Unlike a Virgin (17 page)

‘Yes, I can see how that would be unpleasant.’

‘But I think this might have just pipped it to the top spot. Oh, that’s my phone.’ It’s Dan. Finally. ‘I just need to take this before we head back.’

I get out of the car and close the door.

‘Hey, Welsh boyo!’

Danny doesn’t say anything.

‘Dan.’

He still doesn’t say anything.

‘Dan?’

I hear him sniff.

‘Dan, are you ill?’

‘No, oh …’

He’s crying. Danny’s crying! My Danny doesn’t cry. He makes computer games, for God’s sake. The only time I’ve seen him cry was a tiny tear during a particularly emotional episode of
60 Minute Makeover.

‘Danny,’ I whisper. ‘What’s going on up there?’

‘Nothing.’ He sniffs again. ‘I’m sorry, you’re at work. I’d better go.’

He sounds devastated about something. The line goes dead, so I call back, but there’s no answer. I walk back to the car and John Whatsit.

‘You all right?’

‘No. I, um. Very random this … but I need to go to Wales.’

‘Right.’

‘My boyfriend’s there and something’s happened. He’s crying. I think it must be one of his parents. I think they might be ill. Like really ill.’

‘Go. Wendy can cancel your appointments. It’ll give the rest of us a chance to catch up with you. Just make sure you drive safely.’

‘Thanks, John. Big lots of thanks and sorrys for this. I’ll drop you back and then head straight off.’

I start the engine just as two figures emerge from the flat we’ve just viewed. One is Stella, and the other I now recognise as Bob’s right-hand man, Pawel the Polish builder.

It must be his mum. Danny and his mum are really close. He’d fall apart if he lost his mum. And what would his dad do? God, I don’t think his dad knows where the kitchen is. We’ll have to go there more often. We could go most weekends. I’ll have to make lasagnes and leave them in the freezer.

Brilliant. They’ve still blocked off a lane of the M4 for no apparent reason again. My phone rings again. It’s Dan.

‘Dan.’

‘Grace, no, it’s his mum. It’s me, Pam.’

‘Oh, Pam.’ My eyes fill with tears again. I’ve hit twenty-six and become a blubbering mess. Oh dear, not so good when driving. ‘Pam, how are you? I’m on the M4. I’ll only be a few hours.’

I can hear Danny in the background, sobbing!

‘Grace, my love. Will you pull over at the next services and give us a call on the landline.’

‘Oh, God. Yes, of course. I think Reading’s coming up.’

We hang up. Jesus. Maybe his dad has died. Or maybe it’s his mum and she’s putting on a brave face for the boys.

‘Come on Reading,’ I chant. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.

‘Oh, my God,’ I say aloud. ‘Maybe it’s Danny.’

Danny might be the one who’s desperately ill. I didn’t even think of that.

He hasn’t been himself lately. He’s been withdrawn. I think someone in his family had leukaemia at some point and went back to Wales. When people are ill they always want their mums.

‘Oh, please God. I know this is a cheek because we don’t have history together, but can you look out for my Dan.’

Danny is my backbone. Danny is the one thing in my life that has been fixed and constant since Dad died. He’s my Dan. We’re Gracie and Dan. It can’t just be Gracie.

‘Please, don’t take Danny from me, too. Please let me keep Danny,’ I whisper to the Big Man.

I finally park at Reading Services and catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror. I’m Addams Family pale. I take a deep breath.

‘Grace, be strong. This isn’t your crisis; it’s theirs. Be strong and you can help them through it,’ I whisper to myself.

I dial their number.

‘Hello, Pam speaking.’ She doesn’t sound herself.

‘Hi, Pam,’ I try to make my voice sound soothing. ‘I’ve pulled up at Reading.’

‘Oh, Grace. Danny’s been in a terrible state.’

I suddenly feel like an awful girlfriend. I haven’t been there for him. He’s been going through all this alone.

‘I know, Pam. What’s wrong?’

‘Oh. Grace. I’m just going to come out with it.’

