What Was Lost

by Jean Levy

  The delegates from Beijing were moving towards them. Sarah nudged Poppy to one side and, as they drew near, she pulled her three remaining copies of The Lost Tabby Cat from her bag and thrust them at the nearest delegate, eliciting a burst of gratitude. Sarah and Poppy nodded graciously, and hurried back to the stand. Lucy greeted them without a smile.

  ‘That was a major missed opportunity, Sarah!’

  Sarah dismissed Lucy’s complaint with a wave of her hand. ‘Rubbish! I gave them free copies. I’ll be essential reading all over Asia by this time next year. Where’s Matthew?’

  ‘Where is he ever?’ snapped Lucy.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I asked you!’ She pulled out her mobile. ‘We’re supposed to be leaving in half an hour.’ She prodded her phone, cancelled and redialed. ‘I’m not going to be the one driving in the dark!’

  ‘Sarah, darling, you’re wasting your time. He’s not answering. I’ve been trying for the last hour. I need to let him know I’ll be travelling back with David. Via Strasbourg.’

  Sarah placed her hands on her hips. ‘But, Lucy, it’s your turn to drive. You said you’d drive on the way back.’

  ‘Well, David insists. He wants to introduce me to the pleasures of the Alsace.’

  Sarah glared at Marchant’s smug expression. If he hadn’t been her publisher she would definitely have kicked him.

  ‘And anyway,’ added Lucy, ‘you can get Poppy to take a turn at the wheel. He didn’t drive on the way here either.’

  Poppy nudged a pile of catalogues onto the floor. He bent over to retrieve them. ‘Sarah, I saw Matthew with that blonde editor from Parity Press. Asking about …’

  Sarah did not wait to hear more. She grabbed her bag and headed straight for the Parity stand, where a dozen or so marketing assistants were helping some South American editors to squeeze a pile of branded T-shirts into their rucksacks. Sarah gathered that Matthew might be in a wine bar downstairs. She headed for the stairs, intent upon hostility.

  The ground floor was a chaos of farewells and promises to lunch. Sarah pushed her way through, cursing Lucy Ashdown, Frankfurt and Matthew, but particularly Matthew. How dare he slope off like that! He was a philandering pig! And Lucy was as bad. They were supposed to be a couple but as soon as either of them sniffed an opportunity, everything else went to Hell! She located the temporary bar and stormed inside. She failed to identify Matthew. Typical. She’d phone. She felt in her bag for her mobile. Then in her pocket. Then in her bag again. Her phone wasn’t there. Where was it? It was lost. And it was Matthew’s fault! She paused to consider her phone, glanced back to check the floor, turned and caught sight of Matthew heading away from her carrying two glasses of wine. She pursued him to his table, determined to ruin his liaison with the Parity blonde, but discovered not the tall and voluptuous recently-hired editorial director but instead a rather severe-looking middle-aged man. Both he and Matthew looked up.

  ‘Sarah, hi! This is Roman Jasinski from Warsaw. We’ve just come to an agreement over your LOST books, including the three you haven’t yet written. Roman, this is Sarah Blake.’

  Sarah shook hands. ‘I’ve lost my phone!’

  Mr Jasinski’s face softened into a smile, then he seemed to realise that this LOST announcement was not one of Sarah’s promotional gambits. His expression resumed its severity as he too scanned the path Sarah had just trodden. Sarah rallied, told Mr Jasinski not to worry, then informed Matthew that Lucy was eloping to Strasbourg with David Marchant and they would be one driver down on the way back. And now they were late and they’d be driving fast in the dark! And would probably fall asleep at the wheel and crash. Mr Jasinski looked concerned.

  Matthew handed Sarah his glass of wine and assured Mr Jasinski that the phone-losing performance happened at least three times a day and that, as far as the trip back to the UK was concerned, his business partner had already phoned to say that she was taking an alternative route home. He then tried to steer the conversation back to foreign rights. His phone rang. He checked the number and looked puzzled.

