Chapter 4: Andy and the Great Escape to Manchester

Andy arrived at the refuge with immaculate confidence and a suitcase that looked considerably more expensive than anything else he owned.

He spoke about himself with the ease of a man who had never encountered a mirror he did not like.

According to Andy, he was destined for success. He had been held back by lesser minds, undermined by jealous people, and repeatedly denied opportunities that should rightfully have been his.

He was, in short, the greatest man Bradford had never properly appreciated.

Rachel was captivated.

Here, at last, was someone who knew exactly who he was.

Or at least, someone who said so very loudly.

Andy discovered Rachel's devotion almost immediately. He enjoyed having somebody who listened to his speeches without interruption and admired his achievements without asking for evidence.

Rachel became his personal audience.

"People simply can't cope with excellence," Andy told her one morning.

"Absolutely," Rachel replied.

"They resent what they don't understand."

"Of course."

"I'm surrounded by mediocrity."

Rachel nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes. There's an awful lot of it about."

She had no idea what mediocrity meant.

Andy was delighted.

They married, and Rachel once again began the process of transforming herself into a reflection of her husband.

She adopted his favourite expressions, repeated his criticisms, and learned to announce that she was surrounded by idiots.

The last part proved surprisingly easy, since she could never remember who she had been referring to.

Andy, meanwhile, became increasingly ambitious. He had decided that Bradford was too small for his talents and that Manchester offered the opportunities he deserved.

He spoke of a new life, a fresh beginning, and a city ready to recognise his greatness.

Rachel assumed that she would be accompanying him.

"Manchester sounds wonderful," she told him.

"It will be," Andy replied. "For me."

Rachel smiled.

Then she stopped smiling.

"What do you mean?"

Andy explained that he intended to move alone.

He had concluded that Rachel was an obstacle to his development. She required too much attention, asked too many questions, and possessed no useful opinions with which to enhance his social standing.

He wanted to surround himself with successful people who would admire him for his brilliance.

Rachel, he explained, was not suited to that world.

"But I'm your wife," she protested.

"Yes," Andy said. "And I've given it a great deal of thought."

Rachel waited for him to continue.

He did.

"I have decided that my future must come first."

"But what about me?"

Andy looked genuinely puzzled, as though this were an unexpected complication.

"You'll manage."

Rachel stared at him.

She had been told to stand on her own two feet by Jeromy. She had been left behind by Keir's death. Now Andy was telling her that she must manage alone.

Three husbands, three different circumstances, and the same terrifying prospect.

She would have to think for herself.

Andy packed his suitcase.

Rachel watched him place his shirts inside, admiring the precision with which he folded them. She wondered whether she ought to offer to help, but she was afraid of putting something in the wrong place.

At the door, Andy adjusted his coat.

"I've always known I was meant for greater things," he announced.

Rachel nodded automatically.

"Yes, Andy."

"And I can't allow anything to hold me back."

"No, Andy."

"Not even you."

Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Andy left for Manchester.

He did not look back.

In his new life, he would pursue his ambitions, cultivate his image, and devote himself to the most dependable relationship he had ever known: his relationship with his own ego.

He would never be disappointed by its opinions, never be contradicted by its arguments, and never have to explain himself to anybody who failed to appreciate his importance.

Rachel remained in Bradford.

For several days, she sat in the communal lounge, watching the television without understanding what she was watching.

The refuge staff asked whether she wanted to speak to someone about Andy's departure.

Rachel said that Andy had been right to leave.

Then she said that he had been selfish.

Then she said that she had always known he was selfish.

None of these opinions belonged to her.

She had borrowed them from the people who had spoken to her that day.

At last, Rachel found herself alone in the kitchen, standing before a kettle.

She wanted a cup of tea.

This was an uncomplicated desire, requiring only a mug, water, and the ability to operate an electrical appliance.

Rachel stared at the kettle.

She looked around for Andy.

There was nobody there.

She looked towards the door, half expecting Jeromy to stride in and tell her what to do. She listened for Keir's quiet voice.

Nothing.

Rachel filled the kettle, switched it on, and waited.

When it boiled, she made her tea.

The achievement was modest. It would not have impressed anybody else.

But Rachel looked at the cup with an expression of astonishment.

She had done something without being told.

For several seconds, she appeared almost pleased with herself.

Then she wondered whether Andy would have preferred coffee.

The moment passed.