‘Whatever,’ I said. I pushed back my chair and stood up. ‘Do what you want. I’m going to go and see Mum. I know it’s not your turn, but why don’t you come too?’
‘Sure,’ John sighed. ‘As long as the end’s in sight.’
15 July 1973
Barnes, London
Audrey walks to the front door, turns around, then walks through the entrance hall of the Barnes house and into the drawing room, trying to imagine how it will look to the dinner guests seeing her home for the first time. For London, the four-storey semi is generously sized. It’s also been beautifully decorated and fitted out but, for Audrey, there’s a hollowness at its heart: something is missing.
She pauses on the threshold of the ground floor drawing room, enjoying the way the light from the well-placed lamps pools in the room. She likes the elegant furniture that the interior designer has chosen; she likes the soft colours of the décor. Her eyes roam the room and everything she sees is pleasing to her but still something isn’t right. Audrey breathes in the scent of the house and, in that moment, in that deep inhalation, she realises what it is that’s absent from her impressive London home: India. The damp-earth smell of India; the faint stench of the city, stronger near the slums, but noticeable even in the area where she and Ralph had lived. Even though it’s mid-summer, London’s been grey and overcast all week, the sun steadily losing its game of hide and seek with the clouds. Outside the house, the most dominant smell on the busy street is that of exhaust fumes. Audrey has the sense that she’s living on tarmac and concrete; that she’s disconnected from nature. She misses the dirt, the earth, the mud and the rawness of Bombay. As she stands in her beautiful home, a sob rises in Audrey’s chest; even after being in England for a year, her longing for India is still visceral.
Audrey gives herself a little shake and walks over to the gilded mirror that hangs above the fireplace. ‘You’re very lucky,’ she tells her reflection. ‘You have what so many women dream of: a beautiful home. Two children. A husband who loves you …’ She pauses, rallies herself. ‘You’re turning thirty,’ she says firmly, ‘and you’re very lucky.’
The priceless piece of artwork which she bought with the inheritance from her parents hangs in the downstairs cloakroom, its colours judged by the interior designer to be discordant with their home’s colour scheme. It tickles Audrey just a little that the most valuable item in the house hangs in the loo; that neither Ralph nor the disapproving designer have a clue.
Audrey opens a cabinet and picks out three scented candles, which she places strategically in the entrance hall, drawing room and dining room. The scent is of her garden in Bombay: night jasmine. When she’d walked into the bijou shop in Richmond that had sold the candles, she’d been almost struck down by the fragrance. It had taken her straight back to the soft warmth of her garden and, in a daze, she’d bought the entire stock.
Happy after these minor adjustments, Audrey walks back to the front door and retraces her steps. What impression will her guests get when they walk in? It’s important to her. She’s entertained many of Ralph’s work associates and clients for dinner parties but, for her birthday dinner tonight, it’s the first time she’s hosting people she’s picked herself. She’s tried, all year, to make friends in London, inveigling herself into established cliques that revolve around the children. But people are not as friendly in London as the expats were in Bombay; they seem more stand-offish and, although they’ve slowly begun to accept her presence on the edges of their groups, she can’t shake the feeling that the friendships on offer are superficial. She joins in, but she’s not yet one of them. This dinner is designed to change that; to seal her friendships. It’s an olive branch, an offering to the mummies from the twins’ new nursery school: Come into my home. This is who I am. Please like me.
She hears footsteps padding down the stairs.
‘They’re asleep,’ Hannah says softly.
‘Thank you.’ Hannah is Audrey’s little secret, her babysitting fairy. Ralph expects not to be bothered by the children when they’re entertaining and he blames Audrey if they patter down the stairs at night wanting hugs and sips of water.
‘It ruins my image,’ he claims. ‘I’m there talking to my clients and then – ugh – to have a child attached to me at the dining table? It’s not on, Red. Don’t let it happen again.’ Audrey’s tried to tell her husband that if he came home earlier the night-time visits would stop; sometimes they’re the only times the children see their father. She suspects they do it because they’ve missed him. But she’s also not keen for John and Alexandra to get into the habit of coming down at night so she places an ad on the newsagent window and hires Hannah, a teenager who lives down the road, to babysit upstairs while they entertain two floors below. It’s another thing about which Ralph has no idea.
