by Alex Preston
‘I should go and wake Lee. It isn’t like her to sleep in: she’s usually the first one up.’
He waited and listened as Abby went out of the room. He heard Lee’s door squeak as it opened and he realised that he had heard the same sound repeatedly in the night – it brought back the dry-mouth panic of his nightmares. Abby came back in.
‘She’s not there. Maybe she went down to the chapel early. I tried her phone but it went straight to voicemail.’
They walked down the stairs together. The Earl and Mouse were talking in the centre of the entrance hall. Mouse watched them descend with a thin smile on his lips. The Earl turned towards them.
‘Young Mouse and I were discussing the paintings here. I bought them on Cork Street over the years. No idea who they are or who painted them. Unless it says on the frame, of course. They come, I suppose, from country-house clear-outs; I like to think of them as my family. Who knows, some of them might be.’
They made their way out into the damp morning air and down to the chapel. The Earl walked beside Marcus, leaning towards him conspiratorially.
‘I don’t know if you heard me last night telling Neil about this uranium mine in Azerbaijan. Astonishing money to be made out there. And some useful tax loopholes to exploit. Let me know if you’d like to put a bit of cash in. Wouldn’t have to be a lot. I like to throw a bone the way of you youngsters every so often . . . ’
Marcus hardly heard him, mumbled something, and then let the Earl’s long strides carry him on ahead. Marcus stopped at the entrance to the church and looked back up at the huge house. Smoke drifted from the high chimneys, rooks squabbled on the roof. He made out the window to Lee’s room. The glass reflected the grey streaks of the sky. Abby called his name and he walked through the dark archway and into the chapel.
Lee wasn’t inside. Marcus and Abby walked to the stage where Mouse was already sitting behind his drum kit, spinning his sticks and making rat-a-tat noises with his mouth. David and Sally Nightingale were sitting in the front pew, both of their heads bowed in prayer. The Earl made his way in to sit beside them. Abby and Marcus sat on the edge of the stage. She took his hand and whispered to him.
‘Where’s Lee? We can’t play some of the songs without her. It’s really very bad of her not to turn up.’
The remaining Course members filed into the church and David walked slowly up to the stage. Marcus thought he detected a slight limp as the priest climbed up behind the lectern.
‘Welcome, all of you. I hope there aren’t too many sore heads. The Retreat will be formally over after this service, but we’ll all be around to chat, to answer questions, to have a cup of coffee afterwards. Now let us pray.’
The service dragged by. Marcus felt as if he was watching it from a great distance, that time was being spooled out terribly slowly. Each time he looked at his watch he couldn’t believe that only three or four minutes had passed since his last surreptitious glance. David insisted on the Sunday service being a formal Holy Communion, and the Earl and Sally acted as sacristans, preparing the bread and wine. Marcus knew how different the words of the service would sound to the new members now that they were fully initiated: charged with extraordinary meaning and significance, no longer the repetition of stale prayers but rich with the promise of greater revelation. He looked over at Abby, whose mouth hung eagerly open, as if inhaling the words, preparing for the joy of Communion. The twins sat in the front row, beaming, barely able to keep their heads lowered during the prayers. Only Maki looked bored. Marcus saw her flicking through the pages of the hymnal, a sad smile on her lips. The band played songs that they knew well enough to cover Lee’s absence and then the service was over and the Course members filed out into the grey morning.
Mouse offered Marcus a cigarette and they walked over to the edge of the woods, looking down through the trees to the lake. Abby, continuing up the hill towards the house, called down to them.
‘I’m going to find Lee. What time are you thinking of heading home? We should probably offer to stick around and help clear up. We might even get a bite to eat.’
Marcus drew on his cigarette.
‘I think I’d like to get back. Let’s head off as soon as we can without being rude. You OK with that, Mouse?’
‘Sure, grand. I’m going to sleep all the way home.’
