When You Disappeared

by John Marrs

  I’d scan the noticeboards where travellers asked for lifts to one place or another. Most days, Betty was packed with new faces as we dipped in and out of the East Coast, passing through Indianapolis, Memphis, Atlanta and Savannah.

  These micro-relationships were, by their very nature, only ever going to offer me short-term satisfaction. Because maps, wanderlust and free will meant sooner or later we’d each begin our separate journeys, destined never to meet again.

  And from time to time, it made me think about those I’d left behind. Because of my lifestyle, I would never find anyone to replace them all, but I was beginning to wonder if, one day, I might want to.

  For years Catherine had been the only constant in my life. We became inseparable the day our English teacher partnered us to study Macbeth. It was her brown curly hair and apple-cheeked smile that drew my eye. She wasn’t like her peers – she made no attempt to make herself look older by hitching up her hemline or undoing an extra button on her shirt. Her lips lacked artificial colour and she didn’t frame her eyes with mascara. Her clothes were fashionable and fitted but garnished with her own twists, like a rogue ribbon or belt. I liked that she was different because so was I.

  My love wasn’t powerful enough to make my mother want to stay, so I was constantly amazed Catherine chose to remain by my side.

  Many things tied us together, but I was especially struck by the way our home lives mirrored each other’s. Doreen destroyed my family, and Catherine’s was slowly disintegrating all by itself but without such drama. However, she never allowed her great sadness to define her. Somehow, she steered clear of the dark place where I dwelled.

  And she seemed to know that she’d get everything she wanted from life in the end if she just believed. She inspired me to do the same – but, looking back, I wondered if she’d only wanted to fix me, and once I was repaired she lost interest. Because in the end, she turned out to be the same as everyone else who tried to break me.

  But back then her strength and spirit had been infectious, and just being around her made me feel I could conquer the world.

  And I did – only without her.

  Miami, USA

  4 June

  I’d ordered my second bottle of beer from the server when a newspaper on the next table caught my eye.

  I’d spent much of the morning tranquilised under the aquamarine sky of the beach in Miami’s Bal Harbour. Dana and Angie, two mischievous Canadian girls I’d met over a hotel breakfast, had kept me company. We’d just finished a lunchtime picnic they’d assembled at the beach. But when the still-soaring, ninety-degree sun started burning my shoulders, I swapped the sand for a shady café.

  I’d avoided newspapers for much of my journey, preferring to remain oblivious to events outside my own bubble. But the date on the Miami Herald felt familiar. Then it struck me – I was now one year old. Exactly twelve months ago, I’d left my house and the people in it and was en route to a tatty old caravan park. If I’d known then just how magnificent life could be, I think I’d have left much sooner.

  I put the newspaper down and stared at the endless ocean. My year alone had felt like a lifetime, but in a positive way. I wondered if Catherine was now feeling the same.

  I recalled how, when we were just shy of twenty-three, I’d taken her to the local art-house cinema for a matinee performance of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. We were almost a decade into our relationship, but still gravitated towards the back row like love-struck teenagers. I was in my last year at university and living with Arthur and Shirley. So until we bought the cottage together, our romance was restricted to stolen moments where and when we could find them.

  ‘Do you think we’ll get married one day?’ I asked the top of her head as it rested on my shoulder.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied without hesitation, clearly surprised I’d even questioned it. She pulled another toffee from the paper bag and popped it into her mouth.

  ‘When did you have in mind?’ I continued, trying to mirror her breezy mood.

  ‘Whenever you like. I’ve been waiting for ten years, but if I have to wait another ten I might run off with Dougie instead.’ I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon, I thought.

  ‘Okay, Kitty – will you marry me?’

  ‘Yep,’ she replied, without taking her eyes off Audrey Hepburn. Her cool facade was only belied by a squeeze of my arm.

  That weekend we caught a train to London, still a place haunted by memories of my mother and biological father Kenneth, and returned with a modest gold band and tiny centred diamond that only the Hubble Telescope could locate. I was grateful I’d found a girl who didn’t need material things to feel self-worth.

  Later that evening, I held Catherine’s hand tightly in the living room, where my father and Shirley were eating their Saturday night salad in front of The Generation Game.

  ‘We’ve got something to tell you,’ I announced. ‘We’re getting married.’

  Our joy was greeted with silence. I hadn’t expected streamers and balloons to fall from the ceiling – a simple ‘congratulations’ would’ve sufficed. Instead, they looked at each other, then us, and then back towards the show’s presenter.

  ‘I’m going to head home, Simon. Come round later,’ Catherine suggested, sensing a shift in temperature. She pecked me on the cheek and left. I waited until the front door closed before I spoke.

  ‘What was that about?’ I began.

  My father swallowed his food, placed his cutlery back on his tray and folded his arms.

  ‘Simon, you’re too young for marriage.’

  ‘I’m twenty-two. You were only a couple of years older than me when you met Doreen.’

  ‘Precisely. Catherine’s a lovely girl, but she’s not worldly-wise enough to settle down. The girls of today . . . they’re different to my day. They’re more spirited, they expect more from life. Sooner or later she’ll realise she wants more than you and then it’ll be too late. I promise you, she will break your heart.’

