Missing Molly

by Natalie Barelli

  I take my tea into the living room and settle down on the sofa. Gracie is sitting on cushions and glued to the TV screen. She’s watching some kids’ programme and eating in slow motion. I pick up my mobile and dial the number I wrote on my hand earlier. I spin a story about checking the spelling for the producer of The Spirit programme for a local credit, and I find out her name is Alice McGrath. I hang up, then I wait for twenty minutes or so, listening to the sounds of Gracie singing along with the TV.

  When I call again, I ask for Alice McGrath.

  “One moment, please,” I am put on hold briefly and then a different voice comes on the line and announces herself, “Alice McGrath” in the clipped, professional tone of someone who doesn’t normally answer their own phone.

  I try to match it. “Hello, it’s Catherine Morgan, I’m calling about a work reference for one of your ex-employees. Jacob Whitelaw.”

  She doesn’t say anything. For a second, I think I’ve lost her, but then she blurts, “Where are you calling from?”

  “The Acton Express,” I reply, which is a lie. “I have an application from Mr Whitelaw. Just checking up on past employment. How long—”

  “And he put my name as a reference?”

  I don’t know how to answer that question. Something in her tone makes me think maybe I contacted the wrong person. So, I ask a different question instead. “Mr Whitelaw was the producer of your programme, is that right?”

  “One producer on this programme, yes.”

  I don’t know why I am disappointed.

  “Ms…”

  “Catherine Morgan.”

  “Ms Morgan, I’ll be honest with you. If Jacob put my name down as a reference he must have thought you wouldn’t check. That’s his bad luck. I fired Jacob Whitelaw. He was with us for less than a year and when he was sober he wasn’t so bad, but since that was a rare occurrence, I never got to find out how good he was. I gave him three warnings as I am required to do by our internal code of conduct, and the fourth time he screwed up I let him go. I don’t recommend him to any future employer. Was there anything else?”

  I am speechless. “No, thank you,” I finally stammer.

  “You’re welcome. Goodbye,” she says, and hangs up.

  When Chris introduced Jacob, he made it sound like Superman had flown down from the heavens to work at the paper, and we were incredibly lucky to have him. What story did Jacob spin? I wish I’d looked up who he put down as a reference before making the call. Did Chris even check?

  “Hello!”

  “Daddy!”

  Gracie runs down the corridor, pounding the floor with her little feet and throws herself against Matt, wrapping her little arms around his legs. He picks her up and bounces her in the air to the sound of her happy giggles.

  “Hey, you’re home early,” I say.

  “Yeah, we had a cancellation,” he puts Gracie down on the floor and kisses me softly on the lips. “I figured I may as well come home.”

  I met Matt at the pub, four years ago now. Not long after I met Vivian in fact. I’m always careful when I meet new people, but I don’t avoid them either. That night, there were four of us from work. It was Vivian’s idea that we go out, as usual. She was always trying to meet a guy. Her dream is to settle down and have babies.

  Matt was there with a couple of his own friends, and we all ended up at the same table. There was a band and the others got up to dance, leaving Matt and me behind. We started talking. Hours later, we were still talking. He’s only my second serious relationship and everything I ever wanted in a guy: he’s very honest. He always wants to do the right and the fair thing. I think it’s because he grew up without a dad. His father left when Matt was ten, and his mother raised him and his two sisters. But even back then, he took it upon himself to be the man of the house and do all he could to help his family. That’s the kind of person Matt is. As soon as he could, he jumped into an apprenticeship, and now he’s an electrician. He’s always looked after the people he loves, and now he looks after me too.

  Meeting Matt changed everything for me. Not for the first time, I could see a glimpse of what my life could be like. Normal. Happy. Then I fell pregnant really early on into our relationship, and we were both ecstatic. That’s when I made a decision, that enough time had gone past, and I could stop cowering and hiding and begin to live a little. So I let Rachel Holloway come out a little more into the light.

  “Daddydaddydaddy!”

