by Wendy Clarke
‘You live here?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. I’m just visiting, but being on my own here is creeping me out a bit.’
‘Tell me about it. Is it any wonder people don’t want to live here? Think it’s bad now? You should try it in winter. The wind howls around the building. It’s like living in a bloody mausoleum overseen by Big Brother.’ Seeing my puzzled look, she expands. ‘I’m talking about Derek. I presume you’ve met him.’
I think of the man I’d seen in the room next to reception. The way he’d looked at me. How uncomfortable he’d made me feel. ‘I met him yesterday. Does he work here full-time?’
‘Yes, but it seems like he’s always on duty. Doesn’t matter what time of day or night I come in; he always seems to be here. Coming out of that grubby little room of his to stick his nose in where it’s not wanted.’ She cocks her head at the far wall of the corridor. ‘We’ve been told that the cameras on each floor are just for show and aren’t connected, but I’m not so sure. How would we know?’
I look at the little white camera that points down the corridor, imagining the two of us framed on one of Derek’s screens. It’s not a comfortable thought.
The little dog is at the door now. Running forward before retreating again, its bark an angry yip.
‘Take no notice of Pixie. She thinks she’s bigger than she is.’ She scoops the dog up in her arms, tiny lines forming around her dark red lips as she puckers to kiss her silky head. ‘Small dog syndrome. I think Derek has the same problem.’
I laugh, but even as I do, my eyes are sliding again to the cameras. Maybe we shouldn’t be talking like this, just in case.
Eventually, the woman puts the dog down. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘I didn’t, but it’s Alice. I’m staying in Joanna’s apartment.’
I study her face to see if there’s any reaction to this, a clue that she knows Joanna isn’t here. There’s nothing.
‘I’m Eloise. Are you staying long?’
It’s strange to be conducting a conversation outside her door. The corridor stretching away from us, the security camera at the end. I’d rather be in her apartment. Unlike Mark and Joanna’s, it looks bright. Welcoming. It makes me want to see more of it, but without an invitation, I have to stay where I am in the corridor with its strange smell.
‘I don’t know. It depends.’
‘How is she?’ Eloise leans against the doorframe, her hands in the pockets of her black culottes. The thin legs that show beneath them displaying the nobs of her ankle bones, ending in long, slender feet encased in strappy gold sandals.
I force my eyes away. ‘Joanna?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. It’s just that I used to see a lot of her and now…’ She hesitates. ‘I guess she’s just busy with the wedding and things. When she told me she was getting married, you could have knocked me down with a feather. Never had her down as the marrying type.’
It doesn’t look as though it would take much of a feather to knock this woman down. There’s no substance to her. No permanence.
‘I didn’t think so either. But Mark seems nice.’
‘That’s what people say.’ She looks away. ‘Tell Joanna I said hello.’
She crouches to stroke the dog, and I take the opportunity to look at her better. The bottom of her blunt cut hair razor sharp, her eyelashes long and spiky, coated in black mascara which does nothing to enhance her gaunt appearance. But despite this, there is an odd haunting beauty to her.
Abruptly, she stands. ‘I have to go now. I’ve things to do.’
‘Of course. It was nice to meet you. Maybe you’d like to come up to ours for a drink sometime.’
Eloise looks at me curiously. ‘To yours?’
I correct myself quickly. ‘I mean to Joanna and Mark’s.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t think so.’
Before I can reply, she’s shut the door, and after a couple of seconds, the music becomes louder. With no alternative but to leave, I go back to the staircase deciding when I reach the door to the reception to get some fresh air before going down to my car.
I push open the door, seeing again the polished marble floor and empty fountain. Derek’s door is open. He’s looking at one of the monitors, his grey-uniformed back to me. As I move closer, I see that on the screen is the black and white image of a car. My step falters. If I walk past, he might see me, and I don’t want to have to talk to him, but equally, if I go down to the underground car park, he’ll be watching me.
