I picked it up and weighed it in my hand. The postmark was from Cornwall but I didn’t recognise the writing: thick, black calligraphy addressed only to me: Mrs Alexandra Scrivener. Raising my eyebrows at Mark, I picked up a knife, slid it neatly across the top and pulled out a card.
‘Wedding?’ Mark sat down with his cereal.
‘No,’ I said slowly, still digesting the news. ‘It’s from Mum. She’s asking me to go on a cruise.’
As I said it, I widened my eyes at Mark across the table and he echoed the expression with a shrug. Aside from a few stilted phone calls initiated by me and ended prematurely by Mum, I hadn’t heard from Mum since the disastrous lunch. Nothing more had been said about her living arrangements. It was now the white elephant between us, and I suspected she’d been avoiding calling John and me, perhaps even when she needed to. The whole thing sat so badly with me I’d been guilty of sweeping it under the carpet – which made me feel even worse. I wondered, with a leap of hope, if this was an olive branch.
‘Wow,’ said Mark. ‘When?’
‘July.’
‘Where?’
‘Greek islands.’ I held up the invitation and read out loud. ‘“Dear Mrs Scrivener, Mrs Audrey Templeton requests the pleasure of your company” blah blah, “sailing out of Venice for seven nights, calling at Corfu, Mykonos, Santorini, and Katakolon.” Oh my God.’ I looked at Mark. I’d always wanted to go to Venice. ‘What do you think?’
‘Well,’ he said carefully, ‘in theory, I have no objection …’
‘But, in practice?’ I looked at Mark and he raised an eyebrow and patted his tummy. He worried that I might be pregnant. The thought made me catch my breath.
‘I doubt it,’ I said. As fruitless month had passed after fruitless month, I’d slowly let go of the hope that I was going to conceive naturally. ‘The baby’ had become a topic we no longer talked about, and I’d assumed that Mark, too, had given up hope. After the summer, I’d been planning to open a conversation about it; to look at fertility treatments; see if Mark was prepared to go ahead with IVF. But, as far as being pregnant by July was concerned, hell had more chance of freezing over, and, now the idea of a sunshine holiday had been dangled in front of me, I realised how badly I wanted it. Even though Mark had work now, the last year had been incredibly draining.
‘Baby’s not going to happen given our track record.’ I looked at the invitation. ‘I wonder why it’s just me. I couldn’t justify it.’
‘Well,’ said Mark. ‘Maybe she’s got a family-only agenda? And, given she’s sent such a fancy invitation, I’d say she’s offering to pay, wouldn’t you?’
‘Maybe.’ My stomach fizzed with excitement. ‘Maybe she is. If she is, can I go? What do you think? Would you mind?’
‘Silly question.’
I shoved my chair back and ran to Mark’s side of the table, hugged him awkwardly from behind and kissed the top of his head. ‘Thank you, thank you! You’re the best husband ever.’
‘She only just notices,’ he deadpanned, catching my hand and giving it a squeeze. I grabbed the card and showed it to him, reading it through again. ‘Oh my life! Venice, Corfu, Mykonos, Santorini!’.
‘Look, Lexi, before you get too excited, why don’t you call your mum and just clarify what the arrangements are.’
The phone rang.
‘It’s her,’ I squealed. ‘Talk about serendipity.’ I picked up the phone. ‘Mum!’
‘It’s me,’ said John. ‘Sorry to call so early but I just wanted to ask if you got anything from Mum today?’
‘Yes, I did! The cruise?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was it just you? Or Anastasia and the kids as well?’
‘Just me.’
‘Just him,’ I mouthed at Mark. ‘So are you going to go?’ I asked John. ‘I can’t wait!’
‘You’re actually considering going?’ he asked.
‘Well … yes … aren’t you?’
‘Don’t you think it’s just a little odd, Lexi? A cruise? Out of the blue. Mum’s never been on a cruise in her life.’
‘What do you mean? I thought it sounded lovely. It’s over her birthday, if you noticed, and she loves the sea. That’s why she moved to Cornwall. Remember?’
