She looks round as I speak and there’s a tiny hint of relief in her face as she sees me that makes me guess that under that poise she’s not as certain of herself as she seems.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Here I am. Could you go and order me a Martini, dear, I just need to sort myself out.’
‘I’ve been sitting here for more than an hour!’
She looks at me blankly. ‘Why?’
‘You’re late,’ I say.
‘No, I’m not. I’m a little early. See!’ She waves her hand at me jubilantly and on it is written: HATTIE 5 p.m. Savoy.
‘But it’s six fifteen.’
‘No, dear. You’ve obviously got confused.’
‘Look!’
I show her my watch.
‘Well, it’s clearly wrong.’
She goes to look at her own watch but it’s not there.
‘Oh, yes,’ she says vaguely. ‘I couldn’t find my—’ She stops and tuts. ‘Clock thing, you know.’ She points at her wrist.
‘Watch.’
‘Anyway,’ she says firmly. ‘I didn’t come all this way to talk about what time it is. Order me a Martini, will you, and then I can tell you the plan.’
I think about arguing but it strikes me that there’s not a lot of point. I’d actually wondered whether Gloria would remember that we’d arranged to meet at all. And Gloria’s mention of ‘the plan’ has got me interested. She was very mysterious when we’d spoken on the phone. All she’d told me was that she wanted me to meet her at the Savoy the next day.
‘So,’ she says, once I’ve handed over her Martini. ‘I thought about what you said, about places I’d like to go and people I wanted to see and bucket lists and whatnot and there is somewhere I’d like us to go.’
‘Oh, yes?’ I’m only half paying attention to be honest. I can’t help thinking about Kat’s text. I’m not eight weeks yet, not quite, but still. The fact that there really is something growing inside me is unnerving. ‘Where’s that?’
She pauses for dramatic effect.
‘Whitby,’ she announces, triumphant.
I stare at her.
‘Whitby?’
‘Yes.’
I stare at her blankly.
‘It’s in North Yorkshire,’ she says. ‘By the sea.’
‘Right.’ I don’t know what exactly I was expecting to be on Gloria’s bucket list, but it certainly wasn’t this. ‘So, not the Maldives then?’
‘No.’
‘Not Paris, even?’
‘No.’
‘Because we could go to Paris, you know. I was thinking about it. It’s really easy now, with the Eurostar. Have you got a passport?’
‘I want to go to Whitby,’ she says.
‘So, your bucket list is to go to the seaside in Yorkshire?
‘I thought we could make a proper trip of it. There are some other places I’d like to stop off at on the way.’
I try not to look too disappointed. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘So where are we going?’
‘Cambridge first. I went there with Sam.’
‘Oh,’ I say, brightening. ‘My dad went to university there. I’ve never been.’ It’s not exactly exotic but it’ll be a chance to see somewhere that was part of Dad’s life. And taking Gloria back to somewhere she went with Sam seems very romantic.
‘And then the Lake District,’ she says.
I attempt enthusiasm.
‘We did go on holiday to the Lake District once, when I was really little.’ I try, unsuccessfully, to dredge up a happy memory from that holiday. ‘It rained pretty much non-stop.’
‘Oh, well,’ she snaps. ‘If you don’t want to—’
‘I didn’t say that. It’s just . . . Why do you want to go there?’
‘You were the one who pointed out that this is my last opportunity to go to these places and remember them. You were the one who wanted to get to know each other. But if you’ve changed your mind . . .’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m definitely up for it. It’ll be a laugh. But how long for? I’m supposed to be working.’
‘I don’t know. A week? Maybe more.’
I think it all through. Is it really possible? Could we actually do it? I know I suggested it, but to be honest I never thought Gloria would go through with it.
But as I take a moment to think about it, the idea becomes more and more appealing. The thought of getting away even for a few days, of having an adventure, of doing something for Gloria, of finding out more about her and about Dad’s family, not to mention having some space to think about my own problems . . . Why not?
