His Other Life

by Beth Thomas

  The next day is Thursday and apparently in anticipation of the aftermath of Dad’s party last night, the fam have all taken the day off work to stay indoors and loaf around. Apart from Dad who has gone out to Homebase to look at garden ornaments. Next door have got a brand new tinkly little water feature – some kind of huge grey shiny ball with a trickle of water running over it.

  ‘Have the Martins won the lottery or something?’ I ask Mum, over breakfast.

  ‘Oh, no, they’ve moved to Australia. About, what?’ She looks at Lauren. ‘Two years ago? Three?’

  ‘Last February,’ Lauren says round a mouthful of Weetabix.

  ‘Bloody hell, Australia?’

  I know I need to focus on what I’m going to do with my life, now that it’s disintegrated under me, but a day of loafing feels like exactly what I need. Lauren and I put onesies on and watch Frozen, followed by Jurassic Park, while we drink hot chocolate and eat olives from the jar. Ripper sneaks in and curls up on the arm of the sofa nearest to Lauren, then darts back out every time someone moves or speaks or breathes. I need to tell Ginger that I won’t be at work for a few more days; and more than that, I need to go back to work. But right now I feel like nothing to do with my future can happen or is important until my trip to Linton. It feels like a bridge, connecting my past to my future, and I can’t access my future until I’ve crossed it.

  During Jurassic Park, my mobile vibrates and when I look at it I see it’s Linda Patterson. I pause the film just as Samuel L Jackson’s severed arm appears on Laura Dern’s shoulder.

  ‘What—?’ Lo starts, turning on me like a T-Rex, but I hold up a hand as I answer.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello Grace, it’s Linda Patterson.’

  ‘Hi Linda.’

  Lauren gets up and leaves the room. I’m not foolish enough to think she’s giving me privacy; she’s gone to tell Mum.

  ‘How are you doing, love?’

  ‘I’m OK, thanks. You know, getting on with my new, single life.’

  ‘That’s a very positive attitude. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Don’t be. I mean, it’s not like I have a choice is it, with my husband in South America. There’s only so much you can do on Skype. Ha ha.’

  There’s an ominous silence, and I realise too late that she might not have understood the joke.

  ‘Right,’ she says now, no doubt scribbling away in her mental notebook again. ‘The thing is, Grace, there’s been a development.’

  Instantly I’m covered in goosebumps. ‘What kind of development?’ As soon as the words have left my mouth, Mum’s face appears in the doorway. I hunch over the phone and turn my back to her.

  ‘Well, it’s the credit card transactions.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘So you know we know that Adam bought a flight ticket?’

  ‘To Ecuador, yes.’

  ‘Right. Well, we went through all the CCTV footage of the passengers of that particular flight checking in. And what we found was … well, we couldn’t find Adam.’

  My skin feels immediately like it’s shrinking onto my bones, pulling tight, constricting me. ‘What?’

  ‘I said, we went over the camera footage from the check-in desk, and Adam never actually checked in …’

  Her voice trails off, getting fainter, as the words sink in and thoughts start to go off like fireworks in my head. He didn’t check in. He bought a flight ticket, then didn’t check in. Why would he do that? To throw people off his trail? What people? The police? Or … someone else? Leon? Does this mean he’s not in Ecuador after all? In which case, where is he?

  I’d been getting used to knowing roughly where he is. Knowing he’s not in the country and there’s no chance of bumping into him at the supermarket was liberating. Relaxing, almost. After a good long look at the streets of Quito on Google Maps, familiarising myself with the place, placing him there, I had been able to reduce the amount of time I spent thinking about him. Not stop thinking about him. But wind it down at least. But now, here I am again, thrown back into that confusing, maddening maelstrom.

  ‘Why?’ I manage to croak out eventually. Mum’s head noses further into the room, like a raptor through a plastic sheet.

