by M. A. Hunter
They both started as the front door opened and Emma’s dad entered the room. He looked exhausted, as he always did when he’d worked the night shift. His belly looked as though it was fit to burst from the seams of his navy jumper, and there was a strange white scuff mark on the cuff of his trousers, but he otherwise didn’t look any worse than when he’d left last night. Emma had heard the two of them arguing when Polly had stepped outside to make a personal call, but she hadn’t heard exactly what about. It had been the same since Sunday; it was as if they’d forgotten how to be civil to one another, and all exchanges ended in shouting or tears. Then whenever Polly returned to the room, they would both fall silent.
John took one look at his wife and daughter, and sighed. ‘There’s no news then?’
Bronwyn shook her head, fresh tears escaping.
‘They’ll find her,’ he said glumly. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’
Emma’s mum looked as though she might say something but thought better of it. Emma looked from one to the other, positioned at opposite ends of the room, but neither able, nor maybe willing, to bridge the gap.
‘I’ll go and have a shower and get some shut-eye,’ he said after a minute.
Bronwyn nodded, but didn’t respond.
Emma watched as he continued to stare for a moment longer, before crossing the room and taking the stairs quietly. He hadn’t asked them how they were feeling, and he hadn’t told them how his day had been. Was this all the future held now? Why couldn’t they both see that Anna would be back soon, and then everything would go back to how it should be?
Chapter Eleven
Now
Portland, Dorset
Back home, with the sand between my toes, the sound of laughter nearby, and the smell of salt in the air, there is nowhere I’d rather be than checking on my mum. Jack parks us outside the care home, as if reading my mind. He unfastens his belt but looks at me, waiting for my agreement rather than assuming I will submit to his request.
‘You want to come and meet her?’ I ask.
‘The way you speak about her, I feel like I already know her… I can wait in the car if you prefer? I just thought you might need the moral support.’
My eyes pool instantly at his offer, and I’m grateful to feel his arms embrace me. I quickly dry my face in his shoulder. Where do I begin telling her about Anna?
When I’m composed again we break apart, and I take a deep breath before opening the car door and swinging my legs out into the cold air. The horizon glows orange with the sun setting behind the building as we approach, and I’m suddenly conscious that visiting hours are almost up. I hadn’t realised it was so late in the day.
Entering, I sign us both into the guest book, and lead Jack along the corridor towards my mum’s room. Knocking twice, I open the door, but she isn’t inside. Checking my watch again, I can only assume she’s already headed to the dining room for supper when the door to the care home manager’s office opens and Mum steps out.
‘Ah, there you are,’ she says, looking me up and down, ‘we were just trying to call you.’
The care home manager Pam Ratchett, appears behind her. ‘I was phoning to see if you wanted to come up,’ she quickly explains. ‘She’s quite lucid since waking from her afternoon nap.’
Mum is already in through her door.
‘Take as long as you like,’ Pam says, touching my arm. ‘Make the most of her as she is. I’ll have her supper kept warm.’ Her eyes fall on Jack, and she waits for me to introduce him.
‘This is my friend, Jack,’ I say quickly.
Pam shakes his extended hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’ll have some tea sent to you all.’
She closes and locks her door, before following the throng towards the dining room at the back of the building.
‘Sorry about the smell,’ I warn Jack in advance. ‘You’ll become accustomed to it in no time.’
He doesn’t reply, following me in through Mum’s door, where we find her in the process of opening the door into the enclosed garden.
‘Mum,’ I call over, ‘I’d like to introduce you to Jack. He’s my…’ I’m uncertain how to finish the introduction.
‘We work together,’ Jack finishes, as Mum strides across the room and kisses his cheeks.
Mum rests her hands on his arms, and stares at him for a long time. ‘I can see why she likes you.’ She leans closer, and my mouth drops when I hear her whisper, ‘If I were thirty years younger, she’d have a run for her money.’
Jack smiles awkwardly, but she quickly releases him, and comes over to kiss me. ‘How are you, Emma?’