‘What time are the guests arriving?’ Hannah asks.
Audrey looks at her watch. ‘In about half an hour,’ she says. ‘Mr Templeton will be back any minute.’
Hannah knows the drill. She nods and disappears back upstairs to her perch in the third floor study. Audrey wishes Ralph knew his own drill: be home before your guests arrive.
‘I’ve got a job!’ Audrey says. Her birthday dinner has gone down well, her birthday cake is cut and she’s let herself relax in the moment. Even though Audrey’s been unable to taste the feast she’s spent all day preparing to Ralph’s exacting specifications, her friends seem to be enjoying it and Ralph, despite arriving literally at the same moment as their first guests, has been doing what he does best: entertaining. He’s been every inch the suave host, making Audrey feel a swell of pride in her husband as he’s charmed the ladies at the table and impressed their husbands. Now she’s a little giddy with her drinks, and she’s no idea now what’s prompted her to make her announcement in such a public setting. Unfortunately there’s no taking her words back: they fall in a chasm between conversations and Audrey realises that the whole table has turned to face her. She raises her glass and her guests quickly follow suit.
‘I hope you’ll join me in raising a glass to my new job …’ she pauses, imagines a drum roll, ‘at the library! Bottoms up!’
‘Bottoms up! To Audrey’s new job,’ the guests echo, then one by one, they become aware that Ralph has not joined in. Silence falls like a guillotine. Ralph is staring at his wife. Audrey smiles nervously at him. But she’s drunk, and the full dining table gives her courage.
‘Aren’t you pleased for me?’ She smiles brightly at Ralph. She’d imagined he would be: it’s the public library. It’s not like she’ll be dancing in a cabaret. Ralph stares back. The guests feel tension in the air. Their gazes drop to the tablecloth; they sip their drinks, fiddle with their cutlery, look at each other. Ralph continues to stare at Audrey.
‘We’ll talk about this later.’
‘What’s the problem?’ asks Stella, the only working mother of the group. ‘I think it’s terrific.’
Audrey shoots her a look. Stella has no idea that Audrey is now feeling as if she’s trying to skate across the Atlantic on a layer of gossamer ice.
‘It’s all right, Stella,’ says Audrey. ‘We’ll talk about it later. No need to talk work now!’ She gives a little laugh. But Stella won’t let it go.
‘What’s the problem, Ralph?’ she asks. ‘Don’t you want your wife to work?’ Her voice is defiant. Audrey realises that she, too, is a little tight. ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those dinosaurs who believes a woman’s place is in the home!’
Audrey fingers her necklace. ‘It’s okay, really, Stella. Ralph’s right. I should have told him first.’
‘Well,’ says Ralph, ignoring his wife and looking levelly across his glass at Stella. ‘Since you ask, yes, I do believe a woman’s place is in the home. I work. I provide for my family …’ he sweeps his hand at the room as if to show just how well he provides for his family, ‘and looking after the home is the least Audrey can do.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ snorts Stella. ‘You
are a dinosaur. You’re one of those 1950s throw-backs. Have you heard yourself? “I do believe a woman’s place is in the home”!’ She mimics Ralph’s tone, and an icy hand clasps at Audrey’s heart. She wills Stella to shut up. ‘I mean, good God, Ralph, it’s 1973 not 19 bloody 50!’
‘Stella,’ says Stella’s husband. But Stella shakes her head at him, waves him off.
‘No seriously,’ she says. ‘I’m not finished here. Audrey’s got a job. She wants to go to work and she’s excited about it. Why shouldn’t she be? I’m sure she’s more than capable of managing her time. It’s not like she’s going to leave the children home alone, is it?’
‘Yes, Audrey. What were you going to do with the children while you’re out at work? Earning a crust at the library?’ Ralph spits the words and Audrey realises why he’s so upset. Suddenly she realises that by taking a job – a job which she’d hoped would help her get to know the community – she’s made it look as if they need her part-time salary to survive; she’s made it look as if Ralph is not providing enough, and she knows how much her husband will loathe that. Ralph turns his gaze to Audrey, one eyebrow raised, and waits for her reply.
