Untold Story

by Monica Ali

  How could it have happened? How could that man have ended up in Kensington? The dread she felt when she saw him hunched over that chessboard was like her lungs filling with water. It was lucky that he was the kind of arrogant man who doesn’t leap to attention when there’s an introduction to be made. He just sat there looking at the board. Bad manners, she thought, had their uses. It gave her a moment to catch her breath.

  She ate popcorn and stared at the screen. It was hopeless to try to follow the story now.

  She had to get a grip. What would it have mattered if he’d seen her that first instant, looking a little flustered? She had to stop being so paranoid.

  He hadn’t recognized her. Of course he hadn’t. In the hour they had spent talking there was nothing—she’d been running over and over it—that he’d said, no glance that he’d given, that made her think otherwise.

  She had known him the second she walked in and saw him. He’d been around from the start, before she had even got engaged. From then on, until the final days, he had been a constant presence. He wasn’t one of the worst. He always called her ma’am. Even after the divorce.

  And ten years later he turned up on her doorstep? How was it possible? What had led him to her?

  It was all getting twisted again. Nothing had led him to her. He hadn’t found her. He hadn’t a clue.

  What would Lawrence say about it? She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Where was Lawrence when she needed him?

  “Lydia?” said Maya. “Lydia, what did that bag of popcorn ever do to you?”

  Lydia looked down at the bag of toffee popcorn. She was twisting the half-empty packet hard, as if she were trying to wring its neck.

  Afterward, in the ice cream parlor, Maya opined about the movie while eating a triple scoop of chocolate chip with hot fudge sauce.

  “It was kinda dumb. Like, you know what’s gonna happen in the end. It was all so obvious.”

  “I know,” said Lydia.

  “It was good, though. It wasn’t boring, even though I guessed everything ahead of time.”

  Maya had black hair and dark eyes like Suzie, and Mike’s pale complexion, which made for a striking combination. She wore a zip-up red hoodie and flapped her sneakered feet as she talked. They were sitting on stools at the narrow ledge that ran down the side of the parlor. If Maya was troubled, she wasn’t showing any sign of it right now.

  “I think we should go for a walk down by the river,” said Lydia.

  Maya licked the edge of the sundae dish where the sauce had trickled over the side. “In the dark?”

  “It’s safe,” said Lydia. “We won’t go too far.”

  Maya shrugged. “No, I meant, what’s there to see? In the dark. Also, Leon Kramer? His brother fell in the river, this stretch of it? He got typhoid or malaria or something? He was in the hospital for, like, a month.”

  “Maybe Leon was pulling your leg,” said Lydia. “Anyway, we’re not going to be falling in.”

  The path by the river was built like a seaside boardwalk with little wooden jetties set into the water at intervals. They passed a couple of walkers heading in the opposite direction and then they were alone on the path. Maya flipped her hood up and zipped the top right under her chin. She had her hands in her pockets. She slapped her feet against the boards as she walked.

  “Are you okay?” said Lydia. She could see why John Grabowski might decide to check out Kensington on his travels. Hadn’t the name intrigued her too?

  “Yes,” said Maya. “I was getting bit. On the back of my neck.”

  “It helps to talk to someone,” said Lydia. “If there’s anything you’re worried about.”

  “Oh God,” said Maya, grabbing her arm.

  “What?” Lydia’s heart began to race. Had he come for her already?

  “No, don’t look,” said Maya, practically dragging her along. “That was so gross.”

  They passed a pair of teenagers convoluting on a bench.

  “Did you see them making out?” said Maya. “That was so gross.”

  Lydia laughed. “You just watched people making out in that movie.”

  “That’s different,” said Maya. “My mom told you, didn’t she?”

  “She’s worried about you.” Maybe the best thing to do would be to leave town until Grabowski had gone.

  “My mom is so dumb,” said Maya. She stepped off the boardwalk to the riverbank and walked down to where it started to slope away into the water.

