Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Simon

Simon Ackhurst is on a date. The fancy new wine bar on Summerley Street isn’t his usual type of place – it’s all statement wallpaper, gold furnishings and jaunty neon signs – but Clare seems to love it, so Simon tries to hide his awkwardness. It’s only their second date and he doesn’t want to screw it up.

He raises his eyebrows at the price of Clare’s prosecco and his alcohol-free beer – it’d be half the price at the Cross Keys – but pays the girl behind the bar anyway. Then he carries the drinks across the crowded bar to the table in the corner where Clare is sitting.

‘Here you go,’ he says, handing the prosecco to her before sitting down on the bench seat.

‘Thanks,’ Clare replies, smiling and taking a sip.

He likes her smile. Her lips aren’t all pumped up with filler like some girls’, and she doesn’t wear lipstick – which he’s thankful for because he hates the taste and texture of the stuff. ‘So how was your day?’

‘Same old, same old,’ Clare says, but she’s still smiling. ‘You know how little kids are.’

He doesn’t, actually, but he keeps that to himself. Instead he smiles, pretending like he does. That’s the thing about dates, isn’t it? You’re never yourself. You put on a show, or at least that’s how Simon always feels when he’s meeting someone new. It’s why he hasn’t dated in a long time, because the effort of pretending can be a real drain. It’s hard work acting like you’re a regular person. A good man. Presenting your best self to the person you’re with and trying to get them to like you. But there’s no harm in it, is there? Everyone’s faking it because no one wants to reveal their secrets, especially him. ‘Some of the older kids are pretty challenging too.’

‘I bet,’ says Clare, taking another sip. ‘I don’t know how you do what you do. Working with young offenders must be so hard.’

‘It can be tough, but I love it.’ Simon smiles. His work is a topic he can talk about happily, and honestly, for hours. ‘Working with someone who’s taken a wrong turn and helping them turn their life around can be very rewarding. Addiction is highly complex. I’ve been there myself, many years ago, and if I hadn’t been given the support to fight it, I probably wouldn’t be here today. So for me it’s about paying it forward.’

‘That’s so admirable.’

Clare’s voice is so sincere it makes Simon blush. Seconds later the guilt comes. She wouldn’t think he was admirable if she really knew him. He takes a gulp of his alcohol-free beer and changes the subject. ‘I don’t know how you do your job. I can’t imagine having to control a bunch of under-fives all day; it must be mayhem.’

She laughs. ‘It’s pretty manic, and noisy, but I love it. I’ve worked at the nursery for a while now, so I know the kids and the parents fairly well.’ Clare takes another sip of her prosecco. ‘Did you grow up around here?’

‘Yeah,’ says Simon, taking another mouthful of his beer. ‘I was born at Moreton Hospital; lived in White Cross my whole life.’

‘So did you go to that old school where they found the body earlier in the week?’ asks Clare.

Simon’s smile freezes on his face. ‘Yeah.’

Clare keeps talking. He can see her lips moving but he’s not focused on her words. All he can see in this moment is Hannah: long strawberry-blonde hair, those piercing blue eyes, and her lips naturally pillowy and pinker than any other girl he’d known.

‘Simon, are you okay?’

Clare’s voice brings him back into the moment. He pushes the image of Hannah away. ‘Yes, sorry, I’m fine.’

Clare’s still looking at him funny, but he’s not sure what else to say. He certainly isn’t going to tell her the truth; that the body found at the school belonged to his first girlfriend, Hannah Jennings. That her being the talk of the town again is bringing all the old memories back from when Hannah disappeared. The memories that he thought he’d escaped from. The memories that had pushed him to take solace in drugs in the first place.

Simon tries hard to keep his answer vague. His tone normal. ‘I was at the school when she disappeared, I vaguely remember it, but I was pretty young. Feels weird, something like that happening here in White Cross.’

Clare nods. ‘Totally. I couldn’t believe it.’

Simon can’t think of what to say next. Around them the chatter seems to grow louder. The girls on the table behind them – three peroxide blondes with heavy eye make-up and glossy lips – laugh raucously at something. The Weeknd’s ‘Blinding Lights’ is playing over the speakers. The lyrics mirror how Simon’s feeling. He needs to snap out of it and say something. Start a new topic of conversation. Lighten the mood. But he can’t think of anything else to say.

Clare finishes the last of her prosecco.

He nods towards Clare’s empty glass. ‘Would you like another?’

‘No, I’m fine thanks.’

Simon’s heart sinks. He’s blown it. She clearly can’t wait to get away from him.

Then Clare gives him an impish smile. ‘Do you fancy some dinner? I could make us something at my place. Nothing fancy, just pasta or—’

‘Sounds great,’ says Simon, eager to put off going back to his houseboat and a dinner of beans on toast in front of the telly again. Hurriedly, he drinks down the last of his alcohol-free beer. ‘I’m ready when you are.’

Dinner turns into a nightcap on the sofa, and kissing on the sofa turns into getting naked in Clare’s bedroom. Simon feels self-conscious as she unbuttons his shirt. He’s in okay shape for his age but a far cry from the toned athlete he was back in his glory days. Clare doesn’t seem to mind, though. Sliding her hands into his boxers, she takes him in her hand. He feels himself respond. Kisses her harder.

Hannah’s face appears in his mind’s eye. Pushing it away, he sits down on the bed and pulls Clare down on top of him. He runs his hands over her body. Kisses her skin. But when he opens his eyes and looks up at her it’s Hannah’s face that he sees. It’s as if she’s haunting him. His erection withers in Clare’s hand.

He presses himself harder against Clare. Kisses her again, trying to spark life back into his stubbornly flaccid penis, but it’s no use. All he can see now is Hannah. She’s staring at him with those pale blue eyes of hers, as if to ask him why.

Why, why, why?

He rolls out from under Clare and sits up on the side of the bed with his back to her. This is a bloody nightmare.

‘It’s okay,’ says Clare, moving across the bed towards him. She leans against his back, her hands around his waist. ‘It happens to a lot of guys.’

Simon doesn’t turn to look at her. Can’t bear to see the look on her face. This isn’t who he is, who he should be. Bloody Hannah. She’s been gone thirty years but she still haunts him. Will he ever truly be able to move on?

Stepping off the bed, Clare kneels in front of him and takes hold of his limp penis. She kisses the inside of his thighs as she starts trying to coax his dick back to life. Simon knows it’s a lost cause. As Clare gazes up at him, he’s sure he can see pity in her eyes.

‘Just leave it, will you?’ shouts Simon, standing up and pushing her away.

Clare looks hurt, confused. ‘What’s the matter? I thought we were having fun.’

Grabbing his clothes, Simon quickly pulls them on. ‘It’s not working.’

‘But I—’

‘It’s done, yeah?’ says Simon, shoving his feet into his trainers. He heads towards the door. ‘We’re done.’

Clare starts to reply, but he doesn’t hang about to hear what she has to say. Slamming the door behind him, Simon jogs down the road towards the canal. This is why he never goes on dates. One way or another they always end badly.