My eyes well instantly again, but I bite down on my lip to keep them at bay. ‘I’m well, Mum,’ I say, the emotion hard to restrain.
She doesn’t seem to notice how painful it is for me to speak and steps out into the darkness, scraping a chair as she sits.
There is a knock at the door a moment later, and one of the nurses enters backwards, carrying a small round tray with a pot of tea, a jug of milk, and three cups. Jack takes it from her and carries it outside to the small round table. I encourage him to sit in the remaining chair, while I drag Mum’s armchair over to the doorway so I’m as close to the table as I can be.
‘How are you, Mum? Everything okay? Is there anything you need me to pick up for you?’
She ignores my question and I’m concerned that her lucidity has already waned, when she reaches for Jack’s hand across the table. ‘And are you a writer too, Jack?’
He chuckles gently at the question, and glances at me. ‘No, I don’t have the way with words that your Emma does. It amazes me how anyone can have the patience to write so much and in such a coherent manner; I struggle to write a postcard, if I’m honest.’
Mum places a frail finger to her dry lips, pondering. ‘So you work with Emma, but you’re not a writer… Given your build and obvious strength, I’m going to hazard a guess that you don’t work in a normal office…’
He doesn’t answer, encouraging her with raised eyebrows and subtle nods of his head.
‘You don’t bear a middle-age paunch, so I imagine that whatever you do you’re fairly active, so probably not a doctor… A fireman perhaps?’ She studies his reaction, before clicking her fingers. ‘If I had to guess, I’d say a policeman.’
Jack applauds. ‘I’m impressed, Mrs Hunter, and I see now where Emma inherited her deductive reasoning from.’
I’m not going to lie but even I’m impressed. I never understood why my brain works the way it does, but I’ve never had reason to attribute it to Mum before.
She waves away the praise. ‘You must call me Winnie. When someone calls me Mrs Hunter, I automatically assume my mother-in-law is lurking nearby.’ She leans closer to Jack and speaks in a loud whisper. ‘Now there was a woman who could freeze water at fifty paces. I won’t lie, it felt like a relief when she eventually… you know…’
‘Mum!’ I gasp. ‘You can’t say that about Granny!’
She looks over to me, as if only just realising I’m sitting at the table too. ‘You only knew her when she’d mellowed a bit. She used to spoil you and your sister rotten with sweets and comic books, but mark my words, she was formidable in her day. Even your father was terrified of her.’
‘Okay, Winnie,’ Jack says, ‘what other attributes did Emma inherit from you – aside from your natural beauty of course?’
She feigns embarrassment like some Parisian courtesan, and turns to me. ‘You want to watch this one, Emma. It looks like he’s trying to sweep me off my feet and steal your inheritance.’ She winks at us both. ‘And I’m quite prepared to let it happen.’
She and Jack both laugh, and the earlier tears I was trying to resist fall freely, but in happiness rather than sorrow.
‘Biscuits,’ Mum blurts out. ‘They’ve forgotten the biscuits!’ She touches Jack’s hand again. ‘Jack, my dear, would you be a sweetheart and go and find one of the nurses and ask for some biscuits?’
‘Mum, there’
s really no need,’ I begin to say, but she shushes me.
‘We can’t drink tea without something to dunk into it,’ she says, smiling at Jack again.
He stands and offers a playful salute. ‘I’ll see what I can rustle up.’
Mum waits until she hears the door close, before leaning closer to me. ‘You’ve got yourself a good one there,’ she says conspiratorially.
‘Oh, we’re not together,’ I correct. ‘We’re just friends.’
She looks shocked at the statement. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
I frown. ‘Nothing’s wrong with him, but—’
‘Then I don’t see what the trouble is,’ she interrupts. ‘Handsome, in good shape… He’s not gay, is he?’
‘No, he’s not gay, Mum,’ I confirm, trying not to allow the frustration to play through my voice.
She gives me a funny look. ‘You’re not gay, are you?’
My cheeks burn. ‘No, Mum!’
She frowns at my discomfort. ‘It wouldn’t be a problem if you were, you know. Barry who lives upstairs has a gay daughter. I could ask him to pass on your number if you want me to?’
