Before You Were Gone

by Sheila Bugler

  She’d known Dee’s house was near the beach but last night, arriving in the dark, she hadn’t realised how near. Dee had explained that her father had bought this plot of land and designed and built the house for his wife and daughter. Emer had already seen how beautiful the inside was. But she’d had no idea just how stunning the location was. It was strange to think her uncle – her father’s brother – could have created a house like this. It was proof, not that she needed it, of how different the two men were. If her own father ever had enough money for a project like this, he’d have wasted every penny of it in the pub.

  Her phone pinged with an incoming text. It was from Maeve, asking how she was getting on.

  All good here, Emer typed, how are things in London?

  They’d flown into Gatwick together yesterday afternoon. On the plane, they’d agreed that Emer would go and see Dee by herself, and Maeve would book into a hotel in London. The hotel had been Maeve’s idea, and Emer was grateful to her for thinking of it. Meeting Dee for the first time was bound to be emotional, and it wasn’t a moment Emer wanted to share with anyone else.

  I’m going for a wander, Maeve replied a few seconds later, call me later and let me know if you’re able to meet up.

  The smell of fresh coffee and cooked bacon wafted into the room. Sending a quick reply to Maeve, Emer got dressed and went downstairs. In the sitting room, she paused to look again at the painting Dee had shown her last night. If she’d had any doubt that Annie Holden might not be Kitty, this painting had eliminated it. She’d recognised the moment recreated in the painting. The first day of the only holiday they’d ever had. They’d bought a kite and taken it to the beach, where they’d spent the afternoon trying to make it fly. They’d almost given up, when Kitty suddenly worked it out. One moment, the kite was lying on the ground, the next it was soaring into the air and the two girls were racing after it along the white sand.

  ‘Bacon sandwich?’ Dee’s voice interrupted the memory, dragging Emer back. ‘Or are you vegetarian?’

  ‘Bacon sandwich would be great,’ Emer said. ‘And that coffee smells fantastic.’

  They ate breakfast on the deck at the back of the house, which overlooked the beach.

  ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Still trying to take it all in.’ Emer took a sip of the coffee, which was excellent, and pushed her plate away. She’d eaten half her sandwich but couldn’t finish it. Unlike Dee, who was tucking into her second sandwich and her fourth cup of coffee.

  ‘What did she look like?’ she asked. ‘The woman who pretended to be me.’

  ‘Nothing like you,’ Dee said. ‘Smaller frame. Shorter hair. Very different.’

  The description matched Nikki, who was small-framed as well. But Nikki wouldn’t ever do something like that.

  ‘Sound like anyone you know?’ Dee asked.

  ‘My ex-girlfriend,’ Emer said. ‘But before you ask, it wasn’t her.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  She’d considered the possibility it could be Nikki. Of course she had. But every time she thought about it, the more certain she became that whatever was going on here, it had nothing to do with Nikki.

  Dee nodded. ‘Okay. So if it’s not her, then who is it?’

  ‘Robert lied to me. My mother didn’t want me to speak to you. I don’t know why, but I know if she’d asked Robert to intervene and stop me getting in touch, he’d have done it.’ She frowned. ‘It’s a weird feeling, you know? Finding out that someone’s been going around pretending to be you.’

  ‘Is it worth calling your mother?’ Dee asked. ‘She has a right to know what’s going on.’

  ‘No.’ Emer shook her head. ‘That’s definitely not a good idea.’

  ‘Kitty’s her daughter. Surely she’d want to know if she’s still alive?’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ Emer said. The girls were there that night. ‘I think Kitty and Lucy saw something they weren’t meant to.’

  ‘Something to do with Robert?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Emer said. ‘Unless it had something to do with my mother and Robert got involved by accident.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He’s crazy about her,’ Emer said. ‘If she was involved in anything dodgy, maybe she asked him to help her.’