‘We’d have to go soon,’ I say. ‘Like really soon. In the next few days, so that we can be home before Mum gets back from Mallorca. And we could only go for a week at most. She’d kill me if she got back and I’d gone off with her car. Could we do it in a week?’
Gloria rolls her eyes theatrically. ‘I once went to New York for a party and was back onstage in the West End the following night. Well, more or less. Mind you that was in the days of Concorde.’
‘We’d be in Mum’s Ford Fiesta. Not quite the same.’ I think it through. Judging by what Peggy said and what I vaguely know about dementia, I don’t think organization will be a strong point for Gloria. ‘Where would we stay? I can’t really afford hotels or anything like that.’
Gloria waves her hand airily.
‘I’ll be paying, of course,’ she says. ‘My husbands may have been stupid but they were rich. Apart from Gianni, of course, who was just beautiful and so didn’t need to be rich.’
‘It’s a bit late to be booking. Especially during the summer holidays.’
‘I’ve spoken to Peggy already. She’s going to sort out all the boring details,’ Gloria says, as if it’s decided we’re going. ‘Peggy’s good at that sort of thing. She just talks people into submission. She’s always trying to stick her nose in, organize me. She’s delighted that I’m finally going to let her.’
I realize as she’s speaking that Gloria hasn’t invited me here to ask me if I’ll take her. She’s come here to tell me. And, perhaps, if Peggy’s agreed to sort everything out . . . perhaps we can do it. Why not? So, despite my panic about Kat’s text and the fact that we’re going to Whitby not the Maldives and the general insanity of the whole idea, I feel myself smiling.
We’re really going to do this.
‘We’ll be like Thelma and Louise,’ I say. ‘Kind of.’
‘Who?’
‘Thelma and Louise. It’s a film. Mum has it on DVD; it’s about two women who go on a road trip.’
‘Does either of them have dementia?’
‘No.’
‘Is either of them pregnant?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then our road trip should be much more exciting than theirs.’
‘Hmm,’ I say, unconvinced. It strikes me that there are quite a few things that could go wrong with this plan. ‘They meet Brad Pitt on their journey.’
‘Who?’
I get out my phone and search the internet for a picture of Brad Pitt and show it to Gloria.
‘Oh, I say,’ she exclaims.
‘Do they go to Whitby?’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘It’s more the Arizona desert, from memory. The Grand Canyon. They end up—’
‘Well,’ she says firmly. ‘They should have gone to Whitby. It’s very nice. Good fish and chips.’
‘Whitby,’ I say, trying to dredge up everything I know about it, which is that it’s something to do with Dracula. ‘Won’t it be a bit . . . chilly?’
‘I’m not going for the weather.’
I’d kind of worked that out.
‘What are you going for then?’
‘That’s where the end of the story is.’
I try not to feel impatient about the fact that she’s talking in riddles.
‘What story?’
‘My story. There’s a story that no one else knows. About me.’
‘A secret?’
She shrugs.
‘If you like. It feels suddenly very strange to think that if I don’t tell it now, then no one will ever know. Part of me feels that would be a blessing.’ She takes a sip from her glass. ‘It’s not a happy story. I made myself forget it for a long, long time.’
‘But now you don’t want to?’
She hesitates.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she says, draining her glass. ‘You were asking me about Sam last time, if I remember right? I’ll show you where we met.’
We walk along the Strand in the early-evening sun, with tourists and people in suits leaving their offices, trooping towards the station or the pub. As we walk Gloria remembers.
Aching cold fingers. Feet pinched into points, kitten heels sliding on snow that has melted and refrozen.
‘You’ll catch your death, you two,’ Louise’s mum calls after us as we totter down the road. ‘Don’t be late back, now. Midnight, remember, girls?’
‘We’ll see,’ Louise says to me under her breath, smiling. Louise is the same age as me, but she looks much older than seventeen. She left school last year to go to secretarial college and has a sort of woman-of-the-world air about her, but we still go out together on a Friday night.
‘There’s the bus, run, Gloria!’ Louise screeches.
‘Run? I can’t even walk in these shoes!’
