The Missing Person's Guide to Love

by Susanna Jones

  ‘But you must have had conversations sometimes. What were they about?’

  I knew the answer but I thought for a moment before saying it.

  ‘For a few months, after all our friends had left town but before the fire, we spent a lot of time talking about Julia Smith.’

  ‘But that was years after she’d disappeared, wasn’t it?’

  ‘A couple. That was what we had in common, though. Owen was the one who always wanted to talk about her.’ It was an exaggeration but I needed to see Annie’s reaction.

  She turned away. There was a long pause. We stared into separate portions of space. An engine revved below the window, then purred. The car drove away and voices moved from the hall to the kitchen. Cups chinked and a chair scraped. Annie spoke first.

  ‘I always wondered what you knew about that.’

  ‘What could I have known?’

  ‘I don’t know. She was your friend. You might have known something.’

  ‘I don’t, didn’t. Why? Do you think Owen knew something?’

  ‘Anything you two knew, you would have told each other, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know that we would have. We didn’t talk much, as I said.’

  ‘But the two of you used to talk about Julia. You must have said something.’

  ‘We just wondered together what had happened to her and whether there was a way we could find her. Of course, there wasn’t.’

  We stopped for a moment. Downstairs, people called, ‘Goodbye,’ and slammed doors. Annie shook her head, giggled and whispered something that might have been ‘Sorry’. She cleared her throat and spoke quietly.

  ‘Look, Owen was devastated by what happened. He liked her a lot. In fact, I think he might have been obsessed with her even before she went missing.’ She gave me a slow, feline blink.

  I nodded but tried to give nothing away. ‘Where was he on the day she disappeared?’ I asked.

  ‘God knows.’ Annie pulled the hem of her skirt under her toes and hugged her knees. ‘There was an answer to that question but I can’t remember it after all these years. We told the police whatever it was at the time. I think we were all at home together, decorating the house or something. I remember painting the walls in the kitchen. I’d left school by then but I still lived at home. I’ve lived abroad too. Funny how some people have to get away and some have to stay. I’m a nurse. I’ve worked in different parts of Africa and now I live in London, but I’m ready to move back here for good now. I might take Owen’s flat, I think, if the rest of the family don’t want it. I think that would be a good thing for me to do. You should move back here too, Isabel. We’d get along with each other, I reckon, and you can’t stay away for ever. I’d be happy to be here again, if you were around.’

  I suspected that Annie’s affection for me was a side effect of the brandy but I was still touched. ‘Annie, did you hear your mother talking to me outside the church?’

  ‘I saw her face but I didn’t hear everything she said.’

  ‘For one thing, she didn’t exactly make me feel that I would like to live here again. But, more importantly, she said she found blood on Owen’s clothes on the day Julia Smith disappeared. She washed it off’

  ‘Oh, that’s probably bollocks. She was saying that to get a reaction from you.’

  ‘You think so?’

  But I knew that Annie did not mean this. Her voice was breezy and light but a shock had crossed her face for just a second before she spoke. She smiled and relaxed her features. I wondered whether she was as drunk as she appeared to be.

  ‘The woman’s mad. She thinks Owen killed Julia and she blames you. She blames you for the fire too, but that was Owen’s idea, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, it was mine.’

  ‘Oh. Was it? I’d never thought of it that way. I always felt sorry for you, having the misfortune to be with my brother on that day. Maybe I shouldn’t have. No, I’m just joking. I wouldn’t blame you for it. I’m sure you had your reasons.’

  ‘Annie, why did you want to talk to me today?’

  ‘To find out what you know about my little brother. I don’t know if he’s guilty of some horrible murder, manslaughter, whatever. I’ve never wanted to think about it for very long. Okay, I’ll be honest.’ Annie dipped her finger in the brandy glass and licked it. ‘Here we go. My mother thinks he is. Was. She has never said so to me, not in clear sentences, but I know that’s what she believes. He wasn’t at home when Julia disappeared. He had come in from school for about five minutes – just long enough to dump his bag – then gone straight out again. That was normal for him at the time. He used to say that he was meeting Julia on her paper round to keep her company. It seemed sweet to me. We didn’t know that it was a lie. She’d dropped him by then, you see. Maybe he was watching her from a distance.’

  ‘Julia never told me about that. She would have, if he’d said anything, if she’d known he was there.’

  ‘He pestered her a bit, didn’t he? Poor girl. I bet she didn’t have the faintest idea what to do about it. Who would, at that age? I don’t know what he wanted from her. On that day, he went out at around the usual time but we only found out later that she wasn’t his girlfriend any more. Then he admitted that they hadn’t spoken for weeks.’

  ‘So, even if he had done nothing wrong, he might have been a witness to whatever did happen. If he had seen something, why wouldn’t he say so?’

  ‘He claimed that he didn’t go near Julia that afternoon. He said he’d been by himself, having a smoke behind some building. Mum panicked and cooked up a better alibi that included the smoking but had him coming home sooner. She made us all stick to it but she never explained why we had to. I think I knew there was something sinister underneath the lie. Otherwise I would have asked, wouldn’t I?’