‘Anyway,’ John’s voice was dismissive; I could hear him shaking his head. ‘I can’t possibly go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Umm, it’s a cruise?’ John said the word as if the very feel of it in his mouth made him want to throw up. ‘Substitute a “floating twenty-four-hour buffet packed with people so unimaginative they can’t plan their own holiday” for that, and you might get my feelings on the subject.’
‘Oh, John! Come on, seriously?’
‘Besides, I can’t justify spending that kind of money on something like this.’
‘Mark thinks Mum’s paying.’
‘Even if she is, we still need to get to Venice.’
‘It’ll only be a couple of hundred quid. Maybe less on a budget airline.’
‘A couple of hundred quid? Forget it. If the cash cow came to stay – even if it moved into my house and slept in my bed – even then a ticket to Venice would be the last thing on my wish list.’
I shook my head and mimed winding up a machine at Mark: he’s going off on one. Mark nodded sympathetically and resumed reading the news.
‘And then there’s drinks, expenses,’ John was saying. ‘Excursions. Presumably we’ll have to do stuff when we get off the ship. You can’t expect Mum to pick up the tab for everything. And those excursions cost an arm and a leg. Anastasia has a friend who went on a cruise and she said it was daylight robbery.’
To be fair, I hadn’t thought about that. But it’s not as if John was short of a penny; he just didn’t like spending it.
‘Besides,’ John continued. ‘It’s completely unfair for me to leave Anastasia alone with the children for a week. I don’t know what Mum was thinking not inviting them. Anastasia couldn’t cope for a week without me.’
‘Heaven forfend your wife spends a week alone with her kids.’ It slipped out before I could stop it, so I rushed on, regretting the words even as they tumbled out of my mouth. ‘Why don’t you ask Mum if you can bring them too?’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ John snorted. ‘Children? On a cruise ship? What if they fall overboard?’
‘Loads of kids go on cruises. Don’t they even have those Disney ones especially for kids?’
‘Lexi. Whatever way you look at it, it’s out of the question. All right? Sorry.’
I hung up the phone. If John refused to go, would Mum cancel the cruise? Was it a case of both of us or none of us? Or could she and I go alone?
‘Let me guess,’ said Mark. ‘John won’t go?’
‘Yeah. He said he can’t afford the flights and excursions, and that “it’s not fair on Anastasia” to leave her with her own kids.’
‘Look, Lex, I’ve got to go,’ said Mark, getting up. ‘Can we talk about this tonight?’ I picked up the invitation and looked at it, now feeling more regret than excitement. Mark kissed me. ‘He’ll come round, promise. If there’s a free holiday involved, trust me, your brother will go. Bye.’
I waited till lunchtime to call Mum: I was out of the habit of calling her, which made the call feel more momentous than it should do. Morning break wasn’t long enough, and I didn’t have any free periods in the morning. Sparked by my nerves, I taught my classes with far more energy than usual, noticing with detachment how well the students responded to the higher-octane lessons. At twelve thirty I took my mobile phone to a sofa in a quiet corner of the staff room and, breathing slightly harder than usual, dialled her number.
‘Hello?’ came Mum’s voice.
‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Alexandra,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’ And I felt a wave of guilt for not calling more often, for letting things slide since the lunch. Suddenly I didn’t know what to say.
‘How are you?’ I hedged.
‘Fine, thank
you.’ A pause. ‘And you?’
‘Good thanks. All good.’ Another pause.
‘Was there something? It’s just I’m in the middle of something …’
I took a deep breath. ‘I was just wondering. Did you, um, send me something in the post?’
‘Oh, it’s arrived!’ I could feel Mum’s smile. ‘That was quick. I only posted it yesterday. First class, mind.’
I relaxed back on the sofa. ‘Yes. Thank you. It … um. Wow. I don’t know what to say. It sounds fantastic. Wonderful. A trip of a lifetime.’ How could I ask if she would be paying?
‘Well, I did do a lot of research into the itinerary. So, do you think you’ll be able to come? It’s over the school holidays. I timed it deliberately.’