  ‘Sarah, you appear to be phoning me … Hi, Matthew Parry … Oh hello, Poppy. Have you found Sarah’s phone? … Yes, I’ll tell her. Just leave it with one of the others. We’ll be back on the stand in about half an hour … Yes, Poppy, I’ll tell her that as well!’

  *

  With a Polish future secure, Sarah and Matthew wandered back towards the Hillier stand.

  ‘It’s getting dark already,’ she complained.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And besides, I’ll do all the driving. It’ll be safer.’

  ‘Oh, very funny. You’re the one with the points on your licence. Not me or Poppy. And, by the way, what did Poppy want you to tell me as well?’

  Matthew chewed his lip. ‘That he won’t be driving back with us either. He’s catching a flight this evening.’ He attempted to lighten Sarah’s mood. ‘I think it’s something to do with a tall, dark handsome guy with a Porsche and a personal trainer.’

  ‘He never mentioned him to me!’

  Episode Twenty-five

  On Sunday Matthew suggested we take a trip to the zoo, so that’s what we did. And it turned out to be a wonderful day, which was just as well because Monday was terrible. Matthew left early for a meeting. The phone rang soon after. I waited then checked the last incoming number. My mobile rang. The same number flashed across the screen. Steeling myself, I answered it. It was Mrs Parkin confirming today’s visit. Mrs Parkin never phoned. I wandered back into the lounge, hating myself for my pathetic telephone hysteria. But I was distracted from self-loathing by an unfamiliar wailing coming from the kitchen, where I found Alfie guarding a tiny, dead mouse, dabbing it so that it seemed to move and then pouncing in order to re-experience the killing. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I ran to fetch Peggy who followed me back, armed with rubber gloves. She thanked Alfie profusely then prodded the small carcass into a sandwich bag. ‘He brings me one occasionally,’ she explained. ‘Shall I flush it down the toilet?’

  I directed Peggy through into my bathroom and waited outside the door, clenching my fists. Moments later, Peggy reappeared.

  ‘All gone now. On his way to the seaside.’ I staggered backwards onto the bed, mumbling words of gratitude. Peggy sat down beside me. ‘Dear, dear, Sarah, you mustn’t upset yourself about a little mouse. They’re probably having a field day up there in your … in the top flat. I often see Alfie sitting on the stairs waiting for one of them to pop out?’ She patted my knee. ‘Would you like me to stay for a while, until you feel better?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Mrs Parkin will be here soon.’

  Peggy left and I wandered into the kitchen where Alfie was waiting, triumphant. I allowed him to throw himself against my leg a few times. To believe I was grateful. To believe he had done the right thing. Sometimes thinking you’ve done the right thing is different from actually doing it, but I was willing to indulge him. I thought about the top flat. The backyard was still in shadow at this time of day and to add to the gloom it was just starting to rain. I leaned across the work surface and looked up at the iron staircase that loomed above the window and imagined a vast, networking community of rodents scurrying around above my head, burrowing their way into the furniture. I watched the rain cascading off the metal steps. I’m not sure how long I was standing there like that but I was suddenly aware that someone was banging on the front door. I ran through to discover Mrs Parkin on the doorstep. She was holding an umbrella over her head. Rain was bouncing in all directions. She came inside, dripping water, walked straight through to the kitchen and propped her umbrella in the sink.

  ‘Is your doorbell not working, Sarah?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I glanced at the tray down beside the fridge, the teapot not rinsed since breakfast. ‘The cat caught a mouse. Miss Lewis flushed it down the toilet.’

  Mrs Parkin frowned then removed her wet Burberry and draped it over the back of a chair.

  ‘Filthy day out there!’

&nbs
p; She looked around at the aftermath of breakfast with clear disapproval, took out her folder and set it down next to a piece of abandoned toast. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that, for the time being, the doctors have agreed that I continue to visit twice a week.’

  I was both irritated and relieved. I filled the kettle. Mrs Parkin started to collect up breakfast things and carry them over to the sink.

