Things We Never Say Read online

  When she walked into the salon she said a chirpy hello to Selina, who beamed back at her, delighted that her favourite employee seemed to have finally come out of her misery. Relieved, too, because part of Abbey’s success as a member of staff was her unfailing cheerfulness towards her clients. Selina knew that Abbey’s smile had been forced recently and that she’d been struggling to keep it all together. But you have, she noted as she watched Abbey arrange the bottles of varnish on her desk. You have and I’m glad for you. And if I could get my hands on the man who took away your smile and your confidence, I’d wring his neck myself.

  At two o’clock Abbey broke for lunch. She picked up a coffee and a wrap at Starbucks and ate sitting on the steps at Union Square. She watched the tourists jumping on and off the city tour buses and she counted herself lucky to be a native, not someone trying to cram in the San Francisco experience in a couple of days. Truly, she said to herself as she got up again, I’m incredibly lucky. This thing with Cobey – well, broken hearts mend. I know they do.

  ‘Oh!’

  She gasped as someone bumped into her, and then shouted as she realised that her cherry-red Kipling bag (which was her absolute favourite) had been snatched. The thief bounded down the steps while all around her people watched. And then, almost out of nowhere, a man grabbed the youth and prised the bag from his hand, allowing the thief to go free before returning it to Abbey.

  ‘I don’t believe that happened,’ she said as he handed it to her while the knot of people who’d been watching applauded. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I guess I was careless.’

  ‘He was opportunistic,’ said the man.

  ‘I shouldn’t have given him the opportunity. I’m usually far more alert. I was daydreaming.’

  ‘Because it’s a lovely day for it.’

  His accent was unfamiliar, soft and gentle. He was anything but soft himself, though, Abbey thought as she looked at him. He was tall and muscular and was dressed in a 49ers T-shirt, faded jeans and Converse boots. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of Ray-Bans and the whole effect was Hollywood star on a dress-down day.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘I was thinking that San Francisco was the best place in the whole world to be right now. But …’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ he said. ‘This sort of thing happens everywhere.’

  ‘I know. Nevertheless …’ She fished in her bag for one of her cards. ‘If there’s anyone you know who’d like their nails done – or if you’d like a manicure yourself – please have one on me.’

  His eyes widened as he took the card. ‘Do I look like a metrosexual man?’

  ‘You look like a fit man,’ she said, which made him laugh.

  ‘Abbey Andersen,’ he said out loud as he turned the card over in his hand (a hand on which, she noticed, the nails were short and well-kept). ‘Nail technician and artist.’ He put her card in his pocket. ‘I love how every job in America is a major career.’

  ‘Hey, nail care is a career,’ she told him. ‘My career.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He took off his sunglasses and looked at her apologetically from eyes that were moss-green. ‘I’m used to people being self-effacing and deprecating about what they do.’

  ‘You’re British, aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Irish,’ he amended.

  ‘Oh, wow. My grandparents were from Ireland.’ She beamed at him.

  ‘They were?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Where?’

  ‘Um … I’m not quite sure,’ she confessed. ‘Somewhere in the middle, I think.’

  ‘Offaly, Meath, Tipperary?’ He looked at her enquiringly.

  She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know. I never talked to them much about it.’

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘You should visit us one day.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Lots of people come to Ireland to look for their roots,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve never thought that much about mine,’ she told him.

  ‘Oh, but roots are interesting,’ he said. ‘You should think about it. Meantime, if I suddenly find the need to get my nails done while I’m here, I’ll definitely come in to your salon.’

  ‘Great,’ she said. ‘I promise I’ll send you out like a new man.’

  Although, she thought, after he’d shaken her hand, said goodbye and melted into the crowd, you’re not half a bad one the way you are.

  After finishing work for the day, Abbey met Solí and Vanessa for pizza at Chiopino’s and told them about the have-a-go hero in Union Square.

  ‘Shoulda got his number,’ said Solí. ‘Being as he was all rugged and manly and you’re a single girl again.’

