Nicci French - What to do When Someone Dies

But when Frances saw me she raised her eyebrows. ‘You look very fetching,’ she said, smiling. ‘You certainly have your own style, Gwen.’ I didn’t know if that was a compliment or a veiled insult.

It hardly felt like work: I drifted from kitchen to cloakroom and back to the dining room, keeping an eye on things, making sure the lunch ran smoothly and courses were delivered at the right time. Yet by the end I felt weary and stale, in need of fresh air, natural light. When I stepped out on to the street, I gasped and shrank back into the doorway. Joe was walking along the pavement towards me, his coat billowing round his solid figure. He was carrying his bag and seemed deep in thought; there was an angry frown on his face. I felt as though someone had struck me. My mouth was dry and my heart pressed against my ribs. He mustn’t see me, not when I was dressed in Greg’s wedding suit and being Gwen, not when, in a few moments, Frances would come up the stairs behind me and witness him greeting me as Ellie. I bent double, pretending to tie up the laces of my shoes, which didn’t possess laces, and when I glanced up, he had passed by on the other side of the road, although I could still see his familiar figure striding away, towards some banking client perhaps. I stood upright and tried to collect myself, although I felt slightly sick with shock. How easy it would be for my two worlds to collide and shatter.

When I got home, a piece of paper was lying on the doormat. ‘Where are you, what are you doing and why aren’t you answering my calls? RING ME NOW! Gwenxxxx.’

I pushed the message out of my way, took the new phone out of its box and plugged it in to charge. Then I opened my hotmail account and copied out the new email address. ‘This is my phone number,’ I wrote, and keyed it in. I took a deep breath and pressed send. There, it was gone. Now all I had to do was wait.

I couldn’t put off listening to my phone messages any longer: Gwen, Joe, Gwen, Gwen, my bank manager, Joe, Mary, my mother twice, Mary again, Gwen and Gwen and Gwen, my sister, Fergus twice, a woman calling about a chest of drawers that needed stripping, my bank manager again, a wrong number, Gwen, who sounded frantic with anxiety now. I felt a pinch of guilt. I would call her soon. Tomorrow. After I’d sorted this latest thing out. I couldn’t talk to anybody until then. It wasn’t possible.

But even as I was thinking this there was an insistent knocking at the door. I got up to answer it, then sat down again. No: it would be Gwen or Mary or Joe or Fergus and I wasn’t in the mood. If I didn’t open the door, they’d go away. The knocking continued. Did they know somehow I was in there? Then it stopped.

I breathed out with relief and stood up. What now? I opened the fridge door and stared dispiritedly into the white space. A lonely knob of hard cheese, a past-its-sell-by-date packet of butter and a shrink-wrapped stub of chorizo sat on the otherwise empty shelves. As I stood there, I had a creepy feeling that I wasn’t alone. I heard a rustle behind me, coming from the garden and, very slowly, I turned. Someone was staring in at me through the window. Gwen. Her sweet-natured face was transformed by a huge scowl. Another face appeared beside her and the two glared in at me. Then Mary raised her fist and rapped sharply on the glass. ‘Let us in!’ she yelled.

I opened the back door and stood aside so that they could enter.

‘What are you playing at?’ hissed Gwen, dumping a large shopping bag on the table.

‘What are you wearing?’ said Mary.

‘Didn’t you get my messages? My note? Do you know how worried we’ve all been?’

‘I – I was busy,’ I mumbled.

‘Busy? Well, I was busy too, as it happens. You can’t just hide away, you know. Fuck. I pictured you lying in a ditch – or in a bath with your wrists cut or something. If you don’t want to see us, fine, but at least tell us you’re all right. We were going to ring the police if you hadn’t been here this evening.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘Well, you should have done! That’s no excuse. You should have a bit of consideration.’

Gwen started pulling items out of the bag. Ground coffee, milk, shortbread biscuits, wholemeal bread, salad, carrots, a bottle of wine, eggs. She thumped them down on the table angrily.

‘Was that suit Greg’s?’ asked Mary.

‘Yes,’ I said shortly.

‘You look great.’ There was a hint of accusation in her voice. It would have been better if I’d been haggard and red-eyed with grief. ‘Doesn’t she look great, Gwen?’

‘Hmm. Where have you been?’

‘Trying to sort things out.’

Gwen snorted. ‘That’s a feeble answer.’

‘It’s true,’ I insisted, and after all, it was in its own way.

‘Have you been getting back to your work?’

‘Not exactly. A bit.’

‘A bit. Have you dealt with your financial stuff, been to the bank and your solicitor, visited his parents, like you said you would?’

‘I will soon.’

‘So what have you been sorting out?’

‘I – There’s a lot of bits and pieces.’ It sounded so lame that I blushed to the roots of my hair.

‘What are you up to, Ellie?’ Gwen asked.

‘I’m not up to anything.’ But I couldn’t meet her gaze.

‘This is us, remember,’ said Mary. She had sat down at the table and was now chewing absent-mindedly at one of the carrots Gwen had brought.

The phone rang suddenly and I stiffened. But it was only my landline and we waited in silence as the answering-machine picked up and Joe’s voice came on: ‘Ellie. Ellie, honey? It’s me. Come on.’ There was a pause, and then he said again, ‘Ellie?’ before hanging up.

‘See? Another anxious friend.’

For a moment I considered telling them everything I had done. But to do that wouldn’t I also have to give up my subterfuge, my lies, deceits and unhealthy obsessions? ‘I’m really, really sorry,’ I said. ‘Honestly I am. I know I’m behaving oddly, wrongly. I can’t explain it properly. I’ve been all over the place.’ I twisted my hands together, my naked, ringless fingers. ‘I keep thinking things will get better.’

‘We’re here to help you,’ said Gwen. ‘You know that. Don’t shut us out.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Now we’re here, shall I make us tea?’ asked Mary. ‘Tea and biscuits and then we can go out. Eric’s looking after Robin this evening so I’m free. What d’you say? Film and meal, just the three of us, like it used to be?’

What I wanted to say was that I felt tired and agitated and my heart was bouncing in my chest like a rubber ball and all I wanted to do was wait by the phone, but their two kind, familiar faces showed such concern that I said, ‘That would be very nice.’

I got home just after midnight and ran to check the new phone. There were no messages but there was one missed call. I picked up the mobile. Resting in my hand, it felt like a bomb that might go off at any time. In bed, the phone on the table beside me, I could feel myself fizzing with excitement and dread, and when I finally slept, it was fitfully, to taunting dreams.

Frances kissed me on both cheeks. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve got to dash out in an hour or so and I won’t be back until mid-afternoon. It would be great if you could go through the new brochure for me. I’ve got to get it to the printers this afternoon and it’s littered with errors.’

‘It’s not that I mind, but what about Beth?’

‘Oh, you can show it to her, but she’s no use. She studied events management at university, which means she can barely read or write.’

‘Fine. I’ll do my best.’

‘Let’s have coffee first, though.’

‘Shall I get it?’