‘You said she was okay! Why did she have to stay in?’
‘She hit her head; strained her neck; got a few bruises. They just wanted to observe her.’
‘Did you stay with her?’
‘No. She didn’t want me to. Anyway, they discharged her this morning on condition that someone stays with her tonight. She’s been in shock and may have whiplash. They don’t want her to be alone.’
‘Okay.’ I waited for John to tell me he was going to stay with Mum. It made sense given how much closer he lived.
‘So, that’s why I’m ringing,’ he said. ‘Can you come?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you, Lexi. I can’t stay with her any more. I’ve done my bit. The twins are at a swimming gala this afternoon and Anastasia will kill me if I’m not there.’ John pronounced his wife’s name with a long ‘a’ and a soft ‘s’, emphasis on the middle syllable: Anna-star-seeya. Never ‘Anna-stay-zia’. It still blew my mind that my rather unemotional and unspontaneous brother had come back from a holiday to Estonia not just with a beautiful wife and two ready-made children, but with his new mother-in-law, too.
‘But …’ I thought about the call I was waiting for from the doctor. I had a mountain of marking to do and all I really wanted to do was curl up on the sofa and nurture the life I was convinced was growing inside me, not drive down to St Ives in the pouring rain and play nursemaid to Mum.
‘Please can you do it, John?’ A sob caught in my throat. ‘Please?’
John sighed. ‘I’m asking you nicely, Lexi. But it really is your turn.’ There was a silence. ‘Look. Isn’t this why you moved to Cornwall? So you could help out a bit, too?’ The implication was there: until Mark and I had moved to Truro six months ago, John had borne the brunt of looking after Mum while I ‘ignored my responsibilities’ – John’s words – up in London.
Knowing he had the moral high ground, John continued almost seamlessly. ‘How quickly can you be there? I dropped her off just now, so the sooner, the better, really.’
‘You left her alone? Fantastic.’ I slammed the brakes on as a car pulled out in front of me.
‘I had to go, Lexi,’ John said, his voice slow and deliberate. ‘I have a family, remember? I’ve already spent half the night with her at the hospital. And then I scrapped our plans for the morning. I sorted out the insurance. I organised her car to be picked up, I took her home from the hospital and now I’ve made her comfortable. She’s not very chatty – she’s on the sofa, looking a bit dazed. I left her with a crossword. She’ll be fine until you get there.’
Silence hung heavy on the line. A silence in which I realised that I had no choice. I indicated and turned into my road, the car’s tyres swishing through puddles.
‘Are you driving?’ John asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh. You can call me back when you get in, if you want.’
‘No it’s okay. Hands-free.’ I paused. ‘Okay, I’ll come down.’
‘Thanks.’
I pulled into a rare parking space right outside my house, sending a silent thank you to the gods as I did so.
‘By the way,’ said John. ‘While you’re there, can you observe her a bit? I mean, more than usual? I thought she was acting a bit odd, like she wasn’t all there. She was just sitting there this morning, staring into the distance. It’s like she’s in a different world. I’m worried the hospital might have missed something. You know – with the bang on the head.’
‘Sure. But I can’t go for an hour or two. I need to speak to Mark and he’s not due back for a bit.’
‘Okay,’ said John. ‘Thanks, Lexi. Bye.’ The line disconnected and my phone buzzed at once: a missed call from the doctor’s number, followed by the beep of a text message asking me to call. I dialled in.
‘Mrs Scrivener,’ the doctor said when my call was put through. I heard papers rustling; imagined her looking for my test results. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ I said. ‘A bit tired.’
‘Okay. Well, the results of your blood test are back.’ She paused.
‘And?’ I said.
‘Your hCG level is very low.’
‘What does that mean? Am I pregnant?’
The doctor sighed. ‘Well. It’s really too low for a healthy pregnancy.’
‘What do you mean? I might not be? The test I did at home was positive. I did two really sensitive tests! Both were positive!’
