‘When did it happen?’
‘Five years ago.’
Monica pointed to the painting in an alcove beside the fireplace.
‘Looks good there,’ she said.
It was Monica’s painting, the one Ellen had bought at the exhibition a few months back.
‘It’s a lovely painting,’ Ellen said.
Monica sat down then. On the sofa beside Ellen. She smelled of perfume, booze and sex. Monica took a sip of water and placed the glass on the coffee table. She brushed against Ellen, the side of her breast touching Ellen’s thigh as Monica leaned forward.Ellen tried to shift sideways, out of her way, but she was already pressed into the side of the sofa and there was nowhere else to go.
Monica straightened up and smiled. She seemed oblivious to Ellen’s discomfort.
‘You must get lonely,’ she said.
Ellen swallowed.
‘You shouldn’t be here. I’ll call a cab.’
Monica reached forward, brushed a strand of hair back from Ellen’s face.
‘Poor Ellen.’
Her eyes, this close, looked huge. Deep, dark pools. The smell of her was everywhere.
‘I know what loneliness is like.’ Monica was whispering now, voice so low Ellen had to strain to hear. ‘I’ve been lonely my whole life. Ever since my mother left. I was only a child, Ellen. Eight years old and she left me with that bastard. What do you think of that?’
‘Can’t have been easy,’ Ellen said. There was a tremor in her voice and she realised she was shivering. Yet she felt so hot. Face burning, hands damp with sweat. Monica’s heat, so close, like a radiator.
‘She left me,’ Monica said. ‘Instead of protecting me, she left me to deal with him myself.’
She should stop it now. Tell Monica to finish her water and get the hell out of there. If she had any sense, that’s what she’d do. But she wanted to find out. Wanted to understand who thiswoman was, what secrets she was hiding. Because there were certainly secrets. Until she knew what they were, she wouldn’t know if Monica was someone she was meant to protect. Or be scared of.
* * *
‘I grew up in North Kent,’ Monica said. ‘Whitstable. You know it?’
‘A bit,’ Ellen said. ‘I know that part of the world quite well, actually.’
Days passed without remembering. Then,
wham
. It was all she could think of. The scream of the brakes as the train bore down on them. The two men disappearing under it. Afterwards, Dai’s brown brogue at the side of the track. Just one shoe. Later, she’d worried about it. Hoped that whoever removed his body saw the shoe and thought to put it back on. For some reason, the thought of it there without Dai was unbearable. At one point she’d even considered going back, just to check. Except she couldn’t face it, so she had done nothing instead. Another thing to feel guilty about.
‘It’s a horrible place,’ Monica said. ‘At least, it was when I was growing up. I loathed every minute of living there. It might have been different if things had been better at home. But they weren’t. My mother left when I was a kid. I never understood how she could do that. She knew what he was like and yet she left me there. With him. I’ve never stopped hating him for it.’
‘Your father?’ Ellen asked.
Monica nodded. ‘It was his fault. She’d never have left if he was a better man. He was a pig. Oh, on the surface he was mister respectable pillar of the community. But that was all a façade. He drank a lot. When he was drunk it always went the same way. He’d start moaning on about my mother. Crying and asking me why she’d left. Like he couldn’t see what a pathetic loser he was. No woman with any sense would stay with a man like that. Then he’d start on me. I was just like her. Only worse because I could see how upset he was, how lonely he was and I did nothing to help. How every time he tried to show me some love, I rejected him.’
Monica shook her head. ‘I was fourteen the first time that bastard tried to show me some love.’
‘Wasn’t there anyone you
‘Five years ago.’
Monica pointed to the painting in an alcove beside the fireplace.
‘Looks good there,’ she said.
It was Monica’s painting, the one Ellen had bought at the exhibition a few months back.
‘It’s a lovely painting,’ Ellen said.
Monica sat down then. On the sofa beside Ellen. She smelled of perfume, booze and sex. Monica took a sip of water and placed the glass on the coffee table. She brushed against Ellen, the side of her breast touching Ellen’s thigh as Monica leaned forward.Ellen tried to shift sideways, out of her way, but she was already pressed into the side of the sofa and there was nowhere else to go.
Monica straightened up and smiled. She seemed oblivious to Ellen’s discomfort.
‘You must get lonely,’ she said.
Ellen swallowed.
‘You shouldn’t be here. I’ll call a cab.’
Monica reached forward, brushed a strand of hair back from Ellen’s face.
‘Poor Ellen.’
Her eyes, this close, looked huge. Deep, dark pools. The smell of her was everywhere.
‘I know what loneliness is like.’ Monica was whispering now, voice so low Ellen had to strain to hear. ‘I’ve been lonely my whole life. Ever since my mother left. I was only a child, Ellen. Eight years old and she left me with that bastard. What do you think of that?’
‘Can’t have been easy,’ Ellen said. There was a tremor in her voice and she realised she was shivering. Yet she felt so hot. Face burning, hands damp with sweat. Monica’s heat, so close, like a radiator.
‘She left me,’ Monica said. ‘Instead of protecting me, she left me to deal with him myself.’
She should stop it now. Tell Monica to finish her water and get the hell out of there. If she had any sense, that’s what she’d do. But she wanted to find out. Wanted to understand who thiswoman was, what secrets she was hiding. Because there were certainly secrets. Until she knew what they were, she wouldn’t know if Monica was someone she was meant to protect. Or be scared of.
* * *
‘I grew up in North Kent,’ Monica said. ‘Whitstable. You know it?’
‘A bit,’ Ellen said. ‘I know that part of the world quite well, actually.’
Days passed without remembering. Then,
wham
. It was all she could think of. The scream of the brakes as the train bore down on them. The two men disappearing under it. Afterwards, Dai’s brown brogue at the side of the track. Just one shoe. Later, she’d worried about it. Hoped that whoever removed his body saw the shoe and thought to put it back on. For some reason, the thought of it there without Dai was unbearable. At one point she’d even considered going back, just to check. Except she couldn’t face it, so she had done nothing instead. Another thing to feel guilty about.
‘It’s a horrible place,’ Monica said. ‘At least, it was when I was growing up. I loathed every minute of living there. It might have been different if things had been better at home. But they weren’t. My mother left when I was a kid. I never understood how she could do that. She knew what he was like and yet she left me there. With him. I’ve never stopped hating him for it.’
‘Your father?’ Ellen asked.
Monica nodded. ‘It was his fault. She’d never have left if he was a better man. He was a pig. Oh, on the surface he was mister respectable pillar of the community. But that was all a façade. He drank a lot. When he was drunk it always went the same way. He’d start moaning on about my mother. Crying and asking me why she’d left. Like he couldn’t see what a pathetic loser he was. No woman with any sense would stay with a man like that. Then he’d start on me. I was just like her. Only worse because I could see how upset he was, how lonely he was and I did nothing to help. How every time he tried to show me some love, I rejected him.’
Monica shook her head. ‘I was fourteen the first time that bastard tried to show me some love.’
‘Wasn’t there anyone you
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