Gone Without a Trace

by Mary Torjussen

  Frustrated, I sat back. Though I was relieved to retrieve those emails, I still had so many questions I wanted to ask Lucy. Why had she done that? Why was she lying about receiving emails, and why had she sent out an incomplete document? Was she deliberately trying to discredit me?

  Then I thought of the woman I’d seen in the cloakroom. Alice. She’d known about Matt. There was no way she was making a general observation about men there; she’d known that we’d broken up. There was only one person I’d told at work. Sam.

  And it seemed Sam had been having cosy conversations with Lucy.

  I knew then that Lucy had known about Matt. I think she must have known from the start. There had been those sly looks she’d given me that I’d stupidly ignored. She’d gone from being subservient and apologetic to looking at me as though I was a fool. As though I was making wrong decisions. She was a bright young woman, educated at a top university. I’d known she was after my job one day, but that was all right; I’d felt the same when I was her age. I didn’t sabotage my boss’s work to get it, though.

  I searched for Lucy’s emails to Alice. Those too had been deleted, and I recovered them. There was one from her the day I’d had the verbal warning. I opened the latest and saw the others set out as though in a conversation. Lucy had written:

  I told you not to say anything!

  Alice had replied:

  Oops, sorry! I thought everyone knew. Lunch?

  And then Lucy had written:

  Sorry, seeing Sam in Costa. And don’t go telling her that, either! You’re the only one who knows about him and me, so shh!

  So Sam was seeing Lucy. I remembered the times I’d seen him with Grace. They’d seemed really happy, and he’d always spoken about her affectionately. I thought of my dad and Helen, and Sam having an affair with Lucy. Now Matt was probably seeing someone too. My eyes prickled with tears. Who could I trust?

  And because Sam was sleeping with Lucy, he’d felt free to tell her about Matt leaving me, and she’d taken advantage of my distress by sending out documents that would destroy my reputation. I realised how out of it I must have been for the last couple of months to not notice what was going on between them and what she was doing to me.

  I considered searching through the rest of Lucy’s emails to find further treachery, but the thought was too depressing. I knew she had betrayed me; that was all I needed to know. I couldn’t bear the thought that Sam might have been trying to get me fired as well.

  The sun had disappeared and the room was gloomy and dim. I switched off my phone in case Sam called. I didn’t want to speak to him or to anyone else. Upstairs I ran a bath, just for something to do. I wanted warmth. I wanted comfort. My skin crawled with shame. I should never have trusted Sam. I should never have trusted anyone.

  In a sudden fury, I switched my phone back on and sent Sam a text. I would wait to deal with Lucy face to face; the last thing I wanted was for her to use a furious text message against me.

  I know everything. You bastard.

  Seconds later there was a flurry of messages from Sam:

  I’m sorry!

  I can explain.

  I’ll come round to yours – I need to talk to you.

  I sent him one more:

  Just you dare. If you come round here, I’ll call the police on you. And her.

  I turned the phone off again and got into the bath. I couldn’t relax, though. I lay in the hot water, breathing in the steam and the scent of Chanel, my mind racing. I wasn’t worried about Lucy. She wasn’t a friend. If they let me go back to work, I’d insist on a different assistant. It would be her loss. Now that Alex had my original emails to her, she should be out of a job anyway. Sam, though: his deception was different. I knew I’d have to deal with that and I didn’t know how I’d do it without breaking down.

  I thought again of the phone in his car. Was it a phone he kept to call Lucy, or could he have sent me those anonymous texts? Had he videoed me? Did he have a number of SIM cards and just change them every time he wanted to torment me?

  I felt like I was going mad. I lowered my head into the water and felt it thrum in my ears.

