by Karen Cole
‘What about Yusef? That boy has a crush on you for sure.’
I laugh. Yusef is a year younger than me and has an infantile sense of humour. I’ve never even thought of him in that way. ‘I don’t think so,’ I say.
‘Oh, I’m pretty sure he does,’ Hakan says, still staring straight ahead. ‘I can’t say I blame him . . . Poor boy. Are you going to break his heart?’
My face is burning now. ‘I’m sure he’s just a friend. Anyway, I’m not interested in him. He’s just a boy.’
Hakan is silent for a minute. ‘Well, you should get out more with people your own age.’
‘But I like hanging out with you . . . and Adam.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
He stops in the middle of the road and kills the engine. Then he gives this big shuddering sigh and puts his hand on my knee. He gazes into my eyes. ‘Truth is, Joanna, I can’t stop thinking about you.’
‘Oh.’ I’m staring back at him. I can’t look away. My chest is rising and falling, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
‘I’ve been fighting it all this time but there’s something about you, Jo . . .’ He reaches out and strokes my cheek. And the next thing I know, we’re kissing. I can feel the bristles on his chin and his lips are soft and taste of cigarettes. Kissing him, I feel like there’s a hunger in me I hadn’t even known was there. I feel like I want to melt into him, lose myself in him.
In the end it’s him who pulls away first. ‘Oh God,’ he groans, putting his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Jo. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I wanted you to. I want you to . . .’ But he shakes his head vehemently and starts up the engine, driving fast, jolting over the bumpy track like if he drives fast enough, he can escape from this thing that’s possessed us.
Later, when I’m in bed, there’s a knock on my door. When I open it, Hakan is standing in the doorway swaying. He’s been drinking. I can smell the raki on his breath and his eyes are unfocused and full of lust.
‘Joanna . . . I . . .’ he says.
And I throw myself into his arms.
Friday, 22nd September 2017
Chapter 23
I should have protected her. I should have kept her safe. I’ve failed in the first and most important duty of a mother. I’ve failed spectacularly, and the thought torments me.
I’m tortured by memories: Grace as a toddler falling and grazing her knee, me kissing it better. Grace crying because some girl in her class had been mean to her and me storming to the head teacher’s office to complain. Her problems were so easy to fix in those days. When I close my eyes, I see Grace’s first smile and the magical purity of it. I remember that moment so clearly and I remember thinking, ‘I will always protect you. I never want you to be hurt. I never want you to feel any pain or sorrow, not ever.’
I’m clinging on to my sanity by a thread. On Thursday I wake in the middle of the night, after a couple of hours of shredded sleep, my heart pounding. It’s still pitch-black outside. The windows are wide open, letting in the cool night air, and Chris is lying next to me snoring away. How can he sleep so peacefully with Grace missing? I think. How can we both be lying here doing nothing? There’s a pain and a rage in my chest that is too big to contain in one small body. I can’t just lie here. I must do something. So, I climb out of bed, creep past Jack’s bedroom and down the stairs. In the living room I pace up and down, tugging at my hair. Thinking, thinking. Where is she? Where is she?
What if she’s somewhere nearby, ill or injured? We searched the area close to our house already but what if we missed something? I stare out at the empty house across the road. Its black windows seem to be trying to communicate something to me. Half the houses in our estate are empty. The gardens are overgrown, the swimming pools empty. I remember Grace’s fascination with that house, the way she always wanted to go inside and explore, and I’m seized by the sudden conviction that she could be there, right under our noses – hiding in plain sight.
Within seconds I’ve shoved on my flip-flops, grabbed a torch and am out of the front door. I haven’t bothered dressing and I suppose I must look like a crazy woman, wandering around in just my nightshirt in the middle of the night, but who cares? It’s dark and there’s no one about anyway. I cross the street and push my way in through the gate, up the overgrown path, treading gingerly through the long, dry grass.
The door is ajar, and I push it open and walk in. The house smells musty and the empty rooms are surprisingly cold. I shiver and swing the torch around, illuminating bare white walls with electric wires poking out. The house has obviously never been occupied.
