‘Don’t what?’
‘Just don’t do it again!’
‘Do what again? Dad, I don’t understand!’
‘You have to take responsibility for everything and if you don’t learn to stop doing it you’re going to make yourself ill again! Just like Alan and Stephanie – it has to be your fault! Christ! What did your mum and I do to you to make you so neurotic?’
I felt my eyes prickle. ‘Alan was supposed to pick up Stephanie from school, she decided to walk home herself because he was late, and got hit by a car. She wasn’t concentrating, she had her iPod on. Her father was late because I was feeling a bit low in confidence at the time and picked a fight with him. Over something so stupid that minutes after he’d gone I couldn’t even remember what it was. What would that do to you?’
‘You were feeling a bit angry and wanted to get stuff off your chest; you loved Stephanie, you were a second mother to her, the last thing you wanted to do was hurt her! Shit happens Maddie, shit happens all the time to thousands of people all over the world and a lot of the time it’s nobody’s fault!’
I was trembling now and had to get up and walk about. ‘Don’t you think I know that dad? Don’t you think I’m totally and utterly fed up of thinking and analysing and inspecting how I feel all the fucking time? Of other people thinking and analysing and inspecting how I feel all the time? I’m so fed up of…’ I floundered, ‘ME! I just want to get on with things, to help! I want to help find Dan because he’s my brother and because I love him. Not because I think it’s my fault!’ I sat down and took a deep breath. ‘Maybe it is a little bit about me dad, but only to the extent that it’ll give me something to do other than being in my own head!’
He stayed till eleven but I had become so intensely tired that I had to turn down my dad’s suggestion of opening the second bottle of wine, and go to bed. There was no need for either of us to apologise. He’d held back from saying anything for so long it was no surprise that some of it had come out. And anyway, he was pretty much right; though I didn’t quite get around to telling him so.
The next day I set off on the lovely walk from my flat, along the seafront to Kemp Town where Dan and Nicholas lived. The three mile route took you from the tasteful and well-maintained lawns and beach-huts of Hove promenade, past the decaying remains of the West Pier, through the bustling bars and stalls of the tourist section, the lights and noises of the Palace Pier, to the relative quiet of the Eastern beaches before the Marina. This part of the seafront was used by everyone from fisherman: whose tattered and colourful nets littered the pebbles, to nudists: who showed-off their toned and oiled bodies on a section protected by raised walls of shingle (also identified through the shrieks of children who had climbed them unaware of what was on the other side!).
Although Dan was my younger brother by five years, there was something about him that made everyone think he was the eldest. No doubt it was partly because he was so much taller than me, and saturnine, with eyes so brown that in certain lights you couldn’t see where the pupil ended and the iris began. He was handsome in an old fashioned way, as if he should smoke a pipe and wear brogues – and sometimes he did, just to be different. People rarely realised he was gay, and anyway, as he always said, ‘I’m not gay, I’m queer.’ He was right too. He wasn’t lively, or jolly. He was by turns quiet or savagely satirical. I would watch him at parties – half in shamed suspense, half in grudging admiration. His ‘Modus Operandi’ would be to sit in a corner in some god-awful tank top, puffing away on a pipe, and let the campness spill over him. He would remain silent and impassive, drink solidly and seamlessly (but never get drunk) and then at the end of the party he would come out with something awfully, cuttingly, hideously true and embarrassing about someone there. But it would also be so hilarious and well-observed that he’d get away with it. ‘Oh Dan!’ someone would screech, and then he’d be the centre of attention. Conversely he also had a streak of intense compassion. He’d made his name writing screenplays about people in trouble. Drug addicts, prostitutes, Asylum seekers. And they succeeded because someone had trusted him. Someone had spilled the beans and told their story, and he, with his chocolate and gravel voice, had made them feel that he believed in them, admired their courage.
