Good Riddance — “What do you mean ‘the number’s not in service’? I was just speaking to him five mi…

Gone, and Good Riddance

What do you mean the numbers unavailable? He was just speaking with someone five minutes ago! I stood there in my hallway, pressing my phone so hard to my ear it mightve fused.

I glanced at the bureau.

The jewellery box I always kept on top still stood where Id left it, but the lid sat just a touch askewsomething I would never have done.

Rob! I called out, raising my voice towards the bathroom. Are you in there?

As I inched toward the bureau, cold panic crept up my back. I lifted the lid. Empty. Absolutely empty.

Even the old department store receipt I used as a bookmark had vanished.

Along with my jewellery, the money Id squirreled away was gone, too. But then, I suppose, Id given him access to that myself.

Oh, Lord I breathed, sinking down onto the cold floorboards. How? We only argued about wallpaper yesterday You promised wed go to Cornwall in August

And to think how ordinary it all began. Last June, my poor little Mini ground to a haltthe piston seized up completely.

When the local garage gave me an absurd quote, I lost my temper and turned to Car Help UK, a Facebook group for local enthusiasts.

Can anyone advise? My brake pistons seizedcan I sort it myself? Id posted, along with a picture of my filthy wheel arch.

Replies came flooding in at once. Some told me not to meddle. Others insisted I just shell out for new parts.

Then a comment appeared from someone called Robert85:

Dont listen to them, love. Buy a tin of WD40 and a seal kitwont cost more than twenty quid. Pop the wheel off, nudge out the piston with the pedal, not all the way though. Wash with brake fluid, grease it well. So long as the pistons not pitted, youll be fine.

It was written just right. Sensible. No ego.

What if it is pitted? I responded.

Then replace it. But from your pic, the cars well looked afterwont be that bad. Any questions, message meIll help if I can.

Thats how we got talking.

Robert turned out to know his stuff, a real petrolhead.

Within the week, hed talked me through changing oil, choosing spark plugs, and even warned me about which type of antifreeze to avoid.

I started catching myself, waiting eagerly for a dinghoping it was him.

Rob, youre my hero! I wrote as July wound down. Listen, shall we meet up? Coffees on me. Or maybe something strongercheers to all the cash Ive saved.

It took a few hours before he replied.

Kate, Id genuinely love to. But Im away on business. Long trip. Out of the country, actually.

Wow, I replied. Really far?

The absolute limit. Kate, I want to be straight with you. I like you. A lot. But Im not on a work trip. Im serving time. HMP Wandsworth, if you know it.

My phone slipped from my hands, landing on the sofa with a silent thud. My chest twisted, hollow and raw.

A convict? Ia chartered accountant, respectable, employed at a leading London firmhad been messaging a criminal for weeks?!

What for? I managed to type, hands trembling.

Fraud. Stupid mistake, got mixed up, bit of both. Less than a year to serve. If you want to delete this, I get it.

I didnt reply. Instead, I just blocked him and for three days wandered the office like a ghost. Colleagues asked if I was coming down with something.

All I could think was: Why? Why does a clever, practical, good man end up there?

A week later, I spotted a new emailhed gotten my address from me at some point. I hadnt deleted him, just silenced the chat.

Kate, he wrote. No hard feelings. I knew itd be like this. Youre kind and brightyou dont need the likes of me. Thank you for messaging. Best fortnight in years. Be happy. Goodbye.

I read those lines sat in my kitchen, and to my own surprise, burst into tears. I felt so sorry for him. For myself. For the way life can treat people.

Why do the lucky ones always turn out married, or mummys boysand the only actual decent fellow is behind bars? I whispered.

I didnt reply this time either.

***

I did my best to move onwent on a few dates, but nothing sparked.

One chap spent half the night droning on about his stamp collection; another turned up with filthy fingernails and then wanted to split the bill.

By March, on my thirty-fifth birthday, I felt more alone than ever.

That morning, my screen blinked.

Happy birthday, Kate! I know I shouldnt message, but couldnt resist. Hope everythings good for you. You deserve to be cherished. I made you something from bread crumbs and wire here If I could, Id give it to you. Just know: somewhere in Yorkshire, someones drinking abysmal tea to your health today.

Thanks, Rob, I wrote back, unable to help myself. That means a lot.

You replied! he came back, practically giddy. Hows things? Hows your little Ministill running okay through the cold?

And so, it began again.

This time, we spoke every day. Rob would call when he could.

His voice was deep, with a soft roughness that made me want to hear more.

He spun stories about growing up with his brother, his nephews up north, how he longed for a new start.

