Missing Molly

by Natalie Barelli

  “I just need to make a call, I’ll join you all there.”

  “We can wait,” Jenny says, dropping her bag from her shoulder to the floor. Jacob is standing behind them, his hands deep in his pockets, a large brown leather satchel hoisted on his shoulder.

  “No, no you go. I won’t be long. Get me a pint of the Truman, will you?”

  Vivian does a mock salute. “At your service,” she says, and turns on her heels. I make a show of tapping on the screen while they leave the office and bring the phone to my ear. I have a pretend conversation, in case one of them comes back, feeling like a complete idiot for another few minutes, then I head to Chris’s office.

  “Give me a sec, will you, Rach? I just need to finish submitting this form,” he says when I walk in.

  “Sure.” I pull out the one and only spare chair and sit down, drumming my fingers together. It’s a really small office. There’s a cork board that takes up half of the wall behind him, and I gasp as my hand flies to my mouth as I stare at the flyer that bears a photo of my twelve-year-old self.

  Missing. Have you seen Molly?

  I begin to cough to cover my shock.

  “Do you need some water?” Chris asks.

  “No, thank you, I’m okay.”

  He gives me a moment to recover. I can’t stop staring at the flyer. I’ve never seen it before.

  “Where did you get that?” I ask.

  He turns to look at it. “I don’t know. Jacob got it from somewhere. It’s an original too. Anyway,” he turns back to face me, leaning back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Rach?”

  I make myself look at him and clear my throat. “I don’t know how to say this…”

  He cocks his head. “Give it a try.”

  I lean forward and cross my arms on the desk. “I have a friend,” I begin, “who has a friend, who works at the BBC.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to cut a long story short here.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  “I mentioned that Jacob was working with us now.”

  “Okay,”

  “And my friend mentioned it to her friend—”

  “This is the short version?”

  “I’ll get to it, sorry. But actually, before I do, I’d rather you didn’t say the story came from me. I would prefer if you left me out of it.”

  “Okay, out of what?”

  I pause. “It gives me no pleasure to tell you this, okay?” That part is actually true.

  “Just tell me, Rachel.”

  “You told us that Jacob was a real hot radio producer, right? That he did all kinds of really interesting things at the BBC, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, my friend told me…”

  I can tell from his face he doesn’t like where this is going. Chris is a good guy at heart. “Rachel, gossip—”

  “Did you know he got fired?” I blurt out. “From his previous job? From the BBC?”

  The way he jerks his head tells me that he did not.

  “They gave him three warnings. Apparently, he was really unreliable. And not just because of his drinking problem. Did you know about the drinking problem? Maybe he got help for that, I don’t know. All I know is that he really messed up a lot, and they tried to help him, gave him three warnings, but he screwed-up one too many times, and they fired him. And maybe you already know all this and you’re giving him a fresh start. But I wanted to make sure because we have a lot to do over the next couple of months. If we want to survive, and keep our jobs…”

  I breathe out.

  “You’re sure about this?” he asks.

  “Positive. I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head, eyebrows raised. “I’m stunned. Is your information verifiable?”

  “Call his boss. His ex-boss. My friend said her name is Alice McGrath. She will be happy to confirm.”

  He sighs, picks up a pen and makes a note. “I don’t suppose you have a number?”

  I stand, push the chair back against the desk. “No, sorry. Just call the main switchboard. I’m sure they’ll put you through.”

  When I close the door behind me, I manage to do so without looking back at the flyer that bears my name.

  Seven

  Now I just need to get through the weekend which shouldn’t be too hard. Today is Gracie’s birthday party. She’s turning three. I’m frantic. I want everything to be perfect. I want her to have the best time.

