by Ruth Dugdall
Achim had been furious, with the police, but with her too. After he’d put the phone down, giving up on any police help just yet, he’d proceeded to call every one of Ellie’s friends. Most didn’t pick up, so he’d resorted to texting:
Is Ellie with you? This is her father. I just need to know she’s okay.
The answers had been swift, sympathetic, but none of them knew where she was. He’d called Joe first, waiting until he picked up, but Joe said he had no idea where she might be, that he had finished with Ellie anyway. The night Ellie and Joe had spent together had not meant so very much, it seemed. He didn’t even sound surprised that she had failed to come home.
After making the futile calls, Achim had gone upstairs. Bridget had wandered up just after midnight and again at two and both times he had been in their bedroom, laying on their bed, fully clothed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the waves of anger rolling off him with increasing intensity. He’d always babied Ellie, which was part of the problem. She’d been so spoiled, overly protected.
“I think Ellie will be okay,” she’d ventured, stepping closer to the bed. “She’ll be home tomorrow, sorry she’s caused us all this worry.”
He didn’t respond, but she saw his jaw clench. He didn’t agree with her.
“She’s seventeen, Achim. When you were that age you didn’t even live at home.”
“That was different,” he protested, “I was a boy. And it wasn’t the same.”
Achim had been at university, so he was right, it wasn’t the same. A bright boy, he had got a place at Heidelberg University, a three hours’ drive away from his family home. After graduating he’d moved to England to study for his Masters in business studies. It was where they had met, in Durham. Bridget had just arrived back in England after a nursing placement in Africa, and was itching to get away from her parent’s home, sleeping in her childhood bed, until a new assignment was offered to her. She longed to be back oversees, the excitement of the unknown. Being home was a trial, as neither parent understood her need to get away. “Aren’t there sick people here in Durham?” her mum would ask, and Bridget knew that there was no proper answer for that.
She was only in the bar because it was cheap, a student hang-out, and Achim had appealed to her because of his German accent. Even in Durham she wanted something different and foreign, and that was what he seemed to offer. But still, her work came first, and when Médecins Sans Frontières offered her the posting in Tizi Ouzou she took it without even thinking of him. The relationship should have ended there. It would have ended there, if not for his persistence. Meeting up on rare breaks, showing her a different world from the war-torn camp where she tried her best to mend what was broken.
That last placement, the one in Tizi Ouzou, she had nearly taken a very different path. She had been devoted to the country, and its people.
Achim had graduated by then, got a job in Heidelberg. It seemed that they would never even meet again.
Of course, when she discovered she was pregnant, she knew a baby would mean she had to give up her job. An abortion was the only option, and this meant arranging a trip back to Europe. It was all in place, and she had no doubt it was the right decision.
And then the solider arrived with the baby and thrust it in her arms.
It changed everything.
Once Bridget had decided to keep the baby she resolved to give birth in Algeria in order to continue working as late into the pregnancy as possible. Achim would not hear of it, a child of his being born in an area where tourists were warned not to travel and healthcare was basic. There was no counter argument, either, from MSF. A pregnant nurse was a liability; her work with them was over. So Bridget turned her back on her vocation and moved to Heidelberg, to start a life with Achim, even though she knew they were from different worlds. It wasn’t what she had planned, but she came to see that Achim had given her a gift.
He had given her Ellie.
In Heidelberg, Bridget was restless, and also bored. Having a toddler was no substitute for the adrenalin-filled frenzy of working on a MSF camp, so when Achim had suggested she get a job at the university hospital, she leapt at the idea. The vacancy was in a new department, the Ion Treatment Programme for cancer sufferers, the first of its kind in Europe. Once she started to work she felt needed again.
They should never have left Heidelberg.
Achim’s company had offered him a promotion to Luxembourg and it seemed he simply couldn’t say no. She had hoped her nursing skills would be useful there too, but Luxembourg was the one country where she couldn’t practice, because she lacked the necessary language skills. French, she had, but after years without use it was rusty, and she had no knowledge of Luxembourgish. For MSF the fact that her French was poor had never been an issue, it was the language of nursing that was so desperately needed, and she had developed both skills at a rapid rate in Tizi. But in Luxembourg she was grounded, relegated to a housewife and recent evidence was that she wasn’t cut out for the job.
How could she be? When her daughter had now been missing for eight hours. Just four more until the police would become involved. Let it be over by then. Bring her home now.
By four-thirty Bridget’s body was exhausted but her brain was still running the same thought: Just wait until it’s morning. Everything will be okay, it’s always better when it’s light.
The second hand on her wristwatch kept moving, and slowly the time was spent.
At ten to seven she heard movement upstairs, the shower being run, and Achim eventually appeared, his hair wet from a quick shower. He looked exhausted.
“Did you manage to get any sleep, Achim?”
He shook his head. “You?”
“I’ve been sat here by the window all night. Waiting for her to come home.”
He frowned, his mouth twitched and she willed him to say something comforting, something that would make all of this feel different, better somehow.
“Coffee?”