  ‘He has mine.’ Abbey grinned at her. ‘I gave him my card so he could have a comp treatment. Though regardless of the looks, I don’t think he’s a treatment sort of guy. A bit too European, you know?’

  ‘I love that sexy British accent,’ said Vanessa.

  ‘He was Irish,’ Abbey reminded her. ‘But the accent was still cute.’

  ‘Well, the encounter certainly seems to have cheered you up,’ observed Solí. ‘In fact you’re looking a lot better.’

  ‘I feel better,’ said Abbey as she poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the table. ‘Not exactly great yet. But definitely better.’

  ‘How’s life in Sausalito?’ asked Vanessa. ‘You all right all on your own in the house?’

  ‘You know Pete. He has the most up-to-date security imaginable,’ replied Abbey. ‘It would be lovely to be able to afford a place like that.’

  ‘It’s pretty awesome,’ agreed Vanessa. She was an accounts executive at the bank where Pete’s firm had its business, and had been at a small party Pete had thrown a few months previously. ‘I love the way the windows go opaque so you can’t see through them.’

  ‘Pete loves his high-tech stuff,’ said Abbey. She added more water to her glass, then nodded her agreement at Solí’s suggestion of sharing a couple of pizzas between the three of them. ‘I’ll miss it when I leave.’

  ‘Any luck in finding a new apartment?’ asked Solí.

  ‘Not so far.’ Abbey made a face. ‘Rental in this city is beyond a joke.’

  ‘You know you can stay with me while you’re looking,’ said Solí.

  ‘Yes, and thank you,’ answered Abbey. ‘But I’ve got to get somewhere permanent soon. And preferably not some run-down dingy dump.’

  ‘You certainly don’t want a dingy dump,’ said Vanessa. ‘You’ve outgrown dingy dumps.’

  ‘I’m struggling to find anything better,’ said Abbey.

  ‘Nobody you know looking to share?’

  ‘Not right now. And the thing is, I’d love somewhere of my own this time. OK, living with Cobey turned out to be a complete disaster, but it was cool to have a place with no restrictions, and where I didn’t only have one shelf in the fridge, or have to worry about sharing the bathroom.’

  Vanessa understood perfectly. ‘I’d hate to be in that situation. Of course I’m lucky. Shawna and I have lived together all our lives, so sharing with her is normal for me.’

  ‘I’d love to say that I’d move out of the studio and share with you, but I’m pretty set in my ways,’ admitted Solí.

  ‘Which is totally OK,’ Abbey assured her. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to mess up your life for me. Hopefully I’ll find somewhere half decent before Pete and his family get back from their vacation. Claudia certainly won’t want me moping around the place, and I don’t blame her.’ Abbey took a couple of slices from the pizzas that the waitress had placed in front of them and ground black pepper over them before continuing. ‘I’m sure she looks at me and wonders why he bothers. I bet he wonders too! Here I am, nearly thirty, and I haven’t achieved anything worthwhile.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ demanded Solí. ‘You’re the best nail technician in the Bay Area, that’s for sure. And don’t tell me that’s not worthwhile, because I have a string of girls who say different
.’

  ‘No doubt about it,’ Vanessa agreed. ‘Just about every woman in my bank goes to you for nail work. Marian Marinari waxes lyrical every time she comes back from her manicure.’

  Abbey couldn’t help feeling pleased. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I know that I’m good at nails. It’s … right now, I don’t feel so good about everything else. It’s like, having split with Cobey, I’m back at the bottom of the heap again.’

  ‘Hey, we don’t let men put us at the bottom of the heap!’ Solí wagged her finger with mock-severity in front of Abbey’s nose. Then her voice softened. ‘You’ll be all right, you know you will.’

  ‘I do know,’ Abbey agreed. ‘It’d be nice to feel as though I’d properly achieved something, is all.’

  Vanessa looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You been talking to your mom lately?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because it’s usually when you do that that you go all doubtful about your life and stuff.’

