The Day We Disappeared

by Lucy Robinson

  A train whined in beside us on the southbound platform, letting out a cloud of drunken shouting. Its passengers streamed past us and up into Clapham Common station. I stood rooted to the spot while things in my head moved slowly and unevenly.

  Tim’s eyes gaped with sudden tears. ‘But unfortunately the girl I loved didn’t love me back. She still doesn’t. I’m sorry, I need to go.’ He followed the noisy crowd on to the ascending escalator. I stood at the bottom, watching his slumped, sad back struggling up into Clapham Common station and tried with all my strength to squash my thoughts before they gained traction and became real.

  I felt a bit sick. I needed to get back to Stephen.

  After what I thought to be a decent interval I walked back out of the tube station and hailed a cab I couldn’t afford.

  I didn’t care. The Underground was making me feel panicky and I needed to hear his voice.

  Stephen’s phone nearly rang out, but at the last minute it was answered.

  ‘Hello?’ said a girl’s voice.

  I checked my phone. I’d definitely called Stephen.

  ‘Hello? Who is this?’ she asked.

  As if winded I fell backwards into the taxi seat.

  No. No no no.

  We crawled past the dismal bars on Clapham High Street, overflowing with mini-skirted girls and overweight men, and the driver turned on his radio.

  My chest felt like someone was sitting on it.

  I went to call Lizzy, but couldn’t. None of Le Cloob wanted to talk to me.

  Kate, I thought desperately. I’ll call Kate Brady. But as I scrolled frantically for her number I remembered that she was still on her farm in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Mum,’ I whispered, as the first tear appeared. ‘Mum, I need you.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Annie

  I let myself into Stephen’s house and got into his bed, my knees pulled up against my chest. If I went to my own house it would be like admitting there was a problem.

  From time to time I managed to be rational. I mean, when would Stephen have an affair? Every moment he wasn’t at work, he was with me. And he really was at work when I thought he was: he answered if I called his direct line; he’d send me selfies of him and the team pulling self-pitying faces by the conference phone, or he’d have Tash call me and tell me how late he was running.

  And on top of there not being enough hours in the day for him to have an affair, there was the fact that he loved me. And told me so frequently. You could fake many things in life, but not love.

  Which meant that I was being insane and irrational. Again.

  Some time later I heard a key in the front door. ‘Annie? Pumpkin?’

  Stephen stood in the bedroom doorway, ragged with exhaustion. ‘You keep cancelling my calls. Sweetheart, what’s going on?’

  ‘A girl answered your phone.’

  Stephen frowned. ‘What – Tara?’

  ‘Who’s Tara?’

  Stephen leaned against the door frame. ‘Oh, my God. Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.’

  I said nothing and Stephen began to look angry. He wasn’t meant to look angry. He was meant to look contrite and reassuring.

  ‘Tara is Dad’s sister, my aunt,’ he said flatly. ‘Whose house I spent half my childhood playing at. Who is more like my mother than ever, now that Mum’s dead. Tara is my aunt,’ he repeated. ‘And if she picked up the phone it’s probably because she thought it was Dad’s.’

  He ran his hand over his face. ‘God,’ he said, to no one in particular.

  ‘You’ve never mentioned her,’ I whispered.

  Stephen put his head back against the wall. As if to say, ‘Give me strength.’

  ‘I have,’ he said eventually. His voice was kinder than his face suggested. ‘I promise you, Annie, I have. I think I even mentioned her when I met Le Cloob back in June. In fact, I know I did. We talked about my aunt Tara and Claudine’s aunt Juliette. Why don’t you call one of them?’

  ‘Because they’ll think I’m mad.’

  Stephen watched me. Then he came over and sat on the side of the bed. I could smell the faint shadow of his man perfume, expensive, sophisticated, alluring. Christ. What was a man like this doing with someone like me? ‘Let me show you a picture of Tara,’ he said, scrolling through his photos. ‘There you go. That’s who answered the phone just now. If you want we can ring her.’

  ‘Then she’ll think I’m mad, too.’

