Haunting Grace by Elizabeth Marshall Page B

You’ve probably never heard of sugar.”
    Shaken from her thoughts by the sound of boiling water, Grace reached for the switch and flicked it up.
    “I really have got to get myself a life. What am I like? Standing here talking to a portrait and offering it coffee. Dear, dear, me... And you can stop looking at me as well,” she said, addressing the picture again. “Those damn eyes of yours! They make me feel as though you are as curious about me as I am about you. Right, I’m not doing this; I’m really not talking to a damn picture.”
     
    First thing in the morning she planned to register with every employment agency in the city; to change her address with the bank and buy herself a new mobile phone. Grace ran her fingers over the ridged buttons of her Blackberry. She had switched it off when she boarded the train, vowing never to use it again. The idea of dropping it in a bin at the station had crossed her mind. But then the thought that it may be found and used to trace her had made her slide it back into the pocket of her jeans. Feeling lonely and lost she clutched the phone tightly to her chest. Her eyes closed and she saw her daughter’s disapproving frown, the hatred etched in her eyes by her father. A single sob escaped her as she realised she was crying.
     
    The sun hadn’t risen when Grace finally gave up her bid for sleep. Her stomach growled, as she pulled on her jeans, a timely reminder that she hadn’t eaten in over twenty four hours. Grabbing her handbag, she quietly pulled the door to her room open and ventured into the hall.
     
    The homely smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted past her as she pushed her way into McDonalds. A daily newspaper lay on one of the tables. She wondered if Jack would be reading his paper. It was one of his daily rituals to read the Daily Mail at breakfast. He was a creature of habit, a man who could not function without the structure of repetition. At precisely half past six every morning he would seat himself at the long dining room table, unfold his newspaper and reach for a cup of coffee. At precisely quarter to seven, Grace would serve him two six minute boiled eggs with two slices of toast. At seven o’clock, Jack would rise from the table and make his way to the front door where he would collect his leather sling bag and car keys and would disappear through the front door. A shudder rippled through her as she pulled her eyes from the newspaper.
     
    “Hello, can I get you something?” he called.
    “Oh, sorry... err... can I get a white coffee, two sugars and a bacon roll, please?”
    “Is that a meal?”
    “A meal?” she asked confused.
    “With a hashbrown or without?” he sighed in irritation.
    “Without, please?”
    “Fine. Is that to eat in or take out?”
    “Eat in, I think.”
    “Take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you,” he said in a sing song voice that hid neither his boredom with his job or irritation at her.
     
    Blowing gently over the top of the coffee cup, Grace scanned the tourist map she had found on her way out of the hotel. It was difficult to make out where the employment agents were or indeed if there were any in the city. The map wasn’t directed at single thirty something’s looking for their first proper job and a new life. She picked at the roll, eventually dropping it back into the small brown paper bag in which it had come. The coffee she finished, before collecting her rubbish and disposing it in the purpose built waste bin next to her table.
    Time to face the big wide world, she thought to herself as she buttoned her coat and braced herself for the bitter air.
     
    Nine o’clock on the dot, Grace found herself outside what looked to be a respectable little employment agent. A card in the window advertised a temporary administrative and reception role. The only skills required for the job were the ability to type and a nice telephone manner. Grace had no idea if she had a nice telephone manner or not. But she knew that