The doctor’s blood test was supposed to be a rubber-stamp of news I already knew. How could it not be certain when the over-the-counter test had been?
The doctor sighed. ‘It’s possible that something started and is now failing. A lot of pregnancies fail very early on, before many women even suspect they might have been pregnant. Sometimes, testing very early can backfire …’ Her voice was gentle. She paused and I didn’t say anything.
I’d been so certain. I’d even felt faintly sick this morning. I thought about the tiny babygros I’d just been stroking in the supermarket just now; the white Moses basket I’d picked out online. White because, although I hoped for a girl, I didn’t want to know the sex.
‘I’m very sorry,’ said the doctor.
‘I … just … I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘I know. It’s very common, though. More common than you’d think.’
‘Is there anything I can do? To increase my chances next month?’
‘Just be kind to yourself. Eat well, exercise. Get enough sleep. Take it easy and try not to worry.’
Try not to worry! ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
I pressed disconnect and let my forehead slump onto the steering wheel as I wrapped my arms around myself. I’d been so sure this time! How could I not be pregnant? Even though it was very early days, I’d felt all the classic symptoms. The last thing I felt like now was driving down to St Ives to look after Mum. As soon as I’d thought it, guilt washed over me. John had done his bit and I’d still expected him to do more. But that guilt was nothing compared to the guilt I felt about the pregnancy. Why couldn’t I give Mark a baby? What was wrong with me?
Deep down, I knew the answer: at forty-two, time was hardly on my side.
January 1971
Bombay, India
When Audrey wakes up, the first thing she notices is the stillness. The small room in which she’s lying in a tangle of sweaty sheets isn’t by any means silent – the din of Bombay is alive right outside the window – but the absence of the rumble of the ship’s engine rings louder than it ever did on the ship. A week after she’s arrived, Audrey’s still acclimatising to being on land. Truth be told, she’s slightly terrified of Bombay and has hardly ventured out unless Janet’s there, literally to hold her hand, to guide her across the streets, to fend off the beggars and street hawkers that swarm around them, and to flag down rickshaws the two of them use to get anywhere too far to walk.
But today Audrey has a plan. Today is the first day she’s going to take on this strange city alone; to conquer a corner of it. On the small table that counts both as Janet’s dressing and dining table, there’s a copy of Audrey’s parents’ wedding certificate, which names the small church in which they were married. Janet’s asked around for her at work, and Audrey now has a hand-drawn map showing her how to find it. For the first time since she’s arrived in Bombay she gets up with a purpose in her step. She washes quickly and dresses, makes some toast, and steps out into the chaotic street, where the warmth of the January air hits her.
Audrey stands still for a second, feasting her eyes on the dusty palm trees that look so exotic to her, their heavy fronds dancing likes drunken spiders in the breeze. This is home now, she thinks, even while her senses revel in everything that’s unfamiliar: the smells, the furious honks of car horns and the shouts in Hindi, Marathi, and a tangle of other languages – a gabble of sound she’s unable to decipher.
Audrey’s memorised where she needs to go – it’s not far – and she walks as quickly as she can, trying, bu
t not always managing, to stick to pavements while avoiding pedestrians, traffic, and holes in the road. Ahead of her there’s a commotion and she sees the traffic’s come to a halt as a couple of cows amble about in the middle of the road. Janet’s explained to her that this is perfectly normal, and it’s exactly how she imagined Bombay would be, but she still can’t believe her eyes. Someone’s trying to lead the cows off the street so traffic can pass, but no one except her seems to bat an eyelid at the strange juxtaposition of cows, cars, bicycles, and bullock carts that makes up this pungent traffic jam. As Audrey watches, one of the cows lifts its tail and deposits a steaming cowpat in the middle of the road. Audrey turns down a side street just before the smell hits her.
