I Found You by Lisa Jewell Page B

we should probably pick you up a new outfit. Some new underpants, possibly.’
    She sees him flush a little at the mention of underpants.
    ‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with your underpants. I’m sure they’re lovely. Just that it’s always good to have a spare pair.’
    ‘But I don’t have any money.’
    ‘Look,’ she says, ‘your shirt is from Muji, your trousers are from Gap, your shoes are from Jones, you have lovely teeth, a nice accent and a nice haircut. I am going to assume that at some point, when we’ve put you back together, you’ll be good for it.’
    ‘But what if I’m not? You’ve got all this’ – he gestures around the room – ‘to pay for. Three kids. I couldn’t live with myself if I left you out of pocket.’
    ‘Let me worry about that. I’m a big girl, I can make my own mistakes. And if it makes you feel any better we can hit the second-hand shops. Apart from the underpants, obviously.’
    ‘Ew,’ says Romaine. ‘Second-hand underpants. Ew!’

Seventeen
     
    The man called Russ is indeed as he’d described. A plain man with a kind face and no fashion sense at all. She sees him start as she walks into the cute little deli. She made an effort with her appearance this morning. After three days of not showering and not wearing make-up and pulling her lank hair into a ponytail, she’d felt a strange compulsion to look nice for Carl’s friend. Make the same effort she would have made had Carl ever accepted his invitation to go for dinner at their house. She imagines what Carl might have said about her to Russ. He would have told Russ that his new wife was beautiful. That she was tall and elegant. That he was the luckiest guy in the world. She didn’t want to let him down.
    ‘Lily?’ he says, rising to his feet.
    ‘Yes.’ They shake hands and she sits down opposite him.
    ‘Lovely to meet you,’ he says, passing her a menu. He is shaking slightly.
    ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘thank you.’
    ‘I’m just having a coffee, but order whatever you want. They do good bacon and eggs here. And the focaccia is freshly made.’
    She scans the menu, realising that she is actually hungry. She has not felt hungry for days. ‘Toast,’ she says to the owner who appears at their table. She remembers to smile and adds, ‘please. White. With butter. And a cappuccino. And orange juice. Thank you.’
    ‘So,’ says Russ, ‘still no word from Carl, I assume?’
    ‘No. And there will be no word from Carl now. I am quite sure of that.’
    ‘You mean, you think . . .’
    ‘I think he is dead.’
    Russ blanches.
    ‘If he was alive, even if he was locked in a casket beneath the sea, if he had lost his limbs, if he was mute and blind, he would find his way back to me. He would.’
    ‘Well, yes, but it might take him quite a long time . . .’
    She sends him a warning glance. This is no time for jokes. ‘It is a feeling, in my gut, in my heart. He isdead. And not only is he dead, Russ, but he was never alive.’
    Russ looks a bit scared now. He looks like the man on the train the other day, as though he fears he is about to be scammed in some way.
    She tones herself down and says, ‘Listen. Russ. The police took Carl’s passport when I reported him missing. They ran it through their systems. They tell me that he does not exist. That there is no Carl Monrose. That his passport is fake.’ She rests her hands on the table and looks deep into Russ’s pale eyes. ‘And you are the only person who knew him. So tell me, how can this be?’
    ‘Fake?’
    ‘Yes. He bought it from bad people on the internet. There is no such person as Carl. He doesn’t exist.’
    ‘But – you got married? I mean, surely the paperwork must have added up otherwise they wouldn’t have issued you with the licence?’
    She resists the temptation to tut. ‘Listen,’ she says, ‘when you have a passport, then everything else follows. You show it, the man looks at it, all done. Plus, this was Kiev. You see