by C. L. Taylor
The security guard laughs. ‘Course it is, you haven’t been caught before.’
As he walks her through the entrance and onto the concourse, Ursula tries to turn back but his grip on her elbow is surprisingly strong.
‘Wait! I’ve forgotten my coat. It’s still in the cubicle. Please, just let me go back and get it.’
‘Nice try, love.’ Before she can say another word, she’s propelled out of the shop. ‘Now get on your way or I’ll call the police.’
‘Shit,’ Ursula says as she opens and closes the cupboard doors in the galley kitchen. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
Tears trickle down her cheeks as she takes out the last tin of beans from her cupboard and drops two pieces of bread into the toaster. It was a shock, being bundled out of Mirage Fashions like that. Humiliating, too. She’s never been caught shoplifting before and, for once, she hadn’t actually stolen anything. The expression on the shop assistant’s face as she snatched the skirt from her hands is burnt onto Ursula’s brain – anger and revulsion, like she was the lowest type of scum.
Nathan bought the coat she was forced to leave behind. He’d known she’d been eyeing it up in Evans for weeks but couldn’t justify the eighty-pound price tag. He’d popped in to buy it on his lunch break one day and hung it up on the coat rack at home for her to find. She hadn’t immediately spotted it when she came in. She was tired after eight hours spent wrangling five-year olds and all she wanted to do was get out of her clothes and lie in the bath with a book. But as she climbed the stairs Nathan shouted up to her, asking her to help him get the food shopping in from the car. A complaint formed on her lips but she swallowed it back. He was tired too. When he told her to put on her coat she automatically reached for the thin mac she’d chucked over the banister at the bottom of the stairs, only for Nath to point at the rack.
‘No, not that one,’ he said. ‘Your other coat.’
He’d helped her put it on, standing behind her on tiptoes as she slipped her arms into the soft wool mix. When she stooped to kiss him she didn’t think she’d ever felt happier. It was the greatest gift she’d ever been given. Not the coat. Him.
Now, as she stirs the baked beans in the pan, she swipes the back of her hands over her cheeks and tries to blink away the tears. Rain is beating at the glass panel of the back door and the garden beyond is a blur of green and brown and grey.
Let it go. She hears Nathan’s voice in her head. It’s just a coat, Albi. It’s not me.
But I haven’t got you either, have I? And that coat was—
Movement in the garden makes her turn sharply.
There’s a cat crouched under the tree, holding something small and feathery in its mouth. ‘Hey!’ She bangs on the glass, then turns the key in the lock and pulls the door open. ‘Hey! Shoo! Leave it alone.’
The cat looks at her, a tiny fledgling clamped within its jaws.
‘Shoo!’ Ursula claps her hands together, then stoops down, picks up a small stone, and hurls it across the lawn. It doesn’t hit the cat but the motion startles it. The bird falls from its mouth and it springs away, jumping from the grass to the wall.
‘Shoo!’ Ursula shouts again as the cat vanishes from the top of the wall, disappearing into the next garden or the alleyway beyond. She runs back into the hallway and slips her feet into her battered trainers and grabs the nearest coat. She doesn’t give a thought to the fact that Edward will bollock her for using his things as she slips her arms into it and pulls the hood over her head. She just wants to get back to the bird before the cat does.
But there’s no cat in the garden as she hurries through the rain, her trainers slapping against the wet patio then trampling on the grass. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a small white-washed window poking out of the pebbles at the base of the house but she doesn’t stop to examine it. She has to rescue the bird.
‘Please be alive,’ she prays as she scoops up the tiny, still, feathered body. ‘Please, please, please be alive.’
Chapter 32
Gareth
After his meeting with Mark Whiting, Gareth has one of the busiest afternoons in the Meads that he can remember. He breaks up a fight outside Costa between two blokes in their early fifties, then chases and apprehends two shoplifters. After this he moves to the control room and deals with a three-year-old girl going missing (eventually located in Claire’s Accessories, pulling all the jewellery off a display) and calls in the cleaners after a shopper drops a tin of hot chocolate that explodes over the floor. Over the last couple of hours he’s barely had time to pee, never mind anything else, but he did make sure he bought a bunch of flowers for Kath during his break.