  Lydia followed. What did she think she was going to say to this girl that would help her? She wasn’t sprinkling princess fairy dust anymore. The afflicted did not glow in her presence.

  “It was my idea,” said Lydia. “Us going out to the movies together. Don’t blame it on your mom.”

  Maya picked up a stone and threw it into the river. “I hang out with whoever I want. She can’t stop me. At school, I mean.”

  But why should she leave town? Lydia picked up a handful of stones. Why should she do that? Why should that man have any power over her life? Why didn’t he just go away?

  “I guess she can’t.”

  “My mom is so dumb,” said Maya. “She thinks I’m dumb, but I’m not.”

  “No one’s saying that.” One time he’d followed her to her therapist’s home. That was before the world knew she was in analysis. He’d wanted to get a picture of her coming out of the house. She’d stayed inside for hours and someone had kept a lookout for her. When he’d left his car to go and relieve himself or buy something to eat or whatever it was that he was doing, she’d slipped out. She wrote him a note and put it under his windshield wiper. You lose. You didn’t get anything. In the therapy session they’d been talking about techniques she could use to calm herself. By the time she’d got into her car again she was brimming with rage and spite. She was beyond that now, out of its reach, and out of his.

  She hurled the stones into the river.

  Maya was regarding her carefully. She pulled down her hood as if that would help her to see better. “My mom says if you’re angry you should go and thump a pillow.”

  “Now that is dumb,” said Lydia. “Smash some crockery. It’s more fun.”

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “Of course I’m not.”

  Maya unzipped her hoodie and took it off. She held out her arm. “See that. That’s what made Mom go ballistic. Those scratches there.”

  “They look quite nasty,” said Lydia. “What happened?” There were three long red marks down Maya’s arm.

  “Next door’s cat got stuck down the storm drain. I pulled him out, ungrateful critter.”

  “Why didn’t you tell your mom?”

  “Why should I? She started yelling before I opened my mouth. And I’m not anorexic either, if that’s what she’s been telling you. I thought Zoe Romanov was really cool? People say she’s a white witch and everything and she keeps a rabbit’s foot on her key ring even though she’s a vegetarian? I sat with her for, like, a week. And all she talks about is calories. She’s so boring. I get enough of that at home.”

  “I’m sure your mom didn’t mean to fly off the handle,” said Lydia. “She was probably just a bit stressed.”

  Maya hugged herself. It was starting to get chilly. “Like duh,” she said. “I know. She’s always stressing. It bugs me. What does she have to be stressed out about?”

  When Maya had gone up to bed, Lydia told Suzie what she had gleaned.

  “I am a prize ass,” said Suzie.

  “You were worried about your daughter. That doesn’t make you any kind of ass.”

  “I’m a world championship ass,” said Suzie. “I should know my own daughter. I should give her more credit. Mike said I was overreacting. I didn’t listen to him either. Let’s go and open some wine.”

  “I need an early night,” said Lydia.

  “One glass,” said Suzie. “Then an early night.”

  “I’m beat,” said Lydia. “I’ve got to go home.”

  “Ok
ay. I’ll let you go. Think about what you want for your birthday. I’m going shopping this weekend.”

  “A surprise,” said Lydia. “I’ve invited Esther to the party next Tuesday. I hope Amber won’t mind.”

  “She’ll be delighted,” said Suzie. “You do look tired. Get a good long sleep. And Lydia, thank you.”

  Lydia did not get a good sleep, and the next evening as soon as she arrived at Amber’s house she regretted coming out. She should have stayed at home.

  “Tyler and Serena are both on sleepovers,” said Amber, “so we are free as birds. Where shall we go? Why don’t we hit the freeway, see where we end up?”

  Lydia pulled a face. “I’d rather stay here.”

  “Go to Dino’s, you mean?” Amber took a compact out of her purse, adjusted the line of her lipstick with her finger, and then added some more where she’d just dabbed it off. “What do you think of this shade?”

  “Let’s watch some television,” said Lydia. “I can’t be bothered to go out. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Oh,” said Amber. “Sure. We can stay in. We can talk just as well here.”