‘It’s okay. They go to nursery school. The job is only part-time. A couple of hours a day. It’s for fun, not for anything else.’
‘Seems you’ve got it all sorted,’ says Ralph smoothly. His voice implies otherwise. Stella still hasn’t really comprehended how much trouble Audrey is in. She looks from one to the other then puts on a baby-girl voice.
‘Oooh!’ she giggles. ‘Looks like there’s going to be quite a discussion tonight chez Templeton.’ She looks at her watch, then at her friends. ‘Maybe we’d better leave them to it.’
Audrey looks around the table; looks at these people she was hoping would become her friends, her confidantes. Moving as a clique, they’re all nodding and stretching their limbs, smothering yawns, and looking about for handbags. Still the outsider, she suddenly feels so very alone.
‘Wouldn’t anyone like coffee?’ she asks, looking at the slices of birthday cake that still sit on the plates. ‘Coffee and petits fours?’
Heads all around the table shake and Audrey sags with defeat. The evening’s mood is broken and the guests start to get up from the table.
Audrey escorts them to the door with Ralph’s arm around her shoulders, his hand cupping her neck in a way that makes her want to edge away from him. She takes his hand and pulls it down to her shoulder. He puts it back on her neck, his index finger and thumb pressing a fraction too tightly.
When the door closes behind the last of the guests, Ralph uses the hand on Audrey’s neck to wrench her around, half-choking her in the process. An image of the dying man’s face in India flashes into Audrey’s mind – a year ago to the day. Her face is centimetres from Ralph’s and she can smell the garlic and liquor on her husband’s breath; see spittle on his lip. He stares at her face, breathing hard, then he gives her a little shake by the neck, as if to remind her of what he’s capable.
‘Don’t you ever – ever – humiliate me like that again. Do you hear?’
Audrey presses her lips together and averts her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she whispers.
‘And, as for your so-called job. Don’t you dare even think about it.’
Audrey’s nod is barely there.
‘Say it,’ Ralph says. ‘I want to hear it. Repeat after me: “Ralph Templeton’s wife will never work.”’
Audrey swallows, takes a shallow breath. Her throat feels bruised. ‘Ralph Templeton’s wife will never work,’ she whispers.
September 1976
Barnes, London
Audrey’s shoes tap on the damp pavement as she walks home from school faster than usual. She gives herself a little smile of triumph; John and Alexandra have settled well and her days are now her own. Audrey’s hyper-aware of her surroundings this morning. She’s taking in the scent of the fresh morning air, the dampness that hangs in the trees, and the mundane sound of the cars passing her as she hurries down the street. She’s aware of the hand that’s pulling her shopping trolley; aware of the rhythm that’s sent from the handle up her arm as the wheels roll over the joins in the paving stones.
She’s aware, too, of her heart beating, an exciting pulse. For the first time since she left India, she feels the life thrumming in her veins. Today is a big day and Audrey is as terrified as she is excited. After careful negotiations with Ralph, she’s established that he has no objection to her being out in the mornings to attend adult education classes as long as they are ‘edifying.’ He thinks it’s ‘ladylike’ and ‘appropriate’ for his wife to ‘improve herself’, so she’s signed up for art classes at the local adult education college. Today she’ll attend her first class. It’s a basic introduction to art but she’s hoping once she’s mastered the basics she’ll be able to move on to oil painting.
She’s desperate to get out of the house.
Audrey feels like a schoolgirl as she pushes open the door to the adult education centre. The smell of council disinfectant is identical to the smell in the twins’ school and she feels she should be looking for the headmistress’s office, not a classroom for herself. She’s a little early and there’s no one in the foyer, but there’s a poster on a board that lists where to find each of today’s classes. She runs a finger down the list, squinting slightly until she finds her art class. Teacher: Dave MacDonald. Classroom: E16.
