too –’ til the pet grooming trade picks up.
She unfolds the certificate, reads that she, Rebeccah Stone, is fit to groom domestic animals. It makes her fizz with pride.
When Rebeccah told Elena what she was planning, Elena had gone all serious. Her eyes crinkled up and her lips went thin and she said, ‘We’ll see what we can do. There’s a chance things might change for me. They could change for you too, Rebeccah.’ ‘Re-Beck-Caah’, she called her. It made Becx sound like a movie star. It’s the way her name was meant to sound, but somehow nobody saw it. Apart from Elena.
Which is why she has resisted all temptations to take a peek into the envelope Elena asked her to keep secret for her. It is marked PRIVAT , in Elena’s long and beautiful hand. Rebeccah aches with curiosity to see what is inside the A4 manilla envelope. But she won’t. Not so far.
She wonders how Elena’s getting on up at her secret sea. She wouldn’t tell anyone where it was, but Rebeccah begged and begged to go with her and when Elena must have tired of saying ‘No’, they went there together. Elena told Rebeccah about the elements. They sat on the beach holding hands, listening to the force of the moon and the water, making tides. ‘Close your eyes, Rebeccah,’ Elena had said. ‘We are only what we see of ourselves in the dark.’
Rebeccah closes her eyes now and pictures herself the way she will be for Frank, tomorrow, in his old Bentley out in Epping Forest. Afterwards, Frank will take her to the Drunken Duck, near Shoeburyness, where nobody knows him. And he will watch her eat, say how much he loves her, but not so much that when he tips her the wink and he drops his pudding spoon, she doesn’t have to shift up her dress and ease her thighs apart. His treat for the bill, he calls it. The Duck’s bill, and she will laugh along with him. She wonders whether, if she closes her eyes when he slips down for his gander, it will make her feel better about herself.
The kettle begins to whistle and she runs her bath then gathers her secrets together. The Post Office book and the hand-drawn designs of her calling cards for the pet-grooming business and the name of an estate agent in Estepona. Finally, the PRIVAT envelope she is keeping for Elena. Rebeccah is the only person in the whole world Elena could trust with this. Even Bobo. It makes her want to sing and she returns the kept secret, just so.
The water running onto the enamel by her ears sounds like the sea in a shell. Like childhood. It’ll be warm, come March, on the Costa, she thinks, returning her trove to its secret place.
Rebeccah takes her phone out and dials Elena’s number, picturing her by the sea. She’s got a new name to test on Elena. She likes Tender Petting, but the phone rings and rings and she is just about to hang up, wondering why it doesn’t switch to message, when Elena picks up.
‘Hi Lena,’ says Rebeccah, upbeat and sitting on the edge of the bath. ‘What do you think about Tender Petting? Subtle, innit? And it says I’ll look after them. What do you think? Really.’ The phone crackles and Rebeccah looks at the screen to make sure she’s got Elena. ‘Lena? It’s me.’
‘Who’s me?’
‘Who’s that? Lena, is that you?’
The phone goes quiet, then says, ‘Rebeccah?’
Whoever it is says her name wrong. Her heart judders. Blood rushes to her head and she feels weak.
‘Don’t hang up, Rebeccah. Elena is gone.’
‘Gone?’
The silence stretches.
‘She’s dead, Rebeccah. We need to speak to you. Please don’t hang up. We can help …’
Rebeccah acts on instinct, struggling for breath, pressing red.
*
Josie stares at the gold handset, sees Rebeccah Call Ended. She scribbles down the number and turns off the interference track on her field recorder. If only Rebeccah had called when she had been at the station, they could have triangulated and got a fix on where the incoming call had been made. Nonetheless, the name and
She unfolds the certificate, reads that she, Rebeccah Stone, is fit to groom domestic animals. It makes her fizz with pride.
When Rebeccah told Elena what she was planning, Elena had gone all serious. Her eyes crinkled up and her lips went thin and she said, ‘We’ll see what we can do. There’s a chance things might change for me. They could change for you too, Rebeccah.’ ‘Re-Beck-Caah’, she called her. It made Becx sound like a movie star. It’s the way her name was meant to sound, but somehow nobody saw it. Apart from Elena.
Which is why she has resisted all temptations to take a peek into the envelope Elena asked her to keep secret for her. It is marked PRIVAT , in Elena’s long and beautiful hand. Rebeccah aches with curiosity to see what is inside the A4 manilla envelope. But she won’t. Not so far.
She wonders how Elena’s getting on up at her secret sea. She wouldn’t tell anyone where it was, but Rebeccah begged and begged to go with her and when Elena must have tired of saying ‘No’, they went there together. Elena told Rebeccah about the elements. They sat on the beach holding hands, listening to the force of the moon and the water, making tides. ‘Close your eyes, Rebeccah,’ Elena had said. ‘We are only what we see of ourselves in the dark.’
Rebeccah closes her eyes now and pictures herself the way she will be for Frank, tomorrow, in his old Bentley out in Epping Forest. Afterwards, Frank will take her to the Drunken Duck, near Shoeburyness, where nobody knows him. And he will watch her eat, say how much he loves her, but not so much that when he tips her the wink and he drops his pudding spoon, she doesn’t have to shift up her dress and ease her thighs apart. His treat for the bill, he calls it. The Duck’s bill, and she will laugh along with him. She wonders whether, if she closes her eyes when he slips down for his gander, it will make her feel better about herself.
The kettle begins to whistle and she runs her bath then gathers her secrets together. The Post Office book and the hand-drawn designs of her calling cards for the pet-grooming business and the name of an estate agent in Estepona. Finally, the PRIVAT envelope she is keeping for Elena. Rebeccah is the only person in the whole world Elena could trust with this. Even Bobo. It makes her want to sing and she returns the kept secret, just so.
The water running onto the enamel by her ears sounds like the sea in a shell. Like childhood. It’ll be warm, come March, on the Costa, she thinks, returning her trove to its secret place.
Rebeccah takes her phone out and dials Elena’s number, picturing her by the sea. She’s got a new name to test on Elena. She likes Tender Petting, but the phone rings and rings and she is just about to hang up, wondering why it doesn’t switch to message, when Elena picks up.
‘Hi Lena,’ says Rebeccah, upbeat and sitting on the edge of the bath. ‘What do you think about Tender Petting? Subtle, innit? And it says I’ll look after them. What do you think? Really.’ The phone crackles and Rebeccah looks at the screen to make sure she’s got Elena. ‘Lena? It’s me.’
‘Who’s me?’
‘Who’s that? Lena, is that you?’
The phone goes quiet, then says, ‘Rebeccah?’
Whoever it is says her name wrong. Her heart judders. Blood rushes to her head and she feels weak.
‘Don’t hang up, Rebeccah. Elena is gone.’
‘Gone?’
The silence stretches.
‘She’s dead, Rebeccah. We need to speak to you. Please don’t hang up. We can help …’
Rebeccah acts on instinct, struggling for breath, pressing red.
*
Josie stares at the gold handset, sees Rebeccah Call Ended. She scribbles down the number and turns off the interference track on her field recorder. If only Rebeccah had called when she had been at the station, they could have triangulated and got a fix on where the incoming call had been made. Nonetheless, the name and
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