by Emma Curtis
On Saturday afternoon he asked me to marry him, and that evening he went out and didn’t come back. Did he know what was going to happen? Maybe he did. Cora is right: why else would he have left Toffee behind? My head is swimmy from the heat. He must have been going to meet someone. I have a glass of wine beside me. I reach for it with wet hands and drink it slowly, letting reality sink in. Nick Ritchie has left his family in limbo, with no clue, no information, no signpost. One moment he’s here; next, he’s gone. He could have hired a car or caught a train or a plane. Oh shit. A plane. He could be out of the country. His passport. I almost go flying when I get out of the bath. I dry myself off, throw on the trackie bottoms that Nick thinks are hideous, a tee and a long cardigan and pad down to his study.
The large brown envelope containing our passports and birth certificates is kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. I delve inside. Three passports. I slump in the chair, not knowing whether what I’m feeling is relief or horror.
Nick’s screensaver is a photograph of me and Lottie on a near-deserted beach in Cornwall, towels wrapped hastily round us, faces still wet from the sea. I type in his four-digit passcode and the image disappears as I’m welcomed in.
Hello Nick
Most of Nick’s emails are work related, and I’ve seen them already. There are several from Evan from last week, trying to arrange a trip to the Queen’s Arms to watch next Saturday’s Chelsea match. But there’s something new. A message from an Alexander Wells.
Hi Nick. We still OK for Wednesday morning? Probably easiest if I meet you in the Starbucks on the corner of Eastcheap. 11 a.m. It would be really helpful for me to talk to you about what happened. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you’ve got to face up to things, or they bring you down.
Alex
I click on reply and begin to type a message letting him know that Nick won’t be meeting him tomorrow, then I slowly delete it. I respond instead with ‘See you there.’
What does Nick have to face up to? I’ve never heard of Alex Wells. All I know is where he is going to be at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. And – my heart races when I think this – Nick might turn up for the appointment.
Lottie pokes her head round the door.
‘Can you come and kiss me goodnight?’ she asks. ‘It’s nearly nine o’clock.’
‘Is it?’ I say, surprised. ‘I’m sorry, darling. Have you cleaned your teeth?’
I follow her into her bedroom and read a chapter of The Amber Spyglass, although my mind is elsewhere and the words make little sense.
When I come downstairs, Tim and Cora are on the sofa in the sitting room watching the television. Cora has taken my spot and Tim is sitting where Nick normally sits, with the little table in front of him where Nick’s phone and bottle of beer should be, so I have to sit alone on the armchair. They aren’t touching. When Nick and I sit there, even though I frequently lean into the corner, my feet are always against his thigh. I yearn for that physical connection, miss it so badly it burns.
TAISIE
July 2000
IT RAINED ALL NIGHT, BATTERING DOWN ON THE ROOF directly above them, bouncing off the skylight. It was like trying to sleep in a war zone, or in the middle of a fireworks display. Taisie couldn’t get comfortable on the lumpy camp bed and resented Freya and Pansy for sleeping so soundly. She didn’t know how they managed it, but they came here in winter too, so maybe they were used to sleeping so close to the elements. Taisie kept replaying that moment from earlier, Tim carrying Rory out of the river. She wished it had been her. She imagined herself draped barely conscious in his arms, pressed against his chest, water dripping from them. He would have laid her down gently but urgently and given her the kiss of life, his warm, firm hands on her skin.
Oh. She had an idea. She lay on her back thinking as flashes of lightning sent ghostly shapes darting across the room. After a few minutes she decided to check how Izzy was coping. Her sister didn’t like storms. She dragged the musty old eiderdown round her shoulders and went downstairs.
Izzy had her own bedroom because she refused to share with Alex and Rory. Taisie was on her side there. She would rather pull her nails out than put up with those two. She pushed the door open.
‘Are you awake, Iz?’
‘Taisie?’ Izzy’s voice came out of the darkness.
As her eyes adjusted Taisie saw that Izzy’s were wide open, her fingers clutching the sheets at her throat. Her sister reminded her of Helen Burns from Jane Eyre. Taisie wrinkled her nose at the duck-down pillows. They smelled like they’d been around for half a century – knowing the Moodys and their sacrosanct heirlooms, they probably had – and the feathers tended to stick through and scratch your cheek.
In the darkness, Izzy perched beside her, leaning over her skinny knees and picking at her sky-blue toenail varnish.
‘I want you to do something for me,’ Taisie said.
‘What?’
‘I need to stop the game with Nick, but I can’t just go up to him and say it’s over. I need a distraction to get me out of this mess without losing face; something dramatic that’ll make me look good. They all hate me, even Pansy and Freya, although they pretend they don’t. It’s gone too far, Iz. No one will forgive me unless I do something amazing. If you help me it’ll all be forgotten, and we can go back to normal and start having fun.’
‘You mean we can play with Nick again?’
‘Yes, of course. If you do what I tell you.’
She woke because Izzy was shaking her. ‘I don’t want to do it.’
She stretched out, yawning, her thoughts muzzy. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.’
‘Why does it have to be me? Why not Rory?’
‘Because I asked you. But you obviously don’t care about me.’