  Suddenly I sat upright, squeezing the water out of my hair, as I remembered the last time I’d had a bath. It was the night before I went to Oxford; the night before Matt left me. I’d left the office earlier than usual and worked in the garden for a few hours, making the most of the warm weather. I remembered I’d sent him a text and asked him to bring home a takeaway for dinner as I didn’t want to spend the evening cooking. Later, I was stiff and aching all over and Matt had suggested I had a bath instead of a shower. He’d smiled at me and rubbed my shoulders, saying it would be more relaxing. He’d run it for me, putting in bath oil and getting the water as hot as possible, just how I liked it. He told me about a podcast I’d like and passed me my headphones, resting my iPod on a towel on a stool beside the tub so that it wouldn’t get wet. He’d brought up a glass of wine halfway through and I’d soaked in the bath for forty-five minutes, topping up the hot water and listening to the programme. I’d thought he was being really kind, and I’d reached up and pulled him down to me so that I could kiss him.

  When I’d finally climbed out of the bath and put on my pyjamas, I’d felt relaxed and sleepy. I lay on my bed and opened up Facebook on my iPad, then Matt came upstairs and asked if I fancied watching a film. I was asleep within minutes of it starting, and then, of course, the next morning I’d had to get up early to drive to Oxford. My iPad was still on the bedside table, as usual, and I hadn’t given it a second thought.

  In that forty-five-minute period while I was in the bath, he must have wiped every trace of himself from my phone. He’d deleted all my photos of him from my laptop and iPad, then, when I was asleep, he had looked through my Facebook and removed every message we’d exchanged and every photo of him and of us. And he’d done it by making me feel cared for, by making me feel loved.

  43

  At six on the dot, I was ready to call Andrew Brodie. My hands were shaking so much I could hardly hold the phone, and I caved in and drank a glass of wine straight down before I dialled his number. I had a pen ready, and a piece of paper with my script written on it; I couldn’t trust myself to remember what to say. At the last minute I grabbed another pen, then another, just in case they ran out. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to write down something important. I took a few deep breaths, wiped my hands on my jeans and keyed in his number, withholding my own.

  He picked up on the third ring, sounding flustered and out of breath. I could hear traffic in the background and I quickly clicked record to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

  ‘Hello, is that Andrew Brodie?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it is. Who is this?’

  ‘It’s Lyndsey Harding here,’ I said, reading from my script. ‘I’m calling on behalf of Reed Recruitment and I wondered if I might have a word in confidence?’ I’d chosen a company that already existed; I couldn’t take the risk of him googling a fictitious company while we were speaking.

  There was a long pause, then he said, ‘Well, it depends. What’s it about?’

  ‘We have a post we’re trying to fill,’ I said. ‘It’s for a trainee architectural technician. We thought you might be interested.’

  ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Yes, I would be!’

  He sounded so excited that I felt really mean that the job didn’t exist.

  ‘I’m not allowed to tell you the name of the firm unless you go to interview, but I can tell you it’s a large company and they’re offering a good package. It’s in Chester, so it’s pretty local.’

  ‘That would be great,’ he said. ‘But . . . have I met you? I don’t recognise your name.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. I remembered my training at work, where we were told that if we smiled when we were on the phone we would sound friendlier. My cheeks ached as I beamed as widely as I could. It had been months since I’d used those muscles. ‘It’s my job to find out who’s the bes
t in their field and your name was mentioned a while ago. When I heard about this opportunity, I thought of you immediately.’

  He bit. Of course he did.

  ‘Who mentioned me? Are you allowed to tell me?’

  ‘It was someone from John Denning Associates,’ I said smoothly. ‘Matthew Stone, one of the architects there. I believe you were an apprentice with JDA?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Matt was a really good boss. He recommended me?’

  ‘He did,’ I said. For the first time, I didn’t need my script. ‘He said you were the best apprentice he’d had working for him. He told me you were part of the team working on the design of the new Japanese restaurant down on the Liverpool waterfront. Is that right?’

  He took five full minutes to tell me I was right about that. I held the phone away from my ear, my excitement mounting.