‘I’m not gay, Mum,’ I say through gritted teeth, willing a hole to appear in the ground to swallow me up.
‘What are you blushing for then?’
I can feel my hands fidgeting beneath the table cloth. ‘Because… I don’t like talking to you about things like that.’
‘Like what? Sex? Don’t be such a prude, Emma! What goes on between a man and a woman, or a woman and a woman, or a man and a man for that matter, is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s perfectly natural! Not so much in my day, but you can’t turn on the television these days without seeing sex being thrust at you.’
I can’t meet her stare.
‘All I’m saying is you could do a lot worse than Jack.’ She continues to stare me down until I manage to raise my eyes to hers. ‘Anyway, that’s not why I sent him away. There’s something else I wanted to speak to you about. That’s why I asked Pam to phone you. Though how you got up here so quickly is beyond me.’
Does she know? Has my body language inadvertently told her that Anna is back? Or has her true identity now been revealed on the news and I’m not aware of it because we were listening to Jack’s Spotify in the car ride home?
She lifts the lid from the teapot and stirs the bags around inside before replacing the lid. ‘I don’t have long,’ she begins, lifting the pot and starting to pour. ‘I’ve been having strange dreams – flashbacks to my earlier life, if you will – and it terrifies me that this disease which is robbing me of my sensibilities will take full control before I’ve managed to fix things.’
I’m not following her train of thought, but I don’t interrupt, sensing that she may have already rehearsed this speech.
She finishes pouring the tea and returns the pot to the tray. ‘I know I wasn’t always there for you after your sister went missing. You don’t have children yet – wait, you don’t have children yet, do you?’
I shake my head, suddenly feeling guilty that I haven’t yet provided her with a grandchild to dote on.
She breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Anyway, where was I?’ She pauses, replaying her words in her head. ‘Oh yes, I wanted to apologise to you for not doing more to support you. I know it’s all water under the bridge, but if I don’t tell you now, I worry that I never will.’
My chest tightens at whatever is eating away at her. Should I just tell her about Anna and the arrest? Doesn’t she have the right to know that she’s been found after all this time? What if it’s too much of a shock and causes her to suffer another heart attack? I’d never forgive myself.
‘I have taken care of all the arrangements,’ she says.
I frown. ‘What arrangements?’
‘Funeral service and cremation. I remember when your father died, and it was such a horrible experience having to organise it all while mourning his passing. I don’t want you to have to worry about any of that. So I took out a plan many moons ago, and all the details are with my solicitor, as well as my final will and testament. I know I don’t have much to show for my name, but he said it was probably best to formalise the minutiae so you don’t have to go through probate and legal proceedings to get what should rightfully be yours.’
This is it: my chance to tell her that her years of appealing to the public weren’t a waste; that Anna has been alive this whole time. Yet, as I open my mouth to speak, the words won’t leave my lips.
Fresh tears fill my eyes. ‘Mum, you’ve got years left; you shouldn’t be thinking about things like this yet…’
‘There, there,’ she says rubbing my arm. ‘There’s no need for you to be upsetting yourself. Death is just the next chapter of life’s journey for us all. Not to talk about it would be a greater crime. When the time comes, you don’t need to worry about anything, okay? I’ve even booked a venue for the wake, and a prospective guest list – though you may need to check that they’re all still alive first.’ She chuckles at this.
I quickly wipe my eyes as I hear the bedroom door opening and Jack enters. He has draped a white cloth over his wrist and carries the plate of Hobnobs like a waiter from Downton Abbey. I remove myself from the table so I can fix my face in Mum’s private bathroom. When I return, I can hear her laughing at something Jack has just said. I hang back, revelling in the sound of her laughter; it’s been too long since I heard her truly celebrating life.
‘I like you, Jack,’ she tells him, and I can see him squirming at the compliment. ‘Emma needs someone in her life like you, to take care of her when I’m gone. Don’t leave it too long.’