  The woman, who looked tall and slightly vague, was most definitely not like Stephen’s lover. I gazed at my man, who was stooped and exhausted after another long day at work and an evening with a grief-stricken father. And I knew he was telling the truth. ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered. ‘I did it again, didn’t I?’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘I won’t pretend I’m not upset, and a little insulted, because I am. I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me, yet you seem not to.’ I cringed. ‘But I get it, Annie,’ he said softly. ‘I get it.’

  ‘You get what? That I’m mad? Stephen, I don’t want to be mad. I want to be happy and normal and trusting! I hate that I see the worst in everyone. It’s awful!’

  Stephen took my hand. ‘Stop that. You’ve just gone through a hell of a lot in your life, and you’ve ended up a lot more … anxious than most. “Mad” is a very unkind word.’ I ran a finger over his stubble. ‘But you have seemed more paranoid in recent months. More forgetful. More kind of, like, I dunno. Like you’re slightly in a world of your own.’

  I started to cry. Shit. Shit.

  ‘Oh, Annie, don’t cry. That doesn’t mean I think you’re mad,’ he said. ‘But maybe we just need to get you a bit of help. A bit of coaching? Or some counselling maybe.’ He looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know much about that stuff. Do you think you should talk to Tim? He knows the most about your past, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I was horrified. Was it really coming to this? Was someone other than me suggesting I needed help? ‘I don’t want to talk to Tim.’

  Stephen was taking off his shoes. ‘Why?’

  ‘He was weird tonight.’

  Stephen shoved his shoes under the bed and slid in next to me in his suit. ‘Well, I won’t say I Told You So. What happened?’

  I told him everything, about how hostile Le Cloob had been, how attacked I’d felt but how worried I was that they were right. How worried I was that my head wasn’t functioning very well. And, finally, how worried I was that Tim might have been talking about me when he announced his long-term broken heart. ‘That’s the worst bit,’ I whispered. ‘The thought of Tim thinking about me in …’ I swallowed ‘… in that way.’

  Stephen lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

  I watched him. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Stephen …’

  He rolled over to face me. ‘I’m thinking your friends seem neither to like nor trust me. And you don’t seem to trust me either. And now your best male friend, who I’ve been telling you is in love with you from day one, has now pretty much admitted to just that. And I’m thinking I just don’t like any of this but I don’t feel like there’s anything I can say. They’re your best friends. Your family, even. They’ve helped you get through a difficult life and have been there for you, always. What can I possibly say against them?’

  To my intense surprise, Stephen’s eyes had become dangerously shiny. ‘You and me are like …’ he paused ‘… this beautiful thing. This simple, lovely thing that’s not like anything I’ve had before. And yet it just seems like around us there are all these obstacles. Sometimes I wish we could shut everyone else out and just be you and me on our own.’

  He rolled on to his back again. ‘But I know that’s not reasonable,’ he added.

  I shuffled into his side, smelling his tired skin and faded man perfume. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I do. I’m not enjoying seeing Le Cloob at the moment. I don’t agree that they don’t l
ike you but they … I dunno. They just aren’t supportive.’

  Stephen grimaced. ‘I’m sure Tim’d support you.’

  ‘Stephen, don’t. We don’t even know it was me he was talking about.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  I sighed. I had never received even the faintest signal that Tim was in love with me. That three-week fling we’d had when we were nineteen had been driven not by intense feelings but by intense confusion: how could we be so close and not feel that way towards each other?

  Since then: nothing. Not a whiff. From either of us. But when he’d gone all intense and started talking about his unrequited love earlier, my body had gone into emergency lockdown. The panic had come before my head had even had time to process what was going on. And while I wasn’t all that willing to trust my head, these days, I knew I could always trust my body.

  Something was there. And I didn’t want it.