They stood and smoked. Mouse had picked up a stick and was tracing patterns in the ground with it. Marcus tried to read something in the runes that Mouse left in the red earth at his feet, but lost himself in the snaking furrows. He found a stone and threw it as hard as he could towards the lake. It landed well short, plunging down through the canopy of trees, sending a pair of jackdaws up squawking into the sky. He saw Abby standing at the back door as he came up towards the house. She scurried down towards them.
‘I think she’s gone. I think Lee has left like Philip did. Her handbag is gone. Some of her clothes, too. We should tell David. Will you come with me?’
Marcus, feeling suddenly sick, ground his cigarette out in the damp grass.
‘Sure, I’ll come.’
The Nightingales were packing in their room when the three friends knocked on the door.
‘Come in!’ David’s voice was husky. He was standing over the bed folding a pair of identical white shirts. ‘Hi, guys. How can I help?’
Abby stepped forward. Marcus could see that Sally Nightingale was packing her underwear and was attempting to manoeuvre the black lace pile into a suitcase and out of sight.
‘It’s Lee. We can’t find her anywhere. She was, well you know how she gets sometimes . . . She was on the edge of one of her slumps last night. I worry that she might have gone home.’
David stood up straight and looked directly at Marcus.
‘I know about Philip. You should have told me before taking him away from here. Sometimes the people who have the strongest reaction against the Retreat are those who are closest to letting God into their hearts. I should have spoken to him before he went. I would have made him stay. We can’t afford to lose people. You know that.’
Marcus, feeling his hangover throbbing behind his eyes, stared back at the priest.
‘I just don’t agree with keeping people here against their will. He would have taken a taxi if I hadn’t driven him. At least the car journey gave me some time to work on him. He may come back, and at least then it’ll be his choice.’
David narrowed his eyes.
‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Lee’s. I could wring her neck. But let’s find her first. Didn’t she do something like this a few years back? Someone found her curled up with a book out of sight somewhere, as I remember it. Has anyone tried calling her mobile? She’s probably still drunk from last night.’
‘It’s turned off,’ Mouse said. ‘I’ve tried a few times.’
They made their way back downstairs together. The Earl and Mrs Millman were waiting in the gloomy hallway. David went to stand beside them and turned to face the three friends.
‘You take the top floor, Marcus. Mouse and Abby, why don’t you have a look in the woods? She might have gone for a walk. We’ll search the ground floor.’
Marcus took the steps up two by two, reached the landing and turned right, away from the east wing where they had been staying. He walked along another long corridor whose doors opened into empty, silent rooms. A rocking horse stood against the wall halfway along the corridor. He stood and placed his hand on its cool, mottled haunches. A child’s hand had ripped clumps from the mane, the tail was now just a few white hairs. The saddle was worn slick, the bridle broken and hanging down from between the horse’s square white teeth in two ragged strands. Marcus gave the horse a gentle push and it lurched forward, a painful shriek of protest coming from the rust-sealed joints. He walked on, and the eerie screeching of the horse pursued him as he went.
A spiral staircase led up to the tower he had seen from the lake. He ran up the steps and into a dust-filled study. Books lined the walls and a cluttered desk stood a
gainst the far wall. In the centre of the desk there was a half-drunk bottle of brandy next to four crystal glasses. One of the glasses was still full. Marcus went over to the desk, sniffed the brandy in the glass and downed it. He cleared the burn from his throat and went back down the steps.
Through a pair of white swing doors, and around a corner, he found himself in a corridor identical to the one that led to their rooms. He looked out of the window onto the courtyard below and realised that he must be in the west wing. The rooms here were largely unused, full of crates and piles of books and furniture covered in dust sheets. Paintings in chipped frames were stacked facing the wall. He came upon the room with a frieze of mermaids that Mouse had spoken about. The frieze was set in the wall above a huge four-poster bed that sagged when Marcus knelt upon it. The fish-tailed women were very beautiful, breasts jutting out from the tresses of hair that fell around them, stomachs flat and swimming-toned. Marcus ran his hand slowly over the bas-relief carvings. Sea horses and dolphins frolicked behind the women, and in the background whales lurked in the depths. Marcus eased himself off the bed and crossed to the gabled window, opened it and leaned out. From his lofty vantage point he looked down on the gravel driveway below. The day had all the grey hopelessness of late October.
