What Was Lost

by Jean Levy

  ‘No. Never here!’

  I looked back at the photo. It was difficult to believe that this man’s life was extinguished just through falling downstairs. However badly he had treated our marriage, he didn’t deserve to be dead. It was very sad. But the sadness wasn’t there. Like when you listened to the news: 100 people killed in a landslide; 400 dead in a plane crash. You know it’s sad, but you can’t really feel sadness like if Matthew died or Alfie or even Mrs Parkin the liar, because those people you know. And, right then, with his image staring back at me, I didn’t know Jeff Blake. His life held no meaning for me.

  *

  After supper I cleared away and tried to imagine this man I’d been married to, bound to, in a marriage that had become unloved by both of us. Tried to imagine what I lacked that had made him always need to be with someone else.I tried to imagine my husband with these other women, ridiculing me behind my back: I can’t stand her but she does the flowers. In between writing drivel for children. Other people’s children. I half turned. It wasn’t laughter. Not this time. It was a kind of snorting, like laughter escaping through childish fingers: don’t tell Sarah, she’ll cry. I felt Matthew’s arms around my waist.

  ‘We need to get you ready for tomorrow. Have you packed anything?’

  ‘Not really. Mathew, did Jeff Blake have an affair with Annabelle?’

  He stepped away. ‘As far as I know he made a couple of moves and she told him to go to hell. Which in Annabelle’s case is an enormous declaration of loyalty to you. She pretty much hated him.’

  ‘Did she tell me?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You can ask her. She’s driving up on Saturday evening. For takeaway. And Poppy’s coming over with some cover designs.’

  ‘What if they don’t let me come home?’ I lifted the kettle and winced.

  ‘It’s not a prison, Sarah. If you don’t like it we can leave. Is your wrist hurting?’

  ‘A bit.’ I looked at his swollen lip. ‘I’m sorry I punched you.’

  ‘Sometimes it helps.’

  *

  Matthew lounged on the bed alongside my suitcase, watching me put things in then take them out to rearrange them. I glanced up. ‘When I left Jeff Blake, was I going to move into your flat with you?’

  ‘Yes, until Lucy moved from Hampstead.’

  ‘But, when he died, I stayed here in his house?’

  ‘Sarah, it’s your house now. Jeff never made a will. So everything’s yours.’

  ‘This is my house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Including the giant kitchen? And the sofas?’

  ‘Yes, all of it! House, money, everything!’

  ‘That’s the funds that Mrs Parkin always refers to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I resumed packing, uneasy now about this unexpected burden of ownership. I didn’t want to own an enormous kitchen and stacks of golden chairs, although …

  ‘The golden picture of people kissing. I’d like that down here.’

  ‘The Klimt? That used to hang there.’ He pointed to the wall beyond my bedside table. ‘I’ll bring it down at the weekend.’

  ‘Where did the fairies hang?’

  ‘If you mean the Rackham, it hung over the dining table. Jeff despised it.’

  ‘Why did they put my pictures upstairs?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t involved. I was shocked to see how empty it was.’

  ‘There’s a picture of you and me.’

  ‘At the book launch? It used to stand on your desk.’ He sighed. ‘Sarah, I’m so sorry.’

  I ignored his apology. I wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not for a long time. I closed my case. ‘Will you drive?’

  ‘Of course I will. We’ll take my car.’

  ‘What car?’

  ‘The one Lucy’s been borrowing. Poppy drove me over to collect it this afternoon. It’s parked outside the Indian. They said they’d keep an eye on it. It’ll probably have no wheels by the morning. I’ll have to get the van moved so I can park it inside.’

  ‘What van?’

  ‘The Amazing Days van, which you also own. It’s in Jeff’s lock-up.’

  ‘I don’t want a van.’

  ‘Well give it to Annabelle so she can carry her monstrosities around in it.’

  I carried my wedding photo into the kitchen, took my pills then sat beside Matthew while he helped himself to a nightcap of red wine. I pulled the photo towards me. Marvelled at my enormous white dress. Maybe it was hidden up there above my head, along with the clutter. And perhaps some of Jeff Blake’s things: clothes, books, toy trains, report cards.

  ‘Matthew, are Jeff Blake’s things up there as well or did I get rid of them?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s up there.’ He started to work the cork back into the bottle.

  ‘Did he have any family?’

  ‘His parents live in Newcastle. He didn’t have much to do with them. There’d been some kind of family row.’

  ‘But they must have come to his funeral.’ Matthew said nothing. I pushed the photograph away. I needed to concentrate, to sort something out in my mind, a question half formed. But every time I almost realised it, that laughter drove my thoughts away. I knew it wasn’t real.