  Matt laughs and picks her up again, wedges her on his hip and takes her into the kitchen. I follow them. He grabs a beer from the fridge, offers it to me but I don’t want it.

  “How was work?” he asks. Gracie has wriggled her way out of his grasp and she slides down his side to the floor. I want to tell him about the paper possibly closing, but that would mean telling him about the podcast and I’m not ready yet. I’m scared that I will betray myself.

  “I wish we were still on holiday,” I say.

  Five

  Back at work, I do my best to keep things normal all day. I actually have a lot to catch up on after my holiday, so I have a good excuse to keep my head down. It doesn’t stop Vivian from asking me if I’m okay. She thinks I’m worried about my job, and that’s fine with me. I would be worried, normally, so it’s a good cover in that way. But then I hear Jacob’s voice behind me, calling my name. He wants to talk about the podcast. He needs to tally up the costs, he says, and could I help him with that? Would I have the time today? All I can hear is Missing Molly, Missing Molly and I can’t bear it anymore. I tell him I have a headache and I leave work early.

  I need to plan. I can’t decide whether Jacob knows who I am and is connected to him somehow. I’m scared Jacob is trying to flush me out, and that’s what this fucking podcast is really about. Once upon a time I might have discounted my fears. I might have put it down to paranoia, but not anymore. I’ve been there. I know he’s looking for me. I don’t think he’s given up.

  All I can think of is protecting Gracie. On impulse, I get on the bus and I end up near London bridge. I’ve tried to walk across this bridge before, but not lately, because why would I bother? But suddenly, if feels important. I think of my child. I need to break through this fear that paralyses me, otherwise how can I protect her?

  I picked London bridge because at first it doesn’t feel like a bridge. It’s more like a continuation of King William street. But now I can’t breathe. I should have known what would happen. I started to feel light-headed when I reached the part that hangs over water, but I kept going anyway. You can do this. Come on Rachel, be brave, try harder. Push yourself. The only other time I tried, I remember the same feeling of vertigo, the wobble in my legs, my heart pulsing in my ears, and I turned around and almost ran back. But this time, I was determined. I shut my eyes, felt the cold railing under my hands and inched forward, step by step.

  Now I’m stuck.

  I give myself pep talks that I already know will do nothing to help. Come on, Rachel, put your skates on and stop whining. Keep going, just walk faster. It’s not that hard. But the cold sensation running through my arms, like ice in my veins, tells me it’s too late. I can’t go back, and I can’t go forward. I have nowhere to go.

  My eyes dart from side to side, looking for a way out, fear pounding in my chest, but all I can see is a blur of people moving past me against the grey sky. I’m losing all sense of direction and I have to grip the railing, on the river side, and I hold on as hard as I can, taking big gulps of air that won’t go down my throat.

  I’m going to die.

  No, you’re not. You’re not going to die.

  I’m going to die.

  I drop to the ground, huddling into a ball with one arm pulling my knees up against my chest, my other hand searching for something to hold on to. I can’t breathe. I can’t get the air in.

  Run! Molly, run!

  There are dark spots dancing in front of my eyes now, the edges of my vision melting into a dark, ragged shadow like a burning ol
d photograph.

  Call Vivian.

  My arms and hands are tingling as I pull my bag closer to me and feel my way around the leather folds until I find my phone.

  Call Vivian.

  I press the button and lift the phone close to my mouth and say, somewhere between a whisper and a plea, “Hey Siri, call Vivian.”

  The sound of ringing at the other end comes through dim and distant and her voice, like a miracle, says, “Rachel, wow that’s amazing I was just about to—”

  “Help me.”

  In the silence that follows, I can’t tell if I have spoken the words out loud or merely imagined them, until she asks, “Where are you?”

  I’m gasping for air. I won’t be able to tell her because I can’t speak, and I’m propelled into an even deeper state of panic. But then her voice comes through again, dim and distant.