  ‘I’ll do that, Mrs Parkin!’ I flicked the kettle switch then started to load the dishwasher. ‘Matthew says breakfast is the most important meal of the day.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mrs Parkin. She pulled out a chair and checked through her notes. ‘Ah yes, let’s get this out of the way before I forget!’

  I turned. Mrs Parkin was pulling a multipack of condom boxes out of her bag. She placed them on the table and tore a slip of paper from the cellophane wrap. ‘Take this repeat prescription to the hospital pharmacy if supplies run low. You’ll need to use them for another month at least. Preferably after that as well, to guard against HIV. Have you started taking the contraceptive pills?’

  ‘I haven’t had my period yet.’

  ‘Good Lord, Sarah, are you late?’

  ‘No. What does HIV mean?’

  Mrs Parkin looked stern. ‘It’s something that we don’t need to be worrying about.’ She burrowed again into her bag and pulled out a packet of chocolate digestives, which she placed next to the condoms. I found their proximity unsettling so I wandered over and picked up the multipack:

  ‘I’ll just go and put these away,’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Parkin, her thin lipstick lips almost breaking into a smile, ‘not the most appropriate thing to have on the table if Miss Lewis decides to pop back!’ It was almost a joke, but not a very humorous one. I forced a smile then hurried to the bedroom and crammed the multipack into the back of my lingerie drawer, alongside the three other unopened packets. When I walked back into the kitchen Mrs Parkin was already munching a chocolate digestive. I made tea, wiped the table and took a deep breath.

  ‘Mrs Parkin, I’m really pleased that you’ll carry on coming to see me but I’m beginning to think that my sessions with Dr Williams and Dr Gray are a waste of everyone’s time and …’

  ‘Has Mr Parry told you to say this?’

  ‘No!’ I continued to wipe away non-existent crumbs. I could feel Mrs Parkin watching me:

  ‘Sarah, you may not be fully aware of the contribution your physicians are making to your recovery, but I do assure you that to abandon their treatment plan, at this particular time, would be ill-advised. It is due to their excellent counsel that you now find yourself able to lead this comparatively normal existence, but, as I have said before, this is a false confidence.’

  I listened patiently but I was determined to declare my intention. I poured the tea and handed Mrs Parkin her mug.

  ‘Matthew has been warned to stay away from Dr Williams’ places of work.’

  ‘Hardly surprising given the circumstances!’

  ‘I want Matthew to attend my appointments with me.’

  ‘Dr Williams will not permit such a thing.’

  ‘Well, in that case, I’ll phone and cancel my visits.’

  Mrs Parkin’s face twisted into a spiteful smile. She helped herself to another biscuit. ‘Are you so fully competent with your phone that you now feel able to do that, Sarah?’

  I stared at her: ‘If I have to, I will. The alternative would be for me not to turn up and let Dr Williams work it out for himself!’

  Mrs Parkin swallowed. ‘My dear, have you any idea of the investment that has already been made towards your recovery, in both time and money? You cannot simply turn away from such commitment on the part of others, not just Dr Williams and Dr Gray, but also Drs Mustafa and Clegg.’

  ‘And Dr Brown?’

  Mrs Parkin narrowed her eyes. ‘It would seem that Mr Parry has been corrupting your opinions. He is utterly unqualified to advise you regarding medical practice.’

  ‘Medical practice? Della Brown is a cop!’

  Mrs Parkin winced. ‘She is a police detective.’

  ‘She was introduced to me as a research associate. I was allowed to assume that she was a doctor. And you have encouraged that lie.’

  For a brief moment Mrs Parkin’s jaw wobbled: ‘Your situation has demanded … has benefitted from a few harmless untruths.’

  ‘She thinks I’m pretending not to remember. Is that what you think, Mrs Parkin?’

  Mrs Parkin paused to consider her defence. ‘Did Mr Parry put these ideas into your head?’

  ‘She bought me a ham sandwich!’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about, Sarah?’