  ‘Matthew, sometimes I imagine I can hear a child laughing. A horrible child that hates me. It’s been ever since I woke up in the clinic. I know it’s just in my head. It’s not often but today there’s been lots of it. It stops me concentrating. Like just then, I was trying to ask you something and I couldn’t think what it was.’

  ‘Sarah, that’s an important thing to tell Bob Gray. Have you mentioned it to him? Or Geraint Williams?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. They’ll think I’m crazy.’

  ‘Sweetheart, you need to mention it. Was the thing you wanted to ask me about Jeff?’

  ‘No, I think it was about you.’ I stood up and carried the wedding photo over to the tea towel drawer. I slipped it inside and, as the drawer closed, I remembered the question, the confusion that came before the laughter. ‘I was confused because you said we never made love in this house and I wondered why, because I would have been here on my own after Jeff Blake died. Why weren’t you here with me? Why did you carry on living in your flat?’

  Matthew sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘How complicated?’ I watched his colour draining away.

  ‘There wasn’t time for us to be together.’

  ‘Why? When did Jeff Blake die?’ He failed to answer. ‘Matthew, when did my husband break his neck?’

  ‘The day you went missing.’

  The words rumbled around in my brain, refusing to make any sense, refusing to accommodate things I had already been told. I had been found unconscious on a beach. I had no idea how I got there, in fact, no memories of my adult life, my marriage, my husband. And now there was an additional coincidence of time that linked my disappearance and Jeff Blake’s accident.

  ‘Matthew, where were you when I disappeared?’

  ‘Looking for you. I’ve no idea why you were where they found you. You’d never mentioned that place to me.’

  ‘What place?’

  ‘Beer Cove.’

  ‘Beer Cove?’ I shook my head. ‘I’ve never heard of it. Is that where they found me?’

  Matthew frowned. ‘Yes.’

  I tried to fathom an explanation. There’s always an explanation. Something that explains something else. But now the medication was starting to take effect, something alien was disrupting my consciousness, forcing me into an unnatural sleep. And in its wake something else, not at all alien, was scavenging my tiredness for quarry of its own. All around me things were beginning to coalesce into too many questions, too many lies, into breaking glass and splintering bones. I could feel the floor beneath my feet, no longer firm enough to support me. I tried to tread lighter, softly to stop myself falling through into nowhere.

  ‘Matthew, the roses are for my mother.’

  I caught hold of a chair. Felt a hand
on my arm.

  ‘No, not yet … I need to tell grandma what happened.’

  But the night was all around me. And tomorrow there would be palaces beneath the sea, and witches spinning promises that could never be broken.

  Burgundy

  ‘I just wanted to talk to you in private.’

  ‘About what? Something you didn’t want Poppy to hear?’

  ‘No. Can we just get there, Sarah? Then I’ll explain.’

  She looked out at the darkening sky. ‘At least it’s stopped raining. How far away are we?’

  ‘About ten minutes.’

  She looked at him. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after half past eight.’

  ‘That’s not possible. How have you got here as quickly as that?’

  ‘I drove like shit when you were asleep.’

  ‘We could have died.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t, did we? And we’re in time for dinner. Did Lucy say anything else?’

  Sarah scanned down her phone for messages. No messages, no missed calls. ‘She said I ought to realise that you’ll probably try and make a move on me. Where would she get an idea like that from?’ He was silent. ‘Because if there was even the slightest possibility of that, it would be the complete end of our friendship. And our professional relationship.’

  Matthew looked horrified. ‘Why, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Because … Are you watching the road? Because you’ve got no right to assume you can change our relationship without discussing it with me first.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that might not be what I had in mind?’

  ‘Was it what you had in mind?’

  He said nothing, indicated and pulled off the main road.

  ‘And has it occurred to you that Lucy might have been winding you up?’

  ‘Matthew?’

  He kept his eyes on the road ahead. ‘Look, I know you’re attracted to me. You told Poppy.’

  ‘I said you were attractive. That doesn’t mean I want to commit adultery with you.’

  ‘Adultery?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what they call it when you’re married and you fuck other people.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Sarah! You know that’s exactly what Jeff is doing as we speak!’

  ‘Well, that’s my problem. It’s got nothing to do with you.’ She switched off her phone. ‘You realise this has already ruined our being able to work together. I’ll finish my LOST series then I’ll find a new agent.’

  ‘What? That’s insane! If I’ve compromised our friendship, then I’m sorry, but don’t do that. God, Sarah, that’s really overreacting. And besides, we haven’t done anything. You can’t kill a man for thinking! How was I to know you’d be the only bloody woman in the world who doesn’t want to sleep with me?’

  ‘Prick!’

  They drove on in silence. After five minutes or so Matthew slowed down. ‘The turning’s coming up any minute. It’s easy to miss it.’

  Sarah leaned forward and scanned for road signs. ‘There it is!’