Now, as Raj arrives to start his shift in the control room, Gareth nips into the toilets then makes his way down to the first floor. There’s an hour to go until the end of his shift and as he patrols the walkways and common areas of the shopping mall he sorts through his thoughts. Last night in the pub, after he made his decision to ask Kath out, Tony gave him Auntie Ruth’s number. Gareth was feeling so buoyed up he decided to bite the bullet and give his aunt a ring there and then. The pub was at full volume so he went outside. Someone called Maureen answered the phone. She told him that Ruth had been hospitalised for a stroke a week earlier and they didn’t know when she’d be back. They chatted for a while, discovered they were cousins, and Maureen promised to ring if there was any news. Afterwards, when Gareth returned home, it was all he could do not to beckon Kath into the kitchen and tell her everything. But when he walked into the living room, she jumped out of her armchair and slipped her feet back into her slippers. She was obviously keen to get back to Georgia and he didn’t want to keep her. Later, after he put his mum to bed and turned in himself, Gareth couldn’t sleep. Should he tell his mum or not? There was a very real chance that the news about Auntie Ruth’s stroke would upset her, regardless of their estrangement. It might also confuse her if she was having one of her episodes trapped in the past. At one in the morning he made his decision. He’d tell her. Then it was up to her if she wanted to see Ruth.
Now, Gareth strolls along the walkway, scanning the level for any unusual activity. The number of shoppers has thinned out now the mall is so near to closing and those that are left are darting from shop to shop, their faces pinched with anxiety. Gareth watches them, trying to guess what they’re so keen to get their hands on. The man speeding towards the jewellers is almost certainly grabbing a last minute present for his wife’s birthday. The woman nipping into Claire’s Accessories probably has a daughter who’s lost her favourite hairband or needs to fill party bags for the weekend. And the old man walking towards Waterstones is—
Gareth’s heart stills.
White-grey hair. Olive-green jacket. Rigid spine.
Go, Gareth’s brain tells him, but he doesn’t move an inch. It is as though someone has pressed pause in his brain. He can’t move, he can’t think, he can’t feel. All he can do is watch. His heart restarts with a thump so powerful that his brain sparks back to life. Thoughts, dozens of them, flood his mind and now it’s indecision that paralyses him. It’s Dad. It’s not Dad. I want to find out. I don’t. I don’t know if I could bear the disappointment. What if he rejects me? What if he doesn’t? If he walks away, I’ll never know.
He takes off, jogging after the man, catching up with him as he reaches the bookshop’s glass double doors. He reaches out a hand and touches him on the shoulder. The man turns slowly, twisting at the waist as his neck follows suit. He raises a hand in self-defence. The skin is slack and lined, aged-spotted with bulbous, rope-like veins so prominent it’s as though they’ve risen to the surface in an effort to escape. But Gareth doesn’t see the man’s hands. His eyes are trained on the back of his head, the sliver of face as he turns and then—
‘I’m sorry.’ Gareth takes a step backwards, his hands dropping to his side. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.’
Somehow Gareth manages to make it to the end of his shift. He locks his pain and disa
ppointment in a box in the back of his head and marks it ‘Do not open unless alone’. He keeps it there until all the doors are checked, all the shoppers have left and all the rotas for the next week have been completed, then he leaves the shopping centre, crosses the near-empty car park and lets himself into his car, then he puts his hands on the steering wheel and he sobs.
As Gareth walks up the path to his house, Kath’s flowers hanging loosely from his hand, he doesn’t so much as glance at the CCTV camera above the door. He doesn’t care who’s been sending his mum the postcards. He doesn’t even care if Mackesy has been trying to extort money. And he hasn’t got the energy to ask Kath out. He’s tired, so damned tired. All he wants to do is say hello to his mum, change his clothes and then watch TV so loud that it blocks out his thoughts.
