by Jenni Regan
Tom
30 October 2018, 5 p.m.
Tom knew he had screwed up as he booked an Uber for his new-found family. He would be the first to admit that he didn’t have a clue. He had been throwing expensive gifts at Alice for so many years now instead of any meaningful contact that the line had really blurred between what was affection and what was being grateful for a nice present. At least the children seemed to appreciate it; they had insisted on sitting in the back with him, one on each side. Both now played with their phones rather than talking to him directly, but they were sharing everything they found. He was being introduced to the delights of Snapchat, the hashtag girls, a scary-looking animated Barbie with an accent that would fit in with many of the upmarket boutiques in Manhattan and most bafflingly a game where you had to build a farm.
He could sense Rachel frowning from the front seat. He had tried to pacify her by saying he had already set up accounts that he would pay each month, thinking it was the expense that was the problem, but she was still being cold with him. He was hoping, of course, that with this new start for them all, these handsets might be the gateway to him staying in touch with his nieces, as he had done with Alice. As the silent treatment he had experienced so often as a kid permeated the car, Tom almost wished that Dave had joined them rather than telling them he had a ‘prior engagement.’ Even banal football talk was better than this.
The kids gasped when the car pulled up outside the restaurant. They didn’t actually put the phones down but used them to take selfies which he guessed would then be pinged all over London. Having checked out Time Out, which he was amazed to see was now free, he had decided that Planet Hollywood was still quite a pull. He knew it was just an overpriced burger shop with a few pictures on the wall, but the way the kids were snapping away, you would have thought he had taken them to Hollywood itself. Even Rachel looked happier; he remembered that she could never stay angry for long. He could sulk for weeks, but Rachel would often be smiling by the end of the day after an argument. Knowing what he did now, he wondered if she had ever actually been happy or if the smile was painted on, at least after a certain age.
‘I’ve actually always wanted to come here!’ Rachel admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. Tom smiled back, enjoying the thaw.
They were seated and given menus by a ridiculously young and perky waitress with a terribly fake American accent. Tom decided that she was probably hoping for a West End role but could guarantee that the only people who would spot her in here would be randy dads. As soon as their drinks were served, Rachel started her grilling, pleased this time that the kids were absorbed by the phones and aged merchandise around them. They didn’t even know who Arnold Schwarzenegger was—not as an action film star and definitely not in his later political role.
‘So, what did you find out then?’ Rachel demanded after sipping her huge coke. Tom had a slightly mean thought. Rachel hadn’t so much as asked about her daughter for many years, but now suddenly she was demanding to know every detail.
‘I don’t really have much more to add to the text updates. I spoke to the police again and luckily got a much nicer copper this time. Maybe news about my intervention last night had spread! They still said they can’t actively investigate as we have no proof that Alice is missing, but she has given me some good pointers.’
‘But did you tell them I went to the family house and it seemed abandoned?’
‘Of course, but again, for all we know, Mum might have become sick and moved out. We know that Alice wasn’t even living there, just staying.’ He didn’t add that this was his much-preferred outcome. ‘So PC Barnes suggested that we start with births and deaths. Turns out there is quite the market in people telling you stuff about dead people! I thought it was just the Yanks who desperately wanted to prove that they have some distant relative who has blue blood!’
Rachel didn’t laugh this time. ‘And?’
‘Nothing, nada, no Alice or Josie Carmichael from Dorset have died recently. Although, they couldn’t guarantee that their records would have recorded everything in the last few weeks; it takes a while, apparently. I also did a lot of research through the local papers, and apart from the obvious Bournemouth attack, there have been no freak accidents involving grumpy old women or shy young girls.’
Rachel let out a sigh of relief, more because Alice didn’t seem to be dead than relief over the far more likely death of her mother.
‘I still don’t think we can rule out the terror attacks though,’ Rachel said. ‘She could have been hurt and lost her memory, she could be unidentified or she could even have run away or done something terrible to herself because of the attacks.’
‘We can’t completely rule it out, but the cops seem pretty certain they know everyone affected. The police also recommended that I try other places such as banks, utility providers and the benefits agency. That will take a few days, as I have had to apply for access in extenuating services. We may be related, but neither of us are named as next of kin on anything. After all, you are not even Alice’s legal guardian anymore.’
This comment stung Rachel, but she guessed that he was being factual rather than hurtful. ‘The police should do all of this for us. It is ridiculous; they have the power to uncover all this information, but it will probably take us weeks!’
At that point, the food arrived, plates piled high with cheap burgers and glistening chips. Tom knew it wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as a proper New York burger, but he bit into it greedily. The girls were overjoyed with their dishes, and Tom wondered if this was a rare treat for them rather than a regular occurrence. He guessed that he and Rachel hadn’t eaten out as children, but that might have been because it was not really a viable option in those days.
‘Mum, who is this girl you and Uncle Tom are talking about? Is she Uncle Tom’s daughter?’ said Jess, Rachel’s youngest daughter, with a frown. Rachel had forgotten how much kids pick up, despite the distractions in the room. Tom threw her a quizzical look.