‘Grace,’ I call out, my voice echoing in the empty room.
But of course, there’s no answer. Someone has been here, though. There are cigarette butts and empty Coke cans crushed up in one corner. Local kids probably, I think. Anyway, Grace isn’t here.
After I leave the house, I wander the streets aimlessly for a while, looking in gardens, under hedges and even in skips – though what I expect to find in a skip I’m not sure. Until at last I return home exhausted and climb the stairs to Grace’s room. I curl up in her bed, inhaling her scent and clutching her pillow tightly. And I burst into tears, sobbing hopelessly, my tears soaking into the soft cotton.
Eventually I fall asleep thinking of a time we went to Skye on a family holiday. Grace must have been around seven at the time and Jack was just two. It was a beautiful sunny day and Grace and I held hands and paddled in water that was surprisingly warm for Scotland, while all around us seaweed popped as it dried in the sunshine. I think of the feeling of her sticky little hand in mine and realise that it was one of the few moments in my life when I was purely, simply happy.
I’m woken by the sound of the doorbell ringing downstairs and for a split second I’m confused, caught between the real world and the world of sleep. For a moment, I exist in a world where Grace is still with us – a world in which our family is complete. Then reality comes crashing back.
The bell rings again, rudely, insistently, and I crawl out of bed and look out of the window, but there’s no car outside, not even Chris’s van. Where is he? Why doesn’t he answer the door? I look at the clock on the bedside table. It’s ten o’clock. Jesus! Guilt twists in my belly. How have I slept so long? Next to the clock I notice a hastily scrawled note. Jo – have taken Jack to school. Didn’t want to wake you. You were out for the count! Chris. But Jack starts school at seven thirty. Chris should be back by now. He must have gone to work again. Biting back my annoyance, I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, stumble downstairs and open the door.
I can’t be awake. I must be having a nightmare. Because Dave’s standing there on the doorstep, like a malign ghost from the past. His hair is grizzled, and his cheeks are thin, but he’s still got that same antagonistic smile on his face. The one that makes me want to slap him.
‘Dave,’ I sigh. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Joanna.’ He sways slightly and grabs the doorjamb to steady himself. I roll my eyes. ‘Well, that’s a nice greeting for your old dad, I must say.’
You never were my dad.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in then?’
I stand back reluctantly, and he steps inside, filling the room with his life-sapping presence. I feel myself shrinking back to the scared, insecure little girl that I was when I lived with him. I’m an adult now, I remind myself. This is my house.
‘Mum told me you were in Cyprus,’ I say.
‘Yeah. I tried calling you,’ he says, ‘but you never answer your bloody phone.’
‘I’ve been a bit busy,’ I say coldly. ‘I don’t have a lot of time to talk. I don’t know whether you heard, but Grace has gone missing.’
‘Yes, I heard about Grace,’ he says. ‘That’s why I’m here. I thought I might be able to help.’
I don’t believe it
, not for a second. No way. Dave has never helped anyone in his life. He never does anything unless there’s something in it for him. What’s he after this time?
‘You know you ran away yourself once, do you remember?’ he smiles. ‘You were about five at the time. You packed a backpack full of biscuits, crisps and a bottle of Coke and set off one morning. You didn’t get very far, as I recall, just down the end of the road, before one of the neighbours brought you back.’
I don’t answer. The way Dave tells it, it was an amusing little escapade, the quaint antics of a five-year-old. But what he seems to have forgotten is that just before I tried to run away, he and Mum had had a huge fight and he’d smashed her head against the fridge door. The truth was that my five-year-old attempt at escape was a cry for help.
‘Well, you’ve got a nice place here, I must say.’ Dave plonks himself down on the sofa and looks around. ‘Your husband’s doing all right for himself, isn’t he?’
I make a mental note to clean the cushions later.
‘Not too bad,’ I answer cautiously.
‘You got a drink for me, sweetheart? I’ve got a bit of a thirst on.’
I look pointedly at my watch.
