by Jane Shemilt
I shook my head, unable to speak.
‘I need a drink.’ Ted went slowly to the drinks cupboard. He poured two whiskies and held one out to me. I felt the alcohol burn my throat then travel down the length of my gullet.
Two fifteen. Fifteen minutes to go before we would ring Shan.
I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to leave the house. I wanted to go down the road to the school theatre, wrench open the doors and shout her name into the dusty air. If she wasn’t there, then I would run down the main street, past the university, storm into all the clubs, pushing past the bouncers, and yell into the crowds of dancers …
‘Is there any food?’
‘What?’
‘Jenny, I’ve been operating all night. I missed supper in the canteen. Is there any food?’
I opened the fridge and looked in. I couldn’t recognize anything. Squares and oblongs. My hands found cheese and butter. The cold lumps of butter tore the bread. Ted silently took it from me. He made a perfect sandwich and cut off the crusts.
While he was eating, I found Nikita’s number on a pink Post-it note stuck to the cork board on the cupboard. She didn’t pick up either. The phone was in her bag. She had pushed it under the table, so she could dance in the club they’d managed to get into. Everyone else wanted to go home, all their friends were leaning against the wall, yawning, but Naomi and Nikita were dancing together, having fun. No one would be able hear Nikita’s phone ringing in the bag under the table. Shan must be awake too, waiting. It was only a year since her divorce from Neil; this would feel worse on her own.
Half past two.
I phoned Shan and, as I waited, I remembered her telling me a week ago how Nikita still shared everything with her and the stabbing moment of jealousy that I’d felt. Naomi didn’t do that any more. Now I was glad Nikita still confided in her mother. Shan would know exactly where we could pick them up.
A sleepy voice mumbled an answer. She must have fallen asleep, like me.
‘Hello, Shan.’ I tried to make my voice sound normal. ‘I’m so sorry to wake you. Do you have any idea where they are? We’ll pick them up, but the trouble is …’ I paused, and attempted to laugh. ‘Naomi forgot to tell me where they would be.’
‘Wait a moment.’ I could see her sitting up, running her hand through her hair, blinking at the alarm clock on her bedside table. ‘Say all that again?’
I took a breath and tried to speak slowly.
‘Naomi’s not back yet. They must have gone on somewhere after the meal. Did Nikita say where?’
‘The meal’s tomorrow, Jen.’
‘No, that’s the party.’
‘Both tomorrow. Nikita’s here. She’s exhausted; she’s been asleep since I picked her up hours ago.’
I repeated stupidly, ‘Hours ago?’
‘I collected her straight after the play.’ There was a little pause and then she said quietly, ‘There was no meal.’
‘But Naomi said.’ My mouth was dry. ‘She took her new shoes. She said …’
I sounded like children do when they want something they can’t have. She had taken the shoes and the bag of clothes. How could there not have been a meal? Shan must be mistaken; perhaps Nikita hadn’t been invited. There was a longer pause.
‘I’ll check with Nikita,’ she said. ‘Phone you back in a moment.’
I was outside a gate that had just shut with a little click. Behind it was a place where children slept safely, their limbs trustingly spread across the sheets; a place where you didn’t phone a friend at two thirty in the morning.
The kitchen chairs were cold and hard. Ted’s face was white. He kept bending his knuckles till they cracked. I wanted to stop him but I couldn’t open my mouth in case I started screaming. I picked the phone up quickly when it rang and at first I didn’t say anything.
‘There was no meal, Jenny.’ Shan’s voice was slightly breathless. ‘Everyone went home. I’m sorry.’
A faint buzzing noise started in my head, filling in the silence that stretched after her words. I felt giddy, as if I was tipping forwards, or the world was tipping back. I held tightly to the edge of the table.
‘Can I speak to Nikita?’
By the tiny space that followed my question, I could measure how far away I had travelled from the gate that had clicked behind me. Shan sounded hesitant.
‘She’s gone back to sleep.’
Asleep? How could that matter? Nikita was there, safe. We had no idea where our daughter was. A wave of anger was breaking on top of my fear.
‘If Nikita knows anything, anything at all that we don’t, and Naomi might be in danger –’ My throat constricted. Ted took the phone from me.
‘Hi there, Shania.’ There was a pause. ‘I appreciate how difficult this will be for Nikita …’ His voice was calm but with an edge of authority. It was exactly how he talked to the junior doctors on his team if they rang him for advice about a neurosurgical problem. ‘If Naomi doesn’t come home soon, we may need to call the police. The more information you give us …’ Another pause. ‘Thanks. Yes. See you in a few minutes, then.’
The boys were sleeping in their rooms. I leant into the warm, breathing space around their heads. Theo had burrowed under the duvet; his hair, sticking up in a ruff above its edge, was stiff under my lips. Ed’s black fringe was damp; even in sleep his eyebrows swooped down like the wings of a blackbird. As I straightened, I caught my reflection in his mirror. My face, lit by the street lamp shining through the window, looked as if it belonged to someone much older. My hair was dark and shapeless. I dragged Ed’s brush through it.
As we drove past the school theatre, Ted stopped the car and we got out.
I don’t know why. I still don’t know why we had to check. Did we really think you would be there, curled up and sleeping on the stage? That we could wake you and that you would smile and stretch, sleepy and stiff, with some explanation about taking too long to change? That we would put our arms round you, and take you home?