‘Um, no, she is just a girl I used to look after when she was a baby. I will tell you all about her one day soon.’
Tom was horrified that Rachel hadn’t told her kids about their half-sister, but then again, he guessed that admitting this would have opened another difficult situation. He spoke as he ate. ‘I know you have been down to the family home once, but I think we should go again. Maybe we can speak to actual people in the bank or the local shops. They might tell us more than the bureaucrats in the call centres. I can go alone, if it’s a problem.’
Rachel knew it would be difficult to drop everything and head off on a trip with Tom, particularly because no one in her immediate family knew about her long-lost daughter, but she also felt she needed to be there. This whole situation had awakened so many feelings in her that had been dead for so long, it was as if by opening that door an inch, many years’ worth of emotions had flooded through. It wasn’t exactly welcomed, but, in a perverse way, it had given her a purpose in life.
‘It might be difficult for me to get some time away. I mean, I have my hands full here,’ she said, signalling toward the kids.
‘Could you let Dave look after them for a few days? After all, you said he is looking for work at the moment, and doesn’t his mum help out sometimes?’
Rachel answered back almost too quickly. ‘No, that won’t work. I can’t leave them alone with him.’
Tom was going to question this but could see her barrier go up, so he left it.
Rachel seemed to ponder things for a few moments. She looked like she was trying to work a few things out in her head and finally answered, ‘You know what? There is no reason the kids can’t stay with their dad for a few days. He hardly shares parental duties as it is, and they will love spending time with their baby brother.’
Kylie looked up from her fries at this and beamed. ‘Oh, can we, Mum? That would be awesome!’
Rachel felt hurt that her kids were so keen to get away from her and worried that their dad would s
ay no to the idea, but she knew he definitely owed her one. She had really let him off the hook as a father, and it was time to stand up for herself again.
‘Give me tomorrow to sort everything out; then we can head off the next day. I have promised the kids I will take them trick or treating, so I can’t miss that. I will have to call in sick to school, mind you; I can’t imagine them giving me time off to go on a wild goose chase!’
Arrangements were made and the subject was closed for now. Because of the prying ears, the rest of the meal was eaten with no further drama; in fact, anyone else looking over at them would have thought they were a normal family, out for a fun night. And actually, they could have been, that is until Tom received a message on his Twitter account that changed the whole situation.
Rachel
30 October 2018, 4 p.m.
Rachel was nervously waiting for Tom to show up. Suddenly everything in her life looked so shabby. The little terraced house she was so proud of suddenly looked like a hovel—the windows were smudged and the carpets were stained. The front of the house, along with others in the street, was decorated for Halloween, and she hoped Tom would think the general disrepair was part of the decoration. She even had real spiderwebs.
She had dressed up again and had put her kids in their best outfits, usually reserved for birthday parties or Sunday lunch at her mother-in-law’s house. She was at least proud of her daughters; both girls were clever and well-behaved. She guessed she had overcompensated with them after screwing up so spectacularly the first time round.
On the dot of four, there was a ring at the doorbell. Rachel smoothed herself down, had a quick check in the mirror and strode forward to open the door to her brother. They were uncomfortable around each other again, the easy, drunken comradery from earlier having disappeared. They had so many years to catch up on. Rachel showed him through to the sitting room where her partner, Dave, was slumped in a chair. He did at least stand up and shake Tom’s hand.
‘Alright, mate, can I get you a beer?’
‘Oh god, no, I am still suffering from too much wine the other night. Don’t suppose I could get a coffee?’
Dave looked towards Rachel, and she rolled her eyes. It was clear Dave didn't know how to boil a kettle. She stomped off into the kitchen, calling the kids down from their room at the same time.
‘So Rachel tells me you’re some big hotshot lawyer in America.’
‘Hardly hotshot, and I do more corporate stuff these days. It’s boring but that’s where the money is. It’s nothing like the TV shows though!’ Tom joked.
Dave took the conversation back to where he was comfortable. ‘And do they have some weird football over there. Not the real stuff like we do here.’
‘Yeah, it is mainly American football and baseball over there, although soccer is becoming more popular. You know, we are getting some big names over these days. But no, the Yanks don’t really “get it”.’
‘So what team do you support then?’ Dave asked, posing the male-bonding question accepted all over the UK.
Tom really didn’t want to admit that he hated football and that, apart from a brief stint as a Manchester supporter to fit in with his school friends at the time, Tom had never even watched a game. ‘I guess when I am here it would be Manchester.’
‘United or City?’
Tom felt as though he was doing an exam he had never studied for.
‘Um, City?’
He didn’t know if this was the right thing or not as Dave then started a rant about the season—who was scoring goals, which manager should be sacked. Luckily, they were interrupted by two girls who walked in looking shy, followed by their mum who had a mug in one hand and a can of beer in the other.
‘Hello. Mummy says you are our uncle,’ said the oldest one who was the spitting image of what Alice had looked like at that age, with brown hair down to her shoulders and big blue eyes.
‘I guess that’s right. I’m Tom,’ he said, putting out a hand and then realised that shaking a nine-year-old girl’s hand—his niece, at that—was probably not the right greeting. She ignored it anyway.