  Lydia switched on the television. “I am so exhausted.”

  “How about a cup of tea?” said Amber.

  When Amber came back with the tea she sat on the sofa next to Lydia and they took little sips of conversation between the lines of voice-over of a wildlife documentary about whales.

  “How was your evening with Maya?” said Amber.

  “Maya’s fine,” said Lydia.

  Amber waited. She didn’t press. It was irritating.

  “I’ll tell you another time,” said Lydia. She wished Amber would tell her to snap out of it.

  After a while, Amber said, “If there’s anything in particular you’d like for your birthday . . .”

  “No, there really isn’t,” said Lydia. “Sorry, I’m a bit tetchy today.”

  She could feel Amber dying to ask her why. What could she tell her? It wasn’t something she could tell anyone.

  They watched together for a while.

  Amber picked up a magazine and started flicking through. She was still reading it when the documentary finished.

  “I think I should go home,” Lydia said. “You don’t want me sitting around here all grumpy.”

  “I do,” said Amber. “What are friends for if you can’t be grumpy with them?”

  “What’s in the magazine?”

  Amber showed her. “Everyone thought they had the perfect Hollywood marriage. Turns out he’d been cheating on her for years. I feel sorry for her. It’s so awful.”

  “Do you really?” said Lydia.

  “How could anyone not?” said Amber. “The latest one was a pole dancer. She’s not even pretty.”

  “And now everyone knows. Don’t you think that makes it worse?” She should just go home. This conversation was pointless. Was she going to take out her frustration on Amber?

  “When my ex was cheating it ate me up,” said Amber. “The thought of everyone knowing, and feeling sorry for me because I was such a sap. You only turn into a sap when everyone knows.”

  “Why don’t you leave her alone then?” said Lydia. It came out stronger than she’d intended, and Amber looked startled.

  “Who?”

  “Wherever she goes now she’ll have someone ramming a camera up her nose.”

  Amber closed the magazine and tossed it on the floor. “I think it’s terrible.”

  “You think it’s terrible,” said Lydia. “Why do you think they want the pictures? Why . . . oh, never mind, I should go home.” Lydia stood up. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Amber didn’t answer, she smoothed down her skirt and folded her hands on her lap.

  “Amber, I’m just snappy this evening. Okay?”

  “Sit down a minute,” said Amber. “I know what you’re saying.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Lydia.

  “It’s like crocodile tears, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? I don’t really feel sorry for her. No, Lydia, let me speak, please.” She said it more gently than Lydia deserved. “These magazines can be so mean. I know that. And maybe it’s mean of me. I look at these rich and famous people and see that they have problems too. Maybe that shouldn’t make me feel better about my life but sometimes it does.”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” said Lydia.

  “I’ve read about her for years,” said Amber. “I see her on television, I’ve seen most of her movies. And I do feel sorry for her, whatever you say.”

  “Amber,” said Lydia, “I’m too tired. Let’s just leave it, okay?”

  She parked by the house and strode toward the swimming pool, Rufus on her heels like a ball of fluff that had stuck to the back of her shoe. By the time she reached the lawn she’d taken off her sweater, and by the time she reached the tiles she’d pulled off her T-shirt. She kicked off her shoes and peeled off her jeans. Rufus barked. “Rufus,” she said, “shut up.”

  She took off her underwear and when she dived in she swam along the bottom in the dark until she hit her head against the steps at the shallow end. She came up for air and then flipped onto her back. Between the black of the sky and the black of the water she floated, thoughts leaking out of her, jellyfish and phosphorous, she could see them spreading across the pool. She flipped over and hung facedown, eyes open, in the water. Now she could see nothing. Her legs started sinking and she kicked them up, keeping her face under the surface. She was freezing and her lungs were burning. She stayed as still as possible. When she thought she couldn’t last any longer, she blew out hard through her mouth and kicked to force herself down. She reached the bottom and placed both palms flat on the tiles and let herself go. She inhaled too soon as she came up. Rufus barked and she coughed and retched, and flailed to reach the side.

