by Sarah Wray
Then ‘I Started a Joke’, a hard lump in my throat from the start.
We all listen to the song in silence.
‘Can I ask you something, Simon?’
‘You can.’
‘How did you really end up in Shawmouth? Did you really move for the job?’
Simon runs his hands through the front of his hair. ‘In a roundabout way, but not exactly.’
‘Forget I asked. I shouldn’t be nosey.’
‘No, it’s fine. I… well, a few years ago, I got divorced. We were living in Penrith, near the Lakes, and I needed to make a new start.’ He rubs the thumb of his left hand across his empty wedding finger.
‘But why here?’
‘Must have been having some kind of mid-life crisis. I decided I wanted to learn how to surf.’
‘Surf? In Shawmouth?’
‘The surfing is brilliant here, you know.’
‘Is it? Not exactly Baywatch, but if you say so.’
‘I found a course here one weekend, booked it and I just liked it here. Helped me clear my head. So I just thought, sod it. Jacked my job in, moved here the next week and got a job in a pub – until I got taken on at Sea View. And that was it. Here I am.’
‘Christ, you are allowed to leave, you know. You don’t have to stay forever.’
‘Ha, I know. But I still like it here. Got this job in the end, made friends, and what can I say? I am still surfing at the weekends or when I’m off.’
‘Well, whatever floats your boat. Or should I say surfboard.’
‘Not really a city slicker type, me.’
I feel a pang for London. The noise and the traffic and the nights out. Not that I want to be there now, but for the life we had there.
‘Sorry to hear about your marriage.’
Simon shrugs but doesn’t look at me. ‘Happens, doesn’t it?’
We sit again for a while, listening to the CD. Don McLean is singing about a starry, starry night. I go to the window and pull the curtains back slightly. ‘Hey! It’s snowing! It’s a white Christmas!’
Simon leaps forward out of his seat, his face animated with excitement. ‘Is it? Oh my God. Did you hear that, Averil, a white Christmas?’
I feel a bit guilty then. ‘Is it bollocks! You’re so gullible – you’ll believe anything.’
He gives me a playful push and we both laugh. I can see Mum smiling too. She seems relaxed.
Boston, then Barry Manilow plays in the background.
‘You coming round to see your mum tomorrow?’ Simon asks. ‘We’re doing carols and mince pies in the morning.’
‘Yeah, I’ll come over in the morning. I’m… I’m working in the afternoon.’
‘Working?’
‘I’m doing a shift at Barnacles – Julie’s putting a Christmas do on. Karaoke and that. I said I’d help out a few nights, see how it goes.’
Simon nods. ‘Sounds… erm, interesting! I might pop in for a pint when I finish.’
‘You should – you can get up and do a turn.’
‘Maybe I will!’He starts to get up. ‘I think your mum’s had enough. We best get back.’
Mum’s head is lolled forward in the chair and her chest is rising and falling.
‘Sorry if some of them upset you.’ He gestures at the CDs as he packs them away again.
‘Honestly I would blub at the “Birdie Song”. I appreciate you coming round – even if you are a bit too into the 1970s.’
‘Well, I made you this one anyway. In case you fancy listening to it later.’
He hands me a CD. Happy Christmas, Rebecca, Simon x is written in thick black marker pen.
We finally get Mum’s chair out of the door and I wave them off in a taxi. He hasn’t taken the decorations with him.
I turn the light off but leave the Christmas lights on; it gives the caravan a twinkling grotto effect.
I put the CD in the player, snap the lid shut and press ‘play’.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful to everyone who saw the early potential in this book and helped to make it happen.
To New Writing North and Arvon for the Northern Writers’ Award and residential trip which spurred me on to keep going.
To Laura Longrigg at MBA Literary Agents for all your support, enthusiasm and honest feedback. And to Keshini Naidoo at Bookouture for pushing me to make the book the best it can be.
To Helen M and Helen P for the caravan research trips. And to the North East Noir writing group for all the cups of tea and book chat.
Thank you especially to Leon.
A Note from Sarah
Thank you for choosing to read Reported Missing. I am interested in the ripple effects that events can have and central characters who might not usually be the focus of attention. I hope you enjoyed Rebecca’s story. If so, I’d be grateful if you could recommend it to others and leave a review. I’d love to hear what you think.
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Sarah Wray
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Published by Bookouture
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Copyright © Sarah Wray 2017
Sarah Wray has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-78681-196-7