The Day We Disappeared

by Lucy Robinson

  Was there something you could do about poor memory? I wondered, as Stephen kissed my forehead. My head was so unreliable at the moment.

  ‘Stephen, you’re our saviour,’ Lizzy said, arriving back. ‘Thank you a thousand times over.’

  ‘You’re welcome. She’s quite a worry, this one. But very endearing.’ He slid his arm round my waist.

  ‘Tell me about it. Well, we’d better go. See you soon, Stephen.’ She kissed his cheek.

  ‘Thank you again,’ I said, throwing my arms around my man as Lizzy wobbled off in her Peak District-unfriendly sundress and heels. ‘I promise to stop being so useless.’

  Stephen tucked my hair behind my ear. ‘I’m keeping an eye on you,’ he said. ‘If it gets really bad we’ll ask Tim for a consultation. Anyway, I’m glad to be seeing you again. I wanted to give you a special Mum’s-birthday cuddle.’

  He held me tight and I felt great swells of both happiness and grief. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered into his chest. ‘Thank you.’ As our relationship and the summer had progressed, I’d found myself still unable to tell Stephen about Mum. He knew she was dead, of course – we’d talked often about how it felt to be in the world without a mother, but I hadn’t found the right moment to tell him how she’d died, or how it had eventually led to my teenage crisis. Then one day a couple of weeks ago he’d arrived in my Annie Kingdom just as I was about to break for lunch, his face white with shock.

  ‘Tell me,’ he’d said. ‘Annabel Mulholland, the Peak District, 1987. Tell me Georgie Mulholland wasn’t your mum. Oh, God, please tell me I’ve somehow got it wrong.’

  I had sighed, closing the door behind him so that we had some privacy. I loathed it when this happened. I had yet to find a way of coping with the horror that crossed people’s faces when they realized I was that Annabel Mulholland. The poor girl whose mother was raped and murdered in the woods during a birthday game of hide and seek. The girl whose face had been in every newspaper for weeks, whose name was branded on a generation of minds. When I’d finally got myself sufficiently together to try a day at a sixth-form college in Chesterfield some awful man from a tabloid had sprung out of nowhere and taken a picture of me. ‘Daughter of Murder Victim Starts College’ the headline had read.

  I had never gone back.

  ‘Tash just sent me a link to an old article,’ Stephen had said quietly. ‘She said she’d always thought she recognized your name and … Oh, God. I don’t even know what to say. My poor, poor sweet little girl.’

  Now in the station he held me tightly. ‘I’m sure your mum knows you go up and celebrate her birthday every year. I bet it means the world to her to know you’re both still looking after your dad.’

  Announcements were made, tickets were bought, trains were missed. I was in a little sub-dimension of my own. Everything felt good when Stephen was nearby, even on days like today. He helped me on to the train, then insisted on putting my overnight bag on the luggage rack.

  We stood in the vestibule by the door so he wouldn’t get trapped, kissing and giggling like teenagers. Stephen kept squeezing my plait. Lizzy came out and told us to get a room.

  Eventually the train manager got on the Tannoy and asked anyone not travelling to disembark, and Stephen gave me one last lingering kiss.

  Just as the doors locked.

  ‘Shit. I’ll climb out of the window.’

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘That’s mad and dangerous. What if the train pulls away?’ I grabbed his pocket, as if that was going to stop him.

  ‘I have to get off! I have back-to-back meetings this morning!’ He pawed at the window as the train began to move.

  ‘You’ll die! Which is at odds with my plans for you! You’ll have to get off at Leicester.’

  ‘Leicester?’ Stephen pulled the window down, his handsome face creased with laughter. ‘I DON’T WANT TO SPEND THE DAY IN BLOODY LEICESTER! LET ME OFF!’

  It was too late. The train was gathering pace. Stephen and I stared at each other, then burst out laughing. ‘Leicester it is,’ he said resignedly. ‘I’d better call Tash and have her reschedule everything. Unbelievable!’

  When we found Lizzy, she was unsurprised. ‘Twatfinks,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to come to see Dad, Stephen. He’ll be very excited.’

  Stephen smiled. ‘I doubt that,’ he said. ‘I’ll get off at the next stop.’