  ‘I can understand why you’d rather think he wasn’t talking about you,’ Stephen said. ‘But I’m afraid I have to disagree. For the third and final time, I’m a man. I know how we work. And Tim has more than a passing crush on you, sweetheart. I mean, quite apart from the way he looks at you there’s the fact that he turned up at your house at, like, midnight or something, all mad and drunk. Then he dumps his girlfriend, ooh, surprise surprise, not long after you and I start going out. He realizes he can’t carry on with her. And now he’s just telling you that he’s been in love with “someone” for ever and she doesn’t feel the same!’ Stephen was almost laughing, although he didn’t sound very jolly. ‘Come on, Annie!’

  Little worms of fear began to move in my stomach.

  ‘I don’t think he’s in love with Claudine or your sister,’ Stephen said mildly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And is there anyone else in his life it could be? Any other girl he’s known for years?’

  I thought about it, even though I already knew the answer. ‘No. Just me.’

  Stephen was watching me. ‘Annie,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you getting all worked up about this. I mean, I know you don’t trust men very much, for understandable reasons, but him having thoughts about you doesn’t mean he’s suddenly dangerous or anything.’

  He stroked my face. ‘Pumpkin? Are you in there? I said, I don’t want you worrying.’

  I shuddered. I didn’t want Tim or anyone else having thoughts about me. Not those sort of thoughts.

  My phone broke the silence. Stephen’s face said, I bet that’s Tim.

  It was.

  I looked at my watch. Ten past midnight. What should I do? The idea of having to go the whole night without knowing what he wanted was even worse than the idea of having to talk to him.

  Stephen shrugged. ‘Answer it.’

  My finger shook as I swiped to answer the call.

  ‘Tim?’

  ‘Hiya. I just had a call from Gastro.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The restaurant. You left your bank card there. The booking was in my name so they called me. Just thought I’d let you know.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, profoundly relieved. ‘I’ll, er, I’ll text you tomorrow about maybe picking it up from the hospital on my way home from work.’

  ‘Left your bank card?’ Stephen whispered, smiling. I nodded.

  ‘I can drop it round after work, if you want?’ Tim was saying. ‘Or we could go for a drink?’

  ‘Oh, right, um, maybe.’

  Tim paused. ‘I feel like I said things tonight that were confusing and unclear and I … I want to say them properly. You mean too much to me to let them go half said.’

  ‘It’s fine!’ I said. ‘No need!’

  ‘No, I really do need to talk to you. Can I call you when I finish work?’

  No, you can’t. ‘Um, okay.’

  ‘Night then, Pumpkin,’ he said. ‘Sleep well.’

  Stephen pulled me close to him. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘Stop worrying. Tim is not dangerous, Annie, he’s your friend. But I can’t imagine you’re very keen on this “chat”.’

  I’d never been less keen on anything in my life.

  I watched a tiny bug make its way across Stephen’s dove-grey wall. It was six thirty and still dark. How quickly the autumn had come, I thought, after what felt like the summer of my life.

  I’d barely slept. At one stage I’d had a lucid dream when I’d thought Tim was in the room, watching me, only I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do a thing. I was paralysed.

  When I woke up properly, I told myself not to be so silly. Reminded myself of what a lovely, sweet, respectful man Tim Furniss was, and what a precious friendship we had. But the spirals of panic multiplied and my heart continued to thump at a rate that was never going to allow sleep.

  At four o’clock I had decided I was going to call my therapist today. Stephen was right: I was not in a great place, and if this thing with Tim was what I feared it to be, I was going to need help.

  ‘He’s always staring at you, Mum,’ Lizzy used to say, when Mum told her off for being mean about Neil Derrick. ‘I think he’s weird. Why does he have to have such skinny legs?’

  ‘Neil’s a sweetheart,’ Mum would say. ‘He’s just a bit different from you or me, Lizzy. Please be nice to him, darling.’

  But Lizzy had been right. He was always staring at Mum. Always crossing the road to say hello in that funny voice of his.

  Stephen was still asleep, an arm flung across his face, his chest rising and falling slowly. His phone vibrated continually with messages and emails but he slept on.

  Just as he began to stir, my own phone vibrated.

  Tim.

  Can we meet at 6.30 tonight? At the Elderfield? Could really do with a chat. Let me know. Tx

  I put the phone down to find Stephen’s ice-blue eyes watching me. ‘Hello,’ he said, stretching cat-like across the bed. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Tim. Wanting to see me tonight.’

