Gone, and Good Riddance
What do you mean, the number you have dialled is not available? I muttered in disbelief, standing in the middle of my hallway, clutching the phone to my ear. Just five minutes ago, hed been chatting with someone on it!
My eyes flickered to the sideboard.
The old jewellery box was still there, exactly where I always kept it. But something was offa subtle shift, the lid not fully closed.
Rob! I called, voice echoing through the flat. Are you in the bathroom?
Slowly, I made my way to the sideboard. The polished wood felt cold beneath my fingers as I lifted the lid and peered inside. My stomach dropped. The box was emptycompletely barren.
Not even the old receipt I used as a bookmark remained.
My jewellery was gone, and so was the money I had kept aside. Though, to be honest, I suppose Id handed him that myself
Oh, for goodness sake I whispered, sinking down onto the floor, legs folded beneath me. How could you? We were only arguing about the wallpaper yesterday And you promised wed go to Cornwall in August
But honestly, it all started so ordinarily. June last year, my old Peugeot choked uppiston seized.
The local garage quoted a ridiculous price, and in a huff, I jumped on the Auto-Help Sussex Facebook group.
Anyone know if you can unstick a brake piston yourself if its frozen? I typed, attaching a picture of the filthy wheel.
The comments poured in. Some blokes advised not to mess with it, others suggested I just buy the part.
Then, a message from Rob85 appeared:
Dont listen to them, love. Get a can of WD-40 and a repair kit for about thirty quid. Take the wheel off, gently push the piston out with the brake pedal, but not all the way. Clean it with brake fluid, grease it up. If the cylinders in good nick, itll run as smooth as silk.
I read his advice carefullyit was knowledgeable, no bragging.
What if the cylinders pitted? I replied.
Then youll need a new one. Judging from the photo, your cars looked after. I doubt its that bad. If youve got more questions, just DM me. Glad to help.
Thats how we connected.
Rob proved to be a fountain of practical know-how.
Within a week, hed talked me through an oil change, picking spark plugs, even warning me off dubious types of coolant.
I found myself waiting for his messages.
You really are my guardian angel, I wrote at the end of July. Ive been thinking Shall we meet? Ill buy you a coffee. Or something stronger, for all the pennies youve saved me!
He didnt reply at once. It was about three hours later that my screen lit up.
Becky, Id love to. Honestly. But Im well away on business. A long job, overseas, actually.
Wow. That far? I asked.
About as far as you can get. Look, I dont want to lie to you. I really like you, genuinely, but Im not on business. Im serving time. HMP Dartmoor, if that rings any bells.
I dropped the phone onto the sofa, a tight knot of pain in my chest.
A prisoner? I, a respectable womanan accountant at a firmhad been messaging a convict for two weeks?
What for? I typed, hands shaking.
Fraud. Stupid mistake, got in too deep. Bit set up, bit my own fault. Less than a year to go. If you want, block meIll understand.
I didnt reply. I simply blocked him and dragged myself through work like a zombie for three days. My colleagues asked if I was ill.
But my mind kept circling back:
Why? Why is he so clever, so good with his hands and wordsand locked up?
In a week, a notification appeared in my inbox. Rob had once asked for my addressI hadnt deleted him, simply closed the chat.
Becky, he wrote. No hard feelings, promise. I saw this coming. Youre too good, too bright. You dont need someone like me.
Just wanted to say thanks for the chats. They were the best two weeks Ive had in three years. Wishing you happiness. Goodbye.
I read it in the kitchen and suddenly dissolved into tears. I felt sorry for him, for myself, for the unfairness of it all.
Why does everyone else get lucky, and I get married men, mummys boys, and now the only decent chap is behind bars? I found myself muttering.
Still, I didnt reply
***
I tried going on dates. Nothing fit.
One chap spent half the evening talking about his stamp collection, another showed up with filthy fingernails and wanted to split the bill.
When March rolled round and I turned thirty-five, I felt more alone than ever.
That morning, my phone buzzed.
Happy birthday, Becky! Rob wrote. I know I shouldnt be bothering you, but I couldnt help myself. I hope this years truly yours.
If I could, Id carry you everywhere.
I made something for youout of bread and wire. If I could, Id give it to you.
Just know that somewhere, in a cold cell, theres a bloke drinking a mug of terrible tea to your health.
Thank you, Rob, I replied, caving in. That means a lot.
You replied! I cant believe itHow are you? Hows the old girl? No breakdowns in the cold?
And that was that; the whole thing started over.
We spoke every day. Rob rang as often as he was able.
His voice was deep, rough-edgedbut warm.
He told me about his childhood, his brother left raising nephews, and his own hopes for a fresh start.
I wont go back to Manchester, he said while I made tea. Old mates. Old trouble. I need a place with nobody watching. I can workon building sites, in a garage, anything really.
Where would you go? Id ask, holding my breath.