  ‘I’m not doubtful,’ said Abbey.

  Vanessa’s expression was only marginally less sceptical.

  ‘Are you still moping because of Cobey?’ asked Solí. ‘You’re not to be moping. No moping allowed here.’

  Abbey held up her hands. ‘So not moping,’ she said. ‘So not putting myself down. Honestly, ladies, I’m good. I promise you.’

  ‘I hope you are,’ said Solí. ‘Chalk that man up to experience and get out there again.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of getting out there for a bit,’ said Abbey. ‘I need to let my bruised heart heal first.’ She drank some water, then put the glass down firmly on the table. ‘So c’mon. We’ve done nothing but talk about me. What about you guys? Anything to tell?’

  The conversation moved away from Abbey to Vanessa’s run-in with the senior president of her department, a complete jackass, according to her, who wouldn’t know a good credit deal if ever he saw it. Then Solí, who’d studied art with Abbey and now worked for an auction house, talked about their forthcoming sale, which featured works from an up-and-coming New York artist.

  ‘When are they going to sell your work?’ asked Abbey.

  ‘Hey, you feature it enough already,’ said Solí.

  ‘It’s not quite the same,’ Abbey said. ‘Even though your cat picture is the most popular nail art in the salon.’

  Abbey had used a painting her friend had done to create a template for a very distinctive nail art option. The Siamese cat, with its brilliant blue eyes and haughty expression, had turned into an absolute hit, being requested a couple of times a week by her clients.

  ‘You’re right.’ Vanessa stretched her elegant hands out in front of her. ‘When I had it done, everyone commented on it.’

  ‘Because it was on your nails and not a canvas,’ said Solí. ‘King of Siam is a nice painting but not a great one.’

  ‘Now who’s not being positive about her achievements?’ demanded Abbey. ‘What’s happening to us tonight, people? Am I a gloom merchant or something?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Vanessa looked sternly at Abbey and then at Solí. ‘Move the topic on. Did either of you see Celebrity Meltdown last night?’

  ‘Oh my God, yes!’ gasped Solí. ‘What were they like!’

  And the conversation moved away from being self-critical to criticising other people, a far safer bet for the rest of the evening.

  By the time the three friends said goodbye to each other, Abbey was feeling the positive glow they’d insisted she needed. She promised herself that she’d find a suitable apartment where she could live on her own and feel grown-up and independent. And perhaps she’d also take a new direction in her career by giving in and doing as Selina often suggested, entering one of the many competitions for nail technicians that took place around the country. Abbey had been reluctant before, both because she wasn’t naturally competitive and because she didn’t like leaving San Francisco for more than a day or two. She didn’t know if the latter was because she was tired of travelling, or if it was because she didn’t want to be away in case her mother came home unexpectedly. But the truth was that she couldn’t live her life on the off chance that her mom might turn up. And she’d liked travelling when she was younger. It was time to give serious thought to it again.

  As she hit the remote to open the gates to Pete’s property, she noticed a black Escalade parked at the roadside. She closed the gates quickly behind her, vaguely uneasy at the sight of the car. The road was a private one, with only three other houses on it besides Pete’s, and it ended in a cul-de-sac. There was no need for anyone to be parked on the street, because all the properties were as desirable as Pete’s and all had plenty of parking space to accommodate both homeowners and visitors.

  She thought about calling the private security firm which monitored the houses in the area, and then chided herself for being over-the-top. The Escalade owner could have parked there because he wasn’t sure where he was going, or maybe he wanted to take a walk instead of driving … There could be a ton of reasons for the car being there, none of them sinister.

  Nevertheless, after she’d parked the bike, she checked the garage before going into the house. The alarm was still on and showed no interruptions. Maybe I shouldn’t live on my own after all, she said to herself as she disarmed it. I’m clearly paranoid. I can’t believe I’m feeling edgy just because there’s a car parked on the road. If Pete was here I probably wouldn’t even have noticed it. Jeez, there were cars parked all over the street at the apartment!