Im not going back to Leeds, Kate, hed say as I stirred my tea in the kitchen. Too many old mates, too much temptation. I want somewhere fresh. Got two hands, always work as a builder or in a garage.

And where would you go? Id ask, holding my breath.

Id come to yours. Rent a little place. Just so I know youre breathing the same city air.

Well see how it goes. Im not being pushy.

By May, I was utterly smitten.

I knew his inspection schedule, when he had shower nights, his shifts at the prison workshop.

I sent parcelstea, chocolates, thermal socks, gadgets for projects.

Rob, just behave and keep your head down, please, I begged. Dont get in trouble.

For you, love, Ill keep quiet as a mouse, hed laugh. Out in April, promise.

Im waiting for you.

***

April came. I drove to the gates of the prison. Id bought him a new jacket, jeans, trainers.

My heart thumped so loudly I thought it might burst.

When he emergedshort, stocky, salt-and-pepper hair cropped tidilyI froze for a split second. He looked different than his photos.

But when he grinned and murmured, Alright, boss? I threw my arms around him.

Thank God youre alright, I whispered, face pressed to his scratchy jaw.

Didnt have anywhere else to go, he murmured. You smell nice. Flowery perfume?

We went back to mine.

The first week was magic. Rob got straight to workfixed my leaky tap, sorted the door lock thatd been acting up for months.

Evenings, wed sit in my kitchen with wine, and hed regale me with funny stories from back in the day, steering carefully around anything too dark.

Rob, I said on day ten. You said you were looking for a flat?

Yeah, shouldnt I? he frowned, fiddling with his cup. A bloke ought to put a roof over your headnot live off you.

Oh, dont be daft, I said, covering his hand. Were not strangers. Youll get on your feet and sort yourself out.

He hesitated, staring at the mug. My brother called yesterdayhis lad is ill. Needs surgery. Private, expensive stuff. Hes asking for a loan and look at me, not a penny to my name. Im embarrassed, Kate.

How much? I asked softly.

A fair bit. Five grand. Theyve already got some. Im thinking maybe get contract work in London, earn quickly.

I went silent. Id saved exactly thatkept five grand cash in my jewellery box for three years, hoping at last to fix up the bathroom, put in that dream walk-in shower.

I can lend it you, I said, more quietly than intended.

He looked up sharply, almost angry. Absolutely not. Thats your money. Im not taking it.

Its for your nephew, Rob. Family matters, you said it yourself. Take it, pay me back when you can. Were together now.

He resisted. For two days he sulked, starting to chain-smoke on the balcony despite saying hed quit.

In the end, I set the money on the table.

Go on. Take it. Bring it to your brother, or arrange the transfer.

Ill deliver it myself, he replied, hugging me hard. Might chat about work up there. Back in two dayspromise.

***

I sat on the floor in the hallway for a full hour, legs numb. I barely felt it.

I replayed the last eveningwed watched a silly romcom, hed wrapped his arm around my shoulder, making me feel like the luckiest woman alive.

Ill head off early day after tomorrow, hed told me at bedtime.

Turns out, hed gone a day sooner. I slept through his leavingonly half-remembered the front door late at night and thought it was next door.

Two in the afternoon, I finally rang the number he gave for his brother.

A gruff voice barked, Hello?

Hello, Im… Kate, Roberts girlfriend. He was coming up to see you, is he there?

A long, heavy sigh delivered the answer.

Who? Robert? Sorry, my brothers called something else. Still locked upwont be out till October.

My head spun.

HowOctober? He got out in April! I picked him up myself from Wandsworth.

Listen, the voice snapped. My brother, Alan, is in HMP Brixton. Rob Rob was my cellmate ages ago, not my brother. He nicked my phone and pinched all my contacts. Youre probably just another one hes connedhes got a gift for it. Engineering degree, slick tongue.

I set my phone down, stunned. I remembered Rob explaining how to change spark plugs.

Dont overtighten or youll wreck the threadthen youve had it, hed said.

I have wrecked it, I whispered. I trashed everything myself.

I suddenly realisedhow little I ever knew about the man sharing my bed. Id never seen his passport, nor any release papers. Did I even know his real name?

***

Naturally, I went straight to the police. I made a statement and showed them his photolearned far more about my so-called partner than I ever wanted.

His name really was Robert. That, at least, was true.

But the restall lies. Hed served multiple sentences, nearly a lifetime inside. I was just the latest in a long line of women he duped after chatting them up from behind bars.

I changed my locks, took a deep breath, and counted myself lucky. Compared to some, Id got off lightly.

The lesson? Trust is precious, but too often we give it away without a thought. Next time, Ill know better: sometimes, its best to let someone go, and be grateful theyre gone.