by Beth Thomas
I’m actually a bit out of breath, and my hand shakes slightly as I drag it across my forehead. I’m not sure if this is from the exertion, or from the stress of holding back. Ha ha. ‘Good idea.’
I move to turn away from the wardrobe, but just as I do, I am pinned by the realisation of one important thing: there’s no sign of a safe anywhere inside it.
NINE
Well, that’s me all out of ideas. I stare at the wardrobe for a moment, flicking my eyes backwards and forwards, from left to right and back again, just in case I failed to spot a squat, silver cabinet against the smooth, cream blankness of the wall the first two or three times of looking. Maybe I’m stressed and not focused properly; maybe it’s there but it doesn’t look how I expected it to look; maybe it’s camouflaged. I lean forward so my top half is actually inside the wardrobe’s dimensions and turn my head, scanning its quite clearly empty interior. I wave my hands through the space, side to side, in case there’s some kind of optical illusion going on. Then I lean back with a sigh and turn to Matt.
‘What is it?’ he asks, stepping forward a little.
‘You’re going to think I’m insane – ha, more insane – but please just tell me: is there a safe in there?’
‘No.’
I put my hands up. ‘Hang on a minute, take a bit of time over it. Have you looked properly?’
He flicks his eyes at the wardrobe again. ‘It’s empty, Grace.’
‘But have you really looked?’
He nods. ‘Yes. I have. And so have you. There’s nothing in there.’
I want to get inside the wardrobe and walk up and down it, swinging my arms and legs to make sure there’s definitely nothing there, but at this point Matt grabs my arm and drags me away. ‘Time to go,’ he says, probably reacting to the madness in my eyes.
As soon as we get downstairs, the ordinariness of the hallway carpet and the kitchen utensils makes me start to feel calmer and my actions upstairs seem a bit … extreme. And embarrassing. Oh God, what on earth must Matt think of me, going all possessed like that? He’s still here though, all tall and solid and reassuring, so I presume he doesn’t feel in danger, anyway.
It’s almost lunch time so Matt suggests going out for something to eat. It’s a way to pass the time, so we walk down the road to the pub at the corner. This is the one Adam and I have been having Sunday lunch in most weekends for the past year; the one where I met Cable-Knit Guy – The Dragonfly. It’s got a repugnant painting of a dragonfly’s head in close-up on the signpost. It looks like something from that magical film about the scientist who falls in love with a reporter and then accidentally mixes his genes up with a fly. God knows why they didn’t go with the traditional image of a dragonfly: brightly coloured body, iridescent wings, hovering over a pond somewhere on a bright, gorgeous summer’s day. I guess this is memorable at least.
‘Hell fire,’ Matt says, looking up at it, ‘that’s the ugliest pub sign I’ve seen since I had lunch at The Rotting Corpse last week.’
I give a little laugh. ‘Well, you’ve obviously never been to the … er …’ My mind is almost completely preoccupied wondering where that bloody safe is. Matt has turned to me with an expectant grin, but now I’m floundering. I’m such a simpleton, thinking it would be in the wardrobe. Of course it wasn’t going to be in the wardrobe. Everyone knows if you’re going to install a secret safe somewhere, you don’t put it inside a wardrobe that doesn’t even have a lock on it. I knew I wasn’t going to look inside the wardrobe – he’d asked me not to and I was always eager to please – but he didn’t know I wouldn’t. He didn’t trust me not to look in it. Of course he didn’t. If he’d trusted me, he wouldn’t have needed the safe in the first place, now would he?
‘The …?’ Matt prompts, and I grab my attention by the shoulder and swing it back round to face me.
‘Um … The Disembowelled Cow?’
He snorts kindly, but it was a lame effort, delivered out of time, and we both know it. As we go into the pub I feel my fingernails digging into my palms and focus on relaxing my clenched fists back into hands. If I’m going to find the safe and Adam and ever claw back some self-respect and his eyes out, I’ve got to start thinking like a secretive, slippery, self-obsessed snake; not like myself. Where would a suspicious, mistrustful muppet hide a safe in our house? And why?
