The Disappearance
Page 11
‘Seven,’ says Audrey. ‘There were ten, but three left.’ She’s blathering, struggling to keep the conversation on an even keel, but she knows, even as she says it, that she’s losing. She’s a mouse; Ralph the cat, and he’s playing with her. A part of her wants him just to come out and say it. Maybe he’ll be so angry he’ll strangle her, push her down the stairs, or bash her brains out with the Templeton family clock, and it’ll all be over. In this moment Audrey would almost rather that than face what she suspects she’s about to hear.
‘Your teacher. Is he good?’
Audrey’s head moves marginally up and down.
‘He’s good, but three students left? Hmm. I wonder why.’
Audrey shrugs.
‘Why do you think they left, Audrey?’
Audrey swallows again. Just get it over with, she thinks.
‘Maybe art wasn’t their thing?’
‘Or maybe they didn’t like him. Tell me about him.’
‘Who?’
‘The teacher.’
‘What do you want to know?’ Audrey’s voice is reed-thin.
‘What’s his name? What are his qualifications?’ Ralph undoes his tie, holds it in his right hand, and lashes it against his left hand like a riding whip, takes a step closer to Audrey. ‘What does he have that I don’t have?’
Audrey moves towards the door to the en suite.
‘Not so fast, my precious,’ says Ralph, grabbing her by her clothes. ‘Hit a nerve, did I? It’s true that you’re going out with your art teacher? Having coffees with him? Private art classes? Fucking him?’ Ralph’s eyes close in disgust as he says the word. ‘I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that you could betray me like that.’ His voice breaks but he recovers quickly. ‘Why, Red? Why?’ He shoves her against the wall as he’s speaking, causing her head to bash against the solid brick. He holds her there by the shoulders. Spittle from his lips sprays her face as he shouts, ‘Aren’t I enough for you? Don’t I give it to you enough? Aren’t I good enough?’
Audrey’s crying now, silent tears slipping down her face.
‘Answer me!’ yells Ralph. He shoves her against the wall again, then grabs her shoulders and flings her towards the bed, where she lands sprawled on her back. She starts to sit up but Ralph is on her, crouching over her, pushing her back down as he hikes up her skirt and rips her tights down her legs. She lifts her hips a fraction to allow him to pull down her knickers. She knows what’s coming; she knows that to resist will make it worse.
With one knee still holding her down, Ralph rips open his belt and unzips his trousers. Then he rolls her over onto her belly, pulls her hips up and slams himself into her. The pain is blinding white; Audrey clamps her mouth shut to stop herself from crying out. He grips her hips hard, his fingers digging into her flesh and she clutches the edge of the pillow, squeezing tighter each time he rams into her. She turns her face into the pillow, her mouth open, gasping for air, trying not to make a sound.
Eventually Ralph shudders and pulls out. Audrey hears him grab a tissue from the bedside table and wipe himself, then the sound of him doing up his zip and belt. Ralph comes over to where Audrey is still lying face down on the pillow and rolls her over. She moves to pull her skirt down but he stops her, slapping her hands away from her legs, leaving her splayed and bare.
‘You seem to have forgotten something, dear wife,’ he says. He leans down and traces his finger over and around her face. Audrey lies stock-still, petrified. ‘You seem to have forgotten that you’re mine. Mine!’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Oh, you’ve no idea. No idea! No one leaves Ralph Templeton.’ He pauses, breathing hard as stares at Audrey’s body. ‘You’ll never see that man again. Never! No more art class, no more coffee mornings, no more out-of-the-house at all. Do you hear me? You will not humiliate me. You will not!’ Ralph pauses again and the silence is almost as loud as his words had been. Then he jumps up and walks to the door, taking the key out of his pocket and smoothing his hair as he goes. Audrey hears him clatter down the stairs; hears the chink of his keys and the slam of the front door behind him.