  I was thinking hard. Maybe he should come. I’d wanted to wait until … until what? Until I knew he was someone Dad could trust? I knew that already!

  ‘I actually think she’s right,’ I said. ‘Dad would be thrilled to meet you. I told him about you the other weekend and he was really pleased.’

  That was a slight lie. But Dad would have been suspicious of anyone I got involved with.

  Stephen looked worried. ‘It’d be a bit rude to just barge in without having been invited,’ he said. ‘Your dad’s probably really looking forward to seeing his girls. And from the sound of it, this is quite a big deal, him going for a walk with his daughters after being trapped for so long in his house. It should be just the three of you.’

  Lizzy brushed him aside. ‘Tosh. He’d rather meet you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Okay! But I’d have brought something for him if I’d known. I’ve got a lovely book about Borges that he’d enjoy. And some lovely Rioja. Damn.’

  I slid my arms around him. ‘How did you know he likes Rioja? And Borges?’

  I could feel Stephen shaking his head above me in Lizzy’s direction. ‘This girl forgets literally everything,’ he told her. ‘Every conversation we’ve had just disappears out of her mind. And she seems to be getting worse, not better.’

  Lizzy agreed. ‘She’s forgotten my birthday five times in the last ten years. Once she called me Andrew. Andrew?’

  Having failed to persuade us to upgrade to first, Stephen went off up the long, snaking train to buy us pastries, and Lizzy and I settled in for a good gossip.

  We’d hardly dared talk about the changes that Dad seemed to be making in his life lest we jinx the whole thing. But as the weeks passed it had got harder to deny that things were on the move. He was doing his own grocery shopping, he was posting letters and he’d even started gardening.

  ‘Dad’s really gone to war with agoraphobia,’ Lizzy said proudly. ‘And all without our interference. Isn’t he wonderful?’

  ‘Beyond wonderful,’ I agreed. ‘Today is huge.’

  Dad had emailed last week asking if we were planning to come up for Mum’s birthday, as usual. We’d both said yes and then – to our absolute astonishment – he’d replied saying that he wanted to go for a walk along Froggatt Edge, Mum’s favourite in the Peaks, and afterwards he wanted to go for a cream tea at a pub Mum used to take us to when we were tiny.

  Lizzy and I had called each other and cried.

  ‘… and I didn’t want to say anything,’ I told her now, ‘but I have a feeling he might have a girlfriend.’

  Lizzy was gob-smacked. ‘WHAT? Tell me everything you know!’ she hissed.

  I told her everything I knew and she looked slightly disappointed. ‘Oh. Is that it?’

  ‘What do you mean, is that it? There’s more than enough evidence here! He’s admitted he’s dating, he’s cleaned the house and he’s buying new clothes. No jogging bottoms in sight! The dropped call was the clincher, though.’ I giggled. ‘The sly old fox.’

  ‘But how do you know it wasn’t a marketing call?’ Lizzy still wasn’t convinced.

  ‘I just knew. Remember when we were teenagers? Calling boys? We’d always put the phone down if one of their parents picked up!’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Lizzy snorted.

  ‘Oh. Well, I did.’

  ‘Of course you did, Flannie. God, I’ll be so happy if Dad’s met someone.’

  ‘Me too. I love him so much.’

  ‘Well, he loves you too,’ Lizzy reminded me. ‘He loves you very much.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Stephen asked. He
bore a bag of pastries and a smile. ‘Tim?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Tim loves you very much?’

  Lizzy looked confused. ‘No, we were talking about Dad.’

  ‘Oh! Silly me. Sorry.’

  ‘Although I’m convinced Tim does too,’ Lizzy muttered.

  ‘Oh, Lizzy, don’t …’

  ‘Me too!’ Stephen jumped in. ‘I’m certain of it! Didn’t I tell you, Annie?’

  ‘You did. And I’m telling you. Both of you. There’s about as much chance of Tim fancying me as there is of Lizzy seducing Boris Johnson.’

  Lizzy frowned. ‘I’ve always had a bit of a thing about Bozza, as it goes …’ She looked preoccupied. ‘Stephen, this is really interesting. Do you really think Tim’s pining after Annie? Because I’ve thought that for bloody years.’

  Stephen looked at me, to check I didn’t mind this conversation happening. I did mind. ‘Stop it,’ I said. ‘Both of you.’