  ‘It’s simple,’ Linda says. An objection forms in my throat and it’s all I can think about, filling my head, no it’s not simple, it’s anything but simple, it’s stupid and confusing and complicated, and I’m so angry with her for saying it, I almost don’t hear what she says next. ‘Adam didn’t buy the ticket.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone else bought the ticket, Grace. Not Adam. It wasn’t him. He never left the country.’

  ‘I … don’t understand. You said … he’d …’

  ‘All we knew was that his credit card had been used. Someone used it to buy a flight to Ecuador. But it wasn’t Adam.’

  ‘But then … who was it? Someone he knows?’

  ‘We don’t know. It could have been compromised. It could have been stolen. Or he could simply have lost it.’

  ‘Lost it?’

  ‘It’s possible. We’re not ruling out the possibility that whoever bought the ticket knows him, and we’re also looking into whether Adam did it himself as a diversionary tactic.’ She pauses. ‘Either way, it’s a good solid lead. If the ticket was booked online, we should be able to track down where it was done and that should lead us to …’

  I stop listening. It feels like a monumental cock-up to me, to tell me that he’s in Ecuador, when he’s actually on a number 19 bus in Clacton.

  Eventually I notice that Linda’s stopped talking, and I try to re-hear the last thing she said. I think it was something along the lines of ‘… be in touch.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘OK, bye Grace.’

  I click off, then stare at the handset for a few seconds. Mum is almost completely in the room by now, so I look up at her. ‘Oh, come in, Mum.’

  ‘Was that Linda? Did she have some news? Have they found him?’

  ‘No. In fact, it was the opposite of that.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘They’ve kind of un-found him. He’s not where they thought he was. So we’re back to square one.’

  ‘Oh no.’ She looks stricken, and sits down next to me, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Are you OK?’ Her voice has gone all soft and breathy.

  I give her a reassuring smile and nod. ‘Yes, I am. There’s no real change, so I feel exactly the same really.’

  ‘Oh good.’ Abruptly she drops her hand, stands up and leaves the room in one fluid movement.

  I give Ginge a call in the evening.

  ‘He’s not in Ecuador.’

  ‘Whaaaa-aat?!’

  I tell her about the credit card and the flight ticket and the CCTV and the monumental cock-up, and wait for her to explode with rage on my behalf.

  ‘Ah,’ she says.

  ‘What do you mean, “Ah”? There’s been a monumental cock-up! They told me he was in Ecuador, when actually he’s been on a bus or buying shaving foam or paying his council tax all this time. I’m about ready to make a serious complaint!’

  There’s a pause and I know she’s thinking how best to put this. ‘Grace, what did they actually tell you about the flight ticket?’

  ‘They said he was on a plane to Ecuador, that his credit card had been used to book the ticket, and it had left that morning.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s what they said? Is it possible they didn’t actually say he was on the plane? Maybe you thought you heard that, because you’ve been desperate to get some concrete information?’

  ‘Yes, that’s definitely what she said!’ A pinprick of uncertainty appears in the fabric of my outrage, and starts to get larger. Light trickles in. Maybe that isn’t definitely what they said. Maybe I’ve jumped to conclusions. Maybe I wanted to have the name of a place, any place, where he is, so that at least I would have that. ‘Well anyway, it doesn’t matter, he’s not here so it doesn
’t make any difference, does it?’

  ‘No, you’re right. But horrible for you either way, to think you had some information and then realise that actually you don’t.’

  Bless Ginger. What a great friend. ‘Yes, it’s horrible. I feel really weird again, back to square one, not knowing anything. Ginge?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you manage without me for another week or so?’

  ‘Oh wh-yyy?’

  She sounds a bit whiny and petulant and I almost feel like reminding her that my husband has done a bunk. But of course I don’t have to.

  ‘Oh, no, I’m sorry, Grace,’ she says straight away, ‘I didn’t mean to sound all stroppy and babyish. Of course you take as long as you want, don’t worry about it. I just miss you at the shop, that’s all. It’s no fun without you.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  There’s a moment’s silence while no doubt she is thinking about the businessman in the giant clown shoes, or the granny wearing a cardigan and stripper boots. ‘Yeah, no you’re right, it’s still fun.’