  Telling herself once again that she was being silly, and reminding herself that the best security of all was having a large Labrador in the house, she opened the back door and allowed Battle inside, rubbing him behind the ears and telling him that she was sorry she was late home. She didn’t utter the word ‘walk’, as it always drove the dog into a frenzy of excitement, but Battle already knew that Abbey’s return meant exercise for him.

  ‘Without you I’d be locking myself away tonight and being a scaredy-cat girlie girl,’ she told the dog as she allowed him to follow her upstairs and into her room (a practice normally forbidden by Claudia but which Abbey felt could be allowed for this evening). ‘And you know I’m not girlie, don’t you, Battle? You know I’m a tough cookie.’

  The sound of the gate buzzer made her jump in fright and set her heart racing. Battle barked loudly and she shushed him by rubbing the top of his head. ‘It’s OK,’ she told him as she went to the entry console on the upper landing. The figure of a man was illuminated by the security light outside the gates. She could see that he was wearing a suit and tie. He looked vaguely familiar yet she didn’t recognise him as one of Pete’s friends or acquaintances.

  The buzzer sounded again.

  ‘Yes?’ Abbey knew that she sounded aggressive, but she reckoned it was better than sounding scared.

  ‘Hi.’ The male voice was distorted through the speaker. ‘I’m looking for Mr Pete Caruso.’

  OK, thought Abbey, at least this person knows who Pete is. But he doesn’t know that Pete’s away. Good or bad?

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asked, thinking as she spoke that it was a stupid question. Who had appointments to see people at this time of the evening?

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you make an appointment to see Mr Caruso and come back then,’ said Abbey.

  ‘I’m a bit pressed for time,’ said the man. ‘I tried to contact him at his offices but they said he wasn’t available. So I came here.’

  Damn you, Pete, thought Abbey. He never allowed his staff to say he was on vacation. Two reasons, he told her. One, I’m never properly on vacation because I’m in touch all the time and if something urgent comes up I don’t want a client to think I’m not a hundred per cent committed. And secondly, I prefer not to let anyone know I’m out of town.

  Abbey wasn’t going to say that Pete was away now. She didn’t want to appear like a vulnerable female. She reminded herself once again that she wasn’t a vulnerable female. She was a
tough cookie in biking leathers. With a dog.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what you want to see him about, and I’ll check when Mr Caruso can fit you in,’ she said.

  ‘My name is Ryan Gilligan,’ the man told her. ‘I wanted to talk to Mr Caruso about Ellen Connolly.’

  Abbey felt her knees buckle beneath her and she leaned against the wall to steady herself. Ellen. Why did this man want to know about Ellen?

  ‘What about Ellen Connolly?’ She tried to keep her voice even.

  ‘That’s something I need to discuss with Mr Caruso,’ said the man. ‘D’you think I could talk to him now?’

  ‘No,’ said Abbey. ‘No, you couldn’t.’ Her mind was in a frenzy and she didn’t know what to say or do. She could hardly call Pete and ask for advice. She certainly couldn’t call Ellen. But she couldn’t let this man, this stranger, walk away without finding out why he was here.

  ‘Perhaps I can help you,’ she said eventually. ‘Wait a moment.’

  She walked downstairs again, Battle following her. She opened the cupboard beside the front door, took a can of Mace from the shelf and put it into the pocket of her leather jacket. Then she zipped the jacket up again and glanced at herself in the long mirror. She didn’t look vulnerable. She looked like someone who could take care of herself. She pressed the button on the intercom and told the man that she was opening the gate. She watched the downstairs monitor as he walked inside and up the path towards the house. He looked even more familiar now, but she still couldn’t place him.

  Her right hand closed around the tin of Mace as, leaving the security chain in place, she opened the door with her left.

  He was standing in front of her.

  And then she recognised him.

  It was the Irishman who’d recovered her bag in Union Square.

  Chapter 10