Seven Days to Tell You by Ruby Soames

Author:Ruby Soames [Soames, Ruby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9568476-0-7
Publisher: Bookline & Thinker
Published: 2011-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

sunday, midday

The intercom buzzes. My heart jolts into systolic overload while the rest of my muscles are still locked in sleep. I run through the usual questions following a Saturday night at The Nadir: Who am I? Where am I? And who’s he?

Another buzz.

Most weekends when I wasn’t on duty I’d go out, find someone who looked as much like you as possible and take them to my bed. On a good morning, the frogs leapt back into their ponds, but sometimes they flapped around croaking on and on until I returned them to the wild. This morning, you lie next to me, my prince is too hung-over to stir.

I roll on track-suit bottoms and socks, keep on the T-shirt I slept in and move as quickly and quietly as I can down the stairs. I can hear the rain outside like soft gun fire in the distance. The front door requires two hands to open against the wind.

Anthony is already walking to his car. If I leave him a few seconds longer, he will go. But when he hears the creak of the door, he turns, grinning despite the rain. He sprints back towards me.

‘I’ve been trying to ring you for days! I thought you’d gone home for the weekend – and then I saw your car.’

He aims a kiss on my lips but I turn and he catches my ear. He trips a little on the threshold because I won’t let him pass. He stops in front of me.

‘I was just on my way to Rachel and David’s – we’re all meeting up for brunch. Fancy coming?’

We both know it’s out of Anthony’s way to come down my road to get to Rachel and David’s. He must have taken a long route just to pass my building, even though I was supposed to be away. What might have been a cute act of sentimentality at any other time, has proved a dangerous error of judgement. He must have been thrilled to see my car there. That’s why he is smiling.

I stand inside the corridor, keeping my face in the shadows. Anthony waits while drops of rain barge past him to get to the ground. I force myself to leave him in the cold: if I can’t even bear to see him shivering, how am I going to tell him what I have to tell him?

‘I can’t come to lunch.’

‘Oh shame. Work?’

He puts his hand on my arm as if I’m frail and he is about to lead me across the road - or is to lead me to what I have to say?

‘Marc.’

The name means little to Anthony: he isn’t from the past, but the future. A future being brutally aborted.

I find a few more words might help.

‘Marc, my husband. He’s come back.’

Anthony takes a few seconds to understand what I’m saying. And then he does.

‘He’s there? Now?’ he asks, looking up in the direction of my flat and back to my bare shoulders. I nod, refuse to look sorry.

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