If I was successful in securing the post, it would be just one step on from sitting at my bedroom window in my current security role.
By the time I entered the premises and was welcomed into the managing director’s office, I’d managed to slow down my breathing and unclench my fists a little.
I often find pleasure in thinking back over the significance of that day.
You see, by that time, I’d actually started to believe I might never leave the house again.
The prescribed medication had helped, and on better days, I’d take the odd trip out to the shops with Mother. This was a big improvement on the raw panic that had flooded me after… well, after it had happened.
But that day at Kellington’s, realising I might have found a place where I could feel integrated and useful again, it felt as if a tiny extinguished flame had started to burn once again in my chest.
Don’t get me wrong, I know only too well that life is full of disappointments, and I remember thinking as I entered the store that I had a good way to go before I could claim to have found my niche there.
I reach the bus stop in no time and check my stance, ensuring my shoulders are pushed back and both feet are planted firmly on the ground. I read somewhere that looking confident is paramount to disguising fear and discomfort when one is out in public.
There is nobody else waiting, and the digital display informs me that the bus is still four minutes away. So I allow myself to indulge in a little more memory-mining.
Mr Kellington himself and his assistant manager, Josh Peterson, interviewed me together. This confirmed my view that, far from being an inconsequential position in the company, the job I was applying for was in fact rather highly valued.
After cursory introductions, Mr Kellington asked why I thought I’d be suited to the role on offer, and I surprised myself by availing him of my Neighbourhood Watch monitoring processes.
The Rolodex, the detailed notes and observation techniques, and even my penchant for employing traditional administration methods where possible, rather than utilising modern technology, were all mentioned.
I decided, at the last minute, to leave out my frequent use of binoculars and zoom-lens camera.
‘Well, you certainly seem suited to the job,’ Mr Peterson said, the corners of his mouth twitching. ‘Not sure I’d want to live next door to you, though. Do the other residents know that you’re a—’
Mr Kellington cleared his throat.
‘You seem, let’s say, very… observant, David,’ he remarked drily. ‘Just the kind of person we’re looking for. You also strike me as a man who takes his duties very seriously.’
On my mother’s advice, I had taken glowing references with me. There was one from her friend Beatrice, who worked as a nurse at the city’s respected Queen’s Medical Centre. The other had been provided by Christine Abbott, the team leader of Wollaton’s Neighbourhood Watch scheme.
‘These are excellent,’ Mr Kellington confirmed. ‘Although I always rely more on my gut feeling about a candidate than on what strangers might say. Hasn’t let me down yet.’
The following week, I started my new job.
I’d never seen Mother so proud, although I couldn’t help noticing that while she continually boasted to friends and neighbours that I now worked for Kellington’s, she made no mention of my job title.
Although it’s tough in the winter months to work outdoors in the biting cold, and even in snow flurries on occasion, the small convector heater in the kiosk – which I prefer to refer to as my office – ensures that frostbite is kept safely at bay. It’s a joke I like to call on in the cold weather, with our regular customers.
I sit there, warm as toast, with the large window in front of me, looking out on to the car park and the sliding glass hatch at the side that opens directly into the store’s foyer and allows me to speak to staff and customers. Everything organised and to hand, just as I like it.
And of course, I can’t deny that I both enjoy and take great pride in my job.
I think I can safely say that the bad time is finally behind me. And long may it stay that way.
Chapter Ten
Holly
With the unpacking mostly done, Holly reluctantly admitted that she couldn’t string it out upstairs much longer. It was time to go down again.
‘Get a grip,’ she muttered out loud as she felt the familiar resistance inside flare up. She hated that Geraldine’s voice piped up in her head so frequently, especially since, infuriatingly, she’d often been right: sometimes Holly was her own worst enemy.
Cora now had a solution for her chronic loneliness and Holly had found a much-needed home and, hopefully, a stable base from which to begin rebuilding her life.
There was just one last thing to do.
At the bottom of the suitcase lay a laptop. It had been Geraldine’s, and Holly had managed to sneak it out of the house without her even missing it, such was the wealth of possessions the other woman had.
She took the lead and plugged it into the wall socket at the side of her bed. The battery was completely flat but should be fully charged by the time she came up to bed later.
When she got downstairs, Cora was still sitting in her armchair by the window, leafing listlessly through a magazine.
‘There you are, dear. I was beginning to fear you’d got lost up there.’ She laid the magazine on the arm of her chair. ‘Now, where was I? Ah yes, our wedding day.’
Holly sighed inwardly but managed to raise a smile.
‘That’s right,’ she said, perching on the end of the sofa. ‘March 1966.’
‘I remember it as if it were yesterday…’ Cora’s eyes glazed over; she had immersed herself in the past so completely that the odd grunt and affirmative nod from Holly was all that was required to give the impression that she was listening.
She stared in fascination as Cora’s soft, drooping features grew steadily more animated, more alive.
Rather than feeling guilty, Holly felt this was what Cora wanted from her. Simply another human being to sit and witness her life lived so far. To listen without interruption whilst she brought her memories out to polish again.
It was heartening and understandable.
Holly began to relax a little, caught up in the rhythmic waves of sound as Cora told her story.
She closed her eyes, allowing a slight smile to play on her lips as if she were visualising the eighteenth-century church and the hand-made Nottingham lace that had trimmed nineteen-year-old Cora’s ivory wedding gown.
A rap at the back door made her sit up sharply, her eyes springing open.
Cora frowned slightly.
‘Who can that be?’ She glanced at the heavy wooden clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Too early for Mr Brown.’
Apparently Mr Brown only lived a couple of doors away. Holly recalled Cora telling her he’d been taking care of the heavier garden duties for the last few months.
‘Shall I see who it is?’
‘It’s all right, dear, I’ll go.’ Cora sighed and clambered awkwardly out of her chair.
Holly eased herself back down onto the sofa, her heart pounding at roughly twice its usual speed at the interruption.
What if it was…?
She shook her head to dispel the unhelpful thoughts. It was important to keep up with this more positive frame of mind; it was going to do her no good at all to fret over impossibilities. She was safe here.
She was safe, because nobody could possibly know of her whereabouts.
The back door opened and she relaxed as she recognised the bright tones of mutual greetings. The visitor was obviously someone Cora was pleased to see.
‘Come through, dear,’ Holly heard her say as the back door thudded shut. ‘It’s been far too long.’
‘Yes, it has, and I’m sorry about that,’ a woman said, her voice drawing closer. ‘I was going to pop round this week anyway, and then David said he’d seen a young woman – oh, hello!’