He and I, though, were happier now when we weren’t hanging out together. I didn’t mind her seeing him – why would I? – but it was a bit awkward sometimes, especially if Matt wasn’t around.
‘Oh, he’ll be fine,’ she said carelessly. ‘I’ve just told him what happened; you’ll be able to talk to him about it too.’
‘You didn’t tell him last Saturday, when you came over to see me?’
There was a pause. ‘Hannah, you hate me talking to James about private things. I didn’t think you’d want him to know.’
And yet just a few days later, she’d told him anyway. I’d always hated the idea of them discussing me, though up until now, it was just the subject of our teenage relationship I’d been worried about. But the thought of them talking about Matt, about why he’d left me, made me cringe. I shook myself. Katie had been away and too busy over the last few days. She wouldn’t have had time to talk to James about anything, let alone me.
We agreed that I’d go to her house at seven on Sunday evening. If I’d refused, I knew I wouldn’t have seen her at all.
Instead of driving the few miles from Liverpool back to my house, I stopped in the city centre and walked around the deserted streets, feeling pretty dejected. I couldn’t stand the thought of returning to an empty house. I went into Waterstones and bought a book, then sat on a sofa there with a drink and a sandwich until eight o’clock, when the shop shut. I would have stayed all night if they’d been open.
Back home, I went straight upstairs and into my bedroom, keeping my eyes averted from all those signs that he’d gone. I turned on the lamp on my side of the bed and went into the bathroom to shower. I dried my hair and put on my pyjamas. The house seemed so quiet. In bed, I lay on my side, away from where he’d lie, and thought about him leaving me.
When he’d got his job at John Denning Associates and moved in with me, I was so full of hope for our future. It had been years since I’d met someone I liked as much. As soon as he moved his things in, the house was different, full of life. He’d laughed at my old television and had immediately gone shopping for a new one, saying he’d leave his in London for his tenants. I remembered us unpacking it and taking the box to the recycling centre afterwards. We’d had to stamp on the cardboard in the back garden to break it up so that it would fit into the car, and we misjudged the size of the pieces, so they knocked our heads all the way to the tip. We were giddy with laughter by the time we arrived, and I think the men working there thought we were drunk. The new television was huge and black and silver, and that first night we watched film after film and I kept saying in an old lady’s voice, ‘It’s just like being at the pictures!’ and he laughed and laughed.
I rolled over in bed and looked at his pillow, smooth and untouched. I reached out and touched it, and thought of him lying there talking to me. What would he say if he was here now? Would he tell me why he’d gone, or would he close his eyes, his mouth tight and angry, and say nothing, the way he did so many times when we argued?
I didn’t let myself think of the bad times. I just wanted to remember him when he was happy and funny and caring for me. Loving me.
And then the doorbell rang.
I looked at the clock on my bedside table. Ten o’clock. Who would be calling at this time of night?
Of course, it’s Matt! He’s come back! I knew he would!
I raced downstairs to the front door. I’d bolted it when I came home, never dreaming he’d be back tonight.
‘Matt?’ I called. ‘Hold on!’
My fingers shook with excitement as I pulled the bolt back. I turned the handle and pulled the door wide open.
James was standing on the doorstep.
‘James,’ I said uncertainly. ‘What are you doing here?’ I was suddenly aware that I was standing there in only my short pyjamas, and moved to hide behind the door. ‘Is everything all right?’
He nodded. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Go into the kitchen. I won’t be a minute.’
I ran upstairs and threw on a dressing gown, wondering why he was here. When I got back to the kitchen, he was roaming the room, pulling out drawers and opening cupboards. I knew now why he’d come.
‘Sorry,’ he said, when he noticed me watching him as he opened the cupboard where I kept the vacuum cleaner.
‘You won’t find him in there,’ I said.
‘What happened? Katie said he’s disappeared.’
My face burned with humiliation. I nodded.
‘You didn’t guess something was up?’
‘Not you too!’ I said, my voice tight with stress. ‘I’ve had all that from Katie.’
‘Well, it’s not the sort of thing I’d expect Matt to do.’ He opened the door to the utility room and looked inside.
‘He’s not in there either!’ I said sharply.
He looked behind the door – as if Matt at six foot tall could be hiding behind it – and said, ‘I’m just checking.’
‘There’s no need to, thanks,’ I said. ‘Do you think I haven’t done that?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s natural to want to look around.’
‘You can see for yourself that he’s taken everything with him.’
He walked out into the hall and looked at where the jazz photos had been. ‘It’s odd, though, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is,’ but it would be even odder if he was hiding in the utility room.’
He said nothing, just opened the living room door and glanced inside.
‘Do you think you’re going to see something I didn’t see?’ I asked.
‘I just thought that if something had happened to him . . .’
‘Like what?’
He shook his head. ‘I was worried, that’s all.’
‘Me too,’ I said, then remembered who I was talking to. There was no way I was going to show him I was upset. ‘For a split second. But once I realised he’d taken every single thing with him, I stopped worrying. It’s hard to be anxious about someone who strips your house of all their possessions and disappears without any warning. Pointless, really.’
