Gone Without a Trace

by Mary Torjussen

  ‘Everyone’s getting on James’s nerves lately,’ she said. ‘Take no notice of him. He’s got too much work on and he hates doing it in the evenings. He’s had hardly any time off for weeks now.’

  We heard him going upstairs, then their study door banged shut.

  ‘But he’s right,’ Katie said. ‘You have to see a doctor. You’re supposed to register with one as soon as you find out you’re pregnant. I’ve told you that.’

  ‘Leave it,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  I sat there sullenly, wishing I’d never told either of them I was pregnant in the first place.

  ‘OK, but remember Matt’s been gone for three months now. Surely you don’t think he’s coming back to you?’

  ‘Not quite three months,’ I mumbled. It was only a few days off that, and from the way her mouth tightened, I think we both knew it.

  The door swung open. James was back for his glass of wine. He filled it up and Katie said, ‘Come on, James. Forget about work for tonight.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said, and drank some of his wine.

  Her mouth tightened and she turned away from him. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked me. ‘What’s it like to be pregnant?’

  I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it. ‘I haven’t had much time to think about it. Work’s been busy . . .’ My voice trailed off as I realised how stupid I sounded saying that when I’d just been suspended for not doing anything.

  ‘Have you been sick?’ she asked.

  ‘A few times. I feel sick all the time.’ I shuddered. ‘It’s horrible.’

  ‘You’re avoiding thinking about it, aren’t you?’ said James. ‘The problem won’t go away, you know.’

  While he was speaking, I’d realised I could go on to Google Street View and have a look at Matt’s office before I actually went there. I was itching to be back at home with my laptop and my notes.

  I stood up. ‘I know. You’re right. I’d better get back now.’

  ‘Oh, did you bring that note with you?’ asked Katie. ‘You wanted to look at it, didn’t you, James?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got a good magnifying glass,’ he said. ‘I thought we could have a look at the postmark.’

  I hesitated. ‘There wasn’t a postmark.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right, you said that,’ said Katie. ‘But I thought it came in the post. Have you got it?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Someone’s taken it.’

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Someone’s taken it from the house.’

  I couldn’t mistake the look Katie gave James.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t just lose it?’ he said.

  My face burned. ‘Of course I’m sure! I stuck it on the fridge, and when I got home the other day, it wasn’t there.’

  I saw Katie glance at him again. I knew she thought I’d made it all up.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘Time for me to go.’ I picked up my bag.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Katie. ‘We didn’t mean to upset you. Stay a bit longer. Do you want some dinner? My mum brought us round a casserole earlier. Why don’t you eat with us?’

  ‘It’s OK. Thanks, but I need to be at home. I shouldn’t have come out. I feel really awful.’

  ‘Do you feel safe in the house, though?’ asked James. ‘Given that you’ve had all those weird things happen.’

  ‘James!’ said Katie. ‘Stop that. You’ll frighten her even more.’

  I wasn’t really listening. All I was thinking was that once I saw Matt again, once I got to talk to him, I would ask him about that, ask him why he’d come into the house and sent me messages. I’d ask him why he hadn’t just called me and admitted he wanted to be with me.

  I closed my eyes for a second. I was almost within reach.

  I’ll see him tomorrow.

  It was all I could think about.

  46

  I woke at six. As soon as I turned over and saw the empty space beside me, I remembered that this was the day I’d be seeing Matt. I sat up so quickly I felt light-headed, and realised I’d had nothing to eat the previous day.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, while I waited for the bread to toast, I decided to plan my day on paper rather than write on the units, so ran out to fetch my notebook from my car. I couldn’t risk anyone seeing this.

  Manchester was an hour’s drive from my house, and I knew I’d have to factor in an extra half an hour or so to find his office. I wasn’t familiar with the area and I didn’t want to arrive after he’d gone home. I decided to get there at around 3 p.m., to give myself plenty of time. There was no way Matt would be leaving at that time. He was often late getting home.

  And then I wondered. Did he really work late most nights? Maybe he was seeing his girlfriend then. I thought of days when I’d waited ages for him to come home. Days when dinner was spoiled, the evening ruined, when I’d drink too much just to fill the time. He was ambitious; I’d always known it, and assumed that was why he was out until all hours. It made me work harder too, I have to admit that, but it was lonely at home too. Now I wondered whether he’d been with someone else, someone who’d meant enough for him to do a disappearing act. Well, I’d see what he had to say about that today.

  At times I knew there was a chance, just a small one, that there wasn’t another woman, but without her, none of it made sense. And it was easier to blame her, too, for taking him away. At night I’d burn with jealousy that he had someone else, but by day I knew that if I were to just see him again, just talk to him, he’d remember how much he loved me. And then he’d come back.

  I showered and washed my hair, but when I came to dry it, I just couldn’t make it look as good as I’d been able to do in the past. It was lank and drab. I stared into the mirror in despair. There was no way I could meet him looking like this. One glance at me and he’d be glad he’d left.

  When my usual salon opened, I booked myself in for a cut, highlights, manicure and pedicure. I needed to look the best I could, be the best I could, to keep him. I sighed heavily. The pressure of keeping a relationship going was tremendous, sometimes.

