When we finally recovered, I took Stephen’s foot and started a massage by way of apology. ‘No farting,’ he grumbled. ‘This bath has had as much as it can take.’
‘I’m always happy when I’m with you,’ I said. ‘I love every minute we have together. And these days I find every minute I spend with Le Cloob difficult. I’m going to have to take some time off. Tim, I don’t want to see Tim for a while. Claudine, ditto. And Lizzy needs a good talking-to, because I’m not going to stop seeing her.’
Stephen was watching me. ‘Well, if that’s what you want,’ he said. ‘I’m certainly not going to tell you to stop seeing your friends.’
‘You don’t need to,’ I said sadly. ‘They’ve made their own bed.’ Already I felt calmer. Less shit. Less strife. Had I not had enough in my life?
My phone, sitting on the chair next to Stephen’s, came to life. Stephen hauled himself out of the bath to take a look. ‘It’s Tim,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ I didn’t like that. ‘Leave it.’
Stephen got back into the bath with me and I concentrated on soothing the sudden jumpiness in my stomach. ‘It’s all cool,’ Stephen said. ‘Stop worrying!’
My phone started ringing again.
‘Tim again,’ Stephen said. I swallowed.
The third time Tim called, I was feeling sick. ‘Can you get rid of him?’ I asked. ‘I don’t like it. I mean, you told him I have food poisoning.’
I watched Stephen’s long, strong body pad across the floor, bubbles and water sliding off him.
‘Hi, mate,’ Stephen said politely, hitching a towel round his waist. ‘Yeah, she’s still in a bad way, I’m afraid, poor thing …’
He wandered off down the hallway and I realized I was holding on to the side of the bath, my knuckles white like china. It’s fine, I told myself. It’s all totally fine. Tim’s probably just worried about me.
‘Hmm,’ Stephen said, when he reappeared a few minutes later. ‘He said he was calling because he was really early for work and could pop over to check up on you, if you wanted.’
I stared at Stephen, who smiled reassuringly. ‘He thinks you’ve got food poisoning, remember?’
‘I know! But you told him you were looking after me! Why is he trying to come over anyway?’
Stephen held out a big towel for me. ‘I told him very specifically not to come, Pumpkin,’ he said. ‘So you can relax.’
Stephen took me to the bakery on the corner of the square, where he bought me some banana cake and a strong flat white. I’d expected him to hold forth on what an obsessive weirdo Tim was but, to my surprise, he did a great job at calming me down. ‘Maybe we were both wrong,’ he reasoned, running his tongue along his upper lip to catch the tiny bubbles of crema. ‘Maybe we’ve both read too much into it.’
‘Maybe,’ I said doubtfully. ‘Perhaps we’ve both been too hasty.’
I didn’t believe myself, though. So it seemed the least surprising thing imaginable when I glanced out of the window, down which rain poured thickly, like syrup, and saw Tim coming towards us from Mare Street.
‘Shit!’ I whispered. ‘Stephen, he’s here …’ The words stuck in my throat.
Stephen peered out. ‘Oh, come on,’ he said irritably. ‘Leave her alone, you idiot.’ He touched my arm. ‘It’s fine. I’ll go and tell him to bugger off.’
For a split second, I thought about stopping him – I didn’t want to cause a scene, after all – but it suddenly mattered to me more than anything else in the world that Tim Furniss did not come into this shop. So I nodded. Stephen got up and slid out of the bakery, just as Tim turned off into Clapton Square.
I crouched, my chest a tin hollow, waiting for something to happen. For Tim to go back towards Mare Street, or for Stephen to reappear. But nothing happened.
I counted ten breaths.
Still nothing happened. The rain continued to smudge down the windows and a toddler came and stared at my banana cake.
Nothing happened.
When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I went outside.
They were standing in front of Stephen’s house, arguing. Before I had time to decide what to do, Tim was storming down the street towards me. He saw me straight away. ‘Annie,’ he shouted. ‘Annie, listen …’
In dreams where I was being chased by a man I could never run: my feet just pedalled uselessly in the air and sound secreted itself in a corner of my throat. In reality, I was able to run faster than I’d ever run in my life. I sprinted off past the library and the crummy estate agent, Tim’s voice lost in the acceleration of a 38 bus. I ran round the corner of Lower Clapton Road, past the bric-a-brac shop and into a greasy spoon full of construction workers.