He stared at me and I met his eyes, forcing myself not to waver. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘I wonder why he didn’t say anything to me.’
‘Or to me! Anyway, I need to go to bed. He’s not here. You’ll have to take my word for that.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘If you need anything, you know where I am.’ He paused on the doorstep. ‘Are you going to tell Katie I was here?’
I thought of Katie’s reaction if she heard he’d come here late at night, when I was half-dressed and she was away from home. Even though it had been many years since James and I were together, I knew she would struggle with that. We never mentioned that period in our lives; I knew she liked to tell herself she was always meant to be with James. If she knew he’d been here, I worried her jealousy would burn inside her and she’d find a way to make me suffer as much as him.
‘No,’ I said. ‘James, I’m really tired and I want to sleep. I won’t say a word to Katie as long as you go now.’
I stood at the front door and watched his car as it drove away down the road. It wasn’t the first secret I’d kept from Katie, of course. You can’t tell anyone everything. I was uneasy about this, though. There’d been something there in James, an anger I hadn’t seen for a long time, not since we were young.
9
By the following Saturday I’d spent eight nights on my own and I didn’t like it one bit. The nights were long and lonely without the familiar warmth of Matt beside me. There were things I’d noticed now that he’d gone that hadn’t registered before. Whenever I woke in the night when he was here, there was the background sound of his breathing. I used to be able to lie there and regulate my own breathing by emulating his, and within minutes I’d be asleep again. Now when I woke it was deathly quiet. I’d strain my ears to hear anything, just anything, to show I wasn’t the only person alive. The rattle of the gate would make me jump and think of stra
ngers trying to break into my house, and I’d lie there terrified with my phone clutched in my hand, ready to dial the police, until minutes later I’d realise that there was no one there and it was just the wind banging the gate against the concrete post. By then my heart would be racing and my mouth dry and I’d have to go downstairs and get a glass of water just to calm myself down.
In the mornings before Matt left I’d always smell coffee as I woke. I’d lie there breathing in the smell and I’d open my eyes slowly and see him at the basin in the en suite, shaving, his T-shirt off, whistling along to the radio if he was happy, or staring deep into the mirror if he had something on his mind. The room would be warm and I’d know he’d already put the coffee on, squeezed some oranges and cut the bread ready for toasting. It was a little routine he had, he said, from when he was a boy, when he did those jobs for his mum for pocket money.
Now when I awoke I could smell nothing as civilised as coffee and orange juice. If I’d had a drink the night before, the air in the bedroom would be sweet and sickly. I’d lie there until the last minute, then leap out of bed and get ready in a hurry. I hadn’t had the radio on since I’d heard ‘One Day Like This’ playing when I was in the shower; I’d nearly broken my leg trying to turn it off. I tended to avoid the kitchen altogether in the mornings, keeping energy bars at work for breakfast and relying on Lucy to bring me cups of tea.
That Saturday morning I got up late. With nothing to fill my day, I was at a loss. I spent a couple of hours cleaning, but the fact was, I’d made very little imprint on the house in the last week. It was clearly Matt who’d turned the place into a mess week after week. The living room was untouched; the last time I’d been in there was on Monday, when I’d come downstairs in the middle of the night to find every photo of Matt gone.
At lunchtime, my mum phoned me. As soon as I saw her name on the caller ID, I rejected the call. I couldn’t face talking to her right now. Although she and Matt hadn’t met often, she’d loved him. She thought he was the best thing that had ever happened to me and told me repeatedly that I should do whatever it took to hang on to him.
‘Kindness is everything,’ she’d said.
We both knew what she meant. If she heard what had happened, she’d blame me, I knew that.
There was no need to tell her he’d gone, anyway. I knew it was crazy, but I still hoped he’d come back, his tail between his legs. I could picture it now, him sitting at the kitchen table, embarrassed and apologetic, smiling at me, telling me he’d been a fool, that he’d had a mid-life crisis, that he’d missed me. In my daydreams he’d give me a box of our photos and tell me his car was full of all his things. All he wanted was to move back in, and please, please would I forgive him? He’d tell me I was right to believe him when he’d said he’d always love me.
Those daydreams were easiest in bed, with my eyes shut and the warmth of the quilt wrapped around me like a lover’s embrace. When I came downstairs in the cold light of day, it was harder to reconcile the man who’d sworn his undying love for me with the man who’d removed every last trace of himself from my life.
The previous night, I’d spent hours phoning hotels, asking whether Matt was staying there. At the end of the night I sent Katie a text:
I’ve called every hotel in Merseyside. He’s not staying at any of them.
A few minutes later she replied:
He won’t be anywhere near here by now. You need to stop obsessing. He could be anywhere in the world. Time to accept he’s gone. xx
My stomach flared and I fired another text:
Thanks for your support.
She replied immediately:
I’m sorry. It’s just that the best revenge would be to not give a damn. I know it’s hard, but the less you think about him, the easier it’ll get. Watch a film or read a book and try to keep your mind off him. xxx
She’d always been a great believer in tough love, at least when it came to giving others advice. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to the point where I didn’t care about Matt, but I did as I was told and turned on the television, but then all I could think was that he’d packed up his own television and taken it away from me. I jabbed the off button on the remote control and picked up my Kindle, forcing myself to read.