  The last time I’d been to the salon was the weekend before I’d gone to Oxford. Unfortunately, the stylist, Zara, remembered that I’d been going there and asked me all about how the day had gone and what had happened since. She asked me about Matt too, and how he was. Of course I couldn’t tell her he’d left, so I had to rack my brains to think of things he’d been doing lately. It made me realise that he hadn’t talked about any future projects the way he used to do, and I wondered when he’d first thought of leaving his job.

  Zara asked question after question until I felt like I was going to scream. By the time I left the salon, I was a wreck, and although my hair was a bit better, all it seemed to do was emphasise the fact that overall I looked awful. My head was thumping and I thought I wouldn’t go back there again.

  At home, I tried on dress after dress before realising I was treating it like an interview, trying to impress him. I couldn’t give him that power; I couldn’t let him see I’d put in so much effort when he was the one at fault. I searched in my wardrobe and found a turquoise halter top from last summer that I’d loved. Neither the top nor my white jeans were anything like as tight as when I’d worn them last, and I remembered Katie the night before saying, ‘I thought your boobs would be bigger now you’re pregnant!’

  My hands shook as I put my make-up on, and I had to do my eyeliner three times before I was fit to go out. As I applied some lip gloss, I wondered about the protocol when you saw your old boyfriend after he’d been missing for months. Did you kiss? Shake hands? Shake him?

  My heart was beating faster, and despite my efforts, my hands were slick with sweat. All my senses seemed heightened, more vivid, and not for the first time I wondered whether I was going mad.

  It was a weird sensation. On the one hand I was like a child the day before Christmas, wanting to jump up and down with excitement. I just couldn’t wait! On the other, I was te
rrified. I dreaded seeing the look in his eyes when he saw me standing there.

  47

  The drive to Manchester was a familiar one: I’d been there tons of times for work, for shopping, for nights out with Matt and with Katie. I was fine as far as the ring road, but once I left that, I was in unknown territory.

  When I could see from the sat nav that I had less than a mile to go, I pulled over into a tiny car park beside a row of shops and tried to calm myself down. My hands were still damp with sweat; they’d been slipping and sliding on the steering wheel all the way there. I reached into my bag for tissues and dried them, but they were clammy again within seconds. I twisted the rear-view mirror so that I could see my face, and wished I hadn’t. My hair was already lank; beads of perspiration dotted my forehead. My make-up looked awful, caked on my skin. I’d been in such a state when I was putting it on that I’d missed bits, and I looked like a clown. I felt like crying.

  I opened my handbag and took out a little silver mirror. I could only see an inch or two of my face at a time, so it took a while to get it sorted out. I hadn’t been eating properly since Matt left, and it was pretty obvious my skin was suffering. I thought of Katie saying to me, ‘I thought your skin was supposed to glow when you’re pregnant,’ and I wondered how it was that two women could be such good friends but absolutely hate each other at the same time.

  I tried as hard as I could, but I knew that I wouldn’t be looking my best when Matt saw me. But then why should I? Would he warm to me more if I looked happy and pretty and carefree or sad and lank and worn out? I had a horrible feeling I knew the answer to that and had to stop myself thinking about it any further. I just had to go along with the hope that if he could see I’d suffered a bit, he’d feel guilt rather than revulsion.

  I packed my make-up away and started the car again. I had a broad idea where I was going because I could see the map on the sat nav screen, but of course I needed to be in a good position to watch him. I didn’t want to park somewhere he’d see me from inside the building. I also didn’t want him to see me as soon as he came out. Suddenly I wasn’t actually sure whether I wanted him to see me at all today.

  What was important was that I saw him. I wanted control. I wanted to decide what to do about approaching him.

  His office was in the centre of a small shopping complex on the outskirts of Manchester, near the canal. It was a tall modern building made of glass and concrete and it had a car park just beside it, surrounded by trees and leading on to a small grassy area. The area was mainly small offices and shops, though further down the road there were houses and purpose-built apartments. It was a nice area; I could see how he must have been attracted to it when he came for his interview. He must have thought about it all the way home, and then when I was sitting there next to him, too. I wondered what we’d watched on television that night, or whether he’d said he’d rather read. I pictured him pretending to be absorbed, one hand on a glass of beer and the other holding the book steady, thinking about his future. Thinking about his past and how much he didn’t want that life any more.

  He must have looked over at me that evening, watched me laugh at something on the television, and thought, Enjoy it while you can. You can’t plan to go and not think of the consequences.

  At what point did he decide to take my memories away?

  I drove along the road and past his office block. As the building was on my left, the passenger side of the car was nearest the pavement; this meant that if Matt came out of the office, he was less likely to notice me. I went around the block and down the road again and again, trying to see him. A quick look at the car park told me his car wasn’t there, but then I didn’t know whether he was still driving the same car or had sold it. I’d rung round some local garages weeks before, but they hadn’t been able to tell me anything. On the last call, the owner sounded like he thought I was mad, and I’d had to make up a story about how it was my car and it had been stolen. He’d burst into a diatribe about how he didn’t handle stolen goods, then slammed the phone down on me. Later that night I’d looked on Gumtree and Motor Trader and all the other sites I could think of, but I couldn’t see it there, and by 4 a.m. I’d given up as I was going to work in a few hours and I had to try to sleep.

