“Geraldine. It’s Sarah.”
A long pause reeled out, but she had been expecting that.
“I don't believe it,” Geraldine said eventually. “I took your number off my phone; otherwise I wouldn't have answered.”
“How are you doing?”
“I just said I took your number off my phone. Why are you asking me how I'm doing?”
“Making conversation, I guess ... Hello? … Hello?”
Sarah dialled back. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Geraldine,” she was able to say eventually. “I’m in trouble. I'm sorry I've not been in touch, but I'm in big trouble.” Another silence. “You remember your promise?”
“I don't believe this.”
“Choose a friend,” Simon had said. “Someone reliable. One of your best friends. Make them promise to put you up if anything happens to me. You're going to need people you can trust around you. All the time. But I can't know who they are. Find someone reliable, make them promise and then keep a low profile. Don't tell me their name, where they live, what sex they are. They're not to phone the house or your mobile. No email. No Facebook. Cut them off. No contact unless you need their help.”
To her shame, she had done it. They hadn't been best friends, but they had been getting close. It felt unusual and good. Asking her to promise to look after her in an emergency had cemented the relationship. Geraldine had almost cried. And then, as Simon had demanded, she had broken contact.
“I've been a bitch,” she said.
“Maybe,” Geraldine said. “I don't know what I'd do if I saw you again.”
“Let's find out,” Sarah said. “Look out of your window.”
*
Geraldine opened the front door wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and pink slippers with pig faces. As she stepped outside, however, her expression was serious. Sarah was used to seeing her with and without make-up. The morning after a night out her beautiful molasses sugar skin would be sucked dry of moisture, ashy, her lips cracked. She'd be standing over a pot of coffee in a similarly fluffy dressing gown, inhaling the caffeine fumes for an early hit and trying not to be sick. Although she appeared to be healthier now than she had been on those occasions, there was something unwholesome about her now. It was difficult to say why on a first impression. She had put on a stone or two, but that wasn't it. Her hair was combed out and unglamorous, secured on top of her head by a purple scarf, in preparation for future styling, but that wasn't it either.
It was late and her eyes were red. Sarah would have expected that of anyone else, but Geraldine had always been full of life, full of energy. Her eyes told a new, sombre story. They used to sparkle and everyone believed that she would become an actress as she wished, because she had an intangible quality that made people want to listen to her. Even when she was murderously angry, she had a light of sorts.
That all appeared to be in the past.
“I can't believe you're here,” Geraldine said. “I can't believe you're doing this.” Her voice could be politely described as husky. To Sarah it was something rubbed dry and raw.
“I'm desperate,” Sarah said. “I've got to get off the road for a while. I could sleep on the floor.”
Geraldine hesitated. “I'm married now, Sarah,” she said. “Things have changed.”
“Married? When? Who?”
“I didn't think you were that bothered. You never answered my calls.”
Sarah held her head in her hands. Keep it together.
“Congratulations,” she said.
“What will he think if he wakes up and finds you on the floor.”
Sarah couldn't believe what she was hearing. Geraldine giving a fuck what someone else thought? When did that happen? Like oil in water, it changed everything.
“Can you talk to him?” Sarah asked and Geraldine sniggered then sighed.
“He's asleep. It's best if he doesn't ever find out you're here.”
“I'll be silent,” Sarah said.
“You're good at that.”
“Look … I am sorry.”
“You look. I'm going to keep my promise, but in the morning you have to find somewhere else to stay. I don't ever want to see you again.”
It stung even more than Sarah had imagined. She followed Geraldine into the dark hallway and Geraldine shut the door behind her. Sarah could smell perfume on her dressing gown – Calvin Klein, one of her own favourites – intermingled with a fragrance for a man, something equally expensive, layered with stale cigarette smoke.
