His Other Life

by Beth Thomas

  ‘I’m OK, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know you are, this time, and luckily for you – and for us – it wasn’t Adam. But …’

  ‘Judy,’ Dad’s voice warns from across the kitchen.

  ‘Oh never mind, Jeff,’ Mum says, waving her hand. ‘I wasn’t going to say … anything.’

  ‘You’re saying something right now,’ Dad goes on. ‘Just … stop.’

  ‘It’s all right, it’s nothing she’s not thinking herself.’

  ‘What?’ I ask them both. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Dad says, at the same time as Mum says, ‘Just because it wasn’t him this time, doesn’t mean it won’t be him next time.’

  ‘Oh for crying out loud,’ Dad says, rolling his eyes. Then to me, ‘Don’t pay any attention to Mum, love. I’m sure he’s fine.’

  ‘Right. Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Jeff, you shouldn’t say things like that,’ Mum says in a peeved tone. ‘You don’t know. You can’t guarantee anything.’

  ‘Shut up, Judy.’

  ‘Oh shush.’ Mum turns back to me. ‘Of course it’s occurred to you, love, hasn’t it? It’s best to be prepared. One day, you might feel like you can’t survive another moment and all you want to do is pull all your hair out and scratch all the skin off yourself.’ She’s holding my hand and rubs it absent-mindedly, as if trying to capture a memory of what it feels like with skin on. ‘Oh Christ, it’s going to hit you so hard.’

  ‘Do you want a drink, sis?’ Robbie says.

  ‘Oh Jesus, Robbie, don’t encourage her! She may well hit the bottle at some point, but you don’t have to suggest it straight away!’

  ‘Mum, I’m fine. Seriously.’

  She nods, knowingly. ‘Yes, I know, sweetheart. I know.’

  I look up at Ginge, who is standing up by the cooker in a white shiny trouser suit studded with fake rhinestones, watching me. She nods, then says, ‘Grace, don’t forget I’m supposed to take you down to the …’

  I give a fleeting frown, not understanding. Ginger widens her eyes meaningfully, and I catch on at last. ‘Oh, God, yes, yes, I forgot about that.’ I stand up. ‘We’d better get going.’

  Mum stands up too. ‘What thing? Where? Where have you got to go? Oh God, have you got to go and look at the body? To make sure it’s not him? Oh Jesus, Gracie, that’s so awful for you. Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, Mum, Adam’s dad has already done that. I’ve just got to get to the …’

  ‘Police station,’ Ginger finishes for me. ‘They need some kind of statement or something. I’m supposed to take her down.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Mum wails. ‘This is all so unbearable.’

  ‘Do you want the car?’ Dad says quietly as I walk towards him.

  ‘Thanks Dad, but Ginger will drive me.’

  He nods silently, then reaches out his arms and pulls me in for a great big bear hug. I rest my head against his shoulder for a moment, then step back. ‘I’m fine, Dad. You do know that, don’t you?’

  He nods. ‘Yeah, I thought so. I didn’t think you were in shock, to be honest.’ He studies me for a few moments. ‘You think he’s just left you, don’t you?’

  My dad: Mr Perception. It’s like a blockage has cleared, when he says that, and pure light is coming in at last. I nod and give him a little smile. ‘Of course he has.’

  He gives me a sad smile. ‘What a great shame, love. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thanks. But don’t worry, Dad. I’m kind of getting used to the idea.’

  He nods and gives me a sad smile. ‘We’re here for you, love. You know that, don’t you? Stay as long as you want, whatever happens.’

  I give him a tight hug. ‘Thanks. I think I might take you up on that. He’s not dead, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going back to Maple Avenue.’

  My dad nods in agreement, then makes a ‘sshh’ noise with his finger on his lips. ‘The person who’s going to feel this the most is your mum.’

  We both turn to look at her. She’s sitting at the table, her head in her hands, blotting at her eyes, making little whimpering noises and shaking her head. The words, ‘dressed as Elvis’ can be heard above the sobs. Rob and Lauren are flanking her, rubbing her arm and gently tucking her hair behind her ear.

  ‘Try not to let her find out Adam wasn’t perfect,’ Dad says gravely. Madly, I start to feel the need to tell my dad exactly how unperfect Adam was, so instead I head quickly for the front door.

