Gone Without a Trace

by Mary Torjussen

  As I parked in my driveway, I saw the curtains in Sheila and Ray’s living room twitch, as though they’d been clocking what time I got home. Normally I would wave to let them know I’d seen them, but that night I just didn’t have the energy, and kept my eyes averted.

  I let myself into the house feeling like a burglar. The heating was off, and though it was the end of April, there was a chill in the air. When Matt was still living there and back from work before me, I’d arrive home to noise and light. Music would be playing in one room, the television in another, and I’d hear the radio on in the en suite bathroom even when we were both downstairs.

  He would always come into the hall when he heard me arrive home, and kiss me. We’d sit in the kitchen and chat about our day, then maybe watch a film, listen to music or go out for a drink with Katie and James. The house seemed dark and gloomy now that I was alone in it. I went from room to room switching on lamps and the television, but no matter what I did, it felt like nobody was there. As though I was nothing on my own.

  I lit the gas fire in the living room and sat on the sofa with a throw around me, trying to warm up. After a moment, Coronation Street came on, and I had a sudden dreadful feeling of déjà vu. Before Matt had moved in, I’d been single for a couple of years, and I would sit in just that position, a blanket around me, curled up at one end of the sofa, blindly watching television and wishing, wishing I had a different life. A better life.

  When we first met, it was like a light had gone on, changing everything from sepia to full-blown colour. Plus the absence of worry alone was enough to make me love him. When I’d lived on my own, if something broke, I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d spend evenings agonising about whether I should repair it myself – usually an impossible task – or pay for someone to do it for me. But who? And how much would they charge? How would I find them? How would I know I could trust them? I’d sit there worrying and fretting and biting my nails, and I’d wish and hope and pray for someone to come along to help me, to love me, to make everything all right.

  Then he came along and shone a light on me. Now that he’d gone again, it was darker than ever.

  I went to bed early that night, lying curled away from his side of the bed, with just the light of my Kindle falling on the space between the quilt and the sheet. If I held it carefully and lay very still, I could imagine nothing had changed.

  I was so used to him being there. He’d moved in within months of us meeting. We’d met on holiday in Corfu; we’d each gone with a crowd of people and spotted each other as we waited for a late, rowdy, drunken flight over there. He’d been standing in the airport lounge with his friends, his face strained and tired. He’d looked like he really needed a holiday. His friends were an exuberant bunch, determined to make the most of their time away together. It was clear he was trying to join in but had other things on his mind.

  I suppose I was staring at him, though I always denied it. After a while, I noticed him giving me those half-glances that are so exhilarating when you realise that someone you’re attracted to is pretending not to look at you. On the plane, by chance, he sat across the aisle from me and as soon as he went to the bathroom, my friend jumped into his seat to chat to his friend, and when Matt came back, he sat by me. Within minutes we’d both casually mentioned we were single, then discovered we were staying at the same hotel. I was supposed to be sharing a room with my friend and couldn’t believe my luck when I realised he had a room to himself. Of course, I didn’t know why, then.

  We were together from that moment.

  Matt was working in London when I met him, and I was working at the same place I am now. We’d spend every night talking on the phone, and then on Fridays I’d get the train down to see him. I was crazy about him, just crazy, and I thought he felt the same. He hadn’t told me he loved me yet, but I knew it was coming. I’d shouted it out one night when we were in bed, and though we’d collapsed into laughter, I knew he felt the same way. He held me close then, and I whispered in his ear, ‘I was only joking,’ and he laughed again, then kissed me. Neither of us mentioned it for a while, but there was always an extra frisson between us from then on. I liked the fact he was cautious; I felt the fact that he was holding back a little made things more serious. On my way home from London, I’d rest my head against the window and close my eyes and let myself think of the day he’d tell me he loved me.

  Of course, when he did tell me, I wasn’t expecting it at all. It was a Friday night and we’d agreed we’d have a weekend apart. I’d found it hard work going away so regularly; I had to do all the shopping and cleaning in the week, and my house was starting to show signs of neglect. Matt had to do some work for a meeting on the Monday morning, so our plan was to meet up the following Friday in London.

  I was so tired that night, I was almost glad I hadn’t gone away. After we’d finished chatting on the phone, I lay stretched out diagonally on my bed, sending him little text messages and laughing at his replies. I fell asleep holding my phone.

  The next thing I knew, the doorbell was ringing. I woke up with a start and looked over at the clock. It was nearly four o’clock, and outside it was still dark. I glanced out of the window but couldn’t see anything. I put on my dressing gown and went downstairs. I wondered if it was Sheila from next door. Maybe one of them was ill?

  I opened the door and Matt was standing there.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Do you?’

  I looked at him, confused. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Do you?’ he said again. ‘Just tell me!’

  ‘What are you talking about? Do I what?’

  ‘Do you love me?’ He looked absolutely exhausted, but his eyes were bright and intense. ‘Do you love me, Hannah?’

  I swallowed. ‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Oh thank God for that.’ He started to laugh. ‘I thought for a minute I was going to have to drive all the way back.’

  I put my arms around him and kissed him, there on the doorstep.

