by Alex Preston
Marcus sat staring out of the window at the rain until darkness fell and the City was a smear of office lights seen through the downpour. He lit a cigarette on his way to the Tube and smoked it in four drags before plunging down into Moorgate Station.
Mouse was waiting for him at Euston. He had turned up the collar of his faded velvet jacket and was standing in the centre of the station, entirely still as commuters rushed around him. He had his head turned upwards, surveying the rarely observed heights of the station, taking note of the sooty concrete crevices above him.
‘Hello, sport,’ he said.
Marcus embraced Mouse and dragged him by the arm through the hassled rush of workers. Mouse seemed reluctant to emerge from his reverie; his eyes remained misty as they made their way down Gordon Street to the Union bar where they used to come and drink with Lee.
They sat down in a shadowy corner of the bar. A football game was being shown on a large screen at the other end of the room. Marcus had bought them both a pint and they sat in melancholy silence, half-watching the game. Finally, Mouse turned to Marcus and spoke, twisting his signet ring on his finger as he talked.
‘I’m worried that it was my fault. That I said the wrong words to Lee this weekend.’
Marcus looked up at his friend.
‘Don’t beat yourself up. There probably wasn’t a right thing to say. It’s hard to know how to help someone who’s that far gone.’
‘But if I’d really spoken to her, really broken through . . . She trusted me.’
Marcus sighed and shook his head.
‘We’re all to blame in one way or another.’
They left the bar and walked back to the train station. Marcus rode with Mouse to Kensal Green, left him at the bridge over the canal and strode down Ladbroke Grove until he came to the bus stop. When he got home, Abby was watching television with Darwin curled up in her lap. Marcus poured himself a glass of wine and ran a bath. Abby looked up at him as he passed, but since he said nothing she went back to staring at the TV, her hand thoughtlessly playing with the dog’s long, silky hair.
Marcus ran the bath full and hot, lowering himself down gently into the water, which turned his skin bright pink. He lay back and balanced an ashtray on the dry island of one knee. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke upwards. Abby didn’t like him smoking in the bath. He had filled the glass of wine right to the rim and sat with an empty mind until the bath was tepid and the glass empty. He pulled himself regretfully from the water, tipped the ash down the sink as he brushed his teeth, and then half-read a book until he was too tired to turn the pages. He was asleep before Abby and the dog came to bed.
*
The Course session after the Retreat was always a triumphant one. Friendships that had seemed tentative prior to the weekend away became firmly established: there would be more hugging and some tears, plans to meet up for dinner, for prayer sessions over the next weekend, a general sense of optimism and community. Marcus was dreading this particular session, though. He knew that David wouldn’t let Lee’s absence spoil the celebration, and was expecting the priest’s call when it came the next morning. He was going through one of the Plantagenet Partners documents with a tort law specialist when his phone began to vibrate on the desk.
‘Shit, give me a minute, will you?’
The solicitor backed from the office, shutting the door carefully behind him.
‘Hello?’
David’s voice was smooth and melodic when it came.
‘Marcus, David here. Can you talk?’
‘Yes, it’s fine.’
‘I take it you haven’t heard from Lee?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid.’
‘OK. Well, we can’t let what I’m certain is just another Lee slump ruin the Course for this year. There’s too much at stake. I’ll ask Sally to sit alongside Mouse for their discussion, although he has been carrying that group anyway, so he shouldn’t need her. We’ll have to think about which songs the band can play without Lee. I’m relying on you to be my right-hand man tonight, Marcus.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Marcus paused. ‘Do you think we should call the police, David?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve spoken to her parents, called her priest at home to see if she was there. I thought we’d wait to see if she turns up tonight. If she doesn’t, then I’m afraid we might have to.’
David rung off. Marcus was busy on the case all afternoon, which was growing more complicated and morally dubious by the day. He left work in a hurry and rushed westwards towards St Botolph’s. He arrived to find David standing in the entrance porch, greeting the Course members as they arrived. The priest embraced Marcus, holding on for just long enough to make him feel awkward. Inside the church everything was bathed in soft light. Sally was standing in her usual place above vats of food. Abby and Mouse moved with broad smiles between the groups of old and new Course members. Marcus saw the Earl and Neil talking in one corner. The twins were standing in front of a group of older members and Marcus watched as they struggled to get their words out, talking over each other and supplementing their speech with violent gesticulations. He sat down wearily and waited for David to start.
He thought that the priest looked old. The video screen behind him picked up the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes and accentuated the grey tinge of his skin. His hands quivered a little as he spoke. But the words had the same extraordinary fluidity as before, and David’s eyes sparkled as he spoke of the Retreat, of the beauty of hearing the new members speak in tongues for the first time, the holiness that had suffused the service on Saturday night. No mention was made of Lee, and Marcus noticed that when they got up to play their instruments, Lee’s piano had been pushed back into the shadows of the Lady Chapel.
In the discussion that followed the music, Marcus let Abby guide the group. He sat back and listened as each of the members recounted their experience of the Retreat. Neil was the last to speak, leaning forward in his chair, bald head shining, face flushed and happy, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He talked very quickly, a huge grin sweeping across his face each time he paused for breath.