At first she doesn’t see the church. It’s not big, and it doesn’t stand out from the dirty buildings surrounding it. She double-checks her map, then stands back on the other side of the street and scans the facades to be sure she’s in the right place before she goes in. Yes, it looks nothing like the churches she’s used to back home, but there’s a steeple peeping out from behind a dusty tree. It’s definitely the church. Audrey takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and imagines her mum arriving for her wedding, picking her way down the street in her finery knowing her groom was waiting inside the church. Holding the image in her head, she pushes open the heavy wooden door and enters.
It takes a minute for Audrey’s eyes to become accustomed to the gloom of the interior after the bright sunshine outside so she stands still, taking in the sparse wooden pews – perhaps only seven or eight rows – and the small altar at the front. Dust motes dance in the sunbeams that penetrate the stained glass windows. When her eyes have adjusted, Audrey walks slowly down the aisle, picturing her mum doing the same on her wedding day, a small posy of garden flowers clasped at her chest. At the altar she stops, closes her eyes, and stands in silence, feeling the moment.
‘Can I help you?’ A woman’s voice cuts in and Audrey’s eyes snap open. She spins around.
‘Oh, hello,’ she says. ‘I hope you don’t mind … I … I think my parents were married in this church and I just wanted to come and see it.’
‘Lovely! Welcome.’ The woman waves her hand at the church’s interior. ‘Please stay as long as you like. When was the wedding? I could possibly dig out the record for you.’
‘Oh, could you? That would be fantastic! They were married in 1940.’
The woman looks thoughtful. ‘Yes. I’m sure we have those records. I’d need a day or so to find it but I could definitely get it out for you. Do you know which month?’
‘Yes – June.’
‘Okay, well, if you’d like to pop by again tomorrow I’ll have it ready for you.’
‘Thank you so much! It’s incredible. I’m here now, where they got married. I can almost feel them here.’
‘Have they been back themselves?’
‘No – they’re – they passed away.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, you’re most welcome. Whenever you like. Just come. The door’s always open.’ The woman gives Audrey a kind smile and turns back to the ante-room from which she came. Audrey sits gingerly on the front pew and closes her eyes. As the peace settles around her, Audrey can feel the essence of her dad. It’s as if a part of him is here in this church. She’s grown up with stories of him coming here every Sunday; of him wading through the monsoon rains or sheltering from the sun under an old umbrella on his weekly walk to this very place. This church has been a part of her childhood and now here she is. A smile washes over Audrey’s face, and, perhaps for the first time since her father died, her whole body relaxes.
March 1971
Bombay, India
Audrey and Janet walk arm in arm down Churchgate after dinner. In the distance, they spot a busy café, and the sound of its resident jazz trio floats to them on the night air. The street is alive with sounds, smells, and people. Audrey breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of this exotic city and revelling in the warmth that still comes as a surprise to her every time she steps outside. In England it’d still be coat weather. Janet looks longingly at the crowd of suited and booted punters that spills into the café’s front terrace, even at this late hour. She lets go of Audrey’s arm and dances a few jazz steps in the street, then turns back to face Audrey.
‘They say this place makes the only genuine cappuccino in town. We’ve got to try one, Auds. What do you say?’
Audrey looks at her watch. She starts her new job in the morning but, equally, she doesn’t want to disappoint her friend. Janet has been so kind.
‘Umm,’ she says.
‘Come on! It’s only a coffee. Carpe diem!’ Janet grabs her arm again. ‘I still can’t believe you’re here! And we’ll be working together from tomorrow! Don’t worry! I’ll look after you!’
‘Okay, just one, though. A quick one.’
Audrey allows herself to be drawn towards the café. She still remembers the mix of shock and delight on Janet’s face when she’d turned up unannounced at the address given on the aerogramme. Aside from her visits to the church, her first few weeks in Bombay are a blur. Until very recently Audrey’s still had moments when she wakes up in the morning not knowing where she is nor why; mornings when she wakes expecting to be in her bedroom in London, then realises with a jolt that she’s on the other side of the world. She still has mornings when the grief is too raw, too painful, and she’s capable of doing nothing but lying, numbly, under the sheet, where Janet finds her when she comes home from work. But, in the last few weeks, the fog has started to lift and Audrey’s beginning to realise that she feels an affinity with the crazy, chaotic, noisy city that is Bombay.
