I realised she was
seeking refuge in the ladies’ loo.

I wanted to do some good. That was my excuse. I wanted to be able to help, if only in some tiny way. As Grey-hair rooted in her handbag, I darted out of my aisle and followed Ellie into the
toilets.

The place was empty when I got inside, one cubicle door shut. I thought it was important I was up-front about my presence so that she didn’t believe she was alone and do anything
embarrassing. I started by running a tap and splashing my hands in the sink. Next I used the dryer, and when that had finished I set off a tap again.
Someone is here
, I vibed at her.
Someone who wishes you well
. I thought at random of my poor sister: how many hours of her teenage life were probably spent hiding away in school loos, mopping her tears. If only
she’d had a kind word or two to buoy her up.

With a click the cubicle finally opened. I was facing the mirror, reapplying my lip balm, but I could see Ellie had made an attempt to dab her face dry and repair her equilibrium. She was still
very flushed, though. Our eyes met via our reflections. Then she stepped up to the sink and began to wash her hands.
I’m sorry
, I said in my head
. I noticed you were upset. Are
you OK? Can I help?

She caught my gaze again and I gave what I hoped was an encouraging smile. Immediately fresh tears welled and ran down her cheeks and I felt awful. But it was the prompt she’d needed.

‘God,’ she said, her voice high and girlish. ‘What a mess. Bloody men.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Bloody men. They’re not worth it, are they?’

Then, before I could add any more, she’d wiped her hands, dried her face with the towel, and left to face the world. Those were the only words we exchanged. They were the only words she
needed to say.

As I traipsed back to the office I passed a young homeless man sitting in a doorway with his coat spread on the pavement, begging. The world was grim, there was so much badness
sloshing about. I paused, opened my purse and handed him a twenty-pound note, my lunch money for the week. His face showed such surprise.

‘’Kin ’ell. Cheers, beautiful,’ he said in a Manchester accent.

‘I’m not beautiful. But thanks.’

‘You are, you know.’

I shook my head.

He shrugged. I walked on.

Although I was out of the office that afternoon, I needed to pop in and confirm the destination address, pick up my notebook and Dictaphone.

As soon as I stepped through the door I could tell something was amiss. Gerry was hunched right over his keyboard in the manner of a schoolboy who doesn’t want anyone copying his test.
Over by the water cooler two photographers huddled, looking as if they’d rather be anywhere else. Meanwhile Rosa circled the room with a face on her like a sulky baboon.

I tried to telegraph a query to Gerry with my eyebrows, but he wasn’t taking me on.

‘It was
there
,’ snapped Rosa, pointing at the fridge. ‘It was in there, on the top shelf.
Somebody
has taken it.’

‘Taken what?’ I asked before I could stop myself.

‘My lunch!’

‘Oh.’ The swell of dread subsided. Unless Rosa’s lunch had been a rotten banana or some leathery cheese, I was definitely in the clear. Whatever nasties I’d chucked in
the waste bin that morning, I knew I definitely hadn’t touched her carrot sticks.

I grimaced to demonstrate innocent sympathy, then lifted my jacket off the back of the chair and reached into my bag to double check the appointment details.

‘
Someone
must know where it went,’ Rosa continued. ‘It hasn’t just disappeared on its own. It hasn’t grown legs and walked off.’

The couple I was scheduled to interview lived out in Tarporley. I seemed to remember reading they had a clinic on the high street. In fact I thought I could picture it, a row of bronze-tipped
railings running along the outside.

Alan walked in carrying a multipack of Coke. He too picked up on the atmosphere. ‘What’s the matter? Something amiss?’

‘Yes. My glass of Lemon Accelerator has been removed from the place I left it.’

‘Lemon what?’

My boss’s lip twitched with irritation. ‘It’s a special formula, lemon juice and metabolism-boosting supplements. You mix it up and then it has to sit and chill overnight.
It’s very expensive. They use it at the Chanterelle Spa. I’d put it in the fridge, and now it’s gone.’

‘Ah, right. Like lemon juice, is it? A cup of lemon juice? And it’s disappeared, you say?’

Lemon juice. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I speeded up my movements, struggled to get my coat on, failed to insert my arm into the sleeve and gave up. So that glass of horrid cloudy stuff I’d
slung down the plughole at 8.50 a.m. had in reality been my boss’s wallet-busting diet gunk. I bundled up the coat and let it drop onto the chair. The bag strap had caught, but I tugged and
it came free. I overbalanced slightly and knocked into the desk, making the pen pot fall over. Everyone looked in my direction. Leave it, leave it, I told myself. All I had to do was keep my mouth
shut and exit the building. I was past Gerry’s desk, I was by the water cooler, I was almost within reach of the door.

‘You know, I’m pretty sure Jen mentioned she’d had a clear out of the kitchen area just this morning,’ I heard Alan say behind me.

I really needed my dance class that night. I needed to be flinging myself about to Latin music for an hour in the company of non-judgemental women.

I’d half expected Hel to cry off the zumba. I knew she was nervous about going because she kept asking me about it – was the teacher nice, was everyone very fit, was it quite
competitive? Though her figure looks graceful, her coordination’s poor. It took her five goes to pass her driving test. So she was worried about making the wrong dance moves and everyone
seeing. I told her it didn’t matter, and that even the instructor sometimes forgot the steps. I said, ‘What do you think’ll happen if you do go wrong? The zumba police will turn
up and cart you off? No one watches anyone else anyway; we’re each in our own world of salsa rhythm, jigging about.’ But Hel has to get things right and be perfect, and struggles when
she falls short of that.