‘While it was obviously an amazing experience, it was only when I got to work yesterday that I realised quite how much it had changed things. Because that is the point, isn’t it? We should continue to act in our everyday lives as we act here. And David made it very clear to me that this didn’t mean that I couldn’t be ruthless in business. Because that was something that did worry me to start off with. That it might clip the wings of my career if I had to start turning the other cheek on the trading floor. I mean, the markets are a jungle, you know? But it was more that everything seemed to shine. I don’t know how else to put it, but I saw God everywhere. And I felt Him telling me what to do: which trades to put on, which dealers to call. It was quite extraordinary, quite wonderful. I told everyone about the Course. Really didn’t mind what they thought of me. I’m proud to be a member. Proud and humbled.’
Out of breath, he stopped and beamed round at the group. There was a thin patter of applause. At the end of the session Neil helped Marcus to stack chairs.
‘It also helped that the Earl gave my bank some of his cash to manage. I had realised that he was rich, but not that rich. I think it’s a great idea to give each other a leg-up professionally. Do let me know if there’s anything the bank is doing on the legal side that you want a piece of.’
Marcus smiled thinly. Abby was waiting for him in the porch when he came upstairs.
‘David wants to see us in the rectory. Mouse is already over there.’ Her voice had been emotionless since the previous evening. She walked in front of him down the path to the Nightingales’ house where Mouse and the Earl were in the drawing room, sitting in large, comfortable armchairs. Mouse had one of the gold cushions clutched against his belly. David poured out glasses of wine and called to Sally, who came in from the kitchen. He addressed them in a low voice, his hands clasped in front of him.
‘I’m afra
id we have still heard nothing from Lee. I’m worried and I know you all are, too. I think we will have to call the police. I spoke to her father earlier and he still seems to think that she will turn up. I'm inclined to agree, but we need to err on the side of caution. I’m going to go down to the station tomorrow morning and tell them what we know. You should all expect to be questioned, I suppose.’
He paused, reached across to his glass of wine, and took a long swig. He patted his lips with the back of his hand.
‘I probably don’t need to tell you that there is a great deal of interest in what we do here at the Course. Some think that this is a cult, a movement with political designs or something equally ridiculous. Discretion is paramount when speaking with anyone from outside our group, especially given where we are with the expansion. Any kind of scandal could scupper the whole US project. Now, I’m certain that they will find Lee very quickly. But until that point, less is more when you are speaking to the police. I hope that I’ve made myself clear.’
Marcus and Abby stayed a while longer and then walked in silence down to the King’s Road, where they hailed a taxi. Abby carried Darwin in her handbag, his pink tongue the only thing visible in the darkness of the cab. They sat in silence as the taxi moved up through Kensington. Marcus pressed his nose to the cold, shuddering glass of the window when they passed Lee’s flat. There were no lights on. Darwin was panting and Abby absent-mindedly reached out a hand to fondle his ear. They went to bed without having dinner.
Marcus had expected the police to call him the next day, but it wasn’t until Friday that his telephone rang. He was in the office trying to make sense of a legal document that had been translated very badly from Cantonese. He sat bent over the desk, tugging at a fistful of hair as he read. His phone vibrated in the pocket of his suit jacket. He fished it out and answered it.
‘Hello.’
‘Marcus Glass?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Detective Inspector Farley here, from West End Central Police.’
Marcus felt his heart quicken.
‘I was wondering whether we might meet up to have a chat about your friend Lee? Perhaps I could come and see you and your wife this evening. Kill two birds with one stone, as it were.’
‘Yes, that’d be fine. Seven o’clock?’
Marcus and Abby sat at the dining table in silence as the clock crept towards seven. Darwin was sleeping in Abby’s lap. The television flickered in the corner of the room but neither of them was watching it. Marcus had brought the Chinese document home and was using a thesaurus to try and force meaning into the nonsensical sentences; Abby was reading one of the anti-religious texts that so fascinated her. When the doorbell rang they both jumped up from their seats. Darwin yelped as he was deposited onto the floor. Marcus let Farley into the flat.
The policeman was a tall man in his late thirties, with a thick head of black hair. He was wearing a suit with a blue pinstripe. Marcus thought he looked like a lawyer. He carried the same air of fragile amiability.
‘I won’t take up too much of your time,’ he said, sitting down opposite them at the table. ‘I just have a few questions.’
‘Would you like a coffee? Some tea?’ Abby half-rose from her chair, again sending Darwin tumbling to the ground.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
The policeman drew out a leather notebook and a thin silver propelling pencil. He opened the book and Marcus watched him make a careful note of the date.
‘You were both very close to Lee Elek, is that correct?’
They nodded.
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
Abby looked across at Marcus and then spoke. Her voice quivered and Marcus could see her worrying at the hem of her cardigan under the table.
‘I went upstairs with her on Saturday night. It was quite late, perhaps two thirty. We had been for a walk to get some fresh air, we came back, Marcus and Mouse – that’s Alastair Burrows – stayed in the dining room to clear up while Lee and I went to bed. I said goodnight to her at the door of her room and that was the last I saw of her.’