  “We can just do it at the preschool you know, parents do that all the time,” Matt said a month ago, but I wanted her to have a proper party. So he has spent the entire morning blowing up balloons. They’re bouncing off the furniture everywhere I look. I baked a cake. The living room has been transformed into a playroom with all kinds of activities for the kids. But I’m nervous. Anxiety is stalking me. It makes me worry about everything. I’m worried no one will turn up and she will be scarred for life and it will be all my fault. I’m worried that one of the children will fall over on the stairs. Or the kids will get food poisoning. Or—

  “My God! Did I just walk into the wrong birthday party? It’s very quiet!” Vivian erupts into our narrow hallway, too many shopping bags for me to count dangling from her arms.

  “You came early! Thank you!” I kiss her cold cheek. “Here, let me take some of these. What’s all this?”

  “Oh, you know, trinkets.”

  “It doesn’t look like trinkets,” I say, peering inside the bags.

  She shrugs. “I couldn’t decide between the Karaoke set and the princess outfit, so I bought everything.”

  I laugh. “She’s three years old! You’re outrageous. You shouldn’t have!”

  “It’s not for you, Rach, it’s for my goddaughter. And anyway, you’re calling me outrageous?” Her eyes are fixed on the colourful balloons that cover the ceiling.

  “Where’s Matt?”

  “Out for a run. He’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Auntie Vivian!”

  “Happy birthday, my little princess,” Vivian's arms are high and open wide and Grace bounces into them, giving her a tight hug. She’s wearing a pink tutu and yellow tights, and some kind of tiara on her head that falls off as she nestles her face into Vivian's neck. I pick it up and watch Vivian hug her tight.

  The presents are given and opened, to Gracie’s squeals of delight. I propose that we take them to the living room and all the kids can play with them later, and I’m relieved that Gracie agrees. I caress the soft spray of freckles on her cheeks with the back of my hand. I had those too, once. But I always wear enough makeup to make them disappear.

  “Let’s go and finish up in the kitchen, your friends will be here soon.” Gracie hops on one foot in front of us. Vivian picks up a square pack from her handbag and slips her arms into the crook of mine.

  “I brought some cupcake mix. Have you ever made cupcakes?” she asks.

  “Never.” I let out a chuckle, forcing myself to relax.

  “Me neither. But it’s a packet mix, so we should be safe,” she says, and I laugh.

  The kitchen table is covered with slices of buttered white bread. I’m making fairy bread. When I put the butter away, I knock over the jar of multi-coloured sugar beads and it spills everywhere.

  “Fuck!” I snap, not catching myself in time. Vivian gives me a shocked look, even though she swears like a sailor. Gracie tries to pick up the sugar beads from the floor.

  “Sorry,” I say quickly, belatedly. Vivian picks up Gracie and I sweep the floor clean.

  “Is Tommy coming?” I ask.

  She makes a face, purses her lips. "Tom has gone back to his ex, would you believe?"

  I’ve never heard Vivian refer to him as Tom before.

  “What? What happened?”

  “The bastard decided to go back home after all, his tail between his legs. Told me last night that they were going to give it another shot. Normally one decides this before getting divorced—as I pointed out to him.”
/>   “I thought he couldn’t stand her? His ex?”

  “Exactly. As it turned out, the moment she beckoned him to come home, he went running.”

  “Oh, Viv. I’m sorry, that’s terrible.”

  “That’s okay. Good riddance. I’ll think of something to make it up to him. I know all his passwords, believe it or not, because he wrote them down carefully in a little notebook which he forgot to take with him when he went back to his—” she pauses, covering Gracie’s ears, “fucking ex. Or should that be to fucking his ex?” Gracie squirms, pulls at Vivian's hands and manages to escape. She hops out of the room on one leg.

  Vivian sighs. “Anyway, she’s his current now I guess. Maybe I’ll hack into his Twitter account and post photos of his dick for all to see. He sent them to me often enough. Why should I be the only one to suffer?”

  I laugh, but I check her face to see if she’s really okay, and not just putting on a brave face.

  “So, it’s back to Tinder for me! Cheers!”

  I want to ask her if she’s heard anything, about work, about Jacob. But she wouldn’t have. It was only yesterday. I just wish I knew.