By the time Stephen found me I was stalled outside the pawn shop on the corner, staring blankly at the forlorn rows of gold-plated ‘18’ and ‘21’ pendants; discarded celebrations of birthdays passed. The rain had stopped but the pavement was still drenched. Buses rumbled past. I felt hopeless.
‘Oh, Pumpkin,’ he said, putting his arms round me.
I leaned into him. I was tired. I wanted to take a sleeping pill.
‘Annie, what happened?’
I hugged him hard, hoping he’d stop asking questions.
‘Annie?’
‘Overreaction,’ I said into his coat. ‘A big one. Sorry. I’ll call my therapist when we get home. Maybe my doctor. I won’t let this get the better of me, Stephen. I promise.’
Stephen kissed my forehead. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking my hand and leading me away.
‘What did Tim say?’
Stephen sighed. ‘He just kept saying he had to see you, it couldn’t wait. I said, “Mate, she doesn’t want to see you. Or anyone else.” So he called me all sorts of things. He was a bit unhinged. But, Annie, I don’t think he’d come to kill you. I shouldn’t have joked about that – I feel guilty now.’
‘Did he chase me?’ I asked, as Stephen led me back down towards the square.
‘No. He just watched you run off. He looked sad and then left, although not before he’d called me a wanker.’
A few minutes later he tucked me into an armchair and gave me a brandy. ‘Perhaps you need some anti-anxiety medication or something,’ he said tentatively. I’d started crying again. ‘You seem very tense, Pumpkin …’
‘Maybe.’ I put my hands over my face. ‘Maybe I do. Stephen, please don’t leave me. Promise me, you won’t leave me?’
Chapter Twenty-two
Kate
‘So you’re shagging the boss, Galway?’ Joe asked, as we cleaned the tack one evening.
A cheek-piece fell out of my hand and into the water bucket.
‘Oh dear.’ Joe sniggered. ‘Galway’s flustered. How could you do it to me, princess? How could you?’
I fished out the cheek-piece. ‘I’m not shagging the boss. Nor do I plan to …’ I trailed off. ‘Dammit, Joe, stop embarrassing me!’
‘Galway,’ he said, ‘I happen to think you and the boss’d make a lovely couple. You pretend to be a Dublin ball-breaker but you don’t fool me, darlin’.’
‘What?’
‘You’re as soft as he is.’
‘Feck off,’ I growled. ‘And, for the record, I’m not blushing.’
‘Ah, Galway, but you are so.’
‘Am not.’
‘Oh, Galway.’
‘What’s he on about, pet?’ Becca was standing in the doorway. I almost gasped.
‘Bloody hell,’ I said, staring at her. ‘You look lovely, Becca!’
Becca had been growing her hair for the last few months, although whenever she visited us it was pulled back in an unforgiving ponytail. But tonight it lay against her shoulders, dyed a new chestnut brown and all styled like she’d just left the salon. She was in jeans, not jodhpurs, and – I gaped – a tight-fitting jumper! Whatever next? She’d be wearing make-up and perfume at this rate! I sort of hoped she wouldn’t. ‘Stop looking at me like that,’ she grumbled. ‘Caroline’s grooms have signed me up for some
dating thing and they bought me a blow-dry this afternoon. It’s my first one ever and I feel like a huge old twat.’
I got up to hug her but couldn’t quite bring myself to do so. ‘You look too nice and clean,’ I explained, squeezing her hand. ‘I’m so pleased you’re dating! Any good ones yet?’
‘Jesus, no. All madder than a box of frogs. But it’s been quite fun.’
We smiled at each other, acknowledging silently how far she’d come.
‘You do look nice, Becca,’ Joe said, standing up. ‘In fact, you look so nice I might ask if you fancy a few jars later.’
Becca looked at him in utter horror. ‘Joe, pet,’ she said clearly. ‘I’m dating because I’d like to meet a nice man. Not an Irish whore.’
Joe just sniggered.
‘Go and get the wine from the fridge,’ I told her. ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow you.’
Joe whistled as Becca went off, all shiny, bouncy hair, in the twilight. ‘You’re pathetic,’ I told him. ‘She gets a Hollywood blow-dry and suddenly you’re sniffing around her ankles like a randy dog.’