  He pulled off the road into the driveway of their chateau for the night. Sarah peered through the windscreen. The sight of the two magically illuminated pointed towers, the raised terrace, the baronial doors took her breath away.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘I can’t believe it!’

  ‘I thought you’d like it. I thought it would remind you of one of those fairytale castles you dream about.’

  Sarah tumbled back to reality. ‘And you thought I’d be a certainty when I saw it?’

  ‘Can we give up on that one, Sarah? I’ve admitted my mistake.’

  ‘Have you brought many other women here to fuck?’

  ‘I’ve been here three times with Lucy and once with Poppy. And I didn’t fuck him. We just drank a lot of excellent wine.’ He pulled up outside the main entrance. ‘Sarah, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s a great place. The food’s amazing. Shall we call a truce and you can punish me when we get back to London?’ He cut the engine. ‘I’ll get the bags. Don’t forget your phone.’

  Matthew was changed and waiting when Sarah walked into the dining room. A bottle of crémant was already open on the table. She looked around at the paneled walls, the ornate lighting, the numerous French people, some elegantly Parisian, some well-dressed local, all of them united in having enough money to pay for such privileged dining. The manager escorted her to her seat and beckoned a waiter to fill her glass.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Matthew, when they were alone. ‘You’ve changed. That’s the dress you wore to the reception. I’ve still got a very vivid mental image of Marcus Harrington groping you in it.’

  They clinked glasses, sipped bubbles and discussed the à la carte. They chose mostly the same and ordered a bottle of Chassagne Montrachet. Sarah toyed with a minute bread roll and watched Matthew squirm. He checked nobody was in hearing range and leant towards her. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. Please don’t leave the agency. I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll eat dirt.’

  ‘What if Poppy’s plane crashes because you bribed him so you could get me alone?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s likely to happen.’

  ‘But you can’t know, can you? I phoned to wish him a safe journey and tell him I’d never confide in him again. He said he was sorry he took the bribe. How much did you offer him?’

  Matthew sighed. ‘All expenses, first class, a considerable autumn bonus and a new laptop when I get back. OK? I’m sorry. How many more times would you like me to apologise?’

  A waitress interrupted with a small plate of canapés, which she laboured to describe in English: minute cheese soufflés, tiny morsels of asparagus on rye, mini prawn pastries. Sarah’s mood improved. ‘Did you tell them we were vegetarians?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve obviously thought of everything, haven’t you? Apart from the possibility that I’m not interested in becoming your latest conquest. Are you surprised Lucy shopped you? I thought she didn’t care if you screwed other women.’

  ‘She doesn’t usually. It’s just you I’m not allowed to sleep with.’

  Sarah was incensed. ‘Why aren’t you allowed to sleep with me?’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’

  ‘Why aren’t you allowed to sleep with me?’ she whispered.

  ‘Because it’s only all right if things stay casual.’

  ‘Well, why should that be any different with …’ She paused as her entrée was served, glanced over and met Matthew’s green eyes looking back at her. She waited for the waiter to walk away. ‘Why me?’

  He sipped crémant and watched her. Sarah’s intention was to demand an answer calmly but her senses succumbed to the proximity of the Château-smoked salmon. She spoke with her mouth full.

  ‘I’m that special, am I?’

  ‘Lucy seems to think so. Bon appetit.’

  He ate slowly; Sarah did not. ‘God, that salmon was fantastic!’

  He smiled. ‘Would you like the rest of mine?’

  ‘Don’t you want it?’

  ‘Not as much as you obviously do.’

  ‘OK!’ She glanced around to check that none of the other diners would be appalled by her lack of etiquette, then manoeuvred Matthew’s salmon onto her plate. She was determined not to let his inappropriate intentions spoil her dining experience, and indeed the lime sorbet proved to be superb, the baked raie unbelievable and the selection of cheeses surprisingly next. However, as she drained her third glass of Montrachet, she began to fester about Lucy Ashdown’s prejudices regarding her mistresshood. Then dessert arrived, a Grand Marnier crème brulée for Sarah and a plate of perfect strawberries for Matthew. Sarah eased off a piece of the burnt sugar toping and popped it into her mouth.

  ‘My diet starts tomorrow.’

  Matthew laughed. ‘That might be too late.’

  She scooped up a mouthful of the baked cream. ‘Why, wo
n’t you fancy me any more if I’m fat? I presume you did fancy me, or isn’t that a prerequisite with people like you?’

  She glanced up. He forced a smile. ‘Would you like a strawberry?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘That was rude of me. I’m sorry.’

  He shrugged. ‘I probably deserved it.’

  She returned to appreciating the brulée. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘No, you eat it.’ He looked around him. A single couple were left on the far side of the room. ‘I think we’ve driven everyone away. Can you manage coffee after that? There are heaters on the terrace. We could go out there and look at the stars. It’s quite a clear night now.