  Outside, we don’t get into Ginge’s car.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, ‘I’m buying you a stiff drink.’

  ‘But I’m OK.’

  ‘I know, but it’s still shocking and it will hit you eventually what’s happened.’

  The Bunch of Fives is the nearest pub, so we walk round there.

  ‘Holy fucking God,’ Elvis says as we go in. Dismembered body parts are glinting in the morning sunshine. I close my eyes, remembering the grisly theme. When I open them again, Ginge is peering at me concernedly. ‘Shall we leave?’

  ‘No, it’s fine, let’s just get a table.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean …’ she glances meaningfully around at the faked scenes of violent death, ‘this place … in the circumstances …?’

  ‘Ginge, it’s fine, seriously.’

  She gets us both a drink and I see her chatting to Greg, the barman. Or rather, he’s chatting to her. She wants to get the two drinks and go.

  ‘Holy moly,’ she says, coming back to the table, ‘what is this place? Night of the living dead or something?’

  ‘I think it’s charming.’

  ‘You’re not serious? You have seen the appallingly bad taste décor? Whoever runs it must be sick in the head. And it has a very grabby barman. Wouldn’t let me leave!’

  I smile to myself. And there was I thinking he was just flirty with me. Fooled again.

  ‘So.’ Ginge takes an enormous gulp of her wine. I can’t help glancing at the clock. 11:02. Oh well, it is a special occasion. My runaway husband is not dead.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what do you think has happened to him?’

  ‘What, Adam?’

  ‘No, the fricking muffin man. Yes, Adam, who else are we likely to be talking about, two hours after you find out he’s not dead?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Sorry. Not thinking straight. Erm, I really don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think that Leon is involved?’

  ‘Involved in what?’

  ‘Adam’s disappearance.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it? We need to consider it.’

  ‘Why do we?’

  ‘Because you get a weird phone call from some throaty creep called Leon that you’ve never heard of, and literally hours later your husband vanishes without trace. Ipso facto.’

  I’m wrenched immediately back to that day in Adam’s office when I was signing the tenancy agreement to his flat. We had known each other for about three hours by this time, and I was so entranced by his flirtatious and charming attention that it had started to affect everything I said. Relentlessly, and apparently without any design or control, I tried at every possible opportunity to make a joke or a quip, or come across by turns as either delightfully sweet, or confident and strong. A large part of me suspected that I was probably starting to look and sound like a donkey on a roller-coaster, but that part of me was less than half, so sadly it was outvoted.

  ‘So if you could sign here, here and here,’ Adam said, having just taken half an hour explaining all the different parts of the contract.

  ‘Oh, and just like that I sign myself under your power?’ I’d asked, then cringed inwardly. Charmingly, he had smiled and produced an amused little laugh.

  ‘Oddly enough, you kind of are. In a mere matter of moments, you will be mine forever! Mwah ha ha ha haaaaah!’

  I’d giggled, I hoped prettily, and signed where he was pointing. I made an exaggerated full stop at the end of the final signature, and put the pen down dramatically, then raised my h
ead to look him boldly – and seductively, I hoped – in the eye. ‘Ipso facto.’

  ‘You don’t mean ipso facto, you mean QED,’ he’d said immediately. Then the smile was back on and the charm returned. ‘Why thank you, Miss Kelly,’ he said with a small bow, then turned to file the contract away. It didn’t stop me from smarting for the next half an hour.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  I refocus and find Ginge looking at me worriedly. She’s not worried enough to put the wine glass down, it seems. As I meet her gaze and give her a reassuring smile, she nods slowly, then takes another swig. Her wine is almost gone.

  ‘So what’s your theory?’ she says.

  ‘About what?’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘About Leon. Why do you think he wants Adam? I wonder what their connection is? Maybe they did some kind of heist together and Adam betrayed him and went off with all the diamonds.’

  ‘Christ, do you think so?’

  She nods enthusiastically and places the glass rim against her lips. ‘Or maybe Leon is some kind of assassin and there’s a price on Adam’s head.’ She takes another gulp. ‘Yeah, bet you don’t hear from Leon again. He’s found his target and is intently stalking it even now. He’ll be on an island in the Caribbean by next week.’