Nicholas and Dan were chalk and cheese and arguments were affectionate, dramatic and frequent. Nicholas was much more sanguine about life and got pleasure from simple things, like going to the gym, walking along the beach, and eating good food. In that sense he was good for Dan, and grounded him. And I suppose you could say that Dan was good for him, and led him to have some experiences and adventures he otherwise wouldn’t have had. As I rang their doorbell though, I wondered if Nick had had enough of adventures.
He answered the door quickly, he looked tired and dishevelled. After a big hug he led me down the hall and into their big stylish kitchen.
'I found this, I was clearing up and found it on the floor, I think it may have fallen down the back of the radiator. He held out a note. ‘What do you think it means Maddie?’
He passed it to me, his hand was shaking slightly. I opened it and recognised Dan's handwriting.
There’s something I have to do. I’ll be back by my birthday. Sorry Nicky, I love you. ‘God knows. Maybe something to do with his next project?’
‘Why does he have to be so fucking mysterious? He always was a drama queen.’ Nicholas moved to the window, his shoulders hunched, taking big gulps of his vodka and tonic.
‘I don’t know Nick, I really don’t. He was a sweet little boy, quaint, almost odd sometimes, but he wasn’t a troublemaker. Whatever it is it must be important to him, we’re just going to have to work it out.’
Nicholas sat back down opposite me and rubbed his face. ‘Maybe he just doesn’t love me any more?’
‘It’s not that, I know it’s not that. He loves you very much.’
‘It just doesn’t feel right. I told the police it didn’t feel right, but people go missing like this every day. Sometimes they’ve just had enough of the life they are living and disappear like a puff of smoke.’ He sniffed then wiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and looked away. ‘If he is just being a piss artist, I’ll fucking kill him this time Maddie, I really will.’
‘What was he doing on the day he disappeared?. Did he have anything arranged?’
‘Not much as far as I know, he had something on the back-burner about families that had become estranged from each other. He was talking to some TV people about making it into a series where a family therapist tries to reunite them. I think he might have had a meeting with them in the morning. The police are looking into it. All he took was our small suitcase, the one on wheels, some clothes – none of his warm clothes though – his laptop, Dictaphone, and his bloody pipe.’
I suddenly felt a bit queasy. ‘Do you think I could have a drink?’ Until that point I’d really hoped that this was just another of Dan’s stunts. But it was feeling less and less likely. Something must be behind it.
‘Tea or coffee or something stronger?’
‘Oh no, I don’t think I could manage that. Do you have something herbal? Chamomile or something?’
‘Do I have herbal?!’ Nick pulled a mock-horror face. ‘Of course I have herbal! Cinnamon and Apple, Blackcurrant, Ginseng and Mandarin, Peppermint, Fennel or Chamomile.’
‘God Nick, sometimes you’re camp as fuck. Chamomile please.’ He grinned apologetically and shuffled in his trendy leather slippers to the kitchen. Then the doorbell rang. ‘Can you get that.’ Nick shouted down the hall.
Like a character in a TV show, I knew he was a policeman as soon as I saw him. It was something about the way he was simultaneously self-possessed and ill-at-ease as he stood on the doorstep. The suit spoke of someone who hated wearing suits, who had no idea what kind of suit would suit him, but had to wear one nonetheless. Other than that he was pretty nondescript. Heavily built, average height, middle-aged. He looked at me, momentarily taken aback, then collected himself.
�
��Detective Sergeant Nickelby.’ He said a little gruffly. I shouted down the hall and Nick appeared, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
‘Nicholas?.’ Said the detective.
‘Nickelby?.’ said Nick.
There was a big sigh from the detective.
I couldn’t resist. How long did it take, Detective Nickelby?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For you to get a case with a Nicholas in?’
‘Six years.’ He answered matter-of-factly.
Nick bit his lip but ushered the Detective in politely ‘I’m really sorry, I completely forgot you were coming. I’ve just put the kettle on though Detective Nickelby. Can I get you anything?’