Audrey uses the adrenalin that’s still pumping through her body to heave herself up from the bed. Hunched over, she shuffles into the bathroom, where she cleans herself, gently washing the parts of her that are torn and swollen. She’d like a bath but she’s not sure how long she has. She still believes in her marriage but there’s a limit. Ralph’s brutality tonight has pushed the blinkers away from her eyes. She can’t put up with this. All she can think of is Mack. She’ll run to Mack and he’ll know what to do. Maybe they’ll leave – leave London, maybe even leave England – they’ll find somewhere to live. In her imagination, she sees a glimpse of India – of palm trees, exotic birds, noise, chaos, flowers, and sunshine, and something inside her softens. When the divorce goes through, she’ll fight through the courts for the children. For now, she knows they’re safe – Ralph has never lifted a hand to either of them – for now, all that matters is that she gets herself to Mack. Audrey half expects that Ralph’s only pretended to go out; that he’ll be waiting for her downstairs, ready to degrade her again.
Back in the bedroom Audrey climbs on a chair and pulls her suitcase down from on top of the wardrobe. She throws it onto the bed, opens it, opens her cupboards, and starts putting clothes, shoes, underwear, and cosmetics higgledy-piggledy into the bag. All the while, she has half an eye on the door. She’s still expecting Ralph to reappear.
She’s half expecting him to attack her again.
With the suitcase full, Audrey has just one more thing to do. She puts her hands to her ears, feeling the emerald earrings she’d put on for the dinner she and Ralph were supposed to attend that night. She removes them, takes them over to her leather jewellery box, and puts them neatly back in their place. Ignoring the pieces that Ralph has bought her, she takes only the simple silver bangle her father bought her when she turned eighteen. As Audrey slides it into her bag, she hears a fine click, the air pressure in the room changes, and she knows, before she turns, that the bedroom door has opened. She freezes; steels herself for the physical blow that she’s sure will come but, instead, there’s a voice:
‘Mummy!’
Audrey spins around and sees two little faces peering around the bedroom door, looking for signs of the father who never allows them into the room. Audrey rushes to the door, arms outstretched, hoping to prevent the twins from seeing the open suitcase on the bed.
‘What is it?’ she asks, gathering them in a hug. ‘Can’t you sleep?’ She tries to usher them out of the room, back onto the landing, but John wriggles free and pushes past her, Alexandra close behind her.
‘Lexi had a bad dream,’ John starts, but then he sees the suitcase. He walks over to it, notes that it’s almost full, looks accusingly at Audrey. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
Alexandra is right behind him.
‘Mummy,’ she wails. Her face is tear-stained; she’s clutching her teddy bear in her hands. ‘Where are you going?’
Alexandra takes their hands in hers, strokes the peachy-soft skin.
‘Nowhere … nowhere at all. Now, back to bed.’
‘Why are you packing?’ Alexandra is still crying.
Audrey looks from Alexandra to John: two small children in their nightwear; two small children with terrified faces, scared that their mother’s going somewhere. They have no idea what she’s planning. A galaxy of emotion passes through Audrey and she throws out an arm to steady herself on the wall. She knows Ralph won’t harm the children, but what he will do is ignore them. Audrey is the first to admit she’s not a natural mum – she’s never been one of those Earth Mother types – but she’s all John and Alexandra have.
The moment stretches. Alexandra steps towards Audrey, puts her hand on her knee.
‘Can we come too, Mummy?’
Audrey gathers the girl into her arms and nuzzles the sweet, biscuit smell of her neck, smooths her shiny locks of hair, still damp with sw
eat from her dreams. Then Audrey takes a deep breath. She hears herself speak as if she’s at the bottom of the ocean, the words distorted, coming from somewhere else.
‘You sillies! Mummy’s not going anywhere,’ she says. ‘Mummy was just testing to see if she needed a new suitcase. Ready for our next holiday.’ She holds out an arm to John and he steps forward, allows himself, stiffly, to be embraced.
‘Really?’ he asks. ‘You’re not packing?’
‘No, silly billy!’ She ruffles his hair and releases the children. ‘I know how many dresses I can fit in now. I was just starting to put everything back. Right, come on. Back to bed.’