  “Listen to me, Rachel. You’re okay. You’re all right. Listen to my voice, honey. I want you to slow down your breathing now. We’re going to count together. Concentrate on counting, Rachel. One, two, three, that’s it. Slow down, you got it. Four, five, six. Okay, you’re doing great Rachel. Now tell me where you are.”

  “I’m on … the bridge.”

  “Okay just breathe and count. Everything’s all right. Breathe and count with me.”

  So I do, and the pressure on my chest begins to loosen ever so slightly. I am still crouched on the ground. I feel someone put a hand on my back, hear the distant sound of a voice, asking if I need help. I shake my head and rest my forehead on my knees.

  Twenty-seven, twenty-eight—

  Without looking, I lift one arm to the railing on top of the concrete barrier and pull myself up. Vivian’s voice is soothing, soft and distracting at the same time. She breaks up her counting with anecdotes about our past. Do you remember the time we laughed so hard you peed your pants?

  I release a shaky breath. “I’m walking now,” I whisper.

  “You’re doing great, Rach, just look at the ground and take your time.”

  In what feels like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of minutes, I’m off the bridge and the relief floods my entire body. I close my eyes and tilt my face to the sky. Vivian's voice is stronger, clearer now. I just relish the feel of the ground under my feet, the sense of peace and safety that has returned to me. I pull a crumpled tissue from the pocket of my coat and wipe my tears, blow my nose.

  “I’m sorry, it was going to pass. I should have just waited it out,” I say into the phone.

  “I’m glad you called me, honey.” Vivian's seen me like this before. She’s helped me out of a panic attack more than once. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

  “Thank you,” I say softly.

  “You’re welcome. Go and sit down on a bench somewhere, you want me to call you an Uber?”

  “I’m okay now Viv, I can do it. I’m sitting down.”

  “Okay. Whose bright idea was this by the way? Your shrink?”

  “No. Mine.”

  “I see. Did you tell her? What you were going to do?”

  I start crying, more out of sheer exhaustion and disappointment than anything else.

  “Oh, honey,” she says into my ear.

  “I’m okay, Viv, really. Let me take a moment, I’ll get home and call you back.”

  I say goodbye, drop my head between my knees and wait for the crushing disappointment to abate.

  Six

  I’ve spent the past two days driving myself crazy, looking into Jacob’s background, the little of it I can access online. I can’t find anything that ties him to me. We haven’t crossed paths before, in any capacity, and I can’t quite picture him as the hired assassin trying to flush out his target. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. What’s the expression? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

  But I have come up with a plan which is breathtaking in its simplicity. The only person who has the required expertise to produce this podcast is Jacob. Therefore, get rid of Jacob, and no podcast. Magic. We’ll think of something else to save the paper. There’s another way. There always is.

  I’m back at work now, and it’s Friday. Normally, I like Fridays, because what’s not to like about Fridays? But also because Vivian and I, and Jenny from work, often go for a beer at the Cat & Mutton, the pub around the corner, and Matt will pick up Gracie from preschool so I can have a break with my friends.

  But that’s hours away. I’ve only been at the office for five minutes, and Vivian is telling me something about a TV show as I turn on my computer and catch sight of Jacob in peripheral vision, walking right up to my desk.

  “Hi, Rachel.”

  “Hi, Jacob. How are you?” I barely look at him. He smiles a little awkwardly. “Yeah, good, thanks. Can I have a few minutes of your time?”

  “Of course. Did you want to work on budget?”

  “Yes, Chris said I should check with you on some costs, for the podcast.”

  “All right.” I hesitate for a second, then I add, “Do you want to pull up a chair?”

  I indicate the space next to me. He looks around, spots an empty chair at one of the other desks and wheels it over. I catch a faint whiff of aftershave. I look down at my hands on the keyboard. They’re trembling. I rub them together as if to warm them up.

  “Okay, so breaking down what we need…” He’s flipping through pages of his notebook as he speaks. “Can you tell me any costs I haven’t thought of? The first thing is the website. I think a blog, so we can post some updates and also let people post any tips, anonymously.”