  ‘Knew it.’

  ‘So anyway, what are you going to be doing instead of working?’

  ‘I’m going to try and find out some stuff about Adam.’

  ‘Right … What stuff?’

  ‘I don’t know until I find it.’

  ‘Right. So you’re looking but you won’t know what you’re looking for until you find it? Assuming that you do actually find something?’

  ‘Um, yeah. Pretty much.’

  ‘Tricky, then?’

  ‘Yeah. But … I need to know something about him, or what happened to him, why he left, why he was like he was, so that I can put it all … to rest. Properly. At the moment, I can’t stop thinking about it and wondering.’

  ‘I get it, hun.’

  ‘Plus I feel like a completely feeble-minded fool, to have lived with him for three years and not known what was going on.’

  ‘What was going on?’

  ‘That’s exactly my point, Ginge! I don’t know, do I?! At the very least he was booking secret flight tickets. And even if he wasn’t and lost his credit card, he must have planned his midnight flit in advance. And even if he didn’t and it was impulsive and spontaneous, he must have had a reason for doing it. He hid absolutely everything from me, he must have had a reason for that too. There must be more to it, there must be something else. Because if there isn’t …’ I take a breath. ‘If there isn’t, it’s going to turn out to be something about me that made him that way. And that’s almost unbearable.’

  There’s a long pause. ‘Hmm. I see what you mean. Very difficult.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Got any ideas?’

  ‘Well, we’re going to start in Linton, because that’s where his car was found, so presumably he went there at some point …’

  ‘Whoa whoa whoa. Wait a minute. Back up there a bit.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘Linton. You said you’re starting in Linton.’

  ‘Oh, right, yes. It’s a really lovely-looking little village in the Yorkshire Dales, I’ve booked a room …’

  ‘No, not that bit, spongebob. I’m talking about the “we”.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘“We”. You said, “We’re starting in Linton …”?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I did, didn’t I.’ I start grinning as I think about it and feel the bubbly excitement of a trip away again. ‘I’m going with Matt.’

  ‘Whaaaaat???!!!!’

  So I explain about the Linton Lodge and the Premier Inn and the plan that we’ve managed to come up with, which at the moment consists of checking into the hotel, then going for a wander around to ‘get a feel for the place’.

  ‘Good plan. Complex. Must have taken ages.’

  I nod slowly. ‘Hours. It’s all in the timing.’

  I don’t tell her about the skeleton money.

  Matt is picking me up at seven in the morning, so I get an early night, then lie there for hours thinking. There’s a giant mass of information in my head, milling about making noise like a crowd, some parts shouting more loudly than others, and I feel like I could be about to get this unruly mob to shut up and line up properly at last. Finally they will make sense, finally they will speak to me coherently, and no way am I going to be able to sleep until then. But then I get an image in my head of Matt and his big hands on the steering wheel as we zip up the M1, and feel myself begin to relax. I will think about everything tomorrow. Because tomorrow, everything will become clear.

  SIXTEEN

  And so, exactly two weeks after I last saw my husband, I arrive in the place where he was last known to have been. What he did here, and why he came, is as unfathomable to me as nuclear physics. Which is to say that I know that someone somewhere knows the answers.

  Linton is exactly how I imagined it would be. Well, the parts I imagined are exactly how I imagined them – the village green, the stone bridges, the falls. The people. The rest of it I hadn’t given any thought to at all, so when Matt’s sat nav tells us we’ve arrived at our destination, I gaze hungrily around me, drinking it in. Well, we’re in the Premier Inn car park, but it’s still interesting.

  ‘Shall we check in first, then have a wander?’ I say to Matt. That is our plan, after all.

  He nods. ‘Sure.’

  ‘And you don’t mind sharing a room?’

  ‘You’ve already asked me that, Gracie.’

