They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

50 September 2011

It was a very strange feeling, sitting up near the front of the Condor car ferry as we approached Poole harbour on this Sunday afternoon, with the seriously swanky homes of Sandbanks lining the entire waterfront to the right. Some of the most expensive properties in the UK, and anyone with a ferry ticket and a pair of binoculars could peep right into their living rooms — or bedrooms if that was your thing.

They’d have a great view today, on this glorious afternoon, with barely a cloud in the sky.

Suddenly I had a thought. What if I had a pair of binoculars and could stare into Roy’s living room right now? What would I see? Four years on?

Would I see him with a new woman?

And if I did, how would I feel about that?

Something twisted deep inside me. I suddenly felt like when I was in need of my next drugs fix. As if all the lights in the universe had been extinguished.

I didn’t want to think of it, of Roy with someone else.

But could I blame him?

Did I actually want to wish some kind of curse on him, banishing him to life on his own, a life of celibacy, a life of — what exactly? A life of darkness, of never-ending missing me?

Maybe he’d already forgotten about me?

Maybe if I looked through the window of our house — home — with those binoculars, I would see him with a beautiful new lady, a couple of kids, playing one of his beloved collection of 45rpm vinyls.

And how would I feel about that, about seeing him happy?

The hollow feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach told me exactly how I would feel.

Bruno, on the seat beside me, was absorbed in a comic. It was a big deal returning to England after all this time. It may not seem a long while to have been away, but it was over three years that I had lived abroad, in Jersey. My car, down on Deck B, was on Jersey plates and Sandra Jones had a Jersey licence.

She had a whole different past to Sandy Grace, too. I’d figured that, even before Nicos had told me to think about it. I was Sandra Jones, from Battersea, London, where I had been working as a receptionist in a large doctors’ practice before moving to Jersey to be with my boyfriend, Nicos Christoforou, who worked in the finance industry for a trust company. That was his cover. Half the people on the island seemed to work for trust companies. Just saying the words ‘trust company’ was a great way to cauterize the trailing ends of any awkward conversation about what he actually did.

The shore was getting closer and larger, the reverse of it shrinking beneath my window when I had left this island on a private jet three years back. And I felt increasingly nervous. What if I got pulled over by a passport officer because they’d spotted an anomaly?

Don’t be daft, I told myself. I’d already used the passport on countless trips with Nicos and it had never been questioned. But there was one thing I did need to do. Bruno unintentionally prompted me, ‘Mama, I need a peepee.’

I climbed out of my seat, a little unsteady on my legs as the boat rolled in the swell, and gripped the handrail with one hand and Bruno’s arm with the other. Then I made my way to the ladies’ and locked us in a cubicle.

After Bruno had relieved himself, I took the powder compact out of my handbag, opened the clasp and stared at the contents. The powder. The horse. Nicos had given me this, thinking it would be sufficient to get me through the trip.

And, oh God, it was so tempting to keep it, to risk going through Customs with it, just to have a fix when I got to our hotel.

I stared at it.

Hesitating.

But I’d already made my decision. I had to stick to it. Had to. For Bruno. He looks at me so trustingly sometimes, as he did just then. He thinks I’m so much a better person than I really am.

I took a deep breath and tipped the contents down the loo and flushed it while Bruno was distracted. Then we headed back outside and while he washed his hands at one basin I debated whether to wash the powder compact clean, but I decided not to take the risk of leaving any residue, and simply dumped it into a bin.

And it was like a huge weight suddenly floated away.

A couple of minutes later as I sat back down beside Bruno I felt so happy I hugged him. And even the grumpy look he gave me couldn’t dent my elation.