‘And had anything happened that evening that made you think she might disappear like this? An argument, for instance?’
Abby placed her hands flat on the table. Marcus could see that she had been biting her nails during the day. The skin around her cuticles was red and frayed.
‘No. I mean, Lee was always a little bit volatile, a bit up and down, but nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘What about you, Marcus?’
Marcus tried to keep his voice steady. The policeman was staring down at his notebook and so Marcus couldn’t look him in the eyes, but he fixed his gaze where he thought the policeman’s eyes would be were he to look up.
‘No. Nothing. As Abby says, Lee was prone to feeling quite low.’
‘So no arguments between you and Lee.’
‘No.’
The policeman wrote something down, the book now tilted away from Marcus so that he couldn’t read it. There was a long pause, then Farley looked up, fixing Marcus with impassive grey eyes.
‘Right, that’s funny, because we have accessed Lee’s mobile phone records and there’s a message from you on Sunday night apologising to her and begging her to come back. Now, if nothing had happened, doesn’t that strike you as a trifle strange? Hold on, I have it here.’
Farley drew out a digital dictaphone, fiddled for a moment and then placed it down on the table. Marcus heard his own voice, tinny and tired-sounding, fading to a whisper at the end. Abby turned to him, her eyebrows boomeranging questions. He could see her struggling to control her expression as she turned to the policeman. Marcus looked down with horror at the dictaphone.
‘Oh, I know what that’s about,’ Abby said brightly. ‘Lee had asked us to look after Darwin for a few days while she went away. She was always saying she needed to clear her head, get away from London. I said we couldn’t. We both work and – well, these few days with the dog have been a pain. Marcus was just letting her know that she should come back, that we were sorry we hadn’t been more understanding. Lee took offence very easily. We were always apologising for one thing or another.’
The policeman scribbled a few lines and then looked up at them sharply.
‘This whole process is going to be much easier if you answer my questions clearly and truthfully. Otherwise, I fear we’re going to run into some difficulties. Now that’s all for the moment. I’ll let you know when I need to speak to you again.’
Marcus showed Farley to the door. When he came back into the drawing room, Abby was still sitting at the table staring straight ahead.
‘Was that true? Did she ask us to look after the dog?’ he asked, crossing the room to stand in front of her, placing his hands on the table and leaning down to position himself in her line of vision.
‘Why did you call her and apologise?’ Her voice was very flat and she refused to meet his eyes. ‘I think you need to tell me why I just lied for you.’
‘I don’t . . . I can’t really . . .’ Feeling things spiralling away from him, Marcus pressed down on the table to try to still his spinning mind. He forced himself to take slower breaths, attempted to make his voice measured and rational. ‘It was nothing. We had an argument while you and Mouse were down at the bridge over the motorway. I told her she needed to see a shrink. She thought I was being patronising. You know how she is.’
Abby sat silently for a while, seeming to weigh his words. Then she stood up, lifting Darwin from her lap and placing him in Marcus’s arms.
‘David and Sally asked me over for dinner. I’m supposed to be there at eight. Will you be able to fix something for yourself?’ Her voice softened suddenly. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been tetchy. It’s been difficult, with Lee and everything . . .’
When Abby had left, Marcus sat and watched a game of football with the dog sleeping at his feet. When the final whistle blew, he staggered to the kitchen to find something to eat. He was very tir
ed. He looked in the fridge and couldn’t find anything he wanted. Darwin came and sniffed at his feet. He put some slices of ham on a plate and went back to sit on the sofa. He and Darwin shared the food; he amused himself by making the dog jump in the air to catch bites of the tasteless, watery meat. Marcus went to bed before Abby came home, vaguely aware of her sliding in next to him very late, her large, hot body pressing against his in the darkness.
*
After the service on Sunday morning, Marcus and Abby went for lunch at the rectory. It was a bright, crisp day. A smudge of pigeons wheeled high overhead as they walked down the path that led from the church through the graveyard to the tall white house. Marcus was always touched to see fresh flowers on graves here. It comforted him that forty, fifty years after death there were still people who cared enough about those who had gone before to leave these lavish bouquets, tied with lengths of bright ribbon, rarely allowing the flowers to grow withered and yellow like the bones beneath them.
Marcus sat facing the window. A slab of sunlight cut across the table and dazzled him. He shifted his chair first one way, then another, but couldn’t escape the searing light that burned green and purple patterns across his retinas and left his head pounding. Marcus gulped glass after glass of water and half-listened to Abby and Mouse talking at the end of the table.
David seemed distracted during lunch and rose several times to use the telephone in his study upstairs. Marcus heard the low mutter of his voice coming down through the floorboards, but couldn’t make out any words. Only once they were drinking coffee, and the sun had moved round enough that Marcus could at last escape its interrogatory light, did David speak to the table.
‘There have been some developments,’ he said, then cleared his throat. ‘They have found Marcus’s car. It was parked near Banbury railway station. They are looking at CCTV images from last Sunday to try and work out which direction she took. Once she’s on the rail network it simplifies tracing her. I had a long conversation with D.I. Farley last night and he remains confident that she’ll turn up safe and sound.’ The priest smiled.