by Mark Hill
‘Thanks, Lewis, I appreciate it.’ The blast of a tugboat horn as it chugged up river penetrated the quiet of the car.
‘Hell of an essay your daughter’s writing. Things have moved on from Van Gogh’s ear, I suppose. I was really sorry to hear about Laura, Ray. She was a lovely lady.’
‘I owe you, Lewis.’
Drake killed the connection and walked to reception. A shimmering blue light gave the walls a poolside glimmer. The porter, an old guy frowning over a puzzle book, looked up as Drake strode to the elevator.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘I’ll see myself up.’ Drake pressed the button for the eighth floor.
‘I have to buzz you—’
The porter moved around the side of his desk too quickly, clipping his knee. His exclamation was cut off as the lift door closed.
Don’t come on strong, Ray. She’s scared and confused. Drake’s fingers curled as he imagined Laura’s hand slipping into it. Don’t argue. Don’t get angry. You’ll lose her.
‘I’ll try,’ he said, out loud.
The eighth-floor corridor smelled of pine freshener. A vase of flowers decorated an alcove. Drake could hear the thud of music and muffled laughter coming from Jordan’s apartment. He rang the doorbell, and when the laughter continued, put his thumb on it and kept it there.
The door finally swung open. ‘I’ve turned it down already!’
Jordan’s tracksuit bottoms were worn low to expose his taut stomach and jutting abs, a bottle of Japanese beer was tucked into the elastic waist like a holstered gun. An unbuttoned pale cream shirt revealed a fine gold chain across his hairless chest. Since Drake had seen him last, Jordan’s cropped hair had turned platinum.
‘Mr Drake! How’s it going?’
Music and laughter continued behind the closed living-room door. Despite the young man’s apparent surprise, Drake had a feeling he was expected.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Course!’
Jordan bowed gravely. Drake saw his pupils were large and round, and wondered what he’d discover on the other side of that closed door.
Stay calm.
He led Drake into a dark bedroom. ‘We’ve some mates over. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll get April?’
The unmade duvet on the bed was coiled like a scoop of ice cream. There was a built-in wardrobe along the length of one wall, an en-suite bathroom. The walls were covered with arty monochromes of snaking naked torsos. April’s trolley case stood at the end of a king-sized bed. He picked it up, easily: empty.
Balcony doors were flung open to the cold evening and the sparkling city lights at dusk. A boat puttered down the river, leaving a frothy wake. On the balcony was a metal table with two chairs. Drake prodded the mashed butts in an ashtray. Several were marked with lipstick.
‘What are you doing here?’
The bedside lamp clicked on, and Drake barely recognised his own daughter. Her blonde hair flamed red in the glow of the lamp, and her skin, so pale and porcelain in the sunlight, was almost translucent. There were shadows beneath her eyes. For the first time, Drake saw just how much weight she’d lost. Her feet were bare. Arcing across the top of her left foot was a tattoo he’d never seen before, an orchid.
His first instinct was to go to her, but he checked himself. These days, any attempt at affection antagonised her. Instead, he nodded to the balcony. ‘You’re smoking now?’
‘I’m old enough.’ Once it had been a joke between them, when I’m old enough, then a threat. Now it was a dismissal. ‘I asked you why you’re here.’
He nodded at the case. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to prove. Come home.’
‘This is my home now.’ She gestured around her. ‘Mine and Jordan’s.’
Drake enjoyed the battle of wills that often took place with suspects across a metal table in an interview room, and invariably got what he wanted. What was left unspoken, he knew, often screamed more loudly than any confession. Ray Drake had forgotten more secrets than most people had ever learned. But here, in this bedroom, the unspoken fact of their mutual grief – April for her mother, Drake for his wife – stood between them, and he couldn’t find the words that would make everything good again.
Jordan slipped into the room to take her hand. April towered over him.
‘I had to learn from Myra that you’d left home.’
‘And I bet Gran loved telling you I’d gone. I bet she couldn’t wait.’ April snorted. ‘You should be happy for me, Ray.’