Turning, I walk quietly back the way I came, relieved that Derek hasn’t seen me. I go back to Joanna’s apartment and let myself in. But not before I’ve glanced at the security camera on the wall. Shivering as I remember Eloise’s words.
Sixteen
It’s dark when Mark comes in, a bag in each hand. Having failed to locate the TV controller, I’m sitting in a corner of the velvet settee looking as if I’m reading, but in reality, I’m thinking about Derek. Wondering what it is about him that makes me uneasy. It shouldn’t matter that he watches the comings and goings of the wharf on his monitors, in fact it should make me feel safer. It doesn’t, though. It just makes me nervous of leaving the privacy of Joanna’s apartment.
‘Any news?’ I ask.
He puts the bags down on the island, looking puzzled. ‘News?’
‘Joanna. Has she contacted you?’
I watch as he takes the shopping out of the bags – a slab of some sort of meat in wax paper, tiny new potatoes and giant shiny red tomatoes.
‘No,’ he says, placing a tomato on the marble chopping board in front of him. ‘Nothing.’
Sliding a kitchen knife from out of the stainless steel knife block, he starts to slice with smooth, precise movements of his hand. He looks distracted. Energy running through him like an electric current. ‘I thought we’d have steak tonight. Nothing fancy. There’s a nice bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in the wine rack that will go beautifully with it. Could you open it, please?’
I put down my book. ‘Don’t you think we should—’
‘There’s a corkscrew in the drawer over there if you need it. Do it now so it can breathe.’
Bridling at the command, but wanting something to do, I go over to the wine rack. Row upon row of metal tubes embedded in the brick wall – most of them containing a bottle.
Mark looks over his shoulder. ‘The second one on the left. Third row down. Do you know anything about wine?’
I think of the beer that Drew kept in the fridge and shake my head. ‘No, not really.’
‘That bottle’s quite young, but I’ll cook the steaks rare, and it will lessen the tannin. Should be the perfect accompaniment.’
Relieved to find that, unlike last night’s, the bottle has a screw top, I open it and leave it on the side. Mark has his back to me again. He’s put the tomatoes on a plate and is now trimming the steak on a different chopping board.
‘The glasses are up there.’ He indicates the cupboard to my right, and I open it, taking out the two nearest the front. ‘No, not those… they’re for white. The ones for red are to the right of them.’
Feeling the colour rise up my neck, I get out the right ones and fill them, remembering just in time that I need to leave some space at the top to let the wine breathe.
I place a glass in front of him. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No. You’re my guest.’
It’s the second time he’s said this, and I’m not sure how to respond for technically I’m Joanna’s guest, not his.
I lean my elbows on the steel worktop. ‘I met a woman today.’
Mark stops trimming the meat and looks up at me, his knife glinting in the light of the pendant stainless steel lamp that’s suspended from the ceiling above the island. ‘A woman?’
‘Yes, the one you told me about. The one who lives on the fourth floor.’
Looking down again, Mark edges the tip of the boning knife
under the membrane of silver skin on the underside of the steak. Loosening a corner, he pulls at it, using the flat of the knife to help separate the skin from the meat. The movements quick. Professional.
‘I thought you said you couldn’t cook.’
‘No, I said I don’t get much opportunity. Believe it or not, I might be a property developer, but I’m actually not a bad cook. The two things aren’t mutually exclusive.’
I laugh. ‘That’s good. Drew never used to…’ I stop. For a moment I’d forgotten that Drew is no longer in my life.
‘Drew?’
I draw in a breath. ‘He’s my ex. I’d rather we didn’t talk about him, actually.’
‘Of course.’ He reaches out a hand to me, then realising it’s got blood on it from the meat, draws it back again with an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry for asking.’
‘It’s fine. He cheated and I know now I’m better off without him.’
He nods. ‘You sound very definite about that.’
‘Oh, yes.’ I think of my dad and his little floozy. ‘I certainly am.’