  I found a side road that faced the reception area of his offices and hid behind a row of other cars. I must have sat there for a good couple of hours, my eyes strained for a glimpse of him. The problem with spying on someone is that you can’t relax for a second. You turn to look the other way and your opportunity could be gone. And I didn’t know if he’d be coming up behind me or from the side; whether he’d be going into the building or out. I didn’t even know for sure that he actually worked there.

  At half past five, the building started to empty. First out were the young ones in their early twenties, who left with such intense relief on their faces that I wondered what kind of company Matt had gone to work for. A few minutes later, small groups of men and women in suits came out; clearly there wasn’t a culture of presenteeism. They stood on the pavement chatting, then dispersed to go to the car park or to wait at the bus stop further up the road.

  The car in front of me drove off and I edged forward into a much better position.

  I was just about to turn off the engine when I saw him.

  48

  As soon as he was outside the building, he pulled his tie off. That simple gesture was so familiar to me that immediately tears welled up in my eyes. He rolled it around his hand a few times, then pushed it into his jacket pocket and undid the top button of his shirt.

  I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

  He glanced right and left. I was right in front of him, just a few cars back. If he’d thought to look, he would have seen me there, hunched down like a criminal. He didn’t look, but turned left and started to walk. I leaned forward and watched him as he passed the car park and continued on down the main road.

  Rigid with tension, I slid the car out of the parking space and drove to the end of the side road. By craning my neck, I could see that he was still on the other side of the road. I looked in the rear-view mirror; luckily there was nobody behind me, though someone had already grabbed my parking spot.

  I didn’t know what to do. If I drove past him, I risked him seeing the car. I knew he’d immediately recognise it as the same model as mine. I pictured his eyes narrowing as he looked down at the number plate, followed by shock as he realised it actually was my car. Then a glance, fast as lightning, to the driver’s seat, to see my hair and my profile as I looked at him in my rear-view mirror.

  I wasn’t ready for that. I wanted him to see me when I decided, not because he’d randomly glanced my way.

  A car drove up behind me at the junction and I froze. I didn’t want it to sound its horn at my indecision. I didn’t want to attract Matt’s attention at all.

  There was no choice. I indicated right so that I would be driving down the road at the same time as Matt was walking. I’d try to park somewhere behind him, and just hope he didn’t turn around.

  Luckily the traffic was slow once I was on the main road, and I was able to creep forward. I spotted him ahead of me in the distance, then saw him disappear into a road a hundred yards ahead of me. I glanced at the sat nav and found the road he’d taken. It led to the canal.

  The traffic moved forward and I followed suit. When I reached the road that Matt had turned into, I could see him walking along as though he hadn’t a care in the world. His jacket was off now and he held it over one shoulder. He looked like any young man going home at the end of the working day. I made a quick turn into the same road and parked the car at the kerb some way behind him.

  He walked along for a hundred yards or so and I sat back and watched him, holding my breath. I would have known that walk anywhere. He didn’t look behind him once, clearly completely unaware he was being watched. He was generally oblivious to people around him, I knew that. In the past, we’d go shopping and separate for a while so
we could go into different shops, and when I’d finished I’d always look out for him and follow him for a while without him noticing. You couldn’t do that to me; I was the kind of person who always looked behind them even if there was nobody around.

  And then he walked past a building with black wrought-iron railings and took a left turn at a porter’s lodge. I rolled the car further down the road and stopped to look. The gates were wide open. He hadn’t stopped at the lodge but had gone straight through. I moved further down again, my hands gripping the steering wheel hard.

  The building was one of those Victorian canal warehouses that had been turned into apartments over the last couple of decades. We’d been to a similar one on the Liverpool docks; all brickwork and arches and high-end furnishings. It had belonged to Katie’s friend, who was celebrating her thirtieth birthday and had invited us along. I remembered the conversation we’d had on the way home; Matt had loved the building and talked about it for hours, about how they’d changed the function of it but kept the design to such a high standard. I got fed up with him going on about it and told him that if he liked it so much, he should go and live in one. It looked like he’d taken my advice. This one, though, was far more run-down than the one we’d been to. ‘To Let’ signs hung like bunting from windows, and a row of skips along the wall were piled high with rubble.

  I edged further down the road, not so close that anyone living there would see me, but close enough to get a good view of the place. A couple of minutes later, a light came on in one of the windows, three floors up and just above one of the arched entrances. I saw a figure move across the room. A man. Then the French doors opened, the light went off and he stepped out on to the small balcony.

  It was Matt.

  I slid down low so that he couldn’t see me.

  He stood out on the balcony and undid the buttons of his shirt, then went back into the apartment, leaving the doors wide open. Filmy curtains concealed the interior. I waited to see whether he’d reappear, and after ten minutes he came out again with a mug of something – tea, knowing him – and wearing a T-shirt and jeans. His hair was damp and his feet were bare.