Then You Were Gone

by Claire Moss

  She had come to Lancashire on a succession of buses that had taken her what felt like a week, but was in fact only nine hours. The walk up train fare at Euston station had been over a hundred pounds, but a kind, busybodyish man in the queue behind her had told her there was a bus to Preston from Victoria that left in an hour and cost twenty-five pounds. When she got to Victoria she had discovered that the price was closer to fifty pounds, but she had gladly paid it and boarded the half-empty bus. The journey was a grey and unremarkable succession of smudgy wet motorways and desolate 1970s bus stations populated by icy winds and the desperate; by the time they reached rainy Preston in the early evening Simone felt pretty desperate herself. Ordinarily she relished a long solo journey. With her headphones in and a book open in front of her she was free to spend the hours alone with her head and its contents, nobody speaking to her or making demands of her. She loved the fact that the coffee in paper cups was horribly overpriced because it made it seem more like a treat; she loved watching the other passengers, working out where they might be going, watching them being reunited with loved ones as they stepped from the bus or the train. But until this point in her life, the bus or the train had seemed like a haven, the very fact of its constant motion a deterrent to anything bad taking hold, and the other passengers had all seemed like potential friends, good people like her, on their way to visit other good people. Now suddenly her head was filled with horrors and questions and the shadowy terror of the truly unknown, the paper cups of coffee made her jittery and unable to settle, and the other people on the bus were sinister, lurking shadows full of evil intent. She spent a couple of hours with her gaze fixed on a man a few rows in front. He wore a black leather jacket and above his thick, muscular neck his hair was shaved into the high and tight style of a wannabe marine, but he did not once turn round to look at Simone and he got off at Stoke into the arms of a blonde-haired woman and three excitable children.

  She had been relieved to step into the chill drizzle of Preston and walk the short distance to the railway station. It was over an hour until the next train to Clitheroe and the coffee concession was about to close. Simone had sat alone in the only waiting room, which smelled of urine and was even more overheated than the coach, and cursed herself for never having learned to drive. She was the only one of her friends from home who had never passed her test. Growing up in the middle of nowhere, even if you technically lived in a town, everybody drove. It was learn to drive or rely on finding a boyfriend with a car; and by the time she was sixteen, Simone had found herself Jed, the kind of boyfriend who liked to drive her everywhere, because if he drove her there then he knew where she was all the time, and if he waited outside to drive her home then he knew she had not gone anywhere else without telling him. Once she turned seventeen, Simone had been planning on using the money from her part-time waitressing job to pay for driving lessons, but Jed would not hear of it. ‘You don’t need to drive,’ he said, ‘you’ve got me to take you where you need to go. And anyway, you’d be no good at it, you’re not the kind of girl who’s good at driving.’ Even once she’d got away from Jed, even now when she no longer even thought about him very often, when the shadow he had left on her life was beginning to lighten, she still thought of herself as being not the kind of girl who’s good at driving, and she had still never learned.

  And now she had found herself in a piss-stinking waiting room in fucking Preston of all places, eating a massive packet of Quavers because it was the only thing left in the vending machine at eight o’clock at night just so she could chase after the first man she believed she had ever really loved. Not for the first time, Simone cursed Jed with all her heart. Not only had he taken away the part of herself that believed she was capable of doing such a simple thing as driving, but he had made her so terrified of falling in love, so afraid that it would mean subjugating herself to whoever made her feel that way until there was no part of her left, that she had wasted all these years feeling alone. If she had known how it could be, like it was with Mack, that it could be like two equals, two friends, it could be about kindness and sharing and not power and control, then she could have allowed herself to be happy much sooner. But then, she supposed, if she had not had to wait so long, then perhaps she would not have found Mack. Until she lost him again. Simone sighed, tipped the rest of the Quavers directly into her mouth, then screwed the packet up and dropped it on the floor because there was no bin.