  ‘Jesus, Ginge, you’re scaring me.’

  She looks up at me and kind of realises I’m there. ‘Oh, yeah, sorry. Getting a bit carried away.’

  ‘Leon knows my real name. He can probably find out where I live.’ An alarming thought occurs to me. ‘He’ll be able to find my parents eventually.’

  Ginge shakes her head. ‘No he won’t.’ She thinks for a while. ‘No, no. He won’t.’

  I take a sip of my own wine but my stomach is starting to knot up and bubble with acid. I put the glass down. ‘Shit.’

  ‘S’OK, Matt’s on his way here. He’ll be able to explain a few things to you.’

  The thought of big lovely Matt being here immediately reassures me. ‘Did you ring him?’ She nods, glass still at her lips. I release a held breath and glance towards the door. No sign of him yet.

  ‘So what’s all this about a safe?’ she asks. ‘You’re looking for one?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. I found a key and it turns out it belongs to a safe, but it’s hidden somewhere. We think in the house, but it could be literally anywhere.’

  ‘Have you told the police?’

  This is an excellent point that has caused me literally minutes of worry. The safe and its contents will definitely be of interest to the police. If not now, then eventually, particularly if … No, I won’t continue that thought. But Ginge is right: someone goes off in the night never to return, leaving behind somewhere in the house a mysterious hidden safe. How likely is it that the two things are connected?

  ‘No. But don’t lecture me, please Ginger. I will tell them, I just really want to find it myself first.’

  She takes a pensive swallow of wine, then puts down her empty glass and picks up mine. ‘No, I totally get that. You want to regain some sense of control. And how much can it hurt if you’re looking for the safe while their team are following up some other line of enquiry? Will save time, if anything. You can tell them as soon as you’ve found it. Want me to help?’

  I feel a mixture of gigantic relief that she doesn’t disapprove and isn’t going to make me tell the police immediately; and a surge of love for my wonderful best friend. ‘Oh my Jimmy Choos, yes I do. You’re a star, thanks.’ I get up and go round the table to give her a hug. While I’m there, I retrieve my wine. ‘Mine.’

  ‘I’ll get us some more.’

  By the time Matt arrives thirty minutes later, Ginger is three-quarters pissed and keeps bursting into unnecessary giggles. I’m simply feeling very relaxed and at peace with everyone and everything. When he appears in the doorway, he stands there a moment taking in the scene: a wasted Elvis Presley and some cheap little tramp in unspecial shorts, surrounded on three sides by dismembered bodies. I give him a great big warm smile and get up to go and say hello.

  ‘Helloooo Matthew Blake, Ginger’s nerdy little brother. You’re here. In this terrible, ghoulish, haunted pub.’ I lean in close to him and whisper, ‘I see dead people,’ then lose my balance and stumble right into his personal space. A giggle snorts out of me. He feels very warm and comfortable and smells of clean sheets. ‘Oop, sorry, ha ha, didn’t see the … er …’ I glance behind me and point at the floor, but it’s clear, smooth wood, completely free of trip hazards and obstacles. ‘Oh.’ Over at the table, Ginger is practically falling off her seat laughing, so I grab Matt’s sleeve and lead him over there. ‘Come over here, come to the table, sit down with us. Come on. Let’s all have a drink.’

  ‘Um, no thanks,’ he says, and he sounds a bit stern. ‘And I don’t think you should have any more, either.’ I look up at his face, but he’s not smiling at all.

  ‘Oh dear, what’s the matter, big ol’ Matthew Blake? Has something bad happened?’

  ‘Well, yes, you know it has, Grace.’ He looks over at Ginger, who is still giggling. ‘This is your fault,’ he says to her, like a teacher. ‘What the hell did you do this for?’

  ‘No, no, it’s not her fault, Matty Matt. She’s just got pissed, which, well, yes, that is totally her fault. But I didn’t really drink much, so you can’t get angry with her.’

  He looks back at me. ‘Well, from here I would say you’re both as pissed as each other. Which, under the circumstances, is quite understandable – for you, Grace.’ He turns back to Ginger. ‘But not for you. For God’s sake, Louise, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye …’

  Ginger flinches under his stern tone. ‘Hey, I am keeping an eye. Don’t talk to me like a childiot.’ She dissolves into laughter again. ‘I mean an ild. No, chid. I’m not a chid or an ildiot. I’m keeping my best friend company, after she found out she’s not a widow.’

