Page 54

FIFTY-TWO

She unspools her scarf, unzips her bomber jacket, and takes the cup of coffee that Marcelline hands her.

“Happy New Year,” says Marcelline.

“Hmm,” says Ash. “Let’s hope so. I wish I could say that it couldn’t be any worse than last year, or the one before, but I’m not altogether convinced that will be the case.”

Ash tells Marcelline about the impromptu visit from Nick Radcliffe, the Boxing Day reappearance, her trip to Cambridge, her conversation with the hairdresser who told her that Nick Radcliffe was more than likely a psychopath, and the email she’d sent Laura, for which she was still awaiting a response.

“I’m hoping she’s going to write today,” she tells Marcelline, “when she gets back to the office.”

“Well,” says Marcelline, “I give you permission to check your email compulsively. In between”—she slides Ash a box across the desk—“sale tags.”

Ash knows the score. She needs to place sale tags on all the items they’re sick of the sight of, which are then removed at the end of January.

Ash had once given someone a 90 percent discount on a pair of pink faux snakeskin trousers during the summer sale because she didn’t want to look at them for another second.

She grabs the handful of tags and then pulls a box of pens toward her. The pink box catches her eye, and she remembers. What did Marcelline say had come in it originally? She peers at the box and sees that it has the same embossed rose on its lid as the one from Nick.

She waves the box at Marcelline. “Did you say that this had soaps in it originally?”

Marcelline pulls her reading glasses off her face, then looks at the box and back to Ash. “I think so,” she says. “Why?”

“Because it’s exactly the same as the box my Christmas present from Nick came in. Can you remember who gave it to you?”

“Oh,” says Marcelline, cocking her head slightly and returning her glasses to her nose. “I actually think it was a gift from my ex.”

“Who’s your ex?” Ash has never known Marcelline to have a boyfriend, so this must have been a long while ago.

“Jason. We split up about three years ago. Kind of casual. Too young for me.”

“Any idea where he got the soap from?”

“No. No idea. I do remember feeling a little offended that he thought posh soap was a nice gift for a lover. It made me feel very old, and actually, now I come to think of it, maybe that was the beginning of the end.”

“Nick said he got it from a shop in Mayfair, but I’ve done a gazillion hours of googling and cannot find a shop in Mayfair that has branding like this and sells soap like that. This Jason guy… where did he live?”

“Oh, somewhere in the countryside. He was a farrier.”

“Where in the country?”

“Erm, one of those chocolate-box villages… can’t remember what it was called. I never went there. But somewhere in Kent.”

“What was his surname?”

“Trevor.”

Immediately Ash grabs her phone and googles “Jason Trevor farrier kent.” A photo comes up on a local website. She turns the screen to Marcelline. “Is that him?”

“Oh,” says Marcelline, peering at the photo. “Yes! Gosh, he’s aged.”

“In three years?”

“Country living, I guess. What does it say about him?”

“It says he’s an award-winning farrier who’s been working in the north Kent countryside for over twenty years. And it says he lives in Reading Street. And here’s a number.” Ash pauses. “Can I call him? Do you mind?”

“Erm, oh…” Marcelline blanches slightly. “I guess. I mean, don’t talk about me. Or you can mention me. A bit. But only if he asks.”

Ash gives a tiny, dismissive shake of her head. “No, it’s fine. I won’t say anything.”

Jason picks up on the third ring.

“Oh, hi! My name’s Ash. I wonder if I could ask you a strange question?”

There’s a taut silence before Jason says, “Right. OK.”

“A long time ago, you bought a box of handmade soaps to give to your girlfriend, Marcelline.”

“Marcelline?” He sounds uncertain about the name, seems to be struggling to recollect. Then he says, “Oh, yeah. Marcy!”

“Yes, Marcy.” She throws Marcelline a quizzical look and she nods in return.

“Sorry, you said soap ??”

“Yes. You gave her a gift set of soaps, in a pink box, quite fancy. And I desperately need to find out where the fancy soaps came from.”

“Oh my days,” says Jason. “I mean, no. I really don’t…

And you know, I think, if I’m being honest, they might have been a bit of a regifting thing?

To be totally frank? I think my mum might have given them to me?

Because I’m going to be honest, I’m not really the type to buy soap.

Not for anyone. I can’t picture myself doing it.

Not ever. So, yeah. I reckon my mum gave them to me. ”

“And would you maybe have any thoughts about where she might have got them from?”

“God, no. And she’s dead now.”

Ash blanches. “Oh,” she says. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“It’s OK. These things happen. But listen, if you see Marcy, say hi. Tell her I’m still single. Ha!” He issues a nervous laugh. “And don’t tell her about the soap, will you?”

The mystery of the pink gift boxes hangs over Ash all day.

She spends both her breaks perusing villages in the vicinity of Jason Trevor’s address in Reading Street, virtually wandering up and down streets, looking for gift shops that might sell posh soaps in pink boxes.

She googles “gift shops,” she googles “soap,” she googles “pink,” she googles everything, but there’s nothing.

But just as she’s heading back to the shop from her lunch hour, she feels a vibration in her pocket and pulls out her phone.

It’s a notification from her email account.

A reply from Laura. Her breath catches and she stops just in front of the shop, her fingers clumsy against the screen of her phone as she opens it up.

Dear Ash

Thank you for writing. I’m sorry for the late reply.

I was in Australia for Christmas seeing my sister and only returned yesterday and am just catching up with my work account.

Your email was a surprise but not a shock. You’re not the first person to contact me about Justin/Nick/whatever his name is today.

Would you like to meet up? I am in London meeting a client on Wednesday. Maybe we could get together somewhere central? Let me know what works.

All the best Laura