The Lost Ticket, page 20
Libby leaned back on the bench. “What am I going to do, Frank?”
“Have you spoken to Dylan since Saturday?”
“No, he’s not been in touch.”
“I imagine he’s giving you some space. Dylan’s not the kind of person who’d want you to feel pressured.”
“I thought he might be avoiding me after what happened. Maybe he regrets what he said?”
“I’m almost certain that’s not true. I think it’s much more likely he’s being respectful and giving you time.”
“Oh god, what a mess,” Libby said, putting her head in her hands. “I have to move out of Rebecca’s place soon, so I need to make a decision. What should I do, Frank?”
“Only you can make that decision, my dear. But before you do, I strongly recommend you speak to Dylan. Why don’t you text him now and see if he’s around this afternoon?”
“Now?”
“No time like the present, as they say.”
“Okay.” Libby pulled her phone out of her pocket and typed out a message, then pressed send before she could change her mind.
CHAPTER
35
Libby received a reply from Dylan within half an hour, telling her he’d be over soon. There was no “x” at the end of the message, but as Libby walked home from seeing Frank, she still found herself feeling lighter than she had done since her birthday. Frank was right: she had to talk to Dylan before she made any decisions. Because what if he hadn’t changed his mind? What if he still meant what he’d said about wanting a relationship with her? If he did, then perhaps there was a way Libby could be with Dylan and still let Simon be involved in the baby’s life. Yes, it would be complicated, especially given the two of them had got off on such terrible footing. But surely they could all make it work, for the sake of the baby?
As she approached the house, Libby spotted someone sitting on the front steps, reading a newspaper. She felt a rush of excitement and was about to call out Dylan’s name when the figure lowered the newspaper.
“Libs!” Simon’s face lit up when he saw her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sorry. I know I should have called you first, but there’s something important I need to talk to you about.”
“This isn’t a good time,” Libby said. What if Dylan were to turn up while Simon was here? That would not be helpful.
“I’ll be quick, I promise. But please, I’ve come all the way up here. Can I have five minutes?”
“Okay, but only five minutes.”
Libby climbed the stairs and unlocked the front door, then hung up her bag and led Simon down to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and turned to face him across the island.
“All right, then, what do you want to say?”
“Okay. So . . .” He was bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited puppy. “After I left you yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about your living situation. I even went online to look for flats near me and your parents, but everything’s so expensive, it’s insane. Honestly, I’m tempted to give up the gardening business and go into property development because—”
“Simon.”
“Sorry. So, I was lying in bed last night, thinking about it, when I had this absolute brain wave.” He paused for dramatic effect. “What if you didn’t have to rent somewhere? What if you could live somewhere for free?”
Libby scrunched up her nose. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my place, of course! I’ve got a spare room that’s currently sitting completely empty. You and the baby could use that!”
It was so absurd that Libby let out a snort of laughter. “Oh my god, Simon, are you kidding me?”
“What? Why is that such a crazy idea?”
“Because you broke my heart, packed my life belongings into bin bags, and then moved your new girlfriend into the house.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“What happens when you meet someone new? Are you going to move them in with me and the baby too? That would be cozy. Or will you throw me out again?”
“Of course I won’t!” Simon said, his voice full of indignation. “I told you, the Olivia thing was a stupid mistake. I was bored and restless and it was just a fling. I swear, I never felt about her the way I felt about you. Besides, everything changed the moment you told me I was going to be a father.”
“But you don’t seriously think we could live together?”
“Of course we can. This way you don’t have to worry about rent or living in some scummy, damp bedsit, and I can be there for you and the baby. And we’ve got the garden, plus, there are lots of parks and there’s that great nursery up the road.”
Libby took a swig of water. It was true: the house was perfect for a family—that was one of the reasons she’d never pushed for them to move, even though she’d have preferred them to own a property jointly. But moving back in with him, after everything that had happened—surely that was crazy?
“It’s not a good idea, Si. I mean, it might work for the first six months while the baby’s tiny and can sleep in with me. But what happens when it’s a bit older and needs its own room?”
“That’s ages away, Libs. Who knows where we’ll be at by then? I mean, maybe by that point . . .” He trailed off, and it took Libby a second to work out what he was suggesting.
“No, Simon, we are not getting back together. Seriously, after everything you put me through, you think—”
“All right, all right,” Simon interrupted. “Fine, so once the baby is older, you can move out and find somewhere new. But at least for the first year or so you’ll want to be sharing a room with the baby, so why not do it for free at my place? Just think, Libs, I could change nappies, cook for you, do the night feeds so you can get some rest. There’s so much I could do to help.”
“But wouldn’t it be weird, us living under one roof again, in the same house we lived in together as a couple?”
“Maybe it would be a bit odd to begin with, but we’d adjust to it. And pretty soon we’ll be so busy with the baby that we won’t even remember what it was like before.”
Libby’s head was spinning with it all, and she slumped down on a stool by the counter.