Id go to you. Id find a room, a little flat. Just to know youre nearby, sharing the same air.
But no pressure. Dont get the wrong idea
By May, I was totally in love.
I knew his schedule, when he had inspections, when his shower day was, and when he worked in the kitchen.
I sent him care packages: tea, biscuits, warm socks, bits and bobs for his inventions.
Just get through quietly, Rob, Id plead. Dont get in any daft scraps.
For you, love, Ill be as meek as a mouse, he laughed. Im free in April.
Ill be waiting.
***
In April, I waited by the gates of the prison. Id picked up a jumper, a pair of jeans, some new trainers for him.
My heart hammered fit to burst.
He walked outshort, stocky, his hair cut close and silvering. To be honest, the photos hadnt really matched.
But when he grinned and said, Alright, boss? I ran straight into his arms.
Youre realI cant believe it, I kept saying, pressing my cheek to his stubbly jaw.
Where else would I be? he laughed, holding me tight. You smell lovelywhats that, flowers?
We drove to mine.
The first week was like a dream come true. Rob got straight to work: fixing the leaky tap, sorting the stiff door lock that had jammed for months.
In the evenings, wed sit in the kitchen, sharing half a bottle of rosé as he spun funny tales from the old days, delicately skirting bleaker memories.
Rob, I said on the tenth day, you talked about getting your own place
Maybe you dont need to. Theres plenty of room here for two, and itd save you money. Youll need cash for tools, getting set up.
Rob frowned, stirring sugar into his mug. It just feels off, Becky. I should be the one footing the bills. Im living here, eating your food
Nonsense! I covered his hand with mine. Were not strangers. Things will work out, once youre back on your feet.
My brother rang last night, he said, eyes drifting away. One of his kids is in hospital, needs a private opand theyre short on cash. Hes asking for a loan, but Im skint, Becky. I havent got two pennies to rub together. Im ashamed, really.
How much do they need? I asked, gently.
Quite a bitFive grand. Theyve raised some already, but Im thinkingmaybe I should go to London for agency work? Good pay, fast money.
I fell silent. The same five thousand pounds sat in my jewellery box. Id saved it for three years, denying myself everything.
Id planned to refurb the flat, replace the tile, maybe fit a proper shower
Ive got the money, I said quietly.
Robs head shot up.
Absolutely not! Thats yours. I wont touch it.
Rob, its family. You told me yourselffamily comes first. Take it, pay it back later. Were together now, arent we?
He refused for two days, stomping about with a thundercloud face, even sneaking fags on the balcony after promising me hed quit.
In the end, I got the money out and set it on the table.
Take it. Go see your brother. Or send itwhatever works.
Id rather take it in person, he said, hugging me. Give him a hand, maybe find work up there.
Only going for two days, Becky. Back before you miss me.
***
Id sat on the hallway floor for almost an hournumb legs, but I felt nothing.
I replayed the previous eveningus watching some daft comedy, him laughing, arm around me, and me thinking how lucky I was.
Ill probably nip out before breakfast the day after tomorrow, hed said before bed.
He left a whole day early. I didnt even hear him getting dressed while I slept.
When the front door slammed in my dream, Id thought it was just the neighbours
At two, I dialled his brothers numberthe one Rob had handed me just in case.
Hello? barked a gruff voice. Whos this?
Hi, Im Im Robs girlfriend, Becky. Did he arrive?
A pause. Then a heavy sigh.
Love, who? My brothers not Roband anyway, hes still inside for another six months. Hes not out till October.
My blood turned to ice.
What? He got out in April! I picked him up from Dartmoor myself
Listen, the voice turned cold, My brothers names Sam, and hes at HMP Exeter. Rob Robs my old cellmate. Got out a couple of months ago. Stole my phone and copied all my contacts.
Looks like youre another pen pal hes duped. Hes good at it. Clever blokeuni degree, smooth talker.
I slowly lowered the phone to the floor. I remembered Rob showing me how to change spark plugs.
Dont overtighten, hed said. Youll strip the thread and then youre in real trouble.
Ive stripped it, I whispered. Stripped it to hell. Got myself a right mess.
It hit me then: I didnt know anything genuine about the man Id trusted. Id never seen his passport or release papers.
What if Rob wasnt even his real name?
***
Of course, I went to the police and filled out a report. I showed them his picture and learned a lot more than Id ever wanted to about my lover.
His name really was Robthat was the only truth hed told.
Hed done time for a serious crime. Spent half his life in prisonmet me while on his third stretch.
I changed the locks after crossing myself, and decided Id got off lightly, all things considered. Compared to his previous girlfriends, I suppose I was lucky.
If theres anything Ive learned from this, its to never ignore those tiny, nagging doubts and to always keep a bit of distance until trust is truly earned. No matter how good a story sounds or how lonely you feel, your own common sense is worth its weight in gold.
