Tell Me Everything (18 page)

“Shit.” His head fell down to his chest.

“But I knew you were there, Tim. Maybe I wouldn't have noticed anything if I hadn't been looking out for you.”

“Yes, but still—”

I spread my coat out to give him something dry to sit on. He folded his arms around his thin T-shirt, his long legs crossed in front of him so I could see his ankles. I rubbed my hand flat along
his thighs, feeling the rough denim against my palm, and then rested my head on his shoulder.

“Do you want to have a go now?” Tim asked. “You can walk round the back to start with so I won't know where you're coming from.”

“Not really.”

There was a group of teenagers celebrating something under one of the trees on the other side of the park. They'd hung some tarpaulin from the branches to make a tent, had lit a fire to sit round and one of them had a bongo drum on which he was just tapping away quietly. A woman walked in front of us with her dog, a Labrador that came up to sniff something under the bench but bounded off before I could stroke it.

“We can work on your identity then,” Tim said. He reached up and twirled a strand of my hair round his fingers. “Could you cut this off?”

I liked my long hair, but I liked sitting there under the canopy of Tim's arm more. If losing my hair was important to him, then that was fine by me. “Miranda will do it,” I said firmly. I wasn't going to give Tim any reason to doubt me.

“What's the name of your first pet?” he asked.

“Charlie,” I lied. “Why?”

“And the town you were born in?”

A couple had split away from the teenage group. The guy was leading the girl off by the hand, pulling her into the shadows. I watched them go, hoping she wasn't drunk, that she knew what she was doing and that she wanted to leave the safety of the group. I felt so much older than all of them. The girl stumbled and he dragged her a few steps impatiently. I looked away to where a middle-aged woman was drifting backward and forward on one of the children's swings in the play area. She was talking to someone on her mobile phone.

“Shall we go back to my room?” I said.

“We need a name for you first. Charlie what?”

“You decide.”

Tim pulled me close. I could feel him rubbing his chain against my hair. “Charlie Canterbury,” he said.

“Remember when we first started meeting here?” I said. “We couldn't stop talking to each other. We should go to the pub and have a proper conversation in the warmth. Get rid of this damp feeling.”

Tim ignored me. “And you're twenty-five. You work in an office and you live with your mother and father.”

“Not with my father,” I said quickly. “Charlie Canterbury has her own little flat where she does exactly what she wants. And with a roof garden and an outdoor shower,” I added.

“OK,” he laughed. “And what else does this woman have?”

“Well, it's funny, but there's this strange man she's in love with,” I said. I watched the woman on the swing. She was laughing on the phone now, holding her long hair up with one hand and then letting it fall down. I would have bet any amount of money that it was a man she was speaking to.

“Not good,” Tim said. “We'll have to get rid of him straight away. You can't afford commitments in this game.”

“Now that's a pity,” I said. The woman had stopped swinging and was leaning forward, her hair almost touching the ground as she spoke urgently into the phone. I had a sudden realization that she loved whoever she was talking to. I felt a strange tingle and looked back at Tim. “Because I'm rather fond of him myself.”

I pulled him in the direction of the woman as we walked back to my room. Just a few feet away from her, I stood still and let him hold me. She was listening intently to her phone now and, as Tim bent down to kiss me, I could hear the voices Tim had told me about when we first met echoing through our bodies. Needy, desperate
voices, wishing that things could have been different. And then all of a sudden they cut off. I looked over to where the woman was standing up, her conversation finished. Her shoulders were drooping and she looked as if she might have been crying.

“Let's go,” I told Tim.

T
im liked the fact that my room had long windows overlooking the street. He pulled a chair up to the window and gave me a running commentary about what was happening down below. I shut my eyes and pretended we were on a ship sailing above the rest of the earth, making our own world as the other, less fortunate beings scuttled round below us.

“So Molly.”

I was lying flat on my bed, my hands crossed in front of me. I had my eyes shut, but opened one to look at him.

“You've just failed the test,” Tim said. “You're Charlie now. Remember?”