‘Mmm, well, I’d like to, but I just need to go through the finances tonight with Mark. You know … things are …’ I took a sharp in-breath to quell a sob that came from nowhere. Even though Mark was now earning, I was mentally earmarking every spare penny we had for IVF. My worries about that were buried in a crevasse inside my soul; I plastered over the top on a daily basis but every now and then a tiny crack appeared and raw emotion exploded out, catching me by surprise.
‘Don’t worry about the cost,’ Mum said. ‘It’s my treat. It’s something I’d really like to do with you and John.’ She paused and the line crackled. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you both said. About moving.’
‘Oh, Mum. About that …’
‘No, listen. You’re right. I can see that now. I’m a liability.’ Mum’s voice wobbled. She sounded odd, not quite herself. ‘This cruise will be my “last hurrah”. We’ll have a blast and, when we get back, I’ll look at that development you mentioned. Okay? That place with the dancing and the golf where you can buy your own house.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ The victory felt like defeat. ‘There’s no rush. Really. Maybe we were being too hasty.’
‘No, you’re right. I’ll turn seventy this summer. Eighty’s just around the corner. I’d rather choose my next home than have you do it when I’m incapacitated and put me in some god-awful box of a place.’ Mum gave a little laugh. ‘Anyway, the point is, I’m inviting you on the cruise, so I’ll be paying for it.’
‘Really? Thank you so much.’
‘Flights, too. They won’t be anything fancy, I’m not sending you first class, but I’ll get you there. I don’t want you to worry about a thing financially. I know what it’s like.’
‘Oh, Mum. Thank you.’
‘So you’ll come?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Such a nice idea. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I know you always wanted to go to Venice – me too – but your father …’ I knew exactly what she meant. My father had not been one to waste money on frivolities such as sunshine holidays, let alone cruises. ‘Do you think your brother will come?’
‘I suspect so,’ I said, thinking that all his financial reasons for not coming had been removed. ‘If he can persuade Anastasia to let him out of her sight …’
Mum chuckled. ‘I should imagine he would be grateful to get away for a bit. Right, I’ll call him now.’
15 July 1978
Barnes, London
‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Audrey, happy birthday to you!’
Someone raises three cheers for Audrey and she raises her wine glass at the people sitting around her dining table, their faces flush with alcohol.
‘Thank you very much,’ she says. ‘Now, I think it’s high time I brought dessert.’
‘A birthday cake, I hope?’ calls one of Ralph’s business associates.
Audrey looks at her husband.
‘Yes … of course there’s birthday cake,’ says Ralph with a smile as sweet as the cake Audrey’s about to bring. ‘Black Forest gateau. My wife’s favourite.’
The implication is that Ralph has ordered the cake and there’s a chorus of ahhs from the women around the table; a few admiring looks from the men: Audrey’s looking fantastic tonight in a red dress that brings out the fire in her hair. Ralph sees the way the men appraise her; he stands up and moves behind his wife’s chair, his hands proprietorial on her bare shoulders.
Audrey raises a hand to Ralph’s and gives it a squeeze. He drops his head down and kisses the top of her collar bone.
‘You two are just so sweet,’ says one of the wives. ‘Just look at you with your perfect marriage and your perfect children. You’re an example to us all.’
Audrey smiles, then pushes her chair back gently and walks around the table gathering up everyone’s plates while Ralph looks on proudly.
Audrey carries the plates out to the kitchen and places them in the sink. She stares for a minute out at the inky blackness of the garden, its features invisible thanks to the light inside, and she gathers her thoughts. It amuses her that the dinner guests think she and Ralph have a perfect marriage. She couldn’t explain the complexities of her marriage to anyone – even she finds it hard to fathom.
It’s been two years since the business with Mack, and the pain of missing him has slowly subsided. True, there are still mornings when Audrey wakes with the feeling of her lover’s hands on her bare skin, and carries with her all day the feel of his touch on her heart, but, in her head, Audrey knows that the decision to stay with the children – with her husband – was the right one. She imagines that, one day, her heart will catch up with her head. Did I do the right thing, Daddy? Was I right to stay? She looks at her reflection in the dark window and nods to herself.