We hang on to one another, squealing and laughing as we slip on the ice, nearly ending up on our arses. The bus conductor sees us and makes the bus wait until we jump on, breathless, and I give him a peck on the cheek before we climb noisily up the stairs, collapsing in giggles as we reach a free seat.
It’s warm and smoky on the bus. Outside the night is dark and clear.
‘What’s he like then, this friend of Johnny’s?’ I ask Louise when I’ve got my breath back.
‘Never met him,’ Louise says. ‘Johnny says he’s nice, though.’
‘Good-looking?’
‘Well, my Johnny’s not going to be much of a judge of that, is he? Least, I hope not.’ She laughs and lights a cigarette, her pink lipstick staining the filter. ‘Your nose is bright red, you know.’
‘It’s not, is it?’ I get my compact out and dab powder on my frozen nose. I’m not nervous. I don’t really care about this Sam; Louise has set me up before with Johnny’s friends and none of them has been what you might call memorable, at least not in a good way. But still, I don’t want to turn up looking like a circus clown.
I’m just looking forward to a night out. Father tried to stop me coming. Nothing new there. Knowing I’ve made him angry only makes it sweeter. Unless he takes it out on Mum, of course . . . I push the thought away and concentrate on reapplying my lipstick.
As we pull up at the traffic lights near the Lyceum, Louise is looking out of the window.
‘There they are,’ she says, pointing.
I lean over her shoulder to look out of the steamed-up window. I rub it with my sleeve and peer through the gap. There’s Johnny, almost as wide as he is tall, rubbing his hands together in the cold and blowing on them. Next to him is a tall, skinny chap with his hands in his pockets, wearing a trilby hat. I turn to stare at Louise.
‘But he’s coloured, Lou!’ I say. ‘You never told me!’
‘Didn’t I?’ she says, leaning over to ring the bell. ‘Well, what difference does it make?’
‘None, I suppose,’ I say, imagining Father’s face if he knew, and smiling.
‘Johnny says some of the fellas they work with are a bit funny about it. Call him names, some of them do. But they’re idiots. Not like this Sam. He’s dead clever, apparently.’ She stands up as the bus starts to slow down. ‘So what he’s doing hanging around with my Johnny, God only knows. He keeps his brains in his You-Know-What.’
‘Lou!’ I giggle. ‘What would Sister Mary Francis say if she heard you talking like that?’
‘She’d say she was right about me all along.’ Louise laughs, putting out her cigarette end with an impossibly pointed red-satin toe.
We clatter down the stairs of the bus and off onto the icy pavement. I hold on to Louise’s arm, walking self-consciously, taking care not to slip, now I know Johnny and Sam have seen us.
‘He is good-looking, too,’ Louise whispers in my ear, as we get closer to them. ‘You lucky devil, Gloria. I’ll swap you, if you like!’
‘No thanks,’ I say, laughing. ‘Johnny’s all yours, Lou.’
As we get close I can feel my heart thudding but I don’t let my nerves show.
‘Gloria?’ he says, holding out his hand for me to shake and smiling wide. ‘I’m Sam.’
I look up at him and I find I’m suddenly very aware that my nose might still be red, and hoping I haven’t got lipstick on my teeth, and glad I wore the new patent winklepickers Gwen got me for Christmas even though they’re killing my feet already and I know there’s no way I’ll still be wearing them by the end of the night.
I smile my most dazzling smile.
‘Pleased to meet you, Sam,’ I say, taking his hand and feeling a little thrill where our cold skin touches. Next to us Louise and Johnny are greeting each other in a rather more intimate way, his tongue halfway down her throat. We both look at them and then I look at Sam and we laugh, awkward but nice, like we’re sharing a joke.
‘Well,’ he says. ‘Shall we go in? I don’t think they’re going to miss us somehow.’ He’s hardly got an accent, I reckon he must have lived in London most of his life, but still his voice sounds exotic to me. I’ve never been further than Eastbourne in my life. ‘I hope you like dancing, Gloria,’ he says, smiling, and I think how much I like it that when he smiles his whole face smiles, not just his mouth. And then I think how much I like his mouth too. And then I think Shut up, Gloria, because I’m used to being bored by the boys I go out with, and it’s a bit unnerving to find that I’m not bored by Sam. Not at all.