  ‘I know, but …’

  ‘And I said I didn’t mind. I still don’t.’ He stretches his arms above his head and arches his back. His tee shirt rides up a little, showing his belly button and the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband. He looks at me and drops his arms, then gives me a wide grin. ‘Enjoying the view?’

  ‘Hell yeah. It is the Yorkshire Dales National Park, Matt.’

  ‘Of course. You do remember this isn’t Linton, right?’

  Crap. ‘Yes, I remember. Um, where are we, exactly?’

  ‘We’re in …’ He looks at his phone for a few moments. ‘A place called Grassington.’

  ‘Oh isn’t that lovely? And so appropriate!’

  ‘How so?’

  I shrug, feeling silly. ‘Because it’s so gorgeously green and lush round here, isn’t it? Sounds like Grassy Town.’

  A little smile appears on his lips, and he stares at me a moment. He seems transfixed, and I start to feel a bit paranoid, imagining my hair in spikes or drool on my chin from falling asleep in the car. But then he gives himself a little shake and turns away to open the boot. ‘Come on then,’ he says, hauling our little cases out, ‘let’s go and check out the room.’

  He’s like an excited child, springing across the car park and later up the stairs to our room. Inside he flings himself down backwards onto one of the beds like Lenny Henry and lets out a satisfied groan.

  ‘God, that feels great,’ he says, eyes closed. ‘I’m so tired after that drive.’

  I put my case on the other bed and open it up. ‘I’ll take this one.’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  I put my toilet bag in the little bathroom and get my laptop out, and that’s me unpacked, so I dump my empty case on the little wooden alcove by the door and fill the kettle up. Matt is snoring by this time, rather sweetly curled on his side with his knees tucked up, so I stretch out on the other bed and fire up the laptop. I’m so glad there’s no awkwardness about us sharing this room. The gap between these two beds is obviously large enough to make everything comfy and relaxed. I feel completely fine lying here, with him there. Right there.

  I tear my eyes away and focus on Googling the Yorkshire Dales. There’s masses of information about them – hotels, holidays, photos, maps – and it’s difficult to know where to start. Eventually I find a great page with a lot of interesting facts and figures about the National Park, and I snuggle down for a read.

  When we stir two hours later, it’s definitely time for dinner, so exploring Linton has to wait until the next day.


  ‘But we have no idea where to start anyway,’ Matt says over his feta and spinach filo tart. ‘I suppose I was thinking that once we were here, something would happen or we’d see something or … I don’t know, something, and we’d get an idea of where to look and what to do. It was great in theory, but now that we’re here …’ He looks at me frankly. ‘I don’t have a clue, Grace.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s where I come in,’ I say, smiling and laying down my cutlery. ‘Did you know that over twenty thousand people live in the national park? It covers over seventeen hundred square kilometres and contains fifteen hundred kilometres of footpaths.’

  ‘I think—’

  ‘And,’ I cut him off, ‘there are nearly nine thousand kilometres of drystone walls, and over ten thousand buildings.’

  ‘All right, Magnus Magnusson, you’ve scored nineteen points. But all that does is tell me that it’s an enormous area full of people and hiding places. Which I already kind of knew.’

  ‘But not in so much detail.’

  He nods. ‘No you’re right, I was lacking details. But one thing is clear: our search here is going to be extremely difficult, lengthy, and probably pointless.’

  I frown. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be negative. Where exactly was the car found? Let’s start there.’

  ‘Ooh, good idea. Um, I think she said it was a church car park.’

  ‘Right. Do you know which church?’

  I shake my head slowly. ‘I kind of imagined there would only be one church.’

  ‘Well, maybe there is. But we’ll have a look tomorrow and maybe speak to the vicar or whatever.’

  It’s awkward going back to the room after dinner. We’ve both been avoiding talking about the awkwardness of sharing a room – or at least, I have; it’s possible that Matt doesn’t feel awkward at all. He simply sees me as a kind of honorary sister, as I’ve been friends with Ginger so long, and we’ve known each other since we were kids. I try to focus on that as I giggle uncomfortably at the door when we bang shoulders.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry.’