  I swallowed hard.

  ‘She isn’t Doreen,’ I said. ‘Just because you drove my mother away doesn’t mean I’ll do the same.’

  Both were too flabbergasted to respond, but I hadn’t finished.

  ‘I love Kitty, and I always will. There’s nothing that could happen to make either of us leave each other. Ever.’

  I stormed out of the house still fuming and caught up with Catherine. If only I’d paused to listen to them instead of my heart before we walked down the aisle.

  ‘Darren, are you coming for a swim?’ Dana’s voice came from behind, bringing me back to the present.

  ‘Let me finish this and I’ll be with you.’

  I liked answering to a different name. I swigged the final mouthful of lukewarm beer and cast a panoramic sweep of my surroundings.

  ‘Did you know it’s my birthday today?’

  ‘No way, dude!’ squealed Angie. ‘Guess what? We’ve got the best way to celebrate!’

  Thirty minutes later and the three of us were in my hotel bedroom, snorting the first of many lines of a bitter white powder that allowed me to make love to them until late afternoon.

  If my second year was to be as rewarding as the first, I was going to be a very lucky man.

  Northampton, today

  2.05 p.m.

  She wasn’t sure what bewildered her the most about him – his seeming lack of regret for any of his actions, or his complete insensitivity.

  First had come his disgusting admission that he’d wiped them all from his memory. Then came the all-too-detailed account of his life of Riley on his extended holiday. And now he’d desecrated the memory of the anniversary of his disappearance – such a pivotal moment in her family’s lives – by celebrating it with drugs and two tarts.

  Drugs, at his age? He was a bloody idiot. And he’d hurt her once again by admitting he wished he’d listened to his know-it-all father and never married her. She detested him for making her feel like a mistake.

  What
she hadn’t noticed was that he’d found it equally as hard listening to her. He appreciated that she’d explained how the children had grappled with his absence – he wouldn’t have blamed her for keeping him in the dark. But they hadn’t been on the straightforward journey of acceptance and healing he’d imagined for them. Naively, he’d presumed that, because their minds were young and malleable, they’d have muddled along and eventually forgotten about him. He hadn’t envisaged how necessary he’d been. The mental picture of a faceless son isolating himself from those who loved him was a sobering thought.

  While he’d suspected Robbie might prove to be a little different from the others, his lack of understanding of just how fragile the boy had been placed knots in his stomach.

  And they wouldn’t be the last.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SIMON

  Key West, USA, twenty-three years earlier

  1 February, 6.15 p.m.

  Five miles square. Twenty-five thousand people. Fifty hotels. Twenty guesthouses. Three hostels. Four thousand five hundred miles from home.

  The odds against it were almost too high to calculate. Yet fate still managed to marry my new life with my old in the shape of two familiar faces.

  Key West’s location at the southernmost tip of America made it an attractive destination for fishermen and scuba divers. Having acquired my basic diving skills from Bradley in France, I had promised myself that, if the opportunity arose, I’d explore the oceans where and when I could.

  I’d been pushing myself further and further offshore throughout the week with a party of other semi-novice divers. The crystal clarity of the water by the outer bar and the rainbow of coral colours had been intoxicating. I swam after curtains of reef fish, envious of the surroundings they took for granted.

  I pencilled in my first wreck dive for the coming weekend, to explore the remains of the Benwood – a three-hundred-and-sixty-foot former freighter sunk off the coast of Key Largo. But after my fifth consecutive day of diving, my muscles were strained and I welcomed a night alone at an oceanside bar and diner.

  As I’d spent so much time in the company of fish, it seemed heartless to then feast on them. So I ordered a Caesar salad from the bar, sat at a brightly lit table outside, and sparked up a cigarette as I readied myself to enjoy watching the sun sink over boats bobbing along the horizon.

  A couple walking hand in hand on the opposite side of the road caught my eye when they stopped and kissed outside a hotel. At first they offered nothing extraordinary or significant, but even from a distance there seemed something familiar in their body language. I wondered if we’d crossed paths at a hostel somewhere. However, when the headlights of a passing car illuminated their faces, my heart stopped.

  There stood Roger and Paula.

  I stared, drop-jawed, as Roger took a camera from around his neck and headed up the steps and into the hotel. Paula remained on the path, fiddling with an earring.

  Idly taking in her surroundings before I had a chance to react, her gaze swept over me and continued on. But when she did a double take and our eyes met, I knew the game was up.

  CATHERINE

  Northampton, twenty-three years earlier

  1 February

  They had remained on the porch floor gathering dust for so long, they’d become a part of the furniture. I used to give Simon’s running shoes a quick glance each time I passed them, longing to see him fill them again. But I’d grown to accept they were always going to stay empty.

  Moving them was like reaching the final page of a book I wasn’t ready to put down. But fighting my way through small challenges one at a time meant the giant ones were less daunting. I picked them up and placed them with my wellies under the saucepan shelf in the pantry.

  Later that day, they’d reappeared in the porch. I moved them again, but by morning they’d returned. I told myself I was being a silly cow when I imagined my husband’s ghost had put them back where it thought they belonged.