  “Right.” I scribble a note that makes no sense. It reads ‘blog tips ££.’

  “Okay. There shouldn’t be any expense for the website. I thought missingmolly as a domain name had a nice ring to it—”

  I close my eyes and will myself to breathe.

  “—but Chris doesn’t want a dedicated website, he wants it on the paper’s site, so we’re good there.”

  Jacob tells me about contact forms, and the message bank with a unique phone number, and the various social media channels he wants to set up for this podcast. If anyone has anything to say about me, they’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so.

  “Money’s tight, as you know. So anything that costs extra, it’s probably out,” he says. Maybe I could make the whole thing sound unaffordable.

  “And if we’re over budget, let me know, and I’ll make it work. I’m willing to cut any costs down to make sure this happens.”

  I nod. There goes the unaffordable idea.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say.

  “Of course.”

  “Is there any way I can work on the podcast too? I was thinking it could be a great experience for me. Maybe I could monitor the social media, or the phone messages, or the email account. I could make sure nothing gets missed.”

  “That would be great, Rachel, thanks. I’ll mention it to Chris if you like.” He even writes it down in his notebook.

  Vivian lays a hand on the back of Jacob’s chair. “We’re still going to the pub later?” she asks me. Jacob keeps scribbling, aware the question is not directed at him.

  “I sure hope so,” I say.

  Jacob and I wrap up the rest of our work and by the time he returns to his desk, I have a list of things to do that will take me a good part of the day. I make myself a cup of tea first, after all, it’s not every day you’re asked to set up a website to search for yourself.

  Have you seen Molly Forster?

  Yes! I have! She’s right here! In the office!

  I work through my list all day, waiting for the right moment, which never comes. I’m massaging my temples when I hear Vivian behind me.

  “You ready?”

  I turn around. She has that long taupe coat on, over her shoulders. She’s wearing her floppy hat, the one that makes her look like she’s on her way to the French Riviera. I check my watch, shocked that the day has gone by so fast and I glance at Chris’s do
or. It’s closed, but I can see through the vertical blinds behind the glass wall that he’s still there. I only have a small window of opportunity to do what I have to.

  I turn back to Vivian, who by now has her hands on her hips. I’m scrambling for an excuse to catch up with them later so I can get a moment alone with Chris.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

  “No reason,” I stutter. “You look great, Viv.”

  Jenny comes and stands next to her, looking at her up and down. “Yeah, you do, Vivian,” she says. “It’s a great look on you.”

  Vivian flicks her hair back. “Good. Because I’m going out, and later I’m catching up with Tommy. He says he wants to talk, and I reckon there’s big news coming.” She wriggles her fingers in the air.

  “Really?” Jenny asks. “He’s going to ask you to marry him?”

  Vivian bursts out laughing.

  “No! Of course not! But I think he wants to move in with me. He’s over at my place all the time anyway.” She’s beaming with pleasure.

  I look over at Jacob, hunched over his notebook, scribbling furiously.

  “You want to come too, Jacob?” I ask.

  He looks surprised by the question.

  “To the Cat and Mutton, for a beer,” I continue. Of course he’s surprised. I’ve barely said boo to this man and now I’m asking him out for happy hour. But I’m desperate.

  Jacob's smile says everything about how rarely he gets included in something like this. “Okay, yeah, thanks,” he says, and returns to his notebook, the smile not quite vanishing yet from his lips.

  “Great!” Vivian says brightly, as if it was settled, as if it had been her idea to ask Jacob. But the look she gives me is more puzzled than put out.

  “I don’t know about you all, but I’m ready to go,” Jenny says.

  Jacob stands at that, grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and bends over his computer, shutting everything down.

  “Ready, Rach?” Vivian says.

  “Okay yes. Let’s go.” I turn back to my screen and shut everything down too. I stand up, fish my mobile out of my bag, and pretend to read a text. I make a frustrated noise.