To his irritation, she’d begun to address him by his first name, the same way he addressed the old woman.
‘Please don’t—’
‘I didn’t even think you’d notice. You’re always so busy at work.’
‘It wasn’t my—’
She spat out the words: ‘Mum was dying.’
And there it was, out loud. This was the conversation they should have had months ago, just the two of them, at home; their home, not in a strange room clinging to the cold river.
‘We’re engaged now.’ She held up a hand, a ring glinting on a finger in the soft light. ‘Aren’t you going to congratulate us, Ray?’
‘Don’t call me that.’ Don’t get angry. ‘I’m your dad.’
‘Look, Mr Drake – Ray.’ Jordan stepped forward. ‘Thing is, I love April, and she loves me. You’ve got it into your head that I’m a bit down market, I accept that, but I have to pinch myself to believe that your daughter would honour someone like me with her love.’ He took April’s hand. ‘I intend to make her happy.’
Drake didn’t take his eyes of his daughter. ‘Come home.’
‘Fact is, Ray, you two ain’t been getting on. Maybe you can both get a bit of distance now April lives with me, get things into perspective. It’d be heartbreaking if the two of you fell out – permanent, like.’
Ignoring him, Drake said: ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘Of course I don’t – I’m in love. But then you wouldn’t understand a little thing like feelings.’
She turned and ran from the room.
‘Well.’ Jordan made a face. ‘That could have gone better.’
As Drake moved past, Jordan grabbed his arm. When Drake reeled angrily towards him, he held his hands up.
‘Leave her be, Ray.’ His voice was soft. ‘She’s upset.’
‘I’m going to talk to my daughter.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t. We’ve got company.’
‘What will I find next door?’ asked Drake.
‘It’s a mess. There’s drunk people, empty bottles and smelly takeaway food. You know how it is.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Of course not, Ray … Mr Drake.’ Jordan made a big show of looking offended. ‘What do you take me for?’
‘Some spliff, maybe, or cocaine? Because you know how I’d react, don’t you?’
Jordan grinned. ‘You’d go mental.’
‘As a police officer, I’d find myself in a very difficult position. There’d be shouting and recrimination, and April would have another reason to hate me. Is that what you’re banking on, Jordan? That I’ll barge my way in next door?’
‘This anger you’ve got inside of you, Ray, it’s not healthy. Get to the gym and onto a punchbag, let it all out.’
Drake rubbed the silk of Jordan’s shirt collar between his fingers.
‘Careful with that.’ Jordan shifted uneasily. ‘That’s expensive.’
‘If I discover my daughter is taking drugs, we’re going to have a talk, you and me.’
Jordan forced a smile. ‘Look forward to it, Mr Drake.’
Drake pushed past him and out the front door. He marched to the lift without looking back, stomach clenched like a fist.
‘Tell you what,’ Jordan called from the door, ‘just to show there’s no hard feelings, you’re still invited to the wedding. Leave it with me, I’ll talk April round.’ Drake stabbed at the lift button and finally the doors trundled open. ‘Y
ou take care, Ray!’
The porter was hovering by the lift when he arrived back in reception. ‘If you’re visiting, you’re supposed to sign in!’
Drake stormed into the car park. The river lapped angrily against the embankment. In the car he fumbled with the music system. Shut his eyes and listened to Mozart’s Requiem, let the music pour through him.
Laura had taught him how to let it soak the anger from every muscle and tendon, from the marrow in his bones, to cool the blood boiling in his veins. The engine purred below him, barely more than a soft vibration.
A faint trace of Laura’s perfume lingered in the compartment. He imagined he heard, as the last mournful notes of the mass faded, the steady rhythm of her breath beside him.
Ray Drake missed his wife so much.
23
Nina and Martin lived in a big, comfortable house in Green Lanes, which smelled of pot-pourri. Giant sofas covered in exotic throws and cushions nestled against colourful walls. Lamps threw soft light through stained-glass doors. Objects d’art – mementoes they had brought home from their world travels – were placed on ever higher shelves so that they wouldn’t end up in small hands and used as weapons.