  Just ask him!

  ‘Now that I know you might be interested, I’ll have to arrange a time when we can meet,’ I said. ‘Damn it, I’ve left my diary in the office. Are evenings better for you?’

  ‘Yes, any time after five thirty is fine. Sometimes I work late, but I can always leave on time if you want to meet.’

  ‘Well, I’ll give you a call in the morning, if that’s all right,’ I said. ‘Sorry I can’t fix a date right now. I’ll ring before nine.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  My stomach tightened. This was the clincher. ‘I’ll give Matthew Stone a call at JDA, too, to thank him.’

  I was just about ready to explode with excitement. I could feel the pressure mounting in my head and stars appeared on the periphery of my vision.

  Andrew didn’t let me down.

  ‘Oh he’s not working for them any more.’ I held my breath. ‘I bumped into David Walker the other day. I don’t know whether you know him; he’s an architect at JDA too. He said that he’d taken over Matt’s projects. Matt’s in Manchester now, working for Clarke and Bell.’

  I breathed out. My whole body relaxed.

  ‘He is?’ I was surprised he didn’t notice the change in my voice. ‘I suppose it’s a while since I spoke to him.’ Well, that was true enough. ‘How long has he been there?’ I looked over at my notes, scattered round the units and scrawled on the cabinets. ‘I’ll have to update my records.’

  ‘Not long,’ he said. ‘Only a few weeks, I think.’

  ‘Oh well, I daresay I’ll come across him sometime soon. Thanks so much, Andrew. I’ll be in touch.’

  I ended the call.

  The chase was almost over.

  44

  I stood in the kitchen, unable to believe it. I’d done it! I’d found him. I think I felt prouder of myself at that moment than I’d ever felt before.

  I fetched my laptop from the living room and sat at the kitchen table with the notes I’d made while I was speaking to Andrew. Google sent me to the company’s web page and I scrutinised it closely. A search of the site didn’t bring up Matt’s name. I downloaded their newsletters but couldn’t see any reference to him. I frowned. He was a well-respected architect; his joining them should have been a big enough coup for them to bother mentioning it.

  My phone rang, startling me. It was Sam. I let it go to voicemail. I’d deal with him later.

  I was just looking up the route to Matt’s new office when the phone beeped. It was Katie.

  Hey, Hannah, how’re things? Any news? xx

  It was her standard text, the one she sent almost daily. This time I had something to tell her! Fizzing with excitement, I’d started to type, Katie, I think I know where Matt is when something stopped me. Andrew Brodie might be mistaken. I couldn’t bear the pitying looks Katie and James would share if I got all excited for nothing; the way they’d talk about it, saying there must be something up with me for my boyfriend to run off like that. There were always rumours flying round about where people were working; Matt might just have gone for an interview at Clarke and Bell, or perhaps he’d told someone he’d seen a job advertised there.

  I paused for a moment, thinking of him applying for a job without a word to me. The whole process of job-hunting took so long: the search, the application, the interview.

  Had there been a day when he’d been dressed up for an interview? Had I missed something? It was impossible to know; some days he went to work in jeans and a North Face jacket, coming home chilled and muddy; other days he had meetings with clients and would wear a suit. I knew, though, that he’d make a special effort if he was going to an interview. I sat there as the room grew dim and tried to identify days when he’d looked particularly good.

  I couldn’t. Mornings were a bit of a rush and I always had a lot on my mind, so frankly I never paid him much attention before work. Maybe he’d taken the day off for an interview then come home straight away and changed his clothes. He might have spent the afternoon relaxing at home, watching daytime television, then spun me a line about what he’d been up to.

  Whichever way he’d done it, though, he’d deliberately misled me. He’d sat with me in the evening and he hadn’t said a word about applying for a job, being interviewed for a job or getting a job. Not one word. He’d sat there and smiled and chatted, and not even in the course of an argument had he shouted that he had another job, that he’d be leaving.