‘Coffee, with one teaspoon of sugar and two teaspoons of coffee. I was called out at 3am this morning and haven’t been home yet.’ He sat down opposite me on the sofa and looked at me morosely. ‘You’re Madeleine. Mr Armstrong’s younger sister.’ It was a statement. Not a question.
‘Older sister, but sister yes. How did you know?’
He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve seen your picture. When we looked round the flat. You’ve been in Italy?’
‘Yes, for the last few months. I’ve been designing and creating a garden for an old family friend.’
Nick appeared with the drinks and a plate of biscuits. ‘I’ve found something, a note from Dan.’ He took the note off the tray and handed it over. The detective raised his eyebrows, took a pair of glasses out of his inside jacket pocket and looked it over.
‘When did you find this?’
‘Just this morning. He must have propped it up on the table and it had blown down the back of the radiator. I found it on the floor when I was cleaning.’
‘He says he’ll be back for his birthday, when is his birthday?’
‘On the 17th, next month.’
‘You still haven’t heard anything?’
‘Nothing.’
‘How old will he be?’
’30, it’s his 30th.’
‘So it’s an important birthday too?’
‘Yes, I had a…’ Nick looked away momentarily and swallowed hard, ‘…I had a party planned. I called it off at the weekend.’
‘Due to the time elapsed we had switched to treating this case as a missing persons. But in light of this note, and Mr Armstrong’s past history his case will have to go onto the back-burner. If he isn’t back by his birthday as he promises in his note call me again.’ Detective Nickelby started to gather his things together and made to get up. I reached over and put my hand on his arm.
‘Please, we’re all really worried. I can see that this note changes things for you, but we’re his family and we feel that something is wrong. Doesn’t that count for something?’
‘In the vast majority of missing persons, especially amongst his age range, the people just turn up again – days, weeks, months, sometimes even years later. For most people there’s been some kind of breakdown, something that’s triggered a cataclysmic event. The best thing you can do is look into whether anything has happened to depress or upset him recently?’
‘Oh God, everything in the world depressed Dan.’ said Nick, waving his arm to demonstrate the breadth of it. ‘He was the champion of the shat on, the exploited, the abused. He dealt with those kind of horrors every day.’
‘Maybe it all finally got too much…and he just had to get away?’
Nick went over to the window, hugging himself tightly, and leant against the glass.
‘And he did. Regularly. But this is different.’
‘My brother has gone without warning before, but never for more than a few days. And he’s always made sure someone has known where he was in the end. And what’s this important thing he has to do? Something or someone has happened to him and it can’t be good.’
‘That may be Miss Armstrong, but at this stage there really is nothing else we can do. I can only assure you that if he goes a day or two past his birthday and doesn’t get in touch, we will take his case very seriously.’
‘And what would happen then?’
‘We’d try to identify who was the last person to see him and interview them. We’d also get details to Crimestoppers and of course the Missing Person’s Bureau. His image will go on our National Database, and police all over the country will look out for him. We might even get something on regional TV. I’ll also need to arrange to take a formal statement from you Miss Armstrong. Of course we’ve already checked all the local hospitals, but we’ll do that again too, just to make sure. We ruled out some kind of homophobic attack quite early on as he would have turned up in Casualty pretty quickly. Also, well, he doesn’t…look particularly gay…if you know what I mean?’
As my key turned in the lock the phone inside my flat started to ring. I threw my shopping bags onto an arm chair and managed to answer the call just before it rang off.
‘Tsoro!’ Hearing Sergio’s voice, as always, I remembered what it was like to be in Italy, the heat, the smells, the vibrations of insects. It would be getting colder there now too though. Nothing like the cold of Brighton, but the warmth would be softer, starting to cool in the afternoon. I was surprised by how much I missed Terranima, how much I missed him.
‘Sergio, Come stai?’
‘Bene, grazie. Any news on Dan?’
‘We’ve still heard nothing from him. Nicholas found a note, but it doesn’t say where he’s gone or why, just that he’ll be back for his birthday.’
‘That is soon?’
