Closer to You Page 7

  Right now, I’m not even at the stage of feeling bad about it. If he’s upset, fine. He stepped a long way over the line and has one hell of a lot of work to do before I let him back into my life. I’m not budging on that. What worries me most right now is money.

  I’ve been struggling with money for a while. Mum and Dad’s contribution to the mortgage went a long way to just ensuring I could make ends meet, and without that I’m going to be completely and utterly lost. There’s no way I’m going to qualify for any credit cards, especially seeing as I’m struggling to repay the ones I’ve got. And getting into even more debt is hardly going to improve things for me. As far as I can see it, I’ve only got one option.

  It seems mad. Crazy. But I can’t pretend the thought hasn’t crossed my mind before. Of course it has. Everyone visualises the future, tries to imagine themselves married to the person they’re with. They picture their kids, the Sunday mornings at the park, the years stretching out ahead of them. Right now, I just want to make it through the next year without being kicked out onto the street. And me and Tom taking our first steps together would be the perfect way to do that.

  ‘I know it’s only early days,’ I say, ‘but would you want to stay here more permanently?’

  ‘Permanently?’ he asks. ‘You mean move in?’

  ‘Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, I’m here on my own, you’re staying in your boss’s flat. You said yourself that you’re paying through the nose for that place, even though it’s not yours and you don’t really want to be there. It seems a bit daft, really. Especially if you’ve been spending some nights here anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s what you want? I mean, I don’t want things to move too fast for you.’

  ‘It’s not too fast if we’re both comfortable, though, is it?’ I say.

  ‘Well, no, but I just mean I wouldn’t want you to have any expectations after everything that happened with Matt. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this because of the situation with your dad.’

  ‘It’s not,’ I say. ‘It’s because I want you to live here with me.’

  He pulls his arm away from me and sits up straight, looking me in the eye. He looks as if he’s about to cry.

  ‘Seriously, Grace, that would be amazing. I’d love that. Me and my butterfly.’ He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. ‘I want to pay my way, though. I’ll contribute half of everything. Mortgage, council tax, bills, the lot.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that,’ I say, secretly grateful that he’s offered. There’s no way I’m asking my parents to keep picking up the tab while I’ve got Tom stowed away here permanently. Certainly not after what happened yesterday. There’s no way I’m going back on my word.

  ‘I know, but I want to. It’s only fair. It’s what any gentleman would do. And I’m genuinely so grateful, Grace. I’m so happy to have met you.’

  He leans in and kisses me. I reciprocate.

  ‘You know,’ he says, looking deep into my eyes. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. I think I’m falling in love with you.’

  I look back at him, half of me melting at his words and the other half panicking that this is coming on too soon. We’ve only been together a few weeks. The living arrangements were more of a practical suggestion than an offer to spend the rest of our lives together. But there’s a big part of me that knows this guy is special. He’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met. I can’t keep comparing him to Matt. He isn’t Matt. He’ll never be Matt. And that’s probably a good thing. Tom won’t leave me practically standing at the altar.

  ‘I’ll get everything sorted out this week’ he says. ‘In terms of the money, that might have to wait a couple of weeks. I’m in the middle of changing banks at the moment and waiting for a big bonus from work. Ten grand, though, so that’ll sort everything out. Is that alright?’

  I force a smile. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘No problem.’

  18

  Saturday 28 December

  Tom’s started moving some of his things in over the past couple of days, and everything should be out of his boss’s flat by New Year.

  ‘I spoke to him earlier, actually. I meant to say,’ Tom tells me. ‘He’s going to check the rental contract, but there’s a good chance I might have to pay up until the end of January as I officially need to give a month’s notice.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? I mean, he’s supposed to be helping you out. I’m pretty sure he’d be able to find someone else to take the flat on before then.’

  Tom shrugs. ‘Yeah, I know. Like I say, he’s happy to help me out with it, but I suppose it’s only fair to want what it’s worth. If I wasn’t renting it, someone else would. It’s not right that he has to lose money over it.’

  ‘No, but still.’

  ‘I’m sure we can sort something out if he finds a new tenant sooner. I’ll talk to him about it. Just letting you know, just in case.’

  ‘Does that mean you might not be able to contribute to the mortgage until the end of next month?’ I ask.

  ‘I hope that won’t be the case. Like I say, I’m sure we can sort something out long before then. Just didn’t want to spring it on you at the last minute if it doesn’t quite work out how we want it. Anyway, it’s only temporary. We’re due to complete on that project in China mid-January, and we’ll be getting pretty hefty bonuses once that goes through so I can settle everything up then. You won’t be out of pocket. I could probably even pay for a couple of extra months in advance.’

  ‘So work’s going well, then?’ I ask, trying to change the subject to something a little more positive.

  Tom takes a deep breath. ‘Sort of, yeah.’

  ‘Sort of?’