  ‘Oh God,’ he says, and turns back to me. ‘So it’s been identified? The body – it’s not Adam?’

  I shake my head solemnly. ‘No, it would seem not. They radioed to my family liaison woman and told her, and then she told me, and then went to Subway for lunch. Adam’s step-dad went to the dead body place and had a look and it’s definitely not him. He’s definitely not dead. My husband’s not dead.’ My voice rises at the end, and from the bar Greg looks over. I catch his eye and nod slowly. Then I slap my hand over my eyes. ‘Oh my God, what am I doing? I’ve just been left by my husband, I need to be all severe and serious for a while.’

  ‘I really think you should go home,’ Matt says.

  I nod. He’s right. My head is very swimmy and I can’t focus my eyes properly. Well, I probably could, but my eye muscles are just so tired. ‘Yes, yes, I want to go home. Back to my house, to my house with my husband. I need to find that safe. Let’s all go there now, and have a look for it.’

  ‘Sshh,’ Matt says. ‘OK, we’ll go there. Might as well have a lie-down there as anywhere.’

  ‘Ooh, a lie-down, Matthew. You do remember I’m married, don’t you? Even though my husband is a total mysterious … er, mystery. Oh, and also, currently not doing very much of anything. Except hiding. Apparently very good at that.’

  ‘OK, OK, let’s get you both in the car.’ Gently, he pulls me from my seat and wraps his arm tight around my waist. As he guides me to the door, he turns and looks back at Ginger. ‘Don’t you move,’ he says, very seriously. In response, she becomes a statue. Matt rolls his eyes. ‘Just stay there, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Half an hour later, I’m dozing on my bed in our house. Our home. The place I shared with my missing husband. Matt practically carried me up here from the car, then scooped all Adam’s scattered clothes and shoes off the bed before laying me down on it. I can barely keep my eyes open, but through the slit just before they close, I can see Adam’s pillow, next to mine, and I wonder whether the incredible, extraordinary, almost unbelievable possibility could exist that he will never, ever lay his head on it again. Or open that wardrobe
to hang up a shirt (in colour order). I fall asleep with the image of his body, naked and white, on a cold steel table, while a man in a green plastic apron cuts off the top of his head with a circular saw.

  I wake up with a start and a feeling of thudding panic. Some kind of sound has just been made. It woke me up. It’s almost still audible, and my ears strain to recover it. It was a kind of gasping, shrieking noise, the sort of sound someone would make when faced with something terrifying. I lean up onto my elbows and listen, but nothing else comes. Gradually, my thudding heart calms down and slows, and eventually I realise that the sound, the terror-laden shriek that woke me up, was made by me. It’s still bright sunlight outside and according to my watch it’s half past three. I’ve been asleep for around three hours. Bloody hell.

  I get up and go downstairs, and find Matt and Elvis – minus the wig now – sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. They both turn and smile as I come into the room, and not for the first time I’m impressed with Ginger’s awesome ability to cope with copious amounts of alcohol. While I feel like I’ve been pulled feet first out of a river, she looks like she’s erupting with the joy of a new baby announcement or something.

  ‘We’ve got some news,’ she bursts out. She’s practically bouncing.

  ‘Adam’s back?’

  Matt gets up and comes and puts his hand on my arm. ‘Shut up for a minute, Ginger. Jesus. How are you feeling?’ His voice is gentle when he speaks to me. ‘Hungover?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, not really. I can’t believe I got so drunk. I only had two glasses of wine.’

  ‘Ha!’ Ginge bursts out. ‘Try four.’

  ‘Four? Oh.’ I sit down next to her and help myself to her coffee.

  ‘I’ll make you one,’ Matt says, and goes to the kettle.

  ‘Thanks. So. What’s this news?’

  ‘We—’ Matt starts, but Ginger cuts him off.

  ‘I’ll tell her, I’ll tell her!’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  She takes a deep breath. ‘OK. So when Matt drove us round here earlier, after he’d got you settled upstairs, he noticed an awful vinegary smell in the house.’