It’s Danny in the background again. A strangulated sob. It must be his dad. That’s how I cried. He probably didn’t want to tell me because it would bring back memories of losing my father. Poor Dan.

‘OK … take your time, Pam.’

‘Oh Grace, you’re such a lovely girl. I love you like a daughter.’

‘Thanks, Pam. That means so much.’

‘But he doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you any more, Grace. I think he feels you’ve grown apart.’

I don’t say anything. I just listen to Danny crying in the background.

‘Grace, did you hear me?’

I did hear her, but I can’t speak.

‘Grace, love, he didn’t know how to tell you, because he still cares so much for you. So I thought I should tell you. Was that wrong of me? Oh, love. We’re all so sorry.’

I don’t say anything, but I’m thinking about it. Somewhere in my mind I’m trying to formulate a sentence, a sentence that says there’s too much between us to throw away, or something like that, but not so trite. But then Pam starts speaking again before I can think of one.

‘He’s got a new job, Grace. A terrific job. But it’s in
Vancouver. And he’s going to take it. He leaves on Friday. This Friday. We’re going to bring a van up tomorrow and get his stuff from the flat.’

I still don’t say anything. I simply turn off the phone and let it fall through my fingers. Then I gaze out of the window at Reading Services and it starts to rain.

I stayed at Reading Services all night and most of the following day. I could have booked myself into the Travelodge, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t even want to say, ‘Can I have a room, please?’ I just sat in my car, kept my phone switched off and gazed out of the windscreen. Sometimes I opened the window. The smell of diesel was surprisingly comforting. If I needed the loo, I went inside, and at each loo stop I bought a Twister ice lolly. It occurred to me at one point that I need never leave Reading Services, and the thought didn’t even strike me as worrying. I did leave, though. At five o’clock I started my engine and began the slow journey home, but when I got near I saw that Danny and his parents were still there – a white van with ‘Cymru Vehicle Hire’ on the side was parked outside the flat – so I did a U-turn and came to the office.

John Whatsit’s still inside. I can see him squinting at his
computer so I back away from the door carefully, hoping he won’t see me. I’ll have to go to the cemetery, I think, heading back to my car.

‘GRACE!’ It’s Wendy. She’s rushing out of the office towards me. I quicken my step, but she’s quick is Wendy. She always beats me. It’s the extra three inches she’s got on me. Before I reach my car she touches my shoulder.

‘Oh, poppet, come here,’ she says and puts her arm around me. ‘Danny’s mum called the office and told me. We couldn’t get hold of you. I’ve been really worried.’

I rest my head on her shoulder.

‘You know I liked Danny,’ she says while we’re hugging, ‘but what a cock.’

I don’t say anything. I don’t think he’s a cock. Not really. Well, maybe a bit.

‘Come in the office, I’ll make tea.’

I hang back. I don’t mind Wendy, but I don’t want to see John.

‘John’ll be fine. He’s been really worried about you since you left yesterday. I haven’t told him about Dan, though. He thinks something’s happened to someone in Wales. He’s fine. Come in.’

I let her lead me into Make A Move.

‘Gracie,’ John says, standing up. Then he realises he doesn’t know what to do, so he hovers. He looks like he wants to give me a hug. Please don’t, I think. And as if hearing my thoughts, he smiles and sits down again.

‘Sit on the sofa,’ coos Wendy. ‘I’ll do tea.’

Wendy scuttles out and I sit on the sofa, looking down at the brown leather.

‘You had an offer,’ John says in his ‘I’m speaking to an under five’ voice.

I glance up, hoping it’s for Claire’s flat.

‘On that Harrow Road studio.’

I look back at the leather.

‘The, um, the new penthouses are amazing.’

‘Yeah, they were pumping, Grace,’ Wendy calls out. ‘You should see the kitchens. They’re like something out of a movie. And tell her about the church we’ve got, John.’

‘Oh, yes, there’s one came on this morning that will get you going. Two mill but worth it. It’s a converted church. It’s unbelievable how they’ve done it … Grace, are you OK?’