It was a home from home for Flick, who hated her own cramped one-bedroom flat, and she stayed there frequently. She could relax, even amid the explosive tantrums and rows that broke out every five minutes among the children. Nina and Martin never minded her being there, or so they said, and her nieces and nephew clearly adored having her about the place. It was the kind of loving, nurturing environment that Flick could never imagine having for herself, so the idea that Nina and Martin’s long marriage could be in trouble filled her with consternation.
She had her own key, but didn’t like to use it – didn’t want to give anyone the impression that she was taking their hospitality for granted – and when she rang the bell Martin opened the door immediately.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Off out?’
‘Yeah.’ He plunged one arm into a North Face jacket as he searched the pockets of another coat on the banister.
Martin was an architect who worked on local government building projects. Flick had known him for nearly two decades now, since her sister came home months early from her gap-year world tour to drop the bombshell that she had married an Aussie she met in Goa just three weeks previously. Nobody had expected it to last five minutes, let alone nineteen years, but Nina and Martin’s marriage had always appeared rock solid, not that Flick claimed to be any kind of expert on the subject. Martin was a charming husband, and a kind and thoughtful father who spent hours playing with his kids, and Flick loved him to bits, but he had been evasive on the phone that morning, and she was convinced he was avoiding her eye as he stomped towards the kitchen, calling: ‘Nina, where’s my keys?’
‘I haven’t seen them,’ she heard her sister shout, and then their voices dropped to an irritable whisper. Flick didn’t want to eavesdrop, but couldn’t help herself, and was kind of relieved when all she could hear was the tap, tap, tap of claws on the floorboards. An old Labrador shambled towards her, tail thumping against the wall. Flick stroked its smooth head, pulling her face clear of its slathering tongue, and tried to pretend Nina and Martin weren’t rowing. ‘Hey, Lulu, nice breath.’
Moments later, Martin rushed back down the hallway, keys in his grasp. ‘Got a poker game,’ he said, and left.
‘I’m in here,’ called Nina.
Flick found her sister in the kitchen. A long counter swung in a gentle curve towards a dining table spotted with lumps of candle wax from the numerous evenings Nina and Martin entertained friends. On summer nights the entire rear glass wall opened so that all the shrubs and plants and flowers in the garden appeared to pour inside. The room was personable and tasteful and tidy – all the more remarkable, thought Flick, because Nina and Martin had three exuberant and messy under-tens.
‘Since when did your husband play poker?’
‘He plays occasionally.’ Nina crouched at the dishwasher prodding buttons. ‘He’s under the mistaken impression it gives him a tough cowboy vibe. Have you eaten?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Auntie Flick!’ called Coral, the seven-year-old, from upstairs. ‘Come and see me.’
‘I’ll be right up,’ Flick shouted, and turned to her sister. ‘I thought they’d all be asleep by now.’
‘She’s wearing her princess outfit in bed. Honestly, the pink is an obscenity, but she won’t take it off, she’s desperate to show you.’ Nina slammed shut the dishwasher door and pressed a folded pair of glasses to her nose to read a label on a bottle of red.
‘I’m not in the mood for a drink,’ said Flick, ‘I’m dead on my feet.’
‘You’re going to want a glass of this.’
Nina padded in her bare feet to a drawer. She was dressed in a loose top and yoga pants, and her strawberry-blonde hair was piled high on her head by an artfully placed pencil. Slim and toned, she was as tall as Flick, but there was no crick in her posture, no apology for her height or her place in the world. She took out a corkscrew.
‘This is the real deal.’ Nina posed mock seductively with the bottle, as if she were a hostess stroking the top prize on a game show. ‘It’s from Martin’s special stash of very expensive wines. The idea was to drink them on momentous occasions. Each case costs hundreds of your English pounds. Trust me, you’re going to want this.’
‘I am honoured,’ said Flick warily. ‘What’s the celebration?’
Nina took two long-stem glasses from a cupboard. ‘I told him that if I was going to have this conversation with you alone, because Martin couldn’t get away fast enough, then he would have to pay a forfeit.’ She twisted the corkscrew pensively. The cork eased out with a soft plop.
