Gone, and Good Riddance
What do you mean, the numbers not available? He was just speaking to someone a moment ago! I stood there in the hallway, the receiver pressed tightly against my ear.
My eyes drifted over to the sideboard.
The jewellery box, where I kept my little treasures, was in its usual spotbut something about it was off. The lid wasnt properly shut.
Rob! I called out through the flat. Are you in the bathroom?
Tentatively, I walked up to the sideboard. As I touched the polished wood, a chill went down my spinethe box was empty. Totally empty.
Even the receipt Id used as a bookmark was gone.
Hed taken not only the jewellery but the cash as well. Though, strictly speaking, Id handed the money over myself…
Oh God, I breathed, sinking to the floor. How could this happen? Just yesterday, we were arguing about the wallpaper… You promised wed go to Cornwall in August…
But, really, it had all started innocuously enough. Last June, my little Bumblemy old Ford Fiestahad its brake piston seize up.
The garage quoted a price that made my eyes water, so in a huff, I posted in the local Auto-Help UK group.
Anyone know if I can loosen a seized brake piston myself? Attaching a photo of my filthy wheel.
The comments flooded in immediately. Some told me I shouldnt mess about with the mechanics, others insisted I just buy a replacement part.
Then a message came through from a user called Rob85:
Dont listen to them, love. Pick up a can of WD-40 and a repair kit for about forty quid.
Take the wheel off, gently push out the piston with the pedal, but not all the way.
Give everything a rinse with brake fluid, grease it up.
If the cylinders clean, youll be good as new.
There was a logic to his advice, and no arrogancejust plain talk.
And if the cylinders pitted? I replied.
In that case, it needs replacing. But judging by your photo, the car looks well cared forshouldnt be a problem. Any other questions, message me directlyhappy to help.
And so it began.
Turned out Rob really knew his way around cars.
Within a week, hed coached me through oil changes, picking the right spark plugs, and even suggested better (or worse) types of antifreeze.
Before I knew it, I caught myself waiting for his messages.
Rob, youre saving my life, I wrote at the end of July. I reckon its time we met? Coffees on me. Or something stronger, considering all the money youve helped me save.
His reply didnt come right away. Three hours passed before my screen finally lit up.
Katie, Id love to. Honestly. But Im… well, Im on a job. Long-term contract. Abroad, actually.
Really? I asked. Whereabouts?
As far as it gets. Look, I dont want to lie. I really do like you, as a person. But Im not on a job. Im in prison. HMP Wakefield, if that rings a bell.
I dropped my phone onto the sofa. My chest suddenly ached.
An inmate? I, a respectable woman and chartered accountant at a big firm, had been messaging with a convict for nearly two weeks?!
What for? I typed, hands trembling.
Fraud. Did some idiotic things, set up by some, some my own mistake. Less than a year left. If you want to block me, I understand.
I didnt answer. I just blocked himand for three days, I was barely there at all. My colleagues asked if I was unwell.
All I could think was:
Why? Whys someone so clever, so capable, so articulatelocked up?!
A week later, an email alert popped upRob mustve asked for my address before. I hadnt deleted him, just closed the chat.
Katie, he wrote. No hard feelings. Really. I expected this. Youre a good person, too good for the likes of me.
Anywayjust thanks for chatting. These last two weeks have been the best Ive had in three years. Wishing you all the best. Goodbye.
I read it at my kitchen table and suddenly burst into tears. I felt sorry for him, myself, the world.
Why do some women get the decent ones, and I get the married men, the mummys boysand the one real person is behind bars? I asked myself.
And I said nothing in return…
***
I tried dating again, but nothing clicked.
One gent spent half the evening droning on about his stamp collection; another showed up with mucky fingernails and wanted to split the café bill.
March arrived, bringing my thirty-fifth birthdayand a deep sense of loneliness.
That morning, an alert popped up.
Happy Birthday, Katie! Rob wrote. I know I shouldnt be reaching out, but I couldnt help myself. I hope everything goes well for you.
You deserve to be cherished.
Ive made a little something out of bread and wire here… If I could, Id give it to you.
Just remember, somewhere in Yorkshire, someone is raising a mug of truly dreadful tea for your health.
Thank you, Rob, I replied, caving in. It means a lot.
You replied! I cant believe it! How are you? Hows Bumble? Survive the frost OK?
And just like that, it started up again.
We chatted every single day. Rob called whenever he could.
His voice was deep, with a hint of rasp that I liked.
He told storiesgrowing up with his brother, how that brother now raised nephews, how Rob wanted a fresh start.
I wont go back to my old town, Katie, hed say as I warmed my supper. Too many old mates, theyd drag me down again.
I want to move somewhere new. Im good with my handscan always get a job as a builders mate or in a garage.