  ‘He turned up at her house the night before last,’ Stephen stage-whispered to Lizzy. ‘Late.’

  ‘Eh?’ Lizzy and I said, at the same time.

  ‘You went to bed before me, remember? I was downstairs catching up on emails and he knocked. I saw him through the peephole. He was visibly drunk so I crept away. Does he do that often? Because it seemed a bit weird to me.’

  I was thrown. Why on earth had Tim turned up at my house? Could Stephen actually be on to something?

  Lizzy was pretty grossed out, too. ‘That’s just weird,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t sound like Tim. God, Annie, maybe you’ve made him lose his mind.’

  ‘I’m not having this conversation. This is Tim we’re talking about, not some freak. He often works late at Homerton Hospital – he was probably just walking past.’

  ‘Walking past your house on his way to Bethnal Green? Really?’

  After a long pause, during which I had to admit to myself that it was indeed quite strange, Stephen said, ‘Just keep an eye on him. We men are pretty determined when we want something!’

  Lizzy shoved a pastry into her mouth. She didn’t like it either.

  Dad and Stephen got on like a house on fire. Dad had lent Stephen a summer waterproof and some walking boots from his own sizeable collection – which had sat unused for more than a decade – and thought Stephen looked ‘very fine’ in them. I agreed readily. Every now and then I weakened and tried to kiss him unobtrusively, and every time Dad clocked us and I felt like a teenager caught groping her spotty boyfriend.

  Dad and Stephen walked together for a good hour while Lizzy and I trailed behind. Froggatt Edge was beautiful today: rugged and scrubby, the heathery wildness of White Edge looming off to our left and the Derwent snaking through the valley far below. Only tiny shreds of cloud broke up the vast blue sheet of sky overhead.

  ‘This is the happiest day,’ I said to Lizzy. ‘Look. Look at Dad, just walking.’

  Lizzy nodded. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said softly. ‘Daddy.’

  ‘And he even seems to like Stephen. Would you believe it, Dad agreeing to trust him, just like that?’ Dad laughed at something Stephen was saying.

  ‘There is literally nothing not to like about your boyfriend, though.’

  ‘It makes it very easy, being with a man who gets on so well with everyone. I have no idea how he does it – he just seems to fit in wherever he goes. He’s so bloody charming! And yet it’s all real, too.’

  Lizzy made a vomiting noise.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, I’m just jealous. And you’re right – having someone you know everyone’ll like makes all the difference. When’s he going to meet Kate?’

  A hawk was circling overhead, uninterested in the monumental events that were unfolding below. ‘Soon, hopefully. She’s been quite shit at keeping in touch since she went off to this farm, but Stephen’s up for taking a trip to meet her, maybe in September. I just need to get her to be a bit less vague and flaky so we can actually make a plan. I mean, I don’t even know if the farm’s in Ireland! All I know is that it’s really remote because her phone doesn’t work any more. She’s being very mysterious, you know.’

  ‘Sounds like a scandal to me!’

  ‘Probably, knowing Kate. Well, next time she calls I’m going to demand full disclosure and a farm invite. I need her to meet Stephen – she’s very excited about him.’

  ‘Ah, young love.’ Lizzy beamed. ‘You’re so proud of him, and it’s very sweet.’

  ‘Your turn next, Lizzy Lou.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She gazed out at the view, a little shadow falling over her pretty face. ‘I really must stop this stupid dating nonsense and try to meet a proper person I want to be with all the time.’ She tucked a windblown strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Although that’s pretty scary.’

  I wanted to hug my beautiful sister. I wanted to tell her that what we’d been through was not a life sentence, that it could be overcome and the patterns broken.

  But I trusted her to find this out for herself. She was a formidable woman, Lizzy Mulholland, and the fact that we were even having this conversation meant that she was on her way.

  Later, we went to a pub tucked away by the river outside Hathersage. We sat outside, even though it was still windy, and ate scones, cream and jam, and drank three large pots of tea between us, which left us a bit wired and maybe a little more open than we would normally have been.

  ‘I want to propose a toast to this fine young man,’ Dad said, raising his mug. ‘I think he’s superb.’ Over the years Dad had picked up a faint Derbyshire accent. Lizzy and I both smiled at the way he said ‘superb’. I couldn’t have been happier than I was at that moment, surrounded by the people who mattered to me most, Dad making his way back into the world.