  ‘Well, I was trying to find a way to tell you, but we think we’re going to have to let some people go from the China contract. Some of the engineers and techies, I mean. They’re not pulling their weight.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah. Problem is, these guys have got no chance of finding another job around there. There’s nothing like this at all. Not for a British company, earning that sort of money. It’s the sort of thing that sets someone up for life over there. Foreign money. Puts kids through university, the lot. There are going to be some really unhappy people. Organised crime and corruption’s rife, too, so we’ve got to be really careful.’

  ‘Careful how?’ I ask, suddenly worried.

  ‘We’ve been advised to take down our social media accounts. Just in case.’

  ‘What, why?’

  ‘Because things are different over there, Grace. If you think money talks over here, you wait until you see China. You don’t just let people go from their jobs and expect nothing to happen. I’m just trying to protect you, that’s all.’

  And that’s when it sinks in. ‘Me? What do you mean protect me? I haven’t done anything.’

  Tom sighs. ‘This is how their minds work. The risk is probably low, but I don’t want to take any chances. I don’t want them harassing you or causing you any issues.’

  ‘Why would they?’ I ask.

  Tom sighs again. ‘Look, they’re not just being let go because they’re useless. They’re dodgy people. They can’t be trusted. We’ve found out some things about them which should have been done on the background checks, but weren’t. Because of what we do, providing security systems, we can’t have people like that on the team. It’s far too risky. It could be the end of our company. They’re being let go while I’m over here,’ he says, looking at his watch. ‘Probably about now, actually. We know they have links to organised crime, but we don’t know how deep or far those links go, and I don’t think it’s worth risking anything for the sake of a social media account, do you?’

  I look at Tom’s face. He seems genuinely worried and concerned — and slightly guilty for having to inconvenience me. It’s not his fault if the company messed up, or they’ve got to let people go because they’re linked to criminals.


  ‘No, no I guess not,’ I say. ‘What’s got to go? Facebook?’

  ‘Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, the lot. Take them offline for now, as that’s just easiest. I’ll have a bit more of a look into it when things calm down. I think we can change names and things like that, which might be a better idea in the long run.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I say. ‘But you might have to help me.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. No problem. And look, I’m sorry. I know it’s a pain in the arse. You know I’m just trying to keep you safe, don’t you?’

  I look at him and smile.

  ‘Yeah. I know.’

  19

  Sunday 29 December

  One of the downsides about that weird bit in between Christmas and New Year is that no-one is ever quite sure what day it is. There’s definitely one huge benefit, though: lie-ins. Until this morning, that is.

  I must have been sleeping pretty lightly, because I’m woken by my phone vibrating on the bedside table as a text arrives. Bleary-eyed, I look at the screen. It’s Dad.

  I swipe to unlock my phone and read the message properly, although I’ve already got a fairly decent idea.

  Dad doesn’t usually text — he phones. If he’s taken the time to tap out a text message one letter at a time, it’s obviously something he wants to have some space to think over, without jumping to a reaction and saying something he’ll regret. Most likely, Mum’s there with him, helping him compose a reply between the two of them — something they wouldn’t be able to do on a phone call or face-to-face.

  Grace I just wanted to make things up with you. I know you want to go your own way and be independent and we both totally support you on that. That’s fine. I just wanted to let you know that we’re both still here for you, whenever you need it, for anything at all. OK? Love D x

  I read the message a couple of times, half expecting to find some hidden barbs in there somewhere, but this seems to be from the heart. It’s unlike Dad to back down like this, so it’s clear to me that Mum’s had a say in things. I note that he hasn’t actually apologised for what happened, though.

  I take a few minutes to compose my reply before sending it.

  Thank you. I appreciate that, and will let you know if I need anything but I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Did you also mean to add that you were sorry for punching Tom?

  I hope that doesn’t sound too inflammatory, but at the same time I want to make it clear that Boxing Day wasn’t just a flash in the pan and that I’m serious about wanting to be independent and make my own decisions. I need to show some strength and resilience of my own.

  Tom stirs beside me, realising I’m already awake. ‘Morning,’ he says.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Everything okay?’

  I hand him my phone, watching him peer at the screen as he adjusts his eyes to the brightness.

  ‘Blimey,’ he says. ‘Bet you weren’t expecting that.’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘Thoughts?’

  I take a deep breath and let it out. ‘I dunno. He’s clearly trying to do the right thing, but I’m not entirely sure he’s going about it the right way. Story of his life.’

  Tom lets out a chuckle. ‘Well, let’s see what he says back to that. That’ll be most telling.’

  It’s a few minutes before Dad’s reply pings through to my phone.

  You know I am. I’m trying to mend bridges now. The standing order has been cancelled but I wanted you to know the money is still there if you need it. I know things must be tight for you after everything that’s happened. All you need to do is shout. Love D x

  I show the message to Tom and he raises his eyebrows.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask him.

  ‘Well, he still didn’t say sorry. I dunno. I don’t really want to say anything, if I’m honest. It’s not my place.’