The wine is tart but delicious on my tongue. It’s nice chatting to Mark as he prepares the meal, companionable, the high-ceilinged warehouse apartment feeling warmer now he’s back in it. I wonder if he feels it too, but even if he does, we both know it can’t last. For the dark cloud of Joanna’s absence is hovering over our heads and, at some time tonight, we are going to have to address it. Besides, she could be home any minute. At least I hope she could be.
Picking up the steaks, Mark transfers them to a plate next to the convection hob and empties the trimmings into the shiny metal bin under the counter. It reminds me of another time, another kitchen. Watching someone else who was also in love with Joanna.
I push the thought aside.
‘So what did she have to say? This woman on floor four. I presume you’re talking about Eloise.’
He asks the question purposefully as if he’s trying to appear casual and doesn’t care about my answer.
‘Not a lot. I don’t think she really wanted me there. She didn’t even ask me in.’
‘That sounds like Eloise.’
I wonder how well he knows her but don’t want to ask.
‘She asked how Joanna was.’
He looks at me sharply. ‘And you didn’t tell her?’
‘No. No, of course I didn’t.’
The nod Mark gives me signals his approval. ‘Good girl.’
‘But we need to talk about it, Mark. You said that if she hadn’t come home by tonight, you’d call the police.’ I look around the bare apartment. ‘I don’t think we can ignore it any more. She’s been missing for four days now. I don’t like the feel of it. It’s not like her. I’m worried.’
Mark moves away from the hob. He stands opposite me, across the kitchen island, his stature making me feel small. When he speaks, there’s a chill in his voice. ‘How would you know what is or isn’t like her, Alice? As far as I’m aware, you haven’t seen Joanna in a while, otherwise she would have mentioned you.’
‘I know,’ I stutter. ‘But I was her best—’
He holds out his hand as though fending off my words, a muscle twitching just above his jaw. ‘Please, just don’t say it. Have you forgotten who I am?’
We stand looking at each other, locked in a battle I don’t really understand. I take in Mark’s thin face, the narrow nose, the neat dark hair and heavy-framed glasses. It’s the face of a scholar or a model for an upmarket men’s clothing range.
I’m the first to back down, dropping my gaze and seeing how his long fingers grip the edge of the worktop – as though if he lets go, he might float away. ‘I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. You’re her fiancé.’
His shoulders relax. Reaching up a hand, he pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘And if I am, this only goes to show how little she thinks of me. God, I’m worried sick.’
‘Then ring the police.’
‘I will. But please… I can’t tell them she’s been missing for as long as she has. I should have notified them sooner, I know I should, but I thought she’d be home by now. They’ll think it odd – will look at me as though I’ve done something wrong.’
‘No, they won’t.’
‘Oh, believe me, they will. They’ll make me feel like shit. Like I’m to blame in some way.’ He leans his arms heavily on the metal worktop and rests his forehead against his fists. ‘I can just see the way the cops will look at each other when I tell them. Judging. Fucking judging – when all I’ve ever done is loved her.’ Reaching out a hand, he places it on top of mine. ‘Please, Alice.’
‘I won’t tell them she’s been on a course if she hasn’t.’
‘No, no. I don’t expect you to tell them anything except what really happened. That you arrived on Saturday expecting her to be here, but she wasn’t.’
I’m struggling to understand. ‘But why not just tell them the truth, Mark, that you haven’t seen her since Thursday morning? I expect Joanna wanted time out from the stress of organising a wedding. Okay it’s strange she didn’t tell her fiancé, but it won’t be the first time it’s happened, I’m sure.’
Mark looks at me sadly, shaking his head as though he’s my teacher and I’ve got a simple sum wrong.
‘It might not be strange she didn’t tell her fiancé,’ he breathes in deeply, ‘but it’s strange that she didn’t tell her husband.’
‘Her husband?’ My brain feels dull. Uncomprehending.