Nightingale’s silver Mercedes saloon was parked next to the Earl’s Bentley. The bus that was due to take the Course members back down to London was sitting with its engine idling on the other side of the turning circle. But his car, which he had parked under the branches of a pine tree when he had come back from dropping Philip at the station, was gone. He ran back down the blank, cold corridors, past the staircase leading up to the tower, and along to his room. He looked on the dresser for his car keys. Then, flinging aside Abby’s neatly folded clothes, he searched for the jeans he had worn the previous day. The pockets were empty. He walked down to the entrance hall where David and the Earl were standing drinking mugs of tea.
‘She’s gone,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ David looked at him with raised eyebrows.
‘She’s gone. She has taken my car. Let me try her phone again.’
He reached into his pocket and dialled her number. Lee’s voice asked him to leave a message. Mouse and Abby came into the hall.
‘Lee has taken the car.’
‘Really? She’s a terrible driver. I mean, not to worry you or anything, but she honestly doesn’t know one end of a car from the other. She drove me back from the pub once when I went to stay with her. Terrifying.’ Mouse smiled at Marcus and started climbing the staircase. ‘I’m sure she’ll be full of contrition when we get back to London. Now I’m going to finish packing.’
‘I would offer you three a ride home with us, but I’m afraid we’ve got my guitar and our suitcases. There’s plenty of space in the bus.’ David patted Marcus on the shoulder. ‘I know it’s a pain, but I’m afraid it’s just the price we pay for knowing someone as unique as Lee. She gets these mad spells. But Mouse is right, she’ll be fine back in London. She was probably just missing Darwin.’
*
Marcus pressed his cheek to the cold window as the bus edged through shuffling traffic along the Banbury Road to the motorway. Abby had made them ham sandwiches. He gnawed listlessly at a corner, his mouth dry. He slept for a while. When he awoke they were at Hillingdon, creeping along in the slow lane. Maki was staring out at the traffic crawling along the grey motorway, headphones on. She tapped her nails on the glass. The twins were chattering at the front, trying to catch the driver’s attention, laughing wildly at private jokes. It had started to rain and the rhythmic swooshing of the wipers lulled Marcus back to sleep. When he woke again they were back at the church.
He lifted his suitcase from the rack above the seats and made his way down the aisle. As he stepped from the coach into the cold rain, Maki took his elbow.
‘I’m not coming back,’ she said. ‘I thought I should tell you. You’ve been very good to me. Goodbye, Marcus.’ She smiled at him, turned, and walked down the path, lifting a small black umbrella over her head.
Marcus and Abby took a taxi home. Abby went to bed as soon as they were in the door, kissing him and trying to drag him with her. He pulled away, called Lee’s mobile again and then decided to walk down Kensington Church Street to her flat. Sunday sadness enveloped Notting Hill Gate. Tramps huddled in the entrance of the Tube as he passed, their breath steaming, hand-rolled cigarettes held up to emphasise their words as they shouted at each other. Italian tourists stood with their hands stretched out, bewildered by the rain: they had heard that the English weather was bad, but this? Marcus held his law-firm umbrella over his head, imagining himself inside a protective bubble. The rain pattered down on the stretched fabric. The sound seemed to move in time with his footsteps, rippling through the patterns of his thoughts until everything was dominated by the syncopated rattle of the rain. Marcus started to look for his car where the road described a dramatic chicane and began its descent to Kensington High Street. When he came to Lee’s door, he rang the bell, stood back, and waited.
Her flat was at the top of a tall building whose ground floor housed an antique bookshop. Marcus could make out a first edition of Surprised by Joy in the window, alongside a series of framed etchings of famous composers. Higher up, the building was striped with red and white bricks. It was a feature of many of the houses in the area and always put Marcus in mind of a series of lighthouses standing sentry over the sweep of Kensington and Chelsea below them. Marcus rang the bell again. A face peered out from a window on the second floor, then disappeared. Marcus was about to leave when the door opened a crack.