‘If you’re trying to terrify me, you’re going about it the right way. What’s going on?’
Nina poured the ruby-red liquid and pushed a glass across the table. ‘Tell me what you think.’
‘I don’t care about the wine. Is there something wrong between you and Martin? If I’ve been overstaying my welcome I promise not to stay over again, unless expressly invited.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Nina. ‘We love you being here, which makes what I have to say all the more hideous.’
‘Are you splitting up?’ Panic surged in Flick. ‘Oh God, you are.’
‘No, of course not!’ Nina burst into tears.
‘Auntie Flick!’ shouted Coral.
‘Up in a minute!’ Flick held her sister. ‘Please, just tell me.’
Nina lifted the hem of her top to dab at her eyes. ‘It’s good news, really it is, but it feels … it feels …’
What was really upsetting about this whole situation was that it was Flick’s older sister who was usually so composed. She was the strong one, the rock, the anchor. When their father left home it was Nina who pulled the young Flick and their mother through the trauma; and when Daniel vanished into thin air, and the weeks and months passed and they heard nothing, she was the one who pressed for the investigation into their brother’s disappearance to be kept open. It was Nina who organised their mother’s care when she became sick. She dragged the Crowleys kicking and screaming through every family crisis and out the other side.
Flick took her sister’s face in her hands. ‘Tell me.’
‘You haven’t even tasted this.’ Nina lifted her glass, miserably. ‘It’s Argentinian.’
‘Tell me,’ said Flick gently. ‘Please.’
‘’We’re going away,’ said Nina.
‘I see.’ Flick was stunned, yes, but she had always expected something like this to happen sooner or later. London was no place for a growing family. She immediately began to do the calculations. Thinking about the best way to see her nieces and nephew if they moved out of the city. It would be a wrench not being able to turn up when she liked, and it would be difficult to see them every weekend because of her unpredictable working hours, but it wouldn’t be so bad.
; ‘To Sydney,’ said Nina. ‘We’re going to Australia.’
Flick stared. ‘When?’
‘Okay, so …’ Nina turned away to find things to tidy. ‘Martin’s been offered a job, and school places for the kids have been arranged. It wasn’t planned, I swear, it all happened out of the blue. His parents are elderly now, and he’s their only child … You know he always wanted to go back eventually.’
‘I’m happy for you,’ said Flick quietly.
Nina’s bottom lip quivered. ‘I don’t know what I’m even saying right now. I’m so sorry, darling.’
Flick picked up her glass. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry about. The kids will love it out there. The sun, the outdoor life. You’ll have a pool, probably, and you’ll go to the beach and have barbies and all that. You’re going to be so happy, and I’m glad.’
‘Then why do I feel so terrible about it?’
‘Because you love your sister and don’t want to upset her, but you don’t have to worry because she’s absolutely fine about it.’
‘You’re not fine about it, but thanks for lying.’ Nina gazed at her. ‘When I’m not here, maybe you and Dad—’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Flick, smiling flatly.
‘Someone has to keep an eye on him. You’ll have something in common now; you can get together to badmouth me for leaving.’ Nina stared at her. ‘Please, Flick, I’m struggling for a silver lining here.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Flick did her best to sound happy. ‘What an adventure you’re going to have.’
She opened her arms and Nina walked into them. They stood like that, holding each other. Flick didn’t want to let go of Nina, or any of them. Her sister, thousands of miles away …
‘You’re going to keep a room ready so that I can come and see you.’
‘It’ll be the very best room, with a view of the opera house or a kangaroo park. We’ll get you a koala, a real one. It’ll sit on your bed and wait for you.’
‘Auntie Flick!’ screamed Coral. ‘I can’t get to sleep!’
‘I’d better go up.’ Flick stepped away, the tiredness making her light-headed. She was shattered – emotionally, physically – and knew she wouldn’t be able to stay on her feet for long, but it didn’t stop her gulping the wine down in one mouthful.