‘Yes. Her husband.’ Mark looks bone-tired. Defeated. ‘You see, Joanna and I are already married.’
Seventeen
I take a step back from the island. Everything has been turned on its head, what I believed and what I have just been told at odds with each other. It must be how Alice in Wonderland felt when she fell down the rabbit hole. I look around the living space as though expecting the white rabbit to suddenly appear, and when it doesn’t, I force my eyes back to Mark.
‘What do you mean married? You can’t be.’
Mark raises his eyes to mine. ‘It’s true. We tied the knot last week.’
I search the room for reasons. My mind trying to make sense of everything. ‘But she would have said. She would have told me.’
‘Well, clearly she didn’t.’
‘But why would she have said what she did in her message if it wasn’t true?’
He shrugs. ‘You tell me?’
‘Who knows… apart from me?’ Pulling out one of the white plastic chairs from beneath the island I sit, scared my legs will give way.
‘Nobody. You’re the only one I’ve told. We just went and did it.’
‘But her parents…’ I think back to the conversation we had yesterday about photographers and bands. ‘They think there’s still going to be a wedding. They’re still planning it, for Christ’s sake.’
‘And therein lies the problem. Joanna couldn’t cope with it all. They were putting pressure on her for a big wedding. You know the sort of thing – marquee in some stately home or other, a designer dress, hundreds of guests we’ve barely even met. I reckon it would have been just a showcase for her father, to be honest. A chance to talk about his latest project. Get people to sink money into more schemes that have a sod all chance of making any money.’
I want to tell him that the wedding he’s describing is exactly the kind I’d have imagined Joanna having, if she’d ever wanted to get married. Exactly the kind of wedding I’d like to have given the chance.
‘They wanted to pay for it all too.’ He grimaces. ‘Jesus, it was humiliating. Still, I would have gone through with it for Joanna’s sake. Put up with everything.’
Seeing I’ve finished my wine, Mark tops it up, and I thank him.
‘But it wasn’t what she wanted after all?’
He shakes his head. ‘She hated it when her parents told people that it was them who had got us together. That it was their idea we should get married. I told her it didn’t matter as I would have
loved her no matter how we’d met, but she had a bit of a bee in her bonnet about it. Said it would be romantic to just go ahead and do it. Not tell her parents or anyone until we had to. I think she wanted to see the look on their faces.’
Did she want to see the look on mine when I found out? If she did, she’s missed it.
‘Congratulations.’ It’s all I can think of to say. ‘I hope you’ll both be very happy.’
‘Thank you.’ It’s said stiffly, and I realise how stupid that must sound under the circumstances.
‘But if Joanna doesn’t come back, the police will have to know. You won’t be able to keep it quiet for ever.’ I’m not sure why it bothers me so much that he tells them. It’s none of my business after all.
‘Oh, Jesus.’ Mark draws his fingers through his hair. It’s clear he hasn’t thought of this. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘They’d find out soon enough once they started digging. Ring them now, Mark. Just get it over with.’
‘Yes,’ he says. Taking his phone out of his back pocket. ‘You’re right. I’ll do it now.’
He turns away as he punches in the number, pacing the kitchen as he gives brief details to the person on the other end who I presume is a desk sergeant. Yes, the person missing is his wife. No, he hasn’t seen Joanna since Saturday morning. No, she doesn’t take drugs. No, she hasn’t a mental illness.
When the conversation is over, Mark takes the phone from his ear and puts it on the worktop. He looks at me.
‘They said they’d send the next available uniformed patrol over to talk to us, but it’s more likely to be tomorrow than today. Look I’ve got to pop down to see Derek. There’s a problem with the air con in one of the apartments, and I’ve a prospective buyer looking over it tomorrow. I won’t be long.’
‘Do you need to go now?’ I look at the slabs of red meat beside the hob, waiting to be fried. Realising that my appetite has left me. ‘What about the steaks?’
‘I’m sorry, I meant to speak to him earlier. I’ll cook them when I get back.’