  “Hello, ladies, I hear there’s a party going on here.” Matt appears in the doorway, smiling. He comes over to us in two long strides. He kisses Vivian on the cheek. “Hi, Vivian, how are you?”

  “Hello, handsome, I’m very well, ready to party. You smell nice.”

  Matt chuckles. He stretches his tee shirt to dab at the sweat that is dripping down his face.

  “You should have a shower, your mum will be here soon,” I say.

  “I’m about to.” He leans towards me and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Did you invite any good-looking blokes for me?” Vivian asks.

  “What about Tommy?”

  “Who?” she says, eyes wide in mock innocence.

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it? Well you’re in luck, Gracie is very popular with the boys at preschool, I’m told. There should be at least four of them arriving any minute now.”

  I check my watch, surprised to see the time. “It’s almost twelve already.” I grab the packet of cake mix, put it down again and open cupboards at random, looking for a mixing bowl.

  “I’ll do that,” Vivian says behind me. “You finish whatever you were doing.”

  “I’ll leave you ladies to it then, I’ll go take a shower,” Matt says.

  “Typical. Runs off as soon as there’s work to be done,” Vivian mutters.

  We make cupcakes while Matt gets himself presentable, and suddenly our small flat is buzzing with people. His mum is here, and she has baked a cake too. Hers is much better than mine, and it’s shaped like a castle. “I know you said you had one, Rachel, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe they can have both?” She smothers her granddaughter with kisses, and Gracie loves every minute of it. One of Matt’s sisters is applying glitter on Gracie’s eyelids. We play songs the kids like to dance to.

  Vivian turns to me.

  “Don’t you ever want to call your dad?” she asks softly. She means Mr Holloway who lives in Australia and hasn’t seen his daughter in nine years.

  “No, why?”

  She points at the children. “You don’t get tempted? It might be different now, with Gracie, surely.”

  “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Yeah, I understand.” She puts her arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “I bet you miss your mum at times like this.”

  I told Vivian about my mother once, because she had asked. She thinks my mother’s name was Jane, and that she died when I was young. At least that last part is true. I simply nod. I do miss them. I miss them all.

  Vivian isn’t exactly estranged from her parents, but as far as I can tell, they’re completely uninterested in their daughter. They live abroad mostly and only spend a couple of months a year in London. Vivian has mainly been raised in boarding schools by the sounds of it. My idea of boarding schools comes from books at the library, and they’re all pretty scary. Vivian's an only child, 'like you' she said once, and I wondered if my dead sister could see me then, and if she hated me for denying her even a correction of her existence.

  Matt’s mum asks when we’re getting married. I change the topic, like I always do. It’s not that I don’t want to marry Matt, but I can never be sure that my ID is completely safe. Marriage certificates live closely with birth certificates and death certificates. My birth certificate might not withstand the scrutiny. It’s also why I never applied for a passport and never travelled far, and probably never will.

  Matt puts an arm around my waist and we chant happy birthday. I help Gracie blow the candles on the cake.

  I would never have dared to hope I’d have a life like this, and I am desperate to hang onto it. I don’t care what it takes. Vivian is saying something that I can’t quite hear and she laughs, so I laugh with her, and I look at Matt and Gracie and can’t help but wonder if life will ever be this happy again. I want to bottle a little bit of the afternoon in a corner of my mind, for the future.

  Eight

  When I get to work on Monday, the first thing I do is look across to Jacob’s desk. He isn’t here, and his desk looks normal, tidy, the way he left it. Maybe he’s just late, so I try to be natural. Mike and I have a usual moment of banter. I notice Vivian is already in Chris’s office. I make myself a cup of tea and suddenly she’s by my side.

  “Jacob's gone!” she whispers.

  “What?”

  “He’s quit. Chris just told me this morning.”

  “What happened?”

  “No idea.”

  “He didn't say why?” I am fairly sure Chris wouldn’t have mentioned my name, but my heart gives a small flutter of anxiety anyway.