“So, what do you think?” Simon said.
“I need time to consider it, Simon. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Of course, of course, I’ll leave you to it. But promise me you’ll consider it properly. I know it might feel weird at first, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’m convinced it’s the perfect solution.”
“I’ve said I’ll think about it and I will.”
Libby heard a buzzing sound, and when she looked down, her phone was vibrating on the counter. What if it was Dylan? She quickly snatched it up before Simon could see the screen.
“You need to leave.” Libby stood up, led him down the hallway, and opened the front door. “Good-bye, Simon.”
“Bye, Libs. Oh, this is so exciting.” He leaned forward as if to give her a kiss. Libby quickly moved out of the way, and Simon grinned. “Sorry, old habits!” He gave her a wink and then trotted down the front steps.
Libby closed the door and then fell against it, exhaling slowly. She was still holding her phone, and she looked down at the message on her screen. It was from Dylan.
Really sorry, something’s come up and I can’t meet today. Are you free tomorrow instead? Usual time, usual place? D
CHAPTER
36
PEGGY
I’ve some news, love. Not good news, I’m afraid, although it rarely is when you get to our age.
Eileen from number eighteen passed away.
The first I knew about it was when I saw an ambulance turn up and paramedics go into her flat on Saturday. Then an hour later I saw them coming out with a stretcher, and her son, Jeremy, was there, looking all pale faced. I wanted to go up and talk to him, check he was all right, but bloody Betty Fincher swooped in there first.
Later, she told me that apparently Eileen had a heart attack sometime on Friday, and Jeremy found her when he went round to see her on Saturday morning. But I don’t know if that’s true; Betty’s never been the most reliable source.
Still, I’m not gonna lie, Percy: it sent chills through me when she said that. As you well know, it’s always been my biggest fear, something like that happening and no one being there to find me. And it’s not as if David comes round regularly to check on me, like Eileen’s son does. I could be there for . . . Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?
I saw Eileen last week, in Asda. She stopped me in the freezer aisle to show me the swimsuit she’d bought for her trip to Dubai with Jeremy. I pretended to admire it, but really, I was looking over her shoulder to see which was cheaper, the frozen cod or the haddock. She’ll never get to use that swimsuit now. Shame, it looked expensive.
I called David on Saturday night, just to check in and see how he is. He said he couldn’t chat for long, as he and Emma were going out for dinner. I told him what had happened with Eileen but I’m not sure he heard me. He said he’d call back on Sunday for a proper chat, so I stayed in all day waiting, but he must have been busy, ’cos he never got round to it. Perhaps he’ll call today.
Sorry. I know I’m sounding a bit maudlin. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’ve felt knackered all week, a proper bone-aching tired. I nearly didn’t come up here ’cos I felt so exhausted. And I know what you’ll say, love, that I should have stayed at home and rested rather than trek all the way here. But honestly, if I don’t come here, then I don’t have anyone else to talk to, apart from the odd stranger on the bus.
Jesus, that makes me sound like a pathetic old bugger, doesn’t it?
Maybe I should book a trip to Dubai. I’ve never been abroad, after all. Or New York. You’ve always said I’d love it there. Imagine what David and Emma would say if I told them I was going to New York on my own. They’d never believe it!
Maybe you could come with me too, love? I mean, it’s not a totally absurd idea. You’ve been before, after all, so you could show me the sights. Percy and Peggy in New York together, painting the city red. That would be a lot of fun, wouldn’t it?
CHAPTER
37
Libby arrived at the bus stop outside Kentish Town Station at nine fifteen on the dot. She’d spent the past eighteen hours replaying Simon’s suggestion in her head. The whole thing was completely ridiculous, so why the hell hadn’t she said no yesterday and got it over and done with? Because you’re scared of having this baby on your own, a voice in Libby’s head kept saying. Wouldn’t it be easier to live with Simon and have his help, rather than trying to carve out a new life in London on your own?
And then there was eccentric, surprising, dark-eyed Dylan. Libby thought about the way he’d looked at her on Saturday night, the feel of his lips on her neck, the offer he’d made to help her. She glanced up Highgate Road, waiting to see his tall profile strolling toward the bus stop. Frank had told her yesterday that his care assessment was at twelve o’clock, so Dylan should have a couple of hours between his regular morning visit to Frank and needing to get back there for the assessment. Perhaps they could go to one of the cafés on Kentish Town Road, or walk up to the heath? Wherever they went, Libby had promised herself she’d tell Dylan everything: she didn’t want to hide things from him anymore; he deserved to know the whole messy truth. She glanced back up the road. Still no sign of Dylan. Libby checked her phone and saw it was nine twenty-five. He usually messaged if he was running late, but when she looked at WhatsApp, she saw that he hadn’t been online since seven o’clock the previous evening.