‘Mum!’ He puts the flowers on the sideboard, slips off his jacket, then pauses as he crouches to remove his shoes. Something’s not right. The house is too quiet. The TV’s not on. Oh God, she’s not packing for a holiday again, is she?
‘Mum?’ He pops his head into the living room then does the same in the kitchen and heads up the stairs. ‘Mum?’
He pushes open the door to her bedroom. The room’s exactly as it was when he left that morning, curtains pulled, the suitcase on top of the wardrobe and the bed neatly made. His heart lurches as he heads for the small bathroom. He knocks on the door and waits.
A second passes, then two, three. He turns the handle. ‘Mum, are you in there?’
But there’s no one sitting on the avocado-coloured toilet or standing in the shower. There’s only one room left to check but when he walks into his bedroom it’s as empty as every other room in the house.
‘Shit. Shit.’ He flies down the stairs, grabbing hold of the banister as his feet slip out from beneath him on the second to last step. In an instant he’s up again. He grabs his keys from the wooden bowl by the front door then he’s out of the house, down the path and sprinting down the street. He runs all the way to the corner shop and grips the counter, sweat pouring off him and his wet socks clinging to his feet.
‘Have you seen my mum?’ He takes three shallow breaths. ‘Joan. My mum. Has she been in?’
Fred, the man who’s owned the shop for as long as Gareth can remember, slowly shakes his head. ‘I’ve not seen her in weeks. Is she okay?’
Gareth doesn’t answer. He bursts back out again and pushes at the door to the post office. Locked. They’ve already closed up for the day. The only other shops on the small stretch of street are a boarded-up hairdresser and a Chinese takeaway. He doesn’t bother going in there. It only opened six months earlier and he’s pretty sure his mum’s never been in.
Panting and panicked, he desperately tries to work out where she might have gone. Did she decide to take herself off to the doctor or the dentist’s? She’d normally go with Sally or Yvonne but if they’d already left and she’d had some kind of accident then …
Kath! He’s told his mum over and over again that if anything happens she needs to go next door and ask Kath for help. He’s pinned a note to the side of the front door, saying the same.
He sets off at a sprint, then slows as a stitch gnaws at his side. He should never have left his mother alone. He’s been telling her for months that she should move into a care home where she’d get better help, but she’s always refused. On a good day she’s lucid enough to argue with him. On a bad day she bursts into tears or looks at him confused, telling him that she promised ‘until death do us part’ and she’s not going anywhere without her John.
‘Kath!’ He hammers on the door with his fist. ‘Kath! Kath!’
He sees a shadow move behind the thin living room curtains then the light in the hall goes on and the front door opens.
‘Is she here?’ he asks before his astonished neighbour can speak. ‘My mum, is she here?’
There’s a split second as Kath’s lips part when he thinks everything’s going to be okay, that’s she’s going to tell him that his mum’s in her living room, watching telly at top whack. But then her eyes fill with concern and she shakes her head.
‘Mum’s not at home.’ Gareth grips the door frame. ‘She’s not anywhere. She’s completely disappeared.’
Chapter 33
Alice
Alice lifts her glass and chinks it against Emily’s and Lynne’s. ‘Thanks for coming out, both of you. I would have gone mental if I’d spent another minute at home.’
‘Oh cheers!’ Her daughter laughs. ‘Glad I was such great company. I’d have stayed the night at Adam’s if I’d known.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Alice takes a sip of her wine. ‘Thanks for putting up with me, both of you.’
‘I’m just glad you’re okay,’ Lynne says. ‘I knew something was up when you rang in sick this morning but I didn’t want to pry.’
‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Simon’s a shit.’ Emily sits back hard in her chair. ‘I know you didn’t want to play games but—’
‘Ems.’ Alice holds up a hand. ‘It’s not about that. Didn’t you listen to a word I just said?’
‘I did. But personally I think he’s totally gutless and you’re better off without him.’ Her daughter looks from her to Lynne, who shrugs.
‘He could have been more supportive,’ Lynne says. ‘Sorry, Alice, I know that’s not what you want to hear but I think maybe you’re reading too much into that text.’