I went to sit next to him. He was taking up all the available space on the chair, so after a bit I gave up perching and sat cross legged on the floor, with my back against the side instead.

“What do you like best about me, Tim?” I asked. “Not the usual, but what do you like about me that you've never liked about anyone else?”

He was silent.

“There must be something,” I said eventually. “Or is it wrong of me to ask? It's just that it's been puzzling me. Miranda's always saying things like ‘that's typical you, Molly.’ Mr. Roberts too, but what is me? I'm not sure I've ever known. What if you never find out who you are?”

Tim stayed silent. I put my arm up to prod him to make sure
he hadn't fallen asleep, but he caught hold of my wrist and tightened his fingers around it slightly. I put my mouth against my upper arm and sucked at it until the skin went red.

“Do you just disappear?” I continued. “Miranda has all these quizzes she's always doing in her magazines to check whether she's good at work, or in bed, or shopping, but you could lie, couldn't you? You could be anyone you liked. Liz said they had someone at the library who pretended he'd written one of the books there. They even set up a table for him so he could talk to the reading group about his book, but he turned out to be just some random nutter who happened to have the same name as the author. It took them ages to get rid of him. What's the difference between me and Charlie Canterbury? What do you like better about me than you like about her? What's typical Molly Drayton?”

“Molly's nice,” Tim said.

“And Charlie's not?”

“Charlie Canterbury is dangerous. She doesn't need anyone else. She's only interested in herself. Molly should watch out for her. That's a message you may like to pass on.”

I twisted my wrist away from Tim and sat up so I could look at him. It was hard to tell when Tim was just being funny, or when he was carrying out the training. I suppose that's what made him so good at his job.

“Kiss me,” I said. Sometimes Tim liked me demanding things from him; he made it into a game that we both enjoyed. Other times, though, I'd see him almost physically shrivel, and I'd vow never to do it again. The trouble was that if I didn't take the initiative, nothing would ever happen between us. And however many times I told myself to keep cool, to let Tim take the lead, when I was near him my body started ordering me around in
ways I wasn't always sure I wanted to control. I was turning out just as my father had predicted.

Apart from that one time in the shop, Tim had done nothing more than kiss me. Now he started buttoning up his shirt. He started searching for his shoes. I slid them toward him.

“I've a meeting in about half an hour,” he said.

“Shall I come?”

“No.”

“Will you tell them about me at least?” I asked.

He paused, and then carried on tucking his shirt into his trousers. “Of course,” he said. “You're one of the team now.”

I should have asked for more details then, and it wasn't just that I didn't want to admit I'd fallen asleep. No, if I was honest, I didn't care what team I was part of. All I knew was that it meant Tim and I had a reason to be together. And that meant I had a reason for this life I was leading. I was happy as I watched him through the window walking. He stayed close to the buildings, his head down. I stared after him until he was out of sight, and then I climbed between the sheets of the bed.

My fingers moved automatically to their normal pinching position and then, almost without me being consciously aware of what was happening, my hand slipped up between my underwear elastic and I rubbed myself gently.

My father would have killed me. Told me I was unnatural, that I was coming to all the bad ends he'd imagined for me, but I kept on. He wasn't here. I kept telling myself that. My father can't get at me anymore. Even so, touching myself became less sexual and more desperate. I was wanting to hurt as much as comfort. And what did I think of as I made myself come?

I know I did try to picture Tim, but somehow it was Leanne I saw clearest. With my free hand I clutched at my pillow as I imagined
hugging her helpless body tight to me, and then, all of a sudden, like a sacrifice, I felt my body swim into hers as I promised to protect her forever, just as she did me. And it was only then that the sweetness of it all finally took over and made me cry. After that it was quickly over.

M
rs. Roberts came to the shop so early the next morning, I was still asleep. I came down the stairs, bleary-eyed in my Snoopy nightshirt, rubbing my mouth when I heard her shouting from below, and there she was, checking for dust by the desk-light display, looking immaculate. The parting in her dark hair was a knife-cut across her white scalp.