At nine thirty-five, Libby pulled out her phone again and dialed Dylan’s number. She held her breath as she waited for him to answer, imagining the sound of his deep voice. But the phone rang and rang and eventually clicked into an automated voice mail. She hung up before the tone and then called Frank’s number.
Frank answered on the fifth ring, his voice bellowing down the line. “HELLO?”
“Frank, it’s Libby.”
“This isn’t a good time, Libby. I’m sorry.”
“I was wondering if Dylan has left yours yet.”
“No, he hasn’t turned up this morning.”
“What?”
“He’s never done this before. And today . . . I need him today.” Frank’s voice wobbled.
“Did he call and say why?”
“It’s my care assessment; my daughter will be here soon. Dylan promised he’d be here to help me.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up for the assessment, Frank; please try not to worry. Maybe he overslept?” Libby knew she didn’t sound very convincing.
“I need him here today.”
“Do you want me to come up there now? I could stay for the—”
“No!” Frank shouted, startling Libby. “It’s Dylan I need. He knows everything, my medication and routine. He has to be here so the social worker will know I’m fine.”
Libby could hear the panic rising in his voice. “It’s okay, calm down. I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Do you have an address for Dylan, and I can try going to his house?”
“I do . . . somewhere. What’s that smell?”
“What smell?”
“Oh, where’s Dylan? Everything’s going wrong today.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come up there now, Frank?”
“No. I’d better go.”
“Okay, good luck with your—” But she didn’t get to finish the sentence because the line went dead.
Libby checked the time again: it was nine forty-five, so Dylan was now half an hour late. Where the hell was he? He of all people knew how important today was for Frank. What if something bad had happened to him? Or perhaps there was a perfectly good explanation for this? Whatever it was, she needed to track Dylan down so he didn’t miss Frank’s assessment.
A thought occurred to Libby, and she dialed the number Esme had given her. When the young woman answered, Libby explained what was going on.
“Dylan never misses work,” Esme said.
“When did you last see him?”
“Yesterday. We went to get him a suit for my wedding.”
“And how did he seem?”
“Sad. He was worrying about you.”
Libby’s stomach contracted. “Did he say that?”
“No, he didn’t have to, Libby. I’m very good at reading people.”
“This is so weird,” Libby said. “Do you have his address?”
“Yes. I’ll text it to you now.”
When the address arrived, Libby put the postcode into Google Maps, which showed her a spot near Regent’s Park. It was right on the 88 bus route, Libby realized. How strange that Dylan had never pointed out where he lived, given they’d ridden the bus past there so many times. But then, he’d never told her anything about his home life; Libby didn’t even know if he lived alone or with flatmates. She wavered for a moment. Was this mad, turning up uninvited at his flat? Then she remembered Frank’s tone on the phone, the rising panic in his voice at the thought of having to do the assessment without Dylan. An 88 bus was approaching, and Libby stuck out her arm and signaled for it to stop.
Twenty minutes later, she got off the bus on Albany Street, at the exact stop where she and Dylan had first started putting up posters. The address for his flat was in a large housing estate that stretched back from the main road. Libby followed the directions on her phone down Robert Street, past long, squat buildings with external walkways running along each of the upper floors. Finding the entrance marked “200–350,” she opened it and headed up to the second floor. As she walked past the row of identical front doors, the occasional sound of voices or music drifted out from inside. Libby stopped when she reached number 278. Net curtains were drawn across the window, and there was no immediate sign of life inside. Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell.
Within seconds there was an explosion of barking so loud that Libby jolted. Dylan had never mentioned he had a dog. There was a banging sound and the door rattled as the animal threw itself against it from the inside, and Libby stepped away in case it burst through. Then she heard a man’s voice on the other side of the door shouting at the dog. This was clearly not Dylan’s flat; Esme must have given her the wrong address. Libby was about to turn and walk away when she heard a scraping sound, and then the door opened to reveal a man dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a saggy sweatshirt, gray stubble lining his face. There was scrabbling and a whining sound behind him, suggesting the dog was still nearby and trying to get out.
“What do you want?” the man snapped.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you. I must have the wrong flat.” Libby started to walk away.
“Who you looking for?” the man called after her.
“Eh, Dylan. Dylan . . .” She realized with a start that she didn’t know his surname.
“He lives here,” the man said with a sniff. “Why you looking for him?”
“Well, he was supposed to meet me this morning and he didn’t turn up for his work either, so—”
The man let out a bark of a laugh. “Let me guess. He got you in this state, did he?” He nodded at Libby’s baby bump.
“What? No, this isn’t—”
“At least this explains why he’s done a runner.”
“What?”
“He’s gone, love, taken off. Packed a bag yesterday afternoon and I ain’t seen him since.”
Libby blinked at the man. “Are you sure?”
“Shut it, Vincent!” he shouted at the dog behind him, who’d started to bark again. The animal immediately fell silent and the man turned back to Libby. “I heard him chatting on the phone and then he packed a bag and left. I wasn’t sure why, but now I’ve seen you, it all makes sense.”