‘Are you a friend of Lee Elek?’ The voice was that of an old woman. She was lost in the shadows of the hallway and Marcus couldn’t see her face. He walked up as close as he could to the door and peered inside.
‘Yes, I am.’
The door opened for an instant and the woman dropped something into Marcus’s arms. It was Darwin. The dog, recognising a friend, gave a contented yelp and reached up to lick Marcus’s face.
‘I looked after the dog all weekend. She said she’d be back by lunchtime. I’m going to my book club tonight and I simply can’t have the thing yipping around my heels. Goodbye.’
The door shut firmly in Marcus’s face. He carried Darwin under the shelter of the umbrella as he walked back home, letting the small brown dog nuzzle against his cheek. His fur was sleek and soft. Marcus let Darwin tumble onto the floor of the flat as he came inside. Abby was still asleep and so Marcus placed some slices of salami and smoked salmon on a plate for the dog in the kitchen and stretched out along the sofa, his head and joints aching. He dialled Lee’s mobile again. He listened to her message, was about to hang up, and then stopped. He spoke in a whisper, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.
‘It’s Marcus. If you get this, please give me a call. I’m sorry for what happened, I really am. Please come back.’
Abby walked into the room and he hung up quickly.
‘What’s Darwin doing here?’
‘I went down to Lee’s. The batty old woman who looks after the dog when Lee isn’t there literally threw him at me.’
‘So she isn’t back yet?’
‘No.’
‘Are you worried?’
Marcus paused.
‘I’m always worried about Lee. But you know somehow that she’ll always be OK. She has a weird resiliency. She’ll turn up and be charmingly repentant and we’ll all have to forgive her.’
Abby made dinner and they went to bed early, Darwin slumped across their feet. In the middle of the night the dog woke and scratched at the door. Marcus realised that there was nowhere for the animal to crap and so, wrapping a dressing gown around himself and slipping a pair of trainers on his feet, he carried the dog downstairs. In the emptiness of the early hours of Monday morning he stood watching the quivering buttocks of the sausage dog as he forced out a stringy shit. The first planes were queuing to land at Heathrow. He thought
about how he used to sit with Lee on her tiny terrace and watch them cruise across the sky. He could tell that Darwin missed Lee. He scooped the dog under his arm and made his way back to bed.
Part Three
Exodus
One
The next day Marcus sat in his office and made telephone calls. It was raining again and he was waiting to receive documents from the shady portfolio manager at Plantagenet Partners. He sat with his feet against the glass of the window, his chair reclined and the phone in his lap. Abby had taken Darwin to the church with her and he could hear the dog barking in the background when he called her. There was still no news of Lee and Marcus continued to dial her mobile, his fingers skipping over the numbers on his phone, tracing the pattern that meant Lee to him. He spoke to Mouse, who was somewhere high in Senate House: the howling wind made conversation almost impossible, but they arranged to meet for a drink that evening.
Finally, Marcus looked through his address book until he found Lee’s parents’ number. He dialled it and waited. An old man answered, his heavily accented voice high and impatient.
‘Yes?’
‘Um, hi. Is that Mr Elek?’
‘Yes. This is Lazlo Elek. Who is this?’
‘It’s Marcus Glass. I’m a friend of your daughter.’
‘Yes?’
‘Listen, she’s not with you by any chance? I mean, I was hoping to get in touch with her and she doesn’t seem to be answering her phone. I wondered if she might be with you.’
‘No, she’s not here. And you’re the second person to call for her. That priest of hers was on the phone earlier. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see you. Did you think of that? Poor girl might want to be left alone.’
‘I’m worried about her, Mr Elek.’
The old man’s voice suddenly softened.
‘Don’t worry about Lee. What did you say your name was? Marcus? Ah yes, you came up to visit, didn’t you? Lee will be just fine. We’re stronger than people think, the Eleks. I’ll let you know when I hear from her. Goodbye.’