The two women walk into the café and seat themselves at an empty table. Janet looks at Audrey and smiles.
‘I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m so glad you came,’ she says. ‘It’s done you good. You look human now, compared to the ghost who turned up at my door.’
‘Thank you,’ says Audrey. ‘You’ve been amazing. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’ She smiles at her friend. ‘But I do still feel a bit lost.’
‘Of course you do.’
Audrey’s eyes suddenly fill with tears. It happens at the most inopportune moments – times when something reminds her of her dad: a smell, a sound, the shape of a person, a voice. She can neither predict nor control it.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, dabbing at her eyes with the fresh hankie she keeps on her at all times. It’s one of her mother’s: good cotton, with a bright flower embroidered in one corner and, as Audrey lifts it to her eyes, she sees her mum tying it around her little knee to stem the blood after she’d fallen in the park.
‘Your dad was the best,’ says Janet gently. Audrey nods. Although it’s painful, especially to hear him mentioned in the past tense, she likes that Janet knew him; likes that she can talk to her about him.
‘Ignore me,’ Audrey says, flapping her hand at her face. ‘I’m okay. He was the best, wasn’t he? I’m not just being biased.’
‘I was always jealous of you and your dad,’ says Janet. ‘I know you missed your mum, but you seemed so happy. It’s like he was the captain of the Bailey ship, always sailing forward with his eyes on the horizon. I loved that.’
‘Me too. He was my rock.’ Audrey smiles through her tears.
Janet reaches out and touches Audrey’s hand. ‘And that’s how you must remember him.’
‘I do. I will. Thank you.’
‘My family was such a shambles.’
Audrey got her tears under control. ‘Don’t do them down,’ she says. ‘I used to love coming to yours. There was always that bowl of sweets on the hall table. I always nicked one. We never had sweets at home.’
Janet laughs. ‘Oh yes. The Murray Mints! God, I can still taste them!’ They fall silent as the waitress brings over their coffees. Janet looks at the froth on the cups and raises her eyebrows at Audrey. ‘Look at that: the real deal. Apparently they’ve got a huge machine just
to froth the milk.’
‘Cool beans,’ says Audrey, and they each take a sip, delicately dabbing the foam from their top lips. ‘Very nice. Good call.’
With the buzz and the music in the café, it was never going to be just one coffee. As Janet and Audrey stir their second round of cappuccinos an hour or so later, Janet looks around the terrace.
‘So many men,’ she breathes, hamming it up for Audrey. ‘So little time.’
Audrey smiles. Janet’s never hidden the fact that she’s on a mission to find a wealthy husband; she has told Audrey about some of the scrapes into which she’s got herself, the frogs that she’s kissed as she searches for ‘the one’.
‘You should try to find someone, too,’ Janet says. ‘We’re not spring chickens anymore. We’ll be twenty-seven this year. The shelf is looming! Maybe a husband is just what you need.’
Audrey sighs. ‘If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen …’
‘I don’t know how you can be so relaxed about it!’
‘Well … you know I used to be engaged?’ Audrey’s tone is mild.
‘What?’ Janet presses her hand to her chest and gasps as if she’s having a heart attack, her eyes wide. ‘How did you keep this from me for so long?’
Audrey laughs. ‘I guess we had more important things to talk about.’
‘I guess – but engaged?’ Her eyes slide to Audrey’s left hand, then back to her face. ‘Did you get married?’
Audrey shakes her head.
‘What happened?’
‘He wasn’t the right man for me.’
‘Um, would you care to elaborate on that?’
‘It’s quite sad, actually. I thought he was lovely. A real catch. He was Irish. Patrick. Loved the ground I walked on. Or so I thought.’
‘I feel a “but” coming on.’
‘Well, it was quite simple in the end: when Dad had his first stroke and it became apparent that I’d need to move back home to take care of him, he dumped me.’
‘What?’
The Disappearance Page 2