  ‘Della Brown took me to lunch when Matthew was having the row with Dr Williams …’

  ‘When he was assaulting Dr Williams!’

  ‘And we went to a sandwich bar and she bought me a ham sandwich to trick me because she knew I didn’t eat meat.’

  Mrs Parkin leaned back in her chair, her expression derisory: ‘Sarah, how did you discover that Della Brown is a detective?’

  ‘Matthew told me!’

  ‘And what makes you think you don’t eat meat?’

  ‘Matthew told me that too.’ I could hear confusion creeping into my voice.

  Mrs Parkin narrowed her eyes: ‘And what else has Mr Parry told you?’

  I tried to stay calm. But I could feel my hands shaking, hot tea spilling onto my fingers.

  Mrs Parkin hurried over to take the mug away from me, shunted me towards a chair and pressured me to sit down. ‘Sarah, there’s absolutely no point in getting yourself worked up like this. Dr Williams and I have feared that Mr Parry would try and manipulate things for his own benefit.’

  I forced myself to think through the burgeoning doubt. ‘I threw a packet of mince at my window!’

  Mrs Parkin stepped back. ‘What?’

  ‘When I was at university, I decided to become a vegetarian and I threw a packet of frozen mince at my window and broke it.’

  ‘Have you just remembered that?’

  ‘No, Annabelle told me.’

  ‘Annabelle? Annabelle Grant? When did you see her? Has she visited you? You should have told me straight away!’

  ‘Matthew drove me to see her on Saturday. And yesterday we went to the zoo.’

  ‘The zoo!’

  ‘Yes, but there were no elephants.’

  Mrs Parkin leaned past me to retrieve her folder. ‘Mr Parry had no right to undertake these excursions without advising the doctors of his intention.’

  ‘He told Dr Gray.’

  ‘Well, there’s absolutely no mention of his doing so in your notes. Did you stay away overnight? Ms Grant lives towards Portsmouth, doesn’t she?’

  ‘No, we came home.’

  Mrs Parkin continued to scrutinise her folder. ‘Did Ms Grant tell you anything else?’

  I particularly remembered the Tin Man with a penis but I chose not to mention it. ‘She said I worked in a flower shop.’

  Mrs Parkin cleared her throat. ‘Anything else? What you did after the flower shop?’

  ‘Do you know what I did afterwards, Mrs Parkin?’

  ‘Sarah! Where was Mr Parry when you were being told all this?’

  ‘He was listening. He wouldn’t let Annabelle be on her own with me, in case she accidentally said something that upset me.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine. This is all disastrous! I need to make a telephone call, so if you don’t mind, I’ll go into the lounge. Then we’ll need to discuss this entire pickle that you’ve got yourself into with Mr Parry. If you ask me, Dr Gray should never have risked exposing you to his interference!’

  Episode Twenty-six

  I went to the bathroom while Mrs Parkin was making her phone call. Matthew’s wash bag was on the floor, propped up against the shower door. I picked it up and smelled the mix of aftershave, toothpaste, shampoo, deodorant. It smelled safe and I liked it being there. I put it on the shelf above the bath and turned to chec
k myself in the mirror, combed my hair. When, finally, I stepped into the bedroom I discovered Mrs Parkin standing beside my bed, glaring at Matthew’s leather holdall, open on the floor. His red scarf had fallen down beside it. I went to pick it up but thought better of it.

  ‘Does Mr Parry intend to move in here with you?’

  ‘He goes back to his flat every day to collect clothes and things. In Crouch End. He’s got a house in Hampstead but his girlfriend’s living there at the moment.’

  Mrs Parkin folded her arms.

  ‘It was only partly my fault they’re not together.’ I noticed Mrs Parkin’s rear view reflected in the wardrobe mirror. It could have been the reversed rear view of any number of people. On the other hand, the front of Mrs Parkin was quite unique. The face could never belong to anyone else. I watched its unfriendliness turn to concern.

  ‘Sarah, you must not believe everything this man tells you. And have you considered that there might be certain things that he would prefer you not to remember?’