  ‘Do you?’ I asked. ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘I told you often enough,’ he said.

  ‘No you didn’t!’ I said, but when we went up to my bedroom about thirty seconds later, I picked up my phone and found his messages.

  I love you, Hannah.

  I do. I’m not joking now. I love you so much.

  I’ve been waiting ages to tell you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

  Hannah? Do you love me?

  Oh God, I’ve made such an idiot of myself, haven’t I?

  I don’t care, I love you anyway.

  Hannah? Are you ignoring me? Please don’t do that.

  And so on and so on. He lay on the bed with his head in the pillow as I read the messages out one by one, laughing so much I was almost in tears.

  Then I lay down beside him and pulled him to me and showed him just how much I loved him.

  I rolled over in bed, my face wet and my head thumping as I thought of those early days. I missed him now, missed him in bed with me, talking to me. I missed him reaching over to stroke my hair, missed pressing my face against the palm of his hand, his thumb touching my mouth just before he kissed me. He did love me. How could he have left me without a word?

  I picked up my phone from the bedside table. I wanted to see a photo of him, something to remind me of the good times. I wanted to see him, to see whether there was something there, a look in the eye that should have warned me he was unhappy. Warned me he’d leave.

  I groaned as I realised what had happened. Clearly it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

  The photos section had had the same treatment as the emails and texts. There wasn’t one picture of Matt on my phone. I had everything organised into albums, and the one called ‘Us’ that held all my photos of Matt and me together had been deleted, just as the one called ‘Matt’ had been. Frantically I looked in the other albums, scrolled through image after image, but not one of them contained even a shadow of him.
<
br />   Next to my Kindle was my iPad. The same thing had happened there. Every photo of Matt had been deleted.

  Down in the chilly living room, I pulled my laptop from its case. I’d always backed everything up, but again the folders had been raided, their contents gone. There were photos of Katie, of my friends from university, of me. There were no photos that Matt had taken of us, nothing of our holidays, of days out or parties. Not one image of a Christmas or a birthday he’d spent with me. My history had been lost. Wiped. It was as though the last four years hadn’t existed.

  And he’d done it. He’d taken them from me.

  I sat back, prickles of anger stinging my face. Why had he done that? I could understand him removing everything that belonged to him, but why take my memories too? All my photos of him had gone, all my texts. Not one email remained. There wasn’t a T-shirt of his I could sleep in, there wasn’t even a mug I could hold. How long would it be before I couldn’t picture his face or remember what he’d said to me?

  Suddenly I wondered whether he’d gone through his own phone and laptop and erased all his photos of me. Would I soon be just a dim and distant memory to him? My stomach burned at the thought of him doing that, destroying me. I tried to picture the expression on his face as he deleted image after image of the last four years of his life. Of the woman he’d said he loved. If he’d appeared in front of me at that moment, I have no idea what I would have done.

  All I could think about was him talking to me and knowing – knowing – what he was going to do. I didn’t want to remember him like that. If he’d died, I would have been able to remember the good times, the times we’d laughed together, been on holiday, sat companionably on the sofa, our bodies casually touching, chatting about our day. I couldn’t bear to think of those times now, and if I did, the memories had an overlay, a tinge that just ruined them, that made me think, Was he planning it then? Was it on his mind?

  When we went for an Indian meal the week before he left, did he know he’d never return to that restaurant? When he lay in bed beside me that last night, was he relieved he’d soon be gone? When he felt me kiss his cheek the morning he left, what was he thinking?

  That was the moment I died for him, wasn’t it? One last kiss and I was gone. I just hadn’t known it.

  And then I remembered where I could find a photograph. A few years ago, just before I’d met him, he’d been invited back to his old university in London to talk to students about working as an architect. He’d spent a day there looking at the projects they were working on and giving the students advice on applying for jobs. He’d really enjoyed it, he’d said, meeting these earlier versions of himself and talking about how he’d spent the years between their age and his.

  I logged on to the university’s website and searched. I’d only seen the photo once before, and it didn’t have his name tagged as he was there with a crowd of industry experts, so when I’d searched for him on Google, it hadn’t shown up. There was a huge chance it wasn’t there any more; it must have been five years old by now. I pored over the site, holding my breath, flicking from page to page, trying to remember where I’d seen it.

  And then there it was. A group of students were looking at some architectural plans and Matt was stood next to them, pointing something out. He was smiling, a broad, happy smile, and a couple of people were looking at him and laughing.

  I copied the photo into Paint and cropped it so that only Matt remained. I enlarged it and printed a copy, then lay in bed holding it. He looked just as he had when we first met, and I knew that I still loved him and that I was going to do whatever it took to find him again.

  8

  That week was very quiet. Katie was away in Scotland; she worked in pharmaceutical sales and she’d been talking about this conference a lot for the last couple of months. She’d moved into pharmaceuticals from another sales job and was desperate to make her mark. I knew she would, too. Once she set her mind to something, she always achieved it. I really missed her, though. I was used to her always being free to chat, but that week, although she rang me a few times, she couldn’t talk for long.

  ‘They’re waiting for me in the hotel restaurant,’ she told me when I called her on Wednesday lunchtime. ‘I’ll have to go in a minute, sorry.’