Turning around, Audrey realises she can smell coffee and hear, faintly, the clatter of cup and saucer. She follows her senses and finds a small canteen that consists of a self-service hatch containing pastries, cookies and croissants, and a lady in an apron pouring teas and coffees. A handful of people decorate the room: a pair talking intensely on a sofa that’s seen better days, and two individuals flicking through newspapers at separate Formica tables. Audrey gives the room a vague smile.
‘Hello duck, what can I get you?’ asks the lady in the apron, and Audrey orders a tea for lack of anything else to say. She waits while the tea is prepared and then walks with it into the room. Sofa or table, she thinks? Sofa or table? Her feet carry her to a table and she puts the tea down, returns to a magazine rack and picks up the first magazine she sees, sits down and starts to flick through the pages. She’s timed it all wrong, of course. There’s only five minutes until she needs to be in the classroom and in that time her tea, in its polystyrene cup, is still too hot for even a sip.
Self-conscious, even though the other people in the room aren’t looking at her at all, she closes the magazine, returns it to the rack, picks up her tea, and makes her way to room E16. The door’s open, and a few people are already sitting in the crescent of plastic chairs that face the front. Audrey chooses a seat a little left of centre, and sits down, tucking her cup of tea under the seat so she doesn’t kick it over.
Within seconds, a grey-haired lady walks in. Audrey gives her a polite smile, which the woman takes as an invitation to sit next to her.
‘Hello,’ says the woman.
‘Morning,’ says Audrey.
As others begin to trickle into the room, the other woman takes out a sketch pad and a pencil and balances them on her knee. Audrey reaches into her bag and pulls out the A3 pad of paper and pencil she’s brought with her, then a man walks into the room and the breath is almost sucked out of Audrey’s lungs.
He looks casual in jeans and a loose black sweater, but its sleeves are pushed up to reveal elegant wrists and dark hairs on olive skin. In the jeans, his legs look long; his general outline is slim. The man has a wild beard and a moustache—both of which Audrey tends to dislike—and they hide much of his face but what skin of the man’s face Audrey can see—on his upper cheeks and on his forehead—is completely unlined: he could be anything from twenty-five to thirty-five. There’s something about the line of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes that resonates with her; there’s an aura of strength and kindness about his face, but it’s the man’s dark-brown hair that she finds herself drawn to; it’s hi
s hair that pulls a silent moan from her soul. It falls to his collarbone and is a tangle of pre-Raphaelite curls. As he walks into the room, his eyes, the rich brown of dark chocolate, catch Audrey’s and the shock is physical, as if she’s been punched in the abdomen. Audrey can’t drag her eyes away from his; a lifetime of emotion passes through her: recognition, understanding, and, somehow, a sense of inevitability. She shifts on her seat, a half-smile frozen on her face. Despite the flared trousers and polo-necked sweater she’s chosen to wear today, she feels naked under the man’s gaze.
‘Good morning,’ the man says to the room without taking his eyes from Audrey. Although there are now at least six people in the classroom, it’s as if he’s speaking only to her. ‘Are we all here for Art 101?’ Finally, the man drags his eyes away from Audrey and sweeps his gaze around the room. ‘If anyone here is expecting aerobics, you’re in the wrong classroom.’ He waits, walks to the classroom door and taps it shut with his foot.
‘Do you know him?’ Audrey’s neighbour whispers.
Audrey shakes her head; makes herself shrug.
‘Really?’
Audrey shakes her head. She doesn’t blame her new friend for thinking that; she already feels she knows this man’s soul.
The man continues. ‘Right. Good morning. My name’s Dave MacDonald but, if we’re going to get along, I’d rather you called me Mack.’
Mack. Audrey says the word to herself once, and then again: Mack.
March, 2013
Penzance, Cornwall
A wall of coffee-scented warmth hit me as I pushed open the door to Starbucks. I held onto the handle and tried to close the door quietly but the wind snatched it from my hand, slamming it with a bang that caused everyone in the queue to jump and turn.
‘Sorry,’ I mouthed. ‘Wind.’
I spotted my brother at once, his lanky shape familiar among the strangers. He was at a corner table, a couple of brochures and two coffees in front of him. I made my way over, wondering if Anastasia was somehow with him but out of sight.
The Disappearance Page 8