Joe batted his eyelashes at me. ‘What’s that, Galway? A Hollywood blowjob?’
He ducked as I threw a bar of saddle soap at his head. ‘Galway, behave! This is the answer! You can seduce the boss – because, dear Christ, girl, he’s cryin’ out for you to seize the day, there – and I’ll have some cosy nights in with Becca, and then we can all open our presents together round the tree at Christmas and have some babies and great craic. Wouldn’t that be the best, Galway?’
Becca arrived back with the wine. ‘Becca, I’m afraid Joe’s talking about having babies with you,’ I reported. ‘And he said that Mark’s crying out for me to seduce him,’ I wanted to add. Was he? Was he really? Had he said something to Joe? Little flutters of excitement and panic broke out inside me.
‘You can fuck right off, pet,’ Becca was telling Joe. ‘I’d sooner mate with a goat. Right, let’s get this thing open …’
Mark’s documentary was on at nine o’clock and in her excitement Sandra had invited almost everyone she had ever met. She’d been preparing food for days, even though we barely had enough to feed the four of us. ‘Pork pies,’ she’d been muttering this morning. ‘Pork pies – I want everyone to have a pork pie …’
Becca found a perch on a chest with clean stable rugs piled on it. ‘How’s Mark?’ she asked.
‘Walking without his stick now!’ I beamed. ‘Not for long, but it’s big progress. He’s been so brave, Becca, you can see how much it hurts him.’
Becca was delighted.
‘Galway fancies the living daylights out of him,’ Joe said. ‘And he fancies her right back. Holy Mother of God, you should’ve seen them over the last few weeks, Becca – it’s been enough to break a man’s heart.’
He guffawed into the profound silence that followed. ‘Right, I’m off to get showered so I can seduce you later, Becca. Galway’s got one more bridle to do – make sure she doesn’t skive.’
‘Go away, Joe,’ Becca said. She was giving me some serious raised eyebrow.
‘Joe’s talking nonsense,’ I told her, when he’d sloped off. ‘Mark does not fancy me. And I don’t fancy him. So you can stop looking at me like that.’
‘I see,’ she said, her eyes twinkling.
‘Stop it! There’s nothing! Nothing at all! Ever!’
Becca poured me some wine. I heard jingling – she was actually wearing bangles. ‘Kate, pet, you needn’t worry about me. I got over it as soon as I left, like I knew I would. I was just stuck, my love. Stuck in a rut here, convincing myself that Mark was the answer to all my problems.’
I concentrated on cleaning Stumpy’s bit.
‘Oh, pet, look at me.’
Grudgingly, I put it down and met her eye. ‘Kate,’ she said softly, ‘when I arrived here, I’d just had to terminate a pregnancy because I found out that my fiancé was shagging someone else. I was broken, my love, crushed like a rabbit in the road.’
‘Oh, no, Becca …’
‘I was very happy to get caught up with Mark and his problems. I thought he’d fix me. But he didn’t, pet. I fixed me. Time fixed me, just like it’s fixed you. I’m not interested in Mark Waverley, my little love, but I think you are, and I think you have been since you arrived here.’
I let my eyes drift up to the row of faded rosettes that Mark had won as a boy, pinned to the wall by his proud mother all those years ago. I thought of his face, so precious, so kind and brave, the way he pushed me every day to improve, the trust he’d invested in me by handing me his beloved Stumpy. And I thought about the way I still looked out of my bedroom window and saw him cuddling the horse over his stable door, giving him Polos and talking to him. Hopelessly in love with his furry friend.
Becca was right. I was mad about him.
‘I don’t fancy him,’ I insisted. ‘I don’t fancy him at all.’
Becca stared at me long and hard. ‘Okay. I guess it’ll just be me and Joe at Christmas then. Me, Joe and some hot loving.’
Then: ‘Eew,’ she muttered.
The documentary started well enough. Lots of stuff about Mark’s glittering career, the way he’d come out of nowhere with no money and a tragic past. They had photos and a couple of old video clips of ten-year-old Mark that did funny twisty things to my stomach.
But they didn’t waste much time with that. The accident came soon after, documented with terrible precision by the cameraman on his tower above the jump. Mark and Stumpy flying through the air, like discarded toys, then all of the officials and paramedics sprinting towards the awful pile of misshapen horse and rider.