‘Look, I really need to get out. I’m meeting the police soon,’ I lie. ‘They want to talk to about Grace . . .’
But Dave doesn’t take the hint. He shows no sign of moving, just sits there, staring at me thoughtfully. ‘Actually, I saw her the other day.’
‘Who? Grace?’ I ask, startled.
He grins, enjoying my shock. ‘Yeah. I came around about a week ago. But you and Chris weren’t in.’
It’s possible, I suppose. Chris and Jack and I had gone to a PTA barbecue afternoon at the school last Friday. Grace, sulky teenager style, had refused to come.
‘Grace was nice enough to entertain me. Didn’t she tell you?’
I think back. When we got home from the barbecue Grace was shut in her room and didn’t come out all evening. It wasn’t particularly unusual these days and I hadn’t thought anything of it.
‘She didn’t,’ I say. Why not? I wonder. Sure, we haven’t been talking much lately, but even so, I would have thought the arrival of her step-grandad in the country might have been something she would’ve considered worth mentioning.
Dave pulls a packet of fags from his bag and lights a cigarette. ‘Hope you don’t mind?’
I shrug. ‘Would it make a difference if I did?’ Of course I mind, I think furiously. I mind him being here in this room with me. I mind his existence on this planet.
‘Oh, don’t be like that Joanna.’ He sucks on his cigarette and blows out a cloud of smoke. Then he sits back with one arm resting on the back of the sofa and his feet on the coffee table as if he owns the place.
‘Well, it’s good to see you again, Jo. I must say, you’re looking very well.’ His eyes linger on me a moment then run around the room, settling on a photo of Grace and Jack. It’s a photo at a film museum we went to once. They’re standing back to back, brandishing light sabres and framed by life-size models of CP3O and R2D2.
‘It was really good to see little Gracie too. I haven’t seen her for such a long time.’ He chuckles. ‘Not so little anymore, is she? She’s grown into quite a young woman now.’
I eye him warily. There’s something salacious about the way he says that. It reminds me of the way he made me feel so uncomfortable when I was a teenager – the way he would look at me and comment on my changing body or try and strike up conversations about boys and periods. I’ve kept him at arm’s length from Grace and Jack for most of their lives for good reason.
‘Yeah, we had quite a good chat, me and Gracie,’ he says, running his tongue over his lips. ‘She was in the pool when I arrived. She was wearing a nice little blue bikini, if I recall correctly.’
‘Oh?’ I grip the armrest, digging my nails into the soft fabric.
‘You know, it’s funny. But I almost didn’t recognise her. The last time I saw her without clothes was when she was a baby. It must’ve been when she was about three months. You were changing her nappy. I came around to fetch my DVD player, do you remember?’ He laughs. ‘You always were a thieving little toerag. Couldn’t stand it when somebody had something you didn’t.’
I can’t breathe. The air in the room has suddenly become toxic. What’s he getting at? He’s trying to make a point and I’m afraid that I know what it is. I knew there was something. There always is with Dave.
‘It made me think, I can tell you . . .’ he continues, standing up and sitting next to me on the sofa. He pats me on the shoulder with a bony hand and I flinch. The stench of alcohol on his hot breath makes me want to vomit.
I shift away. ‘Think about what?’ I say stiffly.
‘Does she know?’ He leans close and whispers in my ear.
I shift away to the other end of the sofa. My heart is beating really fast, but my voice is calm. ‘Does she know what?’ I hear myself saying.
He taps his fingers on his knees. Dirty fingernails beating out a rhythm, like a battle drum. ‘The truth about her mother – about all the naughty things you’ve done.’
‘I’ve no idea what you mean. You’re high again, aren’t you?’ My voice is cold, like ice. I’m frozen to the spot.
‘Oh, I think you do, Joanna,’ he grins.
‘What is it you want from me, Dave?’ I hear myself saying.
He raises his eyebrows, all innocence. ‘I don’t want anything. I’m just trying to help, that’s all. I’ve always thought honesty’s the best policy’.’