Where were you thinking? Id ask, hardly breathing.
Id come to yours, if I could. Rent a room or a little flat. Just… knowing youre in the same city, breathing the same air, would mean everything.
But only if youre alright with it… please dont feel pressured.
By May, I was head over heels.
I knew his check-ins schedule, when he had shower days, when he was working in the prison workshop.
I sent him parcels: tea, sweets, warm socks, odds and ends for whatever projects he was allowed.
Rob, just keep your head down, I begged. Dont get mixed up in anything stupid.
For you, sweetheart, Ill behave, hed laugh. Im out in April.
Ill be waiting for you.
***
That April, I drove up to the prison gates. Id bought him a new jacket, jeans, trainers.
My heart thumped so hard, I thought it might leap out.
When he walked outshort, broad-shouldered, with a clipped greying haircutI froze.
He didnt quite look like his photos.
But then he grinned, saying:
Well, hello, boss, and I threw my arms round him.
Thank God youre real, I whispered, burying my face in his rough cheek.
Not going anywhere, he murmured, squeezing me. You smell lovely… like summer flowers.
We headed to mine.
The first week was like something from a fairy tale. Rob set to work: fixed the leaky tap, sorted the door lock that had stuck for months.
Evenings, we sat in the kitchen, drinking wine as he told funny tales from the good old dayscareful to skip anything too dark.
Rob, I said on the tenth day, you mentioned getting a flat.
Do you have to? Ive got the room. And its better not being on your own.
Youll save the money for tools and getting settled.
Katie, it just feels wrong, he sighed, stirring sugar into his mug. Im a manI ought to provide a home.
Instead Im sponging off you, eating your food
Stop it! I placed my hand on his. Were hardly strangers. Soon youll get a job, and thingsll look up.
My brother rang yesterday, he said suddenly, looking away. Nephews seriously ill, needs a big operation.
Hes desperate. Im ashamed to admit it, but Ive got nothing to loan him. Its humiliating.
How much? I asked quietly.
Its a lot… Five thousand pounds. Hes raised some already.
Im thinking, maybe I could head to London for a site job? Thatd pay well, I could help quickly.
I fell silent. That five grandId been putting it by for three years, counting every penny.
Id planned to knock through the kitchen wall, rip out the old tiles, finally get that fancy shower installed…
Ive got the money, I said softly.
Robs head jerked up.
No! I wont have it. Thats your money. I cant.
But Rob, its for your family. Your own nephew. You said yourselftheres nothing more important. Youll pay it back, were a team now.
He resisted for nearly two dayshe grew morose, smoked on the balcony though hed promised to cut back.
In the end, I fetched the money and laid it on the table.
Take it. Go help your brother. Or transfer itwhatever you like.
Ill deliver it. And talk to him about work, see if theres any jobs in his area.
Ill only be away a couple of days, Katie. There and back, I promise…
***
Id been sitting on the hallway floor for over an hourmy legs numb, but nothing hurt.
I replayed the night before: us watching a silly comedy, Rob laughing, his arm around my shouldersId felt like the luckiest woman alive.
I might head off early the day after tomorrow, hed said before bed.
But hed done a runner a day sooner. Id been fast asleep, oblivious to him packing up.
Maybe Id heard the door slam in my sleep, but Id thought it was just the neighbours.
By two in the afternoon, I rang his brotherthe number Rob had once given me just in case.
Hello? a gruff man answered.
Hi, its… Robs friend, Katie. Did he make it to yours?
Silence. Then a heavy sigh.
Miss, whos Rob? My brothers got another nameand hes not getting out till October.
Theres no way. You must be another pen pal hes conned. Robs my old cellmatehe was released two months back.
Stole my phone before he left and copied all my contacts.
Hes got a science degree, quick with his words.
Hes a real pro at this game.
I set the phone down on the floor.
I remembered him explaining how to swap spark plugs: Dont overtighten, or youll strip the threadsand thats game over.
I did strip them, I whispered. Ruined the whole thing. Made my own mess.
Suddenly, it hit meId never really known Rob at all. Id never seen his passport, never checked any of his release papers.
Was Rob even his real name?
***
Of course, I went to the police and put in a report. I showed his photo and learned plenty more about my charming lodger.
His name was Robtruth be told, about the only thing hed been honest about.
He was serving time for a violent crime, had spent half his life behind barsand hed met me while serving his third sentence.
I crossed myself, changed the locks, and decided Id got off lightlyespecially compared to some of his past girlfriends.
What I learned: a charming words and a good story shouldnt ever take the place of real trust and a cold, hard look at reality.
And as I washed my hands of it, I couldnt help but thinksometimes, when someone leaves your life, its the best thing that could have happened.