  Stephen yawned, curling himself around me. ‘And what do you want?’

  ‘Not to see him.’

  Stephen buried his nose in my hair. ‘Pumpkin, I’m worried that I’ve made you unduly paranoid.’

  ‘You haven’t. I do a good line in paranoia without any need of help.’

  I felt Stephen smile into my hair. ‘Do you want me to put him off for you? Buy you a bit of time?’

  I pulled back to see his face. ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then yes, please. Stephen, I –’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to call my therapist. Get an appointment.’

  Stephen hugged me. ‘Good girl. We’ll get through this. I’m taking the liberty of giving you the day off, so you can get your head straight. And I’m giving myself the liberty of a morning off to look after you.’

  I filled Stephen’s beautiful cast-iron bath while he called Tim and told him I had food poisoning and wasn’t going anywhere today. I jumped when I heard my own phone ring, and panicked when I saw it was from a withheld number. I let it ring out, and felt sick when a message came through.

  But it was Kate. Rambling on happily about her life on the farm, telling me I was a funny old fool and that she missed me, she’d be sure to visit London soon. I smiled. Good. If anything was going to help glue Le Cloob together, it would be our Irish friend.

  Stephen let me laze around in the bath for a while before he climbed in, too, ignoring his phone, which buzzed imperiously and without pause. ‘How did he take it?’ I asked.

  ‘He’ll survive.’ He tugged at one of my soapy toes. Hot steam gave him wet, starfish eyelashes, which I wanted to kiss. ‘Unless he’s a complete psycho, in which case he’ll come and find us and kill us.’

  I let Stephen massage my feet. I felt strangely detached from the world, as if there were a fog around me. The only things I could see clearly were Stephen and me.

  ‘At least you and I are fine,’ I said. ‘Everything else feels a bit sub-standard but you and I feel good. Oh, and Dad.
He’s doing brilliantly. And Kate, when she bothers to call. So I guess everything is okay, really, apart from Le Cloob. And, er, the state of my head.’

  Stephen rubbed his thumb right into the ball of my foot. ‘You do seem to feel crappy when you’ve seen Le Cloob, these days.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s difficult,’ he acknowledged. ‘When you have this wonderful friendship and suddenly it’s causing you loads of pain and shit. And you’re thinking, Hang on. This is meant to be my safe place. My good place.’

  ‘Yes! That’s exactly how it feels!’

  ‘I had a friendship like that,’ Stephen said. ‘Philip. Me and him went back years. But he just got … I dunno, messy. There was always a thing or an issue. Every time I came away from the pub when we met up, I just thought, That was shit. Really difficult. And it shouldn’t be.’

  ‘So what did you do? I don’t think I’ve heard you talk about him. Although with the state of my brain at the moment anything’s possible …’

  Stephen smiled, too polite to agree with me but knowing full well it was true. ‘Walked away. It was harsh, but it was right. I don’t get much free time and what I do have needs to be spent with people who leave me feeling really good. Quite a simple rule, but it works.’

  I closed my eyes, taking in long draughts of fragrant steam. I wasn’t going to be walking away from Le Cloob any time soon. But something needed to change. Quite urgently, really, if we were to move on.

  And then, as I pondered my dilemma, I did something really, really terrible.

  I did an enormous, noisy, underwater fart.

  I froze. No. No? Yes? Had that happened?

  I opened a crack of an eye, to see Stephen staring at me in absolute amazement. I closed my crack of eye. ‘No,’ I whispered.

  ‘Er, yes,’ Stephen bellowed. ‘Yes, you just did that. IN MY BATH!’

  ‘No.’

  Stephen started to shake. ‘Yes.’ He was laughing. ‘Yes, you did. And I FELT it. Oh, God! URGH!’

  ‘No no no …’ But I’d gone already. I laughed and laughed and laughed, and Stephen did too, and we laughed until we couldn’t breathe. Tears ran down my face and my chest ached. ‘No,’ I cried, from time to time.