  Owen’s story of going for a cigarette was consistent with what he had always told me, though I had never believed it.

  If I hadn’t gone off on my own that day, it never would have happened because I would’ve rescued her, he often said. I just wanted to sit by myself for a bit.

  ‘Which building was it?’

  ‘I can’t remember. I knew but I can’t remember now.’

  ‘Was it the bingo hall?’

  ‘It might have been. Yes, you’re probably right. It would have been that patch of grass where people used to congregate in the evenings. I used to go there sometimes myself. I think you’re right.’

  ‘Good. That all makes sense. But were there any witnesses?’

  ‘There was one. A neighbour noticed him and mentioned it to my dad. He made some joke about not wanting to grass Owen up for smoking, but since everyone had to say where they were that day, he felt he had no choice.’

  ‘The bingo hall is only fifteen minutes or so from the reservoir, maybe less. Owen could have gone to both places.’

  ‘It’s not out of the question.’

  ‘It’s not out of the question at all.’

  So, Annie’s thoughts mirrored mine. I took another sip of brandy. Annie pulled herself heavily to her feet and put the bottle on the floor.

  ‘Let’s have some music on. It’s too quiet.’ She pulled an old record-player from under the bed, then a pile of vinyl. It took her a few minutes to connect up the speakers and get it working. ‘See what he kept down here.’ She blew fluff from the sleeve of a record, placed it on the turntable, turned up the volume before the music started. The floor shook when the guitar began to play.

  ‘Is it a bit loud, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t do with all this sitting around in black. You’d think they were at a fucking funeral.’ She let out an empty laugh.

  We danced to music I did not recognize. We closed the door and kicked off our shoes. The people beneath us, talking in the kitchen, must have heard. The thud of the drums and of our feet through the ceiling. It felt good.

  An arm grabbed my waist. I swivelled to see John at my shoulder.

  ‘Hey, Isabel. Been looking everywhere for yo
u.’

  ‘What were you up to in the garden?’

  His face was close to mine. He felt cold.

  ‘I was chatting to Owen’s dad about things. Stuff Owen used to do. Dennis is a great bloke. Did you know he’s done six parachute jumps for charity? Hello, Annie. How are you bearing up?’

  Annie smiled at John and twizzled on her toes. She lowered her heels and stepped forward. They embraced each other with a peck on the cheek. She darted from the room and returned seconds later with a camera. ‘Can I take a picture of you both? It’s a special day, kind of. I’d like to have a souvenir.’

  She stood in front of the window and screwed up her face behind the camera. John and I sat on the bed.

  ‘Get a bit closer.’

  She fumbled with the lens cap, the focus lever, trying to work out how to use it.

  ‘We should all go downstairs and gather round the coffin,’ John muttered in my ear. If she wants a good photograph.’

  ‘Ssh.’

  ‘Why are you getting so involved?’ He spoke to me without looking.

  ‘I just came to see what I could find out.’

  ‘Why now, all the way from Istanbul?’

  ‘You know why. I’m here to find out what happened.’

  Annie took a step back. ‘Perfect. OK, keep still.’

  ‘Don’t believe you, Isabel. That’s not why you’re here. You’re going to get sucked in again and this time you won’t be able to escape. Smile.’

  ‘It’s a fucking funeral.’

  He grinned at the camera. ‘I know that. Smile.’

  I smiled at Annie. I would deal with John later.

  We sprawled on the floor, the three of us, sipping brandy and listening to music, one song after another. I didn’t know the music and barely heard the words. Sometimes a phrase drifted into my ears but it didn’t contain any particular meaning for me. Annie stared at a spot on the ceiling for long, silent periods, squeezed out slow, heavy tears. John lay flat on his back for a while and shut his eyes so I couldn’t tell whether he was sleeping or awake. I fell into a reverie.

  It was not true that Owen and I did nothing more than skulk around together like a pair of zombies. Annie was wrong about that. Owen and I bought a kite, once, and took it up onto the hill. We saw it in the window of the local toy shop. We were a little embarrassed about buying it and giggled as we paid. It seemed childish to want to own a kite but we thought it would be fun, or funny. It was purple, a traditional kite shape. We raced each other out of the village and into the countryside. On top of the moor we unravelled the string to see what would happen. It was a windy day in early spring, perfect for kite-flying, but all the time we were telling each other that it would never work. We laughed about the disaster it was going to be, how it was certain to crash straight to the grass, or the string would break and it would fly away, how we hoped no one would see us. I suppose we were talking ourselves out of enjoying it too much, preparing ourselves for disappointment, but when I ran with the kite, it rose into the sky and soared.

  ‘That’s ace, that is.’ Owen shielded his eyes and tipped his head back. ‘Bloody ace.’

  Soon it was his turn. He took the string, leaned back and held it steady as the purple diamond swooped and twisted, not like a bird but like a child playing with us.

  ‘How amazing to be that high in the sky,’ he said. ‘We should have bought two and made them dance together.’

  I followed him as he took the kite further up the hill, over rocks and a stream. ‘Can I have it back now, for a bit?’