Audrey walks the children back up the stairs to their rooms, tucks each child back into their bed, administers sips of water and strokes soft foreheads until the twins’ features relax into sleep. Then she goes back down to her bedroom and, piece by piece, her face wet with tears, she takes her clothes back out of the case.
April, 2013
St Ives, Cornwall
The Ship was a modern pub, the décor bright and modern, the floor wooden. As Mum pushed open the door, we were met with the smell of cooking and almost all of the tables were occupied with people tucking into roast lunches.
‘That’s a good sign.’ I waved my hand around the room taking in all the people.
‘Yes, it’s very popular.’ Mum’s eyes rolled over the room. ‘I hope we get a table.’
‘There’s one,’ said John, indicating a small table in the corner. He forced his way through the maze of tables and threw himself onto a chair.
‘Right. Drinks,’ he said once we’d all settled. ‘I’ll go. What does everyone want?’
‘A gin and orange, please,’ said Mum.
‘I’ll have a Perrier. Driving.’
John nodded and headed over to the bar.
‘Nice of him to go,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
Mum pulled a face. ‘Me neither.’
I looked at the menu scrawled on the blackboard next to the bar. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘The hear the veggie lasagne’s good. Not too heavy. It comes with a salad. Mmm. I think I’ll have that.’
‘Sounds lovely.’
Mum rubbed her belly. ‘I don’t eat much meat these days. It takes me days to digest it. I really can’t stand great hunks of meat anymore.’
John reappeared with three glasses balanced in his hands.
‘We were thinking of having the veggie lasagne,’ said Mum. ‘It’s really good.’
‘Well, you’re getting the roast beef. I’ve ordered it for all of us.’
‘Oh, lovely,’ said Mum. ‘I’m sure it’s very nice.’ She smiled at me and the brittleness of it reminded me of the old days back in Barnes when my father had been alive. I realised now that it was a wallpaper smile; a smile designed to smooth over the cracks. I’d seen it a lot when I was growing up; when Pa was shouting or in one of his funks. I stared at Mum for a minute, seeing for the first time the adult dynamic between John and her. My brother bullied her, and she took it.
John pulled a receipt out of his pocket and studied it. ‘Twenty-two pounds a head. So … shall we call it twenty each?’ He looked at Mum and I expectantly. Neither of us moved. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘We’re all adults. Why should I pay?’
Mum reached for her handbag.
‘No, Mum. I’ll get this.’ I put two twenty pound notes on the table.
‘Thank you, dear,’ said Mum. She picked up her drink. ‘Cheers!’
John and I raised our glasses. ‘To pleasant surprises,’ Mum said.
‘To family,’ I said. We sipped our drinks. I looked at John out of the corner of my eye, wondering if now was as good a time as any to broach the topic of Harbourside. He stared into his pint, as if the answers to everything lay there. Mum looked from John to me, a bemused smile on her face.
‘So, will you come down next week as well?’ she asked. ‘Or no need now?’
‘Oh …’ I stalled, wondering how to be tactful. ‘If you want us to.’ John gave me a look. ‘But we don’t really need to, do we? Now we’re here.’
‘It’s up to you,’ said Mum. ‘It’s always nice to see you but I never want you to feel beholden. You have your own lives to get on with.’
‘Well – maybe let’s leave it for another time. I do have a lot on at the moment. Exam marking and … you know.’
‘No problem. I’ll do you the fish next time,’ said Mum. ‘It’s lovely. It’s a Nigella recipe. I got it off the worldwide web.’
‘Amazing, isn’t it, that web thing?’ said John. Again, I kicked him under the table. ‘Anyway, Mum,’ he paused for a fraction, and I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed. ‘There’s a reason we wanted to see you today.’
‘Oh?’ said Mum.
The bench seat that she was on was slightly lower than the chairs John and I were on and she looked up at us, trustingly, like a child. I felt as if we were about to start walking down a path from which there would be no return. Suddenly I felt the need to rummage in my handbag for something.
‘Lexi and I wanted to talk to you,’ John said.
‘Go on,’ said Mum.