  ‘I was so embarrassed to crash your day, but I’m glad I did,’ Stephen said. ‘And I’d love to have met Georgie so that I could thank her for bringing this beautiful little hippie into the world … But I’m delighted to be meeting you, at least, Bert.’

  Dad’s eyes filled with tears and he raised his cup again. A blackbird landed in the tree behind him and broke into song. ‘To my Georgie,’ he whispered, ‘who would have been so happy today.’ He smiled at Stephen, as if to say thank you, and a tear slid quietly down his face.

  ‘To Georgie,’ Stephen repeated. Then, softly: ‘And to my own lovely mum. Miss you.’

  The vivid green of the peaty grass blurred as my own eyes filled with tears. The blackbird warbled again, a beautiful ripple of music against the chatter of the river.

  ‘I might go and ask if they’ve got any cakes,’ Lizzy said eventually. ‘Is that a good plan, everyone?’

  ‘Yes,’ said everyone, and the mood was restored.

  Hello, Mum, I said in my head. Isn’t this a lovely day?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate

  ‘Bye, guys,’ I said, waving one last time before shutting down the Skype window.

  I rested my head in my hands for a few moments, fighting, as I did every time I saw my family, to steady myself before the guilt took me over. They still hadn’t the faintest idea. ‘Please come home soon,’ they’d said just now. ‘We miss you so much.’

  It wasn’t just the guilt that killed me, though. There was something else that was beginning to happen when I spoke to them. A jumpiness, a frustratingly unspecific sense of trouble ahead. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, it whispered, refusing to elaborate. The summer had ambled into autumn and the trees had begun to speckle gold. Soon winter would be here, with its freezing mornings and endless rug changes.

  Tick tock, tick tock.

  It wasn’t just the changing seasons, though. It was something else. Something bigger.

  You’ve stayed here too long, whispered the Bad Shit, as I pulled on some riding gloves. You’re going to get found out …

  ‘I want you to start riding Stumpy,’ Mark said that evening. I’d just padded into his dining room in my socks and jodhpurs, as I’d been doing every day since he’d had his accid
ent and Joe and I had agreed to keep Sandra company in the evenings. When Mark had come home we’d somehow just carried on eating there: we were no substitute for Ana Luisa but we made sure things were lively and upbeat.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want you to start riding Stumpy.’

  ‘But you’ve retired him!’

  Mark sat down, moving a pile of paperwork to one side so I could have a space opposite him. ‘Retiring him doesn’t mean he needs to sit in his stable with a pipe and dressing gown, Kate. He’s young and strong and he’ll get really depressed if he never goes out.’

  I gaped at him. Nobody was allowed to ride Stumpy! Mark had broken him in when he was four and had been Stumpy’s sole rider ever since. But last week, after months in the stable with his enormous bandage, Stumpy’s X-ray had indicated that his pastern had healed and he was to be allowed some controlled exercise on the lead-rope, followed by gentle riding.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes. I know how much you love him. I heard that you threatened to – what was it? – to deck Maria if she had him put down.’

  I blushed. ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘So that’s settled. You’ll ride Stumpy. And don’t you dare get emotional.’

  ‘Roger,’ I muttered, fighting tears with an iron fist. ‘Um, where’s your mum, anyway?’ The kitchen was dark and Dirk and Woody were sitting in the doorway looking suicidal, which meant they hadn’t been fed.

  Mark glanced around. ‘Oh! Of course. She’s gone on a date with George.’

  ‘REALLY?’

  Mark grinned. ‘Yes. She was wearing a skirt when she left. I nearly fainted.’

  ‘Well well well.’ I giggled. ‘I’ve a mind to put a curfew on that one if she gets frisky. Oh, good old Sandra. And good old George!’ George was one of the owners of the livery horses. He was a delightful man who wore a tweed jacket and a tie every single day, and he’d been asking Sandra out for ages.

  ‘Ana Luisa said, “Gran, be careful. George might get ideas if you show him too much leg.”’ He shook his head, laughing at the memory. Ana Luisa was staying for the half-term holidays and Mark couldn’t have been happier. ‘She’s an outrage, my daughter.’