‘This place is dire,’ Matt says suddenly. Well, it’s not suddenly actually, we’ve been sitting at a table in silence for a few minutes, Matt reading the menu, me silently seething about the secret and unfathomable machinations of my elusive life-partner. ‘Salads and sandwiches for lunch; fish and chips for dinner.’ He looks up at me. ‘Did you say you and Adam came here a lot?’
‘Yeah. Most Sundays, for the carvery.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Why?’
‘What do you mean, why? Because we enjoyed going out for Sunday lunch. I think quite a few people do it these days – it’s really catching on.’
‘No, I mean, why here? I mean, look at it. It’s so …’ We both glance around at the brown carpet, electric lighting, gas fire and white, featureless walls. ‘Dreary,’ Matt finishes.
I shrug. ‘I don’t know, really. We always came here, I suppose. It’s the nearest place.’
He shakes his head. ‘The Black Cock is nearer actually. Have you ever been in there? It’s really nice, full of character, kind of old-style and cosy, with a real fire, chatty old landlord, you know the sort of thing. And they have a fantastic menu – meatballs, salmon, steak pie, that kind of thing.’ He waves the menu in his hand. ‘Salads and sandwiches. Mostly ham.’
I think back to my most recent trip to a pub, last night with Lauren. ‘Well, I’m just relieved to see an absence of body parts and gore to be honest.’
He stares at me. ‘Wha-a-a-t?’ He glances around him nervously. ‘Are there usually …?’
‘No! No, no. I don’t mean … It’s just, there’s this place …’
He’s already nodding. ‘Yeah, I know it. The Bunch of Fives? Hideous.’ He flicks his eyes up at the room. ‘Even this banal blandness is better than that!’
‘Exactly!’
He grins, then looks down at the menu. ‘So, what are you going for?’
‘I don’t know. What about you?’
‘Um … I think … Cheese and pickle.’ He looks up at me.
I nod. ‘Sounds good. I’ll have the same.’
He orders them at the bar and brings us both back a drink. My mind is still whirring and buzzing over the ever-increasing list of things that are missing: 1) the curry; 2) my nebulous husband; 3) the secret safe. I’ve given so much thought to where they all are, I’ve barely given any time at all to the question of why they’re missing. Matt takes a hearty bite of his sandwich and chews it enthusiastically.
‘So how did you and Adam meet?’ he asks, round the mouthful of food.
I’m aware of him there, talking to me. I’m even conscious of what he’s asked. But it’s like my brain doesn’t want to get involved. It looks up, glances briefly at the current interaction, then dismisses it and goes straight back to what it was doing. It’s pretty obvious that there will be stuff inside that safe that will give me more information about not only where Adam is now, but also why. Some letters, receipts, maybe a map. Unless … I’m suddenly gripped with panic as another possibility occurs to me. What if he opened and emptied the safe before he cleared off? What if I spend days, weeks, locating the damn thing, only to find it empty? I frown hard and look up at Matt in alarm, to find him smiling pleasantly at me, his eyebrows up expectantly. I wonder for a brief moment why he seems so unperturbed by this possibility, but then remember that, of course, none of that was out loud. And even if it was, he won’t be as invested in finding Adam, the safe and the curry as I am, will he? I relax my features and think back quickly to what he’s just said, but all I can remember him saying is the word ‘Adam’.
‘Sorry, Matt. I’m a bit distracted.’
‘Yeah, I kind of got t
hat.’
‘Sorry. I will try harder.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Gracie. Honestly.’ He blows out a small gust of air. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate to deal with, without me in your face, trying to …’ He trails off with a small shake of the head, then lifts his glass and takes a long swig of his Coke.
‘No, that was unbelievably rude of me. I’m really sorry. You’ve been so kind, helping me out like this, driving me around. You didn’t have to do any of it, and I really am very grateful.’
He smiles. ‘Well, of course I’ll help you. I’m happy to. More than happy.’
‘I know, I’m your sister’s best friend and you love her so helping me makes her happy which makes you happy. But even so, I’m very grateful.’
He’s shaking his head with a dead serious look on his face. ‘No, no, that’s not the reason. I’d help you anyway, even if you weren’t Lou’s mate.’
‘Yes, I believe you would, because you’re one of life’s nice guys.’ I take a bite of sandwich. ‘So, what did you ask me?’