Audrey’s thoughts turn to Ralph and she shakes her head as she thinks about the convoluted reasons why the two of them are still together. No outsider would understand it. Yes, Ralph may be controlling and autocratic but Audrey’s learned over the years how to manage him – she’s learned how not to incense him; how to defuse his funks. Maybe he’s even softened a little and, under the veneer of perfection, Mr and Mrs Templeton rub along all right. She takes a deep breath, lifts the cake carefully out of the fridge, and gazes at what is perhaps her most impressive cake ever.
The Black Forest gateau is a work of art. Audrey’s spent the best part of a week perfecting it; this concoction of black cherries and cream is her fourth attempt and she knows she’s nailed it.
‘Right. Showtime,’ she says.
She gathers up eight dessert plates and eight cake forks, and carries them into the dining room. It’s Ralph’s cue to go and get the cake, to bring it in in a blaze of candles but, as Audrey fiddles with the plates, she realises Ralph isn’t going to go. He’s having far too much fun playing the role of the genial dinner party host. He’s just said something and the guests have fallen suddenly quiet, as if they were talking about her.
Audrey heads back to the kitchen, lights her own birthday candles, and carries the cake she’s made back to the dining room, kicking the door open with her foot as she enters. Only when she places the cake on the dining table do the guests actually notice. There’s a chorus of exclamations: the cake is stunning.
‘Wow, Ralph! Where did you find that? You dark horse,’ says one of Ralph’s work associates.
Ralph looks modest. He must practise that, thinks Audrey, as she watches him, curious as to what he’s going to say.
‘I had it made,’ says Ralph. ‘I commissioned it myself.’ He looks at Audrey with a glint in his eye and she lowers her gaze. It’s not technically a lie, she thinks. Not when you think about the way Ralph had brought home a cookery book, pointed to the cake he wanted to serve on her birthday, and asked her to make it. One of the women catches Audrey’s eye. She’s trying to get her to look at something but Audrey doesn’t understand what. It’s only when she looks down to pick up the knife that she sees the distinctive blue of a Tiffany’s box on her placemat, its signature white bow almost asking to be untied. She looks at Ralph.
‘For me?’
Ralph nods, a smile playing on his lips.
‘Open it!’ calls one of the women.
Audrey looks hesitantly at Ralph, still remembering the faux pas she made on her birthday five years ago. She’s careful these days never to wrong-foot her husband in company.
He nods. ‘Open it.’
The guests take up the chant. ‘Open it, open it, open it!’
Audrey feels the slide of the ribbon as she gentle pulls one end. She opens the box and gasps: diamond stud earrings. Huge diamond studs. With her hand over her mouth she turns the box to show her guests. The women gasp; the box is passed around.
‘You’re so lucky!’
‘They’re beautiful!’
‘I’m lucky if my hubbie even remembers my birthday!’
One of the men stands up and slaps Ralph on the back. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he says. ‘Nothing like setting a precedent!’
‘And don’t you forget it,’ laughs his wife.
Ralph steps forward. ‘Let’s all wish my wife a happy birthday. One, two, three …’
The guests join in singing Happy Birthday, and Audrey blows out her candles.
‘Make a wish, make a wish!’ call the guests.
‘As if Audrey needs to wish for anything!’
‘What do you wish for when you’ve got everything?’
Everything? thinks Audrey. Has she got everything? Perhaps she does. The thought pleases her. And then, as Audrey prepares to make the first cut, she thinks of the one thing she wants that money can’t buy: Mack. The knife slices through the sponge.
Part II
During
12 July 2013, 8 a.m.
‘We’ve spent longer getting to the airport than we’ll spend actually flying to Venice,’ John said as I hauled my suitcase onto a baggage trolley at Gatwick Airport. ‘Logistically speaking, I don’t like that we’ve spent all that time working our way north-east on the train when we’re going to get on a plane fly south again.’ He shook his head, disapproval oozing out of him, while I scanned the departure hall, looking for the check-in desk. My brother was in one of his moods, and I’d borne the brunt of it since we’d left Cornwall on the 5 a.m. train.
The Disappearance Page 13