‘Exactly.’ Emily sits forward again. ‘Let’s say it was Flora who texted him. If she threatened you, why didn’t he call the police? Or even better, talk to you about it!’
‘Emily. Not so loud.’ Alice turns her head. There’s a man sitting alone at the next table. He’s staring down at his phone but he’s close enough to hear every word. She lowers her voice. ‘Maybe he just panicked. Or … I don’t know. Maybe he dumped me to protect me.’
Emily snorts into her hand. ‘Really?’
Indignation bubbles in Alice’s chest. ‘Lynne, help me out here. You don’t think I’m being ridiculous, do you?’
‘No.’ Her best friend shakes her head. ‘I don’t, but honestly, Alice, I think you’re better off out of it. Someone didn’t want you around him and maybe it’s safer that you’re not.’
‘But what if he’s not safe?’
‘Then he should go to the police.’
‘He’s not your problem, Mum,’ Emily pipes up. ‘Not any more.’
Alice reaches for her wine. They both have a point. She probably is safer without him. Whoever scratched her car hasn’t been in touch since. But it feels wrong, forgetting about Simon and carrying on like they’d never met.
‘Excuse me a minute.’ She pushes her chair away from the table. ‘I’m just going to go to the loo.’
The toilets are towards the rear of the pub, near the back door. Outside there are steps that lead down to a heated patio, with a box of blankets for anyone still feeling the effect of the cold night’s air. Alice pauses as she comes out from the loo, distracted by the laughter drifting up from below, the low rumble of a man’s amusement and the high-pitched squeal of a woman having fun. It reminds her of the time she had lunch with Simon in the cafe when the conversation naturally bounced between them as though they’d known each other for years. It wasn’t like that in the restaurant when she quizzed him about his ex-girlfriend and he hurried outside to take a call.
As more laughter creeps under the back door, curiosity prompts her to turn the handle and step outside onto the narrow platform at the top of the metal stairs. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark but then she spots them, the couple on a bench beneath the only heater that’s not casting a hazy orange glow. They’re wrapped in each other, totally lost to the world, the blanket around their shoulders falling away as they kiss. She thinks of the way Simon smiled at her in the restaurant and the warmth of his coat against her fingers as she took his arm. She continues to stare, lost in the memory, as the couple break apart and the man reaches across the bench for a p
ack of cigarettes. He holds one out to the woman, then pops one into his mouth and sparks his lighter. Alice inhales sharply as his face is illuminated. She takes a step back, catching her heel on the wooden door frame. As she overbalances she feels a hand in the centre of her back, stopping her fall.
‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’ There’s amusement in her daughter’s voice. ‘I told Lynne I thought you’d probably gone for a poo. Why are you outside? I thought you gave up smoking years ago?’ Alice feels her daughter attempt to squeeze past her to get a better look and she twists round sharply, blocking her view.
‘Let’s go back in. It’s freezing out there.’
‘Mum, what are you doing? You look weird. What are you hiding?’ As Emily pushes past, Alice watches warily as her daughter reaches the railings and looks down. She can’t see her expression but from the way her spine stiffens she knows she’s spotted the couple below.
‘What the fuck?’ Emily’s howl reverberates around the small courtyard and then she’s off, heels clacking on the metal steps.
‘Emily, stop!’ Alice hurries after. ‘Emily! He’s not worth it. Come back in!’
But her daughter’s already reached the bench where Adam has cast off the blanket and is clambering to his feet. As she gets closer he holds out a hand to ward her off. ‘It’s not what you—’
Emily’s outstretched hand connects with the side of his head. She hits him again, the blow glancing off his shoulder as she tries to claw the nails of her other hand into his cheek.
‘Stop!’ Alice shouts as Adam’s shock wears off and he grips Emily’s wrists. He holds her at arm’s length as she twists and writhes and kicks. Laila, standing to one side, watches with her hands cupped over her mouth.
‘Emily, stop it!’ Alice shouts but her daughter has given up fighting and now she’s screaming obscenities into her boyfriend’s face.