  ‘What’s she like?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Ursula?’ Emer’s stomach tightened, the way it always did when she thought about her mother. ‘She’s not a very nice person. I know it sounds terrible to say that about my own mother, but it’s the truth. She’s a narcissist. Completely self-obsessed. Selfish.’ She paused, smiling. ‘Sorry. You did ask.’

  ‘And your stepfather puts up with that?’

  ‘He adores her,’ Emer said. ‘She’s very beautiful, you see. He told me he fell in love with her the first time he saw her. She was already married, and Robert never thought he was in with a chance. But then my parents split up, so I guess he saw his opportunity and took it. Why?’

  ‘I’m just interested,’ Dee said. ‘How did they meet? Robert and your mother, I mean.’

  ‘Ballincarraig’s a small town,’ Emer said. ‘They probably knew each other for years. But they grew close when Ursula started working as Robert’s PA. There’ve been a few rumours over the years. You know, that they got together before Dad left. I have no idea how true that is. I wouldn’t put it past my mother, but I’m not sure Robert would have risked his reputation, even back then.’

  ‘I’ve been reading up about your stepfather,’ Dee said. ‘He’s an interesting man. He’s also got a reputation for decency and honesty. What if the girls saw something that could damage Robert’s reputation? He’d want to make sure the girls never told anyone what they’d seen, right?.’

  ‘You think he killed Lucy?’ For a moment, Emer thought she might throw up. ‘Absolutely not. He’s… Robert’s not like that. He’s not a violent person. Besides, if Robert knew what happened to Kitty, why would he get you involved in trying to find her? He’d already know Kitty was still alive.’

  ‘Kitty was eleven when she disappeared,’ Dee said. ‘If she didn’t drown, then she didn’t disappear by herself. The most logical explanation is that at least one of your parents helped get her out of the country.’

  Emer’s brain was exhausted from trying to rethink every aspect of her life until this moment. She didn’t know what was true, or who she could trust. For all she knew, Dee was lying to her too. Maybe Robert had paid Dee to call the house the other night. Or maybe her mother had, or… Emer felt her mind spinning, knew how dangerous that could be. Because one moment you felt in control, and the next you started doing all sorts of crazy shit.

  ‘I can’t sit here and do nothing. My brain feels as if it’s been fried. My whole life, the people I trusted most have been lying to me. Do you have any idea what that feels like?’

  ‘Stop.’

  Dee stood up and put her arms around Emer.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Dee whispered. ‘We’re going to work it out. Together. Okay?’

  Emer nodded and Dee squeezed her harder.

  ‘That’s the spirit, Emer. Come on, let’s tidy up here and we’ll get going.’

  ‘Going where?’

  ‘London.’ Dee let her go. ‘Annie was visiting an older man in south London. I think there’s a chance he could be your father. My friend Leonard knows where he lives. I’ve already arranged to meet him there this morning. Why don’t you see if Maeve wants to join us? You can text her the address.’

  * * *

  They drove to Stockwell, a part of the city Emer wasn’t familiar with. At the beginning of the drive, Dee did her best to keep the conversation going. Until Emer asked her to stop. She couldn’t cope with talking. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and give her brain time out. On top of everything else she was trying to process, she now had to deal with the shock of discovering her father might still be alive. That she might actually see him this
very day.

  They drove to a soundtrack of country music. Artists Emer was already familiar with, like Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton and Willie Nelson. And some new music that she hadn’t heard before. A man whose broken voice was so full of raw emotion, Emer found herself holding her breath as he compared romantic love to a glass of smooth Tennessee whiskey.

  ‘Chris Stapleton,’ Dee said, as she came off the motorway and started navigating the busy south London streets. ‘I’m hoping to see him live next year when he comes to the UK.’

  ‘My dad loved all that country stuff,’ Emer said. ‘Mum hates it. I guess Robert must hate it too, because we never listened to anything like that when I was growing up. Come to think of it, after Dad left we never really had music playing in the house. Robert has a great vinyl collection but he never seems to listen to it.’