For the second time today, he looks like he’s about to say more. But instead he inhales deeply then lets it all go. ‘OK, well, I was just thinking, maybe it would be an idea to talk about Adam generally, about your history together, his life, your life, see if anything interesting comes up that might help us find the safe. You know, maybe we can deduce where it is, rather than physically taking the place apart.’
My fingers are twitching with the need to physically take the place apart, but I nod calmly. ‘That’s a good idea.’ It certainly can’t hurt, anyway, and will pass some more time.
‘Great. So … Tell me about Adam. How did you get together?’
I tell him the story of the flat and the letting agency, and how Adam persuaded me to rent a much nicer place than the one I originally went in for. Matt listens carefully while I’m speaking, watching my face closely, nodding occasionally, giving the odd grunt and ‘ah’ of understanding.
‘Did you go to his office much, after you’d got together?’
‘No, hardly ever. Why?’
His eyes widen. ‘Well bloody hell! That’s where the safe is, then, don’t you think?’
I think about this, and it’s like a bomb going off in my head, spreading energy down into my arms and tummy and legs, making me explode from my chair. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe I haven’t thought of that before!’
He looks up at me excitedly and stands up too. ‘Come on then, let’s go!’ Quickly, he starts gathering his things together – keys, jacket, change. I grab mine and am just swinging my bag onto my shoulder when he pauses, half bent over the table.
‘What?’
He turns to me. ‘I’m just thinking. It makes no sense, actually.’
I could stamp with frustration. ‘What doesn’t?’
He presses his lips together and lifts his shoulders. ‘Why would he keep the safe in the office, but leave the key in the house?’
‘I don’t know, does it matter, let’s go!’
But he shakes his head and starts to relax, pulling the chair out ready to sit back down. ‘No, Grace, listen. He keeps the safe with … whatever is inside it – we have to assume it’s incriminating in some way, otherwise why would he hide it? – so he keeps it at the office, to make absolutely sure you never find it. Why not just keep the key there too? He could put it in a locked drawer. Or better yet, keep it in the legitimate work safe. In a lock box. Hanging on a hook, even, it wouldn’t matter because no one would ever think it was odd or be looking for it there.’
I feel that information start to move round my body like a sedative, slowing me down, draining me of all energy and enthusiasm. It makes sense. My shoulders sag as it sinks in. ‘You’re right. And of course, what if he needed access to whatever’s in there? He’s in the office, the safe’s in the office, the key’s at home. Very inconvenient.’
Matt nods. ‘Good point. No, I think we can assume the safe is in the house somewhere, with the key.’
We both sit back down at the table and listlessly pick at our food again. The task ahead of us seems hopeless – perhaps even more so than before we thought we’d worked it out. And really, could this mysterious safe’s whereabouts truly be all that important? Adam will still be gone, even if we find it.
‘So. You rented his flat off him?’ Matt says, breaking the silence.
I meet his eyes and they wrench me back to the pub. ‘Yeah. He said that he liked me so much, so quickly, he wanted me to rent his place and no one else.’
He breaks eye contact at this point and stares down at his plate for a while. I’m not sure why: it’s empty now. Then he looks up at me frankly.
‘Did you like the place you ended up in?’ he asks.
‘What, Adam’s flat, you mean? Yes, it was nice.’
He shakes his head. ‘I mean, did you love it? Did you feel at home there? Did you thank your lucky stars you hadn’t ended up in the other place, the smelly place?’
‘Um, well, no, I suppose not, really.’ I take a dainty bite of my own sandwich and consider that for a moment while I try to chew bread into a moist pulp without making any noise at all. I only lived in that place for around six months before Adam asked me to move into Maple Avenue with him. He wanted to sell it anyway. But while I was there, what did I feel about it? I think back to that time, three years ago. It was clean and new and fresh and low maintenance; but was it homey? The lights all worked and the grey carpet was new and the kitchen steel was stainless and the paintwork was brilliant white, not yellowing and cracked. The hob had an extractor hood. But its fire escape didn’t take me back to my school days, to Ginger and me, hunched on the metalwork stairs, laughing until we cried, or crying until we laughed, smoking and drinking coffee. Actually it didn’t have a fire escape. It had a fully functioning lift, and a set of concrete steps at the end of each corridor that led to the fire exit. The door had a bar on the inside and made a satisfying thwuck sound when you opened it. But I was hardly ever there, as Adam already had a rented house and we spent almost all of our time in it. If we weren’t together, I usually went to Mum and Dad’s. I can barely think of one single time when I spent an evening alone in that place. If I had, I’m sure I would have felt very safe and draught-free.
