Alexandra, Gone by Anna McPartlin Page A

next night in the pub she reenacted it for Lily and Davey.
    “Jesus, that’s like in a film,” Lily said.
    “Exactly like in a film,” Jeanette said. And she believed herself.
    Davey was less impressed. “You’re playing with fire.” But he was ignored.
    “What happened then?” Lily asked.
    Tom had pulled Jeanette onto the floor, and they kissed and her pants were off before she could say, “Take my pants off,” and his were around his ankles and he was on top of her and inside her, and their tops were still on and it was over quickly, which was a good thing because the tiles were freezing. When he was done, she could see his regret and shame, and so she acted fast before he could ask her to leave and file their encounter under “mistake.” They both pulled up their pants. She took two cigarettes out of her bag and lit both of them. She asked him to sit next to her on the floor. He complied out of a combination of guilt and a genuine desire for a cigarette, despite having been off them for five years.
    When he was sitting and puffing, she straddled him.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
    “I doubt it,” Tom had said.
    “You’re thinking, ‘Jeanette is a nice girl and I’m grateful for the tumble, which was badly needed, but how the hell do I get her out of here without making her cry?’”
    He shook his head, and she smiled. “Something like that,” he admitted.
    “I like you,” she said.
    “I’m a mess.”
    “I know.” She shook her head. “I’m not blind.”
    “I’m married.”
    “She’s not here.”
    “Please go home,” he said, and she knew she’d spoken out of turn.
    “Okay.” She nodded. “I’m sorry.” And she was sorry. She was sorry he was so sad, and she was sorry for poor Alexandra, and she was sorry for herself because although she was desperate for him to love her, she knew he never would. I had to try, she thought as she closed the door behind her.
    “Jesus, you could have waited,” Davey said the next night.
    “He’s right,” Lily agreed.
    Jeanette knew she’d blown it, so a phone call from Tom came as a shock. He phoned her from his car on his way back from Jane’s.
    “Tom?”
    “Good news,” he said. “I have a lead on Alexandra. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
    “Oh that’s great,” she said, brightening. “I hope it works out.” She meant it.
    “Look, I wanted to apologize for that night,” he said. “I should never have done that.”
    Jeanette thought about how kind he was to call. After all, she had preyed on him—he had been vulnerable, lost, and drunk, and she’d seduced him. God, I love you. “It wasn’t you, it was me,” she said, “and I appreciate you apologizing, but you’ve nothing to apologize for.”
    “I wasn’t that drunk.”
    Jeanette’s heart leaped a little.
    “Could we be friends?” he asked.
    “Yeah,” she said, “I’d love that.”
    “Would you like to come over tonight?”
    “I’d love to.”
    When she put the phone down, she jumped around the place, because even if Tom genuinely thought that he was looking for a friend, he wasn’t, and he might be naïve enough to think the night would end with a kiss on the cheek, but she wasn’t.
    I need to shave. Whoohooooooooo!
    Jeanette arrived soaked to the skin. It had been raining on and off since six o’clock, and she had left her second umbrella in a month on the bus. Tom opened the door, smiling. She shook herself off in the hall before noticing that he was wearing an apron.
    “What’s going on?” she asked, following him into the kitchen.
    “I cooked.” He grabbed a pot holder and a large fork, opened the oven door, and turned a roasting leg of lamb.
    “I can see that,” she said, sitting at his counter while he opened some wine. She poured it into two glasses and handed him one.
    He clinked his glass against hers. “I’m going to find her,” he said.
    “Alexandra?”
    “No—Amelia Earhart,” he said, and he grinned the