‘Of course I do. That’s not fair.’
‘You’d rather be with Nick bloody Ritchie.’
‘No I wouldn’t!’
Wide awake now, Taisie sat up. Her eiderdown had slid to the floor. She reached for it, and pulled it round her like an Indian squaw. ‘Yes you would. You don’t want to help me, but you’d do anything for him even when you know that he’s a two-timing bastard.’
‘I can’t just stop liking him.’
‘Why not? I have. Do you have a crush on him, Iz?’
Izzy’s eyes filled with tears so Taisie held her. She could feel her knobbly spine. She wondered what it felt like to be so fragile. Men loved that, didn’t they? It was a pity she was so robust.
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Izzy. I had massive crushes on boys when I was your age.’
‘Did you?’ Izzy hugged her tighter, pressing her cheek against Taisie’s.
‘Yes, of course. When they didn’t love me back, it felt like the end of the world at the time, but now when I remember, it makes me laugh. You think you love Nick, but you don’t really. He’s been in your life for ever and right now your hormones are all over the place.’
It struck her that it should be their mother having this conversation, but it felt good to be needed. It made up for some of the shit she’d had to take recently.
She lay with her face so close to her sister’s that she could feel Izzy’s toothpaste breath on the tip of her nose. ‘You were such a scrawny little baby. It was like your eyes were too big for your head.’
Izzy snuggled into her embrace. She loved this story.
‘When you were sick I spent every moment I could with you. You almost died, but I willed you to pull through. I wanted you to survive so badly. I felt so protective about you. I still do. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Iz. You do believe me, don’t you?’
‘You’ll be right behind me?’
‘Yes, of course I will.’
‘When will we do it?’
‘Dunno. Tomorrow, probably. Depends if this lets up, I suppose.’ Taisie yawned and tried to get comfortable. ‘Go to sleep now, Izzy.’
‘It will be all right, won’t it?’
; ‘Of course it will. I’ve always looked after you, haven’t I?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t sound convinced. ‘Taisie?’
She had nearly nodded off. She rolled over on to her side. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
She lay watching Izzy until her breathing deepened, then she stroked her hair in the darkness, spreading it on the pillow and weaving her fingers through it, before falling asleep herself.
GRACE
Wednesday, 18 April 2018
I WAKE FEELING HEAVY AND DRAINED OF ENERGY, AS IF during the night something has sucked the blood from my veins. I touch Nick’s side of the bed, running my hand over the shallow dip made by his body, then pull his pillow across and breathe it in. Without him here, I’m so much less, although I know I shouldn’t feel that way. I hope he would feel the same about me. I miss him and I’m desperately worried. What if he doesn’t come back? What on earth will I do without him?
I won’t think about that now, not when it’s morning and there is Lottie to reassure. It’s vital to carry on for her sake; vital to fill in that form for the school trip to the Science Museum, vital to sign her homework diary, vital to check she has the correct kit. Vital is what gets me up and doing the things that need doing.
A toilet flushes and I remember that Tim and Cora are here. I lie back and pull the covers up over my head. Cora is an early riser, which means I’ll have to face her over breakfast. I wait for a few minutes then reluctantly get out of bed and head downstairs. She’s making coffee. I mumble a good morning and get a clean mug out of the dishwasher and drop a teabag into it, then I go upstairs to make sure Lottie is awake. Somehow or other, I choreograph the morning so that Cora and I spend limited time in the same space, and as soon as Hannah and Cassie have whisked Lottie off, I get myself ready and go out.
I finish up in Chelsea at twenty past ten, then jump on my Vespa and whizz into the City for my meeting with Alex Wells. I locate the Starbucks and go inside. It’s full of suited businessmen and women.
I don’t have a clue who this man is, let alone what he looks like, or his age. There are several tables taken up by single men working on their laptops, phones to their ears. The place is bustling and noisy. I look for someone watching the door, like me. The waiting makes me jumpy.
Nick doesn’t come, but I soon find a candidate for Alex Wells. The young man is holding a book, but not reading it, and is as interested in who’s coming through the door as I am. I approach with my coffee in my hand and hover near him until finally he glances up. Not recognizing me, he pretends to go back to his book.
‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘Are you Alex Wells?’
This time he scrutinizes me. ‘Yup.’ His tone is evasive but curious at the same time.
‘My name’s Grace Trelawney. I’m Nick Ritchie’s girlfriend.’
‘Oh.’ He frowns in confusion. ‘He’s meant to be meeting me.’
‘I know, I saw your email. That was me who replied. Do you mind if I sit down?’
He looks bemused. ‘No, not at all.’
He dabs at a spill of coffee with a paper napkin. I take the seat opposite him, put my helmet on the floor beside me, and unzip my bike jacket.
‘Is Nick with you?’ He looks round at the counter, as if hoping to see him there.
‘No.’ I hesitate. ‘I don’t actually know where he is. I haven’t seen him since Saturday evening. I came to meet you because of your email. I hoped he would be here. I’m extremely worried about him. I thought maybe—’
‘I don’t know where he is.’ His response is as quick as a flash, and he already looks as though he wishes he could take it back. ‘I mean, I thought he would be here, but as you can see, he isn’t.’