  And at night we’d go up to bed and he’d lie next to me, thinking about going. I was suffused with shame at the idea. I thought of the nights I’d tried to make love to him, nights when I’d lain next to him thinking he would definitely want me this time. And he did, sometimes, but the humiliation of those occasions when I’d put my arms around him and start to kiss him, only to have him say he was tired, that he’d had a tough day, that he wanted to read instead, made me burn inside, particularly now, knowing that he must have been thinking of someone else.

  The phone rang. Sam again. I rejected the call. I felt like I was going crazy with so many things to think about, so when I replied to Katie, I didn’t mention Matt at all. I told her another truth instead:

  Suspended from work today. I’ve really messed things up.

  Her reply came straight away:

  We’re coming round.

  I looked at the kitchen in a panic. It was a complete mess. The island was laden with notes about Matt, and of course now I’d spread out on to the units and covered the cabinets in red ink. Hopefully that would wash off, but I needed to leave it on until I found Matt anyway; I could always replace the units then if I had to. I couldn’t face having to clear it all away before they came round and then put it back in the order I liked it.

  Suddenly I felt exhausted, almost too tired to move.

  I’ll come round to you, I texted back. I feel like getting out. I’ll get a taxi.

  Why can’t you drive? she replied. It’s not as though you’re drinking, is it?

  And then, within a matter of seconds:

  Oh Hannah, does this mean you’ve been to the clinic?

  I stared at the phone, furious. Did she have no boundaries at all? I was tempted to back out and stay at home, but I knew she’d call round if I did.

  Frustrated, I sent her a message:

  I’ll drive. Be there in 10 minutes. And no, I haven’t been to the clinic, and stop asking about it or that’ll be the last you see of me.

  Two minutes later my phone beeped:

  Sorry! Oh, and James says bring round the note you mentioned the other day. Envelope, too. He wants to check something. x

  45

  I stayed at Katie and James’s for about an hour, but my mind was racing and all I wanted was to be at home.

  I sat in the armchair while they faced me on the sofa and fired questions at me as though I was in court. Of course I couldn’t drink, but they had a bottle of wine between them and I think they’d already had the best part of another bottle before I got there, too. I had one glass of lukewarm Perrier that had long ago gone flat and thought I would remember this if Katie ever got pregnant.

  They kept on asking questions about my job. Wh
at had I done wrong? Why hadn’t I met the deadlines? Did I have proof that I’d sent those documents to Lucy?

  When I told them I was locked out of my work email system, there was a sharp intake of breath from Katie. James just sat back, shaking his head.

  Then I told them about finding the document I’d sent Lucy to proofread.

  ‘You used her password to log into the intranet and read her emails?’ asked James. ‘You know that’s illegal, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘I knew I was right. I knew I’d sent her the right documents.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you care or not,’ he said. ‘You’ve just made things much worse.’

  I looked at Katie, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  ‘And the documents were sent to the clients from your email account anyway, weren’t they?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, but she sent them.’

  ‘Under your name?’

  ‘Yes. She often has to do that.’

  ‘Well, how can they prove who sent them?’ he said. ‘Surely there’s no way of telling which machine sent the email?’

  My eyes filled with tears. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘She’ll struggle to explain herself,’ he said, ‘but you’re not exactly covered in glory either, Hannah.’

  Katie sighed. ‘Why don’t you just explain that you’re pregnant and having a tough time? You could go to the doctor’s and tell them everything; they’ll give you a note to help you at work.’

  ‘I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to see a doctor until I’ve decided what to do.’

  James stood up. ‘I need to get some work done,’ he said to Katie. ‘I’ll do it upstairs.’ He looked at me. ‘So you’re thinking of keeping the baby?’

  I flushed. ‘I don’t think so.’

  He gave me a pointed look, then left the room.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Katie. ‘I’ll go home. I’m getting on James’s nerves.’