  At Clitheroe station she had given in and got a taxi to the village where Dan and Melissa lived, loitering in the shadows until the taxi had driven off, then she had remained here, leaning on the farm gate and shifting from one foot to another to keep warm, until the moment when she decided to go and knock on their door. It was now nearly nine-thirty and Simone knew that the moment was now; indeed the moment had probably long passed and her final chance was looming. These people had young children. She would be lucky if they were not in bed already. Simone remembered one night a few months after Rory was born when she had rung Jazzy at home just after nine in the evening. He and Petra had already been asleep and she had been mortified – partly at having woken them up, but more at having openly signalled her lack of understanding of the world they now inhabited and having so boldly highlighted the new distance between them.

  There were two cars outside Dan and Melissa’s house; a dark-coloured people carrier and a red mini. Neither looked like the kind of thing Mack would have come by in whatever illicit manner he had chosen – not that Simone really knew what a stolen car might look like. There were lights on downstairs in the house but the curtains were drawn so Simone was only making an assumption that there were people inside or that they were awake or in a state to receive visitors. In half an hour of observing the outside of the house she had gleaned nothing that suggested either that Mack was or was not inside. She was going to have to do it.

  Melissa, when she answered the door, clearly had no idea who Simone was. She was no longer pregnant but still carrying weight around her middle and was dressed in loose cotton trousers and a fleece hoody. She blinked in greeting, then appeared to remember herself and gave a polite semi-smile. ‘Hello?’ She said it like you say it on the phone, as though Simone was not standing there in front of her.

  ‘Melissa. You don’t remember me. I’m Simone, we met in Glasgow at the uni thing, the reunion?’

  The woman’s eyes widened and Simone could see the physical effort she was invoking to dredge her post-natal memory. ‘Oh, right, yeah. OK?’ She meant, What the hell are you doing at my house at nine-thirty at night, how on earth did you find us, and what in God’s name do you want?

  Simone took a breath and launched into her by now well-rehearsed back story. ‘So,’ she finished, spreading her hands in front of her. Melissa had not invited her in. ‘I came here to see if you could help me.’ She hoped Melissa had not noticed that her voice was trembling slightly, although it was impossible to hide the shivers that convulsed her body from the time spent standing in the cold.

  Melissa took a step back into the hallway. ‘So you’ve come all the way up here from London today?’ She had a soft Scottish accent, its edges blurred by many years in England.

  Simone nodded. ‘On the bus.’

  ‘Shit.’ The woman’s eyes widened again. ‘Oh God, sorry, please come in. I just – it was a bit of a surprise someone turning up at this time. I didn’t mean to just leave you standing there.’

  Simone followed her into the hallway. The house was a large Edwardian villa, standing alone in a rocky garden at the top of a small incline. In London it would have cost a couple of million pounds. The hallway was as wide as Simone’s bedroom in her flat, the floor a cold and echoey black and white tile, periodically dotted with brightly coloured plastic toys, a minute pair of red wellies, and a set of those miniature riding reins Simone had seen frazzled parents use to try and restrain their toddlers. She could hear a television and the pop and crackle of an open fire coming from a room to her right.

  �
�We’re in here,’ Melissa said. ‘Come in.’ Melissa walked ahead into the room. ‘Erm, Dan?’ Simone got the impression these two were the kind of couple who usually called each other ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart’. The ‘Dan’ sounded overly formal and forced. ‘You remember Simone? Mack’s partner? From the university reunion?’

  Simone smiled apologetically, at the same time quietly relishing hearing herself described as someone’s ‘partner’. Melissa smiled back conspiratorially as if to say I bet he probably doesn’t remember you either, like I didn’t, but of course I do now and look, I’m on your side now and everything.

  Dan paused the film he was watching and looked at them, his eyes not quite focused as he studied Simone, glancing briefly at his wife as though trying to read in her face what exactly might be going on. His hair was dishevelled and he was unshaven, and all in all he looked decades older than the last time she had seen him. As he turned more in his seat Simone noticed that, curled face down on his right shoulder, was a tiny, sleeping baby with a head full of unruly black hair.

  When Simone did not speak, Melissa went on, ‘It seems that Mack’s in a bit of trouble. Simone wondered whether he might be here. Or whether we might be able to help her find him.’