‘What was it you wanted to talk to him about? I don’t mean to pry, but I’m desperate. I live with him, you see, so it’s not as if he just hasn’t called me. He went out for a walk and didn’t come home.’
‘Shit.’ Alex has gone sheet white. ‘What do you think … I mean, you don’t think he’s done something stupid, do you?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Oh. No, sorry. No reason.’ He hesitates. ‘It’s just a question you ask when people vanish.’
‘Well, I don’t think that at all. I’m just looking for connections. Can you at least tell me why you asked him here?’
He looks like he wants to leave but I pin him to his seat with my eyes. Outside, the street is busy; a sea of taxis, delivery vans and bicycles. People walk with purpose, their minds focused, phones to their ears. Slowly, Alex turns to face me again.
‘I felt like reconnecting. I haven’t seen him in years. There’s nothing else.’
I put my phone on the table between us and show him his email. He reads it and shrugs.
‘This doesn’t look like nothing to me,’ I say.
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple rising and falling. ‘I thought he might be able to help with my recovery.’ He pushes the plastic lid from his coffee across the table with the stirring stick.
‘Your recovery from what?’
His eyes narrow as he looks at me. He’s weighing up how much to tell me, how much I already know. Which only makes me wonder how much he plans to leave out.
Then he releases his breath. ‘My sister drowned when our families were on holiday together.’
I don’t know what I expected, but nothing like this.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I thought I was OK, but lately …’ He shrugs but his hands are shaking.
‘What was her name?’
‘Isabel. Izzy. She was thirteen.’ His eyes are full of pain. ‘I’m surprised Nick hasn’t told you about it.’
Me too. This must have been a significant and life-changing event for him. I thought he trusted me. My face heats. I press on to cover my bewilderment.
‘In your email you hint that Nick needs to face up to things. What did you mean by that?’
‘Nothing. To be honest, I was drunk when I wrote it. I only meant myself. My psychiatrist encouraged me to get in touch with him.’
I look at him sceptically. ‘There’s no suggestion that Nick should feel bad about your sister’s death? That’s not what this is about?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘How did you find him?’
‘Through LinkedIn.’
‘And when was this?’
He finally realizes that his trembling hands are giving him away and puts them on his lap. ‘Last Friday.’
‘Prompted by your psychiatrist?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So it’s a coincidence that he vanished on Saturday night? You don’t think getting in touch triggered something?’ It’s my turn to swallow hard. ‘You don’t think Nick might have felt responsible?’
He gives a bitter laugh. ‘We all do, one way or another. But we shouldn’t. Our parents were supposed to be in charge, but they were getting pissed and generally trying to forget we were there. There was all sorts of shit going on; Nick’s dad making the females behave weirdly. But I presume you know what he’s like. He was loving it; the cockerel amongst the hens.’
‘Do you think that’s what was troubling Nick? He thinks his father’s to blame in some way?’
‘I doubt it. If Nick read something else into it, that’s his problem. I wish I’d never got in touch with him.’
‘But you did, and now he’s gone.’
‘Listen, that has nothing to do with me.’
He opens his wallet and fishes out a photograph. I take it from him. It’s of a young girl. A head-to-waist shot. Someone else’s arms are draped around her shoulders, but the picture has been cropped to the size of a credit card, so that only the little girl features. She looks happy – she’s grinning – but there are blue shadows under her eyes, and her lips are chapped. She doesn’t look healthy. I hand it back to him and he carefully replaces it in its pocket.
‘It seems odd that Nick’s never told me any of this.’
‘He probab
ly wanted to forget it. I did too. It seriously screwed our family up. My older sister went completely off the rails. She was never home, and a pain in the arse if she was. She …’ he checks himself.
I wait, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. ‘God. Poor thing.’
‘Yeah, well. Fifteen is a bad age for your life to go tits-up. She hasn’t spoken to any of us since she left home. We hear things occasionally. She married some guy, but he topped himself.’
I wince at his terminology. ‘I’d like to speak to her.’
‘Be my guest. I don’t know where she is, though.’
‘You’ve never tried to find her?’ Some brother he’s turned out to be.
‘She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want us near her so …’ He raises his hands. ‘You’ll have to do some digging. Her name’s Taisie Wells. Taisie short for Anastasia. I suppose she might have taken her married name, though.’
‘Thanks.’ I say drily. I start to get up.
‘So you really have no idea why Nick left?’ Alex says.
‘Nope.’ I pull on my jacket. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’
He stiffens, scratching at a dried smear on the table, and looks as though he’s hoping for a waitress to come and clean it and rescue him from me, into the bargain. When no one appears, he pushes his cup away and picks up his phone, activating it and glancing at the screen. No messages. No excuse from Nick for not turning up.
‘No.’
I don’t believe him, and it must show on my face, because he frowns as though he’s remembering something. It feels a little like play-acting to me.
‘Actually, there is something. When I spoke to one of the others who’d been on that holiday, she told me something interesting.’ He stops fiddling with his phone and looks directly at me. ‘But it can’t go any further than this room.’