And me, running at full tilt towards them, my screams a thin line of panic drawn high and jagged above the stunned silence of the crowd.
They showed my run in slow motion. My face, screwed up in sheer agony, right there in the centre of the screen.
The world went silent as I stared at myself.
Oh, God, I thought. Oh, God, no …
I felt Becca’s hand touch my shoulder. ‘Pet?’ she whispered. ‘Pet, are you Okay?’
I got up to leave but realized I’d draw more attention to myself, so I sank back into my chair. Blood pounded in my ears. I had to go. I had to leave right now. Tonight. As soon as the documentary had finished. I had to put as much distance as I possibly could between me and the farm.
In the ad break, Becca marched me out to the kitchen. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Enough. Tell me everything, Kate, and do not give me any more shit about a burnout.’
So I did. I’d be gone by the time anyone came for me, anyway.
She tried to make me stay. Tried to reassure me that there was no reason why anyone would connect me to Mark. ‘You were just a horrified onlooker, pet,’ she said gently. ‘Listen to me. Did you not notice the shots of other people doing exactly the same thing? Screaming? Running? Crying? Why would anyone know you work for Mark?’
She held my shoulders firmly, as if I might otherwise evaporate. I was shaking like a whippet.
‘Pet, you have to calm down. I can see the problem, but running off into the night isn’t going to solve anything.’
I whimpered.
‘Come and watch the rest,’ she said. ‘And afterwards we’ll decide what to do. You can come and bunk at mine for the night if you want.’
She peered at me. ‘Breathe, pet,’ she said quietly. ‘Breathe in and out, please.’
Mark was watching me as we came back for the next section. He raised a tiny fraction of an eyebrow. Are you okay?
I ducked my head. It was too painful to look at him, knowing that by the morning I’d be gone.
The film rumbled on and I barely saw a thing. Towards the end they showed him standing up for the first time, his legs wobbling and his face white with exertion. Everyone in the sitting room had tears in their eyes, but I was frozen.
Suddenly the screen had my attention again. ‘Mark has been teaching his one remaining groom, Kate, to ride,’ said t
he voice-over. The camera was all on Mark’s face with me an unfocused blur in the background. ‘It’s okay,’ Becca whispered, squeezing my hand. ‘You’re not even a tiny bit recognizable, pet.’
I looked up wildly at the window, as if expecting there to be faces staring in at me.
Back on screen Mark was breaking into a big, proud smile as I executed my first ever flying change. ‘Good girl,’ he shouted. ‘I owe Kate a lot,’ he told the camera, in an unexpected moment of candour. ‘She visited me every day when I was in hospital.’
‘Why do you think she visited you every day?’ the director asked off-camera. They didn’t miss a trick, those guys.
‘I have no idea,’ Mark said. ‘I wouldn’t have done if I were her. But she did. Her visits were the high point of my day. She brought me videos of Stumpy and cracked lots of bad jokes. She pulled me up when I was wallowing in self-pity.’
The director left a pregnant pause. ‘It sounds like she’s gone above and beyond the call of duty,’ he commented.
Mark’s eyes followed me round the school. ‘She did. If she hadn’t, I’m not sure I’d be walking today. She gave me hope and made me fight … She was a force to be reckoned with.’
The director left a loaded pause – and, to my amazement, Mark took the bait. ‘She shouted at me more than once. Told me to stop wallowing and be grateful I was still alive. It was quite full on but it was exactly what I needed.’ In the background, I swore loudly as I bungled my second flying change. ‘But it wasn’t just that. There’s something about Kate. A determination to find good in the bad. She always has a joke, or a ridiculous comment to hand. She’s always smiling. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.’
‘She’s very special to you, then,’ the director asked. His excitement was almost palpable.
Mark turned away. ‘More inside leg,’ he shouted at me. He ignored the question.
Back in the sitting room Mark was staring fixedly at the screen. I felt as if I might throw up.
When it was over, everyone clapped and then went silent so that Mark could make a speech. Being Mark, he didn’t make a speech. ‘Stop it,’ he told them. He grabbed a handful of peanuts and stared at the floor, his cheeks singeing red.
The Day We Disappeared Page 24