  Simone could not tell from Melissa’s tone whether she was trying to convey something unspoken to Dan, whether there might be a subtext of Of course I told her we hadn’t seen him because that’s the way we want to keep it, isn’t it? Now go and do the secret knock on the spare bedroom door to warn him that she’s found him. Or even, This woman’s insane. Please go and ring the authorities. But one look at Dan’s blearily bewildered face told her that every word Melissa spoke was only serving to confuse him further. As Melissa gave a brief regurgitation of Simone’s story (‘I know! A false passport!’) Dan moved to sit upright in his seat, expertly adjusting the baby so as not to wake him. (Or her? Simone could not tell from this angle. Or probably any angle.)

  When Melissa finished speaking Dan blew out through his lips like a horse. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘I mean Mack’s done some weird shit in his time but – this. I mean… Jesus,’ he said again. He had a broad Lancashire accent that Simone remembered from the reunion. She wished she had paid more attention to Dan and Melissa at the time, rather than being so wrapped up in the new and rapturous love she and Mack were revelling in. She thought she remembered him telling her that he was a teacher at a secondary school. History? English? Something like that, one of the more artsy subjects. Also – though this part was hazy – that he had recently been made deputy head or head of sixth form or something, which would at least explain the massive house.

  ‘I know,’ Simone said quietly. ‘I’m so sorry to drag you both into this, especially now.’ She gestured at the sleeping baby. ‘But I didn’t know where else to come. Mack’s mum thought maybe he’d be here with you, and I thought so too, once she’d said it. And I didn’t want to ring you in case he was here and I scared him away. Because I think he thinks he’s keeping me safe by staying away, but I don’t care. I don’t need to stay safe, I need to be with him. I just want to see him.’ Her voice was breathy and more high-pitched than usual, and she immediately felt embarrassed and wished she had not said so much. This was more than she had ever told anyone about how she felt about Mack – she had never indicated such depth of feeling to anyone, not her sister, her friends, Jazzy. Especially not Jazzy. Not, she realised now, even to Mack himself. But Dan just smiled, a smile of resignation and understanding. Simone felt sure that she was not the first woman Dan had seen driven half to distraction by Mack. It’s not like that! she wanted to say. This is for real! It’s special!

  Dan shuffled again and the baby stretched its head up and back without opening its eyes.

  ‘How old?’ Since she turned thirty and her friends had started having babies, Simone had perfected the art of phrasing a question so that her ignorance of a baby’s gender was not immediately apparent.

  ‘He’ll be four weeks tomorrow.’

  ‘Wow. So this time last month he wasn’t even here?’

  ‘I know, but it’s impossible to imagine life without you now, isn’t it Archie?’ Melissa came back into the room carrying three mugs of coffee and a bottle of cognac. ‘Sorry,’ she said as she put the bottle down, ‘it’s not particularly decent stuff, but it’s all we’ve got. I thought you could probably do with something to warm you through a bit.’

  ‘Yes, amazing what can happen in a few weeks,’ Dan said, opening the cognac and pouring a slug into his mug. He waved the bottle at Simone and she nodded her assent.

  ‘None for me thanks, darling,’ said Melissa. ‘Not unless I want this little guy off his face on my breast milk.’

  The warmth of the coffee and the fire of the brandy filled Simone’s chest and she felt, for the first time that day, almost at ease. It was disarming to be treated so kindly by an almost stranger whose house she had just invaded, and for a second she felt as though it was a social call, just a quick catch-up with a friendly young couple who had just had a baby.

  Dan was frowning, his mind clearly working, then he said, ‘Do you think this could be something to do with this new business he’s gone into with Keith?’

  Simone felt a jolt through her stomach, the panic she felt whenever Keith or Anastasia were mentioned. She thought of Jazzy, whether he was going to approach Keith again, whether he was putting himself in danger by doing so. Her eyes darted instinctively to her phone. She had not heard from Jazzy all day. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, her throat dry despite the coffee. ‘Why do you ask that?’

  Dan looked serious, regretful almost. ‘Well… Do you know Keith?’