  ‘Not if you can’t catch me,’ said Owen, and ran along the ridge of the hill. He was a fast runner but the kite slowed him. I caught up and jumped on his back. We fought for the kite string and fell together to the ground. We lay there, panting, on our backs, and watched as the kite flapped in the sky. Occasionally it dropped down and my stomach lurched as though I were falling too, but then the wind would catch it and send it high again.

  ‘You coming to the Snack Bar for a drink?’ Owen asked, when we sat up again.

  ‘Can’t. Got a dance class.’

  ‘Skip it.’

  ‘But I like it. I’m doing an exam next week. I can’t miss a class.’

  ‘You might be a famous dancer one day.’

  ‘Might be.’

  ‘Will you still speak to us then, here in the little village where you grew up?’

  ‘No.’ I laughed. ‘I won’t. Definitely not.’

  ‘But you’ll speak to me because I’ll be a big theatre producer and you’ll need my help.’

  ‘Will you? First I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Might be.’

  Eventually the album came crackling to an end, the needle lifted and moved itself back to its resting-place. Annie and John pulled themselves up and we looked at each other in the silence, blinking. It was as if a sleeping potion had worn off and the three of us had woken up together.

  John cleared his throat. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I think,’ I said, ‘it’s all about place. We should go to the grass behind the bingo hall and have a look round. You never know what might come to us. Let’s walk down there and see. John, you’re coming too.’ I stood to find my coat. ‘Wait, does the bingo hall still exist?’

  Annie flopped onto the bed and rubbed her feet. ‘I think it’s there. Something’s there. It’s the same building anyway, and that scrap of grass is too small to have been turned into anything more useful. I wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for a bit.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to the crematorium?’

  ‘No. I can’t be arsed. That’s not the most important thing right now. Don’t look like that, John.’

  ‘You might regret it later, Annie. You won’t get another chance.’

  ‘I said my goodbyes in the church. He’s not really in there, you know. It’s just a dried-up pod he used to live inside. It makes no difference whether I’m there or not to see it go off to burn. That sounds callous but it’s not. I know what I’m doing. I have to be very practical about all this. Otherwise I can’t keep track of what’s happening.’

  Annie picked up the brandy bottle and put it under her arm. We set off downstairs.

  Sheila and Dennis were putting on their coats in the hall. Dennis mumbled about his posh shoes being too tight. Then he noticed Annie and his face softened. ‘Come on, Annie. Let’s get it over with. Auntie Joan will hold the fort here. Almost everyone’s gone now, anyway.’

  Dennis held out a black jacket for her. She put the bottle on a stair and slipped on the jacket. Dennis patted her shoulders. Annie then took a black lambswool scarf from Sheila and tied it neatly around her neck. John and I waited behind her. She retrieved the brandy and held it tight.

  ‘Mum, I’m only going out. I’m not coming to the crematorium with you.’

  ‘But don’t you want to?’

  ‘I’m too upset. It won’t do me any good.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, well, if you feel that way.’ Sheila stroked Annie’s hair. ‘I understand. Don’t worry, love. Just do whatever you feel like doing today. Are you going out with your friends? That’s a good idea. Yes, that will probably do you a lot of good. I’m glad you have your friends here. It was nice to hear your music playing just now.’

  Dennis said nothing but stared, bemused, at John and me. We filed into the front garden and closed the door.

  We walked in silence towards the bingo hall, speaking only once or twice to haul John back when he started to take a wrong turning. All these years I have been thinking about what happened in 1982, as if I remember every detail so well, but I had forgotten about the bingo hall and the dirty rectangle of grass behind. I went there occasionally with Julia. We used to sit on the grass and talk about – I don’t know what. I didn’t remember Owen liking it but that is not to say that he didn’t. He once told me he’d been there on the day Julia disappeared. I could see now how he might have met her after she had said goodbye to me, followed her as she delivered the paper
s, and persuaded her to accompany him there. Perhaps he claimed to have news, a secret to tell. Perhaps he went there on his own and she followed, begging him to stay away for good. She might have taunted him with a letter from her soldier.

  ‘I still find it hard to believe that Owen could have hurt someone,’ John said. ‘Not that he wouldn’t have wanted to – I don’t know whether he would or not – but he wouldn’t have been able to do it. You need either a violent temper or a very calculating mind. He had neither.’

  ‘You knew him in prison but by then he wasn’t the same person. The trial broke him, I’m sure of it. I don’t think he was a wimp before that stuff happened. He was calculating. For that matter I think he might have had a temper, not that I ever saw him hit anyone.’

  ‘So why do you think it? That’s not fair.’

  ‘I think it because of the way he looked sometimes, when he didn’t get his own way. His face would turn white, so hard and angry. I remember him walking out of school once because someone had hidden his PE kit. It was just a stupid joke and they would have got it back for him, probably, but he turned quiet and got this strange look on his face. He walked out of the room, along the corridor and out of the entrance in full view of the entire school. Even the teachers didn’t call him back. They saw him go but they just watched. Isn’t that weird? I thought it was weird at the time, but I knew from their faces that they had no idea what to do.’