I look up at him from under my false eyelashes. ‘I do, as it happens, Sam,’ I say. ‘Hope you can keep up.’
He laughs and holds out his arm. ‘Sounds like a challenge to me.’
I take his arm and I walk as slowly as I can towards the doors of the Lyceum because I don’t want to have to let go of him.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject:
Ok so this is a bit weird but I’ve agreed to go on a road trip with Gloria. Don’t look at me like that, Reuben (I can tell you are). It’ll be fine. Like that film Thelma and Louise but without the shooting (I hope) and with a 70-year-old in the early stages of dementia. And going to the Seaview Hotel, Whitby (three and half stars, all rooms with hot beverage facilities and free wifi, ‘terrific value for money!’ – TripAdvisor) not the Grand Canyon. And ideally not ending up by ***SPOILER ALERT*** driving off a cliff. Hmmm. Perhaps the Thelma and Louise analogy wasn’t a good one after all. I only really said it because I’m hoping we might meet a young Brad Pitt on the way . . .
Anyway, it seemed like a good idea when I suggested it (not the Seaview Hotel, obviously, just the idea of going back to places that meant something to her). I just feel so sorry for her, Reuben. Imagine knowing that everything and everyone and everywhere you ever cared about is going to be wiped from your mind. Wouldn’t you want to relive some of it while you still had the chance? I think perhaps there’s someone she wants to meet in Whitby. There’s some kind of mystery in her past. She’s going to tell me more about it on the way. Although I do kind of worry about that. What if she forgets why we’re going? I don’t think she will, though. It’s weird how clearly she remembers everything from the past.
It’ll only be for a week. It’ll be fine. Won’t it? Most of the time her memory seems fine. Except when it doesn’t. Or when she’s very drunk.
OH GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE, REUBEN????
No. I’m being silly. It’ll be fine. A little break for us both. Might as well, given that everyone else has ABANDONED ME. Had a text from Kat earlier. She’s still all loved up in Edinburgh, but Zoe is a cow.
I can tell. Also a message from Carl saying please can I check the wedding caterers got his messages about gluten-free options on the menus. It’s good to know they’re all missing me so much.
Hope you and la belle Camille are having a great time on your travels. Tell me where you are so I can live vicariously through you. And if you’re lucky I will reciprocate by telling you heartwarming and hilarious anecdotes about the motorway services on the M1.
Hattie xxx
Peggy calls me the day before we’re due to leave.
‘Of course Gloria wants to be in charge of the arrangements, Harriet, but I thought I’d better give you a quick call and talk it through with you, just in case. I’ve booked you into a lovely bed and breakfast in Cambridge, and then in the Lake District you’ll be in a cottage, it belongs to the nephew of a friend of a friend from church – Edwin, his name is – and they usually rent it out over the summer, you see, Harriet, but then—’
She goes into a long, complicated story about some medical emergency that meant the cottage was unexpectedly vacant and my mind wanders. I know I ought to call Mum and tell her that I’m going away, or at least email her. I missed a call from her yesterday, and she left a voicemail saying they were missing me and how sorry they were that I was working all hours. As it happened, the reason I missed the call was because I’d been in the middle of a massive row with Melanie the Manager.
‘You can’t just take a week off whenever you feel like it,’ she said. ‘And not at this late notice. It’s totally unprofessional. You’re letting the team down.’
‘It’s because of my great-aunt,’ I said. ‘She wants me to take her away to Yorkshire.’
‘I thought she was dying?’ Mel said, trying to catch me out.
‘She is! That’s why it’s so important. It’s her dying wish.’
‘To go to Yorkshire?’ Mel looked sceptical. I nodded. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must think I was born yesterday,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Hetty—’ she always gets my name wrong on purpose to wind me up—‘but no can do.’
How Not to Disappear Page 11