  ‘What a shame. We always had music on in our house. My dad loved country. Mum preferred classic, but they seemed to find a good balance of listening to both.’

  ‘You were lucky,’ Emer said.

  ‘I know. And if you’re lucky, maybe one day I’ll tell you how I got to be called Dee.’

  ‘One day?’ Emer looked across and saw Dee was smiling. ‘How about now?’

  ‘I’ll give you a hint,’ Dee said. ‘Dad was a huge Tom Jones fan.’

  ‘I’ll need more than that.’

  Emer looked out the window at the grey streets and greyer buildings. Even in the blazing hot sunshine, everything looked washed out and run down. It made her sad to think her dad might have ended up living somewhere like this.

  ‘Think of some of his better known songs.’

  ‘I can’t think right now,’ Emer said. ‘I’ve already told you that.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Dee said, sounding anything but. ‘Delilah.’

  ‘Delilah? You mean that’s what Dee’s short for?’ Despite herself, Emer smiled. ‘Oh my God, that’s funny.’

  ‘Glad you think so. Look, we’re almost there. Now all I have to do is find a parking space. Which isn’t going to be easy, by the looks of it.’

  It took a while to find a parking space. Eventually, she found a space on a quiet, residential street that was less scruffy than some of the others Emer had seen. Instead of high-rise concrete blocks, this one had Victorian terraced houses running along either side. The houses were small, but most of them were well-tended.

  ‘It’s not this street,’ Dee said, as if she knew what Emer was thinking. ‘Just a short walk, though.’

  A short walk and another world away, Emer realised as they arrived at the correct street. Here, there were no pretty terraced houses. Instead, they’d entered a dark, claustrophobic street that shouted poverty from every corner. Row after row of concrete council blocks, many of the windows boarded over. A gang of young men stood guarding the entrance to one of the buildings, their eyes boring into Dee and Emer as they passed. The air was thick with the smell of fried food and marijuana.

  At the last block of flats, a tall, painfully thin man stood at the entrance smoking a cigarette. Despite the heat, he was wearing a long coat and when Emer shook his hand after Dee had introduced them both, his skin was icy cold.

  ‘Took your time,’ Leonard said.

  His voice was thick and gravelly, as if someone had driven a tractor over his vocal chords.

  ‘Traffic was terrible,’ Dee said. ‘Sorry.’

  She looked up at the high-rise block of flats behind Leonard.

  ‘Is this it?’

  ‘Only block on the street that hasn’t been emptied by the council,’ Leonard said. ‘They’re selling off all these buildings to private developers. Which means the poor people who’ve lived here all their lives are being dispersed to whatever part of the city will take them.’ He looked at Emer. ‘Which means if the fella living here is your old man, we’re lucky. Another few months and he wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘You really think it could be him?’

  Leonard started to answer, but his words turned into a cough.

  ‘No idea,’ he said eventually. ‘All I know is Annie Holden met up with him several times. Could be all sorts of other reasons for that, of course.’

  ‘But he’s about the right age?’ Emer asked.

  ‘Yes, love.’ Leonard gave her a smile, so unexpectedly warm and sweet her eyes filled with tears. ‘He’s definitely about the right age. But before we go in there, I need to tell you. He’s not looking the best. I know that’s rich coming from me, but this geezer looks like he’s already lived several lives, and none of them have done him much good.’

  ‘That make sense,’ Emer said, unable to control the wobble in her voice. ‘My dad was a big drinker. If he’s drinking as much as he used to, it’s a miracle he’s still alive.’

  ‘You ready?’ Dee put a hand on Emer’s arm, steadying her.

  Emer took a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘Ready.’

  Inside, the building was all bad smells and angry sounds. People’s voices echoed off the concrete walls and metal doors. There was a lift, but when Leonard pressed the button to call it, nothing happened.