  ‘But don’t you get any time off?’ I asked, hating the whine in my voice. ‘I’m going crazy here, Katie. I can’t concentrate at work, and when I go home, the house is empty and everything feels off. There’s no one else to talk to. Please . . .’ I could hear myself begging now, and winced with shame. ‘Please, Katie. Don’t you have any time at all?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I could hear guilt and stress in her voice. ‘Why don’t you phone Fran? She’ll go out for a drink with you. She always wants to go out. Or Jenny?’

  ‘I don’t want to tell them that Matt’s gone,’ I muttered.

  ‘Well don’t tell them! Have a night out and don’t talk about him.’

  I was silent. I knew that was impossible.

  She sighed. ‘I can’t see us finishing until really late tonight. After midnight. It’s expected that we stay. You know what it’s like. That’s when you really get to know people. And you don’t want to get yourself all upset then. You wouldn’t sleep, you know that.’

  She was right. She and I both knew that once I started talking to her, I’d cry and spend hours complaining, making myself feel awful. I knew, too, that there was a lot of pressure on her on this trip; she needed to sleep well so that she was fighting fit in the daytime. She’d told me it would be meetings all day and networking all night. James had said, ‘I hope you’ll have time to phone me,’ and she’d laughed and replied, ‘If you fancy a call at six in the morning, then of course!’ I’d tried telling her not to get so excited – it was only a conference – but she’d retorted, ‘It’s all right for you, Hannah, you make a lot more money than I do and you go to things like this all the time. This is my chance and I’m going to take it.’

  I didn’t bother mentioning her company car or her health insurance or her annual bonus, which was easily double my own. She had seen my payslip one month and it had clearly played on her mind ever since. ‘It’s OK,’ I said now. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Have you told your mum and dad that he’s gone?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I feel bad enough as it is. They’d just blame me and I’d feel even worse.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘They’re lovely.’ There was nothing to say to that. ‘What could they blame you for anyway?’

  I thought about it. ‘Not being able to keep him, I suppose. My dad’s never forgiven us for not being married.’ I don’t know who he blamed most for that, Matt or me. Though if we had been married, I’d be divorcing him now and my dad wouldn’t like that either. He’s an older father, and very traditional. He wouldn’t speak to Matt at all when he first moved in, and warned me to make sure he wasn’t on the house deeds unless we married, as though Matt was out to cheat me in every possible way. I was glad of that advice now, in hindsight.

  I started to cry then, sitting in my office, surrounded by windows into the main office, tears dripping down on to my computer keyboard. I sat hunched over my phone, my elbows on the desk, and I knew that if Lucy saw me like that, she’d be in with tea and sympathy within a minute of my putting the phone down, and five minutes later everyone in the office would know about it.

  ‘Oh Hannah,’ said Katie, her voice softer now. ‘Don’t cry. I know it’s been a horrible shock for you, but you’re better off trying to accept that he’s gone.’

  I pulled out a bunch of tissues to dry my eyes. ‘It hasn’t even been a week yet!’

  ‘Yes, I know, but it’s obvious things weren’t good, isn’t it? If he felt the need to leave, just like that, then he wasn’t happy. I’m sorry, but surely you must have known something was up.’

  Humiliation burned through me. ‘Why should I? He said he loved me. He said he’d always love me.’

  ‘And you believed hi
m?’

  ‘Of course I believed him!’ I snapped. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘The thing is, everyone says that in a relationship. And not all of them last.’

  I was silent.

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘why don’t you come round on Sunday night? We can have a curry and a few drinks.’

  ‘What about James?’

  Katie’s boyfriend had always been a bit of a barrier between us. She and I met James when we were seventeen and studying to go to university. Both of us had liked him, but then I’d bumped into him when I was on my own one day and he’d asked me to go out with him. We were inseparable for a few months in the summer before we left school. After we broke up I went off to Australia on a gap year and on to university in a different city to his. We didn’t see each other for years.

  Matt and I were in bed in his house in London when Katie called to tell me she’d bumped into James the previous night in a club in Liverpool. I knew something was up from the moment she spoke. Her voice sounded different – she was excited and happy, but there was something else there too. It was only later that I realised she was nervous. I was distracted, though, by Matt. He lay on his side and looked at me as I chatted to Katie, and every now and then he’d lean over and kiss my bare shoulder. I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t want to concentrate. Katie was babbling about how she and James had had so much to talk about. She’d asked him whether he ever thought about that year he and I had spent together when we were young, and he’d said, ‘Never.’ That probably floored her, and I pictured her trying to regain momentum.

  He hadn’t mentioned my name, she said, hadn’t asked what I was doing or where I lived. She was pleased about that, I could tell, but really, I didn’t care right then. I just wanted to get off the phone and turn back to Matt, to continue what we’d started hours before. She told me James had asked her to go out to dinner with him that night. Was it all right with me?

  I assured her she could do whatever she wanted, and good luck, too. She ended the call in a state of high excitement, and I didn’t give it another thought until a week later, when I realised I hadn’t heard from her and discovered that James had virtually moved in with her.