‘Yes, the 17th, but police won’t do anything until then, although they’ve tried their best to be helpful.’
‘You must be so worried, Tsoro, I hope you are getting plenty of rest?’
‘I’m fine, really, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m going to have a nice big glass of wine and cook some dinner then get an early night.’
He laughed, ‘No, no need to worry about you. You are so strong you know. You are Super Maddie!’
‘God, hardly.’
‘Do you think Dan might have been coming to see you in Terranima?’
‘If he was, surely he would have let me know. Why the smoke and mirrors?’
‘Prego?’
‘Sorry, I mean why would he need to be so mysterious?’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘Hey,’ I put the phone in the crook of my neck and went to the fridge, there was a half-finished bottle of wine in the door, ‘enough about me, how are you?’ I up-ended a washed wine glass from the night before and poured myself a drink. ‘You sound a bit…I don’t know…a bit far away.’
‘I am ok. Maybe, maybe I feel a little scared.’
‘Scared? why darling?’
‘I don’t know.’ He paused; I heard a rustling. ‘I think maybe I don’t know about my future.’
‘Why are you worrying about that….’ I was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. ‘I’m sorry Sergio, there’s someone at the door.’
‘That is ok, I will call in a couple of days.’
‘Are you sure you’re ok?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
When I opened the door I was surprised and rather pissed off to see it was Detective Nickelby. It looked like he was wearing the same suit as he had two days ago – though significantly more crumpled.
‘Your neighbour was just coming back from the Chinese, she let me in.’
‘Detective Nickelby.’ I looked at my watch: ‘it’s nearly nine.’
‘I left a message on your answer phone saying I might call.’
‘I’ve only just got in, I’ve not had time to listen to them.’
‘So I gather.’
‘Well you’d better come in anyway.’ I stood back for him. He had a light, silent step for a heavily built man, and held himself very upright. Again, I thought, that strange mixture of confidence and self-consciousness.
‘Will you have a glass of wine Detective Nickelby?’ He looked at me very directly. For the first time I noticed that his eyes were a vivid green; an
d despite the overall impassivity of his demeanour they had a sparkle of intelligence.
‘Well as I’m off duty after this, and I’m not driving, and I’ve spent the last fourteen hours helping to keep the streets of our fair city safe, I will. Yes.’
‘Detective Nickelby, you’re almost as dry as this wine.’ The faintest hint of a smile hitched up the corners of his mouth.
‘There’s no need for the ‘Detective’.
‘ Mr Nickelby then?’
‘John will do.’ He loosened his tie, took off his crumpled jacket and sat down with a sigh. He pushed his shirt-sleeves up a little and flexed his hands, his forearms were as thick as a labourer’s and his shirt strained against his broad back.
I sat down opposite him. ‘What can I do for you John? I thought you weren’t able to have anything to do with my brother’s disappearance until after his birthday.’
He stared at his wine, turning the glass slowly round and round with his broad hands.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, that you feel that something is wrong. It’s been playing on my mind. It’s true, I can’t do anything until he’s officially a missing person, but it doesn’t stop us making sure everything is ready to go. I need to get a formal statement. Exactly when you went to Italy and when you came back. Exactly when you last saw your brother and when you last spoke to him – including what was said. Names of your brother’s friends, names of any enemies that kind of thing.’
‘I might need a bit of time to work out the exact dates of phone calls; and as for a list of enemies...’ I raised my eyebrows emphatically.
‘That’s OK, but if you could start thinking about it and come to the station at John Street over the next forty-eight hours to get it formally written down it will really speed things up once the case is official. If your brother doesn’t turn up in the meantime of course.’
‘What wouldn’t I give for that to happen. I’d kill him first of course, but it would be so wonderful if he did just turn up with his suitcase and a sheepish expression.’
‘Let’s hope that’s what happens then.’
‘My statement, is that really why you’ve come? You’ve just finished a fourteen hour shift, and rather than go home you come here to talk about a case you haven’t even started yet and may never have to?’
The Soul Room Page 5