The Dinner Guest by B Walter (best short books to read txt) 📕

to say, I asked, ‘So, how are you finding London?’ I had a suspicion either I or someone else had asked Rachel the same question at our book-club meeting, but I didn’t really care. After all, maybe her opinion on the place had changed since moving here.

‘Oh, I love it,’ she said. ‘It’s … it’s so big. Of course, Yorkshire is vast, but in a different way.’ She gave a little laugh after this, probably aware she was stating the obvious.

‘Have you had time to explore anywhere nearby?’ I asked, turning the car onto the Chelsea Embankment, bringing the Thames into view, glittering in the dying evening sun.

‘Yes, I have. It’s all I do, really. Walk about and listen to books as I go. I really need to find a job but I can’t seem to find anything I’m very employable for.’

There was something strange about her whole story that didn’t quite ring true. Who moves from the North of England down to London, rents a place in one of the most expensive postcodes in the country, and doesn’t have any urgency to find employment? Of course, I know people who do just that – but they’re living in townhouses and have assets, like sprawling country estates, and live off their inherited wealth. But Rachel’s choice of a flat in a council estate with a history of gang violence and street crime suggested she didn’t have a bottomless well of money. Maybe she just liked a simpler existence, but all the same, there was something a bit odd about her situation. Something she was choosing not to divulge.

This was the first time I’d driven deep into the Churchill Gardens Estate. Even though I had lived in Pimlico for years, practically just around the corner in St George’s Square, I was shocked at how different everything could become by just turning down a few streets. Three hooded boys, one on a bike, the two others leaning up against a wall, watched us as I parked the car in front of the entrance of her block. They were smoking, and when Rachel opened the passenger door I could hear the tinny beat of music pulsing from their general direction – probably from their pocketed phones.

‘Thank you so much for the lift,’ she said as she went to get out of the car.

‘Thanks for everything,’ Titus said, turning round in his seat. It was the first time he’d properly spoken since we left the police station.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.

‘I’d invite you both in but it’s all a bit of a mess, and the size of a cupboard.’ She laughed, again a little awkwardly.

I eyed the boys by the door, still overtly watching us (or the BMW X6 we’d arrived in). ‘Are you OK to, er…’ I felt compelled to ask if she was OK walking in alone, whilst being painfully aware this could sound both judgemental towards the boys and patronising towards her. I think she understood both my concern and dilemma, and smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. Well, I’ll see you at the next book-club meeting. Matthew messaged me the details the other day.’

He did, did he? I wasn’t sure why, but the fact he hadn’t mentioned this to me felt slightly hurtful. Secretive, almost, as if he knew I had a ‘bit of a thing’ about Rachel being part of our lives and had chosen to keep the subject at arm’s length, all the while sending friendly little messages to her on WhatsApp. I stopped myself continuing down this rather silly mental avenue in time to smile back at Rachel and wish her goodnight as she walked the short distance towards the entrance to her block of flats. The boys watched her go in, but didn’t react or move.

‘Are we going?’ Titus asked when we’d been sitting stationary for a little while, my mind whirring.

‘Oh, sorry. Miles away.’

I took off the handbrake and drove through the tight roads of the estate and out onto the main road. The rest of the drive home was filled with me questioning Titus about exactly what had happened. He remained frustratingly silent for the most part – not grumpy or surly exactly, just reliant on one-word answers and seemed more interested in staring out of the window. I tried not to be offended that he’d apparently seemed perfectly fine to talk to Rachel about the incident at the police station, but seemed to want to clam up now it was just him and me. She had been there though, I thought to myself. She was more than a kind ear during his moment of distress; she was a vital part of it. His saviour.

When we got in, I turned my attention to another pressing concern: my missing husband. Jane, who should really have gone home an hour ago, was just carrying a basket of laundry up the stairs when we walked in. She greeted us warmly, then said no, Matthew wasn’t at home and she hadn’t heard any messages come through to the answerphone. I checked it, regardless, even though neither of us ever used it these days, relying almost entirely on our smartphones. Just as I was starting to feel panic unfurl within me again, the buzz of an incoming call caused my pocket to vibrate.

‘What’s happened? Is he OK?’ Matthew immediately started talking very fast as soon as I’d accepted the call.

‘Where are you?’ I replied, rather than answering this question. It was probably bad of me, but I was pissed off that in an hour of stress and concern he had vanished into thin air.

‘I’ve been stuck in traffic. I had to go and see this professor in Margate. There was a nasty accident on the way home and I was stuck in the jam it caused. Is Titus OK? Is he in hospital?’

I let out a breath of relief, then almost laughed at the thought of Titus being in hospital when in fact he was now lying on the sofa, pointedly