  “No, that's all I know. I asked if he had another job, I thought maybe he got a better offer, but Chris didn’t say. Something happened, I think, I don’t know what.”

  “Vivian! Come back in here, please,” Chris says loudly. Mike lifts his head to look at us. I move towards my desk, just as Chris adds, “You too please, Rachel”.

  Of course, me too. I am so relieved I could sing. Chris is going to tell me not to worry about the budget, or anything else. I am grinning, I can’t help it. I have to pinch myself till it hurts to make it stop. I dodged a bullet, and I can’t tell anyone about it, but I’m still happy.

  Chris closes the door behind us and Vivian perches herself on the corner of the desk, so I sit in the chair.

  “How can I help?” I ask. “Vivian just told me. Do you want me to take down the Facebook page?”

  "Why would you do that?"

  “I thought…”

  “You thought what?”

  “It's my fault,” Vivian says. “I just now told Rachel that Jacob had left. I didn't get the chance to explain.”

  “Explain what?” My chest has started to constrict a little. It’s what happens when I get tense. It stops me from taking a proper breath.

  Vivian hops off the desk and raises her fists in the air in a gesture of triumph. “I’m doing the podcast!” she yells.

  “Not quite,” Chris says.

  My jaw drops. It’s such a shock, it takes me longer than it should to react. Finally, I find my voice. “What are you talking about? Jacob's gone, isn’t he? you just said—”

  Chris clears his throat, but Vivian beats him to it.

  “That’s right,” she says, “he’s gone, and we’re sorry about that, aren’t we Chris? But here we are, so Chris asked me!” she pumps a fist in the air with a whispered “yes!”

  Chris shoots her a stern look. “Vivian, do you mind?”

  “Sorry, boss.” She brings her arms back down and looks at him, with an expression somewhere halfway between wide-eyed innocence and chastised sheepishness. “You were saying?”

  Chris turns to me. “Jacob left us, but there’s no reason for us not to go ahead with Missing Molly. Vivian's going to do it.”

  The words tumble out before I can s
top myself. “But we don’t know how! We’ve never done anything like this before. We’d have to hire someone with experience!” I am working hard to keep the panic out of my voice.

  “How hard can it be, Rach? It’s not that different from what we do here, we’re all about content.”

  “Good content. Content that grabs you by the throat and won’t let go,” Vivian adds in a funny voice, her arm swinging. Normally I’d laugh at her antics but right now, she’s annoying the crap out of me.

  “What about recording the podcast? How would you put it out there?” I ask. “We have no idea how to do that, do we?”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  My mouth opens but no sound emerges. Vivian grins at me. “It’s going to be a hoot, Rach! It’s going to be our project. You can do all the tech stuff, with me of course. We’ll have to learn together but once we know what we’re doing, it can be your department!”

  “My department?”

  “Yes! I heard you say to Jacob the other day that you’d love to work on the project. And now that he’s gone we need all the help we can get. Isn’t that right, Chris?” Chris nods. “See? Chris agrees with me. You’re great with numbers, Rach, you’ve got a great brain. You could do this with your eyes closed. You just need to learn how.”

  I don’t answer, so she leans forward, gets closer to me. “You are pleased, aren’t you?”

  “I’m—I’m shocked to be honest. Shouldn’t we put it off for now?”

  “In an ideal world, yes,” Chris says. “But we can’t. The press release went out last Thursday afternoon.”

  “Thursday afternoon?” I can feel the corners of my mouth pulling down. I am crushed with disappointment. So much for my breathtakingly simple plan.

  “Yes. Thursday. That’s all right with you?” he asks.

  I blink a few times. “Yeah, of course, I’m surprised, that’s all. Has it been picked up? The press release?”

  “You bet.” He shuffles papers around the desk. “Ah there it is, the Metro ran it. Not prominently mind you, but that’s okay, early days yet. We put it on the front page of the Herald, obviously.” He points at the floor next to where I’m sitting. I haven’t seen this week’s Herald, but there’s a small box of them beside me. I reach down and pull one out.