  ‘Bastard was working earlier,’ he said. ‘Flat’s on the sixth floor. No way I’ll manage that on the stairs. You both okay if I stay here?’

  ‘Actually,’ Emer said, ‘I’d rather go on my own.’

  ‘You sure about that?’ Dee asked.

  Emer nodded. She really was sure. On the drive up to London, she’d thought she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. But now she was here, she felt strong. Whatever she faced when she climbed those six flights of stairs, she was ready for it.

  She got the flat number from Leonard, told them she’d be back soon and promised Dee she’d phone if she needed her at any point. And then she was alone, pushing open the swinging glass doors that led to the stinking stairwell.

  It was at the side of the building, encased in glass that was filthy from years of neglect. Despite the dirt, Emer was able to catch glimpses of the city, stretching out as far as the horizon, as she ascended the building.

  Several times on the way up, she thought she heard someone following her. But each time she turned around, there was no one there. Even so, as she continued up the stairs she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being followed. At one point, the feeling was so strong she stopped and shouted at whoever was behind her.

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence. She held her breath, listening for any sign they’d heard her, but there was nothing. After a few minutes, when the heat had become almost unbearable, she turned back and continued up the stairs.

  By the time she reached the sixth floor, she was sweating and out of breath. At this time of the year, the stairwell was like an oven – sun streaming through the dirty glass, baking the steps and the metal handrail. Each time she’d put her hand on the handrail to steady herself, she’d pulled back with a yelp as her skin connected with the hot metal.

  Pushing through the door at the top, she stepped out of the heat into a long, dark corridor. The doors to the flats were all numbered. As she looked along the line, she again had that sense that someone was behind her, watching. When she swung around, she saw a shadow behind the glass door to the stairwell, as if someone was quickly stepping back, out of sight. She waited a moment, but no one came through the door and the shadow had disappeared, so she continued along the corridor.

  It didn’t take long to find the flat she was looking for. Pressing her ear against the door, she heard the faint sound of a TV or radio, the shuffle of footsteps and a man’s phlegmy cough.

  She pulled back, her heart racing. He was in there. Her father. Memories slammed into her, image after image from the first few years of her childhood. Sunny afternoons on the beach in summer; Christmas Day, her father asleep in the armchair in the sitting room, mouth open as he snored; her parents shouting at each other while Emer and Kitty lay in bed, sheets pulled over their heads to block out the noise.

  And the last time she saw him. A sunny afternoon,
three weeks after Kitty had drowned. Emer was sitting in the back garden, seeing how many stones she could balance on top of each other. Doing anything not to think about what had happened. Her father had come out and sat beside her. For once in his life, he was clean-shaven and his breath, when he leaned in to kiss her, didn’t stink.

  ‘I’m not a bad man, Emer. Remember that, won’t you? I always tried to do my best for you girls.’

  She didn’t know why, but his words made her angry. She’d pulled away from him, screamed that his best hadn’t been good enough. Kitty was dead and they all knew it was his fault because he hadn’t loved them enough to come on holiday with them. If he’d been with them, she’d screamed, Kitty would never have drowned. She ran back into the house, and when she came back outside later, her father was gone.

  When she found out that he wasn’t coming back, she’d blamed herself. And hadn’t stopped blaming herself in the years that followed. The guilt she already felt about Kitty intensified to include guilt at letting her father leave. Until, eventually, guilt became the thing that defined her. Something she couldn’t escape, no matter how hard she tried or how many glasses of wine she drank to block it out.

  She had spent so much time wishing she could find her father one day and apologise. Maybe now that moment had finally arrived. Emer lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

  Inside the flat, the voices from the TV or radio stopped. She waited for him to come and open the door, but nothing happened. She knocked again.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Dad?’

  At first, she thought he wasn’t going to respond. But then she heard the shuffle of his feet, getting closer. She held her breath, listening to the rattle of the door being unlocked. Time stood still as she waited until, eventually, light from the flat flooded into the dark hallway as the door slowly started to open.