  Simone nodded. ‘Yeah. Well, I mean, I’ve met him a couple of times.’

  ‘What do you think of him?’

  Is there ever a right answer to that question? Simone thought. ‘I, erm… I don’t really know him very well,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Mmmm,’ Dan said, a look of wry amusement on his face. He knew what she meant. ‘Well, I asked that because when Mack told me he was going to work for Keith I thought – well to be honest, my first thought was Christ, no, don’t do it! Although I didn’t say that to Mack of course. But I mean, I couldn’t understand why he would do that, why he would even consider working for someone like Keith. Come on, the guy’s so obviously dodgy, you only have to meet him once to know that. Mack’s better than that and I thought he knew he was. I was really surprised and also I was a bit disappointed in him.’ Simone suppressed a smile. There was something about Dan’s earnestness coupled with his musical Lancashire accent that was irresistibly endearing. If he had been her teacher she knew she would have hated to hear him say he was disappointed in her. ‘But then,’ Dan went on, ‘I’ve never understood what it is with Mack and Keith.’

  ‘Never?’ Simone said. ‘You mean he’s talked about Keith to you before? Before he went to work for him I mean?’

  Dan nodded, as though it were obvious. ‘Sure. I met him a few times actually, up in Glasgow.’

  ‘Keith? Really?’ Simone could not imagine any friends of her parents coming to visit her at university.

  ‘He used to come to Glasgow at really short notice, just turn up at our flat or at the union bar and expect Mack to drop everything and go off with him. I mean, he used to take Mack out to dinner and – well, he probably wouldn’t really want me telling you this, but I know he used to take him to strip bars and lap dancing places as well – and Keith would pay for everything. But I always used to get the impression that Mack didn’t really want to go with him, but that Keith gave him no choice. Like Mack was a bit scared of him or that he – I don’t know, he owed him something, he felt some sort of responsibility towards him like he would with family.’

  ‘I know,’ Simone said, ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ She recognised the behaviour Dan was describing; she had witnessed the same change in Mack when Keith was around, his swagger suddenly fading and a strange, slightly craven need to please taking over. What
was it? This hold that Keith had over Mack? What had scared him so much? ‘But,’ she went on, ‘why? Do you know why Mack was like that with him?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue. Mack never liked to talk about Keith and I guess I picked up on that and I never liked to ask. Although,’ he paused. ‘I do remember one time, the only time he really said anything about Keith. We were up at Kielder, you know, in Northumberland? A group of us used to go up there every end of term once exams were over with. Just to get out of Glasgow, see some trees, breathe some fresh air. We used to get a dorm in the youth hostel, a few crates of beer and just chill out. Anyway, this particular night, Mack had gone a bit overboard – not just beers, it was spirits, pills, a bit of weed, anything that was going. I thought he was worried that he’d fucked up his exams, but I don’t know. Now I look back on it, I wonder if there was something else bothering him… Anyway, he got really hammered and he was just – well, rambling really… And he started on the whole “I fucking love you, you’re my best mate…” thing.’ He half-smiled at the memory. ‘He was going on about how he’d never had any proper friends until he came to uni, and I think that was kind of true because I never ever heard him talk about any friends from home or school – you know, a lot of drunken self-pity.’ Dan seemed a little embarrassed, almost as though he was apologetic on Mack’s behalf. ‘And it all led onto this incoherent rant about Keith and how Keith was all right really and what a great guy he was once you got to know him and how he’d helped him out of some tough times and he was the only person who had come through for him when he really needed someone and he’d owe him one forever. It kind of surprised me and didn’t seem to make much sense – I mean, Mack certainly never acted as though he thought Keith was a great guy when Keith was around. And he wouldn’t say anything more about what exactly Keith had helped him out with, just shrugged it off, like, “Nah, trust me you don’t want to know”. Got a bit funny with me when I pushed it, then he passed out with his clothes on and we never mentioned it again. So,’ Dan spread his hands apologetically. ‘I don’t know what it is about Keith and Mack, but I do know that it’s something, and I don’t think it’s something good.’