Last Night in Whitechapel

Last Night in Whitechapel

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I hear the blackbird before anything else, breaking the predawn quiet with his triumphant morning song. He’s made it through the night and seems adamant that I have this information and that I have it immediately. I’m not sure whether he’s flaunting it or just trying to encourage me, to let me know that I should rise anew and give it all another shot. The wren joins him, and I roll over, struck by the vastness of the bed without Annie beside me. She’s always up first, dressed and off to work while I’m still dragging myself into each new day, but the un-tousled sheets and undented pillow on her side of the bed make this morning different from all the rest. She slipped off last night, and not for the first time, but she’s always come home at some point in the night, sneaking in quietly without waking me. She must have spent the night at a friend’s flat this time. Carol’s probably, or maybe Theresa’s. I don’t know.

 

I check my phone, but it’s dead, left off the charger overnight by its irresponsible owner. I plug it in then sit up. My head feels like it’s going to explode; the room spins, and I realise I need a paracetamol and a cup of coffee as soon as I can make it happen. I slowly pull myself from the warm comfort of the bed, wander through to the kitchen, and switch on the kettle. As it begins to jerk and wobble on the counter, I think back to what I did that got her so pissed off that she couldn’t be bothered with coming home.

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We were at The Castle last night, one of our regular spots in the East End. I was supposed to meet her there after work—she said she had exciting news to tell me—but I got hung up chatting with this girl Molly. She came into the shop just as my shift was ending. I knew her from the old neighborhood, went out with her a couple times, but nothing serious. We hadn’t seen each other in years, and I really wanted to hear what she’d done with her life, to see how far behind I was from the people I’d grown up with. I knew I had a bit of time before Annie got out of work, so Molly and I stepped into the pub across the street for a pint so we could catch up. One pint turned into two and more time had gone by than I realized. Molly was in the middle of telling me about this project she’d been working on at her ad agency—something for a hot new athletics line—when my phone lit up with a message from Annie: “Just got to The Castle. Thought you’d be here already. I’ll get us a table.”

 

“Shit,” I said.

 

“Everything ok?” Molly asked.

 

“I was supposed to meet Annie at The Castle. I’m late and she’s already there.”

 

“Annie’s your girlfriend I take it?” Had I not mentioned her?

 

“Umm... yeah,” I said. “Annie’s my girlfriend. She’s an operations manager for a consulting firm. Listen, I’m sorry to have to run, but I need to go.”

 

“Yeah,” Molly said. “I think you’d better. But wait,” she said, grabbing my phone. “I’ll send a text from you to me. Then we’ll have each other’s numbers. We can catch up more some other time.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” I said, taking my phone back and running out the door.

 

I caught the next bus and made it to The Castle as quickly as I could. From the street I saw Annie through the window seated at a high table with an empty glass in front of her and an empty seat to her right. She looked lovely and sad, like someone pulled directly from a Hopper painting. She changed her hair recently when she got promoted, a smooth bob her stylist said would frame her face just right. In fact, she sort of reinvented herself entirely, not just new hair, but new clothes, new workout routine, new everything. I thought she looked just fine before, but Annie 2.0 was actually quite impressive. She was still dressed for the office, a sophisticated look, but not a stuffy one. She manages to carry herself sensually no matter the occasion—always has—and I shouldn’t have been even a little surprised by what I saw when I got inside. As I stopped at the bar to order myself a pint and a second drink for Annie, some bloke who looked like he’d just come from a magazine photoshoot walked over and started talking to her. She said something to him I couldn’t quite make out, shook her head gently, and smiled as he walked away, a smile I didn’t much care for to be honest. She looked up as I approached the table, and if it wasn’t so dark inside, I swear I’d have seen a bit of a blush on her face.

 

“Who’s that?” I asked, probably more accusingly than I should have, while I pulled off my coat and took a seat. I placed my phone on the table and took a first sip from my pint.

 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess he just saw me sitting here alone for the past thirty minutes, and thought I might like another drink and a bit of company. I told him I was meeting someone, but I was starting to wonder if that was still the case.” Fair enough. I turned back to the bar and saw he was looking at us. I gave him a nod to acknowledge the offer and let him know all was good—I’d be a bit of a berk if I hadn’t. He nodded back and looked away.

 

“Sorry,” I said. “I got hung up at the shop.”