Since when? I think. Since he told mum he’d spent all her money on a private operation for his back, when really he’d frittered it all away on drugs and gambling. Or since he had an affair with some woman right under Mum’s nose?
I hate him so much I could strangle him with my bare hands. ‘What did you say to Grace?’ I ask through gritted teeth. ‘What did you do?’
He shrugs. ‘Nothing. Honest.’
His eyes slide away from mine. It’s hard to tell when Dave’s lying. So much of what he says is a lie. I’m not sure that he even knows when he’s lying himself.
‘Is it money you want? Is that it?’
‘Of course not.’ He taps ash out onto the plate I’ve provided as an ashtray. ‘Though I am a bit short, now you mention it. And I need to settle my hotel bill and pay for the flight home.’
Of course it’s money. I should have guessed. He’s bled my mother dry, now he’s come for me and Chris.
‘How much do you want?’ I sigh.
He grins, yellow fangs bared – the stray dog that got the bone. ‘A couple of thousand should tide me over.’
‘A couple of thousand! Don’t be ridiculous,’ I say. ‘We haven’t got that kind of cash spare, even if I wanted to give it to you.’
‘That’s not what I heard. I heard that husband of yours was doing all right. And it certainly looks like he is.’ He waves his hand around at our spacious living room. ‘You can afford this fancy place with a swimming pool.’
‘It’s not ours. It’s rented.’ I stand up and take my purse out of my handbag. There are a couple of fifty-euro notes in there. I take them out and shove them into his bony hands.
‘There, that should cover you air fare home,’ I say. ‘I suggest you get a flight home as soon as possible. Oh, and Mum asked me to get you to ring her. This whole thing with Grace has sent her into a nosedive.’
‘Thanks, Jo,’ he grins, curling his fist around the money and shoving it in his back pocket. To my intense relief, he stands up to go. ‘Do you think you could give me a lift back into town?’ he says at the door. ‘I walked here, and it nearly killed me in this heat, what with my back.’
‘All right,’ I agree. Anything to get him out of my living room and out of my life.
As we drive into Larnaca along the coast road, Dave sits
in the passenger seat humming away to himself.
‘I see why you like it here, sunshine all year round,’ he says, staring out at the blue sea glittering in the sun.
‘Yes, well, apart from losing my daughter it’s just great,’ I say bitterly.
‘Grace’ll turn up when she’s good and ready.’
I can’t escape the suspicion that Dave is involved in all this somehow. ‘Did she say anything to you, when you spoke?’ I ask. ‘Anything strange? Was she upset?’
Dave taps his fingers on the dashboard and stares out as we pass the old oil refinery. ‘She was stressed about her exam results, said you were angry with her for doing badly.’
‘I wasn’t angry,’ I say. But I can’t deny it has the ring of truth to it. One of the things we argued about over the summer was Grace’s GCSE results. I felt she hadn’t revised enough because she’d been spending all her time with Tom and I hadn’t been able to stop myself letting her know how disappointed I was. But why tell Dave about that of all people? She knows how much I despise him.
‘Yeah, well, she thought you were angry. She said she felt she was never good enough for you, whatever she did. I know how she feels. You always were a bit of a princess, weren’t you? Thought you was too good for me and your old mum, that’s for sure.’
I don’t have to listen to his bullshit. I turn up the radio to drown out the sound of his voice. But as I drive, I think, Is it true? Did I make Grace feel inadequate? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted her to be the best she could be – not fuck up her life the way I had.
When we get into town, I squeeze into a parking space on the seafront not far from Dave’s hotel.
‘Use that money I gave you to get a flight home,’ I say. ‘You’re not welcome here and if I find out that you’ve got anything to do with Grace’s disappearance, I’ll . . .’ I think of a phrase Chris uses sometimes. ‘I’ll string you up by the balls.’
Dave stares at me through narrow eyes. ‘You know, Jo, I don’t think the money is enough, not for all the trouble I’ve been through. But I’m not in a rush. I’ll give you a few days to think about it,’ he says, climbing out of the car.