  I guessed Robbie was the real culprit. His speech therapist was very slowly encouraging him to find his voice and confidence again, so I didn’t want to confront him and risk making him feel like he was doing something wrong. But, just to be sure, I moved them once more. A couple of days later, I was sitting quietly in the kitchen unpicking the stitching on a jacket pocket. I heard the patter of Oscar’s paws making their way through the house and watched, without him noticing me, as he picked up the first shoe by its laces and carefully walked away with it. Then he returned and took the second one.

  I followed him and watched as he placed them by the front door in exactly the same position as they’d sat for close to two years. He was startled when he saw me, then regained his composure and wandered off. I’d taken into account everyone’s feelings in the house except those of Simon’s faithful friend.

  So I didn’t try to move them again, until he left us too.

  SIMON

  Key West, USA, twenty-three years earlier

  1 February, 6.20 p.m.

  The speed at which I turned my head forced a burning, shooting pain up my neck and into the back of my skull.

  But there was no time to acknowledge it or to readjust my posture. I focused on her reflection in the smoky glass of the restaurant window instead, and prayed I’d gone unnoticed. But she remained there, squinting at a memory.

  Surely Roger couldn’t have tracked me down in Florida? I never knew which direction I was going to choose until I reached a crossroads. So it would take a crystal ball for anyone else to predict where to find me from one week to the next. Besides, Simon had left no trail. I was Darren Glasper.

  So it must have been coincidence that had brought us to exactly the same place, on exactly the same street at exactly the same time. Fate was an unpredictable bastard.

  I prayed Paula would quickly come to the conclusion her eyes had deceived her. I continued watching her reflection as, behind me, she shook her head, believing, like me, it was too far-fetched to be true. Indecision made her hover from foot to foot like she needed someone to confirm she was being ridiculous. But there was no one to help.

  I began to relax slightly when she twisted her body towards the hotel steps Roger had walked up moments earlier. Then she hesitated, turned back around, and repeated her movements like she was being rewound and fast-forwarded with a remote control.

  My heart palpitated, and I hoped she’d run inside to find Roger and give me the opportunity to escape. But she didn’t. Instead, she edged towards the curb for closer inspection.

  Self-preservation set in and, without rotating my head, I threw my blazing cigarette onto the pavement, stood up and began to walk away. I hungered to look over my shoulder to make sure I was alone, but I was terrified of what I might find. I picked up my pace.

  ‘Simon! ’

  The sound of her voice cut me like glass. My chest became inflamed and I felt the urgent need to empty my bowels. My breath was short and my legs threatened to flop beneath me. All I could do was ignore her and continue.

  ‘Simon!’

  It came again, but with more authority.

  The proximity of her voice told me she’d gained ground but was still on the opposite side of the road. Just give up, I screamed inside, and accelerated my pace to a near-run. But Paula must have jogged to keep up with me. I’d forgotten how annoyingly determined she could be when she wanted something. She was like a dog with a bone. Much of the time I’d only tolerated her because she was Catherine’s best friend and Roger’s girlfriend. I much preferred Baishali, a passive soul who didn’t like to rock the boat. Why couldn’t it have been her who’d seen me?

  My frustration became impossible to suppress, so I went against my better judgement and turned to see her struggling to find a break between moving cars to cross. I used it to my advantage and ran, the prey desperate to avoid the hunter.

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it!’ she shouted above the noise of the vehicles. Red traffic lights gave her the opportunity she needed and she flew across the
road with the speed of a tornado.

  ‘Stop running, you coward!’ she shrieked. ‘I know it’s you!’

  My body already ached from my ocean dives and my increased anxiety. My daily cigarette intake left me breathless. Short of a miracle, I knew I would have to face the inevitable. So I stopped.

  Within seconds, her fingers dug into my shoulder and she spun me around. Even though she’d been so confident it was me, disbelief in the actual confirmation spread across her face. We glared at each other in silence before she unleashed her fury.

  ‘You selfish fucking idiot! How could you do that to them?’ she shouted, jabbing me in the chest.

  I remained poker-faced and silent.

  ‘Your family has gone through hell without you,’ she continued. ‘Do you know that?’

  I didn’t want to know.

  ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’

  Nothing, actually.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she yelled, growing increasingly frustrated by my blank expression.

  Everything had been very much right with me until a few minutes earlier.

  She slapped me across the cheek. It smarted. She slapped me again. It became numb. Another slap. I felt nothing.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Simon. Do you have any idea what you’ve put everyone through?’

  I wasn’t interested.

  ‘Say something, you coward! You owe me an explanation!’

  I didn’t. In fact, I felt no urge to justify myself or my actions to Paula, or to anyone else for that matter. I owed the world nothing and it pissed me off that she was arrogant enough to assume I did.

  ‘Well? Are you just going to stand there?’

  No, I wasn’t.

  Using all the strength I could muster, with the force of everything that drove me forwards, I clamped both my hands around her cheeks, forced her backwards off the curb and then pushed her into the road and into the path of oncoming traffic.

  She didn’t even have time to scream.