She was also bothered about what to wear. She still doesn’t like exposing much flesh if she can get away with it. I said she could arrive in a baggy jumper if she wanted, but it would have
to come off at some point unless she wanted to collapse with heat exhaustion, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing. In the end she settled for cargo trousers and a vest, with one of Ned’s
short-sleeved tees on top of that and a long cardi over the lot. Her hair she insisted on wearing loose, even though I said it would get in the way (she did agree to a sweatband round her
forehead). As we went out of the front door, Dad called to us to have a good time and Mum threw him a look so sour it ought to have shrivelled him where he sat, except he never takes any notice of
her.

But I wasn’t going to let her sulking ruin my evening. I love zumba, had always been fed up when Owen made me miss a class. It wasn’t only the buzz I got from dancing, it was the
whole package I enjoyed – the cheery lights shining from the village hall as my car drew up, the greetings and banter as I walked through the double doors, the funky music playing in the
background. My feet would be tapping before we’d even started. And it was such a friendly mix – young teens to pensioners, women from all walks of life. We had farmers and nurses,
chemists and teachers, a dog-walker, a pilot, a landscape gardener. One of our student members had been an extra in a zombie film.

‘Are you positive no one’ll laugh at me?’ Hel asked, shivering as I led her through the foyer.

‘I promise. They’re not like that.’

She managed a tiny smile and we slipped inside.

It was noisy with laughter and chat. Sally, the instructor, was already up on the podium because I’d deliberately timed our entry so we’d go more or less straight into the dancing
and Hel wouldn’t have chance to stress. I knew introducing her to people and fielding their polite questions would be an ordeal. I made my way to my regular spot at the front, and my sister
came and stood bravely beside me.

But before we kicked off, it seemed that this week Sally had an announcement. She adjusted her head mike, then cleared her throat.

‘Hello again, and a special hello to our newbie,’ she said, with a little wink at Hel, who blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘Now, I know you’re keen to get going. Champing
at the bit, aren’t you? That’s my girls. But first, I have a special message from Lydia regarding her sponsored cycle trip.’

All heads turned to Lydia, who was standing in her usual place near the corner.

‘Yeah, hi folks. What it is, as most of you know, my son and I did this charity bike ride from Land’s End to John O’ Groats and I just wanted to update you on the final totals
and to say thanks again for your sponsorship and support, which was fantastic. In the end we’ve raised three thousand eight hundred pounds and it’s going to Cyclists Fighting
Cancer.’

There she paused while we took in the figure and applauded.

‘Seventy-five hours in the saddle, wasn’t it?’ said Sally. ‘You were walking funny for ages after.’

Lydia nodded. ‘Ten days’ solid riding.’

More applause, a few jokey comments. ‘Jesus,’ Hel said under her breath to me. ‘How many miles is that?’

‘Dunno. Eight hundred, nine hundred?’

‘Wow.’

‘She did tell me. I’ll show you her charity page when we get home; it’ll be on there.’

Sally gave Lydia a final thumbs-up and reached for the dial on her iPod dock. Then the music swelled into a thudding bass line that vibrated right through you. ‘OK, just follow me,’
I mouthed, and we were off.

For me, the attraction of zumba is that you can completely lose yourself. I’ve been coming to this class for so long that the sequences are programmed into me. The tunes are catchy and
bursting with energy, the lyrics often in a language I don’t understand but which sounds yearning and poetic. For three or four minutes at a time I switch off my brain and become simply an
extension of the music, an abstract thing wired up to the pitch and beat, so that I’m throwing out my limbs without thinking and springing into the air and gulping in great joyful breaths.
When I’m stamping my feet, I’m stamping away the frustrations of the day. When I shake my head, I’m emptying it of cares. Tension drains away until the only thing that’s
left of me is the dance. I love it. Of course this session was different in that I did have to keep half an eye on Helen, but the warm-up was slow-paced and easy to follow and she seemed to be
having no problems. I thought,
if she gets through this class OK, she’ll like it. She’ll come away exhilarated, the way I do, and it’ll do her so much good
. Her colour
was up already. She looked excited.

Four songs later and we were both pretty flushed. We paused between tracks for a drink and I said to her, ‘At least take your cardi off.’

I’d expected her to say no, but she did as she was told, and in dragging at the sleeve she pulled the oversized T-shirt almost off her arm. For a moment she hesitated, holding the material
away from her burning skin. Sweat was beading her brow above the headband and her eyes were feverishly bright.
Don’t tell me she’s actually going to strip down to her vest?
But
then the next song started and she let the T-shirt fall and hurried back to her place.

She kept up well on the whole. Slim as a wand my sister may be, but she’s not especially fit. I could tell she was struggling towards the end of the hour. The rest of us know how to pace
ourselves and if we’re getting puffed we take it down a notch, cutting out the odd leap or kick or arm-pump. Helen was having none of that; she was going to do it right or not at all. When we
got to ‘Danza Kuduro’ there are these multiple twirls which I could see were making her giddy. I said, ‘
Go
sit down for a minute. No one’ll mind.’ She just
shook her head and carried on.

It wasn’t till the stretches at the end that she let herself flop.

‘You OK?’ I asked as she leaned against the wall, breathing hard.