‘It’s about your living arrangements,’ said John. ‘We’re worried about you living alone.’ He bit his lip. ‘We’re not saying you need to move right now or anything but, looking ahead, we think it’s probably time to start looking for some sort of, umm, sheltered housing type thing. You know – where care’s available. If you need it.’
There was a silence. I focused on my bag. Now John was saying the words out loud, it sounded all wrong.
‘We’re not talking about an old peoples’ home. More of a really nice residential development where there’ll be support,’ he said. There was a silence. ‘Lexi and I have had a talk. You know, after the accident and whatnot. We think you need to have someone on hand for if you fall over at home, or lock yourself out. You know – just the kinds of things that start to happen to people as they get older. You’ll be seventy this year.’
Still Mum didn’t say anything. Finally I looked up from my bag. Mum was staring at us. I noticed again how blue her eyes were; how smooth and unlined her cheeks were.
‘A house is a big responsibility,’ said John. ‘We don’t think you living on your own is going to continue working. Moving into the future. There are some really nice developments around the area.’ Mum opened her mouth but John carried on. ‘There’s a place where you can own your own home and have your independence, but there’s care available if you need it. A bit like a holiday home for the older generation. Have you heard of Harbourside?’
Silence.
‘Lexi and I had a look. Got the brochure. It looks nice. We think you’d like it – and guess what? There’s a two-bedroom house for sale at the moment.’ He beamed at Mum but she didn’t return the smile. She looked slowly from John to me and back again as if she were having trouble processing what was being said. I pressed my lips together, wishing, wishing, wishing I wasn’t there.
‘I see,’ said Mum. She looked from John to me. Her fingers worried the grain of the wooden table. ‘Is this true, Alexandra? You two went house hunting for me?’
I bit my lip and nodded.
‘You think I should sell my house and move into some sort of old people’s development?’ John gave the smallest of nods and Mum laughed. ‘You think that, too, Alexandra?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s not like that. Please don’t think that! We just thought that you might have a … better quality of life …’ I cringed as I said it, ‘if you had access to some sort of warden or emergency call-out. You know, someone who could be there in a flash. Rather than you having to call one of us and wait while we drive down.’
‘Better quality of life?’ Mum echoed. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Better quality of life?’
‘Mum, please.’ I leaned towards her, my words fast and earnest. ‘Harbourside looked really nice. I wouldn’t mind living there myself. The archite
cture was beautiful – it looked like a high-end holiday resort. Really nice architecture, lovely houses and apartments. And so much to do! Dancing, fishing, outings. It’s for the over fifty-fives so it’s not like it’s stuffed with oldies.’ Finally I made eye contact with Mum. ‘Look, it’s not like we’re trying to put you in a home. We’re just trying to find somewhere safe for you to live, where you’ll have access to everything that you need as you get older. Going forward. Because we can’t always be there, and we love you.’
Mum closed her eyes for a moment before she spoke. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘When the time comes, we’ll consider options. But that time is not now. As far as I’m aware there isn’t a problem with my quality of life.’ Again she laughed, a joyless snort of a sound.
‘But Mum,’ John said, and I kicked out under the table, searching in vain for his ankle, willing him to shut up now. ‘Remember when you had the car accident?’ he said. ‘Lexi and I tied ourselves in knots trying to sort everything out for you: the hospital, the car, the insurance, looking after you, shopping … And we have other responsibilities. There are only so many hours in the day.’
Mum looked at him with so much hurt in her eyes that I had to look away. To be fair, that hadn’t been her fault.
‘Is this why you wanted to see me today?’ she asked. ‘Is that why I’ve been honoured with a visit from the pair of you together, instead of the solo fortnightly visits? You came down here to tell me to sell my home?’
‘Lexi and I are just worried about you,’ said John. ‘You can’t deny you’re losing your memory. Lunch was always this week, not next week.’
‘Okay fine,’ said Mum rolling her eyes. ‘A clerical error. It’s hardly Alzheimer’s.’
John shook his head. ‘It’s not just that, Mum. You’re not as sharp as you used to be.’