  ‘No, please,’ I say. ‘I want to know what you think. I won’t be offended, I promise.’

  ‘Alright. Well if you don’t mind me being honest, I read that as if he’s saying he knows you’re going to need him eventually. It sounds a bit condescending to me. Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything.’

  ‘No,’ it’s fine,’ I say. ‘I think you’re right, actually.’

  I know I should see Dad’s reply as supportive and fatherly, but all I can do is read between the lines and see something else. I see him telling me he doesn’t think I can be independent, financially or otherwise, and that he’s somehow expecting me to come running back to him. I don’t need to send him a reply. There’s nothing that needs saying. Actions will speak louder than words.

  20

  Monday 30 December

  The doorbell rarely rings at this time in the morning, but it has, and it’s yanked me from my sleep. My first thought is to try and remember what I must have ordered from Amazon recently. My second is that it says a lot about my life that I automatically assume the only person who’d pay me a visit at the weekend is a delivery driver.

  I throw on my dressing gown and head downstairs before opening the door. The second I see Mum and Dad standing there, and before I’ve even registered the looks on their faces, I know exactly what’s happened.

  ‘No,’ I say, my legs turning weak and my eyes fluttering as my dad steps inside and embraces me.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,’ he says. The man who’s just lost his mother, whose first instinct is to act as a rock to everyone else.

  ‘The carer found her in bed this morning,’ Mum says. ‘She’d died in her sleep. She looked very peaceful, apparently, and wasn’t in any pain.’

  I know this should come as some relief, but it really doesn’t. Even though we’d all expected it to come at any moment, known that she didn’t have long left, nothing makes it any easier.

  Nan had always refused to go into hospital or into a care home, and had instead chosen to have a carer visit her at home twice a day. My parents and other family members would pop in occasionally during the day to keep her company or help her with her lunch, but the professional carers would do the morning and evening routines. It must have cost her a packet, but she was adamant and determined that she wanted to remain at home and keep that last element of independence. It’d been an admirable stance to take, and had probably kept her alive longer than going into an MRSA-infested hospital or a soulless care home would’ve done.

  Mum takes me through to the lounge while Dad goes through to the kitchen to make us all a cup of tea.

  ‘I’m not even dressed or showered,’ I say, as if this is the sort of event everyone should be dolled up for.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Mum says. ‘We’ve seen you in worse states over the years. Besides which, we didn’t really feel right ringing you up and telling you we were coming over. It was the sort of thing we felt we needed to tell you in person. We wanted to be here with you.’

  I smile helplessly. ‘How’s everyone else?’ I ask, presuming aunts, uncles and cousins will have found out by now too.

  ‘They’re okay. As well as they can be, of course. I think everyone knew it was due to come at some point soon, but it doesn’t make it any less upsetting for anyone. Your uncle Tony’s taken the lead and will be organising funeral arrangements. Apparently your nan had it all planned out in a notebook. She’d chosen the music, the venue, the lot. She even knew which pub she wanted the wake to be held in.

  I let out a noise that’s halfway between a sob and a chuckle. That was typical of Nan. Before she’d become housebound, she used to go out each afternoon to collect the shopping for the next day. She never did a weekly shop, but picked up a couple of small bits each day, making sure she came home via the same pub, where she’d pop in and order half a pint of stout before drinking it and coming back home. She credited that daily drink for her longevity, completely ignoring the fact it was probably the walking to and from the shop that helped her health, and that the beer on the way home had probably not helped in the slightest.

  But that was the way she was. It w
as the way she’d always been, and no-one was ever going to change her. She still had her habits and her routines from decades earlier — many of them from the war — and they’d done her just fine her entire life, thankyouverymuch. She’d been the matriarch for years, and even in her final days she’d always been keen to tell everyone exactly what was on her mind — a trait my dad has always suffered from, too. Plain talking, honest and real. No holds barred.

  I wonder what she would have said to me if she’d known I’d been moping around the place worrying about petty arguments and fallings out. In fact, I don’t wonder at all. I know exactly what she would have said. She would have told me to pull my socks up and stop being so ridiculous. Far less logical and analytical than Cath, but just as motivational. She would have told me it was silly to get so worked up about a man I met on the internet, and that this probably meant he wasn’t a real person at all but was somehow some sort of digital hologram. She never did understand technology. In the end, we gave up trying to explain it to her. What was the point? In any case, her words of advice would have been the same. Stop being daft, man up and get on with it.

  And, like Cath, she might not have been too far from the truth.

  21

  Thursday 2 January

  The first day back at work after Christmas and New Year is always a slow, subdued one, but this year’s even worse than most.

  Even though Nan’s death wasn’t exactly unexpected or unforeseen, it’s still hit me pretty hard. I guess there’s no way you can ever really prepare yourself emotionally for something like that. Worse, you have to watch your loved one slowly decline and lose everything they once were before having to go through it all again in one fell swoop when they finally die.