Chapter Twelve
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
‘Sorry about Mum’s matchmaking,’ I say to Jack when we’ve driven back to Weymouth and parked up outside my flat. ‘I know you probably don’t need reminding, but she is losing her mind.’
He laughs. ‘You do realise if I were a gold-digger and took your mum up on her offer, you’d have to call me Daddy.’
I slap his arm in playful shock. ‘I think I was just a bit sick in my mouth.’
He laughs again. ‘Sorry. Listen,’ he pauses, ‘it’s been a bit of a crazy few weeks, and yesterday was… I don’t even know how to describe it. And the weeks to come are probably going to be even more stressful for you… What do you say, for tonight only, we put it all aside, and just go for a meal somewhere and pretend like we’re not who we are. I think I could do with a bit of normal, even if just for a few hours. What do you say?’
It really has been a trying start to the year, and I feel like I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Saira made it clear that Anna would make contact when she’s ready, so in reality there isn’t a lot I can do until that happens.
‘Okay,’ I say, returning my overnight bag to the back seat of the car. ‘We can wander into town for a walk.’
He looks like the cat that got the cream, quickly locks the car, and joins me on the pavement. ‘Lead on.’
The moon is enormous in the virtually cloudless sky, and I snuggle into the warmth of my jacket as a chill wind bites at my cheeks. I love my home town at this time of year, when the air is fresh with spring around the corner, yet not spoiled by the disruption the summer sunbathers bring with them. At the height of summer you can actually smell suntan lotion in the air the second you step outside, even in the built-up town centre away from the beach. But right now, with the worst of winter behind it, the area is refreshed. Even the seagulls sound happier as they prepare for the fish and chip attacks they undoubtedly have planned for next season.
Jack asks me questions about my childhood and I do my best to answer truthfully, though I probably paint the memories in a kinder light. I don’t want him thinking ill of me or my town. Yes, growing up wasn’t always easy, especially after Anna disappeared, but experience tells me others had it much worse. I never went hungry, and always slept under a roof. Neither of my parents physically or mentally abused me, and my life
now is testament to the good job they did in raising me to count my blessings rather than envy others.
Jack tells me about growing up in London, and how busier and more threatening it now feels to be raising a child there. I’ve only met his daughter Mila a couple of times, but she seems a sweet girl, and I can see from the way he speaks of her that she is his proudest achievement. It does make me wonder why he hasn’t been snapped up by another prospective beau. Mila’s mum, Chrissie, is married and has recently welcomed a new child to her brood, but from the way Jack speaks of her, I don’t sense that he’s ready yet to move on from the end of their relationship. Maybe he’s just the typical policeman: married to his job.
Maybe I should stop ignoring Maddie, Rachel, and now my mum when they tell me I could do a lot worse than someone like Jack. But whenever I allow myself to think about the possibility of a future with him, I realise how ridiculous it is. Jack won’t ever leave London to move down here – he wouldn’t want to be so far from Mila – and I couldn’t move to London permanently, so what chance would we have? He means too much to me as a friend to risk a long-distance relationship destined to fail.
When he was driven off the road and left in a coma a couple of days ago, I was terrified I’d never have a chance like this again: to hear his voice and goofy laugh. It reminded me how much I care for him, and how I wish things were a bit easier so that maybe we could see if friendship could develop into something more, but there are still just too many moving parts. Anna’s return was unexpected, and I need to be available for when she decides she’s ready to talk. I’ve missed not having a big sister, but I’m not sure she even remembers having a little sister, or whether she’ll ever want to broach the subject of what happened to her, and how she might end up facing life imprisonment for murdering Tomlinson.
What troubles me most is that with Tomlinson now gone, Jack and I no longer have a way of tracing the other corrupt individuals running the ring. Once again, their interference has left us dead in our tracks. It feels like they’ve been there watching in the background, closing doors when we want to go through: the break-in and fire at Rachel’s flat; Saskia’s hit and run; the theft of the foundation’s accounts books; Jack’s accident. And now Tomlinson’s murder? Just how far will this group go to stop their illicit deeds being exposed? Am I putting everyone’s lives in danger?