‘Tea!’ It’s Wendy back. ‘So how are we doing?’

She sits next to me on the settee.

‘She’s not feeling that talkative, are you, Grace?’ John says. I just look at him.

There’s a pause.

‘Oh, no,’ says Wendy eventually. ‘Come on, Grace, say something. Anything. Tell me to bog off if you want.
Grace
.’ It’s the strict Wendy voice. ‘TALK TO ME NOW!’

‘Wendy, she’s obviously had a shock, don’t shout at her.’

‘That’s exactly why I do need to shout at her.’

‘GRACE! Oh, this is bad. I can’t remember what happened last time to make her speak.’

‘What?’

‘She didn’t speak for months one time years ago. I can’t remember what happened to make her start again.’

When I was thinking about how my dad dying hadn’t really messed me up, apart from me not listening to the radio any more, I forgot about this. This doesn’t really happen that often,
so it barely counts. Basically, when I get a sudden shock I stop speaking. I know, it’s ridiculous. The most I’ve ever gone is two months. That was when Dad died. At the time everyone was yaking and crying. People would visit and everyone wanted to talk over the silence. I quite liked the fact that in my own head I could hear my dad talking and singing to me. No one noticed for ages, not even me. Every one was in meltdown when Dad died. Mum, their coach, their manager, other dancers, friends. It was only when the nice lady who used to live next door spoke to Mum and suggested I go to see a doctor that anyone realised I’d been mute for weeks. Mum thought I just wanted to get attention, but the nice lady took me to the doctor, who was supposed to examine me. I think she found it quite hard, though, on account of my not answering any of her questions. She was lovely that lady who used to live next door to us. She moved to Australia years ago, but we still write. She sent me Homebase vouchers when I moved into my flat, which is very canny if you think about it, her being in Australia and all.

‘Has someone died?’ John whispers, although it’s a wasted whisper since I can hear him.

‘John, maybe you should leave us alone.’

‘I can if you want. But I must say, Wendy, I wouldn’t speak if you were shouting at me. She’s had a shock and she doesn’t want to speak. We should respect that. We need to be calm, then hopefully she’ll relax. Why don’t we go over the road and get a pizza. We don’t have to talk. We can read the
Standard.
Come on, my treat.’

That’s nice of Posh Boy, I think. I look at his face and consider that maybe I’ve been a bit hard on him. He was kind
when I was mugged and he’s being kind now I’m in freak mode. Perhaps if we’d met under different circumstances, if he hadn’t come waltzing in, stolen my job and annoyed me senseless, we might be friends.

Wendy shrugs and looks at me. I’m starving and he did say it was his treat, so I stand up.

‘All right,’ says Wendy, ‘but if she hasn’t spoken by the end of dinner, I’m back to shouting.’

‘Come on Grace,’ John says gently, holding the door open for me. ‘It’s actually quite odd her being here and not berating me. I almost miss the abuse. Come on fish wife,’ he calls back to Wendy.

‘Zip it, Posh Boy,’ she says, doing an impression of me.

You know that sensation you get just before you’re going to be sick, when your mouth suddenly fills with gallons of hot saliva. Well, I’ve got that. I’ve had it since we walked in the restaurant. I wish I hadn’t come now.

‘Shall we do our usual?’ asks Wendy. We always share the same pizza and salad. We get the amazing vegetarian pizza with salami and ham on it. Seriously, it’s next level. But I don’t want ham today. I don’t know what I want. It must be because there’s a funny smell in here. I’m sure it doesn’t smell normal. No one else has said anything, though.

Maybe I should go to the toilets and make myself sick. No, that’s mank. I’ll be fine. It’s probably because I’ve eaten nothing but ice lollies for the last twenty-four hours. I should have consumed a sandwich at some point, but it didn’t occur to me.

Oh, but we’re not even sitting near the toilets. They’re at the back, downstairs, and I’m closer to the door. If I’m going to be sick it’ll have to be outside the front door on the street.
I can’t believe I’m sat here planning a path to puke. Mind you, at least it takes my mind off Dan leaving.