As they ascended the stairs, Sarah following Geraldine's swinging hips, she could smell oil and eggs and sausages and was suddenly starving. She hoped that Geraldine would offer her a snack, but instead she pushed open a door off the landing and said in a low voice:
“Stay in here. Don’t come out. Don’t come out for anything. Don’t make a sound. Do you understand?”
She sounded like Simon.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she said.
“Do you need to pee?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
It was at that moment that Sarah's phone rang. It began as a tentative rumble in her pocket and then there was a woosh as the ringtone began to sing. She pulled it from her pocket, intending to cut it off immediately, but she found herself staring at Simon’s name on the display, terrified, confused and elated all at once. Geraldine attempted to snatch it from her grip, but she pulled away.
“Sarah!” Geraldine hissed. In the darkness, Sarah couldn't see her expression and she was glad. She sounded furious and she was right to be, but she could not hang up. She felt connected to her brother again. She wanted to answer the call so he could tell her everything was alright again. Needing to make a quick decision, she decided that it didn’t matter that it might not be safe. It was worth the risk. It's better to regret something you have done, than something you haven't. She'd heard that in a song. That was right, wasn't it?
“Sarah!”
Her thumb hovered above the answer button.
“Give me the phone!”
It wailed for a few seconds more and then Sarah closed her eyes and disconnected the call.
“Oh my God,” said Geraldine and shoved her into the spare room. Sarah wanted to explain, but knew that she couldn’t. “Turn it off,” Geraldine said.
Sarah switched the phone to vibrate.
“Off!” Geraldine said.
“It is off.”
“No noise. Not a sound. Go to sleep. Do not come out until I get you, or I swear to God ...”
“Okay. I heard you.”
Geraldine shut the door gently although she wanted to slam it. Sarah pressed her ear against the cool wood, listening to her fluffy slipper footsteps crossing the landing, to the right, followed by the sound of a door brushing against carpet as it opened. A pause and then again, hushing, she closed the door behind her.
The room in which she stood was about ten feet by ten feet, somewhat larger than Simon's room, but with more items inside. Moonlight illuminated the flimsy curtains and showed her disconcerting silhouettes. She stared at the shadowy objects in an attempt to make sense of them, but the more she examined them the more they seemed like dead things, giant skeletons, animals waiting to pounce. Almost whimpering, surprised at herself, she edged towards the curtain. She let out a yelp when one of the things touched her and she slapped her hand over her mouth.
I'm nearly crying, she realised as she reached the curtain. Tentatively, she drew it back so she could see the room more clearly.
A cross-trainer, with tea towels and pillowcases draped over its arms. A washing basket. A clothes horse. A TV set with an old-fashioned aerial. Boxes and boxes, labelled with marker pen, stacked up almost as high as the ceiling. A past life. Hidden.
She hoped to cast her eyes on a fridge, but it didn’t materialise. This room was strictly storage, where Geraldine – or her new husband - had put things that she couldn’t let go of, but wanted to keep out of sight.
She sank to the floor and let the curtain go, returning the room to its eerie, semi-gloom.
It had been ten minutes now and Simon hadn't called back. If she hadn't come here, she could have spoken to him, might have been able to turn the car around and head back home. Now she was waiting again, something she was no good at at all.
In one corner was a pile of sheets, from which she made herself a makeshift pillow. She put her head down and listened to the house as she often did when she was at home. She could hear the buzz of electricity in the wires, the breeze in the trees and somewhere a very late or very early bird was chirping.
In the hallway, a clock was ticking steadily.
She removed her jacket, wrapped it around her like a blanket and considered what she would do tomorrow. She shouldn't be alone. She could do some shopping, she supposed. The shops counted as a public place and Simon had left her a healthy amount of emergency money in one of the jacket pockets. That probably hadn't been his intention though. That money would be for transport, food, shelter. Simon things.
She didn't want to be alone tomorrow. An entire day of fear and loneliness loomed. She clutched her phone to her chest so she would be certain to feel it if Simon called again. She knew she wouldn't sleep until she heard from him.