The glass doors were locked. They rocked slightly as I pulled at the handles. There was a night-light in the foyer and the bottles in the bar were shining in neat rows. A torn red and yellow programme lay on the floor just inside the door; I could make out red letters spelling ‘West’ and ‘Story’ on different lines and part of a picture of a girl with a blue swirling skirt.
Ted drove carefully though I knew he was tired. He had pressed the button on the dashboard that made the back of my seat warm up. It made me sweat and nausea seemed to rise from the deep leather upholstery. I glanced at him. He was good at this. Good at looking serious not desperate. When Naomi was in difficulty during her birth, his calmness had stopped me panicking. He had organized the epidural for the Caesarean section and he was there when they lifted out her small, bloodied body. I wouldn’t think about that now. I looked out of the window quickly. The streets were shining and empty. A fine rain had started to mist the windows. What had she been wearing? I couldn’t remember. Her mac? What about her scarf? I looked up into the roadside trees as if the orange cloth might be there, tangled in the wet black branches.
At Shania’s house Ted knocked firmly. The night was silent and still around us, but if anyone had been passing in a car, they would have seen a couple like any other. We were wearing warm coats and clean shoes as we waited quietly, heads bowed in the rain. We probably looked normal.
Shania’s face was prepared. She looked calm and serious as she hugged us. It was hot in her house, the gas fire flaming in her tidy sitting room. Nikita was hunched on the sofa, a cushion held tightly to her, her long legs in rabbit-patterned pyjamas tucked beneath her. I smiled at her, but my mouth felt stiff and trembled at the corners. Shan sat close to her on the sofa, we sat opposite and Ted took my hand.
‘Ted and Jenny want to ask you about Naomi now, babe.’ Shania put her arm round Nikita, who looked down as she twisted a thick lock of her dark hair in her fingers.
I moved to sit by her on the other side, but she shifted sl
ightly away from me. I tried to make my voice gentle.
‘Where is she, Nik?’
‘I don’t know.’ She bent and pushed her head into the cushion; her voice was muffled. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.’
Shania’s eyes met mine over her head.
‘I’ll start, then,’ Shan said. ‘I’ll tell Jenny what you told me.’ Nikita nodded. Her mother continued: ‘Naomi told Nikita that she was going to meet someone, a bloke, after the play.’
‘A bloke?’ Ted’s voice cut across my intake of breath. ‘What bloke?’ The word in his mouth sounded dangerous. Not a boy. Older. My heart started banging so loudly I was afraid Nikita would hear and refuse to tell us anything.
‘She said …’ Nikita hesitatingly began. ‘She said she had met someone. He was hot.’
I uncrossed my legs and turned round to face her properly. ‘Hot? Naomi said that?’
‘That’s all right, isn’t it? You asked me.’ Nikita’s forehead puckered, her eyes filled with tears.
‘Of course,’ I told her.
But it wasn’t all right. I’d never heard her use that word. We had talked about sex, but as I desperately scanned my memory for clues, I couldn’t remember when. Relationships, sex and contraception – Naomi didn’t seem interested. Had she been? What had I missed?
‘Was he … did she …’ I groped in a forest of possibilities. ‘Was he from school?’
Nikita shook her head. Ted spoke then. Lightly, casually, as though it wasn’t important.
‘This guy. She must have met him before?’
Nikita’s shoulders dropped fractionally, she stopped twisting her hair. Ted’s calmness was working, but I felt a stab of anger that he could manage it so easily. I could hardly keep my voice from trembling.
‘Yeah. I think he was around in the theatre sometimes.’ She glanced down. ‘You know, at the back.’
‘At the back?’ Again, barely inquisitive.
‘Yeah. Where people waited. Maybe.’ She looked up and there was reluctance in her dark eyes. ‘I didn’t really see.’
‘What did he look like?’ I asked quickly.
‘Don’t know.’ Nikita didn’t look at me. There was a pause. ‘Maybe dark hair?’
She moved nearer Shan on the sofa and closed her eyes. I didn’t think she would tell us anything else, but Ted was asking another question.
‘And tonight? What did she say to you about tonight?’
There was silence. Nikita was completely still. Then Shan stood up. ‘She’s tired now.’ Her voice was firm. ‘She needs to go back to bed.’
‘Tell us, Nikita, please.’ I touched her on the arm lightly, carefully. ‘Please, please tell us what she said.’
She looked back at me then, her brown eyes wide with surprise. Her best friend’s mother was a busy figure in the distance: cheerful, running in and running out. In charge of her life and her family. She didn’t plead.
‘She said’ – Nikita paused for a fraction – ‘she said, “Wish me luck.”’
THE BEGINNING
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MICHAEL JOSEPH
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Michael Joseph is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published 2018
Copyright © Jane Shemilt, 2018
Extract from Daughter © Jane Shemilt, 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
While the hospitals and research facilities mentioned in the text are well known institutions of great renown, in How Far We Fall all the staff referred to as working within them as well as the patients, clinics, wards, operating theatres and laboratories, including animal laboratories, are fictional.
Design: Blacksheep-uk.com
Images © Alamy and © Getty Images
ISBN: 978-1-405-92071-1