‘That’s a shame,’ he says now, wiping his fingers on the napkin. ‘I mean, if you really wanted that other place, if it had such special memories for you, it’s kind of sad that you didn’t ever live there.’
I shrug. ‘I didn’t really mind. I’m not great at making decisions anyway, that’s why Adam did all that kind of thing.’
‘All what kind of thing?’
‘You know, making the decisions. Where to go for dinner, what to watch on telly, what I should wear, that kind of thing.’
He blinks. ‘What you should wear?’
‘Well, yeah. He liked what he liked, you know?’ Adam was quite definite about what he liked me to wear. Round necks, long lengths, nothing too tight or revealing. ‘Don’t want my wife looking cheap,’ he’d say to me, unhooking tops and skirts from the rails in Dorothy Perkins. I was so lucky, I thought then, that I had a husband who took such an interest in my clothes, and even came shopping with me. ‘And he obviously could see better than I could what looked good on me.’ I glance down at what I’m wearing today. It’s a brown corduroy skirt, beige tee shirt, boots. ‘This top, for example. He bought it for me because he said it suits me. It’s my colour, apparently.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have said that.’
‘Really? Why not?’
He appraises me closely, then shakes his head. ‘The point is not what he thought looks good on you. The point is you choosing your clothes yourself. Getting a chance to express yourself. I mean, do you really like this colour?’
I look down. The colour is inoffensive, kind of neutral. It goes with anything, and this skirt in particular. ‘What’s not to like?’
He laughs out a puff of air and smiles. ‘Nothing, Gracie. Nothing at
all.’
‘What does that mean?’
He doesn’t answer because at that moment my mobile phone starts to ring in my handbag. I rummage around quickly to find it and, when I pull it out, I find that it’s Julia calling me.
‘Adam’s mum,’ I say quickly to Matt, and he nods and stands up, then walks away to the bar. I press the ‘answer’ key. ‘Hi Julia. How are you?’
‘Oh, oh, Gracie, there you are, thank goodness. It’s me, Julia. Listen, I’ve got to tell you something, something important has happened. I don’t want to talk about it on the phone, it’s really important and it’s happening right now. There was a slot, just luckily by chance, so I said yes, that wasn’t stupid, was it? Was it stupid? Sometimes I just can’t tell whether or not I’m being stupid. Can you come over? Are you OK?’
The urgent panic in her voice travels through the phone into my mind and instantly I feel alarm. ‘I’ll try, Julia, but I don’t have a car, remember? I’ll need to see if I can get a lift …’
‘Oh, thank you, lovey, thank you so much. I really would like you to be here. I really need you to be here. It’s in twenty minutes, so I’ll see you then.’ And she clicks off without saying goodbye, no doubt without even a smidgen of irony.
When Matt comes back, I look up at him pleadingly.
‘Everything OK?’
I nod. Then shake my head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. She wants me to go over there, in twenty minutes. Apparently there’s some kind of urgent thing she wants to talk to me about …’
‘Well, come on then,’ he says, pulling his car keys out of his pocket, ‘let’s go.’
I feel a swell of gratitude so powerful it actually brings heat into my eyes. I blink a few times to get rid of it. How ridiculous, it’s only a lift. I put my hand on Matt’s arm as we walk back to the car. ‘Thank you for this. I really … appreciate it. More than you know.’
He grins. ‘It’s only a lift!’
I nod. Yeah, and I won’t have to do whatever it is Julia wants me to do all on my own.
Matt’s never met Julia and Ray before. I wonder whether I should prime him in the car, but in the end I decide to let him make up his own mind, without any preconceptions. It’s possible I’ve been blowing things up out of proportion because of my obsession with the other peculiar things about Adam. Maybe there’s nothing odd about Julia at all.