Witness

Out of the shower, I towel off. My fingers brush against my left shoulder and a twinge of sudden pain stops me short. Looking in the mirror, I can see a bruise, purpling and dark. Probably just one of those occasional ‘can’t remember what happened but probably fell over’ things. Funny thing is though, as I look at it, it takes the shape of a human grip. I trace over it. It definitely looks like someone had grabbed my shoulder. And grabbed it hard.

I finish drying and dress quickly. Tim would already have done a thorough tidy and clean of the house. He’s much more domesticated than me, driven by a paranoia that Mel, Sam’s mum, might find out that the house had been even the tiniest bit dirty and would use it against him in any future custody battle. The arrangements have been settled since before we’d got married, but it had been a bitter battle and Tim is still worried that Mel might turn around and demand full custody again. He’s anal about giving her no excuses, even fictional ones. The bedroom is strewn with the remnants of my outfit last night though so I scoop them up to put them in the wash basket. If I hurry, I can even put them in the machine and prove myself to be the very doyenne of domesticity, despite the hangover. As I grab the clothing, a bright pink post-it falls to the floor. 

‘I saw it all. Mollie,’ I read. There’s a mobile number. The ‘all’ is double underlined. The writing is large and round, the kind you habitually associate with the dim but bubbly teenage girl. This has something vicious about it though, the pen pressed so firmly I can feel the words under my touch. I have zero recollection of being given this piece of paper. Zero recollection of even having seen it before. Closing my eyes, I try to piece together the evening’s events. Where has this come from? There’d been no-one called Mollie on the hen do. I know that for certain. We’d been out to a few more bars, although I can’t precisely remember where.  I look around for my phone. Tim has thoughtfully retrieved it from my bag and put it on to charge. Scanning through the pictures, I don’t see anyone that jogs any memories of a Mollie. Definitely looks like a good night though.