Later on, I sent Katie another text. There was something on my mind, something I’d started to worry about, though I couldn’t think I was right. I didn’t know how I’d cope if I was. Panic lodged in my throat every time I thought of it.
Do you think he’s left me for another woman?
She replied ten minutes later, by which time I’d worked myself up into a near frenzy at the thought of him with someone else. I imagined his arms around another woman, his breath hot against her face, telling her he loved her, that he’d always love her. The thought made me feel ill.
Was there any sign that he was involved with someone? x
I thought about it, my eyes prickling in the dark, cold room.
No.
Her reply came quicker this time:
Try not to worry. It’s late and you need to sleep. We’ll talk about it on Sunday. xx
I’d typed, OK, see you then, but I lay awake for hours, thinking of Matt during his last few days at home. He’d seemed exactly the same. There wasn’t one moment when I’d suspected someone else was involved. He wasn’t secretive with his phone; in fact he rarely used it when he was home, and left it lying around as though he didn’t mind if I looked at it or not. I hadn’t looked at it for ages, hadn’t felt the need to. I could kick myself for that now. He hadn’t seemed happier than usual, or more excited. He hadn’t appeared to be planning something like this. Planning to leave me. Planning to erase himself from my life.
10
I woke early on Sunday morning, thoughts about where he might be swirling around my mind. I was confusing places I intended to check with places I’d already checked. When I’d called the hotels, I’d phoned a couple of them twice by mistake, and believe me, there’s nothing polite about a receptionist when you ask the same question twice in five minutes. I knew I needed to be better organised. I wouldn’t get anywhere with this if I wasn’t working to some kind of plan.
I made a trip to the supermarket to stock up on essentials, pausing at the stationery counter on my way to the checkout. This was the sort of thing I needed to help me keep track of things. I picked up a notebook, a couple of blocks of Post-it notes and some coloured marker pens, and hurried home to make a start.
Back at my house, I opened the boot of the car to take the bags out. When I heard a quiet cough behind me, I nearly jumped out of my skin. My head banged on the opened boot door.
‘Careful!’ said my neighbour, Sheila. ‘Do you want a hand?’
Swearing under my breath, I stepped away from the car.
‘Hi, Sheila. No, I’m fine, thanks. I’ve only got a few bags.’
‘Shall I get Matt to help you?’ she asked.
I looked towards the house so quickly I cricked my neck. ‘Matt? Is he here?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Isn’t he home?’
My stomach unclenched and I could breathe again. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘No, he’s out at the moment. He won’t be back for a while.’
She nodded, accepting his absence as she would have done any other day of the year.
‘You’re sure you can manage?’
I looked past her at the front door. She’d been into our house many, many times and as soon as she saw the missing photographs in the hall she’d know something was wrong. The last thing I wanted was to have to listen to her advice.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks anyway.’ I noticed her suitcase then, waiting by the boot of her car. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
‘Just up to the Lake District for a couple of nights,’ she said. ‘The weather’s so beautiful now, we thought we’d make the most of it.’
‘Lucky you,’ I said automatically. I didn’t want to chat. I needed to get into the house. To get organised.
&n
bsp; In the kitchen, I unpacked the bags, then sat at the island with the Post-it notes and the notebook. I pulled a note off the block and wrote:
John Denning Associates
Reception: Amanda didn’t know him – he’s not on the computer system
Manager – Bill Harvey – said he left a week ago
I sat back and stared at the note. What had he been doing that last week before he left? How had he spent his days? He’d seemed just the same as usual, though now I thought about it, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard him singing in the morning. I’d just assumed he was busy at work, as I was. He hadn’t seemed in a particular rush to get out of the house, but nor had he tried to make sure I left before him. I wondered whether he’d driven around the block and only come back when he knew I’d gone. I remembered a couple of mornings that week he’d phoned me on my landline at work to ask me what I wanted to do that night, something he’d only rarely done before. It dawned on me now that he might have been checking I was in the office, though at the time I’d thought he was just being nice. My stomach lurched at the idea of him at home the day he left, packing like a madman, virtually wiping his fingerprints off the house before leaving it.
And then I remembered his key. For a moment I was filled with hope. I found myself thinking ‘I knew he didn’t mean it! I knew he’d come back!’ But then I leapt up to check and there it was on the hook next to the back door, nestled against the spare car keys, the keys to the garage and the shed. I remembered taking it from that hook the first night he’d moved in. He’d kissed my neck as I looped it on to his key ring and told me he loved me.
Now it was back there as though it had only ever been a temporary arrangement. As though he’d always intended to leave.
11
I always feel Sundays have a kind of atmosphere about them, a drab, miserable reminder that work is about to start again. That Sunday was no different. Apart from going to Katie’s house in the evening, I had nothing at all to do. The fridge was full of food, the house was clean and the sky was grey, threatening rain. Usually we would sit with the Sunday papers in the kitchen, but I didn’t want to do that alone. All I could do was carry on with my job of finding Matt.
Gone Without a Trace Page 5