She nodded, thinking how strange it was, that if someone peered in the window right now it could almost look like a normal day. Then she saw that he was wearing his work jacket.
“You’re not going in to the office?”
Achim shook his head, looking angry again. “Of course not. I’m going to the police station, to make sure they do something. I thought it would be better to go in person, and I don’t think it hurts if I look professional.”
Achim was a senior partner with his bank, he was used to being listened to.
“Don’t leave me with this,” she begged, panicking. “Ellie will be home soon, I know she will. Please just wait here with me. Please, Achim.”
He looked at his watch. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Look, Bridget, if Ellie arrives home you call me, straight away. You’re right, she’ll probably be back before I am.”
“That’s what she did last time, remember?” said Bridget, desperate to make him wait, to give Ellie more time. The idea of the police being involved terrified her. It escalated things to another level.
“But that was different,” he reasoned. “We knew she was with Joe.”
Ellie had stormed out after a row, about her wish to study her A-levels in England and to live with her grandparents. As if Bridget was going to let her move to another country, at her age. After she’d gone, Bridget received an angry text saying she wasn’t coming home. But the text had been sent from Joe’s phone, so Bridget had known she was with him. The following day, Bridget had taken Ellie to the doctor for a morning-after pill, something Achim didn’t know.
“Are we totally sure she’s not with Joe now?” Achim said.
“He told you she wasn’t,” Bridget replied. “Besides, he finished with her. Remember?”
“He could be lying. I think I’ll drive past his house on the way to the police station.”
Achim was collecting his keys, his phone. He paused and for a moment she though he was going to kiss
her, hold her. But no comfort came.
“Call me if Ellie comes home,” he said.
Cate
Cate Austin’s first waking thought was to wonder where she was.
Living in Luxembourg was still so new to her that her brain had not fully registered that she had a new life. She sometimes woke feeling confused, expecting to be in her Ipswich semi with a pressing need to get a move on because she was once again late for work. She no longer had to worry about that. Not for the immediate future anyway.
Cate stretched an arm across the bed, but Olivier was gone. She had learned that he was an early riser, and would likely have been up a few hours already, tapping away on his laptop and taking calls. For a city with the lowest crime rate in Europe, her detective boyfriend seemed plenty busy.
Unlike Cate. Leaving the probation service was a relief, like finally putting down a heavy load she had been carrying for so long that she had become too used to its weight. Cases, reports, prison visits. And her last case, Humber Boy B, that had made the decision to move abroad so easy. She didn’t have to think about any of that now.
Her leaving party had been just six weeks before, at her manager Paul’s house. The party had been in full swing, the house crowded with people she had worked with over the years, when she found her old police pal Stephen Flynn in the kitchen. He looked comical, clutching a colourful cocktail, and gave her a hug to congratulate her on escaping. He’d been flirting with the diligent office manager, Dot. They seemed to be getting on famously so Cate made her excuses and went to find Amelia and her half-sister, Chloe.
Paul had shepherded the girls into the front room in front of a massive screen, and played the box set of Miranda on a loop, so they were happily watching and squealing at the TV.
“You okay, Amelia? Having a good time?”
“Yeah, this is so funny. Stay and watch, Mum.”
Cate was glad to see Amelia that way, had been worried that this leaving party would upset her. After all, Amelia was saying goodbye to Chloe as well as her father, and that was a huge thing for a twelve-year-old. Tim had been opposed to the idea from the start, and tension was running high between them, but Luxembourg was only a fifty-minute flight from London and Cate had promised to bring Amelia back to Suffolk every school holiday. Cate would have to stay with her mother while Amelia was with Tim, which wouldn’t be a bed of roses, but that was the deal she had struck and what she had gained was a chance of a new life. And for now, at least, Amelia was enthusiastic about the plan.
Elsewhere in the house, adults chatted, disinhibited by drink and the assurance of being surrounded by friends. Paul waved Cate over to his chair, pointed to where Olivier was fighting the throng to get to the bar that was actually a wallpaper table with a white cloth over it. “He’s getting himself a beer and something with soda for you. So we have a moment.”
“Thanks for organising this, Paul.”
She smiled at him but Paul’s face remained serious.
“I think you could be making a mistake, sweetheart.” He touched her earlobe, where a diamond earring sparkled under the lights, a gift from Olivier. “This is very pretty, but it may not have much depth.”
Cate had known Paul for years and she trusted him, but that didn’t mean he had a right to rain on her parade. “Don’t, Paul. Please, not when everyone is having such a great time.”
“You not want to hear it?” He cocked his head to one side, but his eyes were steely and she recognised his stiff posture from when he was broaching difficult news at the team meeting, or taking on a mouthy member of staff.
And she didn’t. She knew what he’d say; that she hadn’t known Olivier long enough to move in with him, that she was giving up her career. Add to that Tim’s fury that she was taking Amelia to live in another country and pretty much no-one thought it was a good idea.
“I feel responsible,” he continued. “I encouraged you to give that sexist Frog a chance, and now he’s stealing you away to Luxem-bloody-bourg. The only time I’ve heard about the place is in the Eurovision, douze bloody points. Where even is it anyway?”