 

“Again? What’s so important at a used book shop that keeps you from leaving at the end of your shift?” She was even more annoyed than I thought she’d be. She’s been steadily climbing the ladder in her company since we’ve been together and the highest I’ve been able to climb is the top shelf of the self-help section. I know the lack of potential irritates her, but she doesn’t usually say anything out loud. Something else must have been bothering her.

 

“I said I was sorry. I don’t know what else you want. And besides, you got plenty of attention from Mr. GQ over there.”

 

“Do you really think I give a shit about some guy I don’t even know?” she asked. “He wouldn’t even have looked over here if I wasn’t alone.” I looked up and noticed he was looking at Annie again, and everyone else in the bar was looking at me.

 

“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” I said, trying to diffuse the situation. “I shouldn’t have 

been late.” I took a long swig from my pint. 

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“It’s not that you’re late,” she said. “It’s that you’re late again, and you only act like you’re sorry when I get mad about it.”

 

“No, you’re right. I’ve been acting like a complete shit lately... I’m sorry. Tell me about what’s going on at work. You said you had something exciting to tell me.” She let out a sigh. She knew I was deflecting, but at least I brought the conversation back to where she

wanted it to go.

 

“Things are picking up at the firm,” she said.

 

“I know,” I said. “You just got that big promotion.”

 

“No, I mean really picking up,” she said. “We’re opening a new office. They want me to oversee the launch.”

 

“That’s great,” I said. “Where is it? Over in Southwark?”

 

“No,” she said. “It’s in Manchester.”

 

“Manchester? That must be at least two hours by train, isn’t it? How are you going to do that every day?”

 

“I’m not going to do it every day,” she explained. “They’re putting me up in a hotel nearby so I can deal with any issues that come up. I can come home on the weekends if I’m not too busy.”

 

I hadn’t seen this coming at all. Once she’d gotten that promotion, I figured things would stay the way they were for a while. I finished off my pint in one last gulp.

 

“How long is this for?”

 

“I’ll be gone about three months,” she said. “Maybe a bit more.”

 

“Three months? Are you serious? How in the fuck are we—”

 

“No,” she said, pointing her finger at me like I was a puppy who’d just shat on the floor. “No. You don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to make me feel guilty for doing something that I’ve earned. I’m taking on this project, because if I don’t, somebody else will. I’m fucking good at what I do, and my company sees that. It’s too bad you can’t manage to see that as well.” A tear started to well up in her eye and she tried to hold it back, but it ran down her cheek, dragging a bit of mascara with it. I reached up to wipe her face and she pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” she said, and got up to go and compose herself in the loo.

 

I went to the bar for another pint while she was gone. When I got back to where we were sitting, she’d already returned and was glancing down at my phone which I’d left on the table.

 

“Your phone’s about dead,” she said. “Your battery’s at 3%. That’s just irresponsible, you know.”

 

“Oh, right,” I said. “It’s not holding a charge the way it used to. Time to upgrade I guess.” 

 

She got up and started putting on her jacket.

 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

 

“I’m leaving,” she said. “Oh, and... you got a message while you were at the bar. Who’s Molly?”

 

“What?” I said.

 

“Maybe you can call her if you get lonely while I’m in Manchester. Enjoy that pint, then maybe just hang out here for a while. Someone might see you sitting there alone and offer to buy you another. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

 

I looked at my phone as she was walking out the door. “Nice seeing you today,” Molly

had texted. “I hope you’re not in trouble with Annie.”

 

I stayed at The Castle a couple of hours longer and had a few more pints. But no, no one saw me sitting alone nor offered to buy my next round. Almost everyone was gone by the time I left, even that bloke who’d offered Annie that drink, so I didn’t even get a chance to rough him up like I wanted—not that I would have, but you know what I mean.

 

So now I’m sitting here in the flat, alone, nursing a headache, drinking my coffee, and listening to the morning chorus outside my window (the robin has joined in with the others at this point). My phone buzzed on the nightstand a little while ago once it had enough juice to open whatever messages had been sitting in limbo while the battery was dead. I’m not quite ready for the horrors of a night’s worth of angry messages from Annie, so I finish my coffee and rinse the mug before picking up my phone. I swipe it open, but there’s only one message. It’s from Annie, sent just a little while after she left The Castle: “At the Tesco by the cinema. Someone’s following me. I think it’s that guy from the bar. Come as soon as you see this.”