“I have come here personally to tell you Mr. Roberts is very ill.” This was the first thing she said. No hello or any other greeting.

“I'm sorry.” I pushed my hair behind my ears, trying to look a bit more presentable. She was wearing a maroon suit with big round buttons. Her shoes were high-heeled, black and shiny. My feet were bare and large, and I was conscious of my loose breasts under my nightshirt. I crossed my arms in front of them, reining myself in.

“He will not be here today.”

If I was going to get a day off work then Tim and I could get together for some more training. I tried to look upset. “What's going to happen with the shop?” I asked.

“I'm putting you in charge,” she said.

“Me? Mr. Roberts never—” I made myself shut up. If I said he
kept complaining I'd never learn to cope, then maybe she'd think again.

“You can do this, yes?” she said.

Too right I could. I'd even give up a session with Tim for this opportunity. I couldn't believe it. Mr. Roberts was always telling me I needed watching if anything was to get done. And here was Mrs. Roberts giving me the whole enterprise as casually as you might hand over a sweetie. Trusting me. “Thank you,” I said, trying to inject as much fervor as I could in my voice. “You won't regret this, I promise. I'll never let you down.”

Mrs. Roberts put her hand on my arm to stop my gushing. “I will come back at the end of the day to sort out the takings,” she said. “You are a good girl, Molly. We have been lucky to find you, Mr. Roberts and I.”

After she'd gone I went back to bed to think. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep because I was too excited to even close my eyes. Yet another new life was suddenly clicking into place. I was going to become a surrogate daughter to Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, who would both die soon and leave me the stationery shop in their will. This would be the perfect front for my work as Tim's assistant. I would re-create Miranda's room up here, turning the rest of the floor into a luxury bathroom and kitchen where I'd prepare tasteful but healthy meals for Tim. We'd be the beautiful and mysterious couple everyone envied.

I was just redesigning the shop layout in my mind so that I could sell books as well, a little corner with an armchair people could feel comfortable in, a coffee machine next to a plate of homemade cakes, when I heard a banging on the door downstairs. I looked at my clock and realized it was a full half-hour after opening time. I threw on my clothes, ran my fingers through my hair and rushed downstairs.

Apart from the bad start, the rest of the morning went so well I shut the shop at twelve and gave myself an hour off. I felt ready for anything, even Charlie Canterbury. I stood in front of the mirror, breathing myself into my alias and then I ran to the library, keeping close to the buildings as I'd seen Tim doing, ducking into alleyways when I could. I didn't make eye contact once, although I was hoping the passersby were all looking at me, envying my sense of purpose, my directness.

But then I saw Joe again, from school. I thought of calling out but it was only his back view retreating, and I didn't really want him to see me anyway. He must have had another dentist appointment. The funny thing was he had one of the carrier bags from the stationery shop.

As I watched him, someone bumped into me and I cursed loudly. To my amazement they said sorry, so I did it again, just to make sure. And then every time I knocked into anyone in that busy street, I just huffed and they apologized to me, rather than the other way round as normal. You didn't mess with Charlie Canterbury.

Liz was standing at the back of the children's section, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. I followed her gaze and saw a man in his twenties sitting on one of the giant ladybird floor cushions. He was working his way through a stack of picture books.

“Trouble?” I asked quietly as I sidled up next to her.

She gave a start. “I didn't see you there, Molly,” she said. And I smiled with pleasure. I'd be better than Tim at the secret agent thing at this rate. We'd be the beautiful, mysterious
and
invisible couple. “It's just Malcolm,” Liz continued. “He comes here every week and always gets the same books out to look at. I was just wondering if I couldn't get him to have a go at something more challenging.”

I looked at Malcolm. He was opening flaps and pulling paper levers with evident enjoyment, taking his time on each page before turning to the next.

“He looks happy enough,” I said, but Liz wasn't convinced.

“I don't mean he has to read Dostoevsky,” she said, “but I think he might be able to cope with some kind of story.”