“It’s in the middle of Europe. A great chance to travel.”
“The middle of nowhere,” retorted Paul. “And you can travel anywhere you like from Stansted, you don’t need to go abroad to do it.”
Cate felt Paul scrutinising her and knew he was peering beneath the recent auburn highlights, the glossy make-up, to the real woman she was. She dreaded what he would say and looked over his shoulder, longing for Olivier’s return.
“I think you’ll be bored, sweetheart. You hate the Eurovision.”
This broke her resolve to keep a dignified silence. “You know what, Paul, I’d love to be bored. I’d love to have nothing to think about except what cleaning product or pasta to buy. I’m sick to death with the probation service. Sick of violence and crime and poverty and abuse.”
Paul looked uncomfortable. “Oh come on, Cate, you love it.”
He was trying to lighten things now, but she was angry. When Paul saw this he said, “Oh, sweetheart. You always did take life too seriously.”
“Exactly. I do. And I’d like just a year – my career break is only for twelve months! – when I don’t have to ask someone why they killed their baby or ate their lover or chucked their best friend off the Humber Bridge.”
“Come on, Cate. Not all your cases were that interesting.”
Cate was irritated now, and just a bit exhausted. “I don’t want interesting, Paul. I want normal.”
Paul gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and pulled away to look solemnly into her eyes that felt dangerously moist.
“Yeah? Well I’ll give it a month before you get your sticky paws into something. I know you, Cate. You think you want to be a housewife or whatever but in your soul you’re a probation officer. You’ll find someone to fix, even in Luxembourg.”
So, here she was.
There had been a touch of frost on the ground when they set off from the city, yet just an hour later the sun made an appearance, proud as it should be for August in central Europe.
“The ice saints are late this year,” said Olivier, as they drove along winding roads flanked by pines, the sun warming by degrees with every minute.
“What’s an ice saint?” Amelia said, leaning forward between the seats in front of her so that General had to scrabble his paws to keep a purchase on the back seat, where he was laid out.
“A saint from spring, when you can have frost and sunshine in the same day. Just like today.”
Amelia grinned at that. “I like it. Ice saints sounds like a pop group or something. Gaynor and me are going to sing together, we could call ourselves that, and audition for Britain’s Got Talent.”
Cate, who had heard her daughter sing, smiled as she looked out of the car window. The road was higher now, the forest was behind them and instead, the landscape was flat. She could see for miles, down ravines, up to churches propped on crevices. Then the road headed downwards again, towards the lake.
Picnic blanket, hamper, Amelia’s Maze Runner book that she had already read twice, and Cate’s sketch pad that she had recently brought out of retirement. As General excitedly ran around, barking at a triage of geese flying past, they laid out their patch on the grassy banks of the reservoir Esch-Sur-Sûre. Cate set about slathering Amelia’s pasty white skin with suncream, despite her protests.
“Mum! I’m not going to get a tan with factor 50.”
“No, and you’re not going to get sunburned either.”
Amelia rolled her eyes, impatiently waiting until the job was done and she could swim. Cate then covered her own body with the thick white sunblock, much to Olivier’s amusement. She held up the bottle, offering him some, but Olivier laughed and rejected the offer. “I think I’ll take my Vitamin D neat, thanks.”
He stretched back on the grass and sighed in contentment, a moment that was swiftly interrupted by his phone beeping. In one elegant movement he was walking, phone to his ear,
away from them and towards the shade of the trees, standing under their dappled shadow as he spoke in quick French to whomever had disturbed their Sunday outing.
“I’m going to swim. Come too, Mum. You never get in the water.”
“Because it’ll be freezing.”
“But it’s boiling!” Amelia protested, grabbing Cate’s hand and leading her over the flinty beach to the water’s edge, much to General’s delight. He didn’t need any persuasion, and bounded into the water, his black fur turning sleek, seal-like, as it became drenched with the waves of water each bounding jump produced. Cate stepped in, crocs and all, and winced.
“See?” she called. “Lake water takes a while to heat, even in August.”
Determined, Amelia waded deeper, so the water was at her knees then her thighs. General barked, and she splashed some water at him, making him even more excited. Cate stayed at the edge, watching her daughter play with the dog. Blinking at the water, it’s silvery blue-green sheen, transparent and beautiful. The lake was edged by fir trees that graded in colour from lime to deep moss green, flanking the hills around them. Cate felt lucky to have escaped the past and Suffolk and all that had meant for her, but she found that even in this place she was still herself. Unable to shake the pensiveness, her habitual tendency to see the glass as half-empty. That trait had always been something she had associated with her work, or her marital struggles with Tim, more latterly with her sister, Liz, reappearing in her life. She shivered, no longer from the cold, but now thinking about the court case against her father, which she was avoiding by being here. The first day of his trial was tomorrow.
She was miles away from all that, she had escaped all the darkness of her past and her career. Yet now, she realised her need to seek the darker side of a situation was habitual to her. Because rather than enjoying the beauty laid out in front of her she was straining her ears, and her terrible French, to try and decipher what Olivier was saying so urgently into his phone.