‘And who are you?’ he said to the smaller one, not to be polite but because he really couldn’t remember which was which.
‘I’m Jess and I’m five,’ she said shyly, showing off a massive gap in her teeth.
Luckily, Tom had come prepared and pulled out two beautifully wrapped boxes. The girls descended on them, all awkwardness gone. Kylie opened hers first and screamed in excitement; it was an iPhone, and it looked like the latest model. Jess sped up and was rewarded with the same phone in a different colour. It seems that money really can buy love as both girls ran over to their uncle and embraced him with a look of pure joy on their faces. Rachel wasn't so happy; in fact, she had a face like thunder.
Tom sipped the coffee, and she noticed him make a face. He probably didn't even know cheap, instant coffee still existed. She guessed that his coffee was probably sourced from a part of the world that had mountains and wars in equal measures, not some factory.
‘Thanks, Tom, that is really generous of you, but we had told the girls they weren’t getting a proper phone until they are at least 11. I mean, Kylie has one of my old Nokias, but they spend enough time in front of screens already, and I really don’t want to make them into targets for muggers.’
Tom’s face fell. She guessed he had no idea about kids. Rachel looked towards Dave for back up.
‘Well, you can hardly take them back now, can you? Not now that the girls have had their hands on them. Come on, chill out, Rach!’
Rachel wanted to punch them both but knew better than to disagree with Dave in front of the kids. Things were bad enough between them at the moment, and she wanted to make him feel like he had some kind of fatherly input, even if his role was in question at the moment. By now, the kids had turned on the phones and were busy setting them up how only children who rarely use pen and paper can. Rachel sighed; she would have to enforce some strict rules about usage and put some kind of parental lock on there. After all, she knew more than most that there are some really nasty people out there.
Stan
28 October 2018, 11 p.m.
Stan was pleased to have been saved by that weird, middle-aged bloke who sounded like a Yank. The cops had been so close to finding his stash of weed. Probably not enough to get him done for dealing—in fact, he hadn't been selling for a while since he now had a more lucrative side business—but he knew if they had found anything remotely dodgy then they may have asked questions, and god knows what they would have uncovered. It did really annoy him that he was a beacon for being stopped by the police just because he liked to drive in some nice wheels. For all they knew, he could be a respectable member of society.
He pulled up in front of a park. As he rolled a joint and ripped off a bit of the card he had been given as a roach, he pocketed the rest of it, just in case. He fiddled on his phone as he smoked. He had been alerted to some fresh meat on his app. One was a bit ordinary but the other would do nicely. She described herself as ‘big and bouncy’, and he guessed that she had tried to label herself as the fat, funny one throughout her life. It was her sad eyes staring out from the photo that told him what he needed to know. That and her tight top that was straining to contain her massive breasts. He swiped right and sent her a like; seconds later, he was added as one of her favourites. It was almost too easy. He never went in for the kill straight away and would keep her sweet for a couple of weeks before arranging a meetup.
Funnily enough, the film with Alice was still his bestseller, in spite of how amateur he now saw it was. He had learnt a lot since then about lighting and camera angles. Maybe it was Alice who was the main draw. It's a shame he might have burned his bridges there; he would have to put the work in if he wanted a sequel.
Tom
28 October 2018, 8 p.m.
After the first couple of glasses of mediocre wine, Tom found that he was actually enjoying himself, something he nev
er thought would happen when he had made the snap decision to fly over to his homeland. His partner, Will, had thought he was mad and was upset that Tom would be missing from their social calendar for a few days. He could hold his own in most situations, but he liked the comfort blanket that Tom provided. Unlike lots of Americans, Will had spent time in the UK and had found the small-town mentality a far cry from the quaint English villages that so many dreamed of. Tom would often see his home country through Will’s eyes. Of course, he had loved London and picturesque cities such as Cambridge, but he too had seen the horrors of Slough and the greyness of small Northern villages on a cold day. They had never talked about holidays or even living back in the UK, although he did still enjoy a few days in London on business. They had both accepted New York as their adopted home. Well, really, Will had decided, and Tom had agreed—like most things in their life.
Tom knew he was looking down upon everything he had experienced since touching on British soil, from the queues at the airport to the tacky, cheap hotel he had booked into. He had almost checked out immediately in search of a hotel in Central London. He could never understand why people, like his sister, he supposed, chose to live on the scummy outskirts of the city. Surely you were paying for the privilege of the capital with none of the benefits, even with the night tube he had heard about. The high street here was full of betting shops and 99p stores, and it could have been any town in the country, apart from the diversity apparent in Polish shops and West Indian barbers.
He was trying and failing to not judge his sister in the same way. She had really aged before her time, and her cheap highlights and supermarket clothes did her no favours. Maybe he was too used to New York women who wouldn’t be seen dead out in public without Pilates-toned arms and threaded eyebrows. Still, when he looked beyond his prejudice, he was beginning to enjoy her company. There was something to be said for being with someone who you didn’t have to explain anything to. They were still dancing around so many subjects, but the fact they had once shared everything couldn’t be discounted altogether.