  She clambered out and doubled up and coughed until she vomited a long thin stream of milky water. Her legs were shaking with cold. A huge bug flew right at her, buzzing like a stun gun. It crashed against her shoulder and she screamed. Rufus kept up his din. As she ran for the house she hit her toe against something sharp but she didn’t stop until she got to the back door which was locked, she’d have to go back to find her jeans and the key. She beat on the wood until her fists were sore, then she slid down and sat on the ground and sobbed.

  She sat with her foot up. The cut bled down the valley between the tendons of her big and second toes and laced around her ankle. In a minute she would get up and clean it off. How horrible she’d been to Amber. That was unnecessary and she would apologize. She’d forgotten what a bitch she could be.

  She had to stop being so angry. The fact that she’d recognized him didn’t mean there was any chance of him recognizing her. He hadn’t turned up at the kennels today. He wasn’t camped outside her house. All she had to do was stay calm. She watched the blood drip onto the cushion.

  If he did recognize her . . .

  He didn’t.

  But if he did . . .

  She flexed her foot and raised her leg and the blood flowed down her shin.

  Did she want him to? That rush she felt the instant she saw him, was it pure dread, or was it mixed with something else?

  Her cell rang. “Just wondering how you’re doing,” said Carson.

  “I’m wounded.”

  “In body or soul?”

  “Big toe.”

  “That sounds bad. Want me to come over?”

  How careless she had started to become recently. How willing to let down her guard. As if nothing could ever go wrong for her now. “Thanks, but I think I can handle it.”

  “I could come anyway. If you like.”

  “I’m ready to curl up and go to sleep. Another night.”

  “Okay,” said Carson. “You handle your toe, I’ll handle the rejection. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

  Maybe John Grabowski had done her a favor showing up here. It served as a reminder. Not to get too comfortable. Perhaps he was an angel in disguise. “I�
�m not sure,” said Lydia. “I’ll call you. I’ve got a busy week.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  On Saturday morning Grabowski rose early, took his laptop and camera bag, and got in the car. He wanted to be out of Kensington today. Thursday, the day after Lydia had come around, he’d lain low. Mrs. Jackson had draped herself in various positions around the bed-and-breakfast and the yard and he’d obliged her by snapping away. He still didn’t have a shot of Lydia with her boyfriend but he couldn’t risk anything. She would be edgy now, she’d be checking over her shoulder and in her rearview mirror. He had to proceed cautiously.

  Yesterday he had ventured out to take more photographs that might be used as background, the wooden sign that read, “Welcome to Kensington,” the view over the river, the town hall, the quaint stores on Albert and Victoria streets, the street signs themselves. He’d driven all over town, looking for the best vantage point, for the frame that would be accompanied by the caption that read, “Could this sleepy little town hold the secret to a royal mystery?” They’d make out there’d been a mystery all along, ignore the fact that only the UFO spotters had ever seriously considered it as that.

  He’d written the captions to each picture over and over. Not that he’d get any say. When he laid his head down on his pillow and closed his eyes he’d see the headlines in gigantic block capitals. SHOCK WAVES FELT AROUND THE WORLD . . . PRINCESS “DISCOVERED” IN U.S. BACKWATER . . . RISEN FROM THE DEAD . . .

  Yesterday, while he was still trying to stay out of her way, he could have sworn she was following him. Three times he’d seen the Sport Trac a couple of cars behind. She should have been at work, not cruising around town.

  He pulled into the forecourt of the diner where he’d first spotted Kensington on the map. He needed a shot of this place, where the story began. They’d want him to go through it, exactly how it had all unfolded. There was a fluttering in his stomach. He was hungry. He was also nervous as hell. This was going to be so huge, it was almost unimaginable. The media would descend like a plague of biblical proportions. They